..is a place near Marrakesh, a fact I didn’t know until I stumbled across this long lost original recording by Noel Coward of the song later made famous by the late Amy Winehouse.
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Round Midnight
Posted in Music with tags Amy Winehouse, Billie Holiday, Round Midnight on July 25, 2011 by telescoperDuring the afternoon’s play at the Test Match on Saturday I picked up on Twitter the sad news of the death, at the age of 27, of singer Amy Winehouse, an event which susbsequently stirred up the internet pondlife as much and as tastelessly as the actions of Anders Behring Breivik. I don’t really follow pop music much these days, but Amy Winehouse caught my ear when she recorded a version of the Thelonious Monk jazz classic Round Midnight and I was impressed that she had taken on such challenging material, although the track itself is horribly overproduced.
For what it’s worth I think that Amy Winehouse was an exceptionally talented singer, in an age that celebrates mediocrity rather than talent, although she sadly never came to terms with her addictions to drugs and alcohol. I feel sadness at her passing, not least because her potential remained largely unfulfilled. For those who cling to the belief that taking drugs somehow accompanies or even enhances musical ability, I can only offer this quote from another supremely gifted but tragically dissolute singer, Billie Holiday:
Dope never helped anybody sing better or play music better or do anything better. All dope can do for you is kill you – and kill you the long, slow, hard, way.
Billie was 44 when she died, so she lasted longer than Amy, but they trod a similar path. Both made great music despite, and in no way because of, being drug addicts.
As well as sadness, though, I also feel disgust, as much for the vultures picking over Amy Winehouse’s remains after her death as for the parasites that profited from her addiction during her life. No addict can be cured of his or her addiction by another person – one has to take control of oneself in order to do that – but that does not make it right to simply mock a junkie as the newspapers did relentlessly with Amy Winehouse, willing the car crash to happen. Well, it worked. She’s dead now. I hope they’re proud.
Amy Winehouse’s life and death represent a kind of Shakespearean tragedy, in that her character contained the seeds of its own destruction and that her life seems largely to have been acted out for the “enjoyment” of others. I hope her death serves as a warning to those youngsters who have been tempted to emulate her. There are enough dangers in the world without being a danger to yourself.
Rest in Peace, Amy Winehouse (1983-2011).
Follow @telescoperFrom Major to Minor
Posted in Music with tags Annie Lennox, backdoor progression, cadence, chords, Cole Porter, Ev'ry time we say goodbye, Red Hot and Blue on July 17, 2011 by telescoperI was looking around for something to post next week in honour of our graduation ceremony (which is coming up on Tuesday) and came across this, which brought back a flood of memories. It’s the wonderful Annie Lennox singing the classic Cole Porter song Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye as performed as part of the AIDS fund-raiser Red Hot and Blue way back in 1990. Was it really that long ago?
Cole Porter has to be one of the cleverest songwriters of all time. His ability to produce tune after lovely tune was matched by his supreme skill in crafting the lyrics, often managing to produce rhymes in the middle of lines as well as at the end. He often used this superb craftsmanship to comic effect, but produced his share of beautiful ballads too, though none more beautiful than this. I’ve always loved the Ella Fitzgerald version of this song so much that I didn’t believe anyone could outdo it, but this track (and the video) moved me to tears when I first saw it, and it’s never lost its impact on me, especially when heard with the poignant video. The little boy shown in the home movies is a young Derek Jarman, who died of an AIDS-related illness in 1994.
This song exemplifies Cole Porter’s art as both composer and wordsmith. The trademark clever rhymes are there, but in this case there’s a wonderful juxtaposition of the words “how strange the change from major to minor” and an interesting chord progression, which is a minor scale variation of the plagal cadence (sometimes called the “Amen cadence”, because it’s how the word A-men is often sung in hymns). The plagal cadence involves a IV-I step back to the tonic chord (I), via a major 4th (IV) but in Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye, the progression goes via IV-iv-I with the interpolation of a minor 4th chord (iv), which in the original key of E♭is an A♭m chord. It’s a lovely touch, no less lovely for being so clever.
This progression – or a variation of it involving a dominant 7th chord (i.e. IV-iv-♭VII-I) – can be found in many jazz standards, as a kind of “bluesy” alternative to the more usual V-I “authentic” cadence, and many pop songs use it too, including several by The Beatles. However, I doubt if even Cole Porter could have come up with a rhyme for “dominant seventh”!
Follow @telescoperThe Presenters Play…
Posted in Music with tags BBC Radio 3, Berceuse, Dolly, Gabriel Faure on July 8, 2011 by telescoperRegular readers of this blog – both of them – will know that I’m an avid listener of BBC Radio 3, and will be listening even more over the summer when the annual season of Promenade Concerts (“The Proms”) begins in a week’s time. That’s why I thought I’d post this video I came across recently, which shows a number of the presenters playing duets on the piano. It’s quite a surprise to see what people look like when you only know them by their voice, so here’s your chance to see if they look like you think they sounded!
The piece they’re playing – with varying degrees of success – is the Berceuse from the Dolly Suite by Gabriel Fauré which those of us of a certain age will remember as the music from Listen with Mother.
Lucia’s Mad Scene
Posted in Opera with tags 1954, Lucia di Lammermoor, Maria Callas on July 2, 2011 by telescoperI came across this little clip of the great Maria Callas on youtube, and couldn’t resist sharing it for the benefit of those (apparently many) people out there who think she was an overrated singer. I’m a devout Callas fan, but I also freely admit that many of the performances she recorded later in her career (especially in the 60s) weren’t all that good and it’s unfortunate that most of her famous performances were in an era when audio technology wasn’t really up to the task of recording live opera.
However, you can get an idea of how very special Maria Callas was in this little clip recorded live at La Scala in Milan in 1954. It’s a poor quality recording but her voice has a stunning radiance to it despite the distortions. This is the very end of the lengthy Act III “Mad Scene” from Donizetti‘s Opera Lucia di Lammermoor. It’s a tremendously demanding piece, which Callas sings with flawless technical accuracy and extraordinary expressive power leading up to a ringing top E♭ at the end. Her approach to the vocal gymnastics required by the bel canto repertoire was uniquely full-on and, without a safety net, the sense of danger surrounding these performances made them truly electrifying.
Only some of the music made it onto the recording, but there’s enough there to convince the doubters that this was a very special artist. And, listening to the applause at the end, the notoriously demanding audience at La Scala were clearly convinced too!
Incidentally, some argue that Callas’ voice was in decline after her substantial weight loss (she lost 80lbs between 1953 and 1954), but this was the slim Callas and her voice sounds pretty good to me!
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Posted in Opera with tags Covent Garden, Giancarlo Monsalve, Juha Uusilato, Martina Serafin, Royal Opera House, Tosca on June 29, 2011 by telescoperAfter yesterday’s examiners meeting at Queen Mary I downed a quick beer and took the tube to the West End in order to meet up with a couple of friends (Joao and Kim) to see last night’s production of Tosca at the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden.
Just over a year ago I posted about Welsh National Opera’s Tosca here in Cardiff, so I’ll refer you there for details about the plot synposis and background. Let me just say even though the WNO production was very good, it’s very difficult to match the special atmosphere of Covent Garden. It’s such a famous venue but at the same time is so intimate. I’d forgotten just how close you get to the stage. The prices were special prices too! Our tickets were £220 each and drinks in the two intervals were eye-wateringly expensive. But then you don’t go to Covent Garden for a cheap night out.
This was the only night that I could make it to this run, and as a result we actually saw the “second” cast: no Bryn Terfel, no Angela Gherghiou, and as it happens to Marcello Giordani either (owing to illness). In the performance we saw, Floria Tosca was Martina Serafin, Baron Scarpia was Juha Uusitalo, and making his Covent Garden debut as understudy thanks to Giordiani’s indisposition was was the young tenor Giancarlo Monsalve as Cavaradossi. I wasn’t too disappointed not to see Angela Gheorghiou, as I think she’s quite overrated, but I would have loved to have seen Bryn Terfel’s Scarpia. Perhaps some other time.
Anyway, it was a thoroughly enjoyable production if perhaps lacking that extra sparkle that the headline cast might have supplied. Serafin took a while to get going but from Act II onwards was very good, although she never quite managed to get across the fiery unpredictable side of her character’s persona. Uusitalo was a brutish Scarpia with a strong stage presence; the dashing Monsalve took his opportunity well and was warmly received by the full house.
I’ve often wondered how this Opera, which on the face of it is a straightforward melodrama, manages to work so well. I think part of its magic is that the characters, as is often the case with Puccini, are not quite what they seem. Tosca is the heroine but she’s far from Snow White. She’s jealous and temperamental and in many ways quite unattractive. In this production, after initially stabbing Scarpia in self-defence, she carries on stabbing him in a kind of bloodlust which is quite scary. Cavaradossi is the hero, but he’s not a particularly heroic hero because he crumbles under the strain of his imminent execution in Act III. And then there’s Scarpia, the baddy. I find him the most fascinating of all because, although he’s evil, there are flashes of loneliness and contrition. I think he’s monstrous because something in his past has made him monstrous. A prequel to Tosca based on Scarpia’s earlier biography would make a very interesting opera indeed..
I know it’s deeply unfair to make comparisons, but I thought nevertheless I’d include this clip of a live broadcast of Tosca from the same venue, way back in 1964, featuring perhaps the greatest Scarpia, Tito Gobbi, and perhaps the greatest Tosca, Maria Callas. I heard the composer Michael Berkeley talking about what a revelation it was to see Callas at Covent Garden in this role; he simply hadn’t imagined that acting in the opera could be so good. Even in black-and-white you can get idea of the mesmerising stage presence that was Maria Callas and what a fine actress she was. Here she is, with hatred burning in her eyes, plunging the knife into Scarpia, standing over him willing him to die, then realising what she has done, turning back into a frightened, vulnerable and remorseful woman then doing the best she can to pay respect to his dead body. Magnificent.
Follow @telescoperFor Sidney Bechet
Posted in Jazz, Poetry with tags for sidney bechet, Jazz, Philip Larkin, Poetry, Sidney Bechet on June 26, 2011 by telescoperJust stumbled across this excellent documentary about the great Sidney Bechet and couldn’t resist posting it alongside the poem by Philip Larkin that follows it, which is called For Sidney Bechet. Watching great jazz musicians play, including the rare clips of Bechet shown in the video, the thought always comes into my mind that if you took the instrument away from them, it would just carry on playing by itself…
That note you hold, narrowing and rising, shakes
Like New Orleans reflected on the water,
And in all ears appropriate falsehood wakes,
Building for some a legendary Quarter
Of balconies, flower-baskets and quadrilles,
Everyone making love and going shares
Oh, play that thing! Mute glorious Storyvilles
Others may license, grouping around their chairs
Sporting-house girls like circus tigers (priced
Far above rubies) to pretend their fads,
While scholars manqués nod around unnoticed
Wrapped up in personnels like old plaids.
On me your voice falls as they say love should,
Like an enormous yes. My Crescent City
Is where your speech alone is understood,
And greeted as the natural noise of good,
Scattering long-haired grief and scored pity.
One Day I’ll Fly Away
Posted in Music with tags Joe Sample, Randy Crawford on June 20, 2011 by telescoperEn route to the airport again, this suddenly popped into my mind. The tune was a hit for Randy Crawford in 1980 when I was still at school, but this version, which I like a much more than the original single, was made just about five years ago. It’s a lovely song by a much underrated singer, featured here with the Joe Sample Trio.
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Louco
Posted in Biographical, Music with tags Alfredo Marceneiro, Fado on June 12, 2011 by telescoperI’ve been saving this remarkable old record for a rainy day, and since it’s been tipping down all morning I think it’s time to share it.
Just a few months after I moved to my house in bit of Cardiff called Pontcanna I went with a friend to a little Portuguese restaurant just around the corner. The food was pretty cheap, fairly simple, but very tasty. The staff were friendly but extremely disorganized, taking ages to produce the food even though the place wasn’t at all busy. They also had some Portuguese fado music playing while we waited. I normally don’t like music in restaurants because even if the music’s worth listening to – which it usually isn’t – you can’t hear it properly anyway over the chatter and sound of knives on plates. In this case, however, towards the end of the meal, I heard, for the very first time, a record featuring an agonized voice – as much haunted as haunting – which immediately sent cold shivers down my spine. I asked the waitress who was singing on the record we were listening to, and she told me it was the great Alfredo Marceneiro.
I’m not going to pretend to be any kind of an expert on fado, although I have at least heard of Amália Rodrigues (the greatest female fado performer of the classic era), and am a big fan of her wonderful modern counterpart Mariza. I hadn’t known until that night in the restaurant that there were any male fado singers at all. However, Alfredo Marceneiro’s career spanned a half a century, from the mid 1920s, and he has been an immense influence on younger generations of musicians since then. His compositions have also become part of the standard repertoire. I suppose you could say that Alfredo Marceneiro is to fado what Robert Johnson is to the blues.
Fado is very much a Portuguese genre and I suppose it’s difficult to “get” if you’re not brought up with the tradition or even the language. I barely know a word of Portuguese myself, and have no idea what the words of the following song actually mean. I think it’s a testament to the power of the music that the actual words don’t seem to matter all that much when you can sing out of your very soul like this man could.
I’m afraid the Youtube version of this track is a bit truncated, but I’m putting it up anyway because it’s exactly the recording I heard that night three years ago. I think it’s a riveting performance, by an extraordinary artist who is celebrated in his own country, but who in my opinion deserves much wider recognition.
P.S. I know that the title “Louco” means “Crazy” in Portuguese, but I’d be very grateful if someone could supply a translation of the rest of the song…..
P.P.S. I went back to the restaurant about six months after the time I mention in the post, but it had changed name and ownership. It’s now cleaner, but has much less character and no music. I haven’t returned.
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