I’m a huge fan of the projects and tributes put out by Hal Willner, but the problem is they are almost always out of print. This one, his first from 1981, focused on the film music that Nino Rota scored for Frederico Fellini. Of all the great themes on this record, this beautiful interpretation of “La Stada” affected me the most. It’s performed by jazz great Jaki Byard whose name, like Hal Willner’s, should be more widely recognized. I was lucky to find this used LP at Car City Classics in near perfect condition.
Archive for February, 2011
“La Strada” by Jaki Byard, from Amarcord Nino Rota
Posted in 2006 on February 27, 2011| Leave a Comment »
“Forced Laugh” by A Certain Ratio, from To Each…
Posted in 2005 on February 24, 2011| Leave a Comment »
I remember buying To Each… at Full Moon Records in 1981, the year of its release. I also remember letting it slip from my collection and waiting several years before its reissue on CD. It wasn’t until 2005 at Wazoo Records in Ann Arbor that I’d find a copy. This band’s use of trumpet and percussion, not to mention that Martin Hannett production stamp, gave them such a unique sound. The bass is often the only instrument carrying any sort of melody while the vocals and trumpet are kept in the background to create an eerie feel.
“Lady In The Harbor” by Charles Lloyd, from Sangam
Posted in 2008 on February 20, 2011| Leave a Comment »
I’ve enjoyed several of Charles Lloyd’s releases on the ECM label but this live recording really stood out. With an interesting lineup of tabla player, drummer, and himself on reeds, its overall sound broke away from his usual quartet setting. There are some nice percussive workouts featured but throughout the CD both percussionists play melodically and they instinctively connect with each other’s style without cluttering up the sound. This song’s beautiful sax intro really struck me, but also how he slips in those fast runs, making their placement sound so natural. I also loved how the swing feel is established when the tablas come in and how closely they resemble the sound of an upright bass.
“Blues For Walter” by Dennis Gruenling, from the CD single
Posted in 2008 on February 18, 2011| Leave a Comment »
This song marks another memorable night of live blues at Big Cities Lounge. Touring in support of his recent Little Walter tribute, Dennis Gruenling pushed and pulled such a variety of sounds from his harp that unless you were watching you’d swear at times he was playing a sax or guitar, not to mention a freight train and several other non-musical objects. It was incredible. This song comes from a rare single that was available at the show.
Mr. Kettlewell, Pearl Campbell, The Woolleys, and me.
Posted in things we used to do on February 5, 2011| 1 Comment »
I had already been mowing two yards every week with a push mower and wasn’t interested in a third. My first lawn, Mr. Kettlewell’s, had been meticulously kept. Perfectly flat and vibrant green, he rolled, re-seeded, fertilized, and nit-picked over it from April until October. And even though there were two large gardens to mow around there was still a lot of grass to cut. A narrow sidewalk trailed around his house that led to the flower gardens in the back. Everything was edged and neat. When I mowed he even wanted me to follow a specific pattern so that people driving by couldn’t see the mow lines from the road. After I finished he’d have a cold Coke waiting for me. My pay was $10.
Pearl Campbell’s yard was the exact opposite. In some areas grass barely grew, yet in others it looked like a wheat field. Bumpy, stony, limp grass, on a slight hill, and that landscape feature I hate more than any – knolls. Knolls around trees, knolls around flower beds, knolls around who knows what. Scattered mounds of stuff with weeds towering out of them made it impossible to establish any sort of pattern and every week the maze grew more complicated. Wait a minute! Was that clump here last week? It was a mess. Even though her yard was smaller than Mr. Kettlewell’s, by the time I had finished circling everything it felt much larger. But every week she complimented me on how nice it looked. When I finished she’d offer me a bottle of pop (the Pop Shoppe refillable brand) and some Hydrox cookies. I’d visit with her for a while and then she’d pay me $8.
So when Dad heard about an elderly couple in Goodells who needed help with their lawn, he brought it up to see if I’d be interested. I wasn’t, but agreed to do it anyway. Across the road from Duncan’s Party Store and down three houses lived The Woolleys. Their yard was small but the grass looked like it hadn’t been mowed in years. They lived in what looked like a wooden shack with a serious lean. I had seen nicer outbuildings on farms. The shrubs and weeds were so out of control it looked like you couldn’t even get into the place let alone live there, but somewhere inside were Mrs. Woolley and her husband Vance. Elderly? Hanging by a thread was more like it. Their condition made Mr. Kettlewell and Pearl Campbell out to be Olympians. Vance just sat in a chair as he stared across the room, always connected to an oxygen tank. The most I’d get out of him was a wave and his best attempt at a smile. But Mrs. Woolley – short, pencil-thin, wrinkled beyond imagination – shuffled around the house pretty well and did all the talking. I was afraid of what might happen if I shook their hands but they each held one out to me.
The frustrations of getting a first-pass cutting took my mind off their condition. Even on the mower’s highest setting I had to keep it tipped back on the rear wheels to keep it from stalling. And just like whenever I mowed Pearl’s yard, I had to use my own mower and gas at the Woolleys, too. I ended up going over it twice but after raking up everything could see that I probably should’ve hit it a third time. As I loaded the mower Mrs. Woolley called out to me. Her first-call voice was pleasant, but her second-call voice sounded mad, like I was about to be scolded for something. “Kay-vin,” she’d call, but when I wouldn’t answer immediately, “Kayvin!” quickly followed. “Yes, Mrs. Woolley?” “Would you like to have some cherry pie?” With my eyes closed I slapped my forehead and groaned, “Oh no.” I wasn’t planning on hanging out with them but her offer put me on the spot. And after having just filled up on pop and cookies with Pearl I wasn’t very hungry. Besides, I didn’t like cherry pie. But given their situation – man, it was grim – and not wanting to seem rude, I had no choice. “Oh, that’s nice. I’ll be right in.”
Every week while loading the mower she’d call out to me the same way, and every week she invited me to sit with her and Vance over a piece of cherry pie. It seemed like a lot to expect of any 17-year-old but after a few weeks, visiting with them simply became part of my job just like with the other two lawns. At first their $5 seemed like an insult, but then I felt awkward about taking anything. It took so little on my part to brighten up their day, maybe even their week.
3 Mulligans 