Charlie Parker

A tribute to Charlie Parker by Jack Kerouac and Steve Allen. Hyper-romanticism and cool jazz. 

Charlie Parker looked like Buddha. Charlie Parker . . . was called the perfect musician and his expression on his face was as calm beautiful and profound as the image of the Buddha represented in the East — the lidded eyes the expression that says: all is well.

This was what Charlie Parker said when he played: all is well. You had the feeling of early-in-the-morning like a hermit's joy or like the perfect cry of some wild gang at a jam session Wail! Whap! Charlie burst his lungs to reach the speed of what the speedsters wanted and what they wanted was his eternal slowdown. A great musician and a great creator of forms . . . . 

. . . Charlie Parker whistling them on to the brink of eternity with his Irish St. Patrick Patootlestick. And like the holy mists we blop and we plop in the waters of slaughter and white meat — and die one after one in Time. And how sweet a story it is

. . . Charlie Parker forgive me. Forgive me for not answering your eyes. For not having made an indication of that which you can devise. Charlie Parker pray for me. Pray for me and everybody.

In the Nirvanas of your brain where you hide — indulgent and huge — no longer Charlie Parker but the secret unsayable Name that carries with it merit not-to-be-measured from here to up down east or west.

Charlie Parker lay the bane off me – – and everybody.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: September Songs

But first an old Marvelettes tune to mark the passing of Hugh Hefner.  But how can you listen to just one Marvelettes number?

Beechwood 45789.  

Don't Mess with Bill

Please Mr. Postman

…………………..

September ends.  A transitional month leading from hot August to glorious October, Kerouac month in the MavPhil 'liturgy.'

Dinah Washington, September in the Rain

Rod Stewart, Maggie May. "Wake up Maggie, I think I got something to say to you/It's late September and I really should be back at school."

Carole King, It Might as Well Rain Until September

Frank Sinatra, September of My Years

George Shearing, September in the Rain

Walter Huston, September Song 

UPDATE (10/1)

This from a London reader:

Thanks for linking to the George Shearing ‘September’. I had forgotten he grew up in London (in Battersea, just down the road from me). I love the Bird-like flights on the piano. Indeed I think he wrote ‘Lullaby of Birdland’. Another Londoner is Helen Shapiro who does a great version of ‘It might as well rain until September’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=De0_zZ7qQDA. Great alto voice, never made it in the US as far as I know. There is a strange account of her conversion to Christianity here.

I was first hipped to Shearing by Kerouac who referred to him in On the Road.  I too love the'Bird'-like flights on the piano. The allusion is to Charley 'Bird' Parker, also beloved of Kerouac.  (Kerouac month hereabouts starts today.) Helen Shapiro is new to me, thanks. She does a great job with the Carole King composition.  Believe it or not, King's version is a demo. That's one hell of a demo. A YouTuber points out that Shapiro was not part of the 1964 'British Invasion.'  I wonder why.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: ‘Daddy’ Songs

Marty Robbins, That Silver-Haired Daddy of Mine. While we have old Marty cued up, let's enjoy his signature number, El Paso

Joan Baez, Daddy, You've Been on My Mind

Shep and the Limelites, Daddy's Home, 1961

The Rivingtons, Papa Oom Mow Mow

Louis Armstrong, I'm a Dong Dong Daddy (from Dumas)

Emmylou Harris, To Daddy

Hank Williams, I'm a Long Gone Daddy

Jim Reeves, Padre of Old San Antone

Paul Simon, Father and Daughter

Hank Williams, My Son Calls Another Man 'Daddy'

Bo Diddley, Diddley Daddy

Eric Clapton, My Father's Eyes

Saturday Night at the Oldies: The Forgotten and Underplayed

Betty Everett, You're No Good, 1963.  More soulful than the 1975 Linda Ronstadt version.

The Ikettes, I'm Blue, 1962. 

Lee Dorsey, Ya Ya, 1961.  Simplicity itself. Three chords. I-IV-V progression. No bridge.

Paul Anka, A Steel Guitar and a Glass of Wine, 1962.

Carole King, Crying in the Rain, 1963.  The earnest girl-feeling of young Carole makes it better than the Everly Bros.' more polished and better executed version.  

Don Gibson, Sea of a Heartbreak.  A crossover hit from 1961.  It's a crime for the oldies stations to ignore this great song.

Ketty Lester, Love Letters, 1961.  Gets some play, but not enough.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Water High, Wide, Dirty, Troubled, and Moody

In Dispatch from Houston, our friend Patrick Kurp of Anecdotal Evidence reports: 

Power out. Car flooded. Books dry.

So all is well. But I don't reckon Dean Martin will be returning to Houston for a spell even if he could, he being dead and all. 

Not to make light of the suffering of those sorely afflicted. Pray, send benevolent thoughts, fork over some serious money for relief efforts, but don't blog about it. Your charitable contribution, that is.

PattonBob Dylan, High Water.  This is a late-career Dylan gem from Love and Theft (2001). A tribute to Charley Patton.  Demonstrates Dylan's mastery of the arcana of Americana. Our greatest and deepest singer-songwriter. 

My favorite verse:

Well, George Lewis told the Englishman, the Italian and the Jew
You can't open up your mind, boys, to every conceivable point of view
They got Charles Darwin trapped out there on Highway 5
Judge says to the High Sheriff, "I want them dead or alive"
Either one, I don't care, high water everywhere.

Nosiree, Bob, you can't open up your mind to every conceivable point of view, especially when it's not dark yet, but getting there.

Charley Patton, High Water Everywhere.  Nice slide show.

The Band, Up on Cripple Creek

Jimi Hendrix, May This Be Love.  I had forgotten the wonderful guitar solo.

Karla Bonoff, The Water is Wide.  I listened to a lot of Bonoff in the early '80s.  She does a great job with this traditional song.

Bill Monroe and Doc Watson, Banks of the Ohio.  Joan Baez's version from an obscure 1959 album, Folksingers 'Round Harvard Square.

Similar theme though not water-related: Doc Watson, Tom Dooley.  Doc and family in a BBC clip.

Standells, Dirty Water.  Boston and the River Charles. My mecca in the '70s, the Athens of America, the Hub of the Universe, etc.  A great town to be young in.  But when it comes time to own property and pay taxes, then a right-thinking man high tails it for the West.

Simon and Garfunkel, Bridge Over Troubled Water.  A beautiful song.  

Henry Mancini, Moon River.  This was Jack Kerouac's favorite song.  Ellis Amburn, Subterranean Kerouac (St. Martin's 1998), p. 324:

One night he [Kerouac, during a 1962 visit to Lowell, Mass.] left a bar called Chuck's with Huck Finneral, a reedy, behatted eccentric who carried a business card that read: "Professional killer . . . virgins fixed . . . orgies organized, dinosaurs neutered, contracts & leases broken."  Huck's philosophy of life was: "Better a wise madness than a foolish sanity."  They drove to a friend's house in Merrimack, New Hampshire, and on the way, Jack sang "Moon River," calling it his favorite song.  Composed by Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer, "Moon River" was the theme song of the popular Audrey Hepburn movie Breakfast at Tiffany's.  Sobbed by a harmonica, later swelling with strings and chorus, the plaintive tune's gentle but epic-like lyrics describe a dreamer and roamer not unlike Kerouac.

Indeed they do.  A restless dreamer, a lonesome traveller, a dharma seeker, a desolation angel passing through this vale of mist, a drifter on the river of samsara hoping one day to cross to the Far Shore.  Here is another version of the tune with some beautiful images.

Doc Watson, Moody River.  A moodier version than the Pat Boone hit which was based on the Chase Webster effort.

Clever YouTube comment: "It might be a little early in the day for an Am7."  But this here's Saturday night and I'm working on my second wine spodiodi. Chords minor and melancholy go good 'long about now. 

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Help

Before we get under way, a song in celebration of President Trump's pardon of Sheriff Joe Arpaio of Maricopa County, Arizona. A stinging rebuke to Obama & Co. and their contempt for the rule of law. 

Bobby Fuller Five, I Fought the Law and the Law Won

………………………..

Canned Heat, Help Me. Help me consolate my weary mind. I love that 'consolate.'

Johnny Cash, Help Me.

Beach Boys, Help Me, Rhonda

Hank Williams, I Can't Help it If I'm Still in Love with You. Linda Ronstadt's version is wonderful, but does it get the length of the great Patsy Cline's?

Ringo Starr, With a Little Help from My Friends

Elvis Presley, Can't Help Falling in Love

Highwaymen, Help Me Make it Through the Night

Joni Mitchell, Help Me

Hank Locklin, Please Help Me, I'm Falling

Here is Skeeter Davis' answer to Hank.

Victor Davis Hanson on Joan Baez and Abolitio Memoriae

In Our War Against Memory, Hanson writes (hyperlinks added),

How about progressive icon Joan Baez? Should the Sixties folksinger seek forgiveness from us for reviving her career in the early 1970s with the big money-making hit “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down”— her version of The Band’s sympathetic ode to the tragedy of a defeated Confederacy, written over a century after the Civil War. (“Back with my wife in Tennessee / When one day she called to me / Said, “Virgil, quick, come see / There goes the Robert E. Lee!”) If a monument is to be wiped away, then surely a popular song must go, too.

[. . .]

The logical trajectory of tearing down the statue of a Confederate soldier will soon lead to the renaming of Yale, the erasing of Washington and Jefferson from our currency, and the de-Trotskyization of every mention of Planned Parenthood’s iconic Margaret Singer, the eugenicist whose racist views on abortion anticipated those of current liberal Supreme Court justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. (Ginsburg said, “Frankly I had thought that at the time Roe was decided, there was concern about population growth and particularly growth in populations that we don’t want to have too many of.”)

[. . .]

The strangest paradox in the current epidemic of abolitio memoriae is that our moral censors believe in ethical absolutism and claim enough superior virtue to apply it clumsily across the ages — without a clue that they fall short of their own moral pretensions, and that one day their own icons are as likely be stoned as the icons of others are now apt to be torn down by black-mask-wearing avengers.

A final paradox about killing the dead: Two millennia after Roman autocrats’ destruction of statues, and armed with the creepy 20th-century model of Fascists and Communists destroying the past, we, of a supposedly enlightened democracy, cannot even rewrite history by democratic means — local, state, and federal commission recommendations, referenda, or majority votes of elected representatives. More often, as moral cowards, we either rely on the mob or some sort of executive order enforced only in the dead of night.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: ‘The King’ Dead Forty Years

Elvis Presley died on 16 August 1977, 40 years ago. We can't let this weekend pass without a few tunes in commemoration.

First a couple of 'Italian' numbers modeled, respectively, on O Sole Mio and Torna a Surriento

It's Now or Never

Surrender

Continuing in the romantic vein:

Can't Help Falling in Love.  A version by Andrea Bocelli. A woman for a heterosexual man is the highest finite object. The trick is to avoid idolatry and maintain custody of the heart.

A Gospel number:

Amazing Grace

From the spiritual to the secular:

Little Sister

Marie's the Name of his Latest Flame

Devil in Disguise

And then there was hokey stuff like this reflecting his time in the Army in Germany:

Wooden Heart

Can't leave out the overdone and hyperromantic:

The Wonder of You. (Per mia moglie)

Out of time. Next stop: Judge Jeannine.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Los Angeles Bands

Buffalo Springfield, Blue Bird Nowadays Clancy Can't Even Sing. (Features a time signature change.)

Dick Dale and the Deltones, Misirlou.  Before Clapton, before Bloomfield, my first guitar hero.   "King of the Surf Guitar."  Pipeline (with Stevie Ray Vaughan).  Nitro (with So Cal scenes).  Let's Go Trippin', 1961.  Not a drug reference. Pre-LSD. The first surf instrumental?

Beach Boys, Don't Worry Baby 

Little Feat, Willin'

Los Lobos, La Bamba

Doors, Riders on the Storm L. A. Woman

Byrds, Chimes of Freedom.  Dylan's greatest anthem?

Eagles, Life in the Fast Lane.  Take it Easy.

Standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona/Such a fine sight to see/ It's a girl my Lord in a flat bed Ford/Slowin' down to take a look at me.

Winslow  Arizona

 

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Varia

Punch Brothers, Rye Whisky

Lonely Heartstring Band, Ramblin' Gamblin' Willy

Bonnie Owens, Philadelphia Lawyer

Cowboy Jack Clement, A Girl I Used to Know

Bobby Bare, Lullabies, Legends, and Lies

Brewer and Shipley, One Toke Over Line. Forgot how good this song is!

The Flying Burrito Brothers, To Ramona.  A very nice cover of a song from Dylan's fourth album, Another Side of Bob Dylan.

John Fogerty and the Blue Ridge Rangers, You're the Reason

The Springfields, Silver Threads and Golden Needles

Ramblin' Jack Elliot, Roving Gambler.  'Ramblin' Charles Adnopoz' lacking the requisite resonance for a follower of Woody Guthrie, this Jewish son of a New York M.D. wisely changed his name. 

Joan Baez, Rock Salt and Nails 

Patsy Cline, She's Got You

Simon and Garfunkel, The Dangling Conversation.  A lovely song, if a bit pretentious.  Paul Simon was an English major.

And we spoke of things that matter
With words that must be said.
Can analysis be worthwhile?
Is the theater really dead?

Beatles, We Can Work It Out.  Listen for the time signature change from 4/4 to 3/4. Knowing a little music theory adds to one's enjoyment.

Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, You Really Got a Hold on Me

Barbara Lynn, You'll Lose a Good Thing.  Her moves and appearance are reminsicent of Jimi Hendrix — or the other way around.  Check out how she strums that left-handed Telecaster.

EmmyLou Harris, Save the Last Dance for Me.  That's one big guitar.

Marty Robbins, Blue Spanish Eyes.  What a wimpy guitar!

Dalida, O Sole MioDas Ewig-Weibliche zieht uns hinan!  Che bella donna!

Melina Mercouri, Never on Sunday.  Ditto!

Nana Mouskouri, Farewell Angelina.  One of Bob Dylan's most haunting songs.  Hats off in homage to the angel-throated ladies such as Nana and Joan, but nothing touches the mood & magic of Dylan's spare mid-60s renditions such as this one.

Freddy Fender, Cielito Lindo.  Tex-Mex version of a very old song.

Marty Robbins, La Paloma.  Another old song dating back to 1861. 

Guest Post: On the Vapidity of the Popular Music of the 1950s

By London Ed.

Possibly vapid music

Bill writes ‘The creativity of the 1960s stood in stark contrast to the vapidity of '50s popular music’, citing as a prime example Perry Como’s Magic Moments (1960).

This is a sentiment I recognise and still identify with. I grew up with what is now called ‘British light music’, supposedly a ‘less serious’ form of Western classical music, a prime example of which would be Puffin' Billy, the theme of the BBC Light Programme's ‘Children's Favourites’, from 1952 to 1966. Note the Light Programme, one of precisely three radio stations in early 1960s Britain, the other two being the Home Service (news and interviews) and the Third Programme (classical music and improving highbrow stuff like interviews with Iris Murdoch). The idea of American style radio with disc jockeys and music other than serious and less serious was not entertained until the advent of pirate radio. When I first heard Burning of the Midnight Lamp (Hendrix, 1967), it was obvious the world had changed, and I joined my peers in a complete rejection of everything that had gone before. I still unconsciously divide all music into what came before 1967, and everything thereafter. 

That said, there is music that is not ‘serious’, but which clearly has a merit within its own genre and perhaps beyond, which never conformed to the 60s progressive ethos.  Once I grew up in the 1970s, I realised its value, and continue to listen with pleasure. Here is some of it: 

1. All The Things You Are (Jerome Kern 1938). In this version by Dorothy Kirsten and Percy Faith (1951) it is close to schlock. Yet it is transcendent, with its complex harmonic structure, and qualities that were recognised by jazz musicians from early on, particularly by the devotees of the bebop genre. This Charlie Parker version is a classic. 

2. You Win Again (Hank Williams 1952) is a simple and timeless story ‘of an utterly defeated narrator who cannot bring himself to leave his love despite her infidelities’. Country music like this was utterly despised by thinking people in the 1960s and 70s. I had a girlfriend who refused to let my Williams records in her apartment. Yet country music is really the same music as folk music, absent the left wing rhetoric. The timeless qualities it appeals to (women who cheat, lonely men drinking at bars) sadly cannot be politicised. 

3. Old Cape Cod (Rothrock/Yakus/Jeffrey 1957)  Best known in the version by Patti Page. While her earlier Doggie In The Window (1953) is without any redeeming properties, ‘Old Cape Cod’ was revived by hipster house music group Groove Armada in 1997, who clearly saw something of value therein. 

4. Route 66 (Nelson Riddle 1962) Not the well known Bobby Troup song. It was written by Riddle as the theme for the 1960s American television drama of the same name, after CBS decided to commission a new song rather than pay royalties to Troup. Riddle is best known for his schmaltzy backing arrangments for Nat King Cole, and his music never appealed to thinking people and leftists. Yet he is a master of arrangement, and the number is clever (in my view). 

5. Up Up and Away (Jimmy Webb 1967) Recorded by The Fifth Dimension and released in July 1967, barely a month before Woodstock, it is difficult to see how anyone would take this seriously, and it is exactly the sort of music the Woodstock generation loathed. But it was written by Jimmy Webb, who also penned Wichita Lineman, thought to be the  first existentialist country song, and MacArthur Park, another existential song recorded by many, including country artist Waylon Jennings in 1969. Listen to these two fine songs first, and then to ‘Up Up and Away’, upon which it becomes clear that they are by the same writer, and that what distinguishes the last two, also makes the first notable, at least in some odd way. 

6. September Song (Kurt Weill 1938). At last some material by a bona fide leftist, a people’s songwriter who cut his teeth in the Novembergruppe group of left leaning Berliners that included communist scribbler Bertold Brecht. Its intellectual credentials are solid, yet here it is in a fine version by Frank Sinatra (1965), sounding just like the sort of vapid 1950s muzak the progressives so despised. 

7. Dancing Queen (Andersson/Ulvaeus/Anderson 1975) recorded by the Swedish pop group ABBA. I like this version from the1999 film Mamma Mia for its uncompromising fluffiness. Its value is in conveying precisely the sentiment it wishes to convey. Intellectuals now take Abba seriously, but why didn’t they tell us so at the time, instead of making us listen to the Soft Machine?

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Monterey Pop Festival, June 16-18, 1967

Monterey PopIt transpired 50 summers ago, this June, the grand daddy of rock festivals, two years before Woodstock, in what became known as the Summer of Love. Your humble correspondent was on the scene. Some high school friends and I drove up from Los Angeles along Pacific Coast Highway. I can still call up olfactory memories of patchouli, sandalwood incense, not to mention the aroma of what was variously known as cannabis sativa, marijuana, reefer, tea, Miss Green, Mary Jane, pot, weed, grass, pacalolo (Hawaiian term), loco weed, and just plain dope. But my friends and I, students at an all-boys Catholic high school that enforced a strict dress code, were fairly straight: we partook of no orgies, smoked no dope, and slept in a motel. The wild stuff came later in our lives, when we were better able to handle it.

I have in my hand the program book of the Festival, in mint condition. Do I hear $1,000? On the first page there is a quotation from Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice:

How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank! Here we sit and let the sounds of music creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night, become the touches of sweet harmony.

Hendrix MontereyAh yes, I remember it well, the "sweet harmony" of the whining feedback of Jimi Hendrix's Fender Stratocaster plugged into his towering Marshall amps and the "soft stillness" of the The Who smashing their instruments to pieces. Not to be outdone, Jimi lit his Strat on fire with lighter fluid. The image is burned into my memory. It shocked my working-class frugality. I used to baby my Fender Mustang and I once got mad at a girl for placing a coke can on my Fender Deluxe Reverb amp.

On the last page of the programme book, a more fitting quotation: the lyrics of Dylan's The Times They Are A'Changin', perhaps the numero uno '60s anthem to youth and social ferment. (Click on the link; great piano version. Live 1964 guitar version.) Were the utopian fantasies of the '60s just a load of rubbish? Mostly, but not entirely. "Lately it occurs to me, what a long strange trip it's been."

 

 

 

Tunes and Footage:

The Who, My Generation. I hope I die before I get old."

Mamas and Papas, California Dreamin'

Mamas and Papas, I Call Your Name

Jefferson Airplane, Somebody to Love

Janis Joplin, Down on Me

Otis Redding, Try a Little Tenderness

Scott MacKenzie, San Francisco