Verve celebrates its storied past with re-released classic tracks on The Impulse Story series. The Coltrane entry features timeless numbers like “Love Supreme”’s Part I and “Bessie’s Blues.” I’m always a sucker, though, for the harmonious “Greensleeves.” A lot of players then and since dyed iconic classical and pop tunes in jazz idiom, but Coltrane did it with a care and respect that eluded many others.The arranger of Coltrane’s "Greensleeves," and the pianist, was the divine McCoy Tyner, who has a different take of the same on his Impulse Story entry. I like that even better. Coltrane’s sax is looser and there’s a great, quick piano orbit into the silky-scaled upper reaches. The snappy Latin-tinged “Speak Low,” the crisp triplet “Three Flowers,” and the slow-swing “Searchin’” are my other faves on this memorable collection by a pianist who unites his lightning virtuosity with a fabulous precision and unfailing sensitivity to the group whole.
From the Sonny Rollins entry, the Calypsoish “Hold ’Em Joe” will make you tap and wiggle involuntarily. If not, see a rhythmologist and get tested. “Street Runner With Child” is an infectious sprint, with intermittent cool-downs—interval training, as the runners say, for Rollins, a spicy horn section, and the astounding Frankie Dunlop monitoring the pace watch on drums. For a cool-down of your own, I recommend Epsom salts and the bubbly ear-spa of “On Impulse.”
Mingus, to my ear, is an acquired taste, but then, to my tongue, so were chocolate covered espresso beans, and now look at me. And his entry in The Impulse Story set presents him in all his crazed, mega-sound glory. If you’re a Mingus nut, skip ahead ’cause you know. If not, though, imagine a big band with near Ellington or Basie polish, but possessed by unpredictable, unruly demons. That’s what a lot of the bassist/composer/arranger Mingus sounds like. “Solo Dancer,” the first track, will show you what I mean. Read Mingus’s memoir and you’ll find he’s desperate to divulge the secrets of his private life, and even make up a few. But secrets remain, and one of the deepest is that Mingus was a wonderful pianist. Listen to “Myself When I am Real,” a contemplative, impressionistic, and (just imagine) gentle solo, or to his quirkily elegant rendition of “Body and Soul.”
If you’re more of a tapas-taster type, try The House That Trane Built: The Best of Impulse Records. Among the exotic dishes, be sure to try harpist Alice Coltrane’s delightful “Journey in Satchidananda.”
But if there was a time when Verve spoke mostly to the bop, it now features a lot of contemporary fare like the Brazilian Girls’ Talk to the Bomb. This New York quartet pumps out intriguing arty club takes that would (will?) make stirring soundtracks for self-consciously gritty European thrillers. Singer Sabina is said to make a memorable visual impression (see photo above) a la Grace Jones and Bjork. She is said to sing in five languages, but—and I blame only myself—she moved me in none of them, nor, on the whole, did this gazillion-tracked slick album. I did like the harmonies and the fidgety beat of "Le Territoire” and the cartoon-on-ludes bubbly synth layers over George-of-the-Jungle rhythm in “Tourist Trap.” I bet it’s all fun to dance to. Maybe I’m just bitter because I don’t get out enough.
But, for the record, I’m not allergic to all self-conscious Europop. For instance, I really enjoyed Monsieur Gai
nsbourg Revisited. That’s Serge Gainsbourg, by the way, the late proto-glam-rocker whom Verve concisely defines as “singer songwriter Pygmalion actor filmmaker author entertainer agitator gambler lady’s man.” Exactly, and nice work if you can get it. Here a number of contemporary performers and producers pay homage. The whispered purrs of Cat Power & Karen Elson’s “I Love You (Me Either)” made me feel oh so Antonioni. The Kills’ “I Call It Art” is all psycho partier on the mend, sexy in a desultory way. And the album quits on an aptly glittery morbid note: Nina Persson and Nathan Larson’s “Angel’s fall (Sorry Angel).” “I committed you to suicide, lover/it was me who held the knife you fell on/It’s as if I’d pulled the rope tighter/Now you’re not here, I am/Sorry Angel, sorry so.” They don’t make sweet-talkers like Serge anymore—not even in France.Paying homage to the living are the artists on the soundtrack from Lian Lunson’s Leonard Cohen: I’m Your Man—but it’s deadly anyway. The problem with the album is the same problem as with the film. Turns out most of the performers really want to use Cohen as an excuse to pay homage to themselves. The songs remain great, great enough to duck for cover from most of the assaults received here. And some renditions are fairly straightforward, like Teddy Thompson’s “Tonight Will Be Fine” which is, well, fine. The heartfelt Manhattan artiste snapshots of Rufus Wainwright’s “Chelsea Hotel No. 2” are pretty moving. He does well with the perma-stain cynicism of his “Everybody Knows,” too. And Martha Wainwright pays ample justice to “The Traitor.” But her “Tower of Song,” Nick Cave’s “I’m Your Man,” Antony’s “If It Be Your Will,” and all too many other tracks will make your skin crawl. Lots of self-involved howlin’ and growlin’ and muggin’. I’m a U2 fan, but Bono’s Cohen duet in “Tower of Song” might be his saddest suck-up since getting chummy with B.B. in Rattle and Hum. Pull the originals off the rack, or seek them out. You’ll be better served.
Jackie Greene’s American Myth is an hour of fun, twangy, witty retro-rock, scrubbed up by producer Steve Berlin with some generous horn arrangements and mod guitar effects. Hard-drivers like “I’m So Gone” and “Cold Black Devil” have a lot of kick. For my money, though, I’d like to hear more punchy Van Morrison-type strollers like “So Hard to Find My Way” or meditative lost-love songs like “Just As Well.” “I can’t keep your heart if your heart can’t be kept satisfied,” Greene sighs. If her heart wasn’t flattered by the likes of this sweet sorrowful wave goodbye, heck, he’s better off without her.
The quintet Ollabelle’s Riverside Battle Songs is grand. The album’s a blend of bluegrass, blues, gospel, and acoustic rock. The group puts some plucky red-dirt earthiness in bedrocks like George Bass and Nina Simone’s “See Line Woman” and the traditional “Riverside.” I also loved “Blue Northern Lights,” a mournful country desirous waltz with heart–pinching lyrics: “It gets in your bones/Rattles your windows when you’re alone/Your soil turns to stone/The bottle don’t help so you reach for the phone.” Similarly wrenching is the minimalist “Everything Is Broken”: “Fall back to the one thing/One thing that made sense/Arms around each other/In the present tense.” There’s a high earnestness quotient here. You’ve got to be in the mood for some heart and memory and soul dissection. But I sure look forward to hearing more from these talented musicians, who remind me of a group I heard once and loved a long time ago in South Texas called Grains of Faith.
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I've been listening, also, to a great young jazz trio, newly signed to the Enja label. Minsarah is German-born pianist Florian Weber; drummer Ziv Ravitz, who began his career in Israel and
has gone on to work with heavyweights like Lee Konitz; and Virginia’s Jeff Denson on Bass, recipient of Berklee’s Outstanding Performer Award. The three met at Berklee in the fall of 2000, but have already developed a wonderfully mature unity and sensitive ensemble feel, giving—all too rare—Denson’s bass ample room to roam and show off the fluidity, sonorous tone, and natural vibrato of his playing (I have in mind, especially, the divine “Close to the End”). The music comes at you softly but assuredly, anchored by Weber’s playful, airy chordal sense. Ravitz’s percussion is fine flexible spine—never overpowering, and always suited and more than sufficient to the natural momentum of the number. I particularly enjoyed the breezy opener, “Through the Mist” by Denson, the take-its-time rendition of Bjork’s “New World,” and the Debussyish “Nuage,” by Weber, who gets to detour into other keyboard-percussion in “Hojas Marchitas” and “Child’s Play.” Weber’s fine ender, “Lunatic,” does indeed commit its chord chart to the tuney bin, twirling delightedly all the way. This is a trio to watch.
And speaking of the tuney bin, make room for the wild and wonderful Turkish composer and guitarist Erdem Helvacioglu, whose second album, Altered Realities, will alter yours for some 53 fun, fickle minutes. Helvacioglu has given himself an odd challenge, but with oddly rewarding results. He plays his acoustic guitar through a variety of electronic effects, but records it all in real time and doesn’t mess with it in the studio afterward. What might this philosophy even be called? Electro-Ludditism? Listeners looking for otherworldly soundscapes, Martian seduction music it sometimes sounds like, or choreographers looking for inspiring sonorities that are at once accessible and alien, should spend some time with this CD. “Bridge to Horizon” layers calm strumming with unforeseeable beeps and buzzes and shimmers that call to mind the butterfly whose wings cause hurricanes in distant lands. “Frozen Resophonic” is like a lullaby for little baby metal infant-bots. OK, I’ll unplug my own metaphorical effect boxes now. You get the idea.-A.C.K.
