Love For Lydia (DJF 20514) (1977)

Not for me the ultra-bright, arched-back, erected nipple sexiness of Farrah Fawcett-Majors; no, in the late 1970s, my televisual crush was on Mel Martin, titular star of London Weekend Television’s Love For Lydia by H.E. Bates.  As the tragic, wilful heroine, Martin was able to inspire the hopeless sort of longing destined to end in wistful bitterness. So smitten was I that I allowed her to pull the same trick a decade or so later in the TV adaptation of Len Deighton’s Game, Set, Match trilogy and I keenly felt Ian Holm’s betrayal at her hands. Yet despite such a similar and strong emotional reaction, I didn’t realise it was one and the same actress till researching the present record.

The present record being flapper-style jazz played very straight, along with a few string-laden piano instrumentals, which I purchased this morning from the Lord Whiskey Cat Sanctuary Charity shop for a pound.

The Essential Vic Dickenson (VJD 551) (1977)

Early 50s revival of earlier ensemble polyphony style by Columbus, Ohio-born trombonist-bandleader on the reliable Jazz Vogue label. A lot of avant garde water had passed under the jazz bridge by the time Dickenson came to record these two small group, John Hammond-produced sides (originally issued by Vangard separately as Vic Dickenson Showcase Volume 1 and 2); by and large, however, these revolutionary changes are not reflected in either the repertoire (e.g. “Jeepers, Creepers”) or performances, which favour bluesy and easy swinging melodicism. Nonetheless, the solos are time-stretched in a way that Kid Ory, et al. would never have dreamed in the 1920s; clarinettist Ed Hall shines in particular.

Picked up this afternoon in Hythe, where there seemed to be a lot of mid-century mainstream jazz.

Paul Desmond and Friends – “First Place Again” Playboy (WM 4020) (1960)

Despite being nominal second banana, the most distinctive sound in the Dave Brubeck Quartet no doubt belonged to alto saxophonist Paul Desmond, whose mellow tone is a virtual personification of cool. A similarly relaxed vibe pervades on this awkwardly titled Lp (an early Warner Brothers release) with able help from MJQ’s rhythm section (them again!) and contrast to Desmond’s day job provided by guitarist Jim Hall.

When I first picked this up at Sue Ryder in Sandwich, I put it back for being too beat up. I retrieved it and decided on closer inspection that it just needed a good wash; and while the sound quality might not be as good as I’d hoped (esp. for £2), it’s certainly much better than I feared.

Free Soul – Essential Argo/Cadet Grooves Vol. 3 (ARC 510) (1991)

It was a barrel-shooting excersise the choice this morning to spend 50p at Mind in Cheriton on this Acid Jazz-inspired* Charly compilation of late-60s to late-70s funk-soul-jazz originally released on Chess Records subsidiaries Argo and Cadet and designed for the Rare Groove-head in your life.

As if the presence of Terry Collier’s ebullient “Ordinary Joe” and jazz harpist Dorothy Ashby weren’t enough clue-wise to convince me of purchase, the thanking of Soul Jazz Records (who must’ve only just been founded when this collection was issued), Honest Jon’s, James Lavell, Talkin’ Loud, etc. in the liner notes sealed the deal.

Interestingly, no information readily exists for Volumes 1 and 2 of this purported series.

*It says “File under Funki/Jazz” [sic] on the back cover.

Montana Taylor/Cripple Clarence Lofton – Low Down Piano – Archive of Jazz Volume 15 (BYG 529 065)

Barrelhouse boogie-woogie piano courtesy Folkestone’s Age UK by little-known, highly skilled practitioners from the first half of the last century on eccentric French re-issue imprint; bit more city-fied than the titular Low Down suggests, as I would say. Taylor sings of a world gone bad on these 1946 Chicago sides, taped after a few years lay off from music. Cripple (!) Clarence shows he’s the more flamboyant of the two on the second side’s Windy City recordings from 1939.

More mood specific music for the Asbo libarry.

Modern Jazz Quartet (Atlantic 1265) (1957)

Hell yeah–that’s what I’m talkin’ about! I was just kidding when I said earlier that it wasn’t all about the Modern Jazz Quartet. How the sharp eyes of today’s early birds missed this particular worm, I don’t know, but for only 50p, I got an almost mint condition US press Lp’s worth of the kind of smoothness you wouldn’t see this side of a Gulf of Mexico otter. Hell yeah, I say again.

Maynard Ferguson – Color Him Wild (Fontana TL 5293) (1965)

Bob Dylan on his “reunion” tour with the Band in 1974: “The only thing people talked about was energy this, energy that. The highest compliments were things like, ‘Wow, lotta energy, man.’ The bigger and louder something was, the more energy it was supposed to have. [T]hat’s what people were accepting as heavy energy. [I]t made me want to puke.”

The misdirected “energy” of which Dylan speaks is present in this brassy (in both senses), hyper-charged Big Band record from 1965–several decades after the genre had been codified. The band’s breakneck technical skills are beyond question, but “energy” is no substitute for innovation and the thrill of discovery. This is more like self-congratulations.

Like the rockabilly revival of the late 70s/early 80s there’s something vaguely unsatisfying going on here, like solving a maths problem when you’ve been provided the answer or watching a football match knowing in advance the final score. You still have to do the work to arrive at the given solution, the athletes must still exert themselves in a violent ballet, but the magic is missing.

Cool cover and graphics on this last of the recent Hythe buys.

The Astrud Gilberto Album (VLP 9087) (1965)

“Astrud Gilberto is no longer just The Girl From Ipanema.”  Or so say Jack Maher’s notes on Gilberto’s solo début Lp from the following year. He’s not fooling anybody and goes on to allude to the world-beating hit a further six times. Gilberto is not a technically great vocalist, but producer Creed Taylor has the measure of her abilities and, though surrounded by heavyweights (husband João, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Bud Shank, João Donato, arranger Marty Paich, etc.), provides a pillow-light musical support, some gentle, insistent swing and the wistful melodies (all but two by Jobim) that don’t overwhelm Astrud’s artless, muted trumpet soto voce singing. Her phrasing is far more interesting and lively on the four Portuguese-sung numbers, English exposing a vulnerability verging on tentativeness.

A few years ago, a Gilberto compilation CD on Verve (part of the budget series with the generic ugly tan covers) provided the background to a dinner party I attended in Streatham–I was impressed then how good it was and so snapped up the present pop Bossa album for a pound in Hythe without much ado.

Modern Jazz Quartet – European Concert Vol. I (1961) (SAH-K 6171)

The Modern Jazz Quartet. Even the name sounds didactic.

Of course, I’m a long-time MJQ fan and so was more than happy to part with one quid at a Whitstable junque store for the first volume of an Atlantic live Lp, recorded in front of an ever-so-polite Scandinavian audience in April 1960, which intersperses cool jazz with mild-mannered, professorial between-song patter. I’ve attached the liner notes below, which came as a separate insert sheet, should you wish to read them.

Herbie Mann – London Underground (K 50032) (1974)

Purchased from the same crate as this Lonnie Smith record, London Underground makes even more explicit its desire to reach out to the rock audience. A companion piece to Mann’s earlier Memphis Underground, the London Lp sees the jazz flautist harnessing some of the cream of Britain’s young musicians (Albert Lee, Al Gorry, Aynsley Dunbar, Robbie McIntosh, Ian McDonald) to tackle a brace of “sixeventies” classics (Layla, Something In the Air, Whiter Shade o’ Pale), despite his instrument’s flowery breathiness ill-suiting the genre. Mann gets a lot of stick for the unevenness of his bandwagon jumping (e.g. bossa, disco, reggae) and so it goes here.  His playing and players, obviously, are top flight, and when they catch fire, as on the Stones’ “Bitch” with Mick Taylor reprising his role in full “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”/”Time Waits For No-One” extended solo mode, things well and truly rock. Elsewhere, however, Mann recasts rock melodies as funky mellow and comes off less well. It’s an interesting record and at least he kept his shirt on for this one.

How about this, a grey Atlantic label. Not as sexy as the purple, I know.