| From jazz to industrial in four moves – just watch me.
Having started off its …For Lovers series with heavyweights like Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald, Verve has gone with slightly lesser-known lights of the jazz world for its new instalments, including a showcase of singer Johnny Hartman.
Although he performed with such greats as Earl Hines and Dizzy Gillespie, Hartman is probably best known for the 1963 album he recorded with tenor saxman John Coltrane. Two of those duets – "You Are Too Beautiful" and "My One And Only Love" – are included here. Other supporters include Elvin Jones on drums and McCoy Tyner on piano. Granted, it’s hard not to sound good when surrounded by players like these, but Hartman brings to the table a rich, satiny baritone voice that more than holds its own – his rendition of "Unforgettable" is much smoother than Nat King Cole’s.
Admittedly, Hartman for Lovers isn’t thought-provoking music and won’t grab your attention by the throat, but it is certainly enjoyable. So it’s too bad there’s only 40 minutes of it, and ironic that liner essayist Al Young made a point of mentioning how Hartman has often been overshadowed.
On the other hand, no one could accuse Rounder Records of skimping on the production of Ray Brown: A Life In The Blues. In addition to the 10 tracks recorded live at the Lone Star Roadhouse in New York in 1990, there’s a 76-page booklet about the renowned R & B pianist and singer (including thoughts from his friend Bonnie Raitt) and a DVD containing the Lone Star concert, video interviews, and two short films that Brown’s group The Three Blazers appeared in during the 1940s. Whew!
The fuss is warranted, though – Brown, who died in 1999, was an immensely skilled pianist. His playing reflects his many influences – including boogie-woogie, blues, jazz and classical – but the results are uniquely his own. His vocals are less polished than his instrumental skills, but he could still carry a fine tune. His backing musicians are no slouches, either – the rhythm section lays down a solid groove on both well-known songs like "Merry Christmas Baby" and lesser-known tunes like "I Cried Last Night," and Danny Caron’s guitar solos are riveting. A good investment for either fans of Brown’s work or for those looking for a new listening experience.
Speaking of hefty collections, Rykodisc has put out their own weighty volume with their two-disc 20th anniversary set. The label’s founders aren’t quite sure whether to date their origin to 1983 or 1984, and they spend a fair bit of time writing about that in the 40-page booklet. They also write a lot about the original concept behind the company, which was to secure the digital rights to performers’ work and thus bring compact discs to the American listening public. Sound kind of boring? It is.
Overall, the set’s kind of like an eclectic block on non-commercial radio, complete with those moments when you’d like to call the DJ and ask what the heck they were thinking. Some of those come in the form of tracks by Nils Lofgren (soft-pop schmaltz), Badfinger and Big Star. Others come from odd pairings of tracks – following up Kelly Joe Phelps’s sparse and gorgeous "Not So Far To Go" with Robert Cray’s uptempo "24/7 Man" is a rather jarring shift, as is going from Cubanismo to Bruce Cockburn in one fell swoop. And in 36 tracks, there’s only Yoko Ono and roots-country singer Kelly Willis to hold down the women’s side of the line.
There are some nice moments here, including the exotic, languid collaboration between Ali Farka Toure and Ry Cooder, and the pairing of David Bowie’s "Changes" with Sugar’s "Changes" to start the set off. But overall, this collection isn’t the milestone it could – and should – have been.
Rykodisc’s other main offering right now is its reissue of the first three full-length albums by Chicago’s My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult. They’re in the same late-’80s industrial vein as Nine Inch Nails and White Zombie, complete with screaming, anti-religious sentiments and samples from film soundtracks. True, there was a definitely house-y feel to much of their 1987 self-titled album, but that was gone by 1988’s I See Good Spirits And I See Bad Spirits.
Longtime fans might enjoy the bonus tracks on I See Good Spirits… and 1990’s Confessions of a Knife, but there’s none of the other goodies (tell-all essays, DVD footage) that consumers have come to expect from reissues. It is nice, however, to have this material – even though it’s a bit dated now – available to new listeners.
See? Four moves. Not bad, eh? |
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