Frank Sinatra And Me (Really)

I once had dinner with Frank Sinatra.  Well, sort of. 
I mention that (details below) because I've just finished reading the massive two-volume biography of Sinatra by James Kaplan.  All together it's about 2,000 pages (including footnotes and sources), but Kaplan's prose is breezy and the many stories and anecdotes from Sinatra's friends and acquaintances make the pages fly by.  If you are a fan of "The Voice," (and if not, why not?) it's well worth your time.  If you're not up for all 2,000 pages, I'll give you a one-line summary: Frank was a world-class S.O.B., but also one of the greatest entertainers in the history of popular music.  While reading the bio, I played Frank's records -- matching up the LPs to the timeline in the biography, beginning with the  early hits on Columbia, the pivotal years with Tommy Dorsey's band, his long heyday on Capitol and Reprise, and ending with his last two studio albums, Duets and Duets II, released in 1993 and 1994 respectively.  He died in 1998.

During his lifetime, Sinatra released 78 LPs: 59 studio albums, five live albums, and 14 compilation albums.  In addition, he released 297 singles, many of them 78s from the days of the screaming bobbysoxers in the 1940s and 50s.  Checking my collection, I find I have 68 Sinatra LPs.  However, I have duplicates and triplicates of numerous titles, as well as a couple of posthumous compilations and foreign releases, so I actually only have 44 of the 78 albums released while Sinatra was alive.  Clearly I've got to pick up the pace.  (If you really want to go crazy, the official Sinatra family website has a list of 10,066 Sinatra albums that have been released all time worldwide.)

To mark what would have been Sinatra's 100th birthday in 2015 (Frank was born in 1915), Universal Music (UMe) remastered and reissued a bunch of Sinatra's best-selling and most-loved albums.  Listening again to my Sinatra albums as I read the bio, I realized that some of the original copies I have are not in great shape and decided to order a few of the new pressings to see how they sound.  I bought Come Fly With Me, Come Dance With Me, Francis Albert Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim, Nice 'N' Easy, Ring-A-Ding-Ding, and In The Wee Small Hours.  All are classic, must-have Sinatra albums.

 After comparing the new versions to my original pressings (the only one I didn't already have was Ring-A-Ding-Ding), I am happy to report that the new releases sound terrific.  I couldn't find any information about who did the remasters or whether the sources used were the original tapes or digital copies.  But to my ear, they sound ring-a-ding-ding: The strings are lush, the brass is fat and sassy, and Sinatra's baritone is rich and beautifully burnished.  The disks are extremely well pressed on quiet 180-gram vinyl by Record Industry in the Netherlands.  All the records come with poly-lined dust sleeves, and the replica jackets look swell.  If you have some holes in your Sinatra collection, my advice is don't bother trying to find originals, which, though widely available, have often been played to death.  For $20 a pop (some even less), you can have new copies complete with that new record smell.  Ahhh.

My Dinner With Frank

OK, now my Sinatra story.  My wife and I were working at the U.S. Embassy in Rome in September of 1991 when Frank came to town to perform a concert as part of his Diamond Jubilee World Tour.  The U.S. Ambassador hosted a gala dinner for Frank and his fourth wife Barbara (the former Mrs. Zeppo Marx) at the Villa Taverna, the official residence of the U.S. Ambassador in Rome.  Since my wife and I were fairly junior officers, we were nowhere near being on the guest list for the soiree.  However, late in the afternoon on the day of the dinner, we got a call from the Ambassador's staff to say that one of the invited couples had cancelled at the last minute, and they needed us to get dressed and get over to the residence to fill the empty seats right now.  Well, sure.  And on the way, we should stop at the Hotel Excelsior to pick up TV personality John McLoughlin and give him a ride.  OK. 

The Villa Taverna in Rome

We quickly got ready, raced across town to fetch McLoughlin, and got to the Villa Taverna just before the other guests began to arrive.  As my wife was taking McLoughlin inside to meet the Ambassador, the Ambassador's secretary frantically pulled me aside and said, "There's nobody here to greet the guests.  You speak Italian, so stay here and welcome everyone and make sure they all sign the guest book."  OK.  (Foreign Service Officers are nothing if not adaptable.)  I took up my post under the portico of the main door (above) and greeted everyone as they arrived, including Gina Lollobrigida, Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme (who were the opening act for Sinatra), and actor/funnyman George Segal who was in Rome filming a TV show.  There were a number of other well-known Italian personalities and business moguls who I can't remember.  Almost everyone was somebody since dinner with Frank was the hottest ticket in town. [Fun facts: Gina Lollobrigida co-starred with Sinatra in the 1959 movie Never So Few, a film set in wartime Burma.  Contrary to some malicious wags, Kaplan says that Frank and Gina did not hook up during filming.  The film also features a young Steve McQueen.]

Frank and Barbara were two of the last to arrive for the dinner.  As they got out of the limo, I welcomed them to the residence and asked if they would please sign the Ambassador's guest book.  Frank gave me a look like he had just stepped in dog poop and muttered, "I ain't signing the goddamn guest book."  Barbara smiled at me and whispered to Frank, "Be nice."  She quickly signed for the two of them, and I ushered them inside. 

George Segal

Dinner was outside in the magnificent gardens behind the Villa.  I don't recall precisely, but believe there were 6-8 round tables set out for about 50 guests.  I was seated next to George Segal, who was a very nice guy and a lot of fun to talk to.  Out of the blue he asked me if I knew where he could get a banjo, because he thought he might play it on his TV appearance the next evening.  (Segal is a fine banjo player.)  He was delighted when I told him that I played a little banjo myself and would be happy to loan him mine.  (In the end, the studio found a banjo for him, so my five-string missed its moment in the spotlight.) 

Steve and Eydie

Frank and Barbara were seated at the head table with the Ambassador and his wife, along with Steve and Eydie and Gina Lollobrigida.  It was a gorgeous September evening in Rome, with twinkly lights strung overhead in the garden.  I don't remember much else about the dinner except that after coffee and desert the Ambassador made brief remarks and then asked if Frank could possibly favor us with a song (the staff had moved the residence's baby grand onto a nearby side patio and had hired a pianist to be on standby just in case.)  I couldn't hear Frank, but he had the same look as when I asked him to sign the guest book earlier.  After a brief, awkward pause, Steve and Eydie got up and graciously agreed to do a couple of numbers.  The Sinatras left soon afterward, but the party moved inside and continued for some time afterward.

It was a pretty memorable evening for my wife and me, and all these years later I'm sorry to note that we didn't even get a mention in Kaplan's book.  

Enjoy the music!

Was Your Favorite Music Released When You Were 14 Years Old?

A couple of years ago, the New York Times ran an interesting piece by an economist who used data from Spotify to work out at what age we form our closest attachment to popular music.  By comparing the year of release for the songs to the age of the user, he determined that men most frequently play songs that were released when they were 13-16 years old.  For women, it was 11-14. 

The author concluded that we form our deepest and longest-lasting attachments to music when we are in our early teens, which is to say the age when most people go through puberty.  Makes sense to me.

I grew up in the 1970s.  I went to junior high, high school, and college all in the 70s.  According to the article in the Times, the years when I would have been forming my closest attachments to music were 1970-1973, when I was 13-16 years old.  If, before I read the Times study, you had asked me to pick my favorite period for popular music, I would have guessed roughly 1965-1975, which seems to be the time frame for the albums I have listened to the most over the last 45-50 years. My guess would overlap and be consistent with the results of the Times study.

However, I don't stream songs, I listen to records.  And I think about my favorite music in terms of albums and groups rather than individual songs. So it might be more instructive to look at my LP collection and see what it says about my favorite years for music.  

The database that I use to catalog my LPs (Orange CD) allows me to search by year of release.  If the Times article is correct, we might predict that I would have more albums that came out in the years 1970-1973 than any others.  Based on the number of records by year of release, here are the top 12 years in my collection and the number of albums I have for each year:

1977 - 260
1973 - 251
1971 - 247
1972 - 245
1970 - 230
1976 - 223
1967 - 209
1969 - 209
1978 - 209
1966 - 204
1974 - 191
1975 - 190

As it turns out, my guess of 1965-1975 was pretty close, even though my collection seems to skew a little more toward 1966-1976 or 1967-1977.  In any case, 1970-1973, which the Times article suggested would be my favorite years, are four of the top five years in my collection.  As they used to say on the TV show Mythbusters, the Times's theory is "confirmed."

While I was reading about how and when we form attachments to music, I came across some other studies that say that even though the early teen years are most crucial in forming our musical preferences, people generally continue following and discovering new music until their early 30s.  After that, most people pretty much just listen to whatever they liked before then for the rest of their lives.  If that is accurate, it would suggest that for me, I would not be very interested in or have strong attachments to music released after about 1990, when I turned 33.  

As it happens, that's just when the LP essentially disappeared from the market, replaced by cassettes and CDs.  So it's hard to draw any conclusions by counting albums in my collection from those years.  However, a bunch of music from the 90s (and later) has since been reissued on vinyl, and it's telling that out of the 6,000 plus albums I own, only about 200 are albums of new music released after 1990.

And most of those are albums by artists I have been following since the 70s, such as Tom Waits' Mule Variations from 1999, Joni Mitchell's Shine from 2007, or Bruce Springsteen's Western Stars, released in 2019.  Which is to say that I'm not discovering many new artists, just enjoying new music by the same artists that I have followed for decades.  I believe that the theory about when we stop discovering new music is also "confirmed," at least for me.

I hasten to add that it's not that I actively dislike music from the last three decades (well, some of it), it's rather that I just don't know much about it and don't have much interest in it.  A case in point is Nirvana's Nevermind, released in 1991 and listed as the 17th best album of all time by Rolling Stone Magazine.  I've listened to it a number of times trying to understand what the fuss is about, and I just don't get it.  I don't dislike it, it just does nothing for me.  But since so many people who know music think so highly of it, I believe it's just the case that I heard it too late to appreciate it.  Likewise with other top groups from the 90s and the 00s.  Some of the music is pleasant and well-crafted, but it doesn't resonate with me.

In fact, I can count on one hand the pop artists who debuted after 1990 that I listen to with any regularity.  Without looking, I can think of Nick Waterhouse, Josh Rouse, Holly Cole, The Explorers Club, Madeleine Peyreux, and um, let's see here, there must be another one. Um, nope. (And it occurs to me that all these artists are in most respects retro; their music sounds as if could have been released decades ago.)

At the same time, my appreciation for music of the 50s and 60s -- all kinds of jazz and singers like Johnny Hartman, Sarah Vaughn, Sammy Davis Jr., and Anita O'Day -- has grown exponentially over the past 20 years, well past the age when I should be discovering and enjoying "new" music.  Maybe it's like when younger people today say that they love the Stones or the Dead; there is some kind of a loophole for developing an attachment to music that was created before our early teens. Discuss.

At any rate, the various articles I found online have answered a lot of questions for me.  I think it's true that most of us form our closest emotional bonds with music we hear during our early teen years.  Beyond that, we have about a 15 year window when our brains are still receptive to new music.  After that, I would say it's still possible to develop an appreciation for new music, but perhaps not the kind of emotional attachment that we have for the music of our youth.  Which explains why nearly everyone believes that "music was so much better when I was a kid."  Turns out it's true.

Enjoy the music!

DOL, Doxy, Vinyl Passion, Jazz Wax, PanAm, Wax Time - Listening Test Part 2

My blog from January 2019 about the many European public domain labels reissuing classic jazz albums was one of the most popular pieces I have posted.  It continues to get numerous hits, as apparently lots of people still have questions about the quality of these reissues.

Over the past year I have added quite a few more public domain titles to my collection.  So I thought it might be useful to do another round of listening tests to see if my initial impressions are still accurate.  

In my previous post I went into quite a bit of detail about the legality and morality of public domain recordings, so I won't repeat any of that here.  However, I will note that since I last checked, I've found five more public domain labels: Spellbound, Wax Love, Matchball Records, Spiral Records and Del Ray Records.  The latter two are both spin-offs of the Barcelona-based WaxTime Records.  WaxTime's stable now includes the lion's share of the public domain labels, including, in addition to Spiral and Del Ray, Jazz Classics, Jazz Wax, Pan Am, Vinyl Lovers, and WaxTime.  I don't know why they keep creating more labels -- there must be some marketing or legal reasons.  I would note that Del Ray Records is not a jazz label per se, but is reissuing vintage vocal records by artists such as Ray Charles, Connie Francis, and Nat King Cole.  Several of the other public domain jazz labels have also added some early rock, blues, and vocal titles.

The Shootout, Part 2

I have selected ten more reissues and compared them to licensed digital copies of the same album.  It would be really interesting to compare the public domain reissues to original vinyl releases, but the whole point of buying public domain releases (at least for me) is that they allow me to own mint vinyl copies of rare and expensive jazz albums that would be extremely hard to find and nearly impossible to afford.

As before, I list the public domain label, catalog number, artist, and title.  Following that in parentheses are the label, catalog number, year, and country (if not the US) for each of the CDs I used for comparison.  

Matchball 29015, Billie Holiday, Lady In Satin (mono);
(Columbia CK 65144, 1997)

Like the Jazz Images label, Matchbox uses alternative cover art.  The CD has more air, more separation, and more high-end definition, particularly in the strings.  The top end is smoothed off on the vinyl, and the strings sound like they are glued together. Holiday's voice is clearer and more natural-sounding on the CD.  Holiday's wispy phrasing is a bit too burnished on the vinyl.  I'll take the CD.

WaxTime 500 408735, Wynton Kelly, Someday My Prince Will Come; (Vee Jay - NVJ2-902, 1992)

This is released on the WaxTime 500 sublabel, which claims to be "strictly limited" to only 500 copies.  This is a great-sounding LP. It has wonderful tone and texture. The piano sounds natural and analog. The soundstage is superb, the rhythm section is tight and in the pocket.  It sounds like a high-end US audiophile repressing.  The CD, by comparison, is tinny and etched.  The vinyl is a no brainer.

Pan Am Records 9152290, Jim Hall Trio, The Complete "Jazz Guitar"; (Pacific Jazz TOCJ-9318, 2001 Japan)

Interestingly, there at least three public domain versions of this on Pan Am, WaxTime, and Jazz Images.  Level-matched and switching back and forth with the CD in my listening chair, I couldn't reliable say which version was which. Jim Hall's guitar sounds extremely natural and vibrant, with excellent definition and separation. Oddly enough, the LP has just a hair more high-end.  Vinyl me, please.

Spiral Records 8105260, Oscar Peterson Trio, On The Town (mono); (Verve 314 543 834-2, 2001)

This is another A/B comparison where I really can't hear any difference.  Peterson's piano sounds natural and has great dynamics from the whispered trills to the solid bass notes.  Peterson's humming accompaniment and the light background tinkling of glasses in this live recording from Toronto's Town Tavern makes you feel like you're sitting right down front.  Get the LP since it has a bonus track,   


Jazz Wax JWR 4591, Nat King Cole, Welcome To The Club;
(Audio Fidelity AFZ-153, 2013)

The hybrid SACD was remastered by Steve Hoffman, and the stereo layer is fabulous.  But, wow,  so is the sound on the LP.  On both, the soundstage is wide and deep and the horns are just perfect, alternatively sweet and brassy.  The bass on the CD is a little tighter and more defined, but Nat's voice on the LP seems to have the slightest bit more texture.  A toss-up, but the vinyl has a bonus track.

DOL 810, Clifford Brown Memorial Album;
(Blue Note RVG Edition 7243 5 32141 2 8, 2001)

Compared to the CD, the vinyl sounds anemic -- thin with no bottom end.  Switching back and forth on the cut Hymn Of The Orient, Art Blakey's kick drum just about disappears on the LP, and Brown's trumpet loses its luster.  No contest.  The Blue Note RVG CD remasters were not universally well received, but this one sounds very fine to me.  Plus the CD has extensive new liner notes and a bunch of bonus tracks and alternate takes. No contest.

Jazz Workshop JW-069, Blue Mitchell, Blue's Moods;
(Riverside Records - VICJ-61057, 2003, Japan)

These both sound outstanding, with realistic texture and a great analog feel. The CD is a Japanese XRCD copy and sounds as close to analog as any CD I have.  Still, the feel of Roy Brooks's stick on the snare and Sam Jones's finger on the bass strings seems the slightest bit more "right in front of you" on the vinyl.  No bonus tracks, but you do get the fabulous 12" photo of Mitchell on the cover. 

Vinyl Passion VP-80803, The Eminent Jay Jay Johnson, Vols 1 & 2; (Blue Note RVG Edition 7243 5 32143 2 6, 2001)

If these two aren't mastered from the same source, I'll eat my hat.  I literally cannot tell these apart.  OK, the vinyl sounds a bit more analog -- because it is!  And honestly, what it really sounds like is a digital file that's been cut to vinyl.  Once again this RVG Edition CD sounds fine to me.  However, the Vinyl Passion release is a double LP with both volumes for the same price.  Fugetaboutit, get the vinyl.

DOL 978HG, Muddy Waters, Folk Singer;
(HD Tracks 24-192 digital download, 2016)

This acoustic Muddy Waters set is so intimate that if you close your eyes it feels like you're in the studio. It doesn't seem like a fair fight to compare a public domain reissue to the stunningly good HD Tracks 24-192 digital download.  And yet, the vinyl only loses by a hair, with ever so slightly less air.  On the other hand, the vinyl has a "Deluxe Gatefold" jacket (the original did not) with extra studio photos. There are five bonus tracks. My recommendation: get both.

Vinyl Lovers 6785432, Chet Baker, Quartet: Russ Freeman Chet Baker; (Mosaic Records, MD3-122, 1987)

Wow, what a great band!  Leroy Vinnegar on bass and Shelly Manne on drums round out the quartet.  The digital copy I have is the 1987 Mosaic Records 3-CD set of The Complete Pacific Jazz Studio Recordings with Russ Freeman.  This session dates from November 6, 1956.  I would wager that the 1987 Mosaic remaster is the digital source for the LP.  The two sound identical to me.  If you are a Chet fan, the Mosaic box set's extensive notes and session information are a goldmine, but you don't get the great original cover. 

Conclusions

I now have about 50 public domain titles.  With a couple of exceptions, they are all pressed by GZ Media (formerly gzvinyl) in the Czech Republic on 180-gram vinyl.  Not one of the titles is warped, off-center, or has any surface noise to speak of.  In terms of quality control, GZ is head and shoulders above all but the top few audiophile pressing plants in the U.S.  Whatever sources the public domain labels are using, almost all of them are clean, quiet, and well-mastered.  (There are a few clunkers that are compressed and just plain bad-sounding, but only a few.)  The album art (or alternative art) on all of them is nicely reproduced on quality stock.  Many of the albums have bonus tracks which are not on the original pressings.  Nearly all of the albums include a nice poly-lined dust sleeve.  Copies are readily available at many retailers and from Discogs and Ebay sellers.  I am paying anywhere from $12-16 per LP (2021 update -- more like $20-25 now).  

The vast majority of the public domain titles that I have purchased are produced using Direct Metal Mastering (DMM).  DMM (as the name suggests) cuts the source directly to a copper disk, eliminating a couple of the steps needed to turn a lacquer disk into a stamper.  You can read more about the process and lots of discussion of the pros and cons of DMM online.  I'm almost certain I could not reliably guess which process was used by listening to a random record.  In my experience, DMM records tend to have a slightly more pronounced and detailed high end.  Purists would say that DMM sacrifices some of the warmth of vinyl, making LPs sound somewhat more digital.  Like most people over 60, I can't hear much above 12-14kHz anyway, so I find a little high-end boost to be a good thing.  To my ears, even LPs created with Direct Metal Mastering sound warmer and more pleasing than digital copies. 

The bottom line is that I continue to believe that public domain reissues are a good value.  And while it's instructive to compare these reissues to digital files, the real test for me is that when I'm listening to a public domain LP, I almost never find myself wishing I had a better-sounding copy.

Enjoy the music!

The Treasures of Xanadu - Hidden Gems On Small Jazz Labels

Once you have a modest collection of albums -- let's say five or six thousand -- including nearly every essential work by nearly every essential jazz and rock artist (at least the ones you like), what do you buy next?  

As my collection has grown, I have reached a point where there aren't many gaps left to fill in my core collection.  For my favorite groups, like the Beatles or The Beach Boys, that means I have just about every note they ever recorded, including obscure outtakes and live recordings, home demos, and newly-issued remasters.  For other rock and jazz artists like The Rolling Stones and Miles Davis, I have copies of all the albums that I like.  I am never going to buy a copy of Dirty Work or Bitches Brew by Miles Davis, because even if I owned them I'd never listen to them.  (Ditto for Dylan's Knocked Out Loaded and Down In The Groove.)  Of course, your mileage may vary.

Let's see: got it, got it, got it, got it, got it, got it, and got it.

 

Since there aren't a lot of essential recordings I'm still looking for, I've spent a lot of time in the last few years upgrading my collection: swapping out VG albums for Near Mint, buying newly-remastered audiophile releases to go with my original copies, or maybe picking up a first pressing to replace a latter reissue.  But there is a limit to this as well, since continually buying the same album in the hopes of finding a slightly better sounding version is why I have eight (count 'em) copies of Steely Dan's Aja. 

A more rewarding option is finding new artists that I somehow overlooked or missed the first time around.  I've written about some of these in previous blogs - including singer songwriters like Jim Sullivan, John Stewart, and Tom Jans, all of whom I have really enjoyed listening to and learning more about.

When it comes to jazz artists, there are exponentially more talented and inventive musicians who I haven't really explored properly.  For every Miles Davis, Dave Brubeck, John Coltrane, or Stan Getz (who between them probably sold 25% of all the jazz albums in the 50s and 60s) there are countless other brilliant players who toiled away in relative obscurity, gigging in clubs, hopping in and out of big bands, sitting in on other artists' sessions, or recording background music for TV shows and advertising jingles in Los Angeles and New York studios to make ends meet.  

But thanks to a few discerning producers and a handful of intrepid record labels (who, let's face it, couldn't afford the big names anyway), some of these lesser know musicians occasionally got a chance to step into the spotlight and lead a session or two.  And the resulting music is often every bit as compelling as anything the big names put out.

Lately I've been buying a lot of albums by these lesser-known artists on labels like Pablo, Concord Jazz, Pacific Jazz, Palo Alto Records, Chiaroscuro, Milestone, Muse, and Inner City.  Some of the artists include Hampton Hawes, Joe Venuti, Frank Foster, Barry Harris, Al Cohn, Jimmy Raney, Zoot Sims, Ray Bryant, Red Rodney, Frank Wess, Ira Sullivan, Kenny Barron, Terry Gibbs, and Dolo Coker.  And while they are far from unknown, none of these artists would be high on the list of top-selling or best-loved jazz musicians.

With that in mind, a few weeks ago I got an email from a record dealer in New York state saying that he had found a stash of new old stock (NOS) Xanadu Records from the 1970s and 80s, and did I want some?  I had heard of Xanadu, but a quick check of my database showed that I didn't own any albums on the label.  So I did a little research on the Interwebs.

Don Schlitten

Xanadu Records was founded by record executive/producer Don Schlitten.  According to his Wikipedia bio, Schlitten was born in 1932.  By 1955, at the tender age of 23, he co-founded his first record label, Signal, which recorded artists such as Duke Jordan, Gigi Gryce, and Red Rodney.  When Savoy Records bought out Signal in the late 1950s, Schlitten spent most of the next decade working as a freelance producer, including leading a number of sessions for Prestige Records.  Prestige eventually hired him as Vice President and Art Director in the late 60s.  In 1972, he and fellow Prestige executive Joe Fields left the label to found Cobblestone Records, a small jazz imprint that released some quality Sonny Stitt LPs among its otherwise rather limited output.  In the next few years, Schlitten and Fields went on to found Muse Records and Onyx Records.

In 1975, after Fields bought him out, Schlitten started his own label, Xanadu Records (inspired apparently by the name of the fictional mansion in Orsen Wells' film Citizen Kane, itself loosely based on newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst's palatial estate, Hearst Castle, in San Simeon, CA.)  Over the next decade, Schlitten released more than 200 albums on the Xanadu label.  The list of artists is a who's who of musicians that sound sort of familiar, but who you really can't place, including Al Cohn, Barry Harris, Charles McPherson, Mickey Tucker, Sam Most, Frank Butler, Ronnie Cuber, and Sam Noto.

Schlitten seems to have taken inspiration from Norman Granz's Pablo label (founded two years earlier, in 1973), in that he focused on straight ahead bebop, using a stable of in-house musicians who often played on each others' sessions and toured together.  Just like Granz did for his Pablo releases, Schlitten took the pictures and designed the covers for his Xanadu albums.  Both labels featured stark black and white cover photos taken in the studio during the recording sessions.  And not to get too carried away, but also like Granz, Schlitten wrote many of the liner notes for his albums.

After some research, I picked out 10 Xanadu titles that looked promising and sent in my order.  I received the records a few days ago, and while I haven't listened to all of them yet, so far I can say that these are extremely well recorded albums with great performances.  And since they are original stock from the 70s and 80s, they are all-analog pressings.  Of the ones I've opened, all but one were cut by Joe Brescio at The Master Cutting Room in NYC.  (The other was mastered by John Matousek at Bell Sound Studios, NYC.)  The sound on all of them is superb.

It's always a treat to discover great music by previously unfamiliar artists.  I've still got a few albums to go, but so far the releases by trumpeter Sam Noto have been by a huge revelation for me.  Based on some enthusiastic online reviews, I took a flyer and bought all four of his Xanadu albums, released between 1975-78.  I am pretty sure I had never heard of Noto before buying these albums.  Talk about your journeyman jazz players.  The excellent liner notes on Noto's debut album, Entrance! (Xanadu 103), tell the story of a trumpet prodigy from Buffalo, NY, who at 14 years of age had his mind blown by recordings of Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker.  He dropped out of high school and spent most of the 50s and 60s picking up gigs and traveling with a succession of big bands, including stints with Louis Belson, Stan Kenton, and Count Basie.  In 1969, he moved to Las Vegas where he played in show bands so he could earn a steady pay check to support his family.  It wasn't until 1975, when Noto was 45 years old, that he finally got his big break:  After years of cajoling, the great trumpeter Red Rodney, who had heard Noto play in Vegas, finally convinced his old friend Don Schlitten, who just happened to have a brand new record label, to get Noto in the studio to record his first album.

The rest of course is history, as Noto went on to become the biggest-selling trumpeter in jazz history.  Yeah, right.  I don't know how many albums Noto sold, but I know it wasn't nearly as many as he deserved to.  Which is a crying shame, because as music writer Phil Nyhuis points out in this excellent portrait of Noto: "Like Clifford Brown, one of his inspirations, Noto's jazz solos possess effortless technical mastery, a flawless sense of time, an endless supply of musical ideas, and a haunting, burnished sound."  As of this writing, Noto is happily still with us and living in Buffalo. 

The moral of the story is that no matter how many records you have, there is almost no end of wonderful music left to discover.  If you're looking for some compelling hard bop played with style and substance, check out Sam Noto and Xanadu Records.

Enjoy the music!

The Great American Songbook, Produced By Norman Granz

I suspect that most music fans (at least of a certain age) are familiar with the classic "Song Book" series that Ella Fitzgerald recorded with producer Norman Granz on the Verve label in the late 1950s and early 1960s. 

These are without question the definitive interpretations of the standard American song catalog.  As Ira Gershwin guipped, "I didn't know how good our songs were until I heard Ella sing them." 

The eight albums that Granz and Ella released are:

-Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Song Book (1956)
-Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Rodgers & Hart Song Book (1956)
-Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Duke Ellington Song Book (1957)
-Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Irving Berlin Song Book (1958)
-Ella Fitzgerald Sings the George And Ira Gershwin Song Book (1959)
-Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Harold Arlen Song Book (1961)
-Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Jerome Kern Song Book (1964)
-Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Johnny Mercer Song Book (1964)

Ella's recordings of the works of these great songwriters did more than any other performer to define what would become known as "The Great American Songbook."  If that seems obvious today, it was extraordinary in the context of race relations in America in the 1950s and 60s.  As Frank Rich of the New York Times wrote in his 1996 obituary of Ella Fitzgerald, she "performed a cultural transaction as extraordinary as Elvis's integration of white and African-American soul.  Here was a black woman popularizing urban songs often written by immigrant Jews to a national audience of predominantly white Christians." 

As extraordinary as Ella's songbook series was, it was at best the third songbook series.  The first appears to have been recorded by Lee Wiley, a popular, sultry-voiced singer, who, in 1939, released an album of four 78s with eight songs by George and Ira Gershwin.  She followed up with collections of 78s by Cole Porter, Rodgers & Hart, Harold Arlen, Vincent Youmans, and Irving Berlin.  The last two, which appeared in the early 50s, were issued on 10" LPs.  

I have no idea if legendary producer, jazz impresario, label owner, and civil-rights pioneer Norman Granz was inspired by Lee Wiley.  But in 1952, he began to produce and record a series of "songbook" albums with the Oscar Peterson Trio.  Backed by Barney Kessel or Herb Ellis on guitar and Ray Brown on bass, Peterson's interpretations of the works of the giants of American song are a tour de force.  From 1952-1955, Granz released 10 "Peterson Plays" LPs on his Clef label.  Original copies of the albums tend to be expensive and/or hard to find in good condition. However, a few of the titles are available as reissues. 

Fun fact: Canadian Oscar Peterson was "discovered" by Norman Granz in the summer of 1949 during Granz's visit to Montreal to set up a concert by his group of traveling jazz all-stars, known as "Jazz At The Philharmonic" (JATP).  Grantz was so impressed by the young pianist that he arranged to bring him to New York to be a "surprise" guest at a JATP concert at Carnegie Hall in September.  Peterson was an immediate hit, and within a few months, he was one of the stars of the JATP show.  

Another fun fact: JATP stalwart and Oscar Peterson Trio bassist Ray Brown was married to Ella Fitzgerald from 1947-1953.

Barely a year after the last LP in the Clef Records "Peterson Plays" series hit the stores in early 1955, Granz was back in the studio to start what would turn out to be by far the most important of the songbook series releases -- Ella Fitzgerald's eight-album masterpiece.  With this series, not only did Granz cement Ella's reputation as the greatest singer in the history of American popular music, he also created what would turn out to be the definitive account of the golden era of of American song.  Fun fact: By 1956, when the first of Ella's songbook albums was released, Granz had created a new label called Verve Records.  Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Song Book (MG V-4001-2) was the first album released on the new Verve label.

Astonishingly, Granz wasn't yet done with the American songbook.  In 1957, he took the Oscar Peterson Trio back into the studio to start another series!  To change things up a bit, Granz replaced the guitar in Peterson's trio with drummer Ed Thigpen.  (If you hear a selection from one of the Peterson songbook albums and don't know which series it's from, listen to whether it has a guitar or drums.)

From 1957 to 1961, Granz released nine albums in the second "Oscar Peterson Plays" song book collection.  If you're counting, that's 19 Oscar Peterson LPs of the American songbook.  All of Ella Fitzgerald's song book releases were double albums except for Jerome Kern and Johnny Mercer.  Her Gershwin songbook ultimately totaled five LPs.  I'm no good at math, but between Fitzgerald and Peterson, Granz produced nearly 40 albums of music from the American songbook.

But wait, there's more!  In 1952 Granz convinced Fred Astaire to record a four-album career retrospective, including many of the classic songs Astaire had introduced on Broadway or in his hit movies.  The set was titled The Astaire Story, and while it wasn't billed as a songbook album per se, the vast majority of the songs are by Irving Berlin, George and Ira Gershwin, Cole Porter, and Jerome Kern.  The collection was released as a signed, limited edition box set by Mercury Records in 1953.  Fun fact: Granz already had the Oscar Peterson Trio (Peterson, Barney Kessel and Ray Brown) in the studio recording Peterson's first songbook series.  So Granz used them as the backing band for Astaire's sessions, adding Alvin Stoller on drums, Flip Phillips on tenor sax, and Charlie Shavers on trumpet.

Bottom line: While Ella deservedly gets credit for her definitive interpretation of the songbook, if anyone ever asks you who invented "The Great American Songbook," the answer is Norman Granz.

Postscript: By the mid 60s, rock 'n' roll had just about killed off jazz, but the American songbook was alive and well.  In addition to nearly every popular vocalist of the 60s and 70s -- from Sinatra to Streisand -- a number of rock 'n' roll stars have had a go at the standards.  The growing list includes Ringo Star, Harry Nilsson, Carly Simon, Linda Ronstadt, Brian Ferry, Boz Scaggs, Willie Nelson, Paul McCartney, and Rod Stewart.

Enjoy the music!

A Day In The Life Of A Record Fanatic

When I tell people that I'm a record collector and have thousands of LPs, one of the first questions I get is "How do you decide what to listen to?"  I suppose they imagine me spending hours staring at my wall of records, trying to figure out what the heck I want to hear next. 

Decisions, decisions . . .

 

 

But the fact is, I hardly ever spend time looking through my shelves for something to listen to (unless I've managed to misfile something and can't find it).  So, how do I decide what to play next?  It's a fair question, and I realized the other day that I don't have a good answer.  Sure, some days I wake up knowing that I want to hear some Beatles or Joe Venuti (look him up).  But usually it's a more subtle process that seems to happen organically based on my mood, the weather (really), a song I heard in the car the night before, an article from a music magazine about a group or performer that I haven't listened to in a while, a record review in an audio magazine, a blog post discussing the merits of different pressings of an album, an email ad for a newly reissued LP, or, often as not, looking through my pile of recent LP purchases for something interesting to start the day with.

As I wrote in a recent post, I regularly come home with 20-30 albums after going through the $1 bins at a record store or digging through crates at an antique mall.  And it's a rare week that I don't order an LP or two from Amazon or Discogs.  As a result, I almost always have 50-100 albums in the intake pile that I'm anxious to get to.

To better explain how it seems to work, I thought it might be interesting to pick a random day (last Friday) and make a list of the records I listened to that day and explain how I came to choose the particular albums.  Here you go:

#1
Earlier in the week I had read somewhere about the reissue of an album by a relatively unknown L.A. singer/songwriter named Jim Sullivan, who released two albums before mysteriously disappearing in the desert of New Mexico.  I'd never heard of Sullivan, but some sample tracks I listened to online sounded good, so I ordered the reissue.  Jim Sullivan was actually his second album, originally released in 1972.  While I was at it, I went ahead and ordered the reissue of his first album, called U.F.O., which originally came out in 1969.

Jim Sullivan arrived last Thursday, so first thing Friday morning I cleaned it, entered it in my database, and sat down for a listen.  It's terrific -- a lost jewel of southern California folk/rock.  These songs would have been right at home in the 70s in Laurel Canyon or at the Troubadour on Sunset Strip.  With some better luck, Sullivan could have been the next Jackson Browne or Glenn Frey, instead of disappearing in the desert of New Mexico.

#2
The lilting, driving rhythm on a couple of the songs from Jim Sullivan reminded me of the the great Fred Neil tune, "Everybody's Talkin'."  So after Jim Sullivan was over, I pulled down Fred's classic 1966 album, Fred Neil.  I have three copies -- an early 1969 Capitol reissue, a 2002 Scorpio reissue, and a 2013 reissue from the 4 Men With Beards label.  I played side 1 of the original Capitol version, then switched to the 4 Men With Beards version for side 2.  Both sound great, but the original has a bit more detail and tonal balance.  (I also sampled a couple of cuts from the Scorpio reissue, which isn't half bad, but not as good as the others.)  

This gives you some idea of the rabbit holes I tend to go down when I'm listening to music.  After doing the shootout with my three copies of Fred Neil and making a few notes for future reference, I went online to check Discogs for other releases of the album to make sure there isn't a better-sounding version available.  Thank goodness there is not, since I really don't need four copies.

Back to the music.  One of the last songs on Fred Neil is the traditional folk song "Green Rocky Road."  As I was listening, I thought: You know who else does a great version of that song?  Tim Hardin, that's who.

#3
Hardin's version of "Green Rocky Road" is on his first album, the 1966 release Tim Hardin 1.  As I went looking for the album, I realized to my horror that I don't have a copy.  The only version of "Green Rocky Road" I have by Hardin is on a 1970 "best of" collection that is not in great condition.  Not to be deterred, I grabbed the 1968 release Tim Hardin 4 and put it on.  It's a great set of bluesy songs anchored by John Sebastian's fine harmonica.  Interestingly, although it's called Tim Hardin 4, the album is really a demo tape Hardin made in 1964 as an audition for Columbia Records.  In 1968, his then label, Verve Forecast, repackaged the audition tape and put it out as a new release.  Hardin was apparently not amused.  

Fun facts: Hardin was a Marine and served in Southeast Asia.  Tim Hardin Nine, his last album, released in 1973, was actually his seventh or eighth album, depending on how you count.

Rabbit hole number two.  After listening to Tim Hardin 4, I had to stop everything and go back online to track down a copy of Tim Hardin 1 to fill the gap in my collection.  After a half hour on Discogs, I found a NM copy of the original pressing for a reasonable price and put in the order.  The album is currently on its was to me from somewhere in California. 

#4
While browsing Discogs, I also came across a nice reissue of Cannonball Adderley's 1958 classic Somethin' Else.  My only copy is the 2014 Blue Note 75th anniversary reissue, which I'd always planned to upgrade some day.  However, I decided I'd better give it a listen to be sure.  Yep, I was right -- incredible music, and a very good remaster by Chris Bellman, but the pressing by United Record Pressing is noisy with some weird low-level whumps.  So back to Discogs.  The reissue of Somethin' Else I had found was from 1997, part of Blue Note's "Top Ten Series," a limited edition of ten (duh) classic Blue Note titles remastered from the original analog tapes by the most excellent Ron McMaster at Capitol Records (which owned Blue Note at the time) and released on 180-gram vinyl.  Everything about this series is first-rate.  And the sound is fabulous.  Counting Somethin' Else, I now have eight of the ten releases in the series.  Get some!

#5
While I was putting Somethin' Else back on the shelf, I pulled out a few other Cannonball titles, including the 1961 release, Know What I Mean?, which features Bill Evans on piano, with the rhythm section of Percy Heath and Connie Kay.  It's one of my favorite albums (with a truly bizarre cover - at left), that features incredible interplay between Cannonball and Evans.  So, what the heck, I'm already in a Cannonball mood, I might as well hear some more.  Fun fact: Julian Adderley got the nickname "Cannonball" while a student at Florida State.  But his nickname was originally "Cannibal," because he was known as a big eater.  Later on some band mates misheard the nickname and took to calling him Cannonball, which is also appropriate (Julian was a big guy) and probably for the best in the long run.

#6
While listening to Bill Evans play his classic "Waltz For Debby" on Know What I Mean?, it reminded me of the great Jerome Kern song, "All The Things You Are," another beautiful and poignant ballad.  So I went looking to see what versions of "All The Things You Are" I have.  My database found 44 different performances of the song in my collection.  It took me a while to figure out which one to listen to, but I thought I'd stick with a piano version and settled on Keith Jarret's terrific performance from the album Tribute.  Tribute is a 1990 release from a 1989 live recording in Cologne, Germany with his longtime trio-mates Gary Peacock and Jack DeJohnette.  "All The Things You Are" is the next to the last song on the two-album set, but wow is it ever worth the wait.  Jarrett starts off with a dazzling (and seemingly) improvised intro, and by the time he gets to something like the actual melody and the band kicks in, it felt like my hair was on fire.  Holy guacamole.  The German pressing on the ECM label is outstanding.

#7
By this point it was getting late, but the UPS man had just left a package with the reissue of Jim Sullivan's first album, U.F.O.  I had enjoyed Jim Sullivan very much and wanted to give a quick listen to U.F.O. before signing off.  U.F.O. is very much of a piece with Jim Sullivan, in the same way that two of James Taylor's early albums have the same sort of sound and feel.  Despite the bizarre and somewhat creepy cover (left), there is lots more fine songwriting and singing by Sullivan and excellent performances by members of the Wrecking Crew, the crack L.A. studio musicians who play on the album.

So there you have it.  I guess my answer to "How do you decide what to listen to?" is:  I don't.  I just go where the music takes me, one album leading to another.  Of course every day is different.  If it's raining tomorrow, I may wake up feeling like some Sinatra or Diana Krall.  And that will inevitably lead me to think of a different take on one of the songs by a different performer, or maybe to an album by guitarist Anthony Wilson, who plays on many of Diana Krall's albums.  That might get me thinking about how Wilson's style clearly owes a debt to Wes Montgomery, and inspire me to listen to some Wes, maybe his great collaboration with Milt Jackson on Bags And Wes, which will remind me that the great pianist Wynton Kelly also plays on the album, so let's hear some more Wynton Kelly, and so on and so on until it's time to go to bed.

Last fun fact: Anthony Wilson is the son of the mostly under-the-radar jazz arranger, conductor, composer, trumpet player Gerald Wilson, who, during his 75-year career, played with, arranged for, or conducted just about everybody in the business, and who should be designated a national treasure.  All of his albums are worth seeking out, but you could do worse than to start with the 1961 release You Better Believe it!, with Richard "Groove" Holmes on organ and a 17-piece big band.  Seriously good stuff.

Enjoy the music!