Jimmy Rowles’ “The Peacocks” always gets me. I heard it for the first time on a Smithsonian compilation (that is, by the way, a peerless anthology of jazz piano). I love the song because it artfully conveys longing and mystery. Its loneliness is palpable and even painful.
In some cases, appreciating atonality takes work, but dissonance in “The Peacocks” delivers instant gratification, the logical outgrowth of a perfect idea. No matter what Rowles intended by the title, when I listen to his phrasing, I can imagine the stilted motion of the peacock, a bird both awkward and beautiful.
Of all the versions I’ve heard, only Rowles’ resonates. I am a big fan of Bill Evans and Dexter Gordon, but their covers aren’t as spare and evocative. To me, the song is perfect as its composer played it—on a piano, with a subtle bass accompaniment, the last few measures like ethereal, incidental thoughts, and at the end, a numinous major-minor chord.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Feeding Time at the Zoo
For years Mose Allison has answered questions about the noises he makes during his piano solos. They aren’t the kinds of sounds you’ll hear during a professional tennis match—instead of a singular, macho grunt is an entire sequence of utterances; many are of the “uh-uh-uh” variety. In a 2010 interview with NPR, Allison identified Erroll Garner and Glenn Gould as fellow culprits. Those familiar with Keith Jarrett know that he also makes noises with his mouth while he is improvising. In keeping with the gentle spirit of online dialogue, assorted blog posts and comments identify a great number of people who are not, to put it mildly, big fans of Jarrett’s vocalizations.
It would be unfair to characterize any of the pianists listed above as “noise makers”, especially Mose Allison, whose early recordings feature a voice as cool and rhythmic as a paper airplane carried by the breeze.
Is it a coincidence that Allison, Jarrett and Garner are/were jazz pianists? Unlike horn players, pianists don’t have the immediate connection between the mouth and the instrument, and I wonder if vocalizing is the most direct and natural way of expressing a musical idea. With the vocal chords, there is no intermediary. You’re not dependent on the hands—those unpredictable ambassadors of the brain. What I find interesting is the artist’s choice to include the sounds as part of the recording, when today’s software-based alchemy could easily dispense with them. I don’t know if it’s a rejoinder to technology, or a way of reminding audiences and listeners that the sounds, however off-putting, are just as essential as the notes which accompany them.
It would be unfair to characterize any of the pianists listed above as “noise makers”, especially Mose Allison, whose early recordings feature a voice as cool and rhythmic as a paper airplane carried by the breeze.
Is it a coincidence that Allison, Jarrett and Garner are/were jazz pianists? Unlike horn players, pianists don’t have the immediate connection between the mouth and the instrument, and I wonder if vocalizing is the most direct and natural way of expressing a musical idea. With the vocal chords, there is no intermediary. You’re not dependent on the hands—those unpredictable ambassadors of the brain. What I find interesting is the artist’s choice to include the sounds as part of the recording, when today’s software-based alchemy could easily dispense with them. I don’t know if it’s a rejoinder to technology, or a way of reminding audiences and listeners that the sounds, however off-putting, are just as essential as the notes which accompany them.
Bach: Bold As Love
Way before the era of unauthorized sampling, rock and roll artists used classical melodies on which to base their songs. J.S. Bach was a perennial favorite. Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale” is arguably the most popular example, as it was inspired by the composer’s “Air on a G String” and “Sleepers, Wake.” Paul Simon’s “American Tune” uses a melody line from Bach’s “St. Matthew Passion”.
Not long ago I discovered an unlikely example of boundary blurring during a listen to Bach’s “Prelude in B Major” from Book 2 of The Well-Tempered Clavier. About 30 seconds in, the piece has 17 notes in common with the Jimi Hendrix version of “Hey Joe”, when the rock legend, in what is essentially the song’s climax, outlines the chord progression by playing the root note of the chord, dropping almost a full octave to the third of that chord, and then ascending the scale chromatically until reaching the root of the next chord. With those seventeen notes Hendrix works his way through five major chords—C, G, D, A & E.
Though Bach wrote in a different key, the melody is the same. I should mention that Hendrix did not write “Hey Joe”, whose origins are disputed, and even those 17 notes can be heard, more or less, in a cover released by The Leaves in 1965, one year before the Hendrix version. Again, it’s important to note that I’m not referring to the melody that accompanies the lyrics, but the riff that drives the song to its conclusion.
Even if “Hey Joe” is a cliché, especially in context of America’s place in the world in the late sixties (a la Forrest Gump), I find it amazing that those 17 notes, played slowly on an electric guitar, convey madness and power all at once. They’re absolutely anthemic, even if the song has been overplayed into the ground.
On a side note, a study was released a few years back with the amusing conclusion that hard rock aficionados and their classical-music-loving brethren actually shared many traits. So maybe the iron wall between heavy metal and orchestral music isn’t as impermeable as we might think.
Not long ago I discovered an unlikely example of boundary blurring during a listen to Bach’s “Prelude in B Major” from Book 2 of The Well-Tempered Clavier. About 30 seconds in, the piece has 17 notes in common with the Jimi Hendrix version of “Hey Joe”, when the rock legend, in what is essentially the song’s climax, outlines the chord progression by playing the root note of the chord, dropping almost a full octave to the third of that chord, and then ascending the scale chromatically until reaching the root of the next chord. With those seventeen notes Hendrix works his way through five major chords—C, G, D, A & E.
Though Bach wrote in a different key, the melody is the same. I should mention that Hendrix did not write “Hey Joe”, whose origins are disputed, and even those 17 notes can be heard, more or less, in a cover released by The Leaves in 1965, one year before the Hendrix version. Again, it’s important to note that I’m not referring to the melody that accompanies the lyrics, but the riff that drives the song to its conclusion.
Even if “Hey Joe” is a cliché, especially in context of America’s place in the world in the late sixties (a la Forrest Gump), I find it amazing that those 17 notes, played slowly on an electric guitar, convey madness and power all at once. They’re absolutely anthemic, even if the song has been overplayed into the ground.
On a side note, a study was released a few years back with the amusing conclusion that hard rock aficionados and their classical-music-loving brethren actually shared many traits. So maybe the iron wall between heavy metal and orchestral music isn’t as impermeable as we might think.
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