The great American lounge singer with the little-girl voice, Blossom Dearie, died on 7 February 2009, aged 82.
Archive for the ‘Music’ Category
Page 13 of 13
A salute to Dot Crowe and Kewpie Harris
In my teens, I played the church organ for wedding ceremonies, receptions, etc. For this I had the significant help of an elderly spinster lady, Miss Dorothy (“Dot”) Crowe, who also played the organ and piano. She lent me music, gave me performance and business tips, referred clients on to me, and, at one point, advised me to increase my fees to increase the demand for my services. My first of many experiences of the failure of mainstream economic theory was that demand for organ-playing services increased with price – the more I charged, the more business came my way. I learnt that potential customers, who did not know one organist from another (even if they had heard them each play), used price to judge quality: charging lower than my competitors, as I did initially, meant that I was assumed to be not as good or not as reliable an organist as they. It was very nice of Dot Crowe, who was after all also a competitor, to tell me of this.
As far as I knew at the time, Miss Crowe, who was then aged somewhere between 60 and 75, had spent all her life quietly and staidly playing the church organ for Sunday mass and for local weddings. Recently, however, I discovered that she had had an earlier career as a swing band pianist. According to Col Stratford’s oral history of jazz on the Far North Coast of New South Wales, Australia (see reference below), by 1938 Dot Crowe was a band member of Aub Aumos’s band, The Nitelites (photo, page 47). She later led her own band, Dot Crowe and the Arcadian Six. I am stunned to learn this about her, and my admiration, which was already high, now reaches the skies. I never knew she had had this experience when I knew her, and now, of course, it is too late to ask her about it.
The Far North Coast of New South Wales was an epicentre of early jazz in Australia, largely due to the energy and influence of one man: David Samuel (aka “Kewpie”) Harris. Kewpie Harris arrived in Ballina in 1919, aged 27, apparently selling suitcases. He died, mostly forgotten, in Brisbane in 1981. His nickname arose apparently because his youthful face was open and wide-eyed, like that of a Kewpie Doll. Harris had been born in Britain, and as a schoolboy was a chorister at St Paul’s and St. Stephen’s churches in London. As a teenager, he was a member of the orchestra of Tom Worthington in their regular gig at the Holborn Restaurant, London. For a time he worked in San Francisco, and also played in dance bands on the steamships of the Canadian Pacific Railway’s West Coast fleet. By 1913, he was in Australia and had formed a dance band in North Sydney, and played violin with symphony orchestras and ensembles in Sydney. (As a violinist in Sydney before WW I, he presumably knew Alfred Hill, Australian composer and violinist, and, earlier, a player with the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra.)
According to family lore, Harris learnt jazz from black American musicians he met on his travels. Upon arrival in Ballina, Harris helped create the Ballina Jazz Band with several other players, including my grandfather and great-uncle. The original members of the band were: Rex Gibson on piano, Harris on violin, saxes, and keyboard percussion (originally marimba and xylophone, and later vibes), Harry Holt on trombone, Charles McBurney on trumpet, and Tom McBurney on drums. Harris then led jazz bands with regular gigs in Northern NSW till 1951, when he left to join the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.
Why was jazz so strong in that part of Australia? Partly, perhaps, because Ballina, at the mouth of the Richmond River, was a major trading port – until rail replaced shipping as the main form of freight transport to and from the region, and within the region. Ports have lots of visitors, interested in entertainment and with free time and cash. Partly also, because the area hosted a US Air Force base during WW II (just down the coast, at Evans Head). With the end of the war in the Pacific, and the arrival of television to Australia (in 1956), weekly dances declined in popularity, and no longer regularly attracted the hundreds or thousands that dances even at tiny river ports like Bungawalbyn and Woodburn once did. Dance bands all but disappeared. I guess that good, entrepreneurial jazz musicians were forced to join classical orchestras or to play Mendelssohn’s Wedding March for people with their minds on other things, and spend their evenings remembering what great fun they had once had, and given.
FOOTNOTE (added 2010-08-18): The Kewpie Harris Band is also mentioned in this history of Lismore’s Crethar’s Wonderbar, home of the world-famous Crethar hamburger. A descendant of Harris’ band is the recently reformed Northern Rivers Big Band (for which, in its earlier incarnation, my father played). See here.
The photo shows the Ballina Jazz Band in 1919. Players were (left to right): Tom McBurney, Harry Holt, Kewpie Harris, Charles McBurney, and Rex Gibson.
References:
Julia Buchanan [1982]: “Bandleader died a forgotten figure.” The Northern Star. Lismore, NSW, Australia. 6 January 1982, page 50.
Interview with Tom McBurney [1977-01-11] in The Indonesian Observer, reported in Stratford [1990].
Colin Stratford [1990]: From The Stage. Lismore, NSW, Australia. ISBN: 0-9594070-2-2.
Poem: Mnemosyne
Another poem by Joe Stickney, following Song. This is Mnemosyne, which on the surface appears to be a straightforward poem about a country where he had lived in the past (given the title, probably Greece, which Stickney knew well). However, reading the poem carefully, one sees that it also about that country we have all visited, called The Past.
Quoting this poem allows me to point you to Ljova Zurbin’s wonderful setting of the poem, available here. What I find particularly powerful in this setting is the repetition of the varying refrains as a final verse, which brings Stickney’s argument into clear focus.
I had the rare chance to see Ljova and the Kontraband perform this song and other great music live at The Stone last weekend. Ljova played a 6-string viola with a facility and fluency that Paganini would have envied: the man must have about 20 fingers on his left hand! Lots of what they played did not make it onto their great CD, so I hope they are able to release a second CD soon.
Mnemosyne
It’s autumn in the country I remember.
How warm a wind blew here about the ways!
And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber
During the long sun-sweetened summer-days.It’s cold abroad the country I remember.
The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain
At midday with a wing aslant and limber;
And yellow cattle browsed upon the plain.It’s empty down the country I remember.
I had a sister lovely in my sight:
Her hair was dark, her eyes were very sombre;
We sang together in the woods at night.It’s lonely in the country I remember.
The babble of our children fills my ears,
And on our hearth I stare the perished ember
To flames that show all starry thro’ my tears.It’s dark about the country I remember.
There are the mountains where I lived. The path
Is slushed with cattle-tracks and fallen timber,
The stumps are twisted by the tempests’ wrath.But that I knew these places are my own,
I ‘d ask how came such wretchedness to cumber
The earth, and I to people it alone.
It rains across the country I remember.
PS (2016-09-09): Another wonderful song about the invocation of memories, suddenly, is The Bones of You by Elbow, official video here.
Vale George Brecht
Fluxus artist George Brecht (born George MacDiarmid in 1926) has just died, aged 82. He was a student in the Experimental Composition class which John Cage gave at the New School in New York in the late 1950s, Regretting that I was born too late to join this class*, I took the next best step, which was to track down a copy of Brecht’s notebooks in order to pore over his lecture notes taken in this class. His most recent exhibition was at MACBA, the Museum of Contemporary Art in Barcelona, in 2006.
The photo that was here showed Brecht performing “Drip Music” (1959): “For single or multiple performance. A source of dripping water and an empty vessel are arranged so that the water falls into the vessel.”
* I did once take a composition class with Gentleman Jim Penberthy (1917-1999), which makes me a grand-pupil of Nadia Boulanger. That class focused mainly on Penberthy’s compositional method of expressionist serialism.
Poem: O Batuque
From the 2007 album, Cymbals, by Brazilian guitarist Vinicius Cantuaria, is this sad song, “O Batuque”. The song was composed with Brazilian percussionist Naná Vasconcelos, and its diminished minor chords express a traveler’s sad longing for the sun and the south, from the cold, still north.
Se a samba e Brasileiro
Pele e internacional
Salve o Amazonas
Salve o pantanal
Swing afro-cubana
Tem reggae no carnaval
Alo alo Bob Marley alo
Alo alo Bob Marley alo
Saudades do Brasil
Eu estau passando um tempo fora
O frio esta matando
E no metro ninguem me olha
Os pretos elegantes
Os latinos brilhantina
E um loiro americano
De patins a cada esquina
O que e que eu estou fazendo aqui
———————————–
The Beat
If samba means Brazil
Pele means international
Long live the Amazon
Long live the Pantanal
Afro-Cuban swing
Reggae meets Carnaval
Hey there, Bob Marley
Hey there, Bob Marley
How I miss Brazil
I’ve been away awhile
The cold is killing me
No one sees me on the subway
The elegant blacks
The slick Latinos
And a blonde American
Skating around every corner
Whatever am I doing here?
Poem: Ach wie flüchtig, ach wie nichtig
As we head towards winter, today’s poem is a German hymn by Michael Franck (1609-1667) about the fleeting nature of human life and human affairs. The hymn first appeared in print in 1650, after the Thirty Years Religious War (1618-1648) had devastated German society. The hymn was famously set by JS Bach as Choral Cantata BWV 26, for the 24th Sunday after Trinity, which is this Sunday (23 November 2008). The Cantata was first performed on 19 November 1724 in Leipzig, and the music for this cantata is among Bach’s most thrilling.
Alex Ross, writing in The New Yorker (11 April 2011), says this of John Eliot Gardiner’s interpretation of this cantata with the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists: “In “Ach wie flüchtig, ach wie nichtig” (“Oh how fleeting, oh how trifling”) the orchestra even conveys the self-important bustle of an urban crowd.” This is not what I hear at all in the music. Instead, I hear this music as portraying the roaring water of the verse and personal inner torment. But then, I’ve rarely shared Ross’s strange musical tastes.
The picture that was once above was “Das Eismeer ” (The Sea of Ice) by Caspar David Friedrich, painted in 1823-4. The text is a translation of that set by Bach, based on a translation into English by Francis Browne (see: www.bach-cantatas.com). (Browne has also completed a literal translation of all of Franck’s poem, here.)
1. Chorus
Ah, how fleeting, ah, how trifling
Is the life of man!
As a mist soon arises
And soon vanishes again,
So is our life, see!2. Aria (T)
As swiftly as roaring water rushes by,
So hurry by the days of our life.
Time passes, the hours hurry by,
Just as the raindrops suddenly divide themselves,
When all rushes into the abyss.3. Recitative (A)
Joy turns to sorrow,
Beauty falls like a flower,
The greatest strength is weakened,
Good fortune changes in time,
Soon honour and glory are over,
Knowledge and men’s creations
Are in the end brought to nothing by the grave.4. Aria (B)
To hang one’s heart on earthly treasures
Is a seduction of the foolish world.
How easily arise devouring embers,
How the surging floods roar and tear away
Until everything is shattered and falls apart in ruins.5. Recitative (S)
The highest majesty and spendour
Are shrouded at last by the night of death.
The person who sat on a throne like a god,
In no way escapes the dust and ashes,
And when the last hour strikes,
So that he is carried to the earth,
And the foundation of his highness is shattered,
He is completely forgotten.6. Chorale [Verse 13]
Ah, how fleeting, ah, how trifling
Are mankind’s affairs!
All, all that we see,
Must fall and vanish.
The person who fears God stands firm forever.
Acknowledgment: Francis Browne.