Joan Baez, Vol. 2.
From the first heartbreaking syllable, Joan Baez bestows the misery and oppression that has been felt by women throughout history. The acapella “Wagoner’s Lad” immediately sends shivers down the spine, a personal, yet at times playfully risqué, tale of a young woman defying her parents dreams and daring to make her own. Baez has a voice unique in it’s storytelling warmth; being able to deliver The Wicker Man invoking folk fable “The Trees They Do Grow High” about a woman whose father marries her to a boy ten years her junior, as well as the dark, jaunty, country ballad, “Banks of the Ohio”. The latter is not the only deviation from the genre that established Baez as a once in a generational talent, as she is allowed to grow and experiment stylistically in this just her second album, which contains too many instant classics to mention. Hard is the fortune of all womankind; she’s always controlled, she’s always confined.
Someday My Prince Will Come.
John Coltrane’s return to the Miles Davis Quintet following his departure in 1960 is a little mixed. The title track, which pairs him alongside his replacement Hank Mobley, is the least noteworthy on the record; a jazz-by-numbers piece that’s forgotten about as soon as the final note sounds; while his extraordinary solo on “Teo” is a reminder that he is one of the greatest saxophonists who ever lived. Coltrane aside, the real stand out is Davis’ ode to his wife (aka her on the front cover), “Pfrancing”; a cool, groovy, foot tapping affair whose catchy motif you’ll be subconsciously whistling for weeks. Stick to your own compositions Miles, the standards are beneath you.
My Favourite Things.
He’s back, this time with his own quartet; John Coltrane on soprano and tenor saxophone. The solemn and mournful “Every Time We Say Goodbye” contrasts so well with bold, loud, frantic, joyful chaos of the (slightly overlong) “Summertime”. “But Not for Me” continues the energy of “Summertime” to its detriment, but my favourite thing about this album is its title track. A rendition of the Rogers and Hammerstein classic from The Sound of Music, 14 minutes of pure catchy, jazz brilliance where Coltrane and pianist McCoy Tyner take it turns to show off their virtuosity in their respective instruments. One of Coltrane’s most popular and enduring arrangements, and it’s permanently stuck in my head.
Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie!
Ella Fitzgerald transports me to a jazz bar, a new drink presented to me with every song. Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie! has some very similar cocktails to all but the most seasoned (pretentious) of patrons. The album begins with promises of post-sunset excitement on the bass driven nervously energetic “A Night in Tunisia”, before slowing to a snail’s pace on the minimalist track “You’re My Thrill”, that allows the focus to firmly be on Fitzgerald’s vocal prowess and her confusion surrounding her unrequited love. And so it continues, with a pattern of slow, morose, melancholic tunes and upbeat, dance inducing jazz numbers. With some more thought as to the track ordering this could have been a great night out, but too much toing and froing has made me a bit queasy.
Garde-Moi La Derniere Danse.
While this may not be as memorable as previously reviewed Dalida albums, there is enough here for a casual listener. There’s the opening title track (“Save the Last Dance for Me” for those who have forgotten their government enforced GCSE French), which produced an involuntary shoulder wiggle from me on the tube; the grand ballad “Je me sens vivre”, which almost induced a standing ovation a few stops later; and the joyfully playful, “Itsi bitsi petit bikini”. It’s been a number of years since Mademoiselle Hochard attempted to extract French from my somewhat limited brain, so I’m at a loss as to what most of the songs are actually about; however even a faint grasp of the language is entirely unnecessary, as Dalida’s serenading tones alone prove easy listening. Worth the time for the novelty alone of hearing “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini” en français.
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