Top artists in their respective fields. Ella Fitzgerald and Willie Mays.
Noticed my posting from several years ago has an inoperative link. This is Ella Fitzgerald performing Summertime at a 1968 concert in Berlin. Magnificent.
Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong have fun deconstructing this Gershwin tune from Porgy & Bess.
A song that could only have been written in that brief interval between 1945 and the end of mid-century America in November 1963. The opening:
I used to visit all the very gay places
Those come-what-may places
Where one relaxes on the axis
Of the wheel of life
To get the feel of life
From jazz and cocktails
And those ending lines:
I'll live a lush lifeIn some small diveAnd there I'll be
While I rot with the rest
Of those whose lives are lonely, too
Composed by Billy Strayhorn, Duke Ellington's frequent collaborator.
Vocal by Ella Fitzgerald, who effortlessly handles the difficult melody. Oscar Peterson on piano.
It's the wrong timeAnd the wrong placeThough your face is charmingIt's the wrong face
Frank Sinatra is the finest male singer of the Great American Songbook. Ella Fitzgerald is the finest singer. Sinatra, a man not short of confidence, once said that Ella was the only performer he was nervous about appearing with because she was the best. This video shows why. This is Sinatra and Fitzgerald performing The Lady is a Tramp. Sinatra is fine. Ella is great. Sinatra's vocal peak was in the 1950s and by the time of this appearance his voice had lost some of its elasticity, but even peak Sinatra could not match Ella most of the time, though on ballads and saloon songs like Angel Eyes, Wee Small Hours Of The Morning, Only The Lonely, and One For My Baby And One More For The Road he is absolutely sublime, and there is no one better.
The video is from a Sinatra TV special in 1967, A Man and his Music. It was the third, and last, episode in an annual series that started in 1965, that featured Frank and his selected guests. Enjoy.
Louis Armstrong (a frequent THC subject) and his wife, Lucille, in Egypt (1961).
While we're here might as well listen to some Louis (with Duke Ellington). Couldn't resist adding this version of the same tune, this time from Ellington and Ella Fitzgerald (is there a better singer than Ella?).
UPDATE: Armstrong's Egyptian visit was part of an African tour arranged by the State Department and he made many other tours during the 50s and 60s sponsored by the US government. In September 1957, Armstrong leveraged his reputation and State's desire to use him as a representative of America, to threaten not to do further tours unless action was taken to integrate schools in Little Rock, Arkansas, a tale I wrote about here and here.
Miss Otis regretsA very odd little song. Composed by Cole Porter in 1934; this version, by Ella Fitzgerald, is from the 1950s.
She's unable to lunch today
They all laughed at Christopher Columbus
When he said the world was round
They all laughed when Edison recorded sound
For a pop song, the tune is consciously bluesy in the way of "Harlem Nocturne" or "You Don't Know What Love Is", but the words go beyond, and the vocabulary and phrasing are very unusual:According to Steyn, it's due to Ella Fitzgerald that the song gained its cache. After catching Matt Dennis play it in a Reno nightclub, she decided to record the song (and recording four different versions over the years). It was only years later, in 1957, that Sinatra recorded it.
Try to thinkDennis' music is memorable because of the arresting flat nine in Bar Three, and big leaps when the tune's going up, followed by small slips back down. It's a tune that's made for saloons - those up-leaps of anger and passion, and the slip-downs into dejection and despair. But that third bar could easily trip up a lyricist or at least put a speed-bump in his text. Instead, Earl Brent gets around it with a four-syllable word that, on those notes, is rendered onomatopoeic: When the singer sings "uncomf'tably near", you hear his discomfort. Even more remarkably, Dennis and Brent match it when the moment recurs in the next eight bars and again at the end:
That love's not around
Still it's uncomf'tably near
My old heart
Ain't gainin' no ground
Because my Angel Eyes ain't here...
Angel EyesAnd again in that word on that interval - "unbearably" - the singer sounds as if he truly can't bear it, not much longer. In theory, the melody sounds as if it ought to be an instrumental - one of those things like "Sophisticated Lady" or "Prelude To A Kiss" that sounds less like a song than a tune that someone's stuck words on - but Brent not only finds words that fit perfectly, but four-syllable ones at that:
That ol' devil sent
They glow unbearably bright...
Pardon meThe tune is so bluesy that, in the musicologist Ted Gioia's words, it "invites a soloist to pull out every stale minor blues cliche". Which happens rather a lot on instrumental versions. But the lyric makes it dark and strange and raw: a great ache of a melody with an oddly self-aware tale to tell. Dennis wrote his composition in D minor, which suits it perfectly, but the middle section is major in character and almost an inversion of the main theme: now the music leaps down and then climbs small steps back up. Lyric-wise, if the main section is like eavesdropping on someone's private pain, the release is an invitation to gather round and listen to him tell his story:
But I gotta run
The fact's uncommonly clear...
So drink up, all you people
Order anything you see...
Hey drink up all you people
Order anything you see
And have fun you happy people
The laugh and the drinks on me
Try to think that loves not around
Still it's uncomfortably near
My poor old heart aint gaining any ground
Because my angel eyes aint here
Angel eyes, that old devil sent
They glow unbearably bright
Need I say that my loves mispent
Mispent with angel eyes tonight
So drink up all of you people
Order anything you see
And have fun you happy people
The drink and the laughs on me
Pardon me but I got to run
The facts uncommonly clear
I got to find who's now the number one
And why my angel eyes aint here
Scuse me while I disappear