Last week I posted on Paul Weston's Mood for 12, a mid-'50s relaxing delight that I feel is among the smartest "easy listening" albums of the decade. My Weston post triggered a wave of emails from secret easy-listening listeners who offered up their own suggestions. Among the emailers was arranger, writer and jazz historian Jeff Sultanof, who favors Robert Farnon [pictured].
Admittedly, I've never been a big Farnon guy. A little heavy on the "easy" for me and not nearly enough edge. But Farnon is highly regarded by arrangers for good reason: His mastery with enormous string sections. And he does grow on you if you focus on what he's doing with those soothing strings. So I asked Jeff if he'd provide a list of his favorites for those who might be curious.
Here's Jeff Sultanof's list and comments:
Sunny Side Up: The Music of DeSylva, Brown and Henderson. "Farnon's masterpiece as an arranger, and one of the finest albums of orchestral arrangements ever written. He knew their value. He re-recorded several of them over the years." This one is available at iTunes.
Presenting Robert Farnon. "A good overall starting place. A couple of tracks also have jazz solos. Included are two Alec Wilder pieces and a version of Laura that the composer David Raksin loved." This one is available at iTunes.
How Beautiful is Night. "This one features pianist George Shearing with the Robert Farnon Orchestra." This one is available at iTunes.
Melody Fair. "Farnon originally composed these pieces for publisher Chappell's music library. These themes were heard all over radio and television during the '50s and '60s." This one is available at iTunes.
Canadian Impressions. "All library music, grouped by Robert Farnon as a suite. Gateway to the West was the theme for The David Susskind Show." This one is available at iTunes.
Tony Bennett: With Love. "One of Bennett's finest albums, barely released in 1972 when Clive Davis was dumping the older artists on his label." This one was never issued on CD and is available only on vinyl.
Sinatra Sings Songs from Great Britain. "This album wasn't Sinatra's finest moment, and it went unreleased in the U.S. for many years. But some of the arrangements are among the best Sinatra ever sung to. A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square cannot be missed." This is available at iTunes.
J.J. Johnson: Tangence. "J.J. had always wanted to record with Farnon, and he got his chance. This suffers from a poor mixdown, but is well worth hearing." This is available on CD from independent sellers here.
JazzWax note: Though I'm not a Farnonite, I will say that my favorite Tony Bennett album with Robert Farnon is actually a swinger: The Good Things in Life (Verve) from 1972. It features a drop-dead uptempo recording of End of a Love Affair. Unfortunately, the album never made the leap to digital in the U.S. A Japanese CD of the album was available but is now out of print.
JazzWax clip: Here, the Singers Unlimited take on Robert Farnon's gorgeous How Beautiful Is Night...
In the late '50s, through the '60s and into the '70s, albums by sax-organ combos seem to have been recorded every three minutes at Rudy Van Gelder's studio in New Jersey. The Prestige label cornered the market on this format early, matching every possible Hammond B3 player with every conceivable tenor saxophonist. The number of reed-organ recordings for Prestige easily must total in the hundreds.
Among the most consistently interesting of these sessions were recordings by Shirley Scott [pictured above] and her then husband Stanley Turrentine [pictured left]. Turrentine's swinging freight-train sax backed by Scott's reed-section-sounding organ had a certain something that most other combos did not. If you analyze it, much had to do with the slow cook of both artists and how they goosed and played off each other. This was a partnership—not one instrument backed by the other.
The Turrentine-Scott sweet spot ran between 1961 and 1964, and the merger started with Hip Soul. Recorded in June 1961 about a year after the two married, the album is among their best summits. Of course, I say this loosely, since so many of their albums were perfect jazz-soul unions, including Never Let Me Go (1963) and Hustlin' (1964). But Hip Soul has something more, delivering a special clarity and purpose.
For one, Scott's organ on the date is set with skating-rink stops that made her chords and notes swell and soar. Turrentine is bitingly quick and soulful, hitting the gas on his boss tenor sound and then rearing back smoothly into a soft hush. This is a church conversation between equals. Scott's solos are as extensive and as well framed as Turrentine's, and both bring a huge gospel feel.
Joining Scott and Turrentine are Herbie Lewis on bass and Roy Brooks on drums. Interestingly, Turrentine appeared under the name Stan Turner, a pseudonym he had to take on due to his existing Blue Note contract. There are six tracks: Hip Soul is a rich, groovy blues by Turrentine; 411 West is a medium-tempo Benny Golson composition (with amazing solos by both artists); By Myself is the Dietz and Schwartz standard; Trane's Blues is John Coltrane's tune from a 1956 session with Paul Chambers; Stanley's Time is another Turrentine blues, and Out of This World is the Arlen and Mercer standard given a soulful flash fry by Scott and Turrentine.
In 1961, Scott and Turrentine managed to intertwine love and music. The result was a richness that superseded other organ-sax combos. Unfortunately, the Scott-Turrentine marriage would last only until 1970. But while they were together, they made some beautiful albums. The first was particularly special. [Pictured, from left: personal manager and bassist John Levy, Shirley Scott and Stanely Turrentine; courtesy of John and Devra Hall Levy]
JazzWax tracks:Hip Soul is not in print as a stand-alone album, but all of the material from the date is featured on Shirley Scott: Legends of Acid Jazz as the first six tracks. You'll find the album here.
JazzWax clip: There don't appear to be tracks from Hip Soul on YouTube. But here'sMajor's Minor from Never Let Me Go (1963). It will give you a fine sense of how these two played together...
Jazz was so crowded with talent in the 1950s that it's easy for great artists from the decade to slip into obscurity today. This is especially true of trumpet players. We fixate on Miles Davis, Chet Baker, Kenny Dorham and Clifford Brown, not to mention Dizzy Gillespie, Harry "Sweets" Edison and Roy Eldridge. Rightfully so, but there were plenty of others. One who deserves much more recognition than he has received thus far is Jon Eardley. Among his finest recording sessions are two from the mid-'50s with alto saxophonist Phil Woods.
Eardley was fundamentally a bop trumpeter who started recording with Charlie Parker and Joe Timer and the Orchestra in the early 1950s. He recorded extensively with Gerry Mulligan throughout the decade and led his own quartet on record sessions. In the early '60s, Eardley moved to Belgium, where he remained and built a strong following until his death in 1991.
What made Eardley special during the '50s was his ability to blow hot but with laid-back distinction. The faster the tempo, the more harmoniously rich he would become, taking on a rolling, punctuating style akin to West Coasters Don Fagerquist, Dick Collins and Baker.
Eardley recorded several albums with Woods mid-decade, but among his finest were Phil Woods: New Jazz Quintet in October 1954 and Phil Woods: New Jazz Quartet in February 1955. Later in the '50s, the two superb albums were combined on a 12-inch Prestige release called Pot Pie. On both dates, the musicians were Jon Eardley (tp) Phil Woods (as) George Syran (p) Teddy Kotick (b) and Nick Stabulas (d).
Pot Pie opens with the title track, a cool interpretation of Sippin' at Bells. Open Door is an uptempo minor piece that pays tribute to the Greenwich Village club where all of the musicians on this date gathered often for jam sessions. Or dig Eardley's clean, lyrical solo on the blazing Robbin's Bobbin' and pensive intensity on the ballad Mad About the Boy. Cobblestones also is uptempo, again featuring Eardley with a solo that wanders up and down the scales cleanly and is never dull. Too's Blues is a walking ballad. Sea Beach and Horseshoe Curve are corkscrews featuring tricky melody lines.
For more on Eardley, there's a fast-moving interview with him in 1978 by Les Tomkins here. Eardley had a sound that fit in just fine on both coasts. But with work drying up here in the '60s, he found his way to Europe, where he fit in just fine.
JazzWax tracks: Phil Woods and Jon Eardley's Pot Pie is available at download sites and for sampling and purchase here. It's ferocious from start to finish.
JazzWax clips:Here's Jon Eardley with the Gerry Mulligan Septet playing Bernie's Tune in Milan in 1956. What a front line: Mulligan, Bob Brookmeyer, Zoot Sims and Eardley, who solos 1:47 into the clip...
Here's Eardley leading a session for Prestige in January 1956 called Jon Eardley Seven. On the date: Eardley (tp) Milt Gold (tb) Phil Woods (as) Zoot Sims (ts) George Syran (p) Teddy Kotick (b) and Nick Stabulas (d).
The name Abdullah Ibrahim (also known as Dollar Brand) may or may not be familiar to you. The South African pianist comes to jazz from creative pressures that are different from most American jazz artists. Ibrahim grew up in the '40s and '50s under the African country's brutal segregationist system of apartheid, which was in place from 1948 to 1993. His music celebrates American jazz but echoes his own cultural background and hardships in Africa. As is evident on his latest album, Sotho Blue, Abdullah works from a rich and gentle spiritual tablet.
I was so moved by Abdullah's latest work with his band, Ekaya, that I wanted to reach out to tell him so. From South Africa, Abdullah generously took time out to answer my e-mailed questions.
In my e-interview with Abdullah, the 76-year-old composer and pianist talks about life growing up in South Africa and how he managed to leave the country:
JazzWax: You started playing professionally in South Africa in 1949 and began recording with the Tuxedo Slickers Orchestra in 1954, yes? Abdullah Ibrahim: Yes. The Tuxedo Slickers was a big-band based in Cape Town's District Six—one of the communities that the government later in the 1970s declared for whites only. Sixty-thousand life-long black residents were forcibly removed to townships. Back then, we played concerts and dance shows, with opening acts, vocal groups that were inspired by the Delta Rhythm Boys, and traditional choral music.
JW: What type of music did you play with the Tuxedo Slickers? AI: We used Tuxedo Junction as our signature tune. We also played Tommy Dorsey’s Song of India, Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade and songs by Joe Liggins, Count Basie and Erskine Hawkins, who co-wrote Tuxedo Junction. Years later, I visited Hawkins’ home in Birmingham, Alabama, to pay my respects. We also played Xhosa and Zulu traditional music, and a keyboard style called Marabi that combined jazz, blues and ragtime with our music. I still play this form today. When the New York members of my band, Ekaya, visit, they call it South African r&b chord changes. Back in the early '50s, the Tuxedo Slickers’ arranger Caleb Ndimande wrote original African charts. He also wrote arrangements of jazz songs. I recall a very complex chart of pianist George Wallington's Lemon Drop. We had heard Dizzy Gillespie's recording.
JW: Given South Africa's horrible apartheid policy back in the '50s, how did you perform there and record? Did the government try to prevent this? AI: The apartheid regime was ruthless in controlling our daily movement. You'd need permits to travel anywhere and you always faced imminent arrest. We sneaked out of safe houses to jam with other musicians. We also organized our own community concerts. Then the white-owned recording companies would rip off naive and uninformed musicians and record their music without acknowledgment or compensation.
JW: How did you become familiar with American jazz in South Africa in the 1950s? AI: We listened to Voice of America jazz programs hosted by Willis Conover. We also listened to local weekly jazz programs on the radio as well as LPs.
JW: Where was one of the most unusual places you heard American jazz in South Africa? AI: The local ice-cream van blared Louis Jordan and his Tympani Five.
JW: How did you develop your style? AI: Our local jazz hero, alto saxophonist Kippie Moketsi, was classically trained and played elaborate pieces such as Mozart's clarinet concerto. On LP, I heard pianists Jimmy Yancey, Albert Ammons and Meade Lux Lewis. They inspired me to woodshed boogie-woogie, developing left-hand independence and synchronizing it with traditional rhythms, leaving my right hand free to fly anywhere.
JW: What is the origin of the name "Dollar Brand?" AI: My original last name was Brand. I was given my nick name while hanging out in Cape Town Harbor as a teen. I’d befriend African-American sailors, who were manning merchant vessels. They gave me a few dollars and the name stuck. I changed my name in the mid-70s when I converted to Islam.
JW: When you moved to Europe in 1962, did you find audiences there more receptive to your style of jazz? How did you escape South Africa? AI: In the aftermath of the Sharpville Massacre of March 1960, the regime became even more oppressive. We joined the wave of people, young and old, leaving the country in 1962. European audiences and musicians were very receptive to what I was playing. Some were hostile, especially when I became identified as an avant-garde musician. But it was the feeling of total creative liberation. It was a wonderful feeling to finally present music written in South Africa, without worrying about restrictions, the market, and political and social pressures.
JW: Whose music did you relate to most? AI: Duke Ellington’s. Duke, for us, was always the wise old man of the village. Our link with the African-American community started with our local African Methodist Episcopal church in South Africa, of which my grandmother was a founding member. Missionaries and bishops from Mother Bethel in Philadelphia had been sent there as missionaries. Duke's music embodied for us our common struggle and experience.
JW: Ellington must have been viewed as more than a great musician, as a cultural hero. AI: He was. Similarly, we also had celebrated Joe Louis' victories. I recall listening over and over to King Joe, also known as the Joe Louis Blues, recorded by the Count Basie Orchestra in 1941, with Langston Hughes’ lyrics and Paul Robeson on vocals.
JW: Your new album, Sotho Blue, has a beautiful, soulful feel. Where did you compose many of the songs? AI: We try to be as sincere as possible in our daily lives and I our music. Compositions have no fixed location or time limits.
JW: Do you view the music you create as jazz or as a different form born in South Africa with South African traditions? AI: In the words of our illustrious poet Rumi, “There is only one sound, everything else is echo.”
JazzWax tracks: Abdullah Ibrahim & Ekaya's new Sotho Blue was recorded in Bonn, Germany, and is absolutely gorgeous, from start to finish. It's gentler than Abdullah's earlier works, but it bristles with energy and patience. Sample the title track and Star Dance, which features tenor saxophonist Keith Loftis. You'll find this one here.
JazzWax clip: Here'sAbdullah Ibrahim's For Coltrane, from his Duke's Memories in 1981 with Carlos Ward on soprano sax...
In the last years of Nat King Cole's life, he sounded comfortable in the arms of Ralph Carmichael's charts. Admittedly lighter and more commercial than Cole's earlier Capitol dates, these albums need to be put in context. Easy listening LPs like Touch of Your Lips; Lazy Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer and L-O-V-E were indeed lighter than earlier releases, they remain period pieces—prime examples of an era when traditional pop was nearly exhausted and at the same time confused by the swell of pop-rock popularity.
In Part 3 of my three-part conversation with Ralph on Cole, the arranger talks about the stigma of Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer and the mistake on That Summer, That Sunday that aced the song:
JW: What was it like working on Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer in 1963? RC: What do you think of it?
JW: Me? I rather like it. It’s a period piece for me—the last classic pop album before Kennedy's death and the Beatles' arrival. RC: I know. After the album was released, it became a big hit. One day soon after t was out, I had just finished a rehearsal for a project I was doing with Nat and the Merry Young Souls, a group of young singers and dancers he worked with for TV specials. I was getting ready to head home and was out on Vine Street heading for the parking lot.
JW: What happened? RC: I ran into trombonist Kenny Shroyer. He was waiting for his wife to pick him up. We were right in front of the Lamplight Bar, which was on one side of the studio. A men’s clothing store called Sy Devore’s was on the other.
JW: What did Shroyer say? RC: He said, “Come on Ralph, I’ll buy you a drink.” I told him I didn’t drink. He said, “Come on anyway, I’ll buy you a Coke.” So we went in and sat at the bar. There was only one other guy in there, further down the bar. The place had one of those old nickelodeons, which were coin-operated player pianos that let you choose songs, like a jukebox. I guess the bar wanted a nostalgic sound.
JW: What was the nickelodeon playing? RC: Lazy, Hazy Crazy Days of Summer. When the song ended, the guy at the bar got off his stool and put another dime in to restart it. Kenny made a face but we kept talking. When the song ended, the guy got up and put another dime in the slot and chose the song again. Kenny said, “If I could find the guy who wrote that chart, I’d kill him.” Then I said, “Well, you just met him. It was me, Kenny.”
JW: What did he say? RC: Kenny just started laughing. It was one of those songs that admittedly was annoying, but it grew on you. It was a lot of fun to arrange—with a choir, a few strings, a couple of guitars, an upright bass, keyboard and a few novelty instruments.
JW: Did Nat truly enjoy making that one? RC: Oh, sure. You have to understand, to Nat’s credit, he was going where the public was with that album. Lazy, Hazy was made first and became a hit. So we built an entire summer album around it.
JW: So they knew from the start the song and album were going to be a commercial venture. RC: Oh sure. That’s how it worked. First came the single. If it was a hit, then an album was created to wrap around it. Nat was a businessman. I was a businessman too. From a musical standpoint, I always preferred love or tenderness to corniness. But hey, what are you going to do? [laughs]
JW:That Sunday, That Summer remains particularly beautiful. RC: That was Natalie Cole’s favorite by her father. She used to pretend that her dad was singing it just to her. You know, i n those days, with all the deadlines, I’d often write all night. The copyist would keep his fingers crossed that I’d get the score to the studio on time.
JW: How did it work with That Sunday, That Summer? RC: I wrote the arrangement but was so tired that I forgot choir parts were needed to open and close the tune.
JW: How did you find out? RC: When I got to the studio, the copyist looked at the music and then at me and said, “Ralph, didn’t you forget something?” He showed me the score with the choir section listed. But I didn’t have notes written out for them for their intro and outro.
JW: What did you do? RC: Well, first I panicked [laughs]. Then I just dictated what I wanted at the start to the copyist, who wrote it all down. Then I said, “After Nat runs through the song, we’ll have the choir sing the exact same parts for the outro.”
JW: What happened? RC: After we recorded it, I figured Lee Gillette, the producer, was going to ream me out. Sure enough, Lee came out of the booth and started walking toward me, I thought that was it. But when he reached me, he said, “Man that was really a genius idea to add the intro as the ending.” He never knew. [laughs]
JW: What don’t most people know about Nat Cole in the studio? RC: Nat wore a bridge in his mouth that crossed over his roof. He couldn’t say the letter “L” well because of the brace. I think he wore it to hold a couple of teeth in place that were hooked on either side.
JW: How did this affect his speaking voice? RC: Instead of calling me Ralph, he called me “Raff.” He’d say “Yeah Raff.” He could say the letter “L,” but it was uncomfortable for him. He could sing the letter “L” but he’d have to do it by thinking hard about it. This was the case when we recorded L-O-V-E. He was such a magnificent pro that you don’t really hear him struggling with the letter on the record at all.
JW: Was it painful to see Nat deteriorate in late 1964? RC: It was so sad. Nat was so full of life and joy. I remember after Nat had been diagnosed with cancer, he came to a session in San Francisco in a suit, like he was getting ready to meet the President. Usually he dressed casually for the studio. But on this date, he was dressed up because he was relishing life.
JW: Even with all that pain. RC: He had been given bad, bad news about his health but he was relishing every moment of his life. He had no place to go except to perform that night at the Fairmont Hotel. So tragic. And what a loss. I miss him still. Nat and I had shared a bond. We were both preachers’ kids.
JazzWax list: Here are the Nat King Cole albums arranged by Ralph Carmichael:
1960 Wild Is Love* 1960 The Magic of Christmas 1961 The Nat King Cole Story 1961 The Touch of Your Lips 1962 Nat King Cole Sings/George Shearing Plays 1962 More Cole Español 1963 Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days of Summer 1964 Nat King Cole Sings My Fair Lady 1964 I Don't Want to Be Hurt Anymore 1965 L-O-V-E
*Partial
JazzWax note: So who plays the trumpet solo on Ralph's arrangement of Girl From Ipanema, from Cole's L-O-V-E album? Ralph recalls it was Bobby Bryant. And Jimmy Rowles on piano. Here's the track...
For more on Ralph Carmichael, visit his site here.
JazzWax clip:Here's Here's Nat Cole's That Sunday, That Summer, with Ralph Carmichael's last-minute intro and duplicated outro...
Ralph Carmichael likes to arrange strings in clusters. This technique allows him to take the largest possible group of violins, violas and cellos and, by bunching them into groups and voicing them as mini ensembles, he ensures richness and clarity without clutter and sweetness. For Ralph, the goal always is to create a luminous frame for singers and not let the arrangement become cute or shmaltzy.
In Part 2 of my three-part conversation with Ralph on his close relationship with Nat King Cole, the arranger talks about the singer's album with George Shearing and Cole's fondness for spirituals:
JazzWax: How did Nat King Cole work in the studio? Ralph Carmichael: He always dressed casually, in slacks and an open shirt. He would arrive a little late to give me time to run down the charts with the orchestra. This way, if there were any clams [bad notes], we’d work them out without Nat having to stand around while we corrected them. Nat arriving late soon became a custom. When I’d see his image in the control booth, I knew we were ready to go. Sometimes he would stand with me as we ran down the last chart and he’d hum along.
JW: How was he set up in the studio? RC: Generally there was a baffle around him, but he wasn’t totally enclosed. Maybe two-thirds of the mike would be surrounded. Nat usually did one take and that’s it.
JW: Did Nat like strings? RC: He loved them. Many people think Nat was coerced into recording with strings. Not so. He loved the way his voice sounded with them behind him, the more the merrier.
JW: Did Nat ever tell you how much he enjoyed your arrangements? RC: Nat had a way of communicating his love for your work that surpassed anything he could put into words. It was a twinkle in his eyes. You could tell when he was digging it. It was a very special look.
JW: What was it like working with Cole and George Shearing on their 1961 album together? RC: Nat and George had the greatest of respect for each other. George was, of course, a fabulous piano player, and his sense of swing was marvelous. He loved Nat’s concept for the album.
JW: Who came up with the song choices? RC: They had been selected by the time we got together to meet on the keys, tempos and feel of each song. I suspect all three of them—Nat, George and producer Lee Gillette—figured out the songs. The problem we faced, though, was that Nat and George couldn't agree on how we'd treat each song.
JW: How so? RC: When we had our first meeting at Capitol—Nat, Lee, George and me—I had my score paper with me. After an hour and a half, I had 10 pages of notes written on the page.
JW: How many songs did that cover? RC: One [laughs]
JW: What happened next? RC: After George and Nat left, I spoke to Lee. I said, “This is nuts. They keep changing their minds about who is going to start the song, where a key change will occur, and so on.” I told Lee, “I have a better idea.”
JW: What happened? RC: At our next meeting a few days later, there was a mike set up for Nat and one for George. I could throw my two cents in by talking into Nat’s mike. Val Valentine was in the booth recording everything that was being said. I didn’t have to write anything down.
JW: What did you do? RC: When the meeting was finished, they ran me a copy of the tape. I just listened to the last three minutes of each conversation to capture the approach they wanted.
JW: Did Cole arrive late on each of the four recording sessions? RC: He came in 15 minutes late for the first one.This bugged George, since he was there on time. So on the second date, Nat got there about 15 minutes late but George came 30 minutes late. On the third date, Nat came 40 minutes late. It got to be hilarious. They finally agreed to knock it off and both arrived at the same time for the fourth session.
JW: Since Shearing was blind, how did he know how the studio was set up? RC: His assistant would tell him. When George arrived, he’d come into Studio A at Capitol and walk right over to the piano and plop himself down on the bench without bumping into a thing. He knew exactly the distance and clearing for his walk.
JW: Did Shearing say anything to you about your arrangements? RC: On the second or third tune we recorded, I ran down the song and we all looked over at George to see if he approved. George didn’t say a word. He scooted back from the piano and headed directly toward me. I said to myself, “Oh boy, now what?” He found me and put one hand on my shoulder and whispered, “You’re a son of a bitch.” That was the highest compliment. I knew I had hit the mark if George loved it that much. We had 30 strings on that date. I had been pushing for a larger and larger string section, and they gave me whatever I wanted. George, being an arranger himself, understood what I was aiming for and what I was doing with the arrangement to get us there.
JW: Did you do Cole's road shows as well? RC: Yes. For one of them, Nat wanted a medley of a half dozen spirituals. I wrote them for him with a choir—12 voices. He loved it. For these songs, he’d come out on stage like a Sunday morning preacher, and the kids in the choir were all in robes. It was one of his favorite segments of the show.
JW: Nat enjoyed those? RC: Loved them. After he came off the road, he went into the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas and asked me to fly in from Los Angeles to do a rehearsal. One of the tunes, the finale, was a group of spirituals. We ran it down in rehearsal and it went well. The kids did a great job.
JW: Spirituals in Las Vegas must have been a shocker. RC: Between rehearsals and opening night, we were all having a bite to eat in the lounge in a quiet private area. Jack Entratter [pictured], the hotel’s president, was running the dinner. We had all ordered and were eating, so it was real quiet.
JW: Who broke the silence? RC: Jack. He said to Nat, “I have to talk to you about that religion thing. We have to cut it. It has to go.” Nat looked up at him from his food with a surprised expression. Jack added, “Nat, it’s taking place in my bar.”
JW: What happened next? RC: Nat put his knife and fork down quietly, pushed his chair back, stood up and started to place his napkin down. He said, “Then you’ll have to get yourself another boy singer” and started to walk away.
JW: What did Entratter do? RC: Jack said, “Nat, no, no. I was just kidding. Keep it in, keep it in.”
JazzWax tracks:Nat King Cole Sings/George Shearing Plays (1961) offers a fascinating look at Ralph Carmichael's string style. For example, listen to Pick Yourself Up. Or I've Got It Bad and That Ain't Good. Or Serenata. Listen carefully how Ralph works in the strings and where he has them lay back. The goal was to enhance but not get under the feet of the already tender Shearing Quintet. Fabulous. This album is available at iTunes or here.
JazzWax clip: Here's Pick Yourself Up. Dig where Ralph writes in the strings. From the top, they play the same syncopated figure as the quintet, but they are brought up stronger in the seventh measure and then drift in almost like a mist. Or listen to the Shearing Quintet's solo. The strings don't come in until after the first chorus, and then they pop in and out delicately, more like a waiter in a scene than a seated guest...
Ralph Carmichael has arranged for Ella Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby, Stan Kenton, Jack Jones, Peggy Lee, Julie London, Al Martino, Roger Williams and Sue Raney. But he is perhaps best known for his collaborations with Nat King Cole between 1960 and the singer's death in 1965. In fact, each holiday season you hear Carmichael's stereo arrangement of Cole's The Christmas Song.
In Part 1 of my three-part conversation with Ralph, 83, on Cole, the arranger talks about growing up in three different cities and landing a job with Capitol:
JazzWax: Where did you grow up? Ralph Carmichael: In Quincy, Ill. My dad was a poor preacher, but we never went hungry. I remember eating some sparse meals though. For example, in the spring, my mom sent me out to pick dandelion greens. She’d make a pot of them with some ham thrown in for flavor. We lived on the banks of the Mississippi. Along the banks were factories that made paper. When it would rain, the paper gave off an acrid smell. Everyone held their nose.
JW: When did you start playing an instrument? RC: My dad started me on violin just before I was four years old. I took lessons with Georgia Morey, who ran a local school of music. She’d come to our house to give me my lessons.
JW: How long did you study violin? RC: Until I was 20 years old. My dad thought I was going to be a concert violinist. But I was too curious about the chords I had heard in songs on the radio growing up. When I was about 12 years old, my dad had me take piano lessons as well. I liked listening to the different chord voicings that I tried on the keyboard. I’m grateful my dad encouraged my curiosity.
JW: Did you remain in Illinois? RC: No. When I was 6 years old, my father took another pastorate in Fargo, ND. I froze to death for 6 years there. Fortunately I found a violin teacher who was teaching at the local college. Then when I was 12 we moved to San Jose, Calif. I was so happy. My father had me audition for the San Jose Civic Symphony and I won a seat in the violin section.
JW: Do you have brothers and sisters? RC: I have a younger sister, Ruthadele. In fact I just talked to her. She’s four years younger than I am. As I would outgrow various instruments, she would follow behind me and take what I had outgrown.
JW: How many other instruments did you study? RC: I played trumpet in the high school band. By that time, I was listening to Harry James. I would mow neighbors’ lawns for change and buy his 78-rpm records. My favorite was Ciribiribin. I’d listen to the chords the band was playing and pick them out on the piano. Then I’d show them to my dad.
JW: What did he think? RC: At first he said they were wrong notes. Eventually, though, he understood that they were hot notes. To my father’s credit, he never put me down.
JW: Sounds like you spent a lot of time listening to the radio. RC: I did. I even had my own radio. Late at night, the hotels featured bands and I’d listen into the wee hours. In high school, I taught myself to arrange. I was just curious. My prize possession before I left for college was a pad of score paper. I had bought it at a local music store.
JW: What were you arranging? RC: Simple things but I’d include phrasings I’d hear on the radio. I flunked music theory because I was always writing things that were against the rules. I’d say, “But I heard that on a Stan Kenton record.” The answer was always, “You can’t do that.”
JW: Where did you go to college? RC: Southern California Bible College in Pasadena. In college, I started a male vocal quartet, a trumpet trio and then a group with four trumpets, four trombones and five saxes. I also began experimenting with five voices—two gals and three guys—to imitate pop groups like the Pied Pipers.
JW: When did you first meet Nat King Cole? RC: Nat was tapped by NBC to fill in for Dinah Shore on her radio show in the early 1950s, which aired several days a week. He was her summer replacement. A vocal contractor named Jimmy Joyce called me to sing backup with Nat. There were three guys and three gals. We stood around a mike, and Nelson Riddle conducted. I was singing baritone.
JW: Did you meet him that day? RC: No, not formally. After the show was over, I snuck around to see him, but Nat had an entourage with him of five or six guys in flashy clothes and polished shoes. I fell in with them about 10 feet back so I could keep looking at Nat. We walked down a long corridor to the parking lot.
JW: How did you wind up at Capitol Records? RC: I was working for a company that was recording sacred records. This guy liked what I was doing instrumentally so he asked me to arrange for a 48-member orchestra. It was called Rhapsody in Sacred Music. We recorded it at Capitol’s Studio A.
JW: How did you make the leap from sacred music to pop? RC: The mixer on the sacred date was Val Valentine. He liked what he heard, made a copy of the tape and got it to Lee Gillette, Nat King Cole’s a&r man at Capitol. It wasn’t long before I received a call from Lee asking if I’d be interested in doing an album with Nat.
JW: What did you say? RC: “Wait until I sit down” [laughs]. Nat was getting ready to do a Christmas album. But first he had to finish an album with Nelson Riddle called Wild is Love. It’s one of Nat’s more unusual albums. He narrates a story in between singing numbers. Lee called and said they needed a short overture and backgrounds for the narrations. Nelson wasn’t available. That’s the first recording I did with Nat.
JW: How did that 1960 album work from an arranger’s standpoint? RC: I only heard Nat’s narration. Then with my stopwatch, I timed out what he was saying and wrote the backgrounds. I had to know the keys going into the next song to write transitions. I did the backgrounds and the overture for Wild Is Love.
JW: How did you record Touch of Your Lips in 1960? RC: Nat let me know that he liked my string writing. He liked the clusters I put together using four parts for violins, two parts for violas and two parts for cellos. We recorded that album in Studio B at Capitol. On one of the tunes, they dimmed the lights and played back the tracks. It was so beautiful that a couple of ladies in the orchestra were crying. The tenderness and emotion were extraordinary. Nat had turned me loose and let me do my eight-part writing.
JW: In 1961, you re-recorded the definitive version of Cole’s Christmas Song. RC: Yes, that’s right. A year earlier I had arranged a holiday album for Nat called The Magic of Christmas. We didn’t record The Christmas Song on there, and they only let me use nine strings. The following year, Capitol had me arrange The Nat King Cole Story.
JW: What was the thinking behind that album? RC: The concept was for me to re-do 36 of his earlier mono hits in stereo. I did The Christmas Song for this album. By then I had talked Lee Gillette into letting me use 20 strings. That version is the one you hear all the time during the holidays. In 1963, they added it to The Magic of Christmas and renamed the album, The Christmas Song.
JW: Whose arrangement did you build on? RC: Nelson Riddle’s. I simply built it out for stereo with a more magnificent string section. A day before we recorded, I got a phone call from Felix Slatkin, one of the violinists. Eleanor, his wife, was in the cello section. Felix said, “Hey kid, do we really need to play all these wrong notes? A four-part violin arrangement? Three was good enough for David Rose? Why not three parts?” [laughs]
JW: The extra strings gives that recording its rich nostalgic feel. RC: I know. They couldn’t find Nelson’s original score so I had to do a take down. I listened to Nelson's 1952 recording and copied it. There was nothing I could do to make it more beautiful than what Nelson had already done. I just added twice as many musicians. Instead of it having a stringy sound, it now had a glow.
JW: You’ve always liked using quite a crowd on recordings. RC: Yes, I liked the big sound. Lee Gillette used to tease me. The night before a session I’d wake him up on the phone begging to use more and more musicians
Tomorrow, Ralph Carmichael on working with Nat Cole in the studio, Cole's album with George Shearing and a showdown in Las Vegas.
A special thanks to Dick LaPalm.
JazzWax clip:Here's Raph Carmichael's gorgeous 1960 arrangement of The Touch of Your Lips for Nat Cole...
About
Marc Myers writes regularly for The Wall Street Journal and is author of "Anatomy of 55 More Songs," "Anatomy of a Song," "Rock Concert: An Oral History" and "Why Jazz Happened." Founded in 2007, JazzWax has won three Jazz Journalists Association awards.
