Laura (1)
(Raksin)
Morton Gould’s arrangement
Analysed by Robert Walton
This is the first of four studies of important arrangements of the classic song Laura in the order they were scored.
In light music many of my favourite violin solos were played anonymously, mainly because they were just part of a faceless session orchestra. For me the finest violinist in the genre who has remained nameless is the brilliant soloist on Music In The Air by the Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra conducted by Sidney Torch. If anyone can identify him I would be very grateful.
So for once it’s marvelous to know the name of the instrumentalist. In this case it’s the American classical violinist Max Pollikoff who created the “Music In Our Time” series which commissioned and premiered hundreds of new serious works. However in the highly specialized world of light orchestral music, the solo violin tended to play in its upper register but on this occasion it’s at the lower end of its range sounding almost like a viola.
In my view, David Raksin’s Laura (1944) is one of the most beautiful melodies to grace the 20th century. Let me hasten to add, this fragment from the film of the same name wouldn’t have existed as a song without Johnny Mercer’s wonderful words. Such a complex tune would have probably remained unknown but for two “minor” miracles - the lyricist’s input and Raksin’s chords. So let’s see what Morton makes of it.
The arrangement played by rich strings (never saccharine) basically sticks to the original sheet music harmonies which are so gorgeous they hardly need altering. Pollikoff creeps in with a most haunting interpretation. I never fail to be moved to tears by his understated playing and tender vibrato. Lush strings come back for the second phrase after which the soloist again returns to caress the title. Note he always enters on the name itself “Laura”, not before. Completing the melody for the first time the stirring string section fulfils its mission with all it can muster.
Then the violin gives the impression of preparing to head for the heights to continue soloing, but in fact when it reaches the top it simply joins the other fiddlers acting as an enricher and melting into the crowd. At this point listen out for some very effective rubato which suits Laura down to the ground. And speaking of altitude, the “viola” returns to terra firma on the words “The laugh that floats on a summer night that you can never quite recall”.
Back to the strings for the main tune with a little touch of tremolo before some vintage céleste to taste. The tutti climax is absolutely stunning but Max Pollikoff’s final offering just has to be the highlight. It’s also an opportunity to hear his all-round ability on the instrument. Gould’s uncomplicated ending does full justice to his highly sensitive arrangement of one of the outstanding evergreens of all time, let alone the Great American Songbook. This 1947 Morton Gould setting was probably one of the first non-vocal versions to be recorded for the commercial market.
Laura (2)
(Raksin)
Robert Farnon’s arrangement
Analysed by Robert Walton
This track from the LP “Presenting Robert Farnon” was recorded in 1950 and produced by Tutti Camarata. It was a fantasy of Farnon’s to hear a large string aggregation play his setting of Laura. Well, thankfully he finally got his chance and his dream came true.
Without any preamble, he goes straight into the tune achieving far more impact than any introduction. After all, it worked perfectly well for When I Grow Too Old To Dream, Always and To A Wild Rose on the same disc. The famous Farnon strings in slow foxtrot tempo caress the lovely Laura as only they can. In the first break on the word “light”, the céleste provides some sprightly movement over a sustained chord (“misty light”). This small keyboard instrument sounding like the glockenspiel was a favourite decorative device of Farnon’s at the time, as well as being part of the backing behind vocal numbers.
In the next pause on the word “hall”, four lower string “brush” strokes give her portrait a bit more interest. The céleste returns to add some colour in the next section (“The laugh that floats on a summer night that you can never quite recall”). Typically Farnon doesn’t overdo the ornamentation at this early stage keeping it comparatively straight.
Then the arrangement starts to ever so slightly go up a gear (“and you see Laura”) with his unique unison violins gathering intensity and height but sounding like no other orchestrator. It’s hard to believe violins on the same note would instantly identify Farnon the founding father, but this master of mood music carries us all up into the ether whether we want to or not. To end the first chorus (“She gave your very first kiss to you”) back we go to a rich warm low-key affair slowing right down.
The harp then emulates a bell tolling, as if heralding a stirring solo in a violin concerto, interspersed by some glorious Gould-like swells. Never has popular music been so elevated. The strings gently conclude this lazy laid-back look at Laura by also providing some downward chromatic decoration with the harp for the coda. After landing on the home harmony, restless strings, not quite finished, take a little wander before finally coming to a halt. Note the irresistible dissonance between the sustained last note of the tune and the wayfarers. It’s all part and parcel of the Farnon genius.
Laura (3)
(Raksin)
David Rose’s arrangement
Anaysed by Robert Walton
The trademark Rose string sound (tune on top of a violin chord in the treble and celli on the same melody note two octaves below) instantly hits you for six as it declares this 1952 arrangement open. This calling card is Rose’s “fanfare!”. Never faraway in a Rose score is the oboe, a distinct reminder of the music of Victor Young at the start of an LP of Paul Gallico’s “The Snow Goose” read by Herbert Marshall. In Rose’s case the oboe makes its presence first felt in a fast descending scale, only to be assailed by the opening chord again. But we’re not quite through with the woodwind as the mellow bassoon adds its homage to our special lady.
After all that, we’re finally off with Rose’s rubato-ing strings sounding very much in control of the strain of this beautiful Italian, Spanish and English girl’s name. It’s the feminine form of the Late Latin male name Laurus. The oboe is back playing over “misty light” and the strings take us onwards to “the hall” when muted brass act as fillers, joined by a rhythm section, before taking over the tune with “The laugh that floats on a summer night”. Decorating the word “night” the violins produce an ethereal effect using harmonics. This is followed by a woodwindy “that you can never quite recall”.
Subdued strings, now minus rhythm, (“And you see Laura”) with a harp, clarinet and flute for company, move on to another sudden outpouring of emotion with a French horn ‘swimming’ inside the chord. And then gradually the strings build up for the end with small outbursts of musical steam like an unpredictable volcanic geyser site. The final wail from the “wall of sound” with echoes of the opening is repeated softly.
If ever a song was “felt” by an arranger then this must be it. Riddle did it with Vilia. But Rose takes Laura even further by becoming totally involved with the song and living every nuance. This is achieved by simply following his musical conscience. A melody and lyric of such distinction deserves no less.
Laura (4)
(Raksin)
Composed, arranged and conducted by David Raskin for the New Philharmonia Orchestra
Analysed by Robert Walton
Before we talk about the music, it might be worth recounting how Raksin got selected as composer for the 1944 film “Laura”. He was chosen quite by accident as it happened. There had been problems in the preparation of the production; so much so, it had become a “don’t touch it with a bargepole” picture, as anyone connected with it could be tainted. Otto Preminger wanted the studio’s top man Alfred Newman, but Al already had more films than he could handle. Bernard Herrmann turned it down on the basis that if it wasn’t good enough for Newman, it would hardly be suitable for him.
At the time, Raksin was considered too unconventional and inexperienced. But they’d reached the bottom of the barrel so Newman reluctantly assigned Raksin to do the job. Now for the first time Raksin was called to a screening in Darryl Zanuck’s darkened projection room. One of the scenes was to be cut quite savagely but the composer protested that no one would understand that the detective (Dana Andrews) was in love with Laura. There was a horrified hush as Zanuck asked who that was. An assistant informed him that it was Raksin. After more discussion, the composer incredibly got his way and Zanuck granted him permission to try. So Raksin’s chutzpah paid off. The composer was given the weekend to come up with a theme, otherwise Duke Ellington’s Sophisticated Lady would be used. A tall order! As luck would have it, Raksin found what he was looking for just in time, and Laura was born, albeit only on a scrap of melody.....by Monday!
A truly radiant symphonic opening sets the scene for what promises to be a really special arrangement, more a fantasy really. When the horns come in, a feeling of hope fills the air, just like Venus, the Bringer of Peace from Holst’s “The Planets Suite”.
Hard to keep the oboe out of any arrangement, but there it is in all its plaintive glory singing out the first four bars of Laura twice. Some Farnon-like flute figures follow continued by the oboe. A single horn plays the tune if not accurately, but composer Raksin is perfectly free to do exactly what he likes. After all, the year was 1975. The second time the horn is joined by a glockenspiel that taps out some decorative notes in the appropriate places. Then the oboe and clarinet provide a bit of dramatic interest before the strings play with the melody before handing it on to a superb violin soloist. Wish we could have heard more of him/her. Then another soloist appears on the scene. It’s amazing how the sound of a cup-muted trumpet transports us instantly back to the Big Band Era.
Then cutting in on the last part of the tune, Raksin waltzes Laura around the ballroom in much the same way as Riddle did in the introduction of A Handful of Stars for Nat “King” Cole.
Now we get really symphonic with the New Philharmonia showing us what they’re made of. Never has the song had such a glorious treatment. Probably the most dramatic its ever received. Later in a subtle passing moment, the horn somehow manages to remind me of Mozart’s 4th Horn Concerto, while the oboe adds its colour to the kaleidoscope.
Finally the Big Band Era is again represented by that lone soloist giving the song that little touch of nostalgia that even a large symphony orchestra can’t quite reproduce.
(Van Heusen; Delange)
Reg Owen Orchestra
Analysed by Robert Walton
One of the most underrated composers, arrangers and conductors of the 20th century European scene was Reg Owen (born George Owen Smith, (1921-1978). I first came across him as one of the original orchestrators for Ted Heath’s Music after WW2, with classics like Colonel Bogey, Blue Skies March, Sidewalks of Cuba, Cuban Crescendo (composer) and Village Fair.
Impressed as I was with these arrangements, there was something else he produced for which I shall be eternally grateful - The Reg Owen Arranging Method of 1956. It’s the best one of its kind easily outdoing many other big name manuals on how to orchestrate. Owen covered every aspect of arranging from the smallest combination to a full orchestra. Each instrument was thoroughly defined, including its range. His coverage of the subject was so complete that the book became my bible of music. If it hadn’t been for Owen, I would never have been so well informed and given the incentive to be an arranger.
He is mostly remembered as a ‘one hit wonder’ because of his 1958 best-selling recording of Manhattan Spiritual. His excellent film scores were also very much part of his career.
One of his non-dance band arrangements was an early 1938 Jimmy Van Heusen ballad called Deep in a Dream played by a studio orchestra in 1960. It’s a very apt title given its ethereal quality with good lyrics by bandleader Eddie DeLange. First to greet the ears are the unmistakable sounds of Flamingo even though it hadn’t been written then. A “Gordon Jenkins” type tempo accompanies a horn in a lazy start with a hint of A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. This quite predictable melody creeps along at a snail’s pace sliding on to very basic chords. Time for the irresistible strings to make an entry which they invariably do. Like most arrangers who adore them, Reg Owen always kept one eye on the main chance ready to feed them in.
“Then from the ceiling, sweet flutes come stealing” giving the bridge a little stressful undertow with pizzicato strings, while taking us gently back to the main tune. Once again strings are the thing as we wander among the flamingos waking up from our serious siesta.
Guild Light Music
GLCD 5209
By Robert Walton
Why do strings, especially those in a symphony orchestra, have such an effect on audiences, like transmitting a sublime message? Especially a composition with a lovely melody and beautiful harmonies. And like any gathering of performing instrumentalists, there’s always a distinctive air of mystery about the music. But more than that, the sound they create can be the most thrilling it’s possible for humans to produce. Think of it as a jumping off point for the listener to use his/her imagination in whatever way they choose. Add appropriate words and it can become a religious experience as, for example, in Mahler’s Symphony of a Thousand. If there happens to be a handy choir around, there’s nothing else in the world that can beat that combination. Even the most unmusical ear can be affected in some small way by the forces of the most powerful and biggest artistic outburst.
So where do strings originate? They’re influenced entirely from the sound of the human voice. Even a wordless chorus or made-up lyrics can be a most moving experience. So the next time you sing with a group, remember you were once part of the most precious natural component waiting to be re-invented and played by man-made means. Although violins, violas, cellos and double basses were discovered and perfected by experts (Amati, Guarneri and Stradivari), it’s still our vocal chords, which inspired such a universal auditory creation.
Arrangers Ferde Grofé and Bill Challis were largely responsible for introducing classically orientated string sections into the dance band and jazz worlds via bandleaders Jean Goldkette and Paul Whiteman. Gershwin’s sensational Rhapsody in Blue was the culmination of these three cultures. After a modest string quartet Artie Shaw got hooked on a larger section, but the first real genius of string backings was Axel Stordahl who single-handedly gave them total legitimacy in the world of popular music for Frank Sinatra. In the process, Stordahl paved the way for Nelson Riddle.
Finally, and perhaps more than any other style, strings became the mainstay of light music (concert music in America) especially between 1940 and 1960, which was constantly heard on cinema newsreels and radio in general. This is sometimes called “The Golden Era of Light Music” when the finest practitioners of the highly specialized art of mood or production music reached its zenith - Eric Coates, Charles Williams, Sidney Torch, Clive Richardson, Wally Stott (Angela Morley), David Rose and many others. Before anyone screams out “What about Farnon?” I was just coming to him. In the 20th century, Robert Farnon was without doubt the greatest composer, arranger and string writer of them all! André Previn was absolutely right.
(Van Heusen; Delange)
Reg Owen Orchestra
Analysed by Robert Walton
One of the most underrated composers, arrangers and conductors of the 20th century European scene was Reg Owen (born George Owen Smith, (1921-1978). I first came across him as one of the original orchestrators for Ted Heath’s Music after WW2, with classics like Colonel Bogey, Blue Skies March, Sidewalks of Cuba, Cuban Crescendo (composer) and Village Fair.
Impressed as I was with these arrangements, there was something else he produced for which I shall be eternally grateful - The Reg Owen Arranging Method of 1956. It’s the best one of its kind easily outdoing many other big name manuals on how to orchestrate. Owen covered every aspect of arranging from the smallest combination to a full orchestra. Each instrument was thoroughly defined, including its range. His coverage of the subject was so complete that the book became my bible of music. If it hadn’t been for Owen, I would never have been so well informed and given the incentive to be an arranger.
He is mostly remembered as a ‘one hit wonder’ because of his 1958 best-selling recording of Manhattan Spiritual. His excellent film scores were also very much part of his career.
One of his non-dance band arrangements was an early 1938 Jimmy Van Heusen ballad called Deep in a Dream played by a studio orchestra in 1960. It’s a very apt title given its ethereal quality with good lyrics by bandleader Eddie DeLange. First to greet the ears are the unmistakable sounds of Flamingo even though it hadn’t been written then. A “Gordon Jenkins” type tempo accompanies a horn in a lazy start with a hint of A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. This quite predictable melody creeps along at a snail’s pace sliding on to very basic chords. Time for the irresistible strings to make an entry which they invariably do. Like most arrangers who adore them, Reg Owen always kept one eye on the main chance ready to feed them in.
“Then from the ceiling, sweet flutes come stealing” giving the bridge a little stressful undertow with pizzicato strings, while taking us gently back to the main tune. Once again strings are the thing as we wander among the flamingos waking up from our serious siesta.
Guild Light Music
GLCD 5209
Vocalist
By Robert Walton
Over the years I have always been aware that string man George Melachrino was an occasional singer in the dance band world but I had never heard him, let alone seen him in that role. He had already been employed by Ambrose, Carroll Gibbons and Bert Firman. Therefore imagine my surprise and delight at finding him on a recent video on the Internet on Google. Until then he was just a handsome face in a photo on some long forgotten record or CD disc. Now for the first time I was seeing him “live” as it were, filmed by British Pathé at the Embassy Club in 1940 with a 9-piece orchestra.
Holding his violin, he was dressed more like a Lieder singer in a Tuxedo about to render the well known Great American Songbook standard Fools Rush In. It was the completely unexpected formality of his presentation that staggered me. I thought it’d be a casual performance like a member of the band briefly leaving his chair. But this was totally out of character, like a recital from London’s Wigmore Hall. His excellent tenor voice gave the 1940 tune an almost classical treatment. I bet its writers Johnny Mercer and Rube Bloom would have been amazed. This was just another example of Melachrino’s many talents. His clear voice made him more than a cut above any old crooner. And his conducting ability must have stood him in good stead for his first big studio job with the Austrian-born tenor Richard Tauber in 1945. Remember Melachrino was also a multi-instrumentalist. As well as a very good violinist he had mastered the viola, oboe, clarinet and saxophone. All these abilities made him a perfect leader of an orchestra. Rather like composer-arranger Robert Farnon who also as a multi-instrumentalist had a head start in the business.
So from a tiny violin a few inches long given to him by his stepfather, George became conductor of two of the world’s finest light orchestral combinations, the Melachrino Strings and Orchestra. In his childhood he was given manuscript paper and instead of coloured chalks, a pencil to play with. At 4 years of age he composed his first piece Up the Mountains because the pattern of the notes resembled just what it said, the title. Even then he was a class act!
After arriving back in the UK in 1965 after a holiday in New Zealand, I learnt of the sudden tragic death of the man himself which was more than a blow, because literally only the night before, I met George Melachrino’s agent in Chelsea and was about to offer some of my own tunes for the company.
04
Jun
Different Versions of the Same Set Light Music Selections - Another Look
Written by William ZuckerAs my friend Graham Miles has posted two versions of a piece by Peter Yorke entitled "Fireflies" which are distinctly different by virtue of length, I will take a moment to touch on this particular subject, as it raises some very interesting questions to which there may be myriad answers.
In the case of two recordings of a piece that are noticeably different in length, in the sense that one has material that the other lacks, we first have to ask ourselves which came first and is the original version, to ascertain whether the composer expanded on his original, or on the other hand in the reverse eventuality, whether he cut a short portion from what he originally had, and finally, whether it was rather a matter of cutting it in the recording process to enable it to fit on the side of a 78 or 45 RPM single disc.
Whatever the truth of what may actually have occurred in these cases, it is inevitable that some subjective preference will enter into it when making a judgment.
I do not claim any position of being a final arbiter in such cases. I can only judge each instance of such on its merits as I receive them. I am already aware that there could well be opinions sharply differing from my own, but I have no choice in this matter, as these selections are not being examined as though part of a college course in composition.
To get underway with what I am referring to, I will start with Robert Farnon's "Journey into Melody." Most of us might know that the piece originally had a far more elaborate introduction, making a full circle of keys in the process. This may be heard in the piece's original recording by the Queen's Hall Light Orchestra under Charles Williams. Reportedly Farnon himself decided to shorten the introduction to lead directly into the main melody, resulting in the form most of us are familiar with. For whatever reason, this was more satisfactory to him as being "better balanced" structurally, but as I am at frequent pains to point out, we do not all receive a given piece of music in the same manner individually, and of necessity would include the composer as well. I for one feel that the original extended introduction adds a searching quality at the beginning that gives it a whole new dimension, and I actually prefer the piece in that form and always so play it at the piano.
With Farnon's "Pictures in the Fire" the reverse appears to have occurred as the piece evolved, as one can note by comparing the earlier recording by the Queen's Hall Light Orchestra with the later one by Farnon's own orchestra. In the process, Farnon added in a short phrase to smoothen out a transition within that central modulating section that in a previous article I had written covering this piece I had referred to as "bluesy." I feel that the piece is definitely improved by this short addition, with any feeling of abruptness evident in the earlier version completely remedied, so in this case I will prefer the piece in its later state.
But it should not be assumed from any of the above that I would always by inclination prefer a longer version of a piece when comparing two versions side by side.
To take yet another Farnon selection, "Lake of the Woods" where here too we have alternate presentations; a simpler, normal length presentation in the normal A-A-B-A form of a ballad as given by the Queen's Hall Light Orchestra, and the later one by Farnon with his own orchestra as part of the album "Canadian Impressions" in which the piece is expanded out to include a whole middle section before returning to the B-A of the opening. In this case, at least for me, it is a matter if stylistic incompatibility, at least as I receive it, between this new middle section and the original outlying portions with which I have difficulty in reconciling with one another. For that reason, I will continue to prefer the shorter version on the older recording. Moreover, I see the rather veiled sound quality here as a clear advantage as obviously the purpose of this piece is to convey a certain atmosphere, not to have every last detail of it rendered vividly clear.
Haydn Wood's "Soliloquy" is another example of what I am referring to. I actually found myself in a brief dialogue with the blogger, John France on this piece and expressed my reactions to the piece and to the two versions of it.
The shorter version appears on a recording by the Queen's Hall Light Orchestra under Robert Farnon; the longer version with the Slovak Radio Orchestra under Ernest Tomlinson.
As I advised Mr. France on that blog (it appears that hitherto he had been quite unaware of Farnon's shorter version), with my present information, it is quite impossible to know whether Wood expanded his piece from what he originally had, or trimmed away material from his original in the other eventuality, or perhaps Farnon in his efforts to fit the piece on the side of a single edited the piece to that end (quite expertly, one would think, if such were the case).
In any event, my preference is decidedly for the shorter version, which I invariably use when performing it. Listening to the longer version, I get the inevitable impression that it starts on an indeterminate chord in the middle of nowhere, and that the piece actually begins a few bars later. Moreover, in the reprise section, I feel that by the very nature of the material, it is quite unnecessary to go over every last bar that appeared earlier, and as I have just stated, I will continue to maintain for reasons stated my firm allegiance to the shorter version.
Some years ago, Robert Walton, one of the Society's regular contributor, wrote an essay on a piece by Edward White that I was hitherto unfamiliar, entitled "Caprice for Strings." I found it to be a rather unusual piece, but because of its rather erratic course I found that I was having difficulty in following it so that it made sense to me. At that point Tony Clayden stepped in to graciously share with both Robert and myself a recording of this same piece purporting to be the original, with additional material that was removed in the later recording.
I listened to this, and as a result of this added material I now for the first time found that I could better understand what the piece was about as the sections now held together more coherently. Moreover, some of the instrumental effects that Bob had described I could now hear for the first time, as I could not hitherto on the version that Bob had originally posted.
Further details of what I am referring to may be seen in my comments about this piece at the time it was posted.
Clive Richardson's "London Fantasia" is another example of what I am referring to. The original version was recorded by Mantovani on two sides of a 12" single disc, featuring Monia Liter at the piano, and is the only version I have cultivated, as it is the fullest version.
Richardson himself recorded it subsequently, with both Charles Williams and with Sidney Torch, and both versions have a small piece cut out. As he has recorded it in this fashion on both occasions, it must be presumed that he so preferred it for presentation, but others listening to it might very conceivably feel differently about it and would prefer it in its original form or at least it's more extended version if it came afterward.
The matter of having to economize in order to fit a selection on the side of a single disc can often necessitate some forced adjustments, some of which, in a recording I have posted of myself at the piano on both YouTube and Facebook I have actively sought to remedy.
Thus, with Percy Faith's arrangement of "If I Loved You" and David Rose's arrangements of "Why Do You Pass Me By" and "All I Desire," in each of which there is an obvious attempt to offer two presentations of the song, using existing material I have added extensions so that both presentations structurally have the full A-A-B-A scheme.
With Peter Yorke's "Blue Mink" I have added a slight extension to end the piece more smoothly so that it is not as abrupt, remembering that this is for listening purposes rather than as background music from a mood library. And in a planned second recording, I will be taking the middle slower section of Yorke's "Whipper Snapper," expanding it out to include more of the material from the faster section, being that this was the apparent intent in what is there presently, aborted due to the necessity once again of fitting the selection on the side of a single disc.
I hope that my notes have been informative and as always I will invite comments back.
William Zucker.
(Robert Busby)
Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra
Analysed by Robert Walton
The Chappell recorded music library created quite a stir in the music business when it came into being in 1941 with a series of 78s specifically designed for the use of radio, films and especially newsreels. Not only were they perfect for the job but many of the compositions proved to be extremely popular in their own right with the public as well. Many were released as singles. In fact the whole world embraced them. Never in the history of music was there such a unique sound with the highest quality of original tunes, brilliant arrangements and outstanding performances. A Window of Wonder! If it hadn’t been for the requirement of background music, these sounds might never have seen the light of day.
Occasionally some films used them for their entire soundtracks. I forget the title of the first one I saw in 1957 but the music clearly made an impression on me. It became a sort of quiz when I kept guessing what the next title was. Mind you although it was a novel idea, the music was not really suitable for soundtracks. There’s still nothing that can beat commissioning an official composer for such an enterprise to have overall control over the music and dealing personally with each scene.
The second movie I saw which used Chappell mood music recordings was from 1948 entitled “It Happened in Soho” starring Richard Murdoch. It opened with Robert Busby’s “Big City”. I discovered it in the current television series “Talking Pictures”. It was like Charles Williams with a big difference - a touch of Farnon. Williams was the first composer selected for the series. He was very professional and a great craftsman and his style became the prototype for many of the tunes that followed, but sometimes he lacked the emotional input and modern harmonies that later writers wrote.
A thrilling opening quotes Gershwin’s I Got Rhythm, London Bridge is Falling Down and suitable fill-in music emanating from Busby’s pencil. The whole track might be only 1:27 but what a great introduction. After more movement, a gorgeous string melody assisted by flutes and bells gradually climbs the heights providing the necessary passion and intensity. We are now completely immersed into Busby country. The end is essentially the same as the start with a flourish, before the bells highlight a glorious finish.
(Irving Berlin)
Analysed by Robert Walton
This is a song written in 1939 by a certain Siberian weather forecaster named Irving Berlin. It was inspired by a conversation between him and the British/Hungarian film producer Alexander Korda in a New York taxicab. The Munich agreement had just made both men momentarily miserable. The producer asked Berlin if he’d written a war song yet. A few blocks later the composer came up with a tune and lyrics. His head must have been swimming with tunes! (Perhaps something for Esther Williams was also brewing in the brain).
It’s A Lovely Day Tomorrow was first heard in the 1940 Broadway musical Louisiana Purchase introduced by Irene Bordoni. It was recorded by Bea Wain and Tommy Dorsey with vocal by Frank Sinatra. Another Berlin “day” tune was the more grammatically correct It’s A Lovely Day Today from his 1950 musical “Call Me Madam”.
Despite it being virtually forgotten, It’s A Lovely Day Tomorrow, a strongly optimistic melody in the key of C, still stands up well in the 21st century rather like a hymn. I remember it well. It was 1940 and I was at kindergarten. Come to think of it, it would have made an excellent national anthem. Most state-inspired tunes are pretty boring. Everyone remembers the strain but can’t actually place it. Like The Stars Will Remember the second 8 bar phrase suggests the song is about to finish but it’s only a false alarm. They both work. The melody of It’s A Lovely Day Tomorrow has Vera Lynn written all over it rather like We’ll Meet Again, which became her theme. A Berlin tune always seems to find its way to just the right artist and sounds like it wrote itself. Two other tunes that attached themselves to Lynn and were also all the rage at the time: There’ll Always Be An England and another American original The White Cliffs Of Dover.
However the sensational thing about It’s A Lovely Day Tomorrow was its perfect climax near the end on the word SAY (F minor). Very few songs have such a well placed summit with a large natural pause, giving the last few words “tomorrow is a lovely day” maximum emphasis. It’s as if the tune has been in a kind of knot and after direct contact with SAY has immediately untangled. I don’t know about you, but every time I land on something like this, I get a real feeling of peace and tranquility while wallowing in the wonderful sound it creates. It’s the greatest compliment a song can receive.
By Robert Walton
One place my wife and I had always wanted to see was the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland. And conveniently now living in the Republic of Ireland, we were in the perfect position to visit this minor Wonder of the World. When we eventually did get around to catching up with the famous formation near Portrush Co Antrim we weren’t disappointed. Associated with the opening of the Atlantic Ocean in the Tertiary Period about 60 million years ago, this mass of basalt columns caused by volcanic activity left a lasting impression on us.
So, stimulated by Ireland’s most distinctive geological creation, my wife suddenly had a bright idea. “Let’s go to Limavady while we are in the area”. What’s so speciaI about Limavady, I hear you cry? It only happens to be the home of Danny Boy, that’s all! Knowing we weren’t a million miles from the market town, we followed the map in a southwesterly direction towards the origin of a ‘musical’ Wonder of the World... the Londonderry Air, better known as Danny Boy. Many musicologists believe it’s the world’s most beautiful melody. I wouldn’t argue with that. Certainly Mozart or Beethoven couldn’t come up with such a perfect composition.
After we parked, we were welcomed by a smiling traffic warden who assured us she had already done her rounds for the day and after our free hour we could stay as long as we liked. We were beginning to warm to Limavady! At the tourist office we received yet another greeting from a charming girl who was clearly impressed with our prior knowledge and interest in the song.
Right opposite on a pub wall was a huge picture of schoolteacher Jane Ross who first heard the tune on a market day in 1851. It was played by local blind fiddler Jimmy McCurry who was more than happy to repeat it so that Jane could write it down. The violinist was a native of a rural townland called Myroe. He used to perform outside the Burns and Lairds Shipping Line Office opposite Jane Ross’s house. Some historians believe the tune was influenced by an ancient ditty known as O’Cahan’s Lament. Perhaps, said sceptics, Jane composed it herself in the same way that Fritz Kreisler had fooled everyone that some of his tunes were attributed to various 17th and 18th century composers. However the general consensus was that Jane was merely the annotator.
She apparently sent the manuscript to a music collector friend in Dublin, George Petrie, President of the Society and Publication of Irish Melodies who published it in 1855. Eventually it went viral as The Londonderry Air. The haunting tune remained wordless for many years despite attempts at finding the perfect match. The world would have to wait until 1913 when Bath lawyer Fred Weatherly wrote the definitive lyric to the tune sent from his sister-in-law in America. In fact it had been written in advance. Incredibly Fred had the title Danny Boy already in his files, whose words miraculously fitted the melody.
So if you ever find yourself in Limavady spare a thought for Jane Ross the true saviour of Danny Boy. To this day a Blue Plaque hangs on the wall of her home at 51 Main Street Limavady commemorating one of the world’s most sublime songs. Jane is buried in Christ Church graveyard just across the road. Over the years Danny Boy has been recorded by thousands of artists and orchestras from John McCormack to Elvis Presley.
But in my experience one of the most moving versions of Danny Boy was by a 90 year old resident of a Ballinrobe care home, Mary from the Irish village of Ballyfarnon. And talking of Farnon, the greatest orchestral arrangement just has to be that of Robert Farnon.
(Hoffman-Allen)
George Shearing Quintet with String Choir
Analysed by Robert Walton
Most professional singers make it a practice to do a thorough sound and familiarization check before performing on stage, especially one that’s new to them. Dame Vera Lynn was no exception and lucky enough to have the expertise of her fastidious husband Harry Lewis who always made sure that everything was just perfect. I was her pianist in the mid-60s when the three of us entered the Stoke-on-Trent venue to give it the once over.
As we walked in, the public address system was playing what I can only describe as “music from heaven”. I immediately went into a kind of trance and my goose pimples became instantly active. Vera and Harry couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but I was in another world transfixed to the spot. After making enquiries the engineer in the control room informed me it was the title track of George Shearing’s album “Touch Me Softly”. Near the end of Shearing’s gorgeous arrangement, ravishing strings go literally into overdrive in what I call “tone apart” harmony. Let me explain. On the piano, the right hand plays the chord of say G, while the left hand plays the chord of F (both 2nd inversions). Play them together and the dissonance it creates is absolutely mind-blowing, especially when you move them up and down in tones. (Much more daring than say Debussy or Ravel). When I discovered these discords, I thought they were pure Bartok but a Royal Schools of Music professor insisted they were just borrowed from jazz.
Why do “far out” harmonies appeal to us? Of course, our DNA has a lot to answer for. On my father’s side, their whole passion was music. His aunt was an excellent piano teacher (she dumped me because I wouldn’t practise) while his mother was an incredible sight reader. But it wasn’t all one sided. My mother was a Chopin fanatic.
Guilt can be part of it too. After purchasing Ted Heath’s Strike Up The Band with its abrasive high brass, I remember feeling guilty (almost naughty) because my parents might object. After my classical music training, to be suddenly swept up by all this dissonance was a life changing experience. Overnight it seemed I had found the key to a new world of sound. The discords dug deep into my soul literally hurting the senses but what a discovery. At first it jars but gradually one becomes accustomed to paradise!
A brilliant solo violin begins this brief concerto-like introduction in a thrilling way that totally gripped me. The opening of Touch Me Softly is actually a trailblazer for what’s to come. As soon as the Quintet chords are sounded, you know you’re in Shearingland and when the strings enter for the first time, the nimble fingers of the maestro confirm something special is on its way. This is no Tatum or Peterson but a very gentle George with his own tasteful piano, keeping everything as musical and relaxed as possible with overall control by Milton Raskin. This section is virtually repeated with some more dreamy like doodling from Shearing.
Then what we’ve all been waiting for, the symphonic strings suddenly erupt into a dazzling display of a sort of frenzied fusion between Schoenberg and Farnon, creating one of the most haunting sounds I’ve ever heard. It’s a sheer miracle that this very small part of the track happened to be playing that day in Stoke. The coda is an extension of the opening. I wonder how you reacted when you first encountered those Shearing strings?
“Touch Me Softly”. George Shearing
Capitol LP T1874
