Showing posts with label Lori Mechem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lori Mechem. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Holiday Jazz 2011: Santa still has plenty of swing

By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.14.11

[Web master’s note: Northern California film critic Derrick Bang — still the eldest, youngest and only son of this site’s jazz guru, Ric Bang — has surveyed the holiday jazz scene for roughly 16 years, with lengthy columns that just keep growing. Check out previous columns by clicking on the CHRISTMAS label below.]

Starting this annual column with an excellent disc always feels like a good omen, so let’s turn first to Ellis Marsalis’ A New Orleans Christmas Carol (ELM Records 19790). Long before Wynton and his many talented brothers became young cubs on the jazz scene, Daddy Ellis was roaring with the assurance of a venerable lion. He has gotten even better with time.

Although he contributed a few solo piano tracks to earlier anthology holiday albums for National Public Radio, Ellis Marsalis — surprisingly — hasn’t released his own Christmas disc until now. As the saying goes, this one was worth the wait.

The CD’s 20 tracks find Marsalis in four different modes: as soloist, leading a piano trio, leading a piano quartet with vibes accompaniment, and accompanying a vocalist. The combo arrangements are highlighted by driving keyboard work and lively percussion elements, starting with a funky, New Orleans-stompified cover of “The Little Drummer Boy.”

“O Little Town of Bethlehem” emerges as a slow samba, with a quiet bongo backdrop and some lovely work by Roman Skakun on vibes. Bassist Peter Harris stands out in a toe-tapping arrangement of “Sleigh Ride,” while Jason Marsalis delivers an equally delicious vibes lead, with Ellis’ piano comping behind him, on a solemn reading of “O Holy Night.”

Ellis’ solo piano treatments include an exquisite handling of “O Tannenbaum” and a charming run at “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

The two vocals are this album’s only drawback. Cynthia Liggins Thomas and Johnaye Kendrick — on “A Child Is Born” and an Ellis Marsalis original titled “Christmas Joy,” respectively — simply try too hard. Their overwrought deliveries do no favors to the instrumentalists.

The album’s final track includes an Easter egg, so don’t remove the disc too quickly; after a lengthy pause, Marsalis delivers a third piano solo, this one of “The Little Drummer Boy.” That makes three versions of that carol on this disc: probably one too many in anybody else’s hands, but simply more jazz magic from Marsalis.

Definitely one of the season’s must-haves.

Thursday, December 8, 2005

Holiday Jazz 2005: Jingle bell swing

By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.8.05

[Web master’s note: Northern California film critic Derrick Bang — the eldest, youngest and only son of this site’s jazz guru, Ric Bang — has surveyed the holiday jazz scene for roughly a decade, with lengthy columns that just keep growing.]


Time was, this annual column was hard to fill.

That was before the explosion of Christmas albums, a genre that has become one of the few genuine growth industries in the music biz.

Seems like everybody is recording holiday music these days, which is both good and bad ... good because it’s nice to hear more of this music, bad because science-fiction writer Theodore Sturgeon’s Law still holds: 90 percent of everything is garbage.

Which means more garbage.

As a result, canvassing record labels and the Internet for this annual survey of holiday jazz has become a lengthy process, because there’s no reason to waste space on the truly dreadful, with so many better albums at hand. But even though I’ve tried to be selective, this column can only be dubbed The Monster That Ate This Week’s Entertainment Section.

I’m not sure my wife will read all the way to the end. If you hang on that long, my hat’s off to you.

Some of the mainstream albums can be found in your local music shoppe, while many others are on sale only through cdbaby. A few others are even harder to track down, but this is the Internet age, and I have faith in your resourcefulness.

So: Nog some eggs, get the wrapping paper ready for a marathon session, and prepare for some groovy holiday mood music!

Starting with the ne plus ultra of 2005’s holiday releases , the season’s best news is Diana Krall’s modestly titled Christmas Songs (Verve B0004717-02), which best can be described with a single word:

Wow.

Krall disappointed a few longtime fans with the introspective pop angst of her previous album, The Girl in the Other Room, which bewildered folks who prefer her sassy covers of standards and torch songs. Well, if that’s the Diana Krall you love, then you’ll adore this album, because it swings to a degree that hasn’t been true of any Christmas jazz album released for quite awhile.

Krall never has been shy about employing carnal undertones, and that’s equally true here: This holiday album is downright sexy. The recording quality is nothing short of amazing; I’m pretty sure I can hear her smile on more than one occasion.

Krall is backed on seven tracks by the full-blown fury of the Clayton/Hamilton Jazz Orchestra, and the blend is awesome: by turns sassy, swinging and slyly droll. You can’t help grinning when, on “Winter Wonderland,” Krall modifies the lyric by singling, “...frolic and play/ the Canadian way.”

Two other songs — “Christmas Time Is Here” and “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” — are quieter reprises from Krall’s ultra-rare 1998 EP, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and it’s nice to have those tracks available on a more readily obtainable album.

This CD concludes with Irving Berlin’s poignant “Count Your Blessings Instead of Sleep,” from the 1954 film White Christmas ... perhaps more lullabye than carol, but nonetheless a marvelous way to conclude a magnificent album.

I’ve done these annual surveys for a long time now, and while I continue to be pleased by many new releases each year, I’m less likely to get excited; after all, we’re talking about a finite number of songs, and only so many variations on familiar themes.