Gorgeous sounds on battered home-recording discs: the magnificent piano creations of Mel Powell, circa 1941-2 (but that’s only a guess). Those of you who recoil from surface noise (“How can you hear anything through all those scratches?” frequently said a Philistine I knew at close range) might want to suspend critical severity. The Complaint Department is located right next to the dumpster. The discs are courtesy of Kati Powell, Mel’s very gracious and generous daughter.
One more for Mr. Waller:
and that pretty ballad, suggesting Jimmie Noone and Nat Cole:
It’s a pity he isn’t recognized more: he could really and truly play.
May your happiness increase!