Tag Archives: Hawaii

BRAD GOWANS, COLE McELROY, GUS EDWARDS, and THE FAT BABIES OFFER A RESPONSE TO WINTER 2018

My car, a year or two ago, in a typical snow-scene never imagined by Currier and Ives.

This posting is motivated by annoying winter weather — nothing unusual for January, but snow is much more delightful for children who get to play in it than adults who have to shovel it away.  But you know this, and my plaint is hardly original.  However, the musical palliative might be pleasant, even if it didn’t snow where you are reading these words.

[Brad] Gowans’ Rhapsody Makers — or Gowan’s on the label: Brad Gowans, cornet, clarinet; George Drewes, trombone; unknown alto and tenor saxophone; Frank Cornwell, violin, vocal; Tony Franchini, piano; Ed Rosie, banjo; Paul Weston, tuba; Fred Moynahan, drums; Frank Cornwell and two others, vocal trio. New York, October 26, 1926.

a hot side for sure:

and the flip side of the Gennett disc:

and since the impulse to go to Hawaii right away is hard to quell (the local weather forecast says the high temperature today will be thirteen degrees — Farenheit) here are two other versions of I’LL FLY TO HAWAII.  The first has a pleasing melody statement by bass clarinet, and reassuring trio singing:

and another venture into the land of aloha warmth with an intriguing trombone line over violins . . . and a vocal trio:

Bringing the impulse happily into this century, here is the rollicking version (2013) by The Fat Babies, from their second CD for Delmark Records (hot music by Paul Asaro, Alex Hall, Beau Sample, Jake Sanders, Dave Bock, John Otto, Andy Schumm):

If the plane fare is too much to consider, you can always escape through music.  This post is in honor of Sammut of Cambridge, always an inspiring philosophical presence, someone who has shaped my thinking in memorable ways.

May your happiness increase!

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“ON A COCONUT ISLAND” (March 26, 2011)

Here’s a delightful example of the multiculturalism that jazz embodies. 

What could be more expansive than a band of French musicians (with an American pianist sitting in) playing music created by a mixture of races and ethnicities in New Orleans? 

They’re playing a Hawaiian pop song (or at least its subject is Hawaii) recorded by an African-American trumpet player and singer — and my friend Melissa Collard, too.

And they’re playing it in Hungary. 

Call that narrow or insular at your own peril!

The facts:

The Night Owls, from Paris, play a leisurely ON A COCONUT ISLAND, at the 20th International Bohém Ragtime and Jazz Festival in Kecskemét, Hungary, March 26, 2011.  The Owls are Jerome Etcheberry, trumpet; Christophe Deret, trombone; Enzo Mucci, banjo; Sebastien Girardot, string bass; Guillaume Nouaux, drums.  And the meditative-looking fellow at the piano is none other than Butch Thompson!

The 2011 Bohém Festival DVD compilation can be obtained from order@bohemragtime.com.  See more at: www.bohemragtime.com.

MORE WORDS TO LIVE BY

ms-chocolate-2009

The implications are limitless. 

Hookipa Beach Park, Maui, Hawaii, January 2009

HANG ON TO ME (MY FRETTING LIFE BEGINS)

I bought a ukulele yesterday — perhaps not a heirloom, but it is a tenor Pono, made of koa, with a beautiful large sound.  Although I am not so optimistic as to see myself transplanted into the clip below (the lighted cigarettes make me nervous), I wouldn’t mind “a Hawaiian frappe.”  Later in the day, though. 

Edwards had marvelous poise — sweetness, swing, and comedy mixed.  He knows we’re out there, but is pretending that we aren’t. 

FOUR STRINGS IN MY FUTURE?

Two days ago on Maui, we wandered into a second-hand store in Wailuku and I saw a beautiful ukulele hanging on the wall.  In the grip of musical hubris and hopefulness, I asked to see it and improvised a simple Thirties single-note riff, impressing the Beloved, who said, “I didn’t know you could play!”  “I didn’t either,” I replied.

mele-curly-kpa-tenor-2-holeSince I was quite young, I have made half-hearted attempts at learning a number of musical instruments.  Some of those nstruments ornament my apartment, although I am cautious lest it turn into a one-bedroom version of a music store / pawnshop. 

The ukulele has appealed to me for a long time, because I had the notion that it might be fairly simple to play — four strings rather than some more intimidating number, and not a great deal of aesthetic ambition attached to it (unlike, say, the violin).  It also has a Jazz Age history — on all the Twenties and Thirties sheet music I collect, the line above the treble clef has chord diagrams for imagined ukulele players to read off the page — and the diagrams are just my speed, a diagram of the four strings with a dot on each string to show where the novice should place his or her fingers. 

I haven’t bought the ukulele yet, although we visited the Mele store, where Peter (the resident self-taught virtuouso) tried to teach me to play YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE, with middling results. (I am a recalcitrant, stubborn pupil.)   The second-hand store was closed today, and I refuse to pay full price unless I am compelled to by circumstances.  I also don’t plan to turn into Arthur Godfrey, Don Ho, or Tiny Tim, never fear.  My aesthetic model is Cliff Edwards. I don’t aspire to starring in Technicolor, being the voice of a Disney character, or dying penniless, but his swinging insouciance is immensely appealing.

There are many wonderful Ukulele Ike clips on YouTube — too many to up or download, so you might want to investigate them on your own.  I’ll report back about the results of my four-string quest.

(On YouTube, you can also see a brief clip of Buster Keaton at home in 1965, happily croaking his way through “June Night,” accompanying himself on a tenor guitar with a fair deal of skill.  Who knew?)