Based on the harmonies of George Gershwin’s “I Got Rhythm,” Duke Ellington composed his colorful “Cotton Tail” in a 32-bar form. Within six brief choruses, Duke and his Orchestra pumps out tremendous energy from Ben Webster’s vigorous solos on the tenor, to imaginative sax soli, to the call-and-response patterns between the brass and reeds section. What grabs my attention, though, is Ellington’s little stride solo (at 1:57) in the fourth chorus. Duke’s the man.
I am “In the Mood” for a sweet, light swing from Glenn Miller and his Orchestra. What I am feeling is the simple yet effective use of shifting dynamic levels. Even though the tone is not bluesy, the structure is a straightforward 12-bar blues. Dig the typical call-and-response effects between reeds and brass sections and the rising chromatic phrases of the trumpet at the tag ending.
I listened to My Tam’s Vut Bay when the album dropped late last year, but didn’t even mention it since I couldn’t feel it. Now that my hommie gives her such a big prop, I revisit the whole joint to figure out what I am missing. It still comes across as a bubble-gum pop record that has been Koreanized and sprinkled with kindergarten rap verses. When I heard My Tam sings in Korean, that was it for me. I hung up my headphone. Hoa Mi Toc Nau has lost her direction moving from pop to rock to Korean crap. My Tam’s fans might have eaten this right up, but I am spitting it right back out. The only Korean product I would eat up is kim chi.
Dizzy Gillespie’s “Groovin’ High” is a “silent theme” tradition. Diz took an American popular song called “Whispering,” abandoned its melody, then wrote a new melody on top of the metrical and harmonic structure of the original composition. The tune kicks off with Diz and Bird (Charlie Parker) play in unison. The tagging between the two is awesome. After Bird’s marvelous solo, Slam Stewart’s bowing-bass improvisation is invigorating. Of course, Diz’s wailing trumpet on the high register is unmistakable. After guitarist Romo Palmieri gives his solo, Diz takes the tune out with a sudden turn to a much slower tempo. With the powerful way Diz blows, I could just see the huge puffiness on his cheeks.
Hip-hop lyrics could be frightening sometimes, especially coming from someone as heartless as Young Jeezy. Considering the following confession from his song entitled “Dreamin’”:
Mom’s smokin’ rocks
Same shit I’m sellin’
So who’s wrong, her or me?
She’s addicted to the high
I’m addicted to the cash
Almost put my hands on her
When I caught her in my stash.
Hip-hop is a form of expression. As listeners, we are responsible for making the distinction between art and reality. I love rap music as an art form, but never influenced by the content. As much as I like the ruthlessness in Jeezy’s rhymes, never in this life I would put my hands on my mama no matter how wrong she could have done to me. Even if she wants to kill me, I would not stop her. When I was bad, mom would make a half-chided remark like if she knew (I turn out that way), she would have pinched my noise and let me go when I was a baby. My reponse was it is still not too late, ma. You gave me this life; therefore, you’re the only one that can take it away from me. But deep down inside, I know that you won’t stop loving me even if I turn out to be a monster.
As a hip-hop listener and a lyrical freak, I pay close attention to the accentuation of the words. Listening to Vietnamese music is no exception. I am a stickler for those diacritical intonations as well as the differences between “ch” and “tr” or the ones that ended with “n” (gian) or “ng” (giang), and so on. I find these nuances to be fascinating, and Vietnamese singers should as well.
This brings me back to Tuan Ngoc again. Yes, that guy who loves to close his eyes when he sings. Yes, the guy with all the veins popping out if his neck when he soars. But heck, he could sing not only well, but also correct in his exotic enunciations. As much as I would love to say that I know the capitol of Vietnam, I know jack about Ha Noi. Yet when Tuan Ngoc sings Trinh Cong Son’s “Nho Mua Thu Ha Noi,” I could sense the fragrance of “cay com nguoi vang,” “hoa sua,” “com xanh,” and “com sua,” even though I have no clued what they smell or look like. They all come from the way he articulates those words, especially “nguoi,” “sua,” and “com.”
For argument’s sake, let’s say that Trinh Cong Son had crafted these lyrical words, not Tuan Ngoc. That is not incorrect, but when other singers cover this tune they could only get as far as the visual elements such as “mai ngoi tham nau” or “mau suong thuong nho, bay sam cam nho vo canh mat troi,” not to the point where I could psychologically smell the poetical stimulations. See, I don’t need Ecstasy to get me high, a simple song from Tuan Ngoc and Trinh Cong Son would do. Big up to Duy Cuong for the gorgeous vibe as well.
“St. Thomas” is a famous piece among jazz musicians. The form is ABA with sets of improvisations that fall into two sets of five choruses, then two sets of four. In the intro, Max Roach sets up a Latin groove with sixteen bars on the drums. The fluidity and intensity build in from Sonny Rollins’ tenor saxophone. His sound on the tenor is sensational and powerful. Roach then drops an intoxicating Latin vibe that filled with rhythmic complexity. As Rollins returns for his solo, Roach switches to a strong jazz beat along with Dough Watkin’s four-to-the-bar bass. The beat prevails almost to the end of the performance.
Just decorated the site with some yellow blossoms for our New Year. Instead of posting traditional New Year tunes, I am going to post something a bit different from Clispe called “Chinese New Year.” The chorus goes, “I’m at your door, your eyes are like why are you here / Judging by my steel I got something to do here / Give up the money or the angel cries two tears / Front of your crib sounding like Chinese New Year.” So you better give them the red envelop or you’re going hear, “Brrraaattt… brrraaattt, brrraaattt… brrraaattt, ka-ka-kat-kat,” not the typical firecracker sound.
Giant Steps was the album that established John Coltrane’s career after striking out on Miles Davis. The title track, which moves progressively from one key to next in a floating atonality, demonstrated Coltrane’s virtuosity and concentration on the tenor saxophone. As someone who did nothing but practiced all day and night, Coltrane showed his mastery of maneuvering his way around a detailed road map, and he was moving so fast that his pianist, Tommy Flanagan, was having some difficulty fingering out how to navigate the treacherous road. The composition is based on a sixteen-bar structure, but it goes by so fast that if you tap your foot to it, you would miss every other beat. If you can’t keep up, this wonderful Flash animation from Michal Levy could help.