Artist: Rosemary Clooney w. Duke Ellington
Album: Blue Rose (1956)
I love standards. It can’t be denied. Yes, the Great American Songbook can often be a contentious issue, especially for younger, more “progressive” musicians (of which I classify myself). Like many other young jazz students, I once found myself heavily frustrated with the aforementioned “Songbook.” However, I eventually took to heart some great advice offered by both Dave Liebman (a personal idol) and Christian McBride at separate masterclasses: standards are better internalized and understood – and, often, conveyed – when the performer knows the words. Starting a number of years ago, I decided to seek out vocal renditions of my favorite standards. Even if the renditions weren’t ideal, I’d have a good lyrical reference. Blue Rose is the latest stop on this journey.
Like a number of other albums in my collection, I purchased this purely on a whim. It happened to be in the bargain bin at the local Borders, and oddly enough I had recently been thinking that I wanted another album of old-school, vocally-interpreted standards. (Also, for reasons I don’t know, I’d also been hunting for a something 40+ years old featuring a female vocalist. Again, I’m not sure why…) It turned out to be a worthwhile purchase, and quite a steal (worth more than the discounted price I paid)!
The story behind this album’s production is pretty involved and a bit of a nightmare. Basically, Ellington and his orchestra had to record their parts separate from Clooney, who was unable to travel to the session due to illness. As a result, Strayhorn had to play more of the man behind the curtain than usual. Yet, this segmented approach is undetectable for the listener – it sounds as if Rosemary and the boys were all in the same room. A few disclaimers:
1. For those wanted Ellington barn-burners, this likely isn’t for you. (If you want something similar to that, I recommend the historic Sinatra at the Sands or the lesser-known Basie Swing Bennet Sings.)
2. Similarly, this disc rarely shines the spotlight on the wealth of strong soloists in Ellington’s orchestra.
3. Clooney, of course, didn’t build her lengthy career on jazz interpretations. There’s definitely a “pop” element to her approach, however I find it a nice change of pace when mixed with Ellington’s deft orchestral abilities.
Consider this album a nice “other” to John Coltrane & Johnny Hartman. Tight arrangements, scat- and acrobatic-free singing (which I like), and more lighthearted than Trane’s release. It’s also a bit more vanilla. Like Miles’s work with Gil Evans on Columbia, this record was probably quite popular in 1950s white suburbia. However, it’s not simply glossy pop. The band does have one instrumental, with Johnny Hodges taking a crooning lead on “Passion Flower,” letting his alto wail above the band. Jimmy Hamilton takes a lively clarinet solo on the up-tempo “I’m Checkin’ Out, Goombye,” and of course the ever-popular “It Don’t Mean A Thing…” lets loose with Jimmy Hamilton (this time on tenor), Clark Terry, and Harry Carney. Another notable song is the title track, a nearly impressionistic ballad featuring a wordless Clooney melody (written for the occasion). I suppose one could consider it scatting, but the use of vocables here isn’t to fill out space or improvise a solo, but rather to let the melodic line speak for itself.
Overall I’m quite satisfied with this find. Not only did I not have this in mind when walking into the store, but I didn’t even know this album existed – a pleasant surprise! Not only would fans of the Ellington songbook enjoy this album, but also most any fan of the Great American Songbook.