Beautiful Horizons

Hal David

While there is little to debate about Hal David's contributions to American popular song, - although I note that no one is making much mention of the treacly To All the Girls I've Loved Before, arguably Willie Nelson's lowest moment - I always felt that what endured were the Burt Bacharach melodies.

I worked for the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers (ASCAP) for some twenty years, during which Hal David was either on ASCAP's board of directors or served as president. Rumors abounded about his temper, but the only example I ever witnessed was his arrival for a board meeting. When one left the elevators at ASCAP's headquarters on the sixth floor, one normally went to the front reception desk, to get the attention of the security guards if one wanted to be let in to the board room and executive offices on the opposite side. I routinely saw other board members do that: Marilyn Bergman, Cy Coleman, Johnny Mandel, Morton Gould, Paul Williams among others.

One day, I was in the elevator with him and as I exited, noticed that he turned in the opposite direction and waited by the door, without making the slightest effort to get the attention of the guards' who were busy assisting others. Rather than walk the twenty feet to get their attention, he simply bellowed - yes, bellowed - "Hal David!", at which point he was buzzed in.

Rest in peace.

Several Passings I Wanted to Mention

Many years and a couple of employers ago, I had a passing acquaintance with Bingham Ray. He, along with such luminaries as John Pierson,with whom I did work at Films, Inc. in the 1980's, was a major figure in the growth and development of indie films from the 1980's. His work was characterized by a passion for fine work, something all too rare these days.

There's precious little I can add to what has already been said, written and sung regarding Etta James, except to direct you to her work in the jazz genre singing standards. The other day I was walking home from the subway, when her version of I'll Be Seeing You popped up on the Ipod. Her voice was a perfect fit for the wistfulness and anguish over a parting that one senses will be permanent. She also recorded one of the best covers of Blue Gardenia, one of the great ballads dealing with the grief of abject rejection.

Cesária Évora, languished in obscurity for far too long and that may be the biggest tragedy of her death. Her music was the music of displacement; displacement mandated by poverty and forced separation from those one loves. To give one an even greater sense of this, consider the films of Pedro Costa: Ossos, No Quarto da Vanda and Juventude em Marcha, collectively known through the Criterion Collection edition set, Letters From Fontainhas. Costa drew his inspiration for the films from the Cape Verdeans who he encountered in Cape Verde, who, upon finding out he lived in Lisbon, pressed letters in his hands and implored him to deliver them to family members in the Fontainhas neighborhood of Lisbon.

At least Ms. Évora will be remembered by Cape Verde: a three meter statue of her will be installed next month at the airport in São Vicente.

Clare Fischer was one of the great and most under appreciated composers/arrangers in jazz. Such compositions as Morning and Pensativa stick in my head every time I hear them. Fischer and Cal Tjader were among the earliest non-Latin proponents of Latin Jazz.

Bob Brookmeyer labored behind the scenes for so long, well known among the cognoscenti, but deserving of so much more attention. His 1964 recording, Bob Brookmeyer and Friends hasa stunning lineup of sidemen: Ron Carter, Herbie Hancock, Elvin Jones, Gary Burton, Stan Getz and Brookmeyer on valve trombone. It's one of my favorites - and the rhythm section makes it memorable - but it was one of a few recordings of his on a major label. His legacy is solid and he will be missed.

Robert Sklar

I was stunned to hear of the news of Robert Sklar's death, especially, given the circumstances: a bicycle accident in Barcelona.

I had read his seminal work, Movie Made America years before I had the pleasure of meeting him when I worked for Films, Inc. a distributor of feature films in 16mm format for showings in non-theatrical settings. Not only was he one of my customers, but I arranged several screenings of some of the more obscure Bogart, Cagney and, in particular, John Garfield films (we had an extensive collection of RKO titles) for his book, City Boys: Cagney, Bogart, Garfield, for which he was gracious enough to give me an acknowledgment when the book was published several years later.

He was one of the primary figures to establish the link between studies of popular culture and social history.

Another role for which he was less well known was as one of the founders of Rotisserie League Baseball, i.e. fantasy league baseball.

Rest in peace, Bob.

I'm really getting tired of writing obituaries . . .

Erotides José Esteves de Oliveira

When I first spoke with my father-in-law, he was in Governador Valadares and I was in Manhattan, but the distances were bridged by our love for his daughter. My Portuguese seventeen years ago was pretty weak, but we managed to chat briefly.

I was understandably nervous at the time: Mércia was his oldest daughter and his only daughter among five sons until her sister was born when she was nearly thirteen. Her brother who lives in New Jersey had filled me with stories about how tough her father was, but when we first met face-to-face a year later, I extended my hand to my father-in-law and he pulled me into a firm abraço: handshakes are for strangers; hugs are for family. Further evidence of his gentle heart manifested itself at our wedding ceremony when I saw him dabbing tears from his eyes.

I believe that the thing I loved the most about him was his sense of humor: gently ribald with a laugh that belied his often gruff exterior. One year for Christmas I gave him a bubble maker that consisted of a man bent at the waist with his pants around his ankles as the bubbles wand passed slowly over his ass, the delicate release of the bubbles serenaded in counterpoint with the eerily authentic and loud fart sounds. To say he loved it would be to grossly understate things. At New Years' Eve that year in Itaipé, Minas Gerais, my mother-in-law's hometown when the clock struck midnight he raised the bubble machine high over his head, much like the Lawrence Welk Show as if produced by South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

Nothing moved me more than my first ever contact with him when Mércia passed me a note from him in the mail. I don't remember much of what he wrote except for the last three words as they were in English: "I love you."

Eu te amo também, sogro. Vou sentir sua falta por resto da minha vida.

Rest in peace.

My Memories of Gil Scott-Heron

I first started listening to Gil Scott-Heron in 1975 and although Johannesburg was getting all the attention, this song stuck with me for its sheer loveliness:

 

He has been, I believe, wrongly called "The Godfather of Rap," but in my humble opinion, he was so much more intelligent, witty and poetic. I'll never forget playing We Beg Your Pardon for my parents and being pleasantly surprised by how much they understood and appreciated what he was trying to say. Judge for yourself:

 

I will never understand what caused someone who railed so powerfully against addiction in such songs as The Bottle and Angel Dust succumbed to them himself. It's beyond tragic. I felt devastated when I read about his drug arrests and subsequent incarceration.

But enough of the sadness. No song of his ever gave me more inspiration, more hope and more motivation than 95 South:

Rest in peace. You are missed.

RIP Sidney Lumet

Times obit here. The prolific director of "12 Angry Men," "The Fugitive Kind," "Long Day's Journey Into  Night," "Network," "Dog Day Afternoon," "Serpico" and "The Pawnbroker," Lumet released his final feature - the excellent "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead" - in 2007 at the age of 83.  He began his career in television, directing the great live drama shows of the fifties such as "Playhouse 90," "Studio One" and "Kraft Television Theater."  "12 Angry Men" was his TV production before he made the classic film starring Henry Fonda.  Quite a life...truly one of the memorable men of American film.

Still Miss You, Mom

Mom, you would have been eighty today. Two years later and I still miss you every day. There's not a day that goes by that I wish I could pick up the phone and hear your voice.

Love you always.

George Shearing, R.I.P.

He may not have been as popular as Herbie Hancock, Art Tatum or Oscar Peterson. He may not have been as influential as Bill Evans. He may not have played with as many stellar leaders as McCoy Tyner. Nevertheless, I was always a fan of George Shearing, who died on Monday at the age of 91. The obit nails exactly why he was so pleasant and intriguing to listen to:

With Margie Hyams on vibraphone, Chuck Wayne on guitar, John Levy on bass and Denzil Best on drums, Mr. Shearing recorded “September in the Rain” in 1949. The distinctive sound of both the quintet and Mr. Shearing himself — he used a so-called locked-hands style in which his hands played melody and harmony in close quarters, with the melody line harmonized by the right hand and doubled by the left hand an octave below — caught listeners’ fancy, and stardom soon followed.

So he lacked rather more obvious fire, but he could play bebop as well as anyone:

 

 

My favorite of his recordings was a solo piano recording titled Grand Piano, in which he recorded what may be the saddest standard ever composed, It Never Entered My Mind, and interpolated Erik Satie's Gymnopedie #3 and quite beautifully so:

I can assure you, you've never heard a version of Mack the Knife quite like this:

 

 

Rest in peace.

Peter Yates, RIP

I believe it would be a bit harsh to refer to Peter Yates as a journeyman filmmaker. Granted that he had a diverse body of work and made some films that were truly dreadful (The Deep, Krull and The House on Carroll Street), but while he gained much attention for Bullitt, I believe that he should be remembered for The Friends of Eddie Coyle and Breaking Away.

Rest in peace.

RIP Gerry Rafferty

 

He passed away yesterday after a long illness.  He left some of the sweetest guitar playing of the 70's.  Oh, and that unmistakeable sax on "Baker Street."  Thanks you, Gerry Rafferty.