This Week on Jazz Spectrum - 6/21-6/23

Song of the Week - “I Cover the Waterfront” - Music by Johnny Green, Lyrics by Edward Heyman

Each week, Fritz exchanges thoughts with Aly Krajewski about the Song of the Week featured on Jazz Spectrum Saturday.

Dear Aly,
 
As we age, and our gears begin slightly to slip, it can lead to some wonderful suspended-in-mid-air exchanges.  I was recently on the periphery of one.
 
          We were showing off the downtown riverfront park development.  Admittedly, it IS disorienting.  But:
 
          “You pretty much cover the waterfront.”
 
          “I love that movie.”
 
          “Which movie”
 
          “The one with the boxer.”
 
          “Was that Bogart’s last movie.”
 
          “On the Waterfront.”
 
          “Bogart’s not in that.”
 
          “I didn’t say he was.”
 
          “Who sings it in the movie?”
 
          “Who sings what?”
 
          “On the Waterfront.”
 
          “Brando.”
 
We got it all straightened out eventually, and we also got this week’s Song of the Week – “I Cover the Waterfront,” composed by Johnny Green, with lyrics by Edward Heyman, in 1933.  (They’d earlier collaborated on “Body and Soul.)
 
The tune has its own movie, although it doesn’t star either Bogart or Brando.  Ben Lyon plays the lead, who is my kind of guy, an investigative reporter determined to expose waterfront shenanigans.  Ben doesn’t look the part.  Maybe his star-turn three years earlier as a womanizer in Hell’s Angels gave him some sort of cache, leading the movie’s casting people to think Ben could pull off the intrepid-reporter part of the role.  On the other hand, Ben was a natural for the half of the role that called for him to fall in love with Claudette Colbert, who is perfect as the saucy and alluring daughter of the bad guy.  
 
By the way, Claudette’s dad really is a bad guy.  Played to the hilt by Ernest Torrence in his last film appearance, Claudette’s father is a ruthless mercenary sea-captain, who in a memorable scene tosses his passengers overboard, bound in anchor chains, to avoid detection by the Coast Guard.  Pretty rough, and probably something that should have been called to the attention of the authorities.  So Ben might have been on to something, other than Claudette.
 
The song has a bit part in the movie, and only the music made the cut.  It might have disappeared like Dad’s unfortunate passengers, had it not been for Billie Holiday, Artie Shaw, and Lester Young.
 
Before we get to them, let’s nod to the lyricist Edward Heyman, who takes the title of the movie (based on a book by an actual real-life reporter, Max Miller) and turns it into a lyric of great sentiment and longing, the singer patiently waiting on shore, watching the sea, wondering if a loved one will be coming back.
 
It’s no surprise that Billie Holiday dredged from the words a full array of feelings of forlorn love and fond hope and turned the song into one of her signature pieces.  We open the first set with her August 7, 1941 recording, one of her many versions, including several bootlegged live recordings that give you chills.  This one is with the pianist Teddy Wilson and his Orchestra.  Who can be sure, but to my way of thinking this version, alone, guaranteed the song would endure.
 
Next is Artie Shaw and his Orchestra, from January 1941.  I chose this for two reasons: first, it’s the first great instrumental version of the song; and second, it will satisfy, at least temporarily, your well-known Jones for a tastefully played clarinet.  Artie’s melody statement is ravishing.  But keep listening – he returns for a brief but brilliant improvisation.  Also, the arrangement by Lennie Hayton is a master class in blending the subtle shades of tonalities in large reed sections.         
 
Then, Sarah Vaughan, early in her career – July 2, 1947.  I like early Sarah – it may be heresy to say that in truth I prefer these early recordings to her later, more pyrotechnic extravaganzas.  You can hear her range and power, which would later flourish so dynamically, but she tends to yield more to the restraints of the score.  The result, as you’ll hear in this version, is marvelous.
 
The first set ends with a sheer delight, a refined trio version, recorded March 4, 1946, with Lester Young on tenor, Nat King Cole on piano and Buddy Rich on drums.  Lester and Billie were and will forever remain inextricably linked, so bookending the first set with their separate versions seems apt.
 
The second set opens with Helen Merrill singing and the pianist Teddy Wilson (yes, Teddy again) swinging behind her.  This is a spare version, a lovely showcase for Helen and the song.

Next, from Volume 3 of his Standard Time series, the trumpeter Wynton Marsalis and his father, the pianist Ellis Marsalis, Jr., treat the song with the lilting beauty it deserves.  This is one of Wynton’s most accomplished performances of a standard, which is saying a lot.
 
Then, the singer Catherine Russell.  If you haven’t heard her, this version of the tune is a great introduction to her strong but subtle vocal style.  And I love the horn arrangement by Alan Farber.
 
Finally, another clarinet for you, Aly.  This time the bass clarinet, played magnificently by Don Byron, from his knockout record, Ivey-Divey.  Jason Moran’s piano behind Don gives just the right counter-balance to his round, burnished tone.  If nothing else, this version should send you reeling toward wherever you get your tunes to listen to all of this record.
 
So there you are, Aly – right there on the waterfront.  
 
Yours for longing,
 
Fritz

Aly's Response

Hey Fritz,

Your note this week brought to mind so many things: most top-of-mind, I was reminiscing about my last trip to a slice of Toledo's waterfront—where I was attempting to sketch the scenery (like the protagonist of some turn of the century novel about a woman who realizes she can be an artist, even if her father says she must work at the family bakery) but ended up negotiating with seagulls over the last piece of my sandwich. It’s comforting to know that while I struggle with gulls, you’re curating a jazz experience that would make even the most discerning bird tap its feet. 

Two weeks in a row, you've now introduced me to some amazing tunes that I, shamefully, don't remember having heard before. This week, I found myself particularly enthralled with the lyrics to "I Cover the Waterfront", possibly more than the melody in all honesty. If I need to be demoted for such a sacrilegious sentiment, I understand and will dutifully accept the title of Jazz Spectrum Waterboy post-haste. It makes me wonder what Edward Heyman was able to tap into in order to reach a place of quiet, but monumental, yearning. (The guy who also wrote "For Sentimental Reasons" and "When I Fall in Love" had to have experienced the highest highs and the lowest lows of love, don't you think?)

Not to kiss-ass too much, but I do need to commend you for a really great blend & order of artist selections this week. I can usually find nuggets of enjoyment in SotW selections, but tend to single out a few favorites rather than thinking of the sets in their entirety. This week, though, I was basically enraptured from start to finish. And in some ways, I don't think this order of artists in these sets should work! Let me explain, before you sharpen your pitchfork.

Starting with Billie Holiday's rendition feels like beginning a meal with a decadent dessert. Her ability to dredge every drop of longing from Heyman's lyrics sets the stage in a way that makes you wonder if anything can follow. It’s indulgent, like diving straight into chocolate lava cake before the appetizers. You set the bar so incredibly high for us to continue into this set, it feels as if it's a setup. As if you couldn't improve upon perfection, Artie Shaw’s clarinet steps in next, temporarily satisfying my well-known Jones for a tastefully played clarinet. It's like finding the perfect wine to complement that dessert—satisfying and just right, though my appetite for clarinet remains as insatiable as ever. But even still, where do we go from here?
And how dare I even ask the question. Of course we go to Sarah. Sarah Vaughan, early in her career, adhering more closely to the score, feels like a beautiful appetizer, rich and flavorful but leaving you wanting more. Your preference for early Sarah over her later "pyrotechnic extravaganzas" makes perfect sense. Everyone has their heresies; mine involves a love for pineapple on pizza. (Can you tell I haven't had lunch yet?)

Then comes the trio of Lester Young, Nat King Cole, and Buddy Rich—musical musketeers, if you will, whose synergy transforms the waterfront into a harmonious harbor. If you gave me this week's setlist and told me to order the tracks, I think I might have put this one first, and shame on me for thinking so simply. This trio's minimalist approach is like the perfect main course, balanced and elegant, with no unnecessary frills—just pure, delightful taste.

Calling Helen Merrill & Teddy Wilson's version of this SotW "spare" may ring true, but it might just be the perfect balance of bright keys and slow, smooth vocal tones. Another tune on this week's setlist that I might have front-loaded on the order; another incorrect assumption from me. This track felt so right, just where it is—a musical palette cleanser, an aperitif. 

Wynton and Ellis Marsalis treat the song with a lilting beauty. This performance feels like a reliable pleasure, weaving magic through their familial bond. I might think to end a SotW set with this track, but again, that would feel so off ultimately. Where it stands in this order, it reminds me of a fresh spring salad, full of amazing extras and balanced so flavorfully. And in her rendition, Catherine Russell’s strong yet subtle vocal style navigates through the horns like a skilled sailor charting familiar but beloved waters; almost like a bite-sized appetizer at the start of a meal, it packs a punch without filling you up too terribly. Closing with Don Byron’s bass clarinet, backed by Moran’s piano, is like ending our chaos meal with a small but exquisite piece of bread & butter. It leaves a lingering reminder of the indulgence that came before, a final note that resonates long after the last bite. 
This backwards dinner of a set perfectly encapsulated some of the best parts about Jazz and Jazz Standards: the diversity in musical ideas, the breadth of talents, and the ultimate goal of evoking emotions through beautiful words and beautiful songs. Thanks for continuously enlightening me to new musical avenues. I promise to never question your setlist orders again (and I doubly promise my fingers aren't crossed behind my back).

So, here I am, Fritz—right on the waterfront, with jazz in my ears, a smile on my face, and a seagull still eying my sandwich. I think I'll go have lunch now. 

In melodious mayhem,
Aly