Ania Dorfmann with Familiar Beethoven

My series of recordings by pianist Ania Dorfmann continues with perhaps the two most often heard Beethoven sonatas - the"Moonlight" (No. 14 in C-sharp minor "Quasi una fantasia", Op. 27, No. 2) and the "Pathétique" (No. 8 in C minor, Op. 13).

Dorfmann recorded these pieces in New York's Town Hall in June and July 1952 for RCA Victor's revived Bluebird label, which had become a budget imprint. Reader Jon Butler, in requesting this transfer, noted that "So many people learned about both Beethoven and the piano through Dorfmann's low-priced Bluebird recording."

My own introduction was via Rudolf Serkin, and of course I remain
attached to his readings. But these interpretations by Dorfmann have their own stature, with both poetry and power as required.

The sound is generally good, although the first movement of the Moonlight was problematic - my pressing had severe distortion in several places on one or the other channel. Luckily this was only on one channel at a time, and I was able to negotiate my way through to a largely unblemished final product. In other places, you may notice some discoloration in the fortes, which may have been on the master tape; I hope this isn't too distracting.

The Goldwaters Sing Folk Songs to Bug the Liberals

The Presidential election season is just about finished in the U.S., but we do have time for one more musical artifact from a campaign long ago. This one comes to us courtesy of my friend Ernie Haynes, Christmas music maven and perhaps the first friend of this blog.

Ernie has come up with this 1964 LP from a group called The Goldwaters, perhaps the only conservative folk singers in the country at that time, whose avowed purpose was to perform just to "bug the liberals." ("Bug" was the contemporary slang for "annoy.")

The ensemble takes its name from the Republican candidate for  President in that year, Barry Goldwater, a fine man and impeccable conservative who also was deeply unpopular with the electorate and lost resoundingly to Lyndon B. Johnson, who had assumed the Presidency upon the assassination of John F. Kennedy in November 1963.

Next President? Not hardly

Even before that transpired, the Goldwaters had been assembled from nearby college musicians by some Nashville-based promoters who were convinced that Goldwater would be the Republican nominee in 1964. They had the idea of making this LP and had actually put together some songs aimed at JFK, which had to be rewritten after the assassination. The performers themselves, unlike many folk groups, had no input into the material, which was first in the hands of famed country songwriter John D. Loudermilk and then producer Mark Bates.

After the record's release, the Goldwaters were engaged to perform at Republican gatherings throughout the campaign season, including some with the candidate himself. But after Goldwater was buried in the November landslide of votes for Johnson, the group's time in the spotlight was over.

Ernie has come up with an lengthy interview with lead singer Ken Crook, which you can find here. It should answer any questions you may have about the group. I will say that Ken was not a bad vocalist and his compatriots were not terrible instrumentalists. Their material was dreadful, however, and compounding the cheesy effect was a clumsy laugh track that even Crook hates. Perhaps the high point of the proceedings is the song "Barry's Moving In," which, unfortunately for Ken and his friends, did not prove prophetic.

Our previous political-themed posts, both also from 1964, include the soundtrack to the cheapo film "The Candidate," starring Ted Knight, and, on my other blog, Lyndon Johnson's theme song, "Hello, Lyndon!" in a somnolent performance by Ed Ames.

Thanks again to Ernie for his latest contribution!

Elliot Lawrence's Woodwind Band

In 1957, bandleader and arranger Elliot Lawrence was recording with studio bands for both Fantasy and RCA's Vik imprint. (Examples of his work for both labels can be found on this blog here.)

Lawrence had retired his road band a few years before, and soon thereafter was taking lessons from the famed conductor Pierre Monteux, who had premiered works by Stravinsky, Debussy, Ravel, Prokofiev and others. That tutelage inspired Lawrence to try arranging for a different ensemble than the dance and jazz bands that had made his reputation. The result is this album, clumsily titled Hi Fi-ing Winds, scored entirely for woodwinds and rhythm section - no brass, or saxophones for that matter.

Elliot Lawrence

Unlike many of his records, the arrangements here are all Lawrence's own, and they are a delight. He chose from among his own compositions, added some standards, plus a few items particularly suited to the woodwind sections. Among the latter, Lawrence transformed the "Dance of the Reed Flutes" from Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker ballet score into "Flight of the Flutes," and unearthed the catchy novelty tune "Piccolo Pete" from 1929. The album begins in ironic fashion with a string-free version of "Holiday for Strings."

I should mention that this is not a jazz LP. I only noticed three solos - Barry Galbraith's obbligato guitar on "Holiday for Strings" (mixed so low as to be almost inaudible), the leader's piano on his own "Windfall" and a clarinet solo on "Fascinating Rhythm," probably by Sam Marowitz.

I can't tell you what is transpiring on the cover. The clarinet and oboe players have shoved their instruments into the sand (which couldn't have been good for the reeds), inspiring a young woman to pose in the surf in her evening frock. If any of you can decode any significance from this odd tableau, please enlighten me in the comments.

More Beethoven from Walter, Plus Reups

The title of this blog says something about 10-inch records, so I guess it is about time I got around to posting an example of that species. This one is not just any 10-incher, but the first classical LP of that size, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 8, as performed by Bruno Walter and the Philharmonic-Symphony of New York.

From a 1943 ad

Walter also had the honor of conducting the first classical LP of any type, the Mendelssohn violin concerto with Nathan Milstein, a 12-incher issued as ML 4001. The Beethoven symphony had the lowest number assigned to 10-inch classics, ML 2001.

While those two LPs were new in 1948, the recordings were not. The Mendelssohn was a transfer of a 1945 78 set, the second of Milstein’s five recordings of the concerto. (The first, with the Cleveland Orchestra and Rodzinski, remains unissued.) Walter’s Beethoven symphony dated from as far back as April 1942. It was the third in his ongoing mono cycle that commenced with No. 5 and the Eroica in 1941. I’ve been presenting the symphonies here from time to time.

In the early 40s, Columbia was doing its New York orchestral recordings in Liederkranz Hall. The results here are resonant to the brink of boominess, but as always with Walter’s readings, the performances are well worth hearing.

Now for some reups, all the result of requests. All these have been remastered and are generally in much better sound that my original efforts.

Copland - Piano Concerto, Barber - Violin Concerto. These were both first recordings – excellent ones, too - the Barber from 1950 with Louis Kaufman and Walter Goehr and the Copland from 1951 with Leo Smit and the composer.

Warner's Color TV Fashion Show. Perhaps the most obscure record I’ve ever offered, this is a promo sent to stores in advance of a 1956 television show touting women’s undergarments. Songs by Michael Brown, whose greatest hit was “Lizzie Borden”.

Humoresque (soundtrack). Franz Waxman chopped and channeled various classics for this 1946 Joan Crawford potboiler, with the high (or low) point being his transformation of the Tristan and Isolde prelude into a semi-concerto for Isaac Stern and Oscar Levant.

Boult Conducts and Rehearses Britten. This is actually two records from the same 1956 sessions with Sir Adrian Boult and the LPO. The first contains stereo recordings of the Peter Grimes Sea Interludes and Passacaglia and the Young Person’s Guide, sans narration. The second contains a narrated Young Person’s Guide and a rehearsal recording with Boult, both in mono.

The links above lead to the original posts. Links to the recordings themselves can be found both in the comments there and in the comments to this post.

Early and Rare Capitol Singles from Margaret Whiting

When the great vocalist Margaret Whiting died five years ago, I devoted two posts to Capitol singles that had not heretofore been re-released in any form. Those records were drawn from old store stock 45s dating from 1949-56, and I promised a follow-up post devoted to my collection of her earlier Capitol 78s.

But soon thereafter that stack of shellac suffered water damage, and I never got around to cleaning up the remnants and seeing if they were still viable as subjects for transfer.

There things stood until recently, when reader punkinblue9 wrote to ask if I had four Capitol singles featuring the young Whiting that have never been reissued – “When You Make Love to Me,” “What Am I Gonna Do About You?”, “What Did I Do?” and “Dreamer with a Penny.” It so happens that they all could be found in my pile of soggy 78s, so I took it upon myself to see if the subjects could be scrubbed clean enough to derive acceptable transfers.

I was surprised to find that the results are more than listenable, thus this post containing the four songs requested, along with 10 more early and less-often-heard sides from Maggie’s Capitol oeuvre.

Whiting was among the first artists signed to that label, beginning her tenure in 1942. She was not even 18 years old when she first went before the Capitol mics, but she sounds remarkably assured from the beginning.

The first several songs in this set show her in the subsidiary role of band singer, with the records attributed to bandleaders Billy Butterfield and Freddie Slack, and Whiting credited in small type. As with many such big band records, the songs are in a danceable tempo and, at least with the earlier Butterfield sides, Maggie only comes in after one or more band choruses.

The first item is from a 1942 session in which Butterfield reaches back to 1930 for the DeSylva, Brown and Henderson song “Without Love.” You can detect the influence of Mildred Bailey in the 17-year-old Whiting’s singing here, but from then on, she was her own person.

The next song is “Silver Wings in the Moonlight,” a 1943 effort made popular by the wonderful Anne Shelton, whom I must feature here some day. Whiting sings the contrived lyrics backed by an out-of-tune Freddie Slack band. Sorry about the peak distortion, which was present on both of my copies of the 78.

Slack was better with rhythm songs, and moves on to a sort-of boogie woogie with the Don Raye-Gene de Paul product, “Ain't That Just Like a Man.” Whiting is fine, but Slack did this kind of thing better with Ella Mae Morse.

We return to Butterfield for the Cahn-Styne “There Goes That Song Again,” in a lumpy two-beat rendition dating from 1944. Maggie’s solo has to fight for attention with Johnny Guarnieri’s busy piano figuration.

A good version of “Someone to Watch Over Me” comes from Butterfield's Gershwin album, which otherwise did not make use of Whiting’s talents.

The singer moves up to equal billing with arranger Paul Weston for his 1945 version of Berlin's “How Deep Is the Ocean,” rendered in the hybrid big-band-with-strings style that was becoming popular, particularly behind singers. Maggie is supremely confident singing over Weston's gorgeous arrangement.

“Along With Me” (a beautiful post-wartime song from Harold Rome's Call Me Mister, which you can find on this blog here) has an uncharacteristically lush backing by former Miller arranger Jerry Gray. “When You Make Love to Me” is also in the hyper-romantic vein of the day, with Maggie backed by swirling strings, woodwinds and muted brass.

The balance of the sides were arranged by Capitol staffer Frank De Vol, a former big band hand comfortable in many styles.

“Beware My Heart” is a good but formulaic song from Sam Coslow. “What Am I Gonna Do About You?” is a lesser-known Cahn-Styne movie song from 1947’s Ladies Man.

“What Did I Do?” is a minor-key semi-blues from Josef Myrow, of all people, which Whiting does well. It came from film When My Baby Smiles at Me, and the small span of the melody may have been suited to stars Betty Grable and Dan Dailey, neither of whom had much range. The flip is the standard “Heat Wave.” On this one, the Capitol censors changed the words in Irving Berlin's couplet "She started a heat wave / By letting her seat wave" to "letting her feet wave," which doesn't quite work with the subsequent exclamation that “She certainly can can-can!”

“Dreamer with a Penny” posits the questionable premise that it’s better to be a dreamer than be rich with a worried mind, a common Depression-era conceit that was presumably comforting to the destitute. Nonetheless, it's a fine song by Lester Lee and Allan Roberts introduced in the 1949 revue All for Love, and especially well handled by Whiting. On the flip, De Vol could have breathed more life into “Forever and Ever,” a lugubrious hymn-like waltz.

The sound on these 78 is very good, with minimal surface noise.

For a bonus Whiting selection, you are invited to visit my singles blog for the story behind her 1951 tribute to longtime cowboy star Hopalong Cassidy, including a cameo by Hoppy himself, together with the theme music from the silver-haired cowpoke’s television show.