The idea of a poetry recital backed by jazz music is usually ascribed to the beat movement, specifically the San Francisco poets. This particular LP was midwifed by Lawrence Lipton, but Kenneth Rexroth was at least as involved in the movement. He made his own album about the same time, as did Kenneth Patchen.
This record features the work of San Francisco poets Philip Whalen and notably Lawrence Ferlinghetti along with Lipton. Also included are precursors Walt Whitman and W.C. Williams, along with Langston Hughes, whose poetry was influenced by vernacular music and who had experimented with jazz accompaniment back in the 1920s.
Lipton coined the phrase "jazz canto" to describe the fusion of jazz and poetry - although "fusion" is perhaps too strong a word for what is achieved here. This is not art song; the poetry is recited, although at times reciter Bob Dorough does fall into a sort of notated speech or even outright singing. Most often, the poetry and music seem to be in two different worlds; and although interesting and valid on their own, one doesn't add much to the other when heard together.
That is, except for one number that is gloriously successful - Dorough's recitation and music for Ferlinghetti's poem Dog. In this case, the music makes the poem leap vividly to life, and the result is one of the best things (and by that of course I mean one of my favorite things) produced in 50s music. It helps that Ferlinghetti's poem is based on the dog's journey through the streets of SF, which lends itself to being set to music that trots right along with him. It also helps that Dorough's wry Southern accent sounds just like you imagine this "real live barking democratic dog" would sound. It's a third-person (third-animal?) poem, but the poet identifies closely with his dog-tagonist.
Dorough also did the music and recitation for three Langston Hughes poems, with much less success. The LP contains music from Fred Katz, Ralph Pena, Buddy Collette, Jack Montrose, Bob Hardaway and Gerry Mulligan with speakers John Carradine, Hoagy Carmichael, Ben Wright and Roy Glenn. Mulligan's music accompanies Glenn's recitation of Philip Whalen's Big High Song for Somebody, and that cut has achieved a certain minor renown of its own, but I think the actor's hip baritonal presentation isn't right for the poem.
This was billed as Vol. 1 of a series, but I don't think there was a Vol. 2. The jazz and poetry movement, which started with a bang (or a rimshot) in 1957, was all but over by the time this record came out in 1958.
Do try this for Dog - who, writes the poet, has his head cocked sideways "into the great gramophone of puzzling existence with its wondrous hollow horn which always seems just about to spout forth some Victorious answer to everything." It's the perfect poem for a record collector.
