The Private Canon: "Crazy Rhythm"
This post is part of a series.
No shade on Tony Bennett, the Queens crooner with what I think of as a sharp-angled sound (as opposed to the more rounded tones of his friendly rival Sinatra), but the only record of his I've really responded and returned to is a two-disc collection simply called Jazz, which highlights his work with great sidemen (Nat Adderley, Art Blakey) and puts the emphasis on the standard repertoire.
It doesn't feature much in the way of what might be called actual "jazz" singing—except for one ecstatic track, his version of the 1928 dance jam "Crazy Rhythm." Over a driving shuffle by drummer Chico Hamilton, Bennett opens with an effulgent, unembarassed scat, the only instance I know from his catalogue. It's clear both that Bennett hadn't done a lot of scatting and why, given the imperfect results, he didn't do it more often (if ever), but I find his willingness to go for it here utterly disarming and infectious. This wild-man opener is later matched by a diverting solo from Hamilton.
Crucially—and typically, for a song interpreter of his serve-the-song school—this musical experiment fits the lyric that follows. This is, after all, a song about losing your mind to jazz rhythm, which many popular versions of the song—especially the most famous one, by Whispering Jack Smith—don't even try to capture. (Footnote: I've always relished one lyrical elision, on the lines, "What's the use of Prohibition/You produce the same condition." The listeners of the time would have filled in the blanks there—that the side effects of rhythm are the same as those produced by the politely unnamed substance.)
Speaking of rhythm: Though known for his ballads, Bennett has always played well with drummers, as in this duet with another jazz giant.
No shade on Tony Bennett, the Queens crooner with what I think of as a sharp-angled sound (as opposed to the more rounded tones of his friendly rival Sinatra), but the only record of his I've really responded and returned to is a two-disc collection simply called Jazz, which highlights his work with great sidemen (Nat Adderley, Art Blakey) and puts the emphasis on the standard repertoire.
It doesn't feature much in the way of what might be called actual "jazz" singing—except for one ecstatic track, his version of the 1928 dance jam "Crazy Rhythm." Over a driving shuffle by drummer Chico Hamilton, Bennett opens with an effulgent, unembarassed scat, the only instance I know from his catalogue. It's clear both that Bennett hadn't done a lot of scatting and why, given the imperfect results, he didn't do it more often (if ever), but I find his willingness to go for it here utterly disarming and infectious. This wild-man opener is later matched by a diverting solo from Hamilton.
Crucially—and typically, for a song interpreter of his serve-the-song school—this musical experiment fits the lyric that follows. This is, after all, a song about losing your mind to jazz rhythm, which many popular versions of the song—especially the most famous one, by Whispering Jack Smith—don't even try to capture. (Footnote: I've always relished one lyrical elision, on the lines, "What's the use of Prohibition/You produce the same condition." The listeners of the time would have filled in the blanks there—that the side effects of rhythm are the same as those produced by the politely unnamed substance.)
Speaking of rhythm: Though known for his ballads, Bennett has always played well with drummers, as in this duet with another jazz giant.
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