The Fredösphere

Let's return, shall we, to that Henry Mancini album I mentioned yesterday.  It consists of tapes raided from Henry Mancini's junk drawer.  This was an era (late 50s) when the music had class, but not taste, if you know what I mean.  (If you do, please tell me.)  Follow the link and listen to the sound clips.  I'll sink my snarky teeth into those five tracks.  Beware if you listen to the clips for Windows Media:  oops!  Instead of tracks 3-5, you will get tracks 4-6.  You do get to hear Molly Bee from track six that way, singing flat of course.  Somebody held their finger too long on the forward button of the Discman.

Eartha Kitt, Moon River.  This song more than any other will transport me to another world -- a beautiful yet strange world full of Twainesque river boats, bog flora, and sophisticated jazz clubs peopled by elegant, lonely dreamers.  Wearing bunny suits.  Under water.  This track is a harmonic convergence of song and artist.  Please note I did not say singer, but no slam intended.  No really, none.  I'm in awe of how she murmurs her way through it.  I've tried that technique enough to know that I can't pull it off and never will.

Rod McKuen, Natalie.  Dude, take better care of your voice.  It sounds like your nodes have grown vocal chords.

The Anita Kerr Singers, Too Little Time.  The lyrics really ought to be We're trapped ... in tin ... we're really trapped ... in tin....  No folks, they're not singing from inside a metal can, they're singing through a Zube Tube!

Georgie Griffith, Sometimes.  A track to demonstrate that the female vocalists on the album cannot reliably sing on pitch.  Eartha is an exception, naturally, as you will remember that what she is doing doesn't count as singing.

Henry Mancini, Love Theme From Sunflower.  Mancini conducts this instrumental number.  The recording is a sad mess, with distortion overwhelming even the moderately loud sections.  You don't really hear the distortion on this short, low-quality clip, nor will you get a chance to dig the short harpsichord solo.

This album is odd and uneven, yet cool.  By selecting mostly recordings not used in other albums, producer Rod McKuen ended up with a quirkly collection that skews toward the rejects.  But rejects can reveal a lot about an era and its art that the polished product cannot.

And what's with Rod McKuen as a poet?  His lyrics in this collection are some of the most prosey poetry ever.  When he Quest For Directness goes bad.