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Funk Friday: “Make Me Believe In You,” Patti Jo

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Happy Fear Day, Tune-Up fans!  (Or, Valentine’s Day, if you’re committed to living a life of mindless literalism and social norms and having people actually understand what you’re talking about.)

Before you all inundate me with messages about the glories of love and life and birds and bees and whatnot, let me pause for a second.  Love is great.  Love is glorious.  Love is also terrifying, difficult, and a royal pain in the ass.  Think of all the hundreds of billions of inputs that endlessly feed into making you who you are – the person who takes their coffee black, who prefers staying up late to getting up early, who prefers big groups to small gatherings, and will never under any circumstances wear pleat-front pants.  You and everyone you see every day are Olympic-sized swimming pools of memory-infused preferences and experience-born trigger points, some conscious and some so parked in your subconscious you don’t even know it.  In a way, there are seven billion unique languages on the planet.  And yet, in the midst of all of this, we meet people, we fall in love, and, sometimes, we find our languages have a common root.  Amazing.

This is what I ponder every February 14th that rolls around, and it always makes me think of those people who are in the beginning stages of the whole love saga.  No matter how much sang-froid one was born with, it’s impossible not to wonder about the future.  And because, in my mind, V Day is also Fear Day, it does kind of put one on the offensive.  Hit it, Patti Jo.  “You’re gonna be downright in shame if I find that you’re playing any game.  Make me believe in you.”

Termagant Tuesday: “West End Blues,” Jelly Roll Morton

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February 11th was a big day in history.  Let’s review:

  • 55 AD: Tiberius Claudius Caesar Britannicus dies under mysterious circumstances.  Nero becomes emperor.  Things start to seriously suck in Rome.
  • 1531: Henry VIII becomes head of the Church in England.  WASPs in boat shoes and elbow patches come out of hiding.
  • 1812: Massachusetts Governor Elbridge Gerry creates a new word and “gerrymanders.”  WASPs of conscience go back into hiding.
  • 1906: Pope Pius X publishes Vehementur Nos.  Reconsiders.
  • 1971: 87 countries, including these United States, sign an agreement outlawing the use of nuclear weapons on the…wait for it…sea bed.  So that’s something.
  • 1983: Ronald Reagan declares February 11 to be “Inventor’s Day,” and calls upon the American people “to observe this day with appropriate ceremonies and activities.”

To celebrate this last bullet especially, The Daily Tune-Up presents Mr. Jelly Roll Morton, one of the inventors of jazz (though, if you asked him, he’d say he birthed jazz all by himself, to which this blog respectfully says, “the hell you say”).  Morton was born Ferdinand Joseph LaMothe in New Orleans in 1890.  His composition, “Jelly Roll Blues,” published in 1915, is the first known jazz publication in American history.  He became renowned for his interpretations of other jazz songs and also for his considerable talent at the piano.   In 1935 Morton moved to Washington, D.C. where he managed a bar at 12th and U, Northwest.  That bar has had many names but my fellow Washingtonians know it as Ben’s Next Door, aka the vaguely nicer joint next to Ben’s Chili Bowl.  Morton died in 1941 in Los Angeles, California.  He was apparently such an arrogant ass throughout his life – going on and on about how he “invented jazz” – that not too many people came to his funeral.  Thankfully, his music continued to be influential, whether people liked the man or not.  So I raise a grateful glass to his memory.  As far as I’m concerned, the world could use more visionary pains-in-the-ass.

Funk Friday, Part II: “(There’s A) Freeze On Funk,” Olympic Runners

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OH SNAP!  Didn’t see that coming, did you, Tune-Up fans?  I had to split today into two parts.  Part One: Normal funk Friday to get you in the mood.  Part Two: Funk appropriate for the Winter Olympics Opening Ceremonies!  The only people I could call on to help us get down to the Sochi groove is, obviously, the Olympic Runners.  This song in particular is apropos – not only because it’s mind-bendingly cold in Sochi, but…how to put this delicately…Russia’s government has been an active participant in every aspect of planning for these winter games.  (See: euthanizing roaming packs of dogs, hotel rooms so unfinished the guests are bartering lightbulbs for door handles, the whole “there are no homosexuals in Sochi” thing, the list goes on.)  I for one am extremely curious to see how Russia will portray itself during the ceremonies tonight.  As a serious aside, let’s all toss in some good thoughts that things will stay safe and calm.

Termagant Tuesday: “Walking Stick,” Leon Redbone

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Two words: Tuba, castanets.  Question: Could there be two instruments so perfectly suited? Answer: No.  Postscript: Duh. I admit, I had a bit of a problem figuring out what “mood” this song puts me in.  I don’t know whether there are words that exist to explain whatever mood it is.  That probably goes for the whole Redbone oeuvre.  I always get a kick out of the fact that Leon clearly enjoys playing this song so much that it speeds up to almost twice the original tempo.  What a strange, inexplicable song.

Funk Friday: “Hold On, I’m Comin’,” Sam Moore & Dave Prater

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Stax Records is an absolute legend, so of course this recording of this song is, according to me, the very best one out there.  No doubt these guys have amazing voices, but layer them on top of some serious horns and a tight groove, and you get something on a whole other plane.  This has been one of those weeks when I have really leaned on my friends and man oh man am I grateful.  Happy Friday, Tune-Up fans!

Termagant Tuesday: “Blues My Naughty Sweetie Gave To Me,” Sidney Bechet

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Boy oh boy, this song really cooks.  The drums are just a hair ahead of the other instruments, the piano is ever so slightly behind, and the resulting mismatch in tempo gives the song the sexiest syncopation this side of a liberal Joplin cover.

And the harmonies when the horns come back in at 2:51.  I mean come on.  Just stop it.  And when Bechet lets it rip at 3:48.  Listen to how the piano settles down to match the drums’ tempo to allow Bechet to get loose.  This is such a gloriously American sound, a fusion of Tin Pan Alley and a New Orleans jazz funeral, with a dash of Django Reinhardt.

If you need me I’ll be in a smoky jazz club in Paris with a French 75, my man on my arm, and a whole evening of hedonism ahead.

Termagant Tuesday: “Booty Swing,” Parov Stelar

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OK, Tune-Up fans, some of you purists might get a little shirty with me, but go with me on this – I promise it’s worth it.  Parov Stelar, aka Marcus Füreder, is a fantastic Austrian musician and DJ who creates seriously cool new jazz tunes through sampling portions of old ones.  The beginning of this song reminds me of “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” which inevitably steers the old brain-box towards Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, both staples of American culture and big figures in your Yankette’s childhood.  You will understand my unquenchable delight, therefore, when I found out that apparently someone had the exact same thought I did – and executed it brilliantly.  So, this Tuesday, you get a double-dose of fun by watching Fred and Ginger in the excellent movie, “Swing Time,” dance to a modern jazz track.  I know, right?!?

Funk Friday: “Stranger to my Happiness,” Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings

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There are a few songs that you can honestly say are perfectly constructed.  This is one of them.  The interplay between the sax and the guitar is so incredibly fun I laughed out loud when I first heard it; the trumpet punctuates the melody at exactly the right time; and the tempo is just spot-on.  (Also – the visual difference between the ebullient back-up singers and the staid bass guitarist is pretty hilarious.)  And finally, there is the force of nature that is Sharon Jones singing the lyrics – Sharon Jones who is, by the way, battling cancer and winning.  What a boss.

The Yankette would like to dedicate this song to one of her best friends, Deputy Tar Heel, and owes her lovely friend Mr. Bloomingtonian a bourbon for sending this song her way in the first place.  Keep your ears open and happy Friday, y’all!

Funk Friday: “You Can’t Be Told,” Valerie June

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I worship at the altar of Valerie June.  What a fabulously unique voice – so clear and sharp against the growl of the guitars.  This song makes me want to be:

a) in a coordinated dance routine with random patrons at a crowded bar, and/or

b) in a slow-motion movie scene in which I, the film’s protagonist, a wise-cracking hitwoman, am walking down a street in a major metropolis dressed in all black.  Plus aviators and heels.  Natch.

As neither of these things is going to happen, at least not anytime soon and not without a lot of paperwork, I’ll settle for putting this on in the background to help me push through a grouchy Friday afternoon and into a much more fun Friday evening.