Jazz is a concept that carries many meanings and spans several eras–the recent White House jazz concert appropriately ranged from Eubie Blake to Cecil Taylor–and different listeners will undoubtedly expect different things from Ry Cooder's new album because of its rather open-ended title. But I'm willing to bet that everyone will be surprised by what "jazz," as represented by these eleven tracks, apparently means to Cooder.
The program, consisting entirely of music created on the far side of 1930, contains instrumental versions of three hymns as adapted by Bahamian guitarist Joseph Spence, a nineteenth-century bordello song by pianist Jack the Bear (best known as the subject
Read More
of a Duke Ellington composition), a medley of two Jelly Roll Morton tunes and a trilogy of piano compositions by the first great white jazzman, cornetist Bix Beiderbecke. There are also three vocals that draw on vaudeville, Bert Williams (who, as Cooder notes, was the first black crossover artist in the years before World War I) and the infamous "coon songs" of minstrel days.
Arranger Joseph Byrd, who worked with the Sixties rock band, the United States of America, has provided Cooder's guitars and voice with settings that are impeccably realized and never less than clever. The results, however, aren't particularly satisfying, especially given the nature of some of the material. The Joseph Spence songs–which sound like a Salvation Army meeting conducted from the back of a wagon, with their mixture of brass, mandolin and pump organ–are spirited, but of limited melodic interest. In contrast, Byrd outfits Beiderbecke's "In a Mist" and "Davenport Blues" with sleek reeds and vibes, creating a salon effect that's just a bit too pristine. Cooder does better by Bix in his guitar solo on "Flashes," while the Morton tunes–multitracked on guitars, mandolins, tiple and harp–receive a lilting, Latin treatment true to Jelly Roll's fondness for "that Spanish tinge."
Of the vocals, the best is "Big Bad Bill Is Sweet William Now," an infectious celebration with the band delivering solos in relay fashion. This song doesn't carry the racial overtones of "Shine" and Bert Williams' "Nobody," both of which Cooder sings in the company of a vocal group led by Golden Gate Quartet veteran Bill Johnson. "Shine," one of the most racist lyrics ever popularized ("Just because my hair is curly/Just because my teeths are pearly..."), is the LP's most ambiguous performance, delivered without overt irony and, like all of Ry Cooder's work, stubbornly respectful of the original. Like the rest of Jazz, it's an elegant re-creation, but too much of the material never gets beyond the category of the well-mounted museum piece. The emotional engagement somehow seems to be missing, and without those strong emotions, do you have jazz? (RS 272)
BOB BLUMENTHAL
