Friday Forgotten Song: Al Hirt’s Flight of the Bumblebee
As I mentioned some weeks ago, I remain a fan of the ahead of its time, little seen, and under-appreciated masked crime fighter TV series from the 1966-7 season, The Green Hornet. More so, the other thing that marked it distinctly was its theme song. The tune used reflected back to a time where such things were important in ways now long forgotten in today’s programming. Decades ago, it was a practice of sort to aspire toward a show’s signature tune to be liked enough that it’d make its way up the pop music charts. The Hornet’s would do just that and influence those that came afterward.
Back then, it wasn’t unheard of for television shows to employ classical music tracks as their theme songs. The Lone Ranger famously used the William Tell Overture as its musical prologue. And the long-time radio program for The Green Hornet, the one that preceded its 60s namesake TV series, used the orchestral interlude for Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov‘s opera The Tale of Tsar Saltan, Flight of the Bumblebee, which was composed in 1899–1900, for its introduction.
This piece has long been enjoyed by classical music listeners (casual or serious) and it remains a popular melody because it’s simultaneously catchy and playful. You can imagine the flight of said large hairy bee as the notes zigzag through your ears and into your head. Despite that, the instrumental tune remains an obvious challenge by those playing it. And for the very same reason it draws listeners, the frantic pace and intricate melody make it so. Wikipedia may have explained why that is best:
“It is not so much the pitch or range of the notes that are played that challenges the musician, but simply the musician’s ability to move to them quickly enough; because of this and its complexity, it requires a great deal of skill to perform.”
However, for the television show version it was significantly rearranged for the television series by Billy May. That noted musician/arranger/conductor gave it a decided kick by incorporating a big band jazz style makeover that was nicknamed “Green Bee“. And with that, The Green Hornet theme became best known for the trumpet solo played by the New Orléans-bred music legend, Al Hirt. If skill with jazz and that particular instrument were ever needed to deliver on a musical piece, one that really demanded it, only someone in stature of this trumpeter and band-leader could carry through with the challenge. And he surely did that.
While Lionel Newman conducted the orchestra in support of the piece, Al Hirt’s solo is so exemplary it pops out and dominates once the song’s opening notes pass. Literally, Al’s virtuoso trumpet quickly pushes everything to the background. While his Java recording from 1964 endures as the trumpeter’s biggest chart hit, it’s safe to say Al Hirt’s version for Flight of the Bumblebee remains just about iconic for the eyes and ears of those old enough to remember the program and its signature theme. So much so, director Quentin Tarantino, in a clear homage to Bruce Lee and The Green Hornet TV program, re-introduced it to younger generations when he re-tasked the song for a transitional sequence in Kill Bill Vol. 1. Needless to say, it’s far from forgotten now.
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Friday Forgotten Song: Kyrie by Mr. Mister
Recently, author Joseph Maddrey concluded a wonderful set of articles with his final entry of a quite splendid southwestern trip he undertook and cataloged. His Four Corners Tour series looked, both pictorially and historically, at some decidedly beautiful locations in that region (a number of which were utilized in some classic and iconic films). It a worthy piece of writing and I highly recommend it to my readers. What was almost as interesting was his inclusion at article’s end of a memorable music video from the distinct period of big hair and padded shoulders that was the 80s. Mike and the Mechanics’ Silent Running being that song. Likewise, Joe nailed the catchy nature of that track with his reply to my comment on how well he concluded his series so stylishly:
“Mark my words: That song will be stuck in your head for the rest of the day!”
So true. While I’m older, and thus shaped musically by the earlier decades of the 60s and 70s, I never will be immune to the unmistakable tunes of that period (as my blogging colleague Sci-Fi Fanatic knows only too well). Too much happened, both in the country and personally. Given the vagaries of the universe, I’ve tilted back toward the 80s of late. Just last Saturday, the good folk over at Warner Archive started carrying (by way of the MGM Limited Collection) the rare Sho Kosugi Ninja classic from that era, Pray for Death, in their online store. So I thought to end this week by trying to return the favor to my friends Joe and SFF alike with, hopefully, an equally definitive and haunting track from that same decade. I choose for this Kyrie by the quartet which was a “product of the L.A. session-musician community“ known as Mr. Mister.
Some things to keep in mind about this song, the second by Mr. Mister to hit #1 in the US (the first being “Broken Wings“), care of Songfacts: ”Kyrie Eleison” is Greek for “Lord, have mercy.” It is used as a prayer in both Roman Catholic and Greek Orthodox services. Greek was the original language of the New Testament and it was later translated in to Latin. When this was a hit, very few people listening to Top 40 radio had any idea that they were singing “Lord Have Mercy, Down the Road that I must travel!” The religious significance was mostly lost (Jeff of Charleston, SC offered up that info). The group wrote this while they were on tour with Adam Ant, a year before they recorded it.
When the song debuted (by the way, only a month after Silent Running was released, Joe) in December 1985, my world to that point was undergoing its own seismic shift. The seeds that would break up my penultimate girlfriend of the time, she-whose-name-must-not-be-spoken, and I were well planted by then. Though it didn’t seem like it at the time, that ultimately was a good thing. Songs such as this made the segue somehow bearable. Still, this track, with its initially slow ramp up, manages to unleash a contagious high energy with good style. And it was a testament to that 80s fashion of rebounding back. Its steady drumbeat and keyboard rhythms, accompanied by strong electric guitar strums, along with its telltale vocals and tight chorus, brought out some of the best, or at least well-known, aspects of the infectious pop song-manship department for that musical epoch. I think it was just too hard not to bob your head or tap a toe when this one let loose.
This album was the high water mark for the group’s popularity in the 80s. Whether you buy into Kyrie‘s underlying religious tone or not, a certain breakthrough sci-fi film (one with its own underlying messianic bent) seemed to make that connection. Even if their eras were very different, why else the next decade over did the character of Morpheus greet the newly freed Neo, early on in The Matrix, with the title of the song’s source album as dialogue, “Welcome to the real world.”? Hmm… I wonder. Anyway, it’s a song that I don’t think should or hopefully won’t be forgotten anytime soon. No matter how, it embodied the decade, like Joe’s pick and those that Sci-fi Fanatic periodically highlights. So, gentlemen, make sure to you comb out that mullet just right, and please, be sure to turn up your collar when you give it a listen 
. A happy and tuneful weekend to you all.
The wind blows hard against this mountain side
Across the sea into my soul
It reaches into where I cannot hide
Setting my feet upon the roadMy heart is old it holds my memories
My baby burns agem like flame
Somewhere between the soul and soft machine
Is where I find myself again*CHORUS*
Kyrie Eleison
Down the road that I must travel
Kyrie Eleison
Through the darkness of the night
Kyrie Eleison
Where I’m going will you follow
Kyrie Eleison
On a highway in the lightWhen I was young I thought of growing old
Of what my life would mean to me
Would I have followed down my chosen road
Or only wished what I could beOh…Oh…Oh
Oh…Oh…Oh
Oh…Oh…Oh
Oh…Oh…Oh(rinse and repeat to the end)
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Friday Forgotten Song: Superwoman by Noel Pointer
- Cover version (AKA cover song, or simply cover)
- - a new performance or recording of a contemporary or previously recorded, commercially released song or popular song.
Forty years ago, teens roiling in the caldron that was my high school were listening to a variety of tunes. The tumult of the 60s music scene continued its impact back then. Some artists born of this period carried over with similar success. The ones that stood the test of time, though, evolved their music going into and throughout the 70s. Stevie Wonder for one. The wunderkind began his career at a young age and had early pop/soul hits with the Motown Record label. Yet, it was his Music of the Mind album which really started to separate him from the pack. It wasn’t, as was the practice of the studio, a collection of singles, B-tracks and covers of other original song. This LP was presented by Stevie as a statement piece. As Wikipedia details what stood out about the work:
“Wonder’s lyrics dealt with social, political, and mystical themes as well as standard romantic ones, while musically Wonder began exploring overdubbing and recording most of the instrumental parts himself.”
One particular song showcased the changes and directions the artist began to explore very well: the almost jazzy and unexpected Superwoman (Where Were You When I Needed You). Reportedly, the song tells of Stevie’s then wife, Syreeta Wright, who sought a career and stardom on her own. At least, as told by an interested third-party in the song. The track is divided into two parts — the first recounts Mary’s striving for her dream of success, while the second part wonders why didn’t she come back when he thought she would. It remains one of the singer/songwriter’s notable tunes, and is hardly a forgotten song. But, that is not what I’m spotlighting here.
As I mentioned last year, a bit after this stretch in the mid-70s, I entered my jazz fusion period as a music listener. Along with the saxophone and keyboard artists I referred to, the most intriguing instrumental pairing of all with this jazz, funk, and R&B approach with music, in my mind, was the violin. Along with likes of Jean-Luc Ponty, it was another music prodigy, Noel Pointer, which drew and centered me on this fusing of rhythms and the amplification to the time-worn and honored, though now very much electrified, string instrument. At age 13, Pointer debuted with his solo of Vivaldi with the Symphony of the New World Orchestra and proceeded to make a name for himself:
“He began playing jazz on the violin while a student at New York City‘s High School of Music and Art. While attending college at Manhattan School of Music, Pointer earned a reputation as a New York session musician. By age 19, his experience as a free-lance musician had included steady work in The Apollo Theatre Orchestra, The Unlimited Orchestra, The Westbury Music Fair Orchestra, The Radio City Music Hall Symphony, The Love Unlimited Orchestra (US Tour), The Dance Theater of Harlem Orchestra, The Symphony of the New World Orchaestra, and the pit orchestras of several Broadway shows, including Guys and Dolls and Dreamgirls.”
Out of the seven albums in his too short career, it was his second, Hold On, that still warms my heart. I think it showcased the performer’s talent like no other. The title track was funky and fun, while “Stardust Lady” showed off Pointer’s surprising vocal skills and range. The violinist didn’t forget his classical roots by incorporating the cut, “Cappriccio Stravagante”, among the jazz fusion mix. Even Patti Austin, another frequently played vocalist from my time in this light jazz variant, showed up for a wonderful duet in “Staying With You”. Even so, among the album’s tracks it was his rendition of that pivotal Stevie Wonder song from that earlier LP that got the most play with me.
While it’s solely an instrumental, Superwoman under the jazz violinist’s interpretation remains a different piece entirely without obliterating Wonder’s infused feathery melody (and one that masked its lyrics’ serious tone). Even without words, the sound from Pointer’s bow elicited a voice-like quality to the number, still. It’s almost mournful in this rendering, yet his version of the song remains surprisingly upbeat and unusually hopeful. Given that 1978 was a most painful time for me, I found surprising solace listening to this cover song that year. Given its healing and collaborative nature, music has that tendency to unknowingly help the listener. I probably replayed his tune more than I ever did with the original song for this very fact.
Perhaps, because the classically trained violinist was born in 1954, like me, I connected with him. Noel Pointer, who would also succeed later as a record producer, played with the Blue Note, United Artists, Liberty, and finally the Shanachie record labels. His last CD, Never Lose Your Heart, came out in 1993. He died from a stroke on December 19, 1994 at the too young age of 39. Though Stevie Wonder’s song has been covered many times, by various artists and stylists down through the decades, I think this one was the most unusual and unique. At least for me. So, it is for this reason — plus the fact he kept me going with his music through a time I needed the uplift — I sincerely hope this artist and his version of the song are not forgotten.
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Friday Forgotten Song: Zorba the Greek
Sometimes, life has a way of simultaneously bringing a wistful smile to your face while throwing you for the proverbial loop. So it was with me and my just turned twelve year-old daughter recently. Said female child is known in my household as the ‘fierce one’. Certainly, the experience I’ll allude to was enough to inspire another forgotten song post (something I’ve not done in a while). Whenever I drive alone with my children, and we’re not listening to an audiobook, I’ll set my iPod to shuffle through my music library and play whatever comes up through the car’s speakers (my wife won’t tolerate this practice if she’s in the vehicle, btw). This is how I’ve indoctrinated mine to the old tunes of their father’s youth (to the everlasting chagrin of their mother, I’d add). Casting back now, just before the moment floored me, a ‘ye old instrumental track popped up. The scene then went something like this:
Fierce One: “Foo-fa, turn that up.”
[dad obediently did... but please don't ask why my daughter refers to me as Foo-fa]
Fierce One: “What’s the name of this song again?”
Dad: “Zorba the Greek, by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.”
Fierce One: “I love this. I’m going to have it played at my wedding.”
Pin-drop moment, folks. I had no words…
If you think about it with any depth, a musical group like Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass could only have come about here in the U.S., and in the specific time that was the 60s. Born in mid-30s Los Angeles, Herbert Alpert was the youngest of three children of musically talented parents — a tailor who had emigrated to America from Russia, and his California-born wife. Later, he grew up with trumpet in hand, attended USC (my Trojan wife would be so proud) for a time and struck out to make a name for himself in music. That he did, playing gigs at night while songwriting. In point of fact, he co-wrote Wonderful World with the great Sam Cooke (my mother’s favorite singer, btw). However, why the consummate Alpert broke through I believe is because of where and when he happened.
Attending a bull-fight just over the nearby Mexican border in the city of Tijuana, Alpert heard and was struck by the distinctive sounds of a mariachi band. The inspiration came upon him to merge that same mariachi sway and mood (itself a romantic unique mix of rhythm, wind and string instruments) with the pop experimentation already going on in the music of the early 60s. His horn play embraced that Mexican style, and with the initial success of The Lonely Bull, Herb Alpert hit it ‘Top 40′ big with a series of unexpected instrumental tunes few others could copy. Back then, AM radio was dominated by The Beatles (naturally), an ever-changing host of pop groups, and even legends of the previous decade like Elvis and Frank Sinatra. And Herb and the TJB were right there in air-play.
And not one member of this group was Hispanic. The session musicians hired as ‘the band’ have been famously described as, “Four lasagnas, two bagels, and an American cheese” by Herb himself. In other words, very American. So, in 1965 you could hardly be surprised this group took on the singular featured song from a 1964 movie in their Going Places album. It was the byproduct of our melting pot culture, too. Look, it was a song written by Mikis Theodorakis for a UK film adaptation of a Greek novel, starring the great Mexican-American actor Anthony Quinn as Zorba the Greek (his second role portraying that nationality, following his stint in The Guns of Navarone from ’61) that was somehow covered by a unique amalgam of an ensemble trademarked by Latin influences. It’s simply as American as it gets.
And it doesn’t stop there. This one has some coalescence in its own right. To be clear, I’m no music expert, but I daresay this remains an energetic and infectious tune, even now. If you listen to how the instrumental begins, the perceived Greek folk song tempo is there, followed by the pulse of intermixed mariachi horns. Early in the song, the blended rhythms build to a frenzy, only to be halted unexpectedly in the middle. Then, Alpert’s languid trumpet bathes in and slowly builds it right back up again. All with a music medley of the Greek and Mexican (along with the traditional yells and claps that ratchet the song up), it remains a hell of a strange combination that somehow, in some peculiar way, works. And the kicker in all of this, internationally among the brass and string work going on, I’m pretty sure that is a harpsichord, of all things, in accompaniment.
The song, on the B-side of the ‘Tijuana Taxi‘ single, reached #11 in 1965 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. And it seems my daughter and I fell for the tune at around the same age. Go figure.
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Friday Forgotten Song: Touch by John Klemmer
On the eve of the L.A. Times Festival of Books (this year the event is on my wife’s university stomping grounds on U.S.C.’s campus), the subject pairing of reading and the other pleasure in my life, music, arose. The two somehow coalesced into a disconcerting realization on my part. Though audiobooks have become the primary delivery platform for my reading material these days, all due to the hectic nature of commingling marriage, work, and parenting, it registered that the audio format I so enjoy had come with a hidden cost. I could no longer blend those treasured two.
Hear me out on this. How many times have you read or heard someone start an adage with these words?:
“There are two kinds of people…”
Well, in this case, there exists some truth to that. Many enjoy the act of reading matched with nothing else — see Paul VanDeCarr’s post explaining this. Then, there are those, like blogger Sharazad (and myself), who find magic in the melding of “notes and pages” for the ear and eyes. I can’t seem to do that with just an audiobook. I guess actual books will stay in my life, come what may. Sharazad’s fine music/reading list accomplished one other thing. It sparked a memory of mine to a favorite tune used for my music and reading enjoyment (among other reasons*).
As I confessed awhile back (in a post far, far away), it was during the mid-70s when I entered my jazz fusion music period. The likes of Bob James, Sadao Watanabe, and the original members to Return to Forever grew in stature and importance to my listening habits. Besides the music they produced, I would point you to one breakthrough recording from the era that won me (and a boatload of others) over to this music genre. Saxophonist John Klemmer ’s 1975 album (and its lead song), Touch, became the soundtrack to my Seventies existence.
Arguably, John Klemmer’s career, and the genre that would eventually morph decades later into the entity that is Smooth Jazz, took off with this LP. Although, you could perhaps opine this jazz artist plateaued here, too. I believe writer and percussionist Stanton Zeff covered it best in his CD review of this seminal work, nevertheless:
“In interviews at the time, John Klemmer indicated he had taken a yearlong sabbatical of sorts to decide which musical direction he wanted to head in while writing the material for Touch. He then went into the studio to record with a stellar group of musicians, many who had not previously appeared on one of his releases to date. These included key sidemen from Tom Scott’s L.A. Express (John Guerin on drums and Chuck Domanico on bass) as well as established solo artists Dave Grusin on Fender Rhodes and David Batteau on backing vocals. It was a case of the right music, with the right musicians, at the right time.”
A John Coltrane inspired artist, the crossover appeal of his song influenced this and the next generations of musicians and listeners to a significant extent. Touch still sounds fresh, even more than 35 years later. Scott Wilson’s blog post offers another keen look to what makes this melody so hypnotic. If you’ve not heard the instrumental, it is worth catching. To prevent any potential conflict with music copyright infringement, I’ll refer you to Klemmer’s own website, Amazon or iTunes to sample the tune that was key to a distinct music category.
* I’d also contend Touch along with Marvin Gaye‘s Let’s Get It On were the preeminent ‘making out’ albums for that decade [but since my wife reads this blog, I'll leave it at that].
