•
Rating:
America, late 1950s. The photos of old immigrants on the yellowed walls, a radio left on to crackle languid tunes, and all of us well nestled in our dark cloth coats, we descend onto the street, euphoric and tipsy. We walk on the wet road. The night is deep. The heels and our laughter echo on the pavement, breaking the cold air. The joy and our smiles light up a cold and starless evening.
Not much longer now. The music is already audible, reaching us muffled and warm. It envelops us as we enter the venue in a whirl of festivity and lights. The great Louis Prima is about to start his show, and while his band, the Witnesses, echo him improvising smashing swing tunes, he entertains the audience with his endearing and modest Italian-American "acquired" demeanor full of stews and beautiful women.
-They say mom Angelina arrived in New Orleans still in swaddling clothes- a stranger woman grins at me as I approach the counter. A story like many during these years, I think, distracted by Louis' captivating manners. -They call him the white Louis Armstrong of New Orleans, he plays that trumpet like a devil, but he likes to be called 'The Chief'. He's a born crooner- adds the woman, now completely drunk after yet another drink. I nod, unable to help but laugh. I watch her disappear; the empty glass, staggering and headed towards the next companion to bleed dry.
I return, captivated, to let myself be seduced by the star of the evening. All the stories about the Louis Prima myth, savored here and there, come to mind. I think of his beginnings in enchanting New Orleans and his first Dixieland bands. I think of Louis in the golden years of post-prohibition, in a bustling New York, all that fabulous 'swinging' to the rhythm of swing, jazz'n'jive between the skyscrapers of the 'Swing Streets' on 52nd street, between Broadway and Fifth Avenue. I think of him and his explosive energy, his showman's sunlit persona, his formidable solo trumpet skills in the great New York theaters of the '30s and '40s. His being carefree and fun, ironic and biting in the cabaret shows of glittering Las Vegas in the '50s and '60s.
I think of his great merits, among which certainly being able to bring jazz languages, often restrictive and selective, closer to a less specific and prepared audience, transforming and perfectly blending them with the liveliest rhythm'n'blues, the most elastic swing, the most exhilarating jive. All this in an explosive mixture festive and raucous. Fun and tumultuous.
His seductive and brilliant force captures me, and I prepare to relish his magic with my eyes and ears. Ready for his proudly Italian-American repertoire stuffed with "full bellies, codfish, and mom." I see him there with his cornet, the indispensable Sam Butera alongside him on saxophone, his band of wild ones, Keely Smith his fourth wife and vocalist, sweetly provoking him with that explosive and fiery voice. And there he is with that indispensable big smile warming our evening, cheeky in his musical rhymes, charming in his veiled melancholy, biting in his exhilarating swing flicks...A cavalcade of unmissable hits: from the captivating and very famous medley of 'Just A Gigolo/I Ain't Got Nobody' outrageously beautiful and overwhelming with that irresistibly vicious rhythm, to the fizzy and hilarious 'Oh Marie'; from the romantic and striking 'Buona Sera' to the flirty and unstoppable 'Jump, Jive, An' Wail'. From the swing-shattered blues of 'Basin Street Blues' to the engaging and warm swing of 'Banana Split For My Baby' passing through the superb 'Sing, Sing, Sing', dazzling for its stuttering rhythm masterfully intertwined with impeccable scat up to the classic irresistible medley of 'Angelina/Zooma Zooma'; all enriched by a raspy yet enveloping voice that only Mr. Prima can give us.
It's a cacophony of emotions and rhythm, of quips and quarters capable of captivating you. And there I find myself, with that euphoria upon me, the glass filled to the brim in my fluttering dress, basking in the splendid sensation that only this rhythm, only this swing, only this music can make your legs melt like cream on the tongue, make you explode like fireworks in the night, make you forget faces, people, places, years... the passage of years that separates us from this wonder now almost completely forgotten and buried under layers and layers of heavy dust, in some old drawer, among some lost vinyl.
Oops, sorry I did it again! I got enchanted once more listening to this record. You know, it was worth it. Try to imagine those years, that sound, those moments. You might dance and laugh all night now. You couldn't ask for more from old Louis, the old 'Chief'.
Tracklist and Lyrics
12 Oh Marie (02:26)
Oh Marie (Oh Marie)
Oh Marie (Oh Marie)
In your arms I'm longin' to be (Longin' to be)
Baby (Baby)
Tell me you love me (Tell me you love me)
Kiss me once while the stars shine above me (Shine above me)
Hey Marie (Hey Marie)
Oh Marie (Oh Marie)
In your arms I'm longin' to be (Longin' to be)
Oh baby (Oh baby)
Tell me you love me (Tell me you love me)
Hey Marie (Hey Marie)
Hey Sammy, come here boy
20 Buona Sera (03:06)
Buona Sera, signorina, buona sera
It is time to say goodnight to Napoli
Though it's hard for us to whisper, buona sera
With that old moon above the Meditteranean sea
In the mornin' signorina we'll go walkin'
When the mountains help the sun come into sight
And by the little jewelry shop we'll stop and linger
While I buy a wedding ring for your finger
In the meantime let me tell you that I love you
Buona sera, signorina kiss me goodnight
Buona sera, signorina kiss me goodnight
(scat)
repeat 1st verse
repeat chorus
24 Whistle Stop (02:15)
oooo oooo da waddee
oooo oooo da waddee
oooo oooo da waddee
ooooo oooo
I live in a whistle stop town
Where everyone thinks I'm a clown
because I like to hear the train whistle blow
Just because the trains never stop
They say that I'm gonna blow my top
But I like to hear the train whistle blow
Baby ?? that you're coming back to me
One day the train will stop and they will see
I know the train will bring you home
I hope and pray it won't be long
That's why I like to hear the train whistle blow
Bring her back to me
Bring her back to me
Bring her back to me
Bring her back to me
Baby ?? that you're coming back to me
One day the train will stop and they will see
I know the train will bring you home
I hope and pray it won't be long
That's why I like to hear the train whistle blow
Bring her back to me
Bring her back to me
Bring her back to me
Bring her back to me
oooo oooo da waddee
oooo oooo da waddee
oooo oooo da waddee
ooooo oooo
Loading comments slowly
