My Pop Life #162 : The Way You Look Tonight – Teddy Wilson & Billie Holiday

The Way You Look Tonight   –   Teddy Wilson & Billie Holiday

Someday, when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

and the way you look tonight

While I was studying law in London in the late 1970s I was also improving my musical education.   The record shops of Soho in particular were a ten-minute walk from Fitzroy Street where I lived, and bulged with unknown treasure that I saved up for, dipped into and splurged on.  Like a child in a sweet shop I wanted to sample everything.  I felt ignorant about music, like I had huge holes in my knowledge – particularly classical, anything not in English or jazz.

One of the first ever jazz records I bought was a white double LP from Columbia Records called Masters of Jazz  –  Billie Holiday Volume 1 : 1933 – 1936.   It felt like an LP that may have some answers.  I also bought a Duke Ellington LP in a similar package – one of a series.  I imagined, no doubt that the other volumes would follow.   I thought jazz might be ‘a bit difficult’ – but that couldn’t have been further from the truth and I couldn’t stop playing both records.   Totally by luck I had hit bullseye first shot – the Billie Holiday / Teddy Wilson songs are both eternal and perfect, simple and complex, they reveal more and more layers of joy with each listen – and still do some 40 years later.   Over the years of loving these songs – now collected on another “complete” Columbia series which are for me the pinnacle of 20th century pop – I’ve come to really adore the piano playing of Teddy Wilson.

Billie Holiday was 18 when she recorded her first sides, with Benny Goodman – the 2 songs from 1933 are the first on this LP.  Then she did a recording with Duke Ellington in 1935 called Symphony In Black which I wrote about in My Pop Life #34.  I don’t know what she did from 18-20, aside from live dates, I guess the pop vocal world was pretty competitive back then and Billie was already seen particularly by producer and early champion  John Hammond as a jazz stylist rather than a pop singer.  Nevertheless in 1935 she cut her first sides with swing maestro Teddy Wilson for the Brunswick label and had a hit with What A Little Moonlight Can Do.   The resulting five years produced the incredible music which I stumbled onto in Soho back when I was a callow youth.  Extraordinary music.  Each song a glittering diamond of the art.

Ben Webster, Billie Holiday, Allen Reuss, Lester Young, Teddy Wilson kneeling NYC 1936

Jazz standards they’re called now, some of them have become part of The Great American Songbook, others are pop songs of the day played by an ace swing band under the twinkle of Teddy Wilson.  The players were legendary themselves : Lester Young on the tenor sax, whom Billie Holiday called Prez.  He in turn anointed her Lady Day. On this song – Ben Webster on the tenor, another top player. The mighty Gene Krupa on drums from the Benny Goodman Trio, where Teddy Wilson had been one of the first black players in a prominent integrated band back in the early 1930s.

All of the numbers follow the same architectural pattern, which nowadays would be considered musical suicide.  The vocal doesn’t come in for at least 2 minutes usually.  (Hmm perhaps resembling House Music from the 1980s).   First, a shuffle is established and the melody is played by clarinet, tenor saxophone, trumpet or piano.  A full verse is played, followed by an improvised verse, followed by more of the same.  All the lead instruments get a turn, then finally, around halfway through the song, Billie sings.  The result is simply breathtaking.  You hear the greatest players of the day riffing over the sweetest songs, reigned in by the rhythm section and the melody and producing some of the most sublime music known to man – then Billie Holiday takes it home.  Always behind the beat, sometimes thrillingly in-between the beats, singing a song of her own inside the song.  She is another jazz instrumentalist, using her voice and the words as her tune.  Very few singers can pull this off – this level of structural awareness, to stretch the song beyond it’s confines to another level of syncopation and genius.

Many listeners like the God Bless The Child side of Billie, the later material on Verve from the 40s when she probably had a cigarette dangling from her mouth and was singing weary blues and jazz with great heart-wrenching and pitiful emotion and of course – it’s better than great.  She wrote the extraordinary Strange Fruit in 1939, her initial unwillingness to sing it apparently coming from memories of her father’s death.  Her talent was huge, her life was tragic.  She poured it all into the music until she simply couldn’t be bothered, wrecked  with heroin, drink and everything else and died in destitution from liver failure in July 1959.

I prefer these early sides from the late thirties to the bluesy broken Billie.   Musical people at the height of their game, playing exquisite pop music on disc.  Carefree beautiful music, written by Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, George and Ira Gershwin, Oscar Hammerstein, Johnny Mercer, Jerome Kern, Sammy Cahn.

But check out the piano of Teddy Wilson.  Syncopation and a loose tightness, rolling phrases, moments of strange determination and bloody-mindedness, lyrical beauty.  It reminds me of Artur Rubinstein playing Chopin (see My Pop Life #9) and there can be no higher praise from me.  I’d love to hear Teddy Wilson playing Chopin.  Purists may scoff (oh go on, please) but examples abound of the jazz/classical crossover, from Aretha Franklin singing Nessun Dorma when Pavarotti fell ill in 1988, and Benny Goodman playing the Mozart Clarinet Concerto in 1949.  Different disciplines, sure, but same instrument.  Anyway, Teddy does it for me as a pianist.  Something very quality going on.  He became known as the ‘Marxist Mozart’ in New York thanks to his leftist sympathies, people don’t like to distinguish between shades of red do they, if you’re vaguely left you’re a commie.  For example Teddy chaired the Artist’s Committe to Elect Benjamin J. Davis, black Communist leader who was elected to the NY City Council in 1943.

This song was written by Jerome Kern with lyrics by Dorothy Fields, originally sung by Fred Astaire in the film Swing Time, and winning the Oscar for best original song in 1936.  It’s a corker of a tune.  Similar in theme to Don’t Ever Change from the 1960s.  A wonky piano backflip takes us into the clarinet melody over a brisk shuffle, played straight just once, followed by eight bars of improvisation before the trumpet takes us through the second verse and we slide gloriously back to the piano genius of Wilson before Billie finally, reluctantly, joins them, singing her song inside theirs.   All these sides from these sessions – mainly cut in New York, but also recorded in Chicago and Los Angeles – are for me the very stuff of joy itself.

These days it is possible to listen to Billie Holiday in rehearsal, phrasing, trying stuff out, ordering drinks, flexing her vocal instrument, arguing.  Too much information?  For some people yes.  They prefer to receive the art in finished condition, these overheard bootlegs of conversations feel intrusive, reductive.  Others, including me, want everything.  When I started collecting Beatles bootlegs, I relished every overheard word, every joke and quip, every false start and breakdown.  It was like gold dust.

Billie Holiday : A female jazz artist in a male world : 1939

This song was recorded on October 21st 1936.  Astaire had already recorded it, and many others would follow – Parker, Sinatra, Art Blakey, Ferry, Coltrane, Bing Crosby, Tony Bennett, Peggy Lee….

No particular memory, just a lifetime’s pleasure.

My Pop Life #9 : Ballade #1 in G minor – Frederick Chopin, played by Artur Rubinstein

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Ballade #1 in G minor  –  Frederick Chopin, played by Artur Rubinstein

there are no words

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La Coupole, Montparnasse

1989 Paris.   Hugh Grant and I are sitting in La Coupole on Montparnasse, yards from our hotel, eating oysters, drinking bubbly. And why not? We’ve been given great wads of ‘monopoly money’ (or French francs)  as per diems, expected to feed ourselves with it since we’ve been cast in a film called Impromptu, written by Sarah Kernochan, directed by her husband James Lapine and filming in Angers and Paris for seven weeks.  Hugh and I decide there and then to sample all the great brasseries of Paris over the ensuing weeks, with all their proudly preserved Art Nouveau splendour, piles of ice and shellfish, tarte tatin and cheese to savour, a white-aproned garçon and maitre-d to patronise us, and quite frankly, the finest wines available to humanity to evaluate at our leisure.

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Brasserie Flo, Cour des Petites Écuries

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Bofinger, Rue de la Bastille

Blimey, I thought, I’m on the gravy train.  Who wouldn’t ?  I wasn’t, as it turned out, but just for a few weeks there, oooh I so was. We ate at Bofinger, Lipp, Brasserie Flo, Au Pied De Cochon, La Coupole and Terminus Du Nord.   And others.  Monopoly money.   The film – Impromptu – concerned the affair between Polish genius Frederick Chopin (Hugh) and French novelist Georges Sand (Judy Davis) in the 1830s (the Ballade #1 dates from 1831) and particularly an enjoyable weekend with their friends Franz Liszt (Julian Sands), Eugene Delacroix (me!) and Alfred de Musset (Mandy Patinkin) at a pretentious nouveau-riche chateau and their hosts (Emma Thompson and Anton Rodgers).

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Bernadette Peters and Georges Corraface completed the cast as spurned lovers.  It was a gas.  Too much to relate in a blog to be honest, (you should be so lucky!) but as Hugh and I weave our wicked way through the highways and often the byeways of Paree, he often had to take time off to learn how to play the piano like Chopin.  Had a little keyboard in his hotel room to practice on.  For my part I had to visit Le Louvre, study the Delacroix masterpieces such as Victory Leading the People and then go away to art lessons and learn to paint and draw like our Eugene. He was good at animals.

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Victory Leading the People by Eugene Delacroix

 It’s rather typical of me that my takeaway from working on this wonderful film with this gang, about this extraordinary group of artists wasn’t the wonderful work of the character I was portraying, and believe me I immersed myself in Delacroix.  By the time we came to shoot I could actually draw a horse.  But I haven’t drawn a line since we finished.  No it was the music that captured my heart.

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Hugh Grant, Ralph Brown, Georges Corraface

I’d never really been exposed to this music before and it was simply overwhelmingly beautiful stuff.  Chopin wrote almost exclusively for the solo piano, (four piano concertos notwithstanding) : waltzes, nocturnes, etudes, scherzos, ballades.  They are to my ears – and indeed to Georges Sands’ and even Liszt’s – the pinnacle of all music.  I bought a CD of Artur Rubinstein playing the Greatest Hits – and trust me there’s not a duffer on that LP.   I’m only partly joking.   I used to play it over and over.  I still do – although since then I’ve bought the giant box set of Rubinstein playing everything Chopin wrote.  I’ve heard many many other people playing these pieces – Pollini, Kissin, Horowitz, Ashkenazy are all great, but I always come back to Rubinstein. Maybe it’s because he’s Polish as well, who knows, maybe it’s because he doesn’t stick to the beat, there is a delicious hesitation before he lands on certain phrases.  It is all exquisite.  But most likely it’s because that’s what I heard first.

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Eugene Delacroix in his studio

Richard E Grant joins us one night because he is filming across town doing Hudson Hawk I think.  His dear wife Joan Washington has been helping us with our various accents.  All the French characters are doing English RP, everyone else has to do an accent.  I distinctly remember the phrase “velvet flaaars“…  Hugh hates doing the Polish accent and vows never to change his voice again for a movie.  Four Weddings & A Funeral is in the can and he has high hopes for it.   He can do all the accents on earth, a lot of people don’t get that he is a mercurial actor but chooses not to be.

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Delacroix self-portrait

Liz Hurley Hugh’s girlfriend turns up (I’d worked with her earlier in a Dennis Potter film Christabel) and after a few more brasseries we move to Angers in the west of France (Loire Valley white wines are the finest known to humanity:  Sancerre, Pouilly-Fumé, Muscadet, Vouvray, Savennieres)  where Kenneth Branagh arrives one afternoon to see Emma.  Then Ken, Hugh and myself play a round of (very poor) golf one afternoon.   Ken very sweetly asks me to join his company but I decline, favouring the wide open unknown spaces of my uncertain future (was I on the gravy train?…)”

It was in Angers that I played my sex scene with Emma – the Duchess.  She was a model of professionalism, funny, warm and very kind, ‘don’t worry if you get an erection’, that kind of thing.  ‘I might fart’.   One night after work driving back from the chateau to the hotel our driver runs over a rabbit and he brakes hard, jumps out and disappears.  “Has he gone to see if it’s all right?” asks Em.  We hear the boot open then close with a small thud. “No I think that one’s for the pot” I reply.  She isn’t happy.

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Georges, Judy, Mandy, Bernadette, me, Julian, Hugh

We had a laugh.  When Judy Davis’ husband Colin Friels arrived we went out in Paris to one of the aforementioned brasseries – this one was in the St Germain area, and when the posh and oh so pompous waiter came to take our order, Colin had us laughing into our napkins as he went full 10 Aussie “bring me some cow and burn the fucker“.

When the film came out in England it had all the distribution wrong – it was on at the Curzon Shaftesbury Avenue, a huge anonymous place with too many seats.  Impromptu was a Renoir film, an Everyman film, and Electric cinema film.  It was there to be discovered.  It wasn’t made for blockbuster screens and sank without trace.  An early lesson that having fun and making a rather good film does not equate to success.  When I went to Hollywood a few years later at least two casting directors remembering Eugene stared at my shaved head and asked me where all my hair had gone.

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24 years later I’m working with people like Jodie Whitaker, Harriet Walter and Lex Shrapnel in Vilnius, Lithuania on a TV show (The Assets) and sitting on my own in a trendy coffeeshop with book-lined walls,  a dog and a piano.  A young man walks in, sits down and proceeds to play Ballade number 1 in G minor on that piano while people ordered coffee and surfed the internet, came and went.  I filmed him on my phone. He made a couple of mistakes.  It was kind of perfect.  So perfect that I’ve lost the wee film.  Ah well, there’s always Artur Rubinstein