Records

Though conscientious commissars, in their zeal to impregnate the arts with "collective realism," have succeeded in sterilizing Soviet painting and writing, one grand old girl has survived repeated brainwashings. Her name: Calliope, Muse of Music. Some of the most sonorous sounds in modern music have rolled out of the U.S.S.R. -- adventurous, clean-limbed works by Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Kabalevsky, Khachaturian ... the tongue-torturing list just won't stop. Gone, happily, are the days right after the revolution when composers like Mossolov and Meytuss were writing such symphonic noise as The Steel Foundry and The Dnieper Water Power Station -- writhing, deafening odes to industry and construction. After the first fevered flush of "descriptive" composing, Soviet music-makers have settled down to make music that sounds like music. Here in the U.S. of A., a Soviet outlet called Colosseum Records is pressing a number of compositions hitherto unheard in our country, with artists like David Oistrakh and Emil Gilels. A recent, typical offering is Ivan-come-lately Arno Babadjanian's Trio in F Sharp Minor (Colosseum 247), a brooding, aromatic thing starring Oistrakh and friends sawing away with authority and love. But this blessing is mixed: Colosseum's platters are of capricious fidelity, usually ranging from middling to muddy with occasional excursions into excellence; surface noise frequently fries away unchecked, a nostalgic reminder of the shellacked days of yore; and the liner notes abound with misinformation and propaganda. The propaganda (i.e., eight irrelevant paragraphs extolling Moscow's Bolshoi Theatre) can be ignored, but when a trio by "Mendelsshon" (sic) is labelled "American premiere" although at least two other recordings pre-date it, the poor, trusting record-buyer becomes a confused and screwed-up lad. That lad might conceivably be solaced, however, by such entertaining prose as this, by Bruno G. Ronty, president of the firm and perhaps the outstanding dialect humorist of our day: "David Oistrakh by now and Colosseum Records are connected inseparably, for besides that Colosseum Records introduced him in a big way to our public, it is still and always will be the only company which has in its catalog the complete recorded repertory of this great genius of our time. (Up till date, 28 LP's.) Colosseum is proud of this and believes that it deserves the right consideration and credit for it, for it went through all kinds of difficulties at the beginning when others didn't see it or slept, to bring something which will enrich our cultural heritage." Bruno, you break our heart. You want credit? Here: take it. But take also a bit of friendly advice: you'll enrich our cultural heritage a damn sight more without the low-fi and groove-sizzle.

Nice to have around of a cold winter's eve is Vic Damone, a real warm baritone voice that goes well with a roaring fire and a couple of big brandy snifters. Even though he might phrase as innocently as a choir boy, Vic's mellow pipes still manage to raise a lot of cain with female thyroids, especially on the super-romantic That Towering Feeling! (Columbia CL 900). It's resplendent with dreamy love tunes (All the Things You Are, I'm Glad There is You) and some up-tempo cuties (The Song is You, Cheek to Cheek) that should convince her that the weather outside is frightful, etc.... Two of Lady Day's latest should go a long way toward the same noble end: Solitude (Clef 690) and Velvet Mood (Clef 713) are both bubbling with Billie's velvet squeals and catches as she talks you one pretty lyric after another. Tootling in the background are such sterling souls as Harry Edison, Barney Kessel, Flip Phillips, et al.... The Misty Miss Christy (Capitol T725) spotlights June as just that, gentle and tasty and real easy-sounding in her interpretations of a packet of terrific tunes: That's All, I Didn't Know About You, 'Round Midnight, among others. Tender fare for nightcap tippling.

Cuban Fire (Capitol T731) is the latest Kenton excursion into the wilds of AfroCuba, and this one contains everything from a guaracha to a double fandango. The attack forces consist of a 13-man brass section supported by four reeds and a headquarters staff of maracas, claves and timbales. Salvo after salvo of big fat ear-singeing chords damn near level the countryside, and it's pretty zippy, toe-tapping stuff, with sensational trombone solos turned in by Carl Fontana.

Diz, the man with the upswept horn, is back on a dizzy disc called Dizzy Gillespie Jazz Recital (Norgran 1083) which had us playing it over and over again until the people next door asked for time out to pad their rattling highball glasses. On 10 bands, Diz shows all his skill, passion and vinegar and even sings a new composition of his own called Hey Pete, to which most of the words are "Hey Pete." Toni Harper sings, too, a duked-up version of Taking a Chance on Love which will make you love her. This is one of the swingingest swingfests we've feasted on since St. Swithin's.

"Caution!" warns the record jacket. "The primitive rhythms in this album are basic and explosive!" Not so, but pleasantly square casbah-caterwauling is proffered on Aphrodisia (Sunset 304), a showpiece for flute-tooter Bob Romeo who, abetted by a percussion background, weaves through a maze of maize often of his own composition. Anita Ekberg decorates this package of "music for delightfully uninhibited males and females only." Trouble is, it's nowhere near delightful enough, uninhibited enough, or aphrodisiac enough to justify the albeit-tongue-in-cheek build-up. Rather, it sounds like the soundtrack of a Sam Katzman desert quickie.

Rodgers Revisited (Atlantic 1236) has a promising title: what American tune-smith better deserves revisiting? But 88er Cy Walter, who conducts the tour, has chosen far too few compositions from Rodgers' golden (or Hart) period and far too many from his tinfoil (or Hammerstein) period. Of the tunes from the latter, it is significant that the most refreshing -- the sprightly March of the Siamese Children and the faintly Prokofievian Carousel Waltzes -- were strictly instrumental numbers originally, and therefore were never sicklied O'er with the pale cast of Mr. Hammerstein's greeting-card verse. Cy Walter tries to bridge the gaping chasm between the two periods by playing everything in the slick (nay, slippery) supper-club style that is his wont and which suits several of the melodies quite well. Slaughter on Tenth Avenue, though, needs grit, guts, schmaltz and steam, and these Cy finds difficult to summon.

Dance music -- not the jump kind, but the moon-June-swoon kind -- is dished up by the Elliot Lawrence orchestra on Dream (Fantasy 3-226). Happily, it's not gooey and over orchestrated, as so many dance discs are; you might even say it was sweet and gorgeous -- if you can imagine the two together. Lawrence's piano is suave and educated, and he and his orchestra make even Brahms, Debussy and Chopin sound like Ivy prom music.