Angel Eyes
Ladies Only Cafe Strings
In the earliest decades of the twentieth century when
recording was in its infancy, before dance music and jazz were commonplace and
when cinema was silent and radio was new, but as yet untried as a commercial
medium, the recording companies found a most profitable growth area in what we
have since broadly labelled 'salon', or more specifically 'Palm Court'. The
ubiquitous background music of select nightspots, restaurants and hotel
lounges, at such plush venues it was played to entertain the Edwardian equivalent
of 21st-century 'couch potatoes', but in contrast to 'elevator music' and other
modern equivalents it was live, not canned. A long-lost night world of
accordions and plangent violins, its daytime backup was a boom industry that
kept both writers and players busy. Directly mirroring public taste it also
provided popular ensembles with regular work in recording studios where output
was as prolific as it was diversified.
Salon music's early key figures were mostly violinists of
European origin, moustachioed men with exotic, foreign-sounding names like Herr
Iff and De Groot, who apart from the latest lancers and schottisches and
cake-walks purveyed staples of the 'genre music' repertoire. With Mendelssohn's
Spring Song, Rubinstein's Melody in F and pieces by Grieg, Raff or Moszkowski
to the fore, they specialised in such tuneful trifles as Toselli's Serenata,
Thome's Simple aveu, Silesu's Un peu d'amour and, as bosom companions to the
gypsy airs (always sure sellers), tunes inspired by monastery gardens and
sleepy lagoons, scores of violin-preponderant, now long-neglected miniatures
with schmaltzy titles like Quand l'amour meurt or Parfum du passe.
By the end of the first World War the waltz had given way to
jazzy American imports and within a few years the trend for hotter tempi opened
a new avenue for the more adventurous groups, notably Dajos Bela, Mar˘ek
Weber and Edith Lorand, who delved avidly into areas alien to pure salon (that
is, into the latest jazz-flavoured fox-trots and quicksteps) and in doing so
unwittingly laid the foundations of 'crossover'. From the late 1920s onwards
themes from classical landmarks were 'jazzed up' by small dance orchestras and
big bands alike and, in a later juxtaposition well graphed on recordings, the
last century's final decades brought a cloaking of jazz in a classical idiom,
'playing Bach jazz' like Jacques Loussier or jazz on a Strad à la Menuhin,
which despite its short-lived niche-market limitations, took the crossover
style through a new phase of its evolution.
The vast genre music back-catalogue is not just a legacy but
also a reminder that short, light classics, even 'low-brow' compositions
elevated, have always been popular and commercially viable. The formula is
proven and the advantage of hindsight and a tradition spanning more than a
century is that it is now possible for Ladies Only, a seven-piece 'classical'
chamber ensemble of Swedish Chamber Orchestra players and their arrangers, to
plumb the archives for, so to speak, other suitable strings to their bows. And
as they prove in this album it is possible to adapt suitable material in other
styles, which when skilfully and unpretentiously managed (as here, by Lars
Kallin and Kalle Ohlson) and subtly understated by the playing of the Ladies
themselves, will either syncopate or 'starch up' to the same high standard.
This Ladies Only album includes a cross-section of the
repertoire they play regularly on Scandinavian television Cafeprograms and
Melodifestivalen. In a variety of contrasting styles the pieces selected are
over-tinged with an 'olde-worlde' or even pseudo-baroque flavour, which adds
charm, for example, to Jules Caty's pseudo-Edwardian Con amore. Probably the
only piece in the album classifiable as 'salon', a retrospective waltz
recalling an earlier idiom, it has echoes of Berger's Edwardian drawing-room
gem Amoureuse with perhaps a hint of Franz Pola's For Love Of You (1931).
Tin Pan Alley is another rich seam for the Ladies Only
ensemble. Standards, like Seymour Simons' 1931 All of Me and Hoagy Carmichael's
Stardust (1929), just a little square-sounding become virtual twins, while a
less-than-orthodox perception of Jimmy McHugh's I'm in the Mood for Love (1935)
introduces a lilting waltz and some interesting rhythmic contrasts. Jazz and
bop items have distinctly classical overtones in Lars Kallin's obliquely
slanted transcriptions. Whereas Splanky (originally a Neal Hefti creation for
big band), Morgan Lewis' How High the Moon and Charlie Parker's Ornithology
sound more soporific than their models, languid violins evoke the tone-painting
mood of Misty (although now best known by a 1959 No. 12 US pop chart song-hit
version by Johnny Mathis, it should be remembered that the best-selling 1954
solo original featured by its creator, the 'Picasso of the Piano' Erroll
Garner, was really a 'rêverie for piano').
By way of contrast, faster tempi are introduced with a
couple of fine samples of theatre-land razzmatazz: Hello, Dolly, theme of the
1964 smash-hit show by New York-born composer-lyricist Jerry Herman and, from
the world of Brooklyn-born singer-songwriter Barry Manilow, the pulsating if
ersatz Copacabana (the Manilow 1978 top ten hit-tune that inspired his less
than successful London show of 1994).
A programme to satisfy diners-out and diners-in alike - so
sit back and enjoy!
Peter Dempsey