Nina Simone Sings Her Breakthrough Song, ‘I Loves You Porgy,’ in 1962

Here’s an aching­ly beau­ti­ful 1962 per­for­mance by Nina Simone of the song that start­ed her career: “I Loves You Por­gy,” from the 1935 George Gersh­win opera Por­gy and Bess. The per­for­mance begins with Simone’s own plain­tive ver­sion of the calls of the Straw­ber­ry Woman and the Crab Man from Act II:

They’re so soft and fine
And they’re just off the vine
Straw­ber­ries

I’m talkin’ about the food I sell
I’m talkin’ about my dev­il crabs
Dev­il crabs

She then tran­si­tions into “I Loves You Por­gy,” with lyrics by Ira Gersh­win. The song was writ­ten as a duet, but was lat­er per­formed solo by a num­ber of artists, includ­ing Bil­lie Hol­i­day. Simone record­ed it in Decem­ber of 1957, when she was 24 years old. It was released the fol­low­ing year on her debut album Lit­tle Girl Blue. At the time, she was still hop­ing for a career as a clas­si­cal pianist. “I Loves You Por­gy” was a big suc­cess for the young Simone–the only top 40 hit she would ever have– and it helped chart the course of her career as a blues and jazz musi­cian with strong clas­si­cal influ­ences.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Nina Simone Sings of Social Injus­tice in a 1965 Dutch TV Broad­cast

Ella Fitzger­ald Sings ‘Sum­mer­time’ by George Gersh­win, Berlin 1968

Can’t Get That Song Out of My Head: An Animation of a Psychological Phenomenon We All Know

You know what it feels like when, no mat­ter how hard you try to shake it, you can’t get that song out of your head. Psy­chol­o­gists have a tech­ni­cal name for this phe­nom­e­non. They call it an “ear­worm,” refer­ring to those songs that “arrive with­out per­mis­sion and refuse to leave when we tell them to.” In the video above, the Dan­ish design agency Ben­ny Box has cre­at­ed a short ani­mat­ed film — called Jazz that nobody asked for — that serves as an “ode to all those unwant­ed songs out there, that have nowhere to go.” The music taunt­ing the main char­ac­ter is “Quak­er City Jazz” (1937) by Jan Savitt and His Top Hat­ters Orches­tra. If you’ve had your own ear­worm — your own mad­den­ing sound­track for this film — let us know in the com­ments sec­tion below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Clas­sic Jazz Album Cov­ers Ani­mat­ed, or the Re-Birth of Cool

Ker­mit the Frog Learns to Love Jazz Through “Visu­al Think­ing” (1959)

Jazz Toons: Allen Mezquida’s Jour­ney from Bebop to Smigly

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Charlie Parker Plays with Dizzy Gillespie in the Only Footage Capturing the “Bird” in True Live Performance

Here’s a his­toric TV broad­cast of the found­ing fathers of bebop, Char­lie Park­er and Dizzy Gille­spie, play­ing togeth­er in 1952. It’s one of only two known sound films of Park­er playing–and the only one of him play­ing live, rather than synch­ing to a pre­re­cord­ed track.

The per­for­mance is from a Feb­ru­ary 24, 1952 broad­cast on the pio­neer­ing DuMont Tele­vi­sion Net­work. The full seg­ment begins with a brief cer­e­mo­ny in which Park­er and Gille­spie receive awards from Down Beat mag­a­zine, but the clip above cuts straight to the music: a per­for­mance of the bebop stan­dard “Hot House,” com­posed by Tad Dameron around the har­mon­ic struc­ture of Cole Porter’s “What Is This Thing Called Love?.”

The quin­tet includes Park­er on alto sax­o­phone, Gille­spie on trum­pet, Sandy Block on bass, Char­lie Smith on drums and Dick Hyman on piano.

It was Hyman, who had played with Park­er and had his own night­ly show on the DuMont net­work, who helped orga­nize the appear­ance. In a 2010 inter­view with Jazz­Wax, Hyman talked about what it was like play­ing on the show with Park­er and Gille­spie. “It was togeth­er,” he said. “Those guys played with such a good time and feel. It’s a ter­rif­ic per­for­mance con­sid­er­ing it was a pop show with just two cam­eras.”

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jean-Paul Sartre on How Amer­i­can Jazz Lets You Expe­ri­ence Exis­ten­tial­ist Free­dom & Tran­scen­dence

The Nazis’ 10 Con­trol-Freak Rules for Jazz Per­form­ers: A Strange List from World War II

Mis­ter Rogers Turns Kids On to Jazz with Help of a Young Wyn­ton Marsalis and Oth­er Jazz Leg­ends (1986)

Jazz ‘Hot’: The Rare 1938 Short Film With Jazz Leg­end Djan­go Rein­hardt

Watch The Band Play “The Weight,” “Up On Cripple Creek” and More in Rare 1970 Concert Footage

In the late-six­ties/ear­ly sev­en­ties, a new genre—pioneered by CSNY, Gram Par­sons, Dylan, the Grate­ful Dead, and a host of others—brought down-home coun­try sounds to main­stream rock audi­ences. So-called “Coun­try Rock,” how­ev­er, most­ly emanat­ed from a Los Ange­les scene that grew far­ther from both coun­try and rock and strayed into easy lis­ten­ing ter­ri­to­ry (or “Yacht-rock”; think late-peri­od Eagles), or jam-band land. But one band nev­er dis­solved into soft rock or aging psy­che­delia: The Band. The four hard-work­ing Cana­di­ans and a man from Arkansas named Lev­on Helm took their coun­try sound more from Helm’s home­town of Turkey Scratch than Lau­rel Canyon. The Band ignored almost every trend in con­tem­po­rary pop music and focused on tight­ly craft­ed, loose­ly-played songs that hewed close to the roots music that seem­ing­ly ran through their veins.

In 1970, when they played the con­cert record­ed above, the five unas­sum­ing mus­ta­chioed men also graced a Time mag­a­zine cov­er under the ban­ner “The New Sound of Coun­try Rock.” With songs like “Up on Crip­ple Creek” and “The Weight,” The Band earned the dis­tinc­tion. Their jour­ney brought them from back­ing band for rock­a­bil­ly singer Ron­nie Hawkins, then Bob Dylan, then final­ly emerg­ing on their own with their non­de­script name in 1968. The name says a lot about The Band’s ethos—there didn’t seem to be an ounce of van­i­ty in what they did, with each mem­ber con­tribut­ing to song­writ­ing and vocal duties. It might be said that the “coun­try” in their sound was pow­ered by drum­mer, man­dolin-play­er, and some­time lead singer Helm (they once briefly broke off from Hawkins and toured and record­ed as Lev­on and the Hawks), but The Band, and Lev­on, were also a top-notch blue-eyed soul singers, as you can hear clear­ly in their mid-six­ties out­put.

In the footage above, from a show at Pittsburgh’s Syr­ia Mosque, watch Helm, Rick Danko, Rob­bie Robert­son, Garth Hud­son, and Richard Manuel work their saloon-room country/soul mag­ic and smooth vocal har­monies on four songs: “Time to Kill,” “The Weight,” “This Wheel’s on Fire,” and “Up on Crip­ple Creek.” And don’t let the term “coun­try rock” put you off. You don’t have to like coun­try music to love what these guys do so well.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­tin Scors­ese Cap­tures Lev­on Helm and The Band Per­form­ing “The Weight” in The Last Waltz

The 1969 Bob Dylan-John­ny Cash Ses­sions: Twelve Rare Record­ings

Bob Dylan and The Grate­ful Dead Rehearse Togeth­er in Sum­mer 1987. Lis­ten to 74 Tracks

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Hear Zora Neale Hurston Sing the Bawdy Prison Blues Song “Uncle Bud” (1940)

Last year, we post­ed on a song archive of nov­el­ist and anthro­pol­o­gist Zora Neale Hurston, who, it turns out, was also quite a singer. As she trav­eled through the Amer­i­can South and the Caribbean doing field research in the 1930s and ‘40s, Hurston col­lect­ed and inter­pret­ed sev­er­al folk songs and sto­ries, some­times work­ing with folk­lorists Stet­son Kennedy and Alan Lomax. Hurston dropped off the map for a few decades before a revival of her work in the 1970s caused lit­er­ary schol­ars and his­to­ri­ans to re-eval­u­ate her place in Amer­i­can let­ters. One recent eval­u­a­tion of her work and life, the 2008 PBS Amer­i­can Mas­ters doc­u­men­tary Jump at the Sun, pro­files the writer in all her inde­pen­dence, con­trari­ness, and vig­or. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, the full doc­u­men­tary is not online, but you can order a copy of the award-win­ning film on DVD from Cal­i­for­nia News­reel or Ama­zon.

In the short clip above from Jump at the Sun, you can see footage Hurston shot her­self, over which she sings, in her crys­tal clear alto, a bawdy old-time coun­try blues song called “Uncle Bud.” Hurston called “Uncle Bud” a “jook song,” not the kind of thing sung around (or by) respectable ladies. The song comes from expe­ri­ences with the infa­mous Chief Trans­fer Agent for the Texas prison sys­tem, “Uncle Bud” Rus­sell, whose dread­ed wag­on, “Black Bet­ty,” was pos­si­bly the ref­er­ence for a work song immor­tal­ized by Lead bel­ly, no stranger to Texas pris­ons (Rus­sell also gets a name-check in Lead Bel­ly’s “Mid­night Spe­cial”).

Rus­sell earned his noto­ri­ety, deliv­er­ing 115,000 men and women to prison, includ­ing Clyde Bar­row in 1930. The prison song, with equal­ly pro­fane, but slight­ly dif­fer­ent lyrics, appeared on a 1960 album called The Unex­pur­gat­ed Folk Songs of Men, com­piled by Texas musi­col­o­gist and folk­lorist Mack McCormick, and Texas blues­man Light­nin’ Hop­kins had his own nar­ra­tive of the law­man in “Bud Rus­sell Blues.”

After Hurston’s brief ren­di­tion above, we see a pho­to mon­tage of the author, smil­ing broad­ly, nev­er with­out a rak­ish­ly cocked hat. Part­ly because of the work of folk­lorists and lovers of Amer­i­cana like McCormick and Hurston, songs like “Uncle Bud” stayed in the lex­i­con of pop­u­lar music, trans­mit­ted from obscure folk ren­di­tions to the blues and weav­ing togeth­er work­ing-class black and white blues and folk tra­di­tions that were often nev­er very far apart to begin with. Those worlds come togeth­er in Zyde­co leg­end Boozoo Chavis’ take on “Uncle Bud,” but my favorite ver­sion by far is the lyri­cal­ly cleaned-up, har­mon­i­ca-dri­ven stom­per by Son­ny Ter­ry and Brown­ie McGhee, record­ed in 1956 (below).

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Zora Neale Hurston Sing Tra­di­tion­al Amer­i­can Folk Song “Mule on the Mount” (1939)

Leg­endary Folk­lorist Alan Lomax: ‘The Land Where the Blues Began’

Watch the Only Known Footage of the Leg­endary Blues­man Lead Bel­ly (1935 and 1945)

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Now Streaming Free: A New Jimi Hendrix Album with 12 Previously-Unreleased Songs

jimi-hendrix-album-cover

Update: Not long after we post­ed this, NPR took the audio offline. We told you to act quick­ly, but we did­n’t expect that quick­ly! Sor­ry for the incon­ve­nience.

We gave you a heads up in Jan­u­ary, and now it’s final­ly here: the 12-song album of pre­vi­ous­ly-unre­leased Jimi Hen­drix record­ings called Peo­ple, Hell & Angels. You’ve prob­a­bly heard the sin­gle “Some­where.” Well, now you can hear the rest of the album. (Lis­ten below.) And it’s free thanks to NPR’s First Lis­ten series, the same series that will let you stream Dave Grohl’s sound­track for his new doc­u­men­tary Sound City Stu­dios. But don’t delay, the albums won’t be online for very long.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pre­vi­ous­ly Unre­leased Jimi Hen­drix Record­ing, “Some­where,” with Bud­dy Miles and Stephen Stills

See Jimi Hendrix’s First TV Appear­ance, and His Last as a Back­ing Musi­cian (1965)

Tom Waits and Kei­th Richards Sing Sea Song “Shenan­doah” for New Pirate-Themed CD: Lis­ten Online

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Free: Listen to Dave Grohl’s Soundtrack for New Film Celebrating the Days of Analog Recording

Mark your cal­en­dars, music lovers, March 22nd is Dynam­ic Range Day and March 12th is the day Dave Grohl’s new doc­u­men­tary Sound City Stu­dios gets wide release. What does this mean, you ask, and how are these things relat­ed? I’m get­ting there, hear me out. The dig­i­tal age has brought us many boun­ti­ful rewards, it’s true, but it has also brought us the so-called “Loud­ness Wars”—basi­cal­ly, for sev­er­al annoy­ing­ly bor­ing tech­ni­cal rea­sons, dig­i­tal record­ings can be very high­ly com­pressed so as to sound sub­jec­tive­ly loud­er than any­thing ana­log record­ing can pro­duce. Sounds like a real bonus, right? Loud­er is bet­ter? Not so, say the orga­niz­ers of Dynam­ic Range Day. Not so, say the par­tic­i­pants in Dave Grohl’s doc­u­men­tary about the leg­endary Sound City Stu­dios (trail­er above) and his album of record­ings using Sound City’s vin­tage ana­log Neve con­sole.

See, high­ly com­pressed dig­i­tal record­ings basi­cal­ly sound like crap­py walls of dis­tort­ed noise after a while, which is ugly and tire­some. Gone is the dynam­ic range–the nuance, or light-and-shade, as music peo­ple some­times like to say. This phenomenon—combined with the pro­lif­er­a­tion of low-grade mp3s and the dig­i­tal trick­ery that makes bad singers sound tolerable—is ruin­ing record­ed music, and musi­cians know it, which is why so many great ones were excit­ed to work with Grohl on his film and record­ing project, cel­e­brat­ing the lost art of live, all-ana­log record­ing. Well, that’s not the only rea­son. Found­ed in Van Nuys, CA in 1969, the dive‑y Sound City Stu­dios also hap­pens to be where some of the most-loved rock and roll records of all time were made, includ­ing Fleet­wood Mac’s Rumours, Nirvana’s Nev­er­mind, and Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush. (Rick Rubin also record­ed Metallica’s Death Mag­net­ic there—according to the purists and fans alike, one of the worst casu­al­ties of the Loud­ness Wars—but that’s a sto­ry for anoth­er day).

Now, Sound City Stu­dios is no more, but its his­to­ry has been doc­u­ment­ed by Grohl in Sound City, the movie, and Grohl pre­served the studio’s beau­ti­ful ana­log gear, now housed in his Stu­dio 606, and record­ed a suite of songs with spe­cial guests from the film like Ste­vie Nicks, Paul McCart­ney, Trent Reznor, Cheap Trick’s Rick Nielsen, Nir­vana bassist Krist Novosel­ic, punk leg­ends Lee Ving and Pat Smear, and Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme. That record, Sound City: Real to Reel is stream­ing free now on NPR. Lis­ten to its sweet ana­log good­ness above for a lim­it­ed time  (through your dig­i­tal machine—hey, it is what it is, right?). Then, if you’re so inclined, you can pur­chase the record (or indi­vid­ual tracks) from iTunes or Ama­zon. The film will be avail­able short­ly on Blu-ray and down­load too.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil Young Reveals the New Killer Gad­get That Will Save Music

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Patti Smith’s Cover of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” Strips the Song Down to its Heart

In 2007, Kurt  Cobain’s 1991 anti-anthem “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” was long etched into the con­scious­ness of every music fan, but the musi­cal land­scape had changed con­sid­er­ably since its release. The inevitable mass appro­pri­a­tion of Nirvana’s thun­der­ous dynam­ics and shag­gy rebel­lion had turned out so much bland, over­pro­duced grunge that the sound sank into unlis­ten­able deca­dence. With indie artists doing Gang of Four-like dance punk, eight­ies elec­tro, and any­thing at all that sound­ed noth­ing like Nir­vana, some—like Iron and Wine and the Decembrists—picked up ban­jos and fid­dles and reached back even fur­ther to moody Appalachi­an folk.

So when punk fore­moth­er Pat­ti Smith re-inter­pret­ed Nirvana’s era-defin­ing clas­sic for her ’07 cov­ers album Twelve, she choose the lat­ter sound, a spare coun­try arrange­ment with bass, acoustic gui­tar, vio­lin, ban­jo, and Smith’s time­less voice. No need for drums, it’s been done; what we hear instead is the essence of the song’s lyri­cal and melod­ic pow­er.

As most song­writ­ers will tell you, a good song should strip down to voice and gui­tar with­out los­ing its heart. Smith’s ver­sion of “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” proves that Kurt Cobain’s song­writ­ing stands up to the test, and the black and white video recalls Smith’s own pho­tog­ra­phy. It’s a par­tic­u­lar­ly Pat­ti Smith memo­r­i­al.

Loss defines so much of Smith’s late peri­od work—of Cobain, her broth­er, late hus­band Fred “Son­ic” Smith, and close friend Robert Mapplethorpe—but her com­mem­o­ra­tion of those loss­es has also renewed her cre­ative­ly. In a way, her career revival began with a memo­r­i­al to Cobain, with the song “About a Boy” from her 1996 “come­back” record Gone Again, a par­tial col­lab­o­ra­tion with her hus­band not long before his death. Watch Smith below deliv­er a spell­bind­ing live per­for­mance of “About a Boy” from a June 23, 2000 con­cert in Seat­tle.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Pat­ti Smith Read from Vir­ginia Woolf, and Hear the Only Sur­viv­ing Record­ing of Woolf’s Voice

Pat­ti Smith Remem­bers Robert Map­plethor­pe

The First Live Per­for­mance of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” (1991)

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

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