“The Girl from Ipanema” Turns 50; Hear Its Bossa Nova Sound Covered by Sinatra, Krall, Metheny & Others

The first time I heard Stan Getz, Joao Gilber­to, and Astrud Gilber­to per­form “The Girl from Ipane­ma,” I could­n’t believe it was record­ed all the way back in 1963. That sur­prise owes a great deal to the skill of the record­ing engi­neers enlist­ed for that best­selling album, Getz/Gilberto. But it also has just as much to do with the com­po­si­tion cre­at­ed by Anto­nio Car­los Jobim and poet Vini­cius de Moraes, which pulls off the rare trick of imme­di­ate­ly and rich­ly evok­ing the ear­ly six­ties while remain­ing, in all the impor­tant ways, sim­ple and time­less. (It was as true when Gilber­to and Jobim reunit­ed to per­form the song as it was on the record.) They wrote the song fifty years ago next month, a span of time in which it has become the sec­ond-most cov­ered song of all time, right behind the Bea­t­les’ “Yes­ter­day”.

But why do the prover­bial dance about the archi­tec­ture when you can sim­ply lis­ten? “The Girl from Ipane­ma” — sec­ond only, of course, to “Yes­ter­day” — offers you the plea­sure of count­less thou­sands of inter­pre­ta­tions, per­son­al­iza­tions, and reimag­in­ings. Lis­ten to enough ver­sions, and you’ll feel as if you’ve exam­ined the song from every pos­si­ble angle, reveal­ing its vital essence. You can hear it from Frank Sina­tra, Amy Wine­house, Sam­my Davis Jr. Cher, Herb Alpert, Diana Krall, Don­na Sum­mer, and even Mike Tyson.

The song res­onates all over the world, pro­duc­ing cov­ers from Pizzi­ca­to Five in Japan, Odd-Arne Jacob­sen in Nor­way, Acoustic Cafe in Korea, and KOMPRESSOR in Ger­many. And just when you think it’s been played every pos­si­ble way, anoth­er artist, usu­al­ly one with with their own high­ly dis­tinc­tive trade­mark sound, most recent­ly gui­tarist Pat Methe­ny — finds a way to expand the canon:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mon­day Ther­a­py: Getz and Gilber­to Per­form “The Girl from Ipane­ma”

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Pavarotti Sings with Lou Reed, Sting, James Brown and Other Friends

We remem­ber Pavarot­ti (1935–2007) singing with Plá­ci­do Domin­go and José Car­reras. But how about when he sang with U2, Queen (sans Fred­die Mer­cury), the great soul singer Bar­ry White, Sting, and Lou Reed. And then there’s my favorite odd cou­pling — Pavarot­ti singing “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World” with the God­fa­ther of Soul, James Brown. The per­for­mances were record­ed at a series of “Pavarot­ti and Friends” con­certs held dur­ing the 1990s. They’re all avail­able on DVD here: The Pavarot­ti & Friends Col­lec­tion: The Com­plete Con­certs, 1992–2000.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Best Japan­ese Com­mer­cial Ever? James Brown Sells Miso Soup

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Bob Dylan’s (In)Famous Electric Guitar From the Newport Folk Festival Discovered?

On July 25, 1965, Bob Dylan returned to the New­port Folk Fes­ti­val, now the head­line act. The purist audi­ence expect­ed to hear some Dylan clas­sics played with an acoustic gui­tar — some­thing like “Blowin’ In The Wind” and “Mr. Tam­bourine Man.” They got any­thing but. Dylan trad­ed in his Gib­son acoustic gui­tar for a Fend­er Stra­to­cast­er, and began to bang out elec­tri­fied ver­sions of “Mag­gie’s Farm” and “Like a Rolling Stone” (see above). Pete Seeger, the folk icon, lost his cool and famous­ly threat­ened, “If I had an axe, I’d chop the micro­phone cable right now.” The crowd booed (for rea­sons that some now inter­pret dif­fer­ent­ly). Dylan abrupt­ly left the stage, only to return with an acoustic gui­tar in hand. Lat­er, dur­ing his 1965–66 world tour, embit­tered fans called him “Judas!”

Every­thing changed the moment Dylan went elec­tric at New­port. Dylan’s own music, folk music, rock ’n’ roll — they all moved in new direc­tions. And the gui­tar at the cen­ter of the con­tro­ver­sy, it went silent for almost five decades … until now. This week, the PBS pro­gram His­to­ry Detec­tives aired an episode that tried to deter­mine whether Dylan’s elec­tric axe may have wound up in the hands of Dawn Peter­son, the daugh­ter of a pilot who flew planes board­ed by Dylan and oth­er folk musi­cians. The foren­sic evi­dence sug­gests that it’s the real deal. But Dylan, through his lawyers, insists that he’s still in pos­ses­sion of the his­to­ry-mak­ing gui­tar. It’s anoth­er lay­er of con­tro­ver­sy that began 47 years ago.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A His­to­ry of Rock ‘n’ Roll in 100 Riffs

Mak­ing Fend­er Gui­tars, Then (1959) and Now (2012)

Jim­my Page Tells the Sto­ry of “Kash­mir”

Here Comes The Sun: The Lost Gui­tar Solo by George Har­ri­son

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Philip Glass, Seen and Heard Through the Cinematic Mind of Peter Greenaway (1983)

Long­time Simp­sons-watch­ers sure­ly remem­ber Home­r’s weak­ly feigned enthu­si­asm for an evening with Philip Glass: “Just an evening?” Yet for some enthu­si­asts of the com­poser’s repet­i­tive, mes­mer­iz­ing music, just an evening real­ly would­n’t sat­is­fy. Run­ning over five hours, Glass’ opera Ein­stein on the Beach arguably requires more than an evening by itself. If you don’t feel up to so exten­sive a lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ence, rest assured that you’ve most like­ly heard, and may well have enjoyed, his com­po­si­tions before. A pro­lif­ic crafts­man of film scores, Glass has made music to accom­pa­ny, among many oth­er pic­tures, Errol Mor­ris’ The Thin Blue Line and The Fog of War; God­frey Reg­gio’s tril­o­gy of Koy­aanisqat­siPowaqqat­si, and Naqoyqat­si; and the hor­ror favorite Can­dy­man as well as its sequel, Can­dy­man: Farewell to the Flesh. You can learn more about what exact­ly goes on in Glass’ music and how he thinks about it in Philip Glass, which comes direct­ed by Peter Green­away as one of four 1983 por­traits of Amer­i­can com­posers.

If you watch Green­away’s films, you might find your­self sur­prised at the rel­a­tive straight­for­ward­ness of this project: no elab­o­rate set design, no fix­a­tion on lists and sys­tems, few grim­ly dry wise­cracks, and nobody more eccen­tric than Glass him­self. Between extend­ed seg­ments of Glass and his ensem­ble in con­cert, we see inter­views with Glass and his play­ers. (A sim­ple set­up, yes, but not with­out its points of strange­ness: each inter­vie­wee appears with a dif­fer­ent, always near­ly silent inter­view­er, some­times sep­a­rat­ed by a high­ly con­spic­u­ous cam­era reflec­tion.) We learn about how tran­scrib­ing Ravi Shankar’s music gave Glass the idea of “work­ing in a rhyth­mic struc­ture, not a har­mon­ic or nar­ra­tive one,” how hir­ing the sound man from the Fill­more East grant­ed his music a new tech­no­log­i­cal dimen­sion, and the kind of heck­ling he endures even after becom­ing famous. (“We get scream­ers,” he admits, quot­ing their shouts of “This isn’t music!” and “Why are you doing this to me?”) To the best of my knowl­edge, Glass has nev­er scored any of Green­away’s fea­tures. But watch­ing this doc­u­men­tary and notic­ing their shared fas­ci­na­tion with form and rep­e­ti­tion, their lack of enthu­si­asm for nar­ra­tive, their free­dom from “clear­ly pop­ulist inten­tions,” and their ten­den­cy to attract pre­dictable dis­ap­proval, I won­der why not.

Relat­ed con­tent:

A Min­i­mal Glimpse of Philip Glass

Philip Glass Com­pos­es for Sesame Street (1979)

Koy­aanisqat­si at 1552% Speed

Philip Glass & Lou Reed at Occu­py Lin­coln Cen­ter: An Art­ful View

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Rolling Stones First Played 50 Years Ago; Watch Them Explode Into Fame Shortly Thereafter

Just four days ago, the Rolling Stones cel­e­brat­ed the fifti­eth anniver­sary of their first con­cert, which hap­pened on July 12, 1962 at Lon­don’s Mar­quee club. Arti­cles have quot­ed lead singer Mick Jag­ger as describ­ing the crowd that evening as the kind of audi­ence they’d expect­ed as a band: “col­lege stu­dents hav­ing a night out,” an “art-school kind of crowd” who “weren’t par­tic­u­lar­ly demon­stra­tive, but they appre­ci­at­ed and enjoyed the set.” But the Stones’ demo­graph­ic would soon both shift and expand dra­mat­i­cal­ly: “A few months lat­er we were play­ing in front of 11 year olds who were scream­ing at us.” You can wit­ness this very phe­nom­e­non in the 1964 news­reel above; per­haps all of the kids lined up out­side the the­ater aren’t quite that young, but we’re def­i­nite­ly not look­ing at a col­le­giate crowd. Still, what this full house (“in fact,” the nar­ra­tor says, “it could have been filled ten times over”) lacks in matu­ri­ty, they make up for in raw enthu­si­asm.

This short film comes from British Pathé, then known as Pathé News, a pro­duc­er of news­reels from the very ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry right up to the sev­en­ties. They cap­tured the Stones per­form­ing in 1964, after they had already racked up a con­sid­er­able degree of fame, espe­cial­ly in their own coun­try. The show itself takes place in Kingston upon Hull, a medi­um-sided city in the north­east of Eng­land. Sum­mon­ing the sur­pris­ing sense of fun that mid-six­ties Eng­lish media some­times could when cov­er­ing pop­u­lar cul­ture, this news­reel, called Rolling Stones Gath­er Moss, opens with Jag­ger, Kei­th Richards, Bri­an Jones, Char­lie Watts, and Bill Wyman try­ing to hitch a ride along­side the grassy road to the venue. “Lit­tle do they know, they’re hav­ing their legs pulled,” the announc­er says of the unhesi­tat­ing motorists, “because these appar­ent hitch­hik­ers, so bland­ly ignored, are five of the most famous young men in show busi­ness, the Rolling Stones. Some of these motorists will be kick­ing them­selves when they learn they missed the chance of a life­time of get­ting to know them.” But the his­tor­i­cal moment remains cap­tured on film, as do count­less oth­ers, among the 90,000 clips in Pathé’s online archive.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Rolling Stones Sing Jin­gle for Rice Krispies Com­mer­cial (1964)

Jean-Luc Godard Films The Rolling Stones Record­ing “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il” (1968)

The Rolling Stones Jam With Their Idol, Mud­dy Waters

John Lennon and The Rolling Stones Sing Bud­dy Hol­ly

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” Movingly Flashmobbed in Spain

Flash­mob per­for­mances haven’t been a fresh con­cept for some time. And they’ve been some­what tak­en over by cor­po­ra­tions dur­ing recent years. But that does­n’t stop view­ers from enjoy­ing the per­for­mances, whether in per­son or on the web. Take this recent exam­ple orches­trat­ed by the finan­cial­ly-chal­lenged Span­ish bank, Ban­co Sabadell.

Ear­li­er this sum­mer, the bank brought togeth­er 100 musi­cians and singers from the Orches­tra Sim­fon­i­ca del Valles,Amics de l’Opera de Sabadell,Coral Belles Arts, and Cor Lieder Cam­era to per­form the anthem of the Euro­pean Union — Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” from his Sym­pho­ny No. 9. It all hap­pens in the Plaça de Sant Roc in Sabadell, Spain, a lit­tle north of Barcelona. Per­haps this will put a smile on your face. Maybe you’ll even shed a tear. One way or anoth­er, make sure you turn up your speak­ers.…

For more flash­mob clas­si­cal per­for­mances see:

Copen­hagen Phil­har­mon­ic Plays Ravel’s Bolero at Train Sta­tion

Copen­hagen Phil­har­mon­ic Plays Grieg’s Peer Gynt in the Sub­way

Opera in the Fruit & Veg­gie Mar­ket

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Woody Guthrie at 100: Celebrate His Amazing Life with a BBC Film

Sat­ur­day marks the 100th anniver­sary of the birth of Woody Guthrie, the great­ly influ­en­tial folk singer whose music was insep­a­ra­ble from the hard cir­cum­stances of his life and his deep sense of social jus­tice.

“A folk song is what’s wrong and how to fix it,” Guthrie once said, “or it could be who’s hun­gry and where their mouth is or who’s out of work and where the job is or who’s broke and where the mon­ey is or who’s car­ry­ing a gun and where the peace is.”

To help mark the mile­stone we bring you rare footage, above, of Guthrie singing “The Ranger’s Com­mand” in 1945. The clip is from the 1988 BBC Are­na doc­u­men­tary, Woody Guthrie, which can be seen in its entire­ty below. The film is a vivid por­trait of the singer, with rare audio record­ings of Guthrie speak­ing, along with inter­views with Alan Lomax, Jack Elliot, Pete Seeger, Arlo Guthrie and oth­ers. As BBC Are­na edi­tor Antho­ny Wall writes of the film’s sub­ject:

“This land is your land”, sang Woody Guthrie, his mis­sion to reclaim the true Amer­i­ca from the lawyers and politi­cians and thugs and return it to the peo­ple. He said he was just try­ing ‘to tell peo­ple what they already know’. Orig­i­nal­ly from a com­fort­ably-off fam­i­ly in Okla­homa, he took to the road and rails to chron­i­cle in song the depres­sion and dust­bowl. A fab­u­lous exam­ple of Amer­i­can self-inven­tion, ‘Guthrie came with the dust and he went with the wind’

For more on the Woody Guthrie Cen­ten­ni­al, vis­it Woody100.com. The Web site fea­tures a biog­ra­phy with pho­tographs and oth­er mate­ri­als, a “song of the day,” and a 2012 cal­en­dar of events. This week­end there are sev­er­al big events in New York, includ­ing a birth­day par­ty Sat­ur­day on Coney Island, with appear­ances by Bil­ly Bragg, Steve Ear­le and Guthrie’s daugh­ter, Nora, along with a free screen­ing the film “Bound For Glo­ry” on the beach. On Sun­day, Arlo Guthrie and oth­ers in the Guthrie fam­i­ly will give a free con­cert in Cen­tral Park.

And for more Guthrie resources, go to:

  • SoundPortraits.org to down­load audio of Alan Lomax’s 1940 inter­view with Guthrie, along with a tran­script of the con­ver­sa­tion.
  • CulturalEquity.org, host of the Alan Lomax Archives, for sev­er­al short but inter­est­ing takes of Guthrie singing polit­i­cal songs in 1948, includ­ing “If Dewey Gets Elect­ed” and “The Road is Rocky.”
  • NPR.org for a 40-minute radio pro­gram, “Fresh Air Cel­e­brates Woody Guthrie at 100.” Ter­ry Gross inter­views Guthrie biog­ra­ph­er Ed Cray and Smith­son­ian Folk­ways archivist Jeff Place, who co-pro­duced the new box set Woody at 100.
  • DemocracyNow.org for a one-hour tele­vi­sion spe­cial, “On Woody Guthrie’s Cen­ten­ni­al, Cel­e­brat­ing the Life, Pol­i­tics & Music of the ‘Dust Bowl Trou­ba­dour.’ ” Hosts Amy Good­man and Juan Gon­za­lez inter­view Woody’s daugh­ter Nora Guthrie, author of the new book, My Name is New York: Ram­blin’ Around Woody Guthrie’s Town, and his grand­daugh­ter Anna Canoni, along with musi­cian Steve Ear­le. The show also fea­tures rare audio record­ings of Guthrie speak­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pete Seeger: To Hear Your Ban­jo Play

The Alan Lomax Sound Archive Now Online: Fea­tures 17,000 Record­ings

Henry Rollins Remembers the Life-Changing Decision That Brought Him From Häagen-Dazs to Black Flag

Metafil­ter recent­ly fea­tured this Big Think clip of Hen­ry Rollins telling the sto­ry of his most life-chang­ing deci­sion. This choice, of course, was the one that brought him to the front of punk rock band Black Flag. Before he made it, he could call him­self only a col­lege dropout assis­tant-man­ag­ing a Wash­ing­ton, D.C. Häa­gen-Dazs. In 1981, after catch­ing one of Black Flag’s New York shows — dur­ing which he hap­pened to climb onstage and sing a song with them — he decid­ed to try out to become the group’s actu­al singer. When Rollins ditched the ice cream game for the day (a for­feit, he recalls, of no more than $21) to audi­tion, Black Flag went from his favorite band to his band. Think­ing back, he real­izes he had lit­tle to lose: if he did­n’t give it a shot, he’d find him­self look­ing down the bar­rel of a long, hard exis­tence on his feet, answer­ing to cus­tomers all day, every day. If he gave it a shot and did­n’t make it, he’d at worst feel humil­i­at­ed, but, as he puts it, “humil­i­a­tion and young peo­ple kind of go togeth­er.”

“I don’t have tal­ent,” Rollins insists. “I have tenac­i­ty. I have dis­ci­pline. There was no choice for me but to work real­ly hard.” You may recall him mak­ing a sim­i­lar point in his pre­vi­ous Big Think video we fea­tured, in which he rec­om­mend­ed going at one’s pur­suits with a “monas­tic obses­sion.” But this time, he adds a note of fear. He talks about com­ing to under­stand that, with­out rely­ing on his four pil­lars of “appli­ca­tion, dis­ci­pline, focus, rep­e­ti­tion,” an enti­ty he calls “the Amer­i­ca” would have got­ten the bet­ter of him. This term seems to refer to the con­stant threat of crush­ing medi­oc­rity he feels in the Unit­ed States. “Every moment I am alive is because I have not been mur­dered by the Amer­i­ca,” he says in anoth­er inter­view. “The tasks I set out for myself are what I do to beat the per­fect point­less­ness of life.” Even if you don’t con­ceive of your own sit­u­a­tion quite so grim­ly, Rollins offers a per­spec­tive worth con­sid­er­ing. Per­haps his recruit­ment into Black Flag strikes you as a lucky break; he cer­tain­ly con­sid­ers it one. But as Bri­an Eno, anoth­er cul­tur­al fig­ure as well known for his point of view as his music, once said, “Luck is being ready.”

Relat­ed con­tent:

Hen­ry Rollins Tells Young Peo­ple to Avoid Resent­ment and to Pur­sue Suc­cess with a “Monas­tic Obses­sion”

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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