I, at least, heard music

The first CD...

MARTIN HOLMAN

UNTITLED ONE

1 Come back to me 3.25

Lane/Lerner (Warner-Chappell)

2 A song for you 3.05

Leon Russell (Skyhill Publishing Co.)

3 The boulevard of broken dreams 3.20

Warren/Dubin (B. Feldman)

4 Please be kind 3.42

Chaplin/Cahn (Harms Inc.)

5 I keep goin’ back to Joe’s 3.48

Segal/Fisher (Marvin Music)

6 You taught my heart to sing 4.03

Tyner/Cahn

7 Don’cha go ’way mad 1.38

Mundy/Stillman/Jacquet (Warner-Chappell)

Martin Holman vocals

Geoff Castle piano

Amy Baldwin bass

Produced by Geoff Castle and Martin Holman

Engineered by Geoff Castle

Recorded at the Dungeon Studios, Turret Records, Shepherd’s Bush, London

6 and 11 September 2002

[P] and [C] 2002 Martin Holman

... and the liner notes

first sight the lyric of Come back to me suggests a standard song about a lost love or a missing acquaintance. But when you remember that it comes from the 1965 stage show about parapsychology and reincarnation, On A Clear Day You Can See Forever, the song acquires another tier of meaning. Not that that alters the principal attraction of the piece, its cascade of urgent entreaties to reunite the separated couple.

It is written in 4/4 time and has often been performed in a strict and galloping fashion that displays its theatre origins. (Michael Feinstein does it that way with Burton Lane on piano, so it’s the authentic pitch.) But slipped into a swing tempo and the song picks up an irresistible dynamic that expresses the emotional agitation of the lyric. Maxine Sullivan tackled it like this, and it’s her version that, for me, best brings out the immediacy, wit and humour of the words.

Leon Russell created several rock ballads that have deservedly become standards; This Masquerade is only the best known of them. They are songs that marry a direct and heart-searching lyric to a melody that rolls with the authority of an ancient stream. And as in This Masquerade, Russell fashions A song for you into a statement, one addressed to its intended recipient. The result is quietly but intensely passionate and eloquent, with a sincerity that is stirringly memorable for a rock song. It would be cynical to suggest that that is why this beautiful song has fallen from use. It was written in 1970 and for a few years was covered by singers imbued with the tradition of American popular song. Soon after Russell’s recording came The Carpenters and, among others, Jack Jones and Andy Williams; Donny Hathaway gave it a remarkable, sweet soul reading. Since then it has fallen out of fashion. But it’s a song made for jazz vocalists. The definitive treatments by Anita O’Day and, supremely, Carmen McRae, prove this irresistibly.

In my opinion, Harry Warren is routinely underrated in the pantheon of American songwriting greats. Maybe because he was more Hollywood than Broadway, his work seldom features in the same rank as Gershwin, Porter, Berlin or Rodgers. Like Harold Arlen he undoubtedly belongs in that company. The boulevard of broken dreams came out of his collaboration with Al Dubin, one of the cleverest in a generation of dexterous songwriters who were the great poets of mid-century America. And there is poetry here for all its stereotyped cinematic after-dark Paris sultry lushness. The song appeared in Moulin Rouge, a 1934 film with a backstage storyline that was no more probable than all the rest. Still the melancholic lyric breaks through, evoking a sour futility. Swapping its usual French apache-style dance rhythm for a 12/8 ballad setting, I think, draws out this effective melody’s appealing wistfulness.

Please be kind was one product of the working relationship of former part-time violinist Sammy Cahn and pianist Saul Chaplin in the late 1930s. A link with Jimmie Lunceford’s well-drilled band brought the pair their first hit in 1935 with Rhythm is Our Business. The moderate pop ballads that followed displayed a slightly more reflective side. Please be kind is an example, perhaps the best of a crop that also includes the committee-written Until the Real Thing Comes Along (the words and music are attributed to no fewer than five writers) and the charming If it’s the Last Thing I Do (the work of only two). Cahn moved on in the next decade to his lucrative career as songwriter to Frank Sinatra with, first, Jule Styne and then Jimmy Van Heusen. Sinatra did the earlier material too, taking this song up-tempo with Count Basie in 1962; a location to which the melody is best suited. The arrangement on this track uses medium Latin and swing. It was suggested to me by Ian Shaw (who devised the ‘new’ colla voce verse), a vocalist so versatile and inventive that his name should be on the lips of everyone who cares about jazz singing and popular song.

If everyone has at least one song (and a novel) in them, Jack Segal has a better average than most. The name of this prolific writer will be the least familiar among the lyricists on this album, but at least two of his creations are well known. One is Scarlet Ribbons, written with Evelyn Danzig. The other is When Sunny Gets Blue, and if the one song in you has the quality of that composition, you can reasonably be expected to retire on the proceeds and universal gratitude of musicians and audiences alike. But thankfully Segal followed that success five years later with I keep goin’ back to Joe’s in 1961. If this is a greater song then it is because of the superior melody by Marvin Fisher who also wrote the earlier tune (or maybe it was a joint effort). In this later song, Segal also produced that novel that’s reputedly in all of us. An inspired story of love lost, it unfolds over 32 measures of supremely moody music. The definitive version was, in my view, one of the first – Nat ‘King’ Cole’s on the exquisite 1962 album Where Did Everyone Go? with Gordon Jenkins. Mark Murphy revived it in his tribute to Cole in 1983 and perhaps that was the spur to its new popularity with singers. Both Kurt Elling and Ian Shaw have included it on recent albums and shown the rewards that the song offers to singer and instrumentalist alike.

You taught my heart to sing is an instrumental original by McCoy Tyner, first recorded with Jackie McLean on the 1985 Blue Note album It’s About Time. Tyner has subsequently played the slow ballad quite freely, with a joyous middle-eight reminiscent of Erroll Garner. The lyric is by Sammy Cahn, from an unprecedented collaboration and a unique one. Maybe other singers have covered it, but the version by Dianne Reeves stands out for me because she immerses herself in the spirit and feeling of this terrific melody.

The last song, Don’cha go ’way mad, was fashioned from the band instrumental Black Velvet, a hit for tenor saxophonist Illinois Jacquet who wrote the song with Jimmy Mundy in 1950. Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald gave it a swing feel in their versions of the 1960s, but the tune seems to thrive on the high-octane sheer energy that is a Jacquet hallmark. Geoff Castle picked up this dynamic immediately. Al Stillman’s words gave the song its alternative title and the most lighthearted lyric imaginable on the topic of infidelity. And that appeared as the most appropriate theme for this entire undertaking!

MARTIN HOLMAN

UNTITLED ONE

Untitled One because it is the first; a sketch; and probably incomplete.

There are people I want to thank:

Geoff Castle and Amy Baldwin for their playing, which made this album a reality;

and those people who have added to my enjoyment and knowledge of this great music, especially Lucy Delafons Preston, David Frankel, Jefford Horrigan, Fergus O’Kelly and Ian Shaw. None is responsible for the shortcomings of this album.

This album is dedicated to the memory of one cat and of three influential women in my life: Norah Matheson, Mary Hargraue and Doreen Dor;

to Michael Holman (1921-1985) who, through his boyhood infatuation with Bing Crosby, disposed me genetically to this music;

and above all, to Sonja Holman.

The second CD

Pretending to Care

Martin Holman

Geoff castle

david frankel

amy baldwin

nick Kacal

Stan robinson

1 down to you 4.53 joni mitchell ã1973 crazy crow music arr. by david frankel

2 come back to me 3.25 lane/lerner ã1965 warner-chappell

3 on broadway 3.13 mann, weill, stoller and leiber ã1962 screen gems/emi music inc.

4 a song for you 3.05 leon russell ã1970 skyhill

5 i keep goin’ back to joe’s 3.50 marvin fischer/jack segal ã 1961 marvin music

6 our day will come 4.31 bob hilliard/mort gorson ã1963 mca music limited – bourne music limited

7 a time for love 4.41 johnny mandel/paul francis webster ã1966 warner brothers

8 comes love 3.45 brown, sept and tobias ã1939 famous chappel

9 step inside love* 4.10 john lennon, paul mccartney ã1968 northern songs

10 don’cha go ‘way mad 1.38 jimmy mundy/illinois jacquet/al stillman ã1950 warner-chappell

11 you taught my heart to sing 4.04 mccoy tyner/sammy cahn ã1985 aisha music company

12 pretending to care 4.53 todd rundgren ã1985 humanoid music arr. by simon wallace

13 the boulevard of broken dreams 3.23 harry warren/al dubin ã1934 b. feldman

14 i remember you* 2.33 victor schertzinger/johnny mercer ã1942 paramount music corporation

15 don’t ever leave me*3.13 jerome kern/oscar hammerstein ii ã1929 t.b. harms company

16 then i’ll be tired of you 6.07 arthur schwartz/e.y.harburg ã1934 famous chappell

martin holman vocals

geoff castle piano

david frankel piano*

nick kacal bass

stan robinson tenor & clarinet

the starting point for this album was, in fact, the title track. i heard that song first in ian shaw’s version on his outstanding recording famous rainy day. it was ian who lent me simon wallace’s arrangement, and i am indebted to both musicians for their inspiration and generosity. my gratitude in same measure goes to the players who gave texture and depth to my efforts. as ever, my greatest thanks go to my family and my friends. martin holman

produced by geoff castle and martin holman

engineered by geoff castle

recorded at dungeon studios, turret records, shepherd’s bush, london 17 december 2003 and

10 june 2004 except tracks 2,4, 5,10 recorded 10/11 september 2003

ãmartin holman 2004

holman@kirsgillow.freeserve.co.uk

cover image wallgrid by terry setch, 1968, oil on canvas private collection ã2004 terry setch