That’s Rocky Gresset on the left, and Adrian Moignard on the right. They have a sort of friendly contest ongoing to see who can blast out Gypsy Jazz faster and more musically than the other. It’s always a tie, though they each have their own style.
“Cherokee” is a jazz standard from way back in the 1930s, by Ray Noble. It blasts through a series of different keys, and the third of four parts of the tune were considered too challenging by many soloists, so the song was often avoided, except by guys who could really play. Like these guys.
That’s Rocky Gresset and Noe Reinhardt playing Them There Eyes.
I really feel compelled to correct the grammar in that song. Not sure why. Old habits die hard, I guess. Those there eyes? No, that won’t get it done. Those eyes there? That’s better, but not quite the knees of the bees, I think.
When in doubt, spray in commas like an Arab, I always say. Even if they’re used incorrectly, they give the reader a pleasant place to stop and rest awhile. They’re like a bench in a park. Here goes: Those eyes, there.
Hmm. That’s grammatically correct, but the meaning has changed somehow. It’s possible that it might be preferable to use a semicolon instead of a comma, but I’m fairly certain that semicolons aren’t allowed on the Intertunnel anymore. I’d put an exclamation point after: there, but exclamation points are just used instead of periods now, so it wouldn’t have the proper declamatory effect.
All I really need to do is need to sneak up on: Those eyes that that girl is in possession of. Oh, dear. Anytime I see “that that” abroad in the land of a sentence I just wrote, I have visions of a nun and the sound of a ruler dopplering towards my knuckles. Also, the song is all bollixed up and wishes to intimate that the beauty is in the eye of the beheld, which can lead to a dangerous feedback loop now that selfies are en vogue. I also feel as though I should specify the gender of the beauty of the beheld of the eye. I’m a guy person, and rarely notice the eyes of another guy unless I’m poking them in a bar brawl, so I’ll go with a girlie eye from here on out.
“That girl is pleasantly ocularly equipped.” That mellifluous combo works well enough, but the spellchecker is freaking out over “ocularly.” There it goes again. You’d think that after you wrote it once, it would leave you alone after that, but it keeps on telling me that ocularly isn’t a word. It’s weird knowing more words than the spellchecker and Maceo Pinkard, Doris Tauber and William Tracey.
I think I have it now: “I’m fairly certain that neither of that woman’s eyes are made of glass, or both are.” Perfection. Someone’s going to have to get busy on the chord structure, though. It doesn’t seem to fit anymore. I had a hunch something was wrong with that, too.
That’s Rocky Gresset and some guy that owns a dog house playing a Henry Mancini/Johnny Mercer song.
Funny to think of what becomes a jazz standard. The Days of Wine and Roses was pretty predictable, but lots of other less predictable things make it into Real Books, or Fake Books, or whatever they call the bootleg books of songs that might be needed on a General Business bandstand.
I’m not in the business anymore, but I notice things. The Beatles have a bunch of things that trad jazz bands don’t turn their nose up at anymore. Stevie Wonder songs, quite a bit, too. It’s Not Easy Being Green, originally sung by Kermit the Frog is another one you might not see coming. Hell, Wichita Lineman gets murdered by naugahyde-and-well-drink assassins as often as Autumn Leaves. Honestly, would you expect My Favorite Things to become a jazz standard? I would, but I’m strange.
There’s really nothing I can do but warn you. You’re bound to be blindsided. There’s no way you can see this coming. There you are, bumping along, listening to Adrien Moignard and Rocky Gresset lay waste to the Jazz standard Cherokee by Ray Noble, and you’re wondering exactly how inventive a person can get on the guitar, and then, like a turd in the fondue pot, THERE’S A BASS SOLO AT FOUR MINUTES, AND IT LAST FOR TWO, MIND-NUMBING, SOUL-DESTROYING MINUTES, WHILE ACTUAL MUSICIANS LOOK ON IN HORROR.
Tag: Rocky Gresset
sippicancottage
A Man Who Has Nothing In Particular To Recommend Him Discusses All Sorts of Subjects at Random as Though He Knew Everything.
Recent Comments