Music: Remember, A. C. Jobim

Remember is a track that’s always spoken to my heart’n’soul, if you know what I mean? I’m not entirely sure why. I guess I might think ‘bout that over the course of this post.

It’s the fifth track on Tide, Jobim’s sixth solo album, recorded at Rudy Van Gelder’s legendary studio, and released on A&M in 1970.

Tide itself is interesting, to me at least, for numerous reasons. For example, it has only one of his most famous tracks, opening with The Girl From Ipanema. The remainder are all lesser known.

Right from the first time I heard this album, Remember was my favourite track. There are, I think, several reasons why. First of all it grooves hard, in my opinion. It even has a certain funkiness to it. Not in an obviously JB type way, perhaps. But, well…

The rhythm section – and this track is basically just rhythm section, with only a very light smattering of melody – is brilliant. Jobim is on various keys, including, quite unusually, electric (sounding like a Rhodes or Wurli’?). We’ll come back to his keys playing in a mo’, as it’s, ummm… key to the feel of the track.

Then there’s Ron Carter on bass, Joao Palma on drums, and Everaldo Ferreira on congas. Airto Moreira is credited on percussion for the album as a whole, but I don’t hear him on this number. Carter is an absolute jazz giant, of course. Most famous for his stint in the Hancock/Shorter/Williams Miles quintet. And Moreira successfully crossed over Stateside, getting into the jazz and studio scenes.

A young Joao Palma.

João Palma was a legend in Brazil, and was still playing until he passed away, quite recently. Ferreira might still be playing (I found him – or at least a conguero of the same name – playing some street music on YouTube!). But they’re less known to music lovers outside Brazil, except perhaps the odd devotee.

As a unit they drive the pretty brisk and quite harmonically dense music along with a deft lightness of touch that is simultaneously energetic and laid back. A staple of the ‘samba jazz’ feel, but quite a feat, as you would know if you’ve tried it.

Now we come to Jobim’s playing. It’s totally in the Goldilocks zone. For me at least. Neither too much, nor too little. Just the absolutely perfect balance. And the various sections fall into a few different categories.

What I mean by that is that, after a ten bar intro, with an inverted pedal – a frequent Jobim ploy, the melody atop the chords staying on just one or two notes, as the chords shift underneath – we get very similar 12 bar cycles, all progressing with very similar harmonic/melodic logic, and yet all subtly different.

As a drummer, primarily, and almost entirely self-taught, with little to no academic grounding in music theory whatsoever, I’m probably going to embarrass myself now, by not knowing the correct terminology. But maybe someone in the know will read this and enlighten me?

So, as noted, we start with a 10 bar intro, the top note hanging on a B throughout, as the chords move about underneath. This type of section recurs throughout the piece, including immediately after the first iteration, but in a longer 12 bar form, and with a differing (but from this point on very similar) set of chords anchoring it. Sometimes the top note is the same B as the intro, at other times it’s a lower F.

My workings, from piano to guitar.

These sections are predominantly chordal, and very, very rhythmic. The chord voicings are quite ‘dense’. Easier to achieve on a keyboard than on a guitar (Jobim played both beautifully, oh, and flute!). But on this number it’s all keys and no guitar. Part of my fascination for Remember lies in my desire to do it on guitar! Very minimal and subtle use is made of notes occasionally moving slightly out of sync with the main ‘blocked’ chords.

Then there are the melody sections. Apart from the intro and bridge or middle-eight these follow the very similar sets of chords that form most of the piece. Again, these are 12 bars long. But then there’s the quite chirpy middle-eight (or 16, if we’re being exact), an eight bar section that’s repeated with slightly differing first and second time endings. These are the most song-like parts of this piece.

Unlike many of Jobim’s best known tunes, like Ipanema, Desafinado, One Note Samba, etc, but actually quite typical within his greater body of work, almost every iteration of any given section is very deliberately and very specifically voiced, all slightly differently, albeit very closely linked and always resolving to the same final G6 chord.

I do want to learn to play this number on keys at some point. But my first port of call is the guitar. It’s what I know best, after drums. Plus I think a guitar version could be a nice and different take on what is very much a keyboard piece.

I got the score from an absolutely superb Tom centred website, which has most of not all of his music really well written out for piano. Turning the piano chords into guitar versions that keep the feel of the original is, at least for me, a real challenge. Working from the chord names I start by using an online tool like jguitar.com’s chord finder/creator.

I also frequently use ASD, Amazing Slow Downer, a great software tool, to help me clarify what I’m hearing. With this pretty pacey tune, it was absolutely essential! Certain segments came together relatively quickly and easily, such as the 10-bar intro and the 12-bar sequence that immediately follows it. But others were – and indeed still are – a real mother!

The melody lead parts were the easiest, as working from the beautifully accurate piano chords quickly lead me to appropriate guitar chords. As and when I come to record a version of Remember, I will be incorporating the melody, most likely as a separate voice. But for the ‘fixed note’ sections – or inverted pedal parts (the notes are atop the chords!) – the fairly stationary ‘melody’ is integral to the chords.

As already noted, some of these came together very quickly, others, in particular iteration #(?), or bars ??-??, were extremely challenging. This comes out of the fact that densely voiced chords, easy on keys, can be near impossible on guitar, depending on exactly which notes are concerned.

The fact that the topography of the guitar neck forces one to relocate certain notes to differently pitched positions really alters the sound and feel, and even the ‘width’ or ‘depth’, of the chords. Tricky!

Anyway, I’ve created a chord sheet – actually still a work in progress – for Remember. And the bulk of it is, I’m happy to say, quite satisfactory to me. There is one troublesome segment, already alluded to above. And I’m still working hard to complete that in a satisfactory manner.

And then there’s actually playing it on guitar competently. That also is very much a work in progress! The original is a brisk 183bpm, or thereabouts. If I do get around to doing a guitar based recording – and I very much hope I will – I might opt to take the pace down a little, perhaps even as far as 170-5? We shall see!

One issue is that pesky progression that’s harder than the others – oh, and the middle 8/16 – as both have one or two chord progressions that require left-hand ninja skills I’m going to need to acquire!

My goal is a version on which I play all instruments, poss even a flute doing the melody. Certainly drums, congas, bass, guitar, poss a little keys. But as my flute skills haven’t got a far as making a reliable clean note, I will prob have to either sing the melody, or get someone in to do that icing on the cake bit!

REVELATiON: Am I A Misanthrope?

The Misanthrope, Pieter Brueghel the Elder, 1568.

I’ve described myself to some folk, over the years, as a misanthrope. I’ve always done so out of a vague notion of what that means. So I decided to look it up today.

I find that the Wikipedia entry on Misanthropy resonates with me in many, albeit not all, particulars.

One typically assumes that most folk would view misanthropy with scorn and disdain, as it’s not an obviously positive or helpful outlook. And that’s the kind of view of the outlook or philosophy portrayed by the Brueghel painting above.

One of the chief areas in which I might not be a misanthrope is in relation to sex; apparently many misanthropes are antinatalist. Well, I can see that humanity is somewhat overstocked, which appears to adversely effecting the planet and everything in it (inc. ironically, humanity itself!).

But like nice wine, sex – whether for reproduction or just plain fun – is one of our few solaces. So I’m all for lots of it, whether it produces offspring or not. Though I feel compelled to confess that the misanthrope in me does wish that there were a lot less humans on the planet.

And now, having read most of the Wikipedia entry on Misanthropy? I actually feel more not less inclined to self identify in that manner.

PS – The inscription at the bottom of Brueghel’s painting reads (acc. to Wikipedia):

Om dat de werelt is soe ongetru, Daer om gha ic in den ru

‘Because the world is perfidious, I am going into mourning’

Brueghel’s painting suggests this makes the misanthrope a fool. He’s having his purse pinched by a figure representing vanity, and is blindly walking into some ‘caltrops’ (little spiky things humans invented, with which to hurt each other, lame horses with, etc. *). Meanwhile a shepherd in the background contrasts with the misanthrope by humbly going about his business.

* Aren’t we a delightful species!

MUSiC: James Brown On The TAMI Show

It’s funny how long some things take to happen. I’ve been listening to Sting sing the line ‘James Brown on the TAMI show’ since my early or mid-teens, and I’ve been seriously into James Brown himself, or more accurately his musical legacy, for three decades or more.

And yet only now have I actually tried to check out exactly what is ‘James Brown on the TAMI show’? And, thanks to YouTube and the interweb, I finally found out.

I’m only in to the second tune at the time of posting this. And whilst I love JB and his Famous Flames, the squealing ‘Beatle-mania’ type audience response is messin’ with my noggin!

HEALTH & WELLBEiNG: Weather in My Head / Window to The Soul

The weather right now, as I’m typing this post, is cold, windy, and raining. Perfectly reflecting my spirits.

Or is it?

It was sunny 30 minutes ago. And, perhaps rather astonishingly, it’s going that way again. The rain has stopped. But the dripping continues. And the visible part of the sky, from where I’m laying down, is a clean pure brilliant blue. I imagine there’s a beautiful rainbow to be seen somewhere. Wish I could see it!

That little passing cloudburst reminded me of the Donald Fagen Sunken Condos track/lyric, The Weather In My Head.

I guess I ought to take solace in how quickly that little cold wet blast lasted? So now the Dear Prudence lyric seems more apt: ‘The sun is out, the sky is blue, it’s beautiful, and so are you…’. Much better!

But that said, although my mood is fluctuating a lot. The dark clouds in my mind seem to hang about much longer than those that are currently scudding through the skies.

POLiTRiCKS: The ‘Makes No Difference Who’s In Office’ Fallacy

I love Steve Bell!

These days I try and avoid the political. Or at least I kind of do. It’s just sooo depressing! Butt, for some reason I can never quite shake an interest in how and by whom we are ‘governed’.

One thing that I really hate to hear, is the über lazy cop out of ‘it makes no difference who’s in power/office’. I do appreciate that politicians of all types can be wearisome, and may at times seem to share many regrettable qualities. But I strongly disagree with the idea they’re all exactly the same.

Labour gave us the NHS, the Tories (or at least large powerful sections thereof, sections that are also usually in power at the time) have always wanted rid of it, and have acted – albeit slowly and surreptitiously (aware that is a much loved national institution) – to undermine it, as a prelude to dismemberment and privatisation.

One of the greatest ironies in all of this is how the Tories, and their sickening allies in the billionaire non-dom owned press, continue to stoke fears of Socialist Bogeymen taxing us all to oblivion.* When in fact the Tories are both taxing everyone more than ever (oh, except for the wealthiest pensioners), and borrowing on a totally unsustainable scale.

Aye-aye!

* Some of the insanely bizarre crap I’ve heard working class Tories say beggars (buggers is much more apt) belief. Such folk are so obviously parroting propaganda they’re fed, day in day out, by a press in cahoots with the country’s ruling Tory elite.

The greatest irony of all is that actually the Tories – supposedly (ie according to their own much trumpeted hype) good with money – are actually totally fiscally incompetent. Should that come as any surprise? They are the (a)morally if not fiscally bankrupt heirs to the traditions of Serfdom, and Royalty, ie they remain the ‘robber barons’.

They got rich, just as they continue to get rich, not because of skill or intelligence, but thanks, mostly, to inheriting wealth and power, and/or ‘insider trading’, corruption, bullying, and plain old-fashioned theft.

The Covid pandemic, during which our government ought to have been looking after the most vulnerable, was used as an excuse for an orgy of state-organised larceny. And the right wing capitalist ideologues ‘masterminding’ this short-term grab for the greedy even openly talked of the benefits of Covid ‘culling elderly dependents’. Nye Bevan, founder of the NHS, was absolutely correct: Tories are lower than vermin.

HEALTH & WELLBEiNG: ‘You are in queue position, #X, … over a barrel.’

Dr Satan’s Robots, apparently. Staffing call centres world (or galaxy?) wide.

Psychological torture in the everyday, an NHS experience (or three!).

Several times in recent weeks I’ve been in GP Practices, or Hospitals. Although the two recent GP visits are the later experiences, I’ll start with them.

For me, our GP waiting room is a kind of ante-chamber to Hell. The radio station they have playing in the background – coupled with the Covid-19 related spacing of chairs, and the concurrent demise of communal reading matter (something long associated with visits to the doc’s; Woman’s World, Hello!, issues of Giles!?) – is so oppressively and moronically mainstream, and inanely conformist.

It feels like being in a dictatorship of the mind. The Tories have annexed the Sudetenland of independent critical thought, by fostering a plebeian culture of bland mindless consumerism. A singularly soulless state. When I see or hear lockstep unison dance routines in trash online and TV culture, it makes me think of modern ‘Brits’ as a breed of goose-stepping turkeys, marching to their own holocaust.

And several of the elderly folk in the room are tapping their toes!? As if it were some form of harmless music. A nice sound!? Or even more outlandishly, an art, or craft, designed, perhaps, to uplift and expand, or at least beautify the immediate surroundings. But wait, this is in fact the sonic wallpaper to billions of cellular prisons, made with computers, to formulae dictated by returns on investment, designed to control, crush and enslave, not to enlighten or liberate.

The Godawful radio station polluting the GP’s airwaves.

Airheaded five-minutes-of-fame intoxicated wannabes queue for mile after mile, desperately hoping to be the kind of fantasy cyphers everybody is constantly told they want to be. All whilst drowning in endless rounds of addictive self-soothing endorphin hits, counted in ‘likes’ and ‘tweets’.

And what an ugly and tawdry world this muzak creates and adorns. A world of institutionalised blandness, built with mass-produced tat, always aiming about as low as you can go.

Not long before the two recent doctor appointments, where my ears and my soul were tortured by the crassness of modern popular culture, I visited Peterborough Hospital. The whole visit lasted six and a half hours (plus near enough 30 mins – or more [due to roadworks!] – either way, getting there and back).

Peterborough Hospital, not so much a ‘noble edifice’ as an essay in the dismal ugliness of modern social architecture.

I was seen by a ‘CRISIS’ team psychiatrist. And a fairly lengthy interview was conducted. l left the hospital in the firm belief that I was being referred for further help from the crisis team. It’s only been later on that I’ve learned that – prob’ as a result of this meeting (or poss a follow up meeting, at ours a few days later, with a guy whose name escapes me now?) – I am NOT being referred to the Crisis team for further support. This in itself is shocking.

Then, on this most recent call, today, this John Skeels character, who I don’t warm to at all (in fact he winds me up something chronic!), not only reiterates the point about the removal from Crisis support or intervention, but goes further. Blandly telling me I won’t be getting CBT either!!!

I thought I’d understood that Dr Joyce and the lady I saw in A&E were both assuring me I would get some immediate ‘talk therapy’ style support. So far, far from that, I’ve had to endure Groundhog Day style repetitions of cross-questioning, or ‘profiling’, from an alphabet soup of seemingly related yet also not related mental health bodies!

Raking over all this shit continually, without ever actually addressing it constructively, rather surprisingly – NOT! – actually worsens things!

Skeels started out seeming to suggest an initial assessment was due to happen on the call/day. But later on he instead offered a telephone appointment assessment – I’m losing count of how many times I’ve been in this situation: four, five, or more? – with a lady (Hannah Jones?), on 6th April!

My angry protestations about how awful this has all been – passed from pillar to post, continually repeating myself, whilst getting no actual support or help – finally persuaded him to bring the date of the assessment forward a bit: it’s now due 27th April. A week away, instead of over two.

Turn that shit down!

So I’m now back to square one, ringing my GP and FRS (the First Response Service, aka 111, option 2), and queuing for aeons listening to Muzak and so-called A-I bots, telling me my call is oh so important (hence the interminable wait…*) and my queue position is ‘over a barrel’.

* Maybe they’re building suspense, to further heighten the appalling crash that comes when you eventually end hours of calling and realise, more often than not, you’ve achieved exactly fuck all. Except, perhaps, ramping up stress levels a bit more. The exact opposite of what’s needed!

Pretty piano music plays – on a short repetitive loop (isn’t this a black-ops torture technique?) – and I’m told ‘your queue position is, three’; we approach fifteen minutes, for the entirety of which time my queue position has remained three!!!

WOW… at about 15:02 in to the call, I’ve gone from position three to two! I hope I don’t have to wait 15 minutes for… oh, I’m #1 now! 15 mins for one place, then just one for the next!?

Once I’m connected, will I get anywhere? Dr Joyce told me to contact the surgery if need be. And I feel need is very much be! As feck all is happening via CRISIS or LADS or whomever… ah, finally, a human being.

INTERLUDE

So, twenty minutes waiting, two minutes talking, and in the end only verbal assurance that I’ll get call from Dr Joyce on Thursday coming. Hopefully that will happen.

The corporations and us.

After that tortuous call to my GP (is there any other type these days?), it’s time to join the FRS ‘virtual (aka very real) queue’. This time it’s a more ambient synth and percussion loop.

A little later… So far it’s just (just, JUST!?) been a little over five minutes queuing. And what will this call achieve? I’ll basically be telling them nothing’s happened, and they’ll want to go over everything again, for the umpteenth time. Leading to? Well, thus far, absolutely feck all, in terms of actual support or help!

Gaaarrgh! Gnashing of teeth, wailing, and tearing asunder of a sack-cloth and ashes!

Some more time later… It’s sixteen minutes and counting, on the FRS mental health crisis line. Wonder if folk have topped themselves whilst queuing? It seems the kind of purgatorial – or plain Hell-ish – way to make a depressed person feel even worse.

There’s nowt for making you feel the worlds’ sense of your true value than being made to wait aeons by a robot, before being allowed to interface with an understaffed, under financed and ridiculously complex (due to being dismembered in pursuit of private profit) system.

Nye Bevan would be apoplectic with rage, at seeing what Tories (and even New Labia) have done to his beloved and ought-to-be-cherished institution. It would just confirm for him the truth of his assertion that Tories are, indeed, lower than vermin.

Twenty-two minutes and counting… Jeezuzzz on a fucking pogo-stick!!! I’ll have lost the will to live by the time… oh, no, hang on, that was why I was calling in the first place!

Some time much, much, MUCH later… Well, it was over thirty minutes wait in the end. But when I got through the guy on the call – which lasted about an hour – was good.

I’ve subsequently also had a call from The Sanctuary, an offshoot of the mental health charity MIND. Spoke to a guy named Simon, which turned out to be quite helpful. That call was about 65 minutes! So much time on’t phone!

FOOTNOTE

One of the worst things about this hellish modern way of going about things is that it makes me so angry and querulous that by the time I speak to someone, I’m in a towering rage. A la Saxondale, perhaps?

MiSC: Status Update…

Tintin & co marvel at giant butterfly and wineglass.

Capt. Haddock, disgusted, refuses to look at cut-glass that doesn’t contain whisky!

I’m now whoring myself out on every front.

The only significant think I did today, other than sleep loads, was this flyer/postcard design. If I get enough pupils, across the several areas: drums, guitar, art, English, etc. Who knows, I might still be able to make a living?

Tasty!

I’m not in the least religious. But ne’ertheless, I say Gawd Bless, my Mrs! She’s cooked a triffick dinner, again.

HEALTH & WELLBEiNG: Fighting off a Tidal wave of Shit with a Band Aid!

Beautiful, and powerful.

Hokusai’s Wave is a beautiful piece of art. I’m choosing it for today’s post because it represents the tidal wave of sh!t I’m currently facing.

The politics of this obscure it’s personal resonance!

My tip-top favourite political satirist, Steve Bell, has done this great scatalogical reimagining of Hokusai’s masterpiece. The specific topical political baggage with this image – King (Tony) Cnut trying to face down a literal (Gordon) Brown tsunami – somewhat obscures my more generalised reading of it.

My only defence!

And how am I to stave off this towering wall, this fast-flowing fecal apocalypse? Naturally enough, with naught but a sticking-plaster. A Band-Aid. Well, it does say it’s ‘water-proof’!

Holy sheee-it!!!

HOME & GARDEN: Jason, the Cloud Gardener.

Jason’s balcony ‘cloud garden’.

We love this guy! Check out Jason, The Cloud Gardener, here. We discovered him via the BBC’s Gardener’s World.

Vid

His story is inspiring. I love the bit in his BBC slot where he talks about nurturing a ‘broken’ plant, and how that helps him with his own mental health.

We need to really green our domestic spaces. It’s a challenge, as ours are very dark gloomy indoor spaces, which tend to kill plants!

In his happy place.