“Polka Dots and Moonbeams,” Indeed
It’s anyone’s guess how I, among the three siblings, came to possess the thirty or so CD “binders” that made up my father’s jazz collection. Eight years after his passing, I’ve only recently reviewed them in-depth—the best finds being a dozen or so “mixed discs” he made (some with my name on them). Finding none had an accompanying track list, I recently spent a few weekend hours playing a handful, while jotting down the song titles, including JASON PIANO #1:
The “mixed discs” in my father’s labeled CD binders have me playing “Name That Tune”
1. A Foggy Day (Oscar Peterson)*
2. ____________?
3. ____________?
4. September Song (Errol Garner)
5. ____________?
6. Can’t Get Started (John Lewis)
7. Angel Eyes (Oscar Peterson)
8. Spring is Here (Bill Evans)
9. Stars Fell on Alabama (Sonny Stitt)
10. ____________?
11. ____________?
12. But Not for Me (Red Garland)
13. Ruby, My Dear (Herbie Hancock)
14. On Green Dolphin Street (Thelonius Monk)
15. ____________?
16. ____________?
17. ____________?
Instrumental tracks all, I failed to name more than half of them. (And it was only when one of the tunes popped up in a randomly chosen Spotify playlist that I was able to identify, “Ruby, My Dear.”)
In truth, with an almost endless American songbook at jazz musicians’ disposal, it’s no surprise some were unknown to me. What IS surprising is how many of my all-time favorite songs my father included over and over and over again—despite my never having singled them out to him.
Sure, the more obvious ones can be explained away. “Stars Fell on Alabama” is easily attributed to our love of composer, Hoagy Carmichael. And “Can’t Get Started” was a regular Sunday-with-the-New-York-Times staple growing up.
Sarah Vaughan’s recording of “Polka Dots and Moonbeams” remains my favorite
I DO remember our discussing “Polka Dots and Moonbeams,” which appears more than any other song on these discs. Had I not, my habitual playing of Sarah Vaughan’s “Live from the Tivoli” recording was a clear give-away; and I still delight at the way her coy delivery of, “I felt a bump, and then an old ‘beg your pardon’’” is interrupted by a “bump” from the drum of George Hughes. (Take a listen here.)
Perhaps similarities in our nature drew us to certain songs. Certainly “Lush Life” speaks to the wistful, reflective side in us. But “Angel Eyes”? “This is Always”? “On Green Dolphin Street”?
“Angel Eyes” was barely on my radar, until I had a come-to-Jesus moment in my late thirties and gave in to Sinatra’s genius. And “On Green Dolphin Street” (composed for the 1947 Lana Turner melodrama of the same name) is little-known outside musicians’ circles and must rank as one of the most obscure jazz standards ever. Their inclusion can only be chalked up to a kind of “melodic mind-reading.”
I feel such joy when listening to these compilation discs. And a bit in awe when assessing the collection in its entirety. My father’s knowledge was encyclopedic. His collection equally so. And while I imagine countless more songs live on some hidden-away hard-drive, it’s the physical nature of the binders that lend a special weight to his legacy—the act of flipping through them another connection to him.
Happening upon “JASON PIANO #2” or “JAZZ FOR JASON,” it feels strangely like I’m being challenged to an otherworldly game of “Name That Tune.”
Me: Cross-legged on the floor, ears poised.
My father: Pushing “Play” with a wink from heaven.
And wouldn’t you know it, he’s stumped me again!
Click here to listen to JASON PIANO #1 (recreated on Spotify)
*While I’d know Peterson and Garner anywhere (no matter the song), IDing some of the other musicians took a little digging.