By Niall Richardson
Original position in magazine: pages 71-72
Contents: Leo Diamond, Bela Babai, Ferrante and Teicher
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Leo Diamond
Harmonica Melodies EP
COLUMBIA SEG 7781 [c. 1950s]
The fact that I know little about this musician / composer matters not to me - quite the contrary, the sense of mystery seems to enrich the listening experience. On the cover he looks like some kind of surreal magician, like The Great Gonzo from a 1920s black and white silent movie, an image definitely in tune with the music. Perhaps the strange sounds were simply pulled out of his magic hat, a possible explanation for the otherworldliness of his sound. It certainly is unbelievable that these complex recordings are the result of something as down to earth as a performance in a studio.
Imagine being submerged beneath a turquoise, tropical ocean: the drone of the harmonica is the cool current passing over your skin, the strange accompanying noises; exotic sea creatures weaving peacefully about in front of you. But there is a sinister tone. Perhaps some terrible creature lies beyond in darker waters, watching and waiting for the right moment before mounting its attack. But that moment never comes and while the music exists, you can delight in the heady atmosphere it so effortlessly evokes.
From a time when pop music was so suburban and squeaky clean, it’s heartening to find that music existed with some sensitivity that was separate from Rock ‘n’ Roll. I often wonder whether Leo Diamond realised he was creating such weird and exciting sounds, or if he thought (incorrectly) that he was going with the flow. The fact that I found this EP in an ‘Oldies’ shop suggests that it sold fairly well when it was released (c. 1950), but I wonder what kind of disgust must have greeted this via the majority of the population brought up with Cole Porter and Doris Day.
Bela Babai
An Evening in Budapest
PERIOD RECORDS LP TL1934 [c. 1955]
The first impression is of intense colour, a kind of reddish purple that engulfs the entrie sound. Then, the intricacy of the playing comes across thick and fast. Babai’s violin sustaining intense, slow drones over a rumbling cello and chiming piano. The latter forming a muddy whirlpool behind the chainsaw lead instrument. Each chord on the violin played with such insistency that it burns itself into your brain leaving a permanent scar. On a more detached level, the combined effect is like watching a scratchy Super 8 film filtered through a tinted lens.
Hearing this always reminds me of music from a Werner Herzog film, the name of which I forget. In a (typically grim) bar scene the camera focuses on a peasant string quartet who are making the most amazing racket. They look calm as they play their strange medieval instruments but the sound is like they’re attacking the strings, etching their individual personalities in sound. It’s seemingly not an angry aggression but more the result of an intense enjoyment of their craft and wanting to see how far they can push each note before hitting the next.
Babai’s style reminds me also of another violinist: one John Cale of The Velvet Undergound. The droning, aggressive nature of their music is not where the similarity ends. Both happened to be child prodigies - Babai (according to the liner notes) playing his first gig at the age of four, progessing to recitals all over Europe and America by age twelve. God knows he old he was by the time this came out, but the cover suggests he’d had an active career before it did. I’d like to think that his life had followed many twists and turns, and years of intense struggling, before finally he reached his artistic peak and created this: his masterpiece. In fact I have little solid information on this genius.
There’s something quite chameleon about these performances. Every time I listen they take on a new colour and have an increasingly rich texture. Like a void viewed from above which increasingly is filled with more and more strange objects for you to look at and be fascinated by. Similarly, in my more cynical moods, it becomes like bland background ambience for your local curry house - like wallpaper. Such multi-dimensional sounds are to be treasured. All the more for me because I happened to find this disc by accident whilst rummaging through my mate’s mother’s ageing record collection.
Ferrante and Teicher
Love Themes from Cleopatra
UNITED ARTISTS LP UAS 6290 (1961)
I don’t mind admitting I’m a sucker when it comes to the Easy Listening section of a record shop. All those brightly coloured covers and strange titles never fail to fascinate me and I find sifting through them as enjoyable as going to any art gallery. Unfortunately, the only thing the average Happy Hammond or Music For…LP has going for it is a pretty picture of some half-naked lass. Still, I find myself compulsively collecting these exotic objects, much to the irritation of my friends.
In any given used record store you’ll be sure to find a dozen Ferrante and Teicher discs, and cheaper than the rest. Most of them are orchestrated cover versions of popular themes from the sixties. What’s crazy is that these guys are the forgotten geniuses of their time and, even during the recent lame ‘Loungecore’ craze, their LPs were avoided like a bad smell. It seems even arch-schmaltzster Mancini did better than F&T, with ‘indie kids’ drooling over mint copies of his vinyl issues at thirty quid apiece.
Little is it known that F&T were originally avant-gardists, and began their career by plinking and plucking their pianos a la John Cage whilst titling their LPs with such far-out names as The Sound of Tomorrow Today! and Sound Blasts. What we have here with Love Themes from Cleopatra though is one of their later Martini offerings; a bombastic delve into the realm of schlock string orchestras and ethereal angelic voices, but nevertheless a classic. By now they’d ditched their arty leanings and jumped head first into mastering the cocktail piano. The results are rather like watching circus acrobatics, as the notes soar and descend with breathtaking precision. One piano dives as the other rises, and the effect can be quite mind-scrambling when it’s heard in full stereo. Anyone who’s a fan of stereo ping-pong master Esquivel would enjoy the experience. Anyway, if you don’t believe me it’ll only cost you a pound to check them out. It’s got a pretty cover too!