#count basie

Count Basie at the Palace

  The Avachives Department of Musical Preservation

By Cornelius “Neil” Drafton — “The Contrarian” New Jersey Review of Applied Kitsch

Let me begin by saying that The Count is the kind of record people pretend to enjoy so they can feel worldly, cultured, and vaguely superior while swirling a glass of something they claim is “peaty.” It’s Basie, yes — the man, the myth, the piano that sounds like it’s perpetually clearing its throat — but this particular compilation is less “swinging big-band majesty” and more “your uncle’s idea of classy background music for a dinner party where the roast is overcooked.”

The cover alone tells you everything you need to know. A grayscale portrait of Basie looking like he’s trying to remember whether he left the stove on, paired with RCA Victor’s proud proclamation of “ENHANCED SOUND,” which in 1956 meant they turned one knob slightly to the right and called it a technological revolution. Collectors Issue, they say — which is true, in the sense that collectors will buy anything if you slap the word “issue” on it.

Musically, the album is a parade of Basie standards performed with the kind of professionalism that borders on passive aggression. The band hits every note with such precision you can practically hear them thinking, “Fine, here’s your perfect horn section, now please let us go home.” Basie’s piano is its usual minimalist marvel — a man who could say more with three notes than most pianists say with thirty — but on The Count, he seems determined to say as little as humanly possible. It’s like he’s playing jazz haiku.

The arrangements? Competent. The solos? Polite. The swing? Present, technically. It’s the musical equivalent of a handshake that’s firm enough to be respectable but not firm enough to be memorable. You won’t hate it, but you also won’t remember a single track five minutes after the needle lifts.

And yet — and this is the part that irritates me — the album works. It’s charming in its own begrudging way. It’s Basie doing Basie, even if he’s doing it with the energy of a man who just realized he left his umbrella on the bus. There’s a warmth to the band, a glow to the brass, a gentle shuffle to the rhythm section that makes you think, “Fine. FINE. I’ll enjoy this. Are you happy now.”

In conclusion, The Count is a perfectly pleasant, mildly forgettable, historically interesting slice of mid-century jazz that people will insist is “essential” because they saw it on a list once. If you want Basie at his best, look elsewhere. If you want Basie at his most Basie-ish — meaning understated, unbothered, and slightly amused that you’re listening — this will do.

1956 - Count Basie et son Grand Orchestre - Salle Pleyel - Paris

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Album of the Day: Sinatra at the Sands by Frank Sinatra

My favorite Frank Sinatra album is turning 60 this month; it was released in July 1966, exact day uncertain.

Sinatra is captured live here at the Copa Room of the (now gone) Sands Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, accompanied by Count Basie & His Orchestra, arranged and conducted by Quincy Jones. A lot of critics agree (as do I) that this captures the definitive live Frank Sinatra experience, including bantering with the audience and joking around when he messes up the lyrics. It's a great experience. This was the first live album Sinatra commercially released.