Michael Moody: The Ecstasy Of Love
This is something of a first for me inasmuch as I’m at something of a loss as to not only begin a review, but also how to end it, to say nothing of what will serve as a link between the two. The fact is that I’m struggling to find something positive to say that would serve to balance what can only be negative comments. I gladly and freely apologise to readers who expect, and indeed are entitled, to a balanced review but I believe also that a reviewer must also contrive to be honest and record his true feelings. I am very much aware that performers are doing their best to entertain us and although they don’t always please me, they do please others; this is easy to confirm in a live performance and I always contrive to report that whilst it may not be my cup of tea, the audience gave it a standing ovation. In the case of a CD which disappoints me, I stress that I am just one person and there will be thousands who will disagree with me.
Alas, I am completely unable to take that approach here. This is, by a country mile, the worst album I have ever endured and I honestly can’t imagine anyone on the planet who would enjoy it. In the early 40s a group of musicians took the chord sequences of popular songs, imposed new melodies on them, gave them new titles, and created bebop. In a similar fashion, Mr. Moody takes the lyrics of 11 standards and imposes new melodies on them, so much so that in some cases the original composers – Porter, Gershwin, Carmichael, Young – would have difficulty recognising their own work. [This is complete crap, Leon – the original melody of Nearness Of You, for example, is intact, with a style of embellishment quite recognisable in jazz. But what would you know of that? Likewise Embraceable, Unforgettable and others. Ed.]
I accept that anyone born in or after 2000 would be highly unlikely to know songs written 80-90 years ago, ergo what does it matter, but even these young listeners may baulk at the non-melodies Mr. Moody has contrived to produce. In addition, Mr. Moody then proceeds to perform his concoctions without the aid of a vocal instrument. [Then why do you indicate vocals in the discography? In fact, he sings with his vocal instrument, and perfectly well. Ed.] I listened to all 36 minutes and 14 seconds – playing some sections twice – on the off-chance that he might eventually hit a true note, contrive not to sing flat or inject a scintilla of tunefulness into a voice that makes Bob Dylan sound like Frank Sinatra. [In fact, he hits true notes most of the time, occasionally – possibly intentionally – ventures into quarter-note territory (it has been heard of in jazz), and his command of melodic complexity here far exceeds Bob’s, as can be heard. Ed.] Alas. I hope that I’m hopelessly wrong and that Mr. Moody does have a healthy fan-base who will appreciate and somehow enjoy The Ecstasy Of Love.
Discography
The Nearness Of You; Embraceable You; Unforgettable; Easy To Love; Body And Soul; I’m Lost; Good Morning; Heartache; Don’t Explain; Ghost Of A Chance; You’ve Changed; I’m Gonna Lock My Heart; Old Rugged Cross (36.03)
Moody (v); Paul Bollenback (g); Neal Caine (b).
Independent
Tina Carr: Moon Over Mildmay
This is another case where, after listening to a new album by a vocalist of either sex, and previously unknown to me, I find the accompaniment closer to my concept of jazz than the vocals. It’s clearly a generational fault, and it manifests itself most strongly when a vocalist opts to take on material written long before they were born, and which I heard performed as the composer indicated. I can no more blame the performer for putting their own stamp on a page from The Great American Songbook, as I can myself for growing old whilst I wasn’t looking.
Having said that, I must add that Ms Carr offers one of the most eclectic and fascinating selections that I’ve encountered in several seasons, ranging from Billy Strayhorn’s rarely performed A Flower Is A Lovesome Thing to Tony Kinsey’s The Ass’s Song. On four of the 11 titles she takes a credit for adapting existing lyrics and/or setting poetry. Perhaps the most interesting title is Make Our Garden Grow, the closing number from Leonard Bernstein’s Candide. Written in 1956, one year before West Side Story, Candide was a disaster, but Bernstein kept tinkering with it, bringing in new lyricists, for 30 years. Make Our Garden Grow, however, is the work of the original lyricist, Richard Wilbur, and that, in my case at least, enhances the album. I can’t file this notice without a nod to the musicians, eight in total, all clearly familiar with Ms Carr’s quirkiness and who complement her to a fare-thee-well, from Miguel Gorodi’s trumpet and Sam Newbould’s alto to Aanu Sodipe’s violin.
Discography
I Didn’t Know What Time It Was; Duke Ellington’s Sound Of Love; Take Me Home; Ouve O Silencio; The Crazy Woman; I Didn’t Know What Time It Was (Reprise); Moon Over Mildmay; A Flower Is A Lovesome Thing; The Ass’s Song; Make Our Garden Grow; I Get Along Without You Very Well (47.52)
Carr (v); Miguel Gorodi (t); Oli Hayhunt (b); Kieran McLeod (tb); Sam Newbould (as); Tom Ollendorf (g); Rod Oughton (d); Aanu Sodipe (vn); Matt Robinson (p). Eastcote Studios, London, February 2025.
Independent
