Sunday, September 6, 2009

The wordless truth



One of the incontrovertible truths I picked up from my father: Mumbles, by trumpeter Clark Terry, with the Oscar Peterson trio. The studio version is here

11 comments:

steenbeck said...

Wonderful track, Nilpferd. I love the film, too - the framing and the light at the beginning. It's like they're obscuring the picture the way the words are obscured. Or something.

Sigh, reminds me that I have to get over to Clip Joint and start watching wordless clips, which feels like a big responsibility.

ejay said...

Did you do a Clip Joint blog Steenbeck?

ejay said...

Yes you did! You should have said, I think I had a few.

steenbeck said...

It's not too late! I was going to say something, but then I don't know...

nilpferd said...

Sorry Steen, I was meaning to announce it, then I got distracted on Sunday with something else. Thanks for the comments, this is a piece of music I've loved since I was knee-high.

steenbeck said...

I'll let it slide this once, Nilfperd, but if you think I'm going to retain you as my publicist if you miss another opportunity like this...

nilpferd said...

I'm really sorry about that.. Clark Terry was supposed to plug you at the end, but he got carried away with the scat-singing, you know how these trumpet players are..

Japanther said...

cool stuff nilpferd, I've found that I don't like too much singing in my jazz, but this was short, sweet and very cool indeed.

Shoey said...

Mumbles is an unusual but cool name for a Father.

steenbeck said...

Nilpferd, it's the strangest thing. Somebody had plastered the telephone poles in my town with posters --white writing on a black background, no pictures -- with poems by NZ poets. Janet Frame and Geoff Cochrane, specifically. What the what?

nilpferd said...

Freaky indeed. Frame's autobiography was the source of Jane Campion's An angel at my table, which I'm sure you know, she (Frame) grew up (and was interned in an asylum, criminally- taken for mad and given electro-shock treatment) just up the road from my parent's house. I'm not so familiar with Cochrane, though he's a fixture of the city in which I studied architecture.

There was a nice poem featured on GU Books this week by another NZ poet I'd never heard of, Ursula Bethell, although the blog has degenerated somewhat.