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Dario Vanni Jukebox

 

Sample Songs

Strangers In The Night
Magic Moments
Canadian Sunset
Take My Breath Away

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Juke Box Million Sellers, Volume 1

(DV-JXB-8717109-1)

According to the information highway of the 21st century, each of the songs in this album has sold a million copies or more world-wide. Unlike the “instant hits” of later decades, some of these songs took years to reach the million mark. But, somewhere along the way, they did, so, come with us now on that journey down memory lane and may you enjoy both an entertaining and educational experience.

Jukebox Memories by Sid Weinstein

My family owned a Seeburg franchise for years, back when every joint with a spare corner and an electric socket had a rented jukebox. Whenever anyone sold anything to people, from cafés, taverns, bars, to a gas station rest-stop, drive-in movie snack bars, or, even, drive-in car hop joints to a drug store down on the corner. Actually, my family didn’t call them “juke boxes” early on. Instead, my grandfather called them Automatic Coin-operated Phonographs. The nickname “juke box” got coined in the 1930s by the southern folks, an African word in origin, in the U.S. meaning “roadhouse, dance hall or like resort employing the music of an automatic record player”. Grandpapa started in the business in 1911, although the first coin-operated phonograph was set up at the Palais Royale Saloon in San Francisco in 1889! The depression years hit everyone hard and business fell off. But, by 1935, my Dad had taken over and Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, or Harry James never sounded so good! Dad set up huge distribution ports and leased more and more machines. By the WWII years, the government contracted with us and our competition and we hit the jackpot. In those days, either we or the Wurlitzer folks had a monopoly on the jukebox business. Later on, in the late 1950s, RCA and the Rock-ola Co. entered aggressively and crowded the marketplace. We also “jobbed” the music and, sometimes, even got paid under the table to splash a new 78 r.p.m. (later 45 r.p.m.) release platter tune onto our 35,000 active machines. But, most of the time, it was up-and-up. The radio stations would help make major hits by plugging recording artists, playing the tune over and over until it caught on. “Payola” was just around the corner. Seeburg would order so many thousands of copies and distribute them into our “jukes”. Each “spin man” employee had a territory to restock and repair any given machine. Records wore out and had to be replaced, some broke in the machines, some were faulty to begin with, etc. It was a whole world within itself. And it worked.

Anyone who lived in that era has memories of songs that impressed him or her, usually some sentimental event: an old flame, a time or place where you had moved, a way to re-live a time when you were younger, some babe you danced with one night at a local bar, etc. I personally have memories of Maynard Ferguson playing “The Hot Canary” on my uncle David’s drugstore jukebox. It was with the Stan Kenton band, somewhere around 1951, I’d guess. I was also a big fan of Rosie Clooney and her “Hey, There” hit me right where it hurts, for I was trying to date some chick who would have nothing to do with me and I pined and chastised myself for being such a dummy. It coulda been, “Hey, there, you with the hole in your head” or somethin’ like that.

Anyway, time came and went, and things changed. The multi-system juke (the “octopus” we called it) had mini-order stations at each restaurant booth, for example, and the main machine was somewhere else. But, slowly, especially after the Korean war, the industry ground down to fewer and fewer units per city as piped-in “elevator music” or freebee radio stations allowed their music to be broadcast in public venues. And people stopped dancing. So the old juxebox industry’s best years faded away. Ah, what I wouldn’t give for a good nickel machine playin’ Mac da Knife while I was shootin’ pool with some of my cronies. “’Dem was the days!”

To the tables down at Mory’s… by Dario Vanni

“To the tables down at Mory’s, to the place where Louis dwells, to that good old Temple Bar we loved so well…we will serenade our Louis while life and love do last, then we’ll pass and be forgotten with the rest….” Those words take me down memory lane into a world that doesn’t exist anymore. My father, who imbibed much too much in alcohol, gambling, and pretty women, would take me to Camozzi’s or Reali’s bar late at night (when he was supposed to be baby sitting me) and plop me onto the sawdust floor with the dog in some darkened corner whilst he gambled with the dice cups, yelled, swore, flirted, and treated everyone to “drinks on me!”. Fortunately, most of the time he had tossed me right next to the old Wurlitzer juke box. This bejeweled wonder displayed glowing colored tubes, bubbling liquid flowing up and down, and other lights of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. The speaker inset often had a silver, highly decorated grilling while a glowing golden cloth hid the cone of the speaker. The machine itself mesmerized a naïve country lad, so unfamiliar with anything that even hinted at the bright lights of the city, let alone “showbiz”.

But the best part of it was listening to the wonderful music pouring out of that huge 15” inch speaker with Fred Waring’s male chorus singing The Whiffenpoof Song, Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters singing Don’t Fence Me In, or Vaughn Monroe’s Ghost Riders in the Sky. Feelings welled up that I had missed some life already, some romantic, once-lived and adventurous spirit overtook me upon hearing For Sentimental Reasons, There Must Be a Way, Til the End of Time, The Gypsy, (A Small Café) Mam’selle, Golden Earrings, I Can Dream, Can’t I? or It’s Magic. Some of these songs were associated with a movie that had frequented our tiny Cambria Theatre on Main Street; for fourteen cents I could watch Tyrone Power and Anne Baxter live out real-life emotions in The Razor’s Edge (1946), or watch Marlene Dietrich make love to Ray Milland in Golden Earrings (1947). At the same time, it was if I had lived all those peoples’ lives before and the music re-transported me to those times and experiences. Perhaps it was the wartime isolation in a small village on the west coast, perhaps it was the loneliness I must have felt sitting there in the dark by the glowing jukebox with the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke, the endless din of men’s voices shouting in their drunkenness. Or, maybe, some other abandonment haunted the imaginative 6 year-old boy who somehow knew what perfect love felt like and longed for it each time he heard Nature Boy, Slow Boat to China, Far Away Places, or How Are Things in Glocca Morra? The eclectic choices of tunes were exceptional in those years; one could still put a nickel in Camozzi’s jukebox and hear Addinsel’s Warsaw Concerto or Rimsky-Korsakov’s Flight of the Bumble Bee or listen to operatic tenor Jan Peerce singing The Bluebird of Happiness. Classical, semi-classical, jazz, blues and mainstream popular American standards were blended together. Radio stations were the same way, catering to many tastes—and, interestingly, many an American taste was also quite varied and encompassed a large musical spectrum during those years.

So, on one hand, I had my mother’s beautiful operatic voice and repertoire singing out across the pine tree forests of Cambria, a gorgeous castle glowing on a hill above our hamlet, and a father, whose errant ways exposed me to the very heart and pulse of the people’s music. And each time I went with my father “to the tables down at Mory’s,” I got to hear a familiar song played again and again. Each song was a journey to my mind, the story told through words and melody. Even Rex, my father’s big yellow lab sitting on the floor with me, didn’t seem to mind the music. He would sprawl out and dream away to a place where dog dreams go. Eventually, if the rollicking lasted too long, I, too, would nod off into dreamland on the sawdust floor with the distant echoes of the jukebox playing away in the night.

Originally, I had asked Clarkspur Emden and, then, Sid Weinstein to write the comments on each song. But both declined, feeling that my personal experience with the tunes in this volume and the fact that I had recorded each one of them through the years, qualified me best to be the exclusive commentator. So, here I am. I hope I do the descriptions justice. Bear with me as I make every attempt not to blow my horn too loudly.

Dario Vanni

1. The Whiffenpoof Song (Minnigerode/Pomeroy/Galloway)

As early as 1936, crooner Rudy Vallee revised this wonderful old college folk song for a slightly more commercial treatment. Bing Crosby sang it years later in a film (Riding High, 1950), but had recorded it earlier in the 40s. Taverns and bars across our land, as well as abroad, echoed with this lament on the human condition. In a way, the song was about the waste alcohol causes in peoples’ lives as a result of burying one’s self in a dank, smoky hole in order to avoid the reality of the cards dealt one in life or whatever emotional wounding that hasn’t been dealt with or resolved. The original “Whiffenpoofs” were collegiate singers who met Monday nights at Mory’s Temple Bar, they came to mean the assembled “regulars” toasting one another into oblivion. Cole Porter was a 1913 Whiffenpoof. (In all fairness, this group has continued from its Yale home base to donate proceeds each year to 15 literacy centers in 12 countries.) In the old days, people sang a lot more than they do in 21st century establishments. But back when, “gentlemen songsters off on a spree” could mean a celebrating glee club or simply men drinking their way into numbness, knowing they are “doomed from here to eternity…”

The precise sentiment of my early memories of this song is what I wished to accomplish in this arrangement and performance. As with most early recordings, the voice was not drowned out by the orchestra, but was the centerpiece of the arrangement and execution. Good music and lyrics are essential, secondly, people need to understand and feel the story. That’s what it’s all about, in my view. I begin the verse with as much sentimental simplicity as possible. This approach, I believe, helps to anticipate the later lyrics. The mood is established. The ¾ time that follows in the chorus fits into the era in which it was composed, but each time I come to the climactic bridge, I “spread” the tempo a bit, raising my volume just enough to make the dramatic effect. I hope you agree. The use of cello and clarinet in the opening measures takes us into “that olden time which is no more.” The strings take over as I begin the verse, with some tracing of the cellos in the background. Low strings help the cellos out in the chorus. I had originally put a men’s chorus in the “gentlemen songsters off on a spree” section, but simply built up the strings instead with some movement and counterpoint. I end with a very simple, quiet diminuendo and let the cellos finish it. That’s all folks!

2. Canadian Sunset (Heywood/Gimbel)

From about 1949 through the ‘60s, my mother owned and operated a large restaurant-café in which stood a mighty jukebox. Just as in previous years under my father’s “tutelage” when I was musically educated from a barroom floor, this time I washed dishes and performed the countless chores a child of a restaurant family is compelled to do. But this also afforded me the opportunity to hear all the “latest and greatest” from the jukebox. It stood against the back wall and drove the sound out into a large, high-ceiling room filled with tables and booths, therefore, creating a bigger reverberation than a more confined space would. I think it was 1956 when I first heard pianist Eddie Heywood’s composition (played by the artist) of Canadian Sunset. To a small town teenager, it seemed exciting, exotic at the time. And, as one can imagine, as the testosterone was getting good and fired up at fifteen years-old, the fantasy of meeting some wonderfully mysterious young babe on the ski slopes of the Canadian Rockies seemed pretty inviting. And on Mom’s jukebox it sounded stupendous!

Please keep in mind that I recorded these songs not for public release, but for hearing myself with the arrangements, so that when I sang them “live,” they would be professionally and artistically satisfying. That said, they may lack here and there the kind of “slick” product one is used to. But, you know, I rather like the organic quality of many of these recordings for that very reason. Certainly, we were technically restricted and didn’t have access to United Recorders or Capitol or the RCA studios, so, kindly bear with us. By “us” I mean I was so fortunate to have excellent sidemen, some of whom arranged as well. Trumpeter Gil Evans had a clean, smooth tone, while arranger and flute player Jules Newman never let me down; Phil Masuto’s guitar was always innovative as was Vim Carter’s sax playing. Dave Cherry played a mean keyboard while, often, I was lucky enough to have Dennis Fiennes on stand-up bass.

Now back to the song at hand. I attempted to deliver the arrangement with that young man’s romantic fantasy: warm, sensual, but strongly delivered when it was required. I begin the tune immediately after a high chord, easing my voice into the “ah” vowel on the world “once” before I release the vibrato. I do the same on “soooo lonely and then,” all of these phrases echoed a bit to capture the far away and cold Canadian Rockies. “You came out of nowhere” sets up the romantic fascination and scintillation. I think Gimbel’s lyrics, “like the sun up from the hill” are the core of the tune. That’s why I began the song out-of-tempo, in order to capture that wonderful essence and set the tone of the whole song, regardless of up-tempo background rhythms later. Dave Cherry begins the Heywood left-hand rhythmic figure and away we go. At the bridge, I turn the tempo off and do a rubato ballad feeling, again to accent the visual scene the words are creating with the melody. Because the song has such few lyrics (all of them good), I felt I needed to change the key up a full step on the second go-around; notice the voice also drops back into an even deeper reverb. To complete the mystery of the romantic mood, when I repeat “you came out of nowhere, like the sun….” I do not complete the lyric “up from the hill” but let it glow in the imagination.

3. Friendly Persuasion (Tiompkin/Webster)

Right up front, I have to admit it: I am a closet Pat Boone fan. I consider him the last in a line of excellent bass-baritone crooners whose musical lineage probably began with Bing Crosby in the mid-1930s. Witness Pat singing Moonglow or The Very Thought of You (Dot DLP 3270) or Stardust or even September Song (Dot DLP 3118). This singer made at least a dozen albums aimed at the popular music market, but he came in just a bit too late. Rock ‘n roll had already taken the place of the American Popular Song ballad. Pat was forced into things like Moody River, Bernadine, Why, Baby, Why?, Don’t Forbid Me and other teenage fare in that transitional time of the late 1950s. Dot records, for you audiophiles, was pretty much kept alive by two people those days. Pat Boone and a saxophonist/arranger named Billy Vaughn kept the lights on. In fact, Billy arranges for Pat on many of his albums. (His own career was highly successful, as his formula for “duet-ing” with himself on sax yielded mega-hits like Sail On, Silver Moon, Melody of Love and the like). So this marvelous bass-baritone, born too late for the old market place of American standards, was pretty much compelled to go elsewhere for his hit material. And find it he did: April Love, Anatasia, and Friendly Persuasion (from movies of the same names) were big hits and beautifully sung. Ultimately, Pat quit the commercial music business to enter the Christian market place.

So…my recording of this song consciously or subconsciously pays tribute to Pat Boone. I think Pat’s warmth and spirit inspired me on this recording; my singing here is sort of “low tenor” – but it’s smooth and it works. Oh, and there’s another reason: this rendition was meant to be sung “live” and so it was natural to emulate the “sound” people heard in the original hit song. I sing this in the key of D major (Pat is lower), which means I reach for a low A on the first note. But, by the time I sing “so put on your bonnet, your cape and your glove,” the tenor resonance is evident and there is no longer comparison between myself and Pat. There’s a lovely French horn solo in the mid-section and then I sum it up. Also, please pay attention to Jules Newman’s wonderful string arrangement without which the music would not be the same.

4. Jamaica Farewell (Burgess)

In 1956, the handsome and talented Harry Belafonte had recorded both the Banana Boat Song and Jamaica Farewell, so I decided to combine them in this arrangement. Calypso was all the rage, so entertainers had to please their audiences by reminding them of the eclectic popular music era of the 1950s. Here I use the vibraphone with a pan flute and bass, and that’s it. The restaurant’s jukebox did not get as many plays of this tune as with the original Banana Boat Song, but it sure caught the flavor of the times. Who could have known, just around the corner was hard-metal?

My voice is rather “tenory” in this recording and I make an attempt to adopt a kind of Caribbean accent, to varying degrees of success, I might add—but audiences liked it and, after all, that’s what I got paid for. The tenor sound is dropped back into a reverb chamber and I begin and end the tune with the “bookends” of the banana boat song. We all had a good time recording this one.

5. The Bells of St. Mary’s (Adams/Furber)

This old chestnut (composed in 1917) was sung on Mom’s jukebox early on by none other than Bing Crosby. Even though Crosby recorded the tune in 1945 for the movie of the same name, it hung around on the jukes for a long time. Perry Como, Bing’s legitimate heir-apparent, recorded the song in 1962 on an album called By Request, but it was omitted from the final release. For such a seemingly innocuous song, it has a huge recording history. No less talent than soprano Frances Alda (1920), guitarist Chet Atkins, Mother Maybelle Carter, Vic Damone, the Drifters, Connie Francis, Andy Williams, and Sheryl Crow (2008) put the tune into grooves of sound. What is the magic of this song? A warm, romantic nostalgia, I would say.

As for me, hearing Crosby’s rendition as a youngster, brought into my consciousness the safe, warm places of the heart and spirit. Although the song is romantic and not religious in lyric content, it seems the ever-unfolding umbrella of the church protects even the lovers. Somewhere perched upon a grassy hillside with a few trees surrounding it not far from the sea, there in the purple dusk, the original sheet music portrayed St. Mary’s. As I begin the verse, I couldn’t resist the temptation of writing in some real church bells with high strings. Apparently, the object of the suitor’s affection is quite a religious girl, for the bells of the church seem to call him to her. But…“the young love, the true which comes from the sea” makes us believe otherwise—that it is nature and its rhythms which call out and the church is but the “medium” for the lovers’ meeting.

I sing the song in the key of C major, which makes it a little “whiter” than, let’s say, D-flat would have been. Soon I add soprano voices to the mix to back up the devout feeling of church and sanctuary, as if an invisible choir were singing for the couple about to be wed, perhaps. The volume levels never get too big and I conclude the tune with a comfortable ascent to mid-C and a quiescent tapering off of the final note to let the bells and strings complete the feeling.

6. Jezebel (Shanklin)

As early as the middle 1940s, singer Frankie Laine (Italian Lo’vecchio) was crooning tunes like That’s My Desire, but he didn’t find his forte until Jezebel (1951). The release of that 78 r.p.m. disc shot Laine to stardom and he sang for many years with that same style. Other major hits like High Noon (from the Gary Cooper, Grace Kelly motion picture) would come his way, but Jezebel would always be his signature song. Later on, old west hits like TV’s Rawhide buoyed his career and Columbia Records continued to make money on the aging ex-crooner. The pulsing, almost-Latin feeling, its unusual melody, and its range make Jezebel a specialty song. Jukeboxes boomed with it for years; I know, it was on my mother’s restaurant juke for at least three years. I suppose many a man would toss his nickel into the slot to remind him of some woman he knew who treated him the same way as that “evil Jezebel”. The lyrics are truly at one with the melody and who cannot relate to “deceiving me, grieving me, leaving me blue”?

I sing the song in the key of D, allowing the rhythm to build until the punch line, “Jezebel…….” The key seems high unless you’re a tenor and then it’s fun with a few high-As thrown in to climax the dynamic nature of the tune. Phil Masuto’s steely Fender along with Dave Cherry’s outrageous keyboards add a kind of “twang excitement” to the flavor of the tune. The moving, pulsating strings that add much to the Latin feeling, belong to Jules Newman’s wonderful arrangement. The emotional content of this song relies totally upon the singer, as I hear it, because the lyric cannot ascend with the melody without a powerful vocal instrument pushing the emotions way up there, just short of histrionic. I hope I accomplished that in this rendition of Jezebel.

7. Darling Je vous Aime Beaucoup (Sosenko)

There are love songs and there are love songs. Simple, straight-from-the-heart, written in 1935 by Anna Sosenko and performed then by a nightclub chanteuse named Hildegarde, this song is complete in and of itself. All it needs is the lovers or a lonely Saturday night with a glass of Shiraz. But it wasn’t until Nat Cole’s early 50s version of the song that the world really noticed the tune. Nat’s intimate way with a song was simply captivating. He was one of those rare singers you believed, someone you knew comprehended the lyrics and wrung every ounce of meaning out of them. I cannot tell you the many times Mom’s jukebox thumped with this number, probably until the record wore out.

To sing this song with as much sincerity, I begin right away in the wonderful warm key of G-flat, no intro. Vim Carter’s sax gives the arrangement a slightly different and sexier twist than Nat’s, but still the strings carry the romance with some vibes in the background. Vim takes a nice solo, finding some place in heaven to bring us back a starry night. I return with an up-close and toasty delivery with the mic and Vim inter-weaving around me. At the close, I do something unusual: I whistle a little ad lib with Vim ending with me. Fun track! For me it was a reminder that simple is powerful. Complex electronic arrangements, layered in the studio over and over again, often do not make accessible, warm performances. To me, too often the artist becomes secondary in mix, which seems to bury him or her. That’s why there’s a lot to say, in my opinion, for acoustic music and vocal mixes that are “out front” rather than hidden behind the multi-layers of instruments.

8. Strangers In the Night (Kaempfert/Singleton/Snyder)

Honestly speaking, I felt that Sinatra essentially threw this song away when he recorded it, but it was a hit and, although I was out in the world in 1966 when it was released, I could hardly walk into a lounge or turn on my car radio without hearing Frank’s Strangers in the Night. I like the tune. It hints at the ideal most of us have about meeting someone on a lark and being attracted and staying “in love forever”. As far as this arrangement and performance go, I am very proud of it, recording it somewhere in the early 1980s as a “live” salute to Bennett, Martin, and Sinatra.

This is a big production with me starting out declaiming the chorus, “Strangers in the night, two lonely people we were strangers in the night!” Dig Dave Cherry’s dramatic piano work up front. When I come down to “up to the moment when we said our first hello,” I allow the song to wind down before I begin the percussion to initiate the tempo. Soon Gil Evan’s wonderful trumpet enters in the background as the strings hold the musical fabric together. Even though I do the perfunctory “la-la-la-la-la,” I do it in the mid-section in a deeper reverb to obtain a varied musical effect. When I come back, I use my big voice to drive the song up to a high-G while Gil Evans ascends even higher! On the come-down, my emotional state is certainly open and vulnerable (I must have been deep in some teetering love affair at the time), but we pick up the tempo again right after “love was just a glance away, a warm inviting dance away…” We end the song with a simple, honest B-flat key as I soar quietly up to mezza di voce F.

9. Because You’re Mine (Brodszky/Cahn)

Talk about young, I was probably about twenty-five when this was recorded. (Sorry about the dated sound, but it’s truly vintage as the master tape was sadly deteriorating, filled with drop-outs, splices, etc.) The song came from a Mario Lanza film of the same name and this hit song of his followed right behind his mega-hit, Be My Love (1950). For sure, Mom’s jukebox rang out with this one for ages and ages, everyone waiting for that high-C Lanza nails at the end. Because You’re Mine got a lot of plays, but was not the huge landslide hit of its predecessor.

This recording is interesting from the perspective that I sing the beginning of the song almost casually, not driving my young lyric-spinto tenor too hard. Could be my Taurean nature, some have suggested. (Crosby, Como, and I share the same astrological sign—and, don’t forget Rudolph Valentino!) In fact, there is no hint of my classical training until we hear “the kiss you can give me…!” But, then again, keep in mind all these arrangements were intended for “live” performance and a singer had to pace himself. That said, however, the high-G gives a hint of things to come. Because this song was, in part, slanted toward the American-Italian audiences at the time, I inject a few bars of Italiano before I end the song with a rousing high B-flat, as did the original treatment of this fine Brodszky melody. This same team had also written Be My Love a year earlier. A quick word about the orchestra: because of contractual, union, and legal considerations, I cannot mention it here. Suffice it to say the conductor/arranger was a friend of mine who championed much of my early career and had urged me to enter the recording field. But that was not to be, as my “live” concert and club dates brought in an income that I had to earn to sustain a family back in Hollywood. So life goes.

10. Magic Moments (Bacharach/David)

Both Perry Como and I were born on May 18th. I always liked the old barber’s smooth style, even if he didn’t get up a lot of emotional steam to sell a tune—he sold millions of them. He and Crosby had enviable styles “lay back and let the song sing itself” kind of attitude, I suspect. I could never do that; there was always this burning intensity underneath. Maybe that came from my operatic years—or perhaps it was just my nature.

The jukeboxes rang out with this tune in 1957-58, as teenage tastes of the time combined with older folks remembering their younger years. There isn’t a lot to say about my performance here as it’s an obvious “cover tune” designed to be sung ‘live” for audiences who remembered Perry’s hit. The song has significance to me also because I was on my first double-date and as that song was playing on the car radio, my pretty young lady, leaned toward me and kissed me. Whew! I was a teenager in love! Where are you, Carol Machado!? I just hope there’s enough warmth in my interpretation to treat your ears to a fond remembrance that may be dear to you.

11. Take My Breath Away (Moroder/Whitlock)

This recording is a jukebox “what if?” experiment of mine. To my ear, it’s a perfect jukebox song. The song flows, the voice is deep, warm, and up front and the romantic sentiment is excellent. I cannot ever remember hearing the song on a juke, but it was a million seller from an old Tom Cruise movie in the 1980s called “Top Gun”. I do know radio stations played it to death, but it never came back. Too bad. It’s a fine tune with lots of possibilities. I feel the song is sincerely delivered here, I may sound a bit “croony,” but that’s how it was intended to be sung in this arrangement and I would be delighted if you enjoyed this wonderful song for what it is and take a journey with me as we’re “watching, I keep waiting, still anticipating, love…turning and returning to some secret place to hide….watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say, ‘take my breath away…..’”

12. The Way You Look Tonight (Kern/Fields)

Even if I am the singer, it always amazes me how some songs can move me while I’m singing them. This is such a song. I think the melancholy wisdom in the song, its instant romantic appeal, and the fact that we never stay the same really gets to me. “Someday, when I’m awfully low and the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight…” says a lot in Dorothy Field’s economic use of lyrics. Many artists have recorded this number, from Fred Astaire to the Lettermen. I can still see Fred singing to the gorgeous Ginger Rogers in those wonderful 1930s movies.

This is a song designed for keyboard-harp and strings with acoustic bass underneath. But it’s really Jules Newman’s marvelous violin scoring here that makes them inseparable companions to the singing voice on this track. I take the tune in a medium key (E-flat) so it doesn’t get too big, but climaxes enough to allow us to feel the dramatic impetus of the song. As it concludes, I hum the wind-down so as to bring it back down to earth from the journey we just took. I hope you like it.

13. BONUS SELECTION: Gigi (Lerner & Lowe)

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