It is good to think of songs for November before Christmas carols overpower all other sounds and other kinds of music. November is the right month for reminiscing, for memories that are bountiful for any particular song. November, in fact, is a haven for those who love songs that are not demarcated by any kind of genre, taste and persuasion. It’s the month that is ruined by networks whose announcers seem bound by relentless unredeemable vulgarity as they count each night how many more days are left before Christmas descends upon us. Believe me, there’s nothing celebratory in this practice, as it’s nothing more than the vivid horns of commercialism in the guise of good news.
Poor November. But as I have always fancied myself as a radio announcer with what Jerry in Edward Albee’s The Zoo Story explained as
possessing catholicity of taste, let us not mourn November. Rather, let this be the month for songs that are melancholic but not despondent, lyrical but hugged by melodies that are borne by words unashamedly passionate yet not suicidal, with
images that are scented by old, old love, of remembrances that are as luscious as the rarest of plums. Think of liquor melting inside fruit cakes approaching old age, and of desires velvet and beyond reproach as the bitterness in a true dark chocolate. Think of days before reindeer and chestnuts and sleigh bells make a comeback as naturalized citizens in a republic that cannot stop foreigners from becoming dominant and domineering.
On those days, allow me to share with you a bit of my playlist that, I assure you, need no redemption. These songs, in my book, can save our days before we sing of white Christmas as a tropical depression batters our land.
There’s a song that I feel should open any program that fits all those scenarios painted above. “Softly as in a Morning Sunrise” is this song. Sung by crooners and swung by jazz stalwarts like Chris O’Connor and Chet Baker, the song is for old souls with penchant for intensely dramatic lines: For the passions that thrill love can lift you high to heaven/Are the passions that kill love and take you all to hell. I love swing but, for November, I choose no less the version of Mario Lanza, the tenor who played onscreen the great tenor, Enrico Caruso. Bereft of the syncopation that allows you to tap your feet, Lanza’s style captures the sorrow of true love as spoken by those who die falling in love with love. When he sings “Softly as in a Morning Sunrise”, there is no attempt to soften anything.
Who can bring us back to popular music but the titans? I field now the immortal Tony Bennett. Even up to now, he can outswing anyone who dares approach the standards or classical jazz. His song, though, for November should be no less than the song seldom covered by other singers: “Tender is the Night.” In the voice of Tony Bennett, the song soars and sighs but never cries. The words are urbane and the singing cool. The beginning is almost funereal but, with a throbbing bass and a piano that sounds like it is going to fly off into eternity, he turns this meditation into an assuring recollection: Should tomorrow find us disenchanted, we have shared a love that few have known. Bennett is not a singer but a conjurer.
The other titan is Frank Sinatra. I look to his amazing discography and surrender to one song he didn’t even popularize. That song is “Nature Boy,” which people identify with Nat Cole. Well, focus your heart on Sinatra’s version and affirm the greatness of this musician. Forget the choir that almost overpowers the Sinatra baritone; the song reminds us the singer is a craftsman when it comes to subtlety and the quiet reading of a song. Who is this boy? “The greatest thing you’d ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” Sinatra drags that concluding part of the song as if any moment he will not finish it. Frank Sinatra does not merely sing; he paints a site, a landscape of humans terribly made aware of their fall and salvation not through religion but through songs.
What is grey November without the avatar of despair, Billie Holiday? This lady packs a set of lovely contradictions. With a huge gardenia or any white flower on her hair, she can make a gasp sound sad and destitution alluring, even attractive. Here, I will let Billie Holiday sing “I’ll Be Seeing You.” Rosemary Clooney has a lovelier voice but that’s exactly the point in my choice. Given her limited vocal range, Holiday supremely ensnares each word and each note with a compendium of tormented hearts with the politics of racism present during her peak. This is one is original.
If Billie Holiday is here, can Ella Fitzgerald be far behind?
Like Frank Sinatra, Ella can sing the yellow page and still entertain us. But for November, we will listen to her slow down a song to such a speed, the metronome will feel helpless. The song is “’Round Midnight.” The voice is pure honey, a first-class butter melted onto the bluest of blueberry jam. But Ella’s voice is also brandy and coffee. In “’Round Midnight,” the word “round” sounds as if Ella is circling around it. In this song, Ella reminds us of her magical lower octaves. More than the tour-de-force arrangement, “’Round Midnight” in Ella’s universe is an unending experimentation with the wild and wanton curlicues for each line. This must be the most sensual of dirges ever produced by a human voice.
How to end this presentation? Eva Cassidy was born when songs like “Autumn Leaves” were already in the dustbin of forgetfulness. Ironically, it was after her death that the world discovered her singular voice. The song “Autumn Leaves” was the theme song of my parents. One day, already a widow, my mother was teased by my sister over why they chose “Autumn Leaves” when there’s no autumn here. I don’t remember anymore my mother’s reply, but during the last night of her wake, we asked a friend to sing the song. Our friend is no Eva Cassidy but like the singer, she was able to evoke the meaning of the song. It is not about the season, which we do not experience each year. It is really about remembering.