May 16, 2015Ramsey Lewis' hit single "The In Crowd" was recorded live in concert 50 years ago this month. (Image Credit: Courtesy of Ravinia Festival)
Fifty years ago, the Ramsey Lewis Trio sat in a Washington, D.C. coffee shop, musing over what it could add to its set that evening. It was booked for a run at Bohemian Caverns — the group had issued a live album made at the nightclub, and it was gearing up to record a follow-up live album. Over walked a waitress, who inquired about the band's predicament.
Fifty years later, Lewis still remembers her name: Nettie Gray.
"She had a jukebox," Lewis says. "Jukeboxes in coffee shops — people don't know about that any more, but she went over to the jukebox and played: 'You guys might like this! Listen to this!'"
Her recommendation was "The In Crowd," sung by Dobie Gray — a popular hit at the time. Lewis and the band worked out an arrangement quickly, then ended their set with it that evening, to wild applause.
Fifty years later, that song remains Ramsey Lewis' biggest hit.
"If somebody had come up with another song that fit the style of what we wanted, there would not have been an 'In Crowd,' " he says.
Lewis, now 79 and still actively performing, spoke with NPR's Arun Rath about how the song came to be. Hear their conversation at the audio link above.Copyright 2015 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.
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May 15, 2015. Posted by WBGO.B.B. King performs at Bluesfest Music Festival in Byron Bay, Australia, in 2011. (Image Credit: Mark Metcalfe/Getty Images)
It seemed as if he'd go on forever — and B.B. King was working right up until the end. It's what he loved to do: playing music, and fishing. Even late in life, living with diabetes, he spent about half the year on the road. King died Thursday night at home in Las Vegas. He was 89 years old.
He was born Riley B. King on a plantation in Itta Bena, Miss. He played on street corners before heading to Memphis, Tenn., where he stayed with his cousin, the great country bluesman Bukka White. His career took off thanks to radio; he got a spot on the radio show of Sonny Boy Williamson II, then landed his own slot on black-run WDIA in Memphis. He needed a handle. At first it was Beale Street Blues Boy. Then Blues Boy King. Finally B.B. King stuck.
You can't mention names without talking about his guitar, Lucille. It was actually more than one. The story goes that the first was a $30 acoustic he was playing at a dance in Arkansas when two men got in a fight, kicked over a stove and started a fire. When King was safe outside, he realized he'd left the guitar inside. He ran back into the burning dance hall to save it. After he learned the fight had been over a woman named Lucille, he decided to name his guitar for her to remind himself never to get into a fight over a woman. And since then, every one of his trademark Gibson ES-355s has been named Lucille.
The sound he got out of her was what set him apart. Playing high up on the neck, he'd push a string as he picked it, bending the note to make it cry. He didn't burn a lot of fast licks, but you could feel each note he played. Nobody sounded like B.B. King, though later on plenty of rockers tried. (Fleetwood Mac's Peter Green got closest.)
King scored an R&B hit in 1951 with "Three O'Clock Blues" and began the next stage of his life as a touring musician. According to his website, King and his band played 342 one-night stands in 1956. He performed more than 250 nights a year into his 80s, his distinctive guitar sound and smooth vocals filling just about every major venue in the U.S. and abroad. In 1991, he opened his own spot, B.B. King's Blues Club in Memphis. Others followed, and King remained involved in how they were run.
He was inducted into the Blues Foundation Hall of Fame in 1984 and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in '87. He was so beloved that he received honorary degrees from the Berklee College of Music as well as Yale and Brown universities, among others.
In 1970, he scored a crossover hit with "The Thrill Is Gone." It's the tune everyone knows — classic B.B. King: Lucille's piercing single notes punctuating each phrase.
The thrill is gone.
The thrill is gone away from me.
Although I'll still live on,
But so lonely I'll be.
That pretty well sums up how a lot of fans are feeling right now, now that B.B. King is finally gone.Copyright 2015 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.
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May 10, 2015Jazz pianist Keith Jarrett is celebrating his 70th birthday with two new releases: the classical exploration Barber/Bartók and the live compilation Creation. (Image Credit: Henry Leutwyler/Courtesy of the artist)
Keith Jarrett hit a milestone this past week: The famed jazz pianist turned 70 years old, and he's decided to mark the occasion with two new releases. One offers his take on two important classical works; the other, Creation, documents how his creative process plays out in front of a host of live audiences.
For Jarrett, inspiration and execution occur almost simultaneously. He doesn't know what he's going to play when; he sits down to play a concert and simply allows the music to come to him. Creation is a collection of live recordings from throughout 2014, reshuffled into what could pass as one long improvised performance.
Jarrett spoke with NPR's Rachel Martin about the challenge of arranging those disparate moments into something cohesive, and how the experience compares to one of his most famous performances ever. Hear the radio version at the audio link, and read an edited version of their conversation below.
Rachel Martin: The first track on this album, "Part I," is from June 2014 at Roy Thomson Hall in Toronto. What was it about this piece that felt like a beginning?
Keith Jarrett: I felt that while I was playing it. And that helped me so much, because if you take nine tracks and you figure out what the permutations would be from one to nine, every possible order, that's really hard. But if you know what should come first, what it did is it set me up with how I felt after I played the last note. Did it end in a major key? What key was it? What was the feeling? What part of the keyboard was I playing on?
My principle up to now has been to not edit out anything, so almost everything that's come out has been a single concert with a single audience — and that started to freak me out, really. [This time] I had to become a producer. I had to sequence this thing, and I thought that was gonna take months. But the very first sequence I came up with is what you hear.
Your voice comes in at a couple different points on these recordings, almost involuntarily.
Oh, it's always involuntary.
Well, I'll tell you this: I've long wondered what happens to you in those moments. I remember listening to The Köln Concert, and when your voice comes in — I'd never heard anything like that. The first time I heard that I was in my early 20s, and I thought, "What has moved him?"
I'm trying to think of the right way to put this: It's potential limitlessness that I'm feeling at that moment. If you think about it, it's often in a space between phrases, [when I'm thinking,] "How did I get to this point where I feel so full?" And if you felt full of some sort of emotion you would have to make a sound. So that's actually what it is — with the trio, without the trio, solo. Luckily for me, I don't do it with classical music.
Have you ever felt compelled to?
I had to be taught by conductors, mostly.
They told you to knock it off?
No, I knew better already; I was trained classically. But one time, I missed my entrance in a very simple Mozart piece because I was listening to to the orchestra and they sounded so beautiful. And the conductor turned around and said, "Don't listen." That ruined me, man. That destroyed my interest in constantly staying in that world, because my main job is listening. If you're improvising and you're not listening, the next second that comes up, you have nothing to say.
Not only are you 70 this year, but it's the anniversary of an important performance: The Köln Concert happened 40 years ago. How do you think back on that particular event?
I think about the bad Italian food I had, and was served last, as I was supposed to start playing. I think of the fact that they rented the wrong piano, and then had gotten rid of the rented truck, so they couldn't get the right piano. Not only was it the wrong piano, it was the wrong brand of piano.
Keith, you are fixating on negative details!
No, I'm just saying, that's the first thing that comes up, because those were preparatory to the music.
As I walked on stage, I remember putting my fist up, with the engineers watching and my producer Manfred [Eicher]. We almost sent the engineers home — it might never have been recorded, because of everything being wrong. The piano sounded terrible. Manfred had to work on the sound like a crazy person afterwards.
So that music almost never existed, because of all those mishaps.
Exactly. And then it did exist, and I was in the car driving with Manfred and we had a little cassette in there. And we looked at each other and said, "Oh, man. This has to come out."
You knew it was good.
Yes.Copyright 2015 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.
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