Blue Sunday Part 1 kicked off with some jazz, and following Miles Davis, here’s Chet Baker with Almost Blue. I have no quibbles at all with his trumpeting, but when it comes to the idiosyncratic vocal style of the young Chet, I find that I can enjoy one or two tracks but after that I want to start throwing heavy objects at breakable things. But here he is later in life, with a remarkable accompanying video…
…Whereas Scott Walker’s voice I can never tire of hearing. Why does nobody in pop sing like Scott Walker any more? Here’s Montague Terrace in Blue, with its glorious chorus and an odd video.
The Marcels will be forever remembered as the band who gave this lyric to the world:
Bom ba ba bom ba bom ba bom bom ba ba bom ba ba bom ba ba dang a dang dang
Ba ba ding a dong ding Blue moon moon blue moon dip di dip di dip
Moo Moo Moo Blue moon dip di dip di dip Moo Moo Moo Blue moon dip di dip di dip
Bom ba ba bom ba bom ba bom bom ba ba bom ba ba bom ba ba dang a dang dang
Ba ba ding a dong ding
For which we thank them.
I have seen Erasure described approvingly by a German fan on Youtube as ‘supergay!’ Be that as it may, I’ve always adored the sweeping, Blondie-referencing Blue Savannah – I think it’s one of the loveliest songs of 80s British pop, even though it was released in, um, 1990.
That Blondie reference, by the way, is ‘the orange side’ – which features in Union City Blue – another blue classic…
I’m curious to know more about the Montague Terrace video and the weird blue hand in the Erasure clip… Why?
Why are you curious or why is the blue hand there? Alas, I can answer neither question.
A terrific selection. Debbie Harry managing to make an orange boiler suit sexy is even more of a triumph now than it was, gulp, over thirty years ago.
I pass on the blue hands and androgynous boys, but many thanks for the ‘wasted’ Chet – and what a waste. James Dean as young man, Charles Manson in his thirties, he hung-on through almost a lifetime of smack to become the craggy wreck we see here. The short time he spent with Gerry Mulligan was, to my ears, the high water mark. I pass also on the voice – but the voice of his trumpet, and flugelhorn, is not quickly forgotten.