Roberta Flack - Quiet Fire (1971) Atlantic, Specialty Records Corporation pressing

 

I am a late convert to the genius of Roberta Flack. Like many of my generation, I grew up hearing her hits played on AM radio, but my tastes as an adolescent male leaned more to heavier rock sounds and catchy pop hooks, so I was unable to appreciate her nuanced interpretations and pure, flawless delivery of both her own work and particularly that of other composers. But after recently finally having the light go on when I heard "Killing Me Softly" as if for the first time, I have begun seeking out her early work, first adding the LP named after that hit, followed by the 50th anniversary edition of First Take, then closing out her first quartet of LPs by acquiring this release and Chapter Two, which I will cover in a future post. Quiet Fire, her third release, consists mainly of covers, though a Roberta Flack cover is unlike any other. She so thoroughly embeds herself inside the lyrics and tweaks or entirely reworks the arrangement so that the end result is honestly a completely new work. Most of the covers here are slow-tempo, ballad-like revelations, but the LP starts off with a righteous Black power anthem that struts with a funky flavor not heard elsewhere on the album. Flack co-wrote the song with Joel Dorn and apparently Jesse Jackson. Titled "Go Up Moses," it turns the traditional spiritual "Go Down Moses" on its head, advocating for walking away from Pharoah, not asking to be set free, because you don't need Pharoah, but he certainly needs you. From this very socially focused message for Black America, Flack then shifts to an intensely personal rendition of Paul Simon's "Bridge Over Troubled Water," a song that has been butchered by every vocal hack seeking to stay relevant in the early 1970s, but in Flack's capable hands it is as poignant as Carole King's own version of "You've Got a Friend." Speaking of King, Flack covers one of her earlier Brill Building Gerry Goffin co-compositions, "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" to open Side 2, then delivers an unrecognizable reinterpretation of the Bee Gees' "To Love Somebody." The closer, Van McCoy's "Sweet Bitter Love," is just as heart-rending. Allmusic.com gives it 4½ stars, the same as for Killing Me Softly and just a notch below First Take. That sounds about right, though I wouldn't argue with all three LPs getting 5 stars.

This pressing, from 1971, is the one pressed by Specialty Records Corporation, designated by an "SP" at the end of the label code on both the Side 1 and Side 2 labels. I haven't found a lot of information about how this plant compares to others from the era, such as the highly sought after Monarch pressings, but it's worth noting that there are currently no copies of this version for sale on Discogs.com, and apparently only 8 Discogs users own it, while 47 want it, seeming to suggest it is an in-demand item. My listening found that the audio quality of this pressing is generally good but not in the same league as an equivalent Columbia 360 Stereo pressing from the same timeframe. There is noticeable wow and flutter on Flack's piano at the end of Side 2, which may be a flaw in the original master tape, but I don't have other versions for comparison. Even these shortcomings don't take away from an exceptional listening experience, however.

Incidentally, this LP is due to be the VinylMePlease Classics selection this coming December, which hopefully means it will get a Ryan K. Smith remaster and pressing at QRP. I am no longer a member of VMP, which is an entire essay in itself, so I am curious to hear what current members will have to say about this release when it comes out. As big a fan as I now am of this record, I can't see ponying up for a new subscription just to get their version, considering all the other issues I have with them. But maybe rave reviews will change my mind. I always like to keep my future options open.

Do I Really Need This record?  Having never owned this record before and now having a new reverence for any and all early Roberta Flack, of course this is an essential addition to the collection. And thankfully, I was able to just squeeze it into the 1970s section shelving without having to part with anything else. The next addition, however, may require some sacrifice.

Sylvia Telles - Sylvia (1958) Universal Japan CD UICY-79594

 

Like a lot of Americans, I was bitten by the bossa bug thanks to the Getz/Gilberto monster hit "Girl From Ipanema" and the rest of the Getz/Gilberto LP that brought the new Brazilian sound to the American mainstream. But unlike a lot of Americans, I didn't stop there, so besides consuming the other Brazilian artists who hit American shores in the "Ipanema" wake--Astrud Gilberto, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Walter Wanderley, Luiz Bonfa, etc., I dug deeper into lesser known Brazilian artists of that era and even backtracked into the pre-bossa world of 1950s Brazil. One of the bigger stars of that time was Sylvia Telles, who released her first 10" LP, Caricia, in 1957, and by 1959 was one of the early champions of the bossa music of Jobim with her third LP, Amor De Genta Moca (Musicas De Antonio Carlos Jobim), a full three years before Getz jumped on the Jobim wave with his Charlie Byrd LP Jazz Samba. But today's post centers on the Telles LP before that, her second release, Sylvia, from 1958. This is by and large a pre-bossa or even samba style of Brazilian pop recording. Most of the arrangements feature full orchestral backing, heavy on the strings, with an occasional sax interlude, very much in the style of the more sentimental and dramatic singers like Angela Maria or Elizeth Cardoso, though Telles eschews any of the stronger dramatic impulses while retaining a very emotive and melancholy tone. The closest American counterpart I can think of at the moment might be a Helen Merrill, though with less of her jazz improvisational approach. And yet surprisingly, half of the 16 tracks on this CD (which includes the original LP's 12 tracks plus 4 bonus tracks) are co-written by Jobim, proving that while we Americans may think of him merely as a bossa composer, we do him a great injustice. There are, however, two jaunty samba swingers in Jobim's "Aula de matematica" and Carlos Lyra's "Lobo bobo," a hint of things to come both from Telles and Brazil in general. While most Americans consider Astrud Gilberto to be the Voice of Brazilian Bossa, Telles is actually a far superior vocalist in terms of technical ability and interpretive range. She may not possess the fiery power of an Elis Regina, but she is a master of conveying the understated sadness that permeates much of Jobim's best work. Saddest of all, however, is the fact that Telles was tragically killed in a car accident in 1966 at just 32 years old. That same year her LP It Might as Well Be Spring attempted to break her into the American market with a number of American Songbook standards sung in English, her second attempt to crash American shores after her 1961 collaboration with American musicians Barney Kessel, Calvin Jackson, and the Bill Hitchcock Orchestra titled appropriately U.S.A. But for those curious to dip their toes into the music of Telles, Sylvia may not be the best place to start--there are several anthologies of her best work that may be more suitable, such as the compilation from the excellent Verve Pure Bossa Nova series issued in 2008. Once you've become a Telles devotee, however, you'll want to add Sylvia to your collection, too.

Do I Really Need This CD?  I actually already had an MP3-based download of this LP minus the bonus tracks that I snagged during the wild-west file-sharing days of the internet. But as anyone knows who has dabbled in those dark areas, the sound quality of those files can be a mixed bag, and I have since been trying to upgrade the audio fidelity of my more favorite releases from those sources, particularly now that I have a CD player that can take advantage of those better sources. Given that original vinyl copies of this album run from $125 for only a VG grade copy to $225 for only a VG+ (forget trying to find a Near Mint copy), this $14 Japanese CD that I purchased from Dusty Groove seemed the way to go (you can still find it for $9 without shipping from CDJapan as of this writing). Though I didn't give it my closest audio analysis on first listen, the sound quality of this CD seems quite good, if not breathtaking (which I wouldn't expect from a standard redbook CD anyway), and given some previous bad luck I've had in buying the above-mentioned Amor De Genta Moca on CD from what appeared to be a Brazilian label only to find it was a needle-drop, this copy seems the best choice from the currently available options. So, in short, yes, I really do need this CD.

The Premise

 

I've been collecting records for over 50 years and CDs since they first appeared in the 1980s. By this point I have thousands upon thousands of titles in each format, and physical space to contain them has become such an issue that I often have to decide to get rid of one title if I want to add another. And yet I continue to seek out and add new titles to the collection on a regular basis. Add to this the salient fact that with this many titles, I can probably only listen to any given title once every several years without also neglecting the thousands of other titles in my collection, all of which lead me to ask myself before each new purchase or when I discover that I have something I completely forgot about, Do I really need this record or CD?

This blog is an attempt to justify why every new record or CD I buy is absolutely necessary, as well as revisit past purchases to assess whether they are still worth the space they are taking up on my shelves and perhaps prohibiting me from adding something else that I now want more. At the same time, it is my hope that my examinations of each title might expose any poor souls who wander by this blog to music they haven't heard or considered previously, or perhaps a particular release of more familiar titles that may be worth an upgrade from other versions. In any case, I won't be doing the deep-dive exhaustive reviews one can find elsewhere but what I hope are pithy snapshots to elicit further exploration. And by the way, the cover photo includes but a fraction of the collection.