CD Reviews: The Cincinnati Kid and Enigma

The Cincinnati Kid ****

LALO SCHIFRIN

Aleph 025

14 tracks - 59:09

In 1997, Lalo Schifrin's wife Donna founded Aleph Records, a label that exclusively releases music composed and conducted by the Argentine maestro. The company's latest product, a re-recorded version of The Cincinnati Kid, is one of its best.

Originally written in 1965 for Norman Jewison's film about a poker contest in New Orleans, this jazz-heavy score makes frequent use of sounds and rhythms traditionally associated with the Deep South. On "The Cock Fight," for instance, Schifrin whips the banjo, the fiddle and the harmonica together to create a surreal jig that swirls and jabs like the monstrous chickens it describes. "New Orleans Procession," in contrast, is slow and thick with mourning. A medley of sorts, this dirge starts with a trumpet-soaked Dixieland march, then switches to a slow piano rag. In "The Man," a sax and a bass slither around each other menacingly, evoking Lloyd Price's Nawlins murder ballad "Stagger Lee" (as well as David Rose's 1962 hit "The Stripper"). There's also the track that opens the album, "The Cincinnati Kid," which features the silken voice of north Florida native Ray Charles. The lone remnant from the original score, this song thunders along on syncopated strings, bursting horns and a brilliant lyric that includes lines like: "He played night and day like a demon/ He prayed for that one lucky day/ When the lush royal flush of his dreaming/ Is just a game away." As Douglas Payne in the liner notes explains, "Schifrin opted not to re-record this theme since Ray Charles and his performance here are 'truly irreplaceable.'"

In the same notes, Payne suggests that this score was one of the first in the 1960s "to employ a variety of jazz elements in a classical context." Actually, with the exception of "The Cincinnati Kid (Instrumental Version)," the songs tend to be either jazz or classical, but not both. "Mr. Slade," for example, is a 'pure' orchestral suite comprised of strings and horns and piano; similarly, "At the Farm" juxtaposes dark and light tones to create a piercing, though beautiful, pastorale that sounds European, not Southern. Frequently, in fact, it seems that Schifrin prefers to blend jazz and pop. The song titled "Melba," for instance, with its relaxed guitar and piano, bears more than a little resemblance to Stan Getz's 1963 bossa nova hit "The Girl from Ipanema." In the early 1960s, by the way, Schifrin wrote music for Getz.

Artists always run the risk of destroying their work when they revise it. Fortunately, Schifrin tampers with his creation judiciously, using digital technology and ace musicians to make 40 year old material sound shiny, but not exactly new. On this recording, in other words, he plays a winning hand.  -- Stephen Armstrong
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Enigma ***

JOHN BARRY

Decca 289 467 864-2

22 tracks - 57:01

John Barry is seemingly entrenched in a distinctive writing style that fits him quite comfortably, but nowadays seems to work in fewer and fewer films. Directors tend to seek Barry out when they're looking for an old-fashioned approach to scoring. There's undoubtedly a sense of comfort involved. When you hire John Barry, you know what you're going to get -- or at least you should.

Engima represents another of Barry's lyrical efforts, with the usual similarities to his other works from recent years, from Mercury Rising to Swept from the Sea. He introduces a couple of related motives, repeats them often, seldom varies the tempo, gives us a few subtle variations, a piano solo version of the main theme and, by the end, creates a coherent musical vision that effectively pulls the film together. Unfortunately, this makes for a repetitive listen apart from the film.

That said, Enigma has everything you expect from later Barry plus a couple of 1940s source cues. The sound is rich and full, played by the Royal Concertgebow Orchestra under Barry's baton. There aren't any standout passages or, alternately, areas distinctly lacking in appeal. It's all perfectly listenable, perfectly competent and perfectly average. If you don't have many of Barry's later soundtracks, this might be a good example to add to your collection. But there's no reason to go out of your way for this disc if you've already got representatives of this era.

A careful look at the credits identifies Lorne Michaels and Mick Jagger as producers of the film. Much like Barry, they're no longer true innovators, but they continue to put out perfectly acceptable, if unremarkable, work.  -- Neil Shurley
 
 

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