Gus' Albums

I loved the old CBC radio show Gilmour's Albums. Clyde Gilmour's soft, relaxed voice had a very calming cadence. Clyde, I hope that your program is still airing on a frequency somewhere in the great beyond. Some day, I'd like to resurrect your show but call it "Gus' Albums." It might make me feel less ridiculous for my burgeoning vinyl collection.

If I had to air a program this week, I'd be playing songs from among these albums that have touched my turntable recently:




This is any christmas music collection's back-bone. The base (and the bass!) upon which to build. It's typically the first and most-frequently played of my records. Playful, contemplative, and classic.



Now this woman is what I call angelic! Her powerful pipes make you forget the breathy poptrocities that assault your eardrums on the radio every December (Which reminds me to thank to my blogging colleagues for raising awareness of some notorious poptricities in their entries this week). Mahalia's voice is richly grounded, and yet she still knows how to soar with vocal ornamentation rivalling any shining art you might find on a tree.



This is a new addition to the collection, acquired on some hazy summer day at the back of a fripperie. (It's great fun to pick up Christmas albums when thrifting off-season and tuck them away, delaying the inaugural listen until months later, when the disc pops out of your collection of tried-and-trues as a pleasant surprise you forgot you had). Edna and I had a listen to this record last night, and felt transported back in time to a Pure Laine holiday hoe-down. This family sounds like they would be dangerously fun at a Christmas party! I love the idea of a roomful of rowdies all joining lustily in a seasonal call-and-response, complete with exquisite fiddling and stomp-worthy rythmn. People don't get together to sing AND dance very often any more, and I find that sad.



Does anybody still need convincing that this is worth listening to, in its entirety, in one sitting, at least once a year? I remember feeling like I would die of boredom at performances of this as a child. One noteworthy one was in Addis Ababa in December 1992 (more on Ethiopian Christmas to come in future posts, I promise). Today, I love the ebb and flow of the voices, the familiar words of hope and anticipation arranged so compellingly, the poetry and sound collectively moving. I've written entire papers listening to this production- conducted by Sir Malcolm Sargeant, with the Royal Liverpool and the Huddersfield Chorus.

Speaking of papers, this blog is worse than cookie-baking in terms of its procrastinatory draw. To all a good night!