The Bob Allen Trio At The Christopher Inn
The Bob Allen Trio At The Christopher Inn
Album Design: Stockwell Design Associates
Sound: Musicol, Inc.
From the inside cover: Designed by the Columbus architectural firm of Karlsberger and Associates, the Christopher Inn was opened July 29, 1963.
Even though constructed on a downtown site, the Christopher Inn is noted for its generous allocation to open space for drives, terraces, and landscaping. Its circular tower is set back from the street, and automobile access and egress is swift and conve nient. Writing in the Washington Post, architectural critic Wolf von Eckhardt has called the Christopher Inn "the most eye-catching, yet appealing downtown motor hotel" of its type.
Such compliments are common from the traveling public, and the Christopher Inn's varied facilities are constantly in demand. In addition to 140 guest rooms, there is a dining room with an outstanding American and International menu; cocktail lounges; meeting rooms; and last but not least-the popular circular swimming pool and poolside lounge where the Bob Allen Trio provides musical excitement every Monday through Saturday evenings.
Also from the inside cover: Let me tell you what it was like, the first time I listened to Bob Allen at the Christopher Inn:
I'd returned to Columbus for a speech, or to work on a story, or something that no longer seems important. The day had been full, the hour was late, but Ron Pataky, who had followed me as critic of the Citizen-Journal, was insistent. "You've got to hear this trio," he urged, so we went over to the Christopher Inn – new since I had left town – walked down to a pleasant circular lounge separated by a glass wall from an indoor pool, and said hello to Bob Allen. Then I remembered that we had met before, several years ago when he was playing somewhere else, and I'd written an appraisal of this young pianist whose technique was Isure and whose musical invention commanded attention.
Well, Bob and his two solidly professional sidemen started to play, not all hellfire and thunderbolts at first but warming up to it, and I realized that in the intervening few years some kind of earlier promise had been fulfilled. A professional critic – like anyone else, perhaps – responds to his intuition first and his intelligence, such as it is, second. That is, he is subjectively elated, irked or awed by what he hears, then he seeks out his own fairly objective reasons for his reaction. Which was just what happened that frosty, midweek night.
As Bob played, my backbone stiffened, which was part of a total coming-to-attention. Without consciously willing it, I became acutely alert, as if I could assimilate the music not just through ears and mind but through fingertips and all the nerve endings. Only a bit later did I begin to separate and tabulate the reasons for my excitement, from the fact that it was an uncommonly good piano and im maculately tuned, to Bob's resourceful use of style and fragmented themes from composers such as Chopin and Rachmaninoff. Most important, he was inventing exquisitely. Not improvising, though he does that well too. This was carefully thought out and rehearsed invention, in which all kinds of musical ingenuity had been applied to a stand- ard romantic ballad, or a show tune, or a current pop melody. And it was polished – refined in a way to leave you almost breathless. His repertoire was familiar and dazzlingly fresh at the same time. That was how it began for me, and probably for everyone who has listened to Bob Allen at the Christopher.
And how did it really begin? What is the true genesis not just of a man, but of his creative artistry? Born Robert Allen Prahin in Cleveland in 1940 of parents who had come to this country from Yugoslavia in 1912, Bob en- countered the piano as part of the special training he received as a very small child. Blind since birth, he attended a school where the procedure of developing the other senses included touching a keyboard.
He studied the instrument from the age of five, always with a strictly classical emphasis, so that by the time he entered Capital University in Columbus as a music composition major 10 years ago he was as solidly rounded in the great piano composers as any young musician could be. "I was fairly didactic," he recalls. This training was to prove first a liability but later an invaluable asset when he began playing club dates. Being new to light and romanic or bouncy stuff, he drew on his classical background to introduce variety into his arrangements of standard themes. He also had been listening to Ferrante and Teicher, George Shearing, the old Art Tatum records, as well as Don Shirley, Peter Nero and Andre Previn, being most influenced by the last two..
Bob Allen, or any creative artist, is the end product of his own musical experience-plus. Thus Bob was shaped by Bach, Bartok, Chopin, Rachmaninoff and to a lesser extent by the pianists just named, and if he were to end there as a musical man he never would have been more than an ingenious imitator. The "plus," however, is what gives the artist his individuality, his distinction. And that is what has developed so surely and strongly in the last few years of this young man's already commendable career. What you hear today is Allen as a creative pianist, using an exhilarat. ing resource in classical and romantic music to broaden the stylistic range and brighten the coloration of everything he does.
Inevitably the question must come up. Does Bob's blind. ness influence his music? Does Shearing's? Did Tatum's? Who is to say? We don't know if seeing would have made a difference in their playing. But each, including Bob, has had to depend on sound (which is to say music) as his total expressive resource. So perhaps he exploits it more fully, seeks out its most delicate subtleties, and achieves grandeur through music as we might see it in a sunrise.
Allen's co-artists are bassist Vince Evans, originally from Ocean City, N. J., with a music degree from the University of Miami, Fla.; and Ray Racle, a percussionist whose drum work has improved the music of anyone he's played with in Columbus and elsewhere over quite a few years. Both Vince and Ray teach music in the Columbus area.
One thing more. The Christopher Inn is one of the few places in the country where a professional pianist doesn't have to struggle with an old, cheap, out-of-tune instrument. Host Henry Orringer has provided Allen with an absolutely stunning, new nine-foot Baldwin SD-10 concert grand, replacing an excellent earlier Baldwin of the same size. The new instrument has all the former Baldwin sonorities, range and facility, plus an exceptionally bright and clarion treble. Furthermore, Orringer has it tuned for Bob every week, which is enough to make less fortunate pianists weep with envy.
The music: Watch What Happens: Allen depends on a bossa nova treatment for this tune from the film, "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg." Syncopation, treble excursions around the melody and some piquant rapid runs and arpeggios all reinforce the lilting mood.
Here Comes That Rainy Day. If there is a sound to heartbreak, you could hear it in the keyboard voicing of this infinitely poignant little ballad. Bob opens with a one-finger introductory phrase, separated by two chords from its own repetition, then crosses a minor bridge to start the slow, sad song with its unexpected modulation into a major chord at the end of the second line. Once again there are tasteful touches of romantic or classical style – a feeling of Rachmaninoff here, a cleanly defined suggestion of Bach there. As he moves into a modern style (even if it is crossed briefly by a Bach phrase later), note the full, but not heavy, chords, the unhurried arpeggios.
Do-Re-Mi: If there is a tour de force among the performances in this recording, it is the ebullient music lesson from the Richard Rodgers - Oscar Hammerstein II success, "The Sound of Music," as Allen has redesigned it. The music begins in child-like innocence, though a dissonant fillip at the end of the first phrase tips you off that the pianists has something up his sleeve. The rococo fragment repeats delicately, modulates into some almost churchly major chords, then suddenly gives way to a machine gun staccato in 16ths on one note (the dominant), to pick up "Do-Re-Mi" as it goes. Drums carry the rapid Latin rhythm irresistibly, and a running figure on string bass adds its own authority. After two driving, exhilarating choruses, the pianist switches to a Mozartean embellishment as light as spring rain, but still moving at that breakneck pace. Thereafter the melody undergoes brief transpositions to the style of Bach, and even switches to a minor key for a change. All the way, the driving 16ths, the drums, the bass figures, command unswerving atten- tion and provide an ideal contrast to the melodic embellish- ments higher on the keyboard. It is virtuoso invention, and virtuoso playing.
All The Things You Are: If you recognize the long open- ing passage as the Chopin A-flat Etude, known as The Aeolian Harp, you are exactly where the pianist wants you to be. These Chopin arpeggios, structured into one of the most lyric melodies in 19th century music, are transformed, almost before you are aware it's happening, into "All The Things You Are," in the same style and key. The bridge between the two is simply a pair of notes which occur in both melodies, and permit the crossover from one to the other and later back again. Note the abundance of piano sound in this. The whole keyboard sings, and you suspect that Allen plays the way Chopin wrote and must have played-as if the piano were a world unto itself, neither derived from or related to or in need of any other instrument. Pianistically, this is the most beguiling arrangement among these eight.
Monday, Monday: Ray Racle uses a triangle to define the rhythmic figure for this rock dance treatment, later reinforcing with snare and cymbal. Meanwhile, Allen is orna. menting the melody in a style both capricious and cunning. You might find yourself thinking of a harpsichord rather than a piano; an amusing and quite workable blend of disparate styles.
It's Over: Here Allen captures, on keyboard, the quality which Felicia Sanders imparts to this palpably poignant ballad with her deeply emotional singing. The small opening melody becomes a countermelody, when the title song is voiced through the pianist's right hand. As the song progresses, there are some subtle, but unadorned, modulations to link its 19th century romanticism with the faintly suggested harshness of a modern lost love.
Love For Sale: Here we get a rock beat, straightforward and hard, flecked with trills, as if Allen had once been exposed to a player piano. Without the least affection, he manages to use ninths, garlanded with free-falling arpeggios, all through this strong and positive number. After a bit, drums and bass manifest themselves more strongly, while the pianist swings into the rapid playing he does so authoritatively. Allen has said that he tries to develop excitement by rising or descending to a climax. He does both in this. There is an extended upward development, followed by a sustained level of music, then a decline toward what becomes a second and equally impressive resolution of his theme. In simpler language, it swings. – Norman Nadel
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