Let nothing you dismay: Every Christmas season, the Vince Guaraldi Trio’s classic jazz album A Charlie Brown Christmas functions as the soundtrack to my holiday (and finals week). The trio’s melancholy renditions of classic Christmas tunes, as well as Guaraldi’s own now-classic compositions, are sometimes mournful—the sonic equivalent of the liminal spaces in the 1965 film. But if you’re looking for some music to serve as the soundtrack for a holiday party that doesn’t worry about the philosophy of the Christmas season, look no further than An Oscar Peterson Christmas. Complete with the spirited vibraphone of Dave Samuels on the tracks “White Christmas” and “Let It Snow,” storied jazz pianist Oscar Peterson takes a much more cheerful approach to holiday jazz. On “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,” Peterson’s riffs and Lorne Lofsky’s guitar reach a level of swing that is downright jaunty, and Jack Schantz’s flugelhorn on “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” is the perfect complement to the rest of the group.
Peterson isn’t afraid to be pensive: The twinkling broken chords and orchestral accompaniment of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” meditate on the Nativity scene. But just because something is pensive doesn’t mean it can’t be virtuosic. Peterson’s solo effort on “O Christmas Tree” slips into the (albeit toned down) style of one of his musical icons, Art Tatum. All in all, the album feels like an ode to the classic holiday records of Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole—enjoy with a mug of hot cocoa.
Peterson isn’t afraid to be pensive: The twinkling broken chords and orchestral accompaniment of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” meditate on the Nativity scene. But just because something is pensive doesn’t mean it can’t be virtuosic. Peterson’s solo effort on “O Christmas Tree” slips into the (albeit toned down) style of one of his musical icons, Art Tatum. All in all, the album feels like an ode to the classic holiday records of Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole—enjoy with a mug of hot cocoa.
Elizabeth Eck, senior editor
Winter’s edge: Last newsletter, I wrote about an album whose warm textures stood out amongst the falling leaves. But after a few weeks of winter, I’ve been drawn to another underground rap darling: Boldy James and The Alchemist’s 2020 album The Price of Tea in China. Its unrelenting, razor-sharp lyricism takes a different approach: the winter might be pretty, but it’s cold.
Boldy has always been a solid rapper, but what propels this above any of his previous work is deploying mad genius The Alchemist behind the boards. Alchemist’s use of drums is highly calculated. He knows exactly when to let the drums slam into the mix and when to back them off in favor of thickly layered samples. This contrast is what makes this album click so well. Tracks “Giant Slide,” “Scrape The Bowl,” and “Slow Roll” have drums hitting hard and mechanically to guide Boldy’s heartless, mafia-esque cruelty. But on slower cuts “Carruth,” “Pinto,” and “Phone Bill,” there’s nary a drum in sight, with Alchemist bringing up the low-end frequencies of his sounds to compliment Boldy’s slower, more somber depictions of his life.
Their chemistry culminates on “Speed Demon Freestyle,” where Boldy’s slick flow practically glides over Al’s meticulous chopping of a ’70s jazz fusion jam. Boldy’s characterization of himself as “the bad guy in the movie smoking on a Cuban” seems a little ridiculous, but when he and Alchemist get into a pocket, it’s hard not to take him at his word.
Boldy has always been a solid rapper, but what propels this above any of his previous work is deploying mad genius The Alchemist behind the boards. Alchemist’s use of drums is highly calculated. He knows exactly when to let the drums slam into the mix and when to back them off in favor of thickly layered samples. This contrast is what makes this album click so well. Tracks “Giant Slide,” “Scrape The Bowl,” and “Slow Roll” have drums hitting hard and mechanically to guide Boldy’s heartless, mafia-esque cruelty. But on slower cuts “Carruth,” “Pinto,” and “Phone Bill,” there’s nary a drum in sight, with Alchemist bringing up the low-end frequencies of his sounds to compliment Boldy’s slower, more somber depictions of his life.
Their chemistry culminates on “Speed Demon Freestyle,” where Boldy’s slick flow practically glides over Al’s meticulous chopping of a ’70s jazz fusion jam. Boldy’s characterization of himself as “the bad guy in the movie smoking on a Cuban” seems a little ridiculous, but when he and Alchemist get into a pocket, it’s hard not to take him at his word.
Charlie Phelan, assistant digital editor
Beyond the “Weil”: Simone Weil, one of the most popular religious thinkers of the twentieth century, has a near-miraculous ability to avoid being pigeonholed. Sometimes a Christian penitent, sometimes a Marxist martyr, sometimes a stalwart patriot, sometimes a mystical universalist, Weil simply cannot be classified. This scholarly conundrum, argues Jack Hanson in The Drift, is what has preserved her voice for future generations and made her meager output so enduring. For every reader, there is a different Simone Weil. For every Weil that ruined her earthly life through mental exercises, there is another that found tranquility through activism. Weil fits nowhere within our individualist society, yet seems to be omnipresent within introspective strains of our culture, leading to an disingenuous flattening of her from a cultural warrior that starved in solidarity with the hungry into a “ballast” of quietism to whom one can retreat when one encounters suffering. The recently published Simone Weil: A Very Short Introduction seems like a Herculean yet foolhardy feat. Weil is so haunting for Hanson as every interpretation of her thought is a “yawning void” that fails to account for the totality of her life. Instead, Weil, in all her strangeness, is the patron saint of everyone: a motivation rather than a comfort, for all times.
Brady Santoro, assistant editor