An Evening With Alistair Cooke (1955)

The great broadcaster made only a few vinyl recordings, but they are all fabulous. I have featured one of his spoken word records previously: Talk About America.


This LP, however, features him at the piano, whistling, singing and telling stories. I realise that to the youngsters of today, that sounds almost insane. They let him do this? Why didn’t someone sedate him, send him to a nursing home or put him on a stairlift?

There is even a wonderful moment where he demonstrates, with impish glee, the results of an experiment in multi-tracking his own voice.

The album tells a coherent narrative, so is perhaps best listened right through, but once you’ve done that you’ll keep coming back to many of these tracks for more.


Drink to MeThis prelude to the album is a prime example of the almost vaudevillian versatility of Cooke as a pianist.

Spring Song“I was taken on a picnic to see a tree. And I was very overcome. And I wrote a song.”

Blue SkiesCooke explains the emotional resonance he found in Berlin’s massive hit song, before playing it with a light, yet chiming intensity.

She’s Funny That WayKnowing that no one quite sings this song as Gene Austin does, Cooke whistles his way through it. 

The Man I LoveHere’s a really good anecdote about the origins of this Gershwin song. I’ve never heard it elsewhere – I’m hanging on to it for future use.

Cupid, Ease A Lovesick MaidThis is a reflection on Cambridge University life: composing music for an 18th century song with no extant score. It shows a wonderful grasp of the songwriting of the era and the ‘sweet discords’ possible by the cadence sidestepping briefly into another key.

Have You Forgotten God?I really like this. Cooke, composing again, sets the words of a hymn to a descending blues tune. Apart from a romantic middle eight, it completely works: you notice how close the Wesleyan preacher is to the fingerpicking blues singer. There’s even a bit of scatting in the coda.

Perpetual MotionTalking of hymns, did Poulenc get the melodic material for his Perpetual Motion from a Welsh hymn?

Madrigal from The MikadoCooke whistles and hums almost simultaneously. Once you’ve heard it, you’ll want to try it yourself.

Mamie’s BluesCooke describes a chance meeting with Jelly Roll Morton. (“A gangling, wide-mouthed, flat-faced man with big wrists and diamonds in his teeth.”) The line Morton feeds Cooke is word-for-word the same as the introduction to his 1939 recording: “This is the first blues I no doubt heard in my life.” (You can hear Morton talking bitches here.)

Basin Street BluesA reflection on Englishness (“The English have to go after things that are out of reach.”) takes us to Basin Street and “Mr. Teagarden’s immortal invitation to the land of dreams”.

Cooke, always a great storyteller, himself became the subject of a rather ghoulish story posthumously. He was one of the victims of a body-snatching gang that hacked up corpses of the recently deceased, replacing the harvested bones with PVC pipes, gloves and aprons before returning the bodies to families. Then – having forged donor consent forms to cover their tracks – they sold the stolen bones on for transplant tissue.


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