Listening to Herb Alpert's early records today takes me all the way back to my days as a toddler, as they were the first pieces of music I can recall hearing. My mom owned several of his records and it became a Sunday morning ritual for me to hear them, hum along with them, dance to them, and live them. His instrumental records all have catchy choruses that, 35 years after first hearing them, remain stuck in my head, whether I want them there or not. So, with Mother's Day approaching, I thought I’d take a nostalgic journey back to my childhood and review some of his 1960s albums that my mom used to play for me.
The Lonely Bull is not only the debut of A&M records (A&M 101), but also the first album from Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, who were actually a group of Los Angeles session musicians Alpert had assembled for a studio date. Though its liner notes claim it to be a replica of Tijuana music, it is actually a watered-down version, sanitized for a conservative, mainstream pop audience who might find the genuine thing a bit too daunting. It is like bypassing the small but authentic Mexican family restaurant on the outskirts of town for a Chi-Chi’s in the shopping district—you end up with a safe, convenient, but ultimately bland imitation of the real thing.
But bland doesn’t always mean boring and Alpert knows a thing or two about arrangements. The title track, written by Sol Lake, was a top 10 hit in 1962, due in no small part to its production. An overdubbed crowd at a bullfight, a haunting female voice, a drum march, and of course Alpert's sonorous horn, all contribute to the majestic sound. Alpert duplicates that feeling on his own composition, “A Quiet Tear (Lagrima Quieta),” entering Ennio Morricone territory along the way. And the Sol Lake waltz, “El Lobo (The Wolf)” is nearly as good.
Not one to ignore popular songs of the time, Alpert covers the Greek-influenced “Never on Sunday,” “Let it Be Me,” (a hit for The Everly Brothers) and “Limbo Rock,” (made famous by Chubby Checker) the last of which is the best because it is the most festive and, minus the inane lyrics, gives the album a much needed shot in the arm. The former two are played straight and don’t quite fit the, um, Tijuana mold.
Though Alpert did a fair job picking out other writer’s material, his own songs are a mixed bag. While the above mentioned “A Quiet Tear (Lagrima Quieta),” is good, “Struttin’ with Maria” is a corny, upbeat march, setting a pattern for corny, upbeat Side 2 opening tracks on future albums.
Meanwhile, his collaboration with A&M records co-founder Jerry Moss, “Tijuana Sauerkraut,” damn near sinks the record. It is an unholy union between Tijuana music and a Bavarian chorus. Fortunately, a cover of the Antonio Carlos Jobim bossa nova smash “Desafinado” quickly follows it. On this latter piece, Alpert even attempts to improvise, though he gives up halfway through the second verse. A couple of songs that feature (Alpert's?) whistling (“Mexico,” “Acapulco 1922”) help to round out the 12 song set.
One of the knocks on Herb Alpert is that he is not a true jazz musician. Well, I don’t think he tries to be. He knows that no one will confuse him for, say, Miles Davis, (even though it could be argued that Alpert steps ever so tentatively into Miles' Sketches of Spain territory), so he takes the commercial route. The Lonely Bull shows promise, but it would take a couple of albums before Alpert found his market niche.
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