Gabriella Michelle "Ella" Henderson (born 12 January 1996) is a 19 years old British singer and songwriter. She was born in Tetney, Lincolnshire, England. Her career began when she was in The X Factor (UK series 9) and finished in sixth place. Then, she was signed to Simon Cowell's records, Syco Music, and released her debut single, called "Ghost", on 6 June 2014. This single entered at number one in the UK and the Republic of Ireland. Her second single, "Glow", was released on 5 October 2014. It was followed on 13 October 2014 by her debut album Chapter One.[1]
As I said from the outset, my main purpose here is to establish a typology of the Blue Note titles, not to explain where those titles originated or why they took on the forms I have inventoried. I will thus limit my conclusion to three brief remarks, which should help to contextualize the phenomena I have examined and to situate my analysis within the more general "poetics" of jazz.
I first must emphasize more than I have done so far that titling jazz records (but also other cultural objects like books and paintings) must comply with commercial exigencies. Competition is fierce in the music business, and the way an album is titled can contribute to that album's success or failure. Economic considerations, therefore, certainly account for Blue Note's use of such devices as hyperbolic assertions (The Fabulous Fats Navarro), easily decodable metonymies (Gravy Train), and no less easily understandable puns (Byrd in Flight). But the requirements of marketing may also explain the high number of index titles, whose sole function is to set a record apart from other records, making it stand out in stores, catalogs, and magazine advertisements. Whether such schemes are effective or not is of course open to question. I am not aware of any empirical survey in which listeners were asked, among other things, whether they decided to buy or not to buy a record because of its title. As for sales figures, provided that we could obtain them, they depend on so many elements (the price of the record, its format, its availability, etc.), that it would be difficult to establish direct correlations between the number of copies an album sold and the way it was titled. At the very most, we collectors can attest that the Blue Note records are sought after not just for musical reasons, but because of what we regard as the attractiveness of their jackets (of which titles of course are major components). Thus, we may have acquired Donald Byrd's Royal Flush simply because we liked the game played on this disc's cover between verbal and iconographic messages. Those of us who are most enamored of graphics may even have bought Bud Powell's Bud! because of the title's design, in this case, because the letters forming the word "Bud" are brightly lit against the dark, claustrophobic background of the picture. (The same contrast is found on several other Blue Note covers.) The fact that the Blue Note jackets have been anthologized is relevant in this regard, confirming those jackets' desirability as aesthetic objects that have become independent from the product they are supposed to promote and describe. Blue Note, for that matter, is the only jazz label to which an exclusive picture book is devoted; other anthologies gather the jackets of diverse companies according to those companies' location (e.g., Marsh's California Cool and New York Hot), or they are focused on the production of one designer (e.g., Manek Daver's Jazz Graphics, which collects the jackets drawn by David Stone Martin).
While the titles of the Blue Note records are indicative of the economic requirements involved in producing an album, they also point to the contractual aspects of the information offered on that album's cover. Philippe Lejeune and other literary theorists have described this side of a book's paratext, arguing that such a generic subtitle as "autobiography" establishes a "pact" between a text and its readers; in this instance, the text's author, narrator, and main character are the same "person," who is committed to providing a truthful narrative of his/her life (Lejeune 26). In my sample, the contractual nature of the items that figure on a record's front cover is particularly noticeable in denotative titles: Sonny Rollins's Sonny Rollins must feature Rollins; Albert Ammons's Boogie-Woogie Classics must consist of boogie-woogies; Kenny Dorham's 'Round Midnight at the Caf Bohemia must have been recorded at the Caf Bohemia; and Introducing Johnny Griffin must "really" be Griffin's first album for Blue Note. Listeners would feel betrayed if they did not get what the titles say they are getting, for instance, if it turned out that Rollins only plays on one number on Sonny Rollins, that Ammons has abandoned boogie-woogie, or that Dorham's disc was in fact recorded in a studio, background noises and applause being added to create the illusion of a club date. (We have all been frustrated upon discovering that the music on a pirate or supermarket label did not match the information supplied on the record's cover.) But the same constraints also apply to connotative and index titles, showing how the (sometimes) conflicting demands of marketing and truth in advertising are the objects of a negociation. Thus, a title like Easterly Winds can only designate soft music (though not necessarily Wilson's music), and it could not be used as the title of, say, one of the McLean's albums of the early 1960s. Such a use would clash with the shared cultural code that associates "easterly winds" with "softness," breaking the contract which is grounded in that code. Conversely, Free Form could hardly become the title of a conservative, "commercial" record, like Turrentine's Dearly Beloved. As for the titles I have labeled ambiguous (Spring) or misleading (Cool Struttin'), they do not really jeopardize the pact with prospective buyers that the information on an album's cover establishes. Rather, they posit an informed audience, which knows that "spring" on a Tony Williams album can only mean "renewal," and that Sonny Clark's music does not fall under the "cool" style developed by Stan Getz and others in the late 1940s (though it certainly can be described as "cool" in the sense of ""chic" or "fashionable"). Irony, in short, is not found in the titles of the Blue Note albums, and the occasional games that are played on those albums' covers remain most subdued. My corpus, at any rate, reveals none of the prankish frauds that are sometimes committed in literature, such as Boris Vian's titling L'Automne Pkin a novel that takes place neither in the fall nor in Beijing, Eugne Ionesco's calling La Cantatrice chauve a play that includes no bald singer among its characters, or Mathieu Bnzet's naming L'Histoire de la peinture en trois volumes a collection of poems that do not concern painting and are gathered in one 116 page-long volume. The Blue Note catalog, at this point, does not offer a Saxophone Summit to which no saxophonists have been invited, and I am not sure whether the jazz audience is ready for this kind of ludic deception.
Last, but not least, the titles of the Blue Note records point to the larger issue of knowing whether music has a "semantic level" (or a "content plane") and where that level is located (Eco 11). To pose the problem in a somewhat simplistic manner: Do musical signs only refer to other musical signs, according to such relations as "equivalence, contrast, symmetry, and complication" (Nattiez 138)? Or can they can refer to the world outside music, for instance, to "concepts, actions, and emotions" (Nattiez 132)? I am not competent to intervene into a discussion that has involved semioticians, philosophers, and musicologists, pitching the "absolutists," for whom "one musical event... has meaning because it points to and makes us expect another musical event" (Meyer 35), against the "referentialists," for whom "musical meaning... lies in the relationship between a musical symbol or sign and the extra-musical thing which it designates" (33). (These issues are comprehensively discussed, for example, in the essays collected in Scher.) Thus, I will only observe that the titles of the Blue Note records offer different answers to these questions--albeit unintentionally. A few among those titles sidestep the issue altogether. A phrase like A Night at Birdland, for example, involves no theory of musical meaning; it does not claim that the pieces on the record picture the Birdland, only stating that the disc contains (some of) the sounds that were produced there on a certain night. Similarly, Green Street does not assert that the music on the record describes a street or any green object; this title, as I argued earlier, functions strictly as an index, serving to distinguish the album from Green's previous records. Other titles, however, illustrate Meyer's "absolutist" position. Thus, Dixieland Jubilee and Afro-Cuban imply that musical events have meaning in relation to other events in the same semiotic category; proceeding by symmetry and contrast, they describe what the music on these albums is ("dixieland," "Afro-Cuban"), and also what it is not, or not quite ("dixieland" is not truly "New-Orleans" and "Afro-Cuban" not exactly "latin" nor "be-bop"). Finally, such titles as Blue Hour and Feelin' Good exemplify Meyer's "referentialist" position. Indeed, they indicate that musical signs can designate extra-musical "things," just like linguistic signs can designate extra-linguistic objects, actions, and emotions. In these cases, as I surmised while discussing connotative titles, the recordings (specifically the music's tempi) refer conventionally to a certain "mood," which the adjectives "blue" and "good" describe by way of a metaphor ("blue") and a direct qualification ("good").
The Blue Note titles bearing on the "avant-garde" jazz of the early 1960s best pose the problem of the "aboutness" of music. To reframe the question I already asked while examining those titles: Do such phrases as Evolution, It's Time, Right Now, Let Freedom Ring, and A New Conception refer to music, describing the "new," "free" kind of jazz that was developing at the time? Do they refer to the social context, calling for changes in the situation of African-Americans? And, most importantly, does the music on these albums have in itself a social meaning? Kofsky, in the study I quoted earlier, rehearses the familiar thesis that aesthetic and social "revolutions" cannot be separated. According to him, the major transformations that jazz underwent in the 1960s were "responses" to a "massive constellation of social and economic forces," such as the "increased technological unemployment of unskilled Negro laborers," the "consolidation of Afro-American determination to remove, and the white insistence on maintaining, the chains of second-class citizenship," the "movement for African independence," and the "growth of explicit black-nationalist sentiment" (263). Yet Kofsky does not ask whether Rivers's or Coltrane's music can be "about" these phenomena, as a novel, a poem, or a painting can be "about" them. Thus, when he states that the title "It's Time" means "it's time for liberation" (75), he merely interprets the phrase in light of some aspects of the social context; he does not claim that the music on the record actually describes that context, picturing such things as ghetto unemployment or the growth of black-nationalist awareness. Whether music can represent this kind of extra-musical content or not, however, is precisely the issue that the titles under review permit us to raise. If we take the "It's Time" that Kofsky mentions to be McLean's It's Time, numerous musical signs on this record inscribe a "liberation" in areas like song structure (most pieces on the record no longer fall under the 32-bar, AABA pattern), rhythm (the usual 4/4 is frequently broken), and instrumentental range (McLean's saxophone deploys harmonics and shrieks). But this "liberation" is from the conventions of hard-bop, that is, specifically musical (revealingly, the first piece on It's Time is titled "Cancellation"). To extend it to the social sphere, we need a code that tells us how to translate musical signs into social signs, more precisely, how to assign a social signified to a musical signifying like the modal structure that McLean is using in three out of the six numbers on It's Time. Does such a code exist? If it does, is it structured like the linguistic code (as I have assumed by speaking of a "signifying" and a "signified")? And can we learn it, as we learn, besides language, the codes of such components of our social universe as fashion and advertising? The titles of the Blue Note records do not answer these questions in direct, explicit manner. But they they make it possible to pose them, and, in this respect, they contribute to the conversation.
Titles cited
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