The falling leaves drift by my window
The falling leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sunburned hands I used to hold
Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall
Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall
I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall
- ‘Autumn Leaves’ (Korma/Mercer)
I was going to suggest that there are as many versions of the song ‘Autumn Leaves’ as there are examples of the real thing laying around on the road right now – but that would be a lie.
Perhaps there are as many recordings as there are leaves currently curled up in the branches of the tree outside my window; orphans being cradled in its spindly, naked arms having dropped from the London plane tree nearby.
The song itself was adopted in a way, being born from the pen of Joseph Kosma for the 1945 ballet ‘Le Rendez-Vous’ before Jaques Prevert added lyrics for the 1946 film ‘Les Portes de la Nuit’. A year later the great American writer Johnny Mercer put his own words to the tune that would become a standard for both vocalists and jazz musicians.
If I was foolish enough to second guess the version you know best I’d put my money on the Cannonball Adderley take for ‘Somethin’ Else’. Why? Just because I reckon you’re the type to realise that Adderley and Miles with Art Blakey in the driving seat is a line-up you couldn’t resist. I pay you that compliment without even knowing you. That’s how generous I am.
Then again, you could be a Matt Monro fan, but my guess here is that you really only dig ‘On Days Like These’ because it opens ‘The Italian Job’ so sublimely. Still, dismiss Matt with a wave of your hand if you like but I really enjoy him singing ‘Autumn Leaves’. Something in that rich voice evokes nostalgia in me for days I never really knew. Days in the 60s, when I was old enough to be married and live in a house with a bar for entertaining all my hip friends by mixing great cocktails to the sound of Matt Monro. But I’m not that old. And I’m not even married.
Mercer’s lyrics were never going to escape Sinatra’s tonsils, lungs and other essential parts in the process of singing. Was there a great song that he didn’t record? Do I really need to tell you that he does an amazing job? No, of course not, and when I listen it wrenches the romantic that lurks in a dusty corner of my soul right out into the light. So too does Paul Desmond on the session for his 1962 album, ‘Desmond Blue’. This has everything going for it, from the arrangement by Bob Prince to the flute-playing at the start, the strings and, of course, Desmond himself. Like Sinatra, he could deliver a melody like no-one else. In the mid-70s he would join Chet Baker for CTI and record another version which, despite being late in the day for both, proves they still had enough in the tank to show young ‘uns what Cool is all about.
Those great thinkers in the art of the eighty-eights, Keith Jarrett and Bill Evans, have applied their improvisational genius to it, but more surprisingly, so did Manfred Mann. Yes, you read right (here I give you no credit, thinking you know as little about MM as me, sorry). As well as penning the theme to ‘Ready Steady Go’ along with other 60s Pop-tastic hits, they can be found taking a brief (2min) trip on piano and vibes through ‘Autumn Leaves. I actually like this version, perhaps because it doesn’t attempt to improvise at any great length (were they capable?). Instead, at a steady, finger-snapping pace, it offers the kind of Soul-ful style that became so popular in that era. I could almost imagine a Mod being fooled by it, for a minute, and feeling slightly embarrassed when discovering it’s Manfred Mann.
Michel Legrand turned it into a theme for a film that never existed but, hearing it, I imagine myself dancing with Deneuve on a boulevard viewed through a lens by Jaques Demy.
Diamanda Galas shreds the song in her own inimitable, gothic horror fashion, ripping out its heart and gargling on the blood. If it evokes images of midnight churchyards and bats flapping around the belfry, we might also imagine poor Johnny Mercer there too, turning in his grave. The greatest songs are destined to become musical crime scenes at some point, but for as long as the leaves keep falling this time of year, people will be enjoying ‘Autumn Leaves’ it in all its guises.
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