MI’s Lars Nylin remembers the universal talent Georg Riedel, the Czech who set the tone for Swedishness.
If I were to be put on the hopeless task of framing the concept of Swedishness with a maximum of three songs would be Show from Utanmyra, Ida’s summer show and slowly we walk through the town three potential choices. Of course, they all have the same name Georg Riedel.
Add this for example Danny’s Dream with Lars Gullin, I give you my morning with Fred Åkerström, and several children’s music for more than Astrid Lindgren and we land in the fact of getting, if anyone so embraced Sweden with his music.
Georg Riedel, born in Czech Carlsbad and with his family an early war refugee, became in every way unique in Swedish musical life.
When the news came that Riedel had left us at 90, there was a resounding silence not only around his base of the brand Rubner. Cavities of missing occur in a large number of genres: jazz, show, children’s music, art music, schlager. After starting out as a bass player in the 50s jazz scene and a first establishment as an avant-garde composer in the early 60s, the broad breakthrough came with his leading role on Jan Johansson’s Jazz in Swedish. Riedel’s spare but so poetic bass became as much a sign of the best-selling Swedish jazz album of all time as Johansson’s keys. When Riedel then inherited the position as Astrid Lindgren’s court composer upon Johansson’s tragic death, he became the country’s most listened to musician.
This without the average lover of his music barely knowing who he was.
The low-key, to work and hit without resorting to pressure became Georg’s signature throughout his career. He made his own jazz, he guested as a musician, he arranged – all with the same frugal genius.
In 2020, I was involved in selecting him in Swedish Music Hall of Fame. I can admit that it was several years later than it should have been. Another illustration of what his somewhat stealthy greatness could mean.
Finally: if my task did not become much easier to choose ONE example of Riedel’s greatness, in addition to the most famous in his catalog, it will be this: the scar for oboe in Fred Åkerström’s intro of the Norwegian song Night in a city.
The difficulty in making something apparently simple so double-bottomed touching is starkly illustrated:
Lars Nylin
