The Box Tree

For Seconds at a Time

Playing Piano for Dad

C U Soon - h hunt

Traditional And Folk Songs Of Yugoslavia

Tesko Mi Je Zaboravit Tebe

Emahoy Tsege Mariam Gebru

Song Of Abayi

Under Paris Skies” began as the French song “Sous le ciel de Paris”, written in the early 1950s by composer Hubert Giraud with lyrics by Jean Dréjac. It was created for the 1951 film of the same name, at a time when Paris was still rebuilding after the Second World War – physically, but also emotionally. The city of poets and painters had become the city of memories and ghosts, and this song steps right into that tension: it is both postcard and elegy, a celebration of Paris that can’t help carrying the weight of what has been lost.

The English version, with lyrics by Kim Gannon, doesn’t simply translate the French text; it re‑imagines it slightly, focusing on the idea of the sky over Paris as a witness to love, chance encounters, and fleeting happiness. Musically, the song is somewhere between waltz and chanson, with a gentle lilt that suggests walking – or drifting – through narrow streets, along the Seine, past bridges and cafés. The melody arches upward as if looking at the sky and then falls back down into more intimate turns, like a conversation spoken softly at a table for two.

By the time “Under Paris Skies” was circulating internationally in the early‑to‑mid 1950s, it was already soaked in nostalgia. It sings of the romantic Paris everyone wants to remember – accordion music, cobblestones, kisses on riverbanks – but behind that picture‑book surface, you can still sense the fractures of the 20th century. It is not quite the carefree Paris of before 1914, and not yet the modern city of neon and cars; instead, it floats somewhere in between, like a dream in which different decades overlap.

Placed inside the context of Between The Wars, this piece works almost like a memory folded back on itself. Although it was written after the Second World War, it looks longingly toward an earlier Paris – the cafés, the boulevards, the restless, glittering city of the 1920s and 1930s. It is as if the post‑war generation were trying to call back the spirit of the time between the wars, to recover that lost version of the city by setting it to music again.

In a felt‑piano interpretation, “Under Paris Skies” loses its film‑music sheen and tourist‑postcard charm. There is no accordion, no orchestra, no bustling street noise – only the bare melody and a few carefully chosen harmonies. Slowed down and played close to the keys, the tune feels less like a guidebook’s promise and more like someone remembering a walk they once took, long ago, with someone they no longer see. The rise and fall of the melody becomes the rise and fall of breath, of footsteps, of a story retold silently.

Heard this way, the song stops being just an image of Paris and turns into something more universal: the way any city, any place, can become a container for personal history. “Under Paris Skies” becomes not only about Paris, but about the way we superimpose our own lives onto streets and bridges, until the map of a city is also a map of the heart. On felt piano, the famous sky over Paris is no longer filled with bright cinematic light; it is a softer, greyer sky, under which memory walks slowly and refuses to disappear.

Under Paries Skies  (Sous les ciel de Paris) 1953

“Someday My Prince Will Come” is a classic song from Disney’s first full‑length animated feature, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. The music was composed by Frank Churchill with lyrics by Larry Morey, and the song was first released in 1937. Sung in the film by Adriana Caselotti (the voice of Snow White), it later became a beloved jazz standard, famously recorded by artists such as Miles Davis and Bill Evans.

This recording is part of my Piano playlist, which explores songs from the early 1900s and the “between the wars” era and its surrounding decades. Each track is arranged as intimate solo piano—stripped of orchestration and vocals to focus on melody, harmony, and atmosphere. It is music for quiet listening, reflection, study, or late‑night moments.

In my interpretation of “Someday My Prince Will Come,” I bring out both sides of the song: the innocent fairytale hope from the original film and the deeper, more harmonically rich feeling that later jazz versions revealed.

1.) Melody & phrasing
The melody is treated as a clear, singing line, as if Snow White were still performing it. I use gentle rubato and small pauses before important notes, to suggest a mixture of longing, hope, and daydreaming. Phrases are allowed to breathe, with slight dynamic swells that follow the natural rise and fall of the tune.

2.) Harmony & piano texture
Harmonically, I respect the original Disney song while also nodding to the jazz tradition that grew around it. Soft reharmonizations, added 9ths, 6ths, and inner counter‑melodies give the piece a more modern color without losing its fairytale core. The left hand alternates between simple broken chords and more flowing arpeggios, while the right hand carries the tune like a voice. The piano sound is intimate and close, as if heard in a small room rather than a large hall.

3.) Mood & usage
This version balances sweetness and sophistication: it feels both like a lullaby from a 1930s animated film and a reflective ballad from the golden age of jazz. It works well as calm background music for reading, studying, or relaxing, but it also rewards focused listening if you want to follow its harmonic turns and dynamic nuances. Placed within the “between the wars” theme, it connects cinema history, early animation, and later jazz culture in one solo piano moment.

Someday My Prince Will Come 1937

“I’ve Got You Under My Skin” is a classic Cole Porter standard from 1936, originally written for the MGM musical film Born to Dance. Introduced on screen by Virginia Bruce, it later became one of the signature songs of Frank Sinatra and an essential part of the Great American Songbook—sophisticated, urbane, and charged with a mix of desire, tension, and elegance.

This recording belongs to my Piano playlist with the “between the wars” focus and its surrounding years. In this collection, songs from the 1920s–1940s are reimagined as intimate solo piano pieces. Everything is stripped down: no big band, no vocals, only melody, harmony, and space—music for late evenings, quiet work, or reflective listening.

In my interpretation of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” I highlight both its rhythmic drive and its underlying sense of obsession: the feeling of a thought or a person you just can’t escape.

1.) Melody & feel
The melody is delivered clearly and almost “spoken,” like a stylish monologue over a city nightscape. I keep the famous main line very song‑like, with subtle rubato to underline the lyric’s inner conflict—hesitating slightly before key notes and leaning into the phrases that would carry the most emotional weight in a vocal version. The tempo stays relaxed but has a quiet forward pull, hinting at the song’s original big‑band swing.

2.) Harmony & piano texture
Harmonically, I stay true to Porter’s sophisticated structure while adding soft jazz colors—extended chords with 7ths, 9ths, and inner moving voices. The left hand alternates between walking broken chords and more sustained, orchestral voicings, suggesting the ghost of a rhythm section without ever becoming too busy. The right hand treats the tune like a voice, occasionally breaking into short ornamental runs that evoke a horn player or singer taking a small liberty with the line. The piano sound is close and warm, as if played late at night in a half‑empty club or hotel bar.

3.) Mood & use
This version is meant to feel both elegant and intimate: a refined standard reduced to its emotional core. It works well as subtle background music—for reading, working, or winding down—but it also rewards focused listening, where you can follow the harmonic turns and dynamic shading. Placed within the “between the wars” theme, it captures the cosmopolitan atmosphere of the 1930s: sophisticated, a bit smoky, and quietly intense.

I've Got You Under My Skin  1936

Late Night Tales: Air

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For Seconds at a Time

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