“FREE, GENEROUS, AND RADIANT”: MALO MAZURIE’S “TAKING THE PLUNGE”

There are many ways to encounter the hallowed music of the past with integrity. One is to study it with such reverent adoration that one can become one’s idol, reproducing Bix’s SINGIN’ THE BLUES, Hawkins’ BODY AND SOUL, Lester’s SHOE SHINE BOY. This is not easily done and may be a lifelong quest. When it succeeds, a kind of magic happens: the audience can imagine that their hero is standing arm’s length away and they are in at the creation. Vince Giordano and the Nighthawks do this splendidly and have done so for decades.

The brilliant trumpeter Malo Mazurie can perform this music with ardor and expertise. On YouTube, you will see him splendidly being Bill Coleman in 1937 or a myriad of fabled hot brass players, in situations where he and other marvelous musicians are asked to play jazz first recorded eighty or a hundred years ago. It is a mystical world where SUMMERTIME is “a modern tune.” And, as Malo shows us in videos of live performance and discs made in the studio, he floats through that world with great style, honoring and summoning up Louis, Bix, Cootie and others.

His is a great art. But many of the musicians I know who can become other people onstage look forward to situations that allow and encourage them to be themselves. “Don’t you want to hear what I sound like?” might be the relevant question, said out loud or stifled. We admire the heroes of this art precisely because they were innovative in their time. Now, innovation within and beyond the tradition, created with ingenuity and affection, feels right.

Back to our hero, alive and flourishing in 2024.

But first, a few mnutes of delightful history. I first encountered him as one of THREE BLIND MICE, an extraordinary trio of Malo, trumpet; Felix Hunot, guitar, and Sebastien Giradot, double bass. Here they explore Willie “the Lion” Smith’s ECHOES OF SPRING with gentle audacity:

When I began to write this post, I soon found out that Malo, even when his name was not on the CD cover in bold type, was an essential part of record dates in the past decade that I love and return to; Felix Hunot’s THE JAZZ MUSKETEERS, David Lukacs’ DREAM CITY, Attila Korb’s THE ROLLINI PROJECT, the second volume of SATCHMOCRACY by the Jerome Etcheberry Popstet. He’s recorded several times with another hero of mine, the tenor saxophonist Michel Pastre. The recorded evidence shows why he is someone the finest players want on their sessions: he is a fluent player, erudite but not stiff, able to read the charts, improvise nobly, and change course in two bars without ever faltering.

TAKING THE PLUNGE is his first CD as a leader. On it, Malo and a splendid yet spare rhythm section of Noe Huchard, piano; Raphael Dever, double bass; David Grebil, drums, offer a guided tour of the country where Past and Future are best friends and go out for breakfast:

Malo is not only a master of his unforgiving instrument but also a wonderful composer. Hear his THE HOUSE OF SISTERHOOD, a gentle homage to the worlds of Billy Strayhorn:

and his gracious, inquiring CANDLELIGHTS:

The first track on the CD is Malo’s version of Morton’s THE PEARLS that I am particularly fond of:

Malo wrote, “This project represents a significant milestone for me, as it has been brewing for about a decade, but its fruition took time. So, after 4 relocations, 3 lockdowns, and 2 children, it was time! It was decided: this album would not be a revolution in jazz history nor a methodical exercise in style. It would simply be an unpretentious reflection of everything I love and that influences me in music.”

The repertoire is deep in what some might call “traditional jazz”: Ellington’s CREOLE RHAPSODY, Louis’ SOMEDAY YOU’LL BE SORRY, Bix’s DAVENPORT BLUES, Morton’s THE CHANT, SINGIN’ THE BLUES, in addition to the performances above. They are both respectful melodic explorations and candid reimaginings. Occasionally the performances of songs we know so well have a slight tilt. What I am reminded of is the sensation I had, as a child, seeing my house from across the street: completely familiar but not in an expected place. When I crossed the street and went “home,” it was reassuring to be there, but I had seen my house be two places at once. A gift.

In addition to the familiar jazz classics, Malo also offers, for good measure, seven original compositions — and they are original, not simply improvisations on more famous harmonies. H also encouraged the rhythm section “to play more open, to be wilder, be themselves (keeping the swing and the groove of course),” while he is playing “himself.” He says, “You can still hear some influences as they are all my heroes.”

Malo’s own words get to the heart of things. “This album represents for me a musical exploration, a journey through the styles and emotions I have felt since my discovery of the cornet at the age of seven . . . . Without attempting to achieve stylistic feats, I have endeavored to bring a contemporary and unique touch while preserving the conciseness of the message.

We sought to make this collective exploration free, generous, and radiant.”

Those are imposing and noble words, but when you hear TAKING THE PLUNGE, I think you will find them an accurate description of the music, lilting, personal, and vivid, that Malo and friends have created.

May your happiness increase!

WHILE BING WOOS, OTHERS APPEAR (1936)

Donald Meek, Madge Evans, Bing Crosby, Edith Fellows

The 1936 film PENNIES FROM HEAVEN had a thin story but a lovely score of songs by Johnny Burke and Arthur Johnston. We might know it best as the first appearance of the title song, or for the Louis Armstrong – Lionel Hampton extravaganza on SKELETON IN THE CLOSET. But there are other pleasures. Today, in conversation with the fine singer and swing-scholar Laura Windley, we happened to speak of LET’S CALL A HEART A HEART, perhaps best known in Billie Holiday’s version, recorded ten months after the film’s release. But I found this clip from the film, and, watching it again, reveled in the fine sound of Bing caressing a love ballad, watching move among the tables at “the Haunted House Cafe,” before seating himself face-to-face with Madge Evans, who is suitably demure while such high-level wooing, musical and personal, is aimed right at her. Then I noticed the band — the band! — on stage, seen but not heard. Yes, that’s Louis to the left, and Lionel Hampton, wearing a white domino, at the drums.

A lovely song, a touching performance, and an unexpected Louis-sighting. My day is complete.

When I wrote this post, I hadn’t seen the complete film in this century, and I wrongly asserted that this performance comes before the appearance of the SKELETON, who is chased away by Louis and Lionel. I was wrong. The cyber-nimble Laura Beth Wyman found a complete print online, which we can all admire here. In plot it isn’t CITIZEN KANE, but the lovely music makes up for all the silliness of the story and the dated humor. If you disagree, your money back.

May your happiness increase!

SHE HAS A HEALTHY SEXUAL DRIVE: DAVE STUCKEY, DAN BARRETT, CLINT BAKER, RILEY BAKER (Jazz Bash by the Bay, Monterey, California, February 29, 2024)

I could begin by casting a disapproving eye at a culture that treats exuberant female sexuality as a disorder, but you can figure that out for yourself. BESSIE COULDN’T HELP IT, however, is slightly subversive: the lyrics slyly celebrate unfettered desire in action while pretending to disapprove. We can guess why Bessie “yelled with delight,” and, as Martha Stewart used to say, “It’s a good thing.” On the sheet-music cover, note that a) Bessie is being pursued by Lilliputian admirers, and b) she is gorgeously larger-than-life.

The song became a sort of jazz standard because of recordings by Louis Armstrong and Hoagy Carmichael (the latter session including Bix Beiderbecke and Jack Teagarden); its first recording was by composer Byron Warner’s “Seven Aces,” and it has enjoyed special popularity with bands in the UK and Australia, for reasons I haven’t yet figured out.

It’s here because the charming impromptu performance is the first one I heard in the delightful jazz weekend called the Jazz Bash by the Bay, in Monterey, California, on February 29, a set featuring Dave Stuckey, guitar, vocals, and moral leadership; Dan Barrett, trumpet, trombone, vocal; Clint Baker, clarinet, trombone, trumpet, vocal; Riley Baker, double bass, trombone, vocal. Count up the doubling and you have an eloquent compact orchestra. It’s a pared-down version of Dave’s “Hot House Gang,” one of our favorite groups.

“THE BIG FOUR,” presented here, two by two:

and

And here’s Bessie, not someone with a disorder than needs medical help, but a hot heroine:

There will be more from this swinging quartet, and more from Monterey.

Bessie, I am sure, “could help it,” but why in the name of Eros would she have wanted to? Ileave you with that thought.

May your happiness increase!

VIC LOVES LOUIS (January 28, 1975)

You can hear the love Vic Dickenson had for Louis Armstrong in his playing. My ears tell me that Vic heard the OKeh Hot Fives and Sevens when they were new, and they made a profound impression. Louis and Vic recorded together only once, which is a pity, but they created four glorious sides in 1946, SUGAR and I WANT A LITTLE GIRL being the most memorable.

But I was there more than once when Vic, by his own choice (not responding to a request) walked boldly into WEST END BLUES and evoked the whole recording, beginning with annunciatory phrases that say, “Listen, everyone! This is important!”

And it remains so, decades later. This performance comes from Tuesday night, January 28, 1975, at Brew’s (156 East 54th Street, New York City) where Vic was among friends: Mike Burgevin, drums; Jimmy Andrews, piano; Red Balaban, string bass. Yes, the audience is oblivious, but their inattention gave the musicians room to breathe and be even more themselves.

Memorable beyond any words I could write here, not only as music but as a love-offering. To Louis, to us.

May your happiness increase!

FOR THE LOVE OF LOUIS: MARC CAPARONE’S “BACK O’TOWN” ALL STARS at the REDWOOD COAST MUSIC FESTIVAL: CHARLIE HALLORAN, JACOB ZIMMERMAN, CHRIS DAWSON, JAMEY CUMMINS, STEVE PIKAL, JOSH COLLAZO, DAWN LAMBETH (October 6, 2023)

Trumpeter / vocalist Marc Caparone leads his own superb evocation of the Louis Armstrong All-Stars at the Redwood Coast Music Festival, on October 6, 2023. They are, in addition to Marc, Charlie Halloran, trombone; Jacob Zimmerman, clarinet; Chris Dawson, piano; Jamey Cummins, guitar; Steve Pikal, double bass; Josh Collazo, drums; Dawn Lambeth, vocal.

Absolutely thrilling. No gimmicks, just lovely soulful Louis-inspired music.

Louis’ traditional first tune, BACK HOME AGAIN IN INDIANA:

A lovely SOMEDAY YOU’LL BE SORRY, one of Louis’ many songs about retribution, marital and otherwise:

Dawn Lambeth lights up the room with YOU ARE MY LUCKY STAR, one of Louis’ tender Deccas:

Back to the roots with SAINT LOUIS BLUES:

A favorite song, not played often enough, Carmen Lombardo’s SWEETHEARTS ON PARADE, with a fine unaffacted vocal by Marc, no handkerchief, no mugging:

And for an absolutely ecstatic finish, the fast blues named in honor of Louis’ Boston Terrier, STEAK FACE, featuring Josh Collazo’s electrifying drumming:

I mean no disrespect to the musicians, some of them phenomenal, who were Louis’ All-Stars from 1947-71, but if he had had THIS band backing him he’d be alive today. And I will tolerate no dissent on this.

And let’s assume you would like to hear this band live. They’ll be back at the 2024 Redwood Coast Music Festival, where good sounds and good feelings thrive.

May your happiness increase!

“SATCHMOCRACY,” VOLUME TWO: The Jérôme Etcheberry Popstet

You can guess that this CD has something to do with Louis Armstrong. What you might not be able to guess is its startling ingenuity and delightful surprises.

Here’s the opening flourish, sound and exuberance:

and a full-fledged regal treatment of WILLIE THE WEEPER:

and I CAN’T GIVE YOU ANYTHING BUT LOVE:

For some, this might be heresy. But it’s thrilling heresy to me. Here’s what I wrote about the first volume:

“SATCHMOCRACY: A TRIBUTE TO LOUIS ARMSTRONG” by the Jérôme Etcheberry – Popstet (2020)

And now these reverent-irreverent expert rascals are back with Volume Two.

They are Jérome Etcheberry, trumpet, musical director, arrangements; Malo Mazurié, trumpet; César Poirier, clarinet, tenor saxophone; Benjamin Dousteyssier, alto and baritone saxophone; Ludovic Allainmat, piano; Félix Hunot, guitar; Sébastien Girardot, double bass; David Grebil, drums.

And a bit of personal history.

When I first heard Louis Armstrong on record around 1960 and saw him on television, I was transfixed. But I’d started my Louis-journey in what may seem to some unusual places: his recordings with Gordon Jenkins, and his Town Hall Concert of 1947. When I began to read the official histories, I started at the beginning, with murky reissues of the Creole Jazz Band and the first volume of George Avakian’s Columbia opus, a selection of the Hot Five recordings of 1925-26. They were jarring to me: Louis soared above his much less adventurous peers. In time, I learned to appreciate acoustic recordings, to celebrate Ory, Dodds, Miss Lil, and St. Cyr. But when I first heard these canonical-records, I wanted to lift Louis out of his surroundings into more imaginative ones. SATCHMOCRACY has some of the same loving-heretical impulses, treating Louis’ startling solos as jewels to be given the finest re-setting, even if it’s not “idiomatic.” If there are any purists left, they might be found clutching their OKehs to their chests in righteous horror, but let them clutch. SATCHMOCRACY would, I am sure, make Louis very happy with its joyous imagination.

The songs are WILLIE THE WEEPER / I CAN’T GIVE YOU ANYTHING BUT LOVE / SKID-DAT-DE-DAT / KING OF THE ZULUS / I’M A DING DONG DADDY FROM DUMAS / WILD MAN BLUES / LIVING IN SATCHMOCRACY / SHINE / AIN’T MISBEHAVIN’ / ORIENTAL STRUT / SWEETHEARTS ON PARADE / HEEBIE JEEBIES / LAZY RIVER / CHICAGO BREAKDOWN / KNEE DROPS. Both volumes are available here.

Blaze on, dear fellows, and keep joyously startling us, much as Louis would have startled the record buyer who knew nothing of him. And thank you.

And just for fun — a little unexpected bonus from Jerome Etcheberry and friends, live in Paris:

I think “Wow!” is the appropriate reaction, don’t you?

May your happiness increase!

THANK YOU, DAN! (MISTER MORGENSTERN TURNS 94 TODAY)

We owe Dan Morgenstern more than one blogpost or a dozen can say. He’s one of those figures untainted by ideological squabbling; he’s written about so much that reading him has been a jazz education and, even more, an education in how to listen and how to feel. Then, of course, who else do we know who’s heard Django and Fats, talked with Louis and Lester and Bird, hung out with Lips Page and George Wein, Buddy Rich, Stan Getz, and Miles? Hail, Eminence! is what I say.

Tomorrow there will be a birthday party at Birdland, with the living Louis-soundtrack provided by David Ostwald’s Louis Armstrong Eternity Band. I wish I could invite you, but it’s sold out. As it should be.

So what I can do is twofold. One, since Dan reads this blog, if you care to send him a virtual hug, he will get it here. (He’s on Facebook but he ignores it.)

And second, I will post a few of the interviews he graciously granted me a few years ago: revealing, funny, heartbreaking, and genuine.

Pres:

Billie, part one:

and the conclusion:

Lee Konitz:

“Symphony Sid” Torin:

A heroic story of three people you wouldn’t think of in the same breath: Perry Como, Cozy Cole, and Joey Nash:

James Moody:

Bird:

Stan:

I’ve posed more than 110 of thee segments: a good deal on Louis, on record-collecting, on being “under the influence,” on Miles, Rowles, Tommy Benford, Tadd Dameron, Benny, Duke, Basie, Ella, Lena, and more. All there for the watching.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAN! We are lucky to share the planet, and the music, with you.

May your happiness increase!

PRICELESS.

I don’t have the wall space for all these holy relics, but the word “breath-taking” is for once accurate to describe my reaction when I saw this collection on eBay.

I have to explain, however, that the bidding closed yesterday; these actual 78s have been sold. However, I thought the images were priceless, so I saved them for the JAZZ LIVES audience. That way, should you desire it, you can have a photograph made of any or all of the labels, or use the image to decorate a coffee mug, a t-shirt, or what have you. The world of products is wide beyond belief. I write this note because someone asked, “Where can I find these records on eBay?” and I had to respond that they were no longer for sale.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

The seller’s description is candid and funny:

I AM CURRENTLY LISTING THIS 1ST GROUP OF A LARGE COLLECTION OF ORIGINAL 1930s-40s AUTOGRAPHED 78 RECORDS. THEY’RE FRESH OUT OF AN ESTATE. THEY ALL CAME FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. PLEASE SEE THE REST OF MY CURRENT LISTINGS FOR THE OTHER RECORDS IN THIS GROUP.

THE RECORDS ARE ALL ORIGINAL & IN THE ORIGINAL PERIOD THICK PAPER SLEEVES THEY WERE FOUND STORE IN. THE RECORDS ARE NOT CRACKED, CHIPPED, WARPED UP, MELTED, BROKEN, REPAIRED, POLISHED UP, CLEANED, MODIFIED OR REPAIRED. PLEASE NOTE: THE GROOVES ALL STILL HAVE A NICE SHINY SHEEN, BUT I HAVE NO WAY TO PLAY THE RECORDS TO SEE IF ANYTHING SKIPS. (I CANNOT OFFER A RETURN IN REFERENCE TO A RECORD SKIPPING.)

I ASSURE ALL BIDDERS THAT YOU’RE VIEWING AUTHENTIC ORIGINAL PERIOD HAND SIGNED AUTOGRAPHS. MOST ARE IN WHITE INK. THE SIGNATURES ARE NOT PRINTS, AUTO-PEN, FACSIMILE, ETC… THER’YE 100% REAL. I HOPE THESE RECORDS GO TO A GOOD COLLECTION. THEY’RE BEING OFFERED DIRECTLY FROM AN ESTATE & AS PICTURED HERE.

PLEASE TAKE NOTE: THESE ARE PRIMITIVE BRITTLE OLD SHELLAC RESIN 78RPM RECORDS. THEY WILL CRACK EASILY. DUE TO VALUE & EXTREME FRAGILITY, I CANNOT OFFER COMBINED SHIPPING FOR THIS ITEM. EACH RECORD WILL BE SHIPPED IN IT’S OWN SEPARATE BOX FOR SAFETY IN TRANSIT.

I don’t know anything more than that, but the collection includes records made c. 1938-1947. They also look well-played, which touches me: whoever chased after the musicians, white pen at the ready, valued the music in the grooves as much as the signatures. They came from an estate in the Georgetown area of Washington, D.C.

And, as I have said at length elsewhere, getting an autograph requires that one’s idol share a moment, a few words, eye contact, perhaps even a smile. One is in the presence of Greatness, and one has an invaluable souvenir to prove that the encounter happened.

Into the present — selling these now is, to me, more commendable than locking them away in a glass-fronted cabinet with its own alarm system with only one person allowed to admire them. Spread the joys!

So, without further ado, as they say —

EDDIE and FATS:

COOTIE on Capitol:

Well, HI-DE-HO to you, too!

The very dear Mr. Butterfield:

Big Tea:

The one, the only Rabbit:

Chicago’s ART:

Miss Ethel Waters!:

Little Jazz:

The HAMP:

Harry CARNEY:

a double-header or a trifecta, with JIMMY JONES and LAWRENCE BROWN:

from Freeport, New York, MIFF:

The Holy Main:

Fatha!

and Mr. B.:

Peggy:

Benny, in part:

and he’s in the groove:

Ella:

Was there anyone finer?:

Artie:

The one, the only:

Gene:

Stuff:

Mr. Berry, himself:

Louis Jordan:

Mister Hackett, very jovial:

There were others, but that’s a satisfying supply of marvels for now.

May your happiness increase!

THE PASSION OF LOUIS (1949)

It has become one of my life-purposes to share music and thoughts about music through this blog: music that makes you unable to speak because you are in tears; music that makes you smile goofily, that makes you tap the table or [want to] dance.

Thanks to Ricky Riccardi, the Louis Armstrong-man, I can share with you six minutes of music both passionate and impassioned.

SHOE SHINE BOY is a pretty tune — Sammy Cahn and Saul Chaplin — from 1935, played and sung early by Louis. The Count Basie band envisioned it as a wonderful vehicle for jamming, and they were memorably correct, but Louis’ performances (three that I know of) are unaffected celebrations of people who “work hard all day,” as he did as a child in New Orleans.

Here is Ricky’s warm erudite exposition of the 1935, 1942, and 1949 versions. The first two are on YouTube. The last comes from February 27, 1949, a performance at the Booker T. Washington Auditorium in New Orleans, and the other players are Jack Teagarden, trombone; Barney Bigard, clarinet; Earl Hines, piano; Arvell Shaw, double bass; Sidney Catlett, drums. The band knows the routine, so they had played it before, but I am immediately touched by Louis’ silently intent choice of tempo, slower and slower. “We’re not going to race through this song. This is a very important song,” I feel him thinking. “This is a gift for someone, for all the people who know how much a nickel means.”

Three choruses only. No high notes until the end, but a majestic controlled passion that few musicians or composers ever approach.

I could write more about this but you should hear it for yourself. Paraphrasing Emerson, to attempt to explain divinity is to profane it, and this art, this music is divine:

Isn’t that monumental and endearing both?

And this. Today I was speaking with the wonderful person and venerable trombonist Dick Dreiwitz (who took a lesson with Miff Mole once!) and I said, without premeditation, “We believe that Louis had a human father and mother, but I think the real story is that he came from another galaxy to show us how to live.” And Dick had no problem with that.

Listen again to SHOE SHINE BOY and marvel.

May your Louisness increase!

WOULD YOU CARE TO STOMP? (JON-ERIK KELLSO, EVAN ARNTZEN, ALBANIE FALLETTA, JEN HODGE, January 9, 2020)

Albanie Falletta and Jen Hodge, creating beauty.

Lulu White’s Mahogany Hall is no more, but the melodies linger on, and the four heroes above are still making music. Jon-Erik Kellso, trumpet; Evan Arntzen, clarinet; Albanie Falletta, Bonham resonator guitar; Jen Hodge, double bass, created the best seismic disturbances in honor of Louis Armstrong on January 9, 2020, at Cafe Bohemia, 15 Barrow Street, New York City.

MAHOGANY HALL STOMP:

Paradise.

May your happiness increase!

“HERE’S THE BEAUTIFUL PART”: RICKY RICCARDI GIVES US LOUIS ARMSTRONG, 1933

The New York State Medical Examiner’s Office would tell us that Louis Armstrong was pronounced dead on July 6, 1971. But that’s not something I have to believe in at all: rather, I follow the Bobby Hackett theology, that Louis isn’t dead as long as we can hear him. (This goes for the sainted Mr. Hackett and a million others also.)

Someone who single-handedly is intent in keeping Louis alive in the most loving ways is “My Boy” Ricky Riccardi, as Louis would have called him. He’s got all the data but he’s never pedantic; his approach is warm, human, musical, earthy, and funny.

Earlier this month, at the “Satchmo Summerfest” in New Orleans, Ricky gave an hour-long presentation (the time flew by) on a year in the life of Louis — 1933 — full of stories, music, surprises, a mystery or two, and emotion. Louis has the best acolyte here:

You will also want to know that Ricky has handed in the manuscript of his third book in his Louis-trilogy. STOMP OFF, LET’S GO! covers Louis as the child in New Orleans to his magnificent flourishing in Chicago and New York. I’ve read the manuscript, and it’s a wonder of loving detailed fast-moving biography.

Two heroes. Louis came first, but Ricky is grooving mightily.

May your happiness increase!

LUIS, LOUIS, and RED: RARE MUSIC AND SURPRISES (DotTime Records)

“Newly Discovered Recordings From The Closet” gets me every time, as does “Louis Armstrong,” and “Volume One, 1938-40.”

Before you read a word more, here’s some music.

AT THE SWING CATS BALL (composed by Luis Russell):

SLEEPY TIME DOWN SOUTH / Louis Armstrong speaks / JAMMIN’:

This CD exists because of the energies of Catherine Russell, daughter of Luis and Carline Ray, and Catherine’s husband, Paul Kahn, who has written the first biography of Luis Russell.

What’s contained:

Louis Armstrong and His Orchestra live from the Grand Terrace Ballroom, Chicago, February 1938:

Jammin’ / After You’ve Gone / Them There Eyes / Blue Rhythm Fantasy / I’ve Got A Heart Full of Rhythm / Riffs (Dunkin’ A Donut) Part 1 and 2 / Mister Ghost Goes to Town Part 1 and 2 //

“Luis Russell and his Orchestra,” same period, dates and locations unknown:

Ol’ Man River / Heebie Jeebies / At The Swing Cats Ball / Algiers Stomp / Hot Bricks //

Louis Armstrong & Orchestra live, featuring Sonny Woods vocals, WABC, recorded by Chappie Willet – December 17, 1939 and February 25, 1940:

Melancholy Lullaby – Lilacs In the Rain / Leanin’ On the Ole Top Rail – Gotta Get Home //

Luis Russell, solo stride piano, recorded by Chappie Willet – February 28, 1940:

Rippling Waters / Fussin’ / Echo of Spring / Moonlight Cocktail //

From the liner notes by Paul Kahn:

The recordings contained in this collection were recently discovered in a closet of a once working musician. What makes this discovery revelatory is the source, Luis Russell (born Panama Aug 5, 1902, died New York City Dec 11, 1963). A pioneer of early jazz, Luis was an orchestra leader, arranger, composer, and pianist of the first order of magnitude. The recordings, which span a two year period from 1938 through 1940, are primarily radio airchecks, captured by a single wire and cut directly onto a glass or shellac disc. During this period, Luis and his orchestra were doing double duty, serving as Louis Armstrong’s orchestra on stage and on recordings for the Decca label, while also touring and performing as Luis Russell Orchestra without Armstrong.

Luis wanted to hear how his orchestra sounded. The selections he chose to capture from live gigs were, with a few exceptions, songs that he never recorded or released in studio versions. We are able, many decades later, to be a “fly on the wall” at his gigs. We hear material the orchestra leader wanted to playback as a tool for fine tuning his approach.

The recordings were transfered by sound engineer, Doug Pomeroy, the preeminent expert at historical audio restoration. Heavily worn, an indication that Luis Russell listened to them repeatedly, Doug coaxed as much music as possible, using specialized styluses of varied sizes, caressing each side of every groove. A single source capturing a 16 piece orchestra on one channel, without the ability to balance or mix, followed by years of wear, was the grist for Doug Pomeroy’s mill. Another proviso; the source materials were among the roughest Doug had ever encountered. The resulting sound quality reflects these limitations. In some cases, we have only a fragment of the song. The recordings were never intended for commercial release.

When initially discovered, they were shared with a small group of dedicated and generous jazz historians. The response was enthusiastic, with a unanimity that these recordings deserved to be heard and enjoyed. The music shines through as a fascinating document; rarities curated by the leader of one of the greatest orchestras in the history of jazz, including a lineup of legendary, stellar musicians, performing at the peak of their powers.

This is a delightful production for many reasons, aesthetic as well as historical. It is not only “for collectors,” because the music is accessible Swing. And it rewrites conventional jazz history and tosses some accepted assessments in the trash from where, one hopes, they will never rise again.

Aesthetically: a cross-section of hot and sweet African-American dance music balanced between vibrant improvisations and superb swing arrangements. The improvisers? Luis Russell, Louis Armstrong, Henry “Red” Allen, J. C. Higginbotham, Charlie Holmes, Albert Nicholas, Pops Foster, Paul Barbarin — not incidentally a reunion of the bands Russell led in person and on records 1929-34. Only a few of the songs captured for us here were ever recorded commercially, so we get a substantial panorama of what this orchestra, with and without Louis at the helm, sounded like outside of the confines of the recording studio. Louis himself sounds spectacular, which is no surprise. Vocals by Sonny Woods and Bobbie Caston are period pieces, but intriguing ones. So someone who wants to know what a top Black band sounded like, playing for dancers, in this period, will find this an invaluable Swing time-machine.

That’s the band, and for those who have read in liner notes that it was only a machine created to support Louis as he played higher and higher will be pleasantly surprised.

And to the pianist, Luis Russell. He didn’t solo often on recordings, and his playing has been characterized uncharitably: the words “a lazy piano interlude” stick in my head. But I feel that he played for the comfort of the band all through his career: solid, harmonically and rhythmically supportive. Louis Armstrong spent part of his career with Earl Hines, but he really didn’t like flashy playing behind him — distracting and unpredictable — so Russell was his man for decades. But lest you think that Luis was a man of limited capabilities, the four brief stride solos — demanding compositions by Willie “the Lion” Smith and Luckey Roberts — must call for a re-evaluation of the pianist we thought we knew. They might be a touch more careful than James P. or Fats are their most virtuosic, but I challenge any reviewer or listener to match them.

Louis had his band play an opening set — for swing cats and jitterbugs — before he appeared. It was good theatre and gave his chops a half-hour or more rest (he was probably warming up in his dressing room). The five performances presented here as “Luis Russell and his Orchestra” come from those dance sets, and are precious, not only because they show off the band, swinging, but because they give the astonishing trumpeter Henry “Red” Allen solos.

Jazz historians of the last century often didn’t have the evidence we do to base their theories on, so they relied predictably on commercial recordings. Thus, when Red took a chair in Louis’ powerful trumpet section, the assumption was that he was a mere oarsman in the galley. I recall reading that he was “buried,” and living in Louis’ “shadow.” True, we don’t hear him on Louis’ Deccas (although he was recording often under his own name in this period) — but a few years ago, we could hear him setting fires all through the radio broadcasts from Louis’ Fleischmann’s Yeast programs. He is even more joyously present on this disc, announced by name, and soaring.

Thus. A hot band, Louis Armstrong, hearing Luis Russell anew, Red Allen, J.C. Higginbotham in their prime: a delicious collection of surprising rarities. You can buy a disc (with wonderful photographs) or download the music here. Swing Cats unite!

May your happiness increase!

ON A WEDNESDAY NIGHT IN GREENWICH VILLAGE, SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO: “THE GOTHAM JAZZMEN” at THE CAJUN (PETER ECKLUND, PETER SOKOLOW, LEROY “SAM” PARKINS, JAMES LINCOLN COLLIER, DICK WALDBURGER, JOEL SCHIAVONE: July 19, 2006)

I don’t know how the distance of seventeen years feels to my readers. At once, it is a blink; another, a voyage back into the distant past. But in July 2006 — in this case, on a Wednesday night — I could park my car at the train station, take the Long Island Railroad and the downtown “A” to The Cajun, near 18th Street on Eighth Avenue. Once inside, I could greet Sean the bartender, or perhaps Arlene [Lichterman] who can be heard in the background, and Herb [Maslin], who ran the place. I could find a table close to the bandstand, order some diligently mediocre food (I visited there enough times to eat my way through the menu in search of satisfaction). I could say hello to the musicians who knew me or introduce me to others, ask to set up my camera, and prepare to enjoy and record some classic jazz.

Barbara Rosene’s painting, above, brilliantly evokes The Cajun’s slightly worn pretensions to splendor, much more than the photograph here.

A few days ago I encountered the neat piles of mini-DVD discs I had recorded in the years before I graduated to my current camera.

In 2006, I had a Sony model that recorded on a disc the size of a bar coaster that held at most 30 minutes of visual and auditory information. Out of curiosity, I started to play one of the discs, and was buffeted by nostalgia and appreciation at once. Because I wanted to be sure of my judgment of these performances, I asked a musician-friend who played the Cajun often if I should make these performances public, and he said yes. We agreed that the band had imperfections but also brilliance. You will be able to tell which is which.

The band, “the Gotham Jazzmen,” who had a regular gig at the New York Public Library’s Donnell branch, were a repertory company, combining professional musicians who wanted the opportunity to play and others, aspiring to professionalism. The leader was pianist-singer, Waller-and-klezmer-inspired Peter Sokolow; Dick Waldburger, string bass; the much-missed Peter Ecklund played cornet; Leroy “Sam” Parkins brought his reeds and asides. (After JUST FRIENDS, he asks me if I’ve gotten “anything good.”)

These videos remind me of Ecklund’s magnificent lyrical steadiness, his dancing phrases always landing on their feet, and of Sam’s daring explorations in sound and space. I knew Sam better but I miss them both.

Others in the band that night were James Lincoln Collier, trombone, who had written an early ungenerous biography of Louis Armstrong, and the drummer may have been Joel Schiavone.

One of the nice things about Peter Sokolow’s leadership — he also can be heard asking his colleagues what they would like to play — is that he leaned towards Thirties Swing and timeless Mainstream, with repertoire not always heard in groups of this ilk.

Here are two segments: I recorded the entire evening, almost two hours of performance, and would post more if there was enthusiasm about the idea. Comments, anyone? But only positive ones, please.

HONEYSUCKLE ROSE (vocal PS) / EMALINE / ALICE BLUE GOWN / DREAM MAN (vocal PS: incomplete):

I’VE GOT THE WORLD ON A STRING (vocal PS) / JUST FRIENDS / THE LONESOME ROAD (PS):

This music still exists; its sweet rambunctiousness can be heard if you know where to look. But The Cajun, grotty and weathered, was a special eccentric shrine for those of us, onstage and off, who knew it well.

May your happiness increase!

THEIR FORECAST IS FOR CLEAR SKIES: MARC CAPARONE’S BACK O’TOWN ALL-STARS (Redwood Coast Music Festival, September 30, 2022: Marc Caparone, Charlie Halloran, Jacob Zimmerman, Dan Walton, Jamey Cummins, Steve Pikal, Josh Collazo)

Louis Armstrong, sustained by optimism, loved to play and sing ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET. And he approached it from different angles. His 1934 recording is a stroll both leisurely and intense; his 1956 version has even more majesty. In the middle, a 1938 airshot (with Fats Waller, Jack Teagarden, and Bud Freeman) catches him at his most joyfully athletic, as if he and the band can barely contain themselves and stay earthbound.

Incidentally, have you seen the new documentary LOUIS ARMSTRONG’S BLACK AND BLUES? It’s astonishing: read more here.

But back to the music. Marc Caparone is one of those beings lit by Louis, and he assembled his own evocation of Louis’ All-Stars for the 2022 Redwood Coast Music Festival, featuring Charlie Halloran, trombone; Jacob Zimmerman, reeds; Dan Walton, piano; Jamey Cummins, guitar; Steve Pikal, string bass; Josh Collazo, drums. I’ve posted the Collazo-ecstasy STEAK FACE — stop what you’re doing and get groovy.

Now, ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET from the same date:

I know it’s heresy, but this group rocks in its own way far more than some editions of Louis’ group did. I look forward to their sets at the 2023 Redwood Coast Music Festival, and I know I’ll be surrounded by like-minded friends in Eureka, California this October, driving the clouds away.

May your Louisness increase!

LOUIS ARMSTRONG and HIS HOT HARLEM BAND ON THE RADIO (Sweden and Holland, October 28 and November 9 or 12, 1933)

The five recordings that I present here (thanks to Musicmouth Records and the Storyville reissue, ARMSTRONG IN SCANDINAVIA, and Timeless Records’ CD, “THE GREAT THIRTIES: AMERICANS IN HOLLAND)” are the second and third documentation on record of Louis Armstrong in live performance — captured in concert — that we have. As such, they are precious artifacts, not to be taken lightly.

The film footage seen in COPENHAGEN, KALUNDBORG, OG? comes from performances of October 21-23, 1933, and I would hope that life-changing film is known to everyone who loves Louis and hot jazz. But these performances are much less publicized, and I delight in sharing them with you.

Louis’ “Hot Harlem Band” did not come from uptown New York City, but their heat and enthusiasm are undeniable: Louis Armstrong (tp,vcl) Charles D. Johnson, trumpet; Lionel Guimares, trombone, Peter DuConge, clarinet, alto saxophone; Henry “Hy” Tyree, alto saxophone; Fletcher Allen, tenor saxophone; Justo Baretto, piano; German Arago, string bass; Oliver Tines, drums. The autographs below include Jack Hamilton on trumpet, who may also be in these recordings.

And this music comes with stories worthy of a jazz BBC mystery series. The first three sides were recorded off the air by a hip radio engineer who took advantage that the state radio station had blank discs — early espionage? — and two of the three sides were issued on a 78 issue of perhaps 25 copies. I first heard them on this vinyl issue, circa 1975.

The last two sides, on one acetate, turned up at an estate sale / flea market and were purchased by a lucky and generous Dutch collector, Jan Sieders, who chose to share his treasure with the wide world. And since it was a homemade “instantaneous disc,” one of a kind, it is beyond remarkable that it survived. It’s debatable whether it was recorded from the radio, or, even more remarkably, at the concert.

Where the lights are low, in CHINATOWN, MY CHINATOWN:

What makes you so no-good, YOU RASCAL YOU?

Grab your hat, and meet me ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET:

Another indictment, YOU RASCAL YOU:

There’s no one finer than Louis — I mean DINAH:

Music performed live is evanescent. Thank goodness several wise Europeans wanted Louis’ sounds — and his vibrant presence — to last beyond the moment. Eighteen minutes of timeless joy for us, across miles and decades.

May your Louisness increase!

“LISTENIN’ LOUIE,” by MATTHEW RIVERA

[Note from Michael: I have not been able to repair the odd spacing: WordPress has gone in for lessons from some intriguing poets. Don’t blame the writer.]

Matthew’s essay was originally published in the WKCR-FM program guide.

In Chicago on April 24, 1933, Louis Armstrong—“floating” on reefer as the tenor player Budd Johnson recalled it—made “Laughin’ Louie,” one of five sides he cut for Victor that day. 1 His
band sets off with a hurdy-gurdy beat and shouts a unison “yeah!” before Armstrong announces
he’s about to practice the trumpet. Then all swing breaks loose with Keg Johnson roaring on the
trombone, his brother Budd chasing him on tenor, and Armstrong announces he’s going to play
an “old fashioned good one”: a single note inspires an uproar of laughter, twice, then with no
accompaniment, Armstrong plays a beautiful melody. He swings it, but he doesn’t quell the
hecklers. And then, magic. “Now here’s the beautiful part. Listen.” It’s the notes, it’s the way he makes them and places them, carefully, like a surgeon of the soul, following that beat, taking his time to hear a phrase just before he plays it, finally building to a herculean high concert F. It’s the notes and the audible silences around them, the big room tone of 1143 Merchandise Mart, the sound of anticipation, the sound of listening. No more heckling. Finis.
This is the stuff that brims over the heart—the lyrical Armstrong, the identity, the humor, the
spirit. It is also the stuff of Louis the listener, consuming the sounds and sights around him with
avid observance, Louis the archivist, preserving his life on record, and Louis the artist, crafting it
all into a flood tide of expression, a complete worldview. Vince Giordano has identified the old
fashioned melody on “Laughin’ Louie” as Minnie T. Wright’s “Love Song” from 1920, which
Armstrong probably played accompanying silent movies with Erskine Tate’s Vendome Orchestra
around 1926, and of course “Laughin’ Louie” pays homage to a huge hit of 1923, “The OKeh
Laughing Record,” a gag recording of a struggling trumpet player who elicits laughter. Ricky
Riccardi, Armstrong’s head archivist and curator, notes, “Louis loved ‘The Okeh Laughing
Record’ and owned a copy of it, transferring it to reel-to-reel tape many times and even joining
in with the laughter one time when dubbing it with some friends.” 2 Another dimension of Laughin’ Louie, then: memory. I can see Armstrong there in the recording studio, eyes closed, hearing the OKeh laughing record, hearing the Erskine Tate band, and then, Joe Oliver, Bunk Johnson, Buddy Petit, Kid Rena, the ancestors, as he sculpts each phrase. Finally he opens his eyes, looks up at the ceiling, and reaches that high concert F—and now, Louis Armstrong.
Here on Armstrong’s 122nd birthday, we take our offerings to the monument by celebrating his
statements, that is, by playing his records. The opening credenza of “West End Blues”; the stop
time breaks on “Potato Head Blues”; the scat chorus on “Heebie Jeebies”; the first recorded solo
on “Chimes Blues”; the “Oh memory!” take of “Stardust”; the triumph that is “Swing That
Music”; “Back ‘O Town Blues”; “That’s for Me”; At the Crescendo; Ella and Louis; “Hello,
Dolly”; “What a Wonderful World”; even “Laughin’ Louie.”

Each is a piece of the whole and a world unto itself. But as powerfully as he made these statements, Armstrong, it seems to me, listened twice as powerfully. Twice he tells us to listen on “Laughin’ Louie,” and thanks to his self-archiving, we know that listening was an essential part of his craft. On hundreds of reel-to-reel tapes he made during the last two decades of his life, Armstrong acts as an avid DJ, re-recording records from his vast collection, often listening with an open mic, and occasionally playing along with them. Like the collages of clippings, photographs, and scotch tape he created outside his reel-to-reel boxes, on the tapes themselves we hear Armstrong collecting sources, compiling inspirations, memories, ideas, heart. We hear him listening.

It’s all there on “Laughin’ Louie.” Like an aural collage, taped together with laughs and cries of
“yeah man!” Armstrong calls the recording a practice session, a glimpse at the creative process
behind all those statements we celebrate on July 4th, August 4th, and every other day of the year. As with the tape collages and the recordings, he sutures his public and private personas, his
personal and impersonal histories, in order to speak for himself. The word collage, strictly
speaking, comes from the French for sticking or gluing, but in a more colloquial sense, it also
can mean “having an affair, or an unmarried couple ‘living in sin.’” Today it may be difficult to hear the radicalism of Armstrong’s combination of previously “unmarried” sources in both his collages and his music, but in “Laughin’ Louie,” it’s right at the fore: the humor of the first section of the record, a little ditty written by Clarence Gaskill, and then the heart wrenching “Love Song.” “Laughin’ Louie,” with its not-so-subtle association of getting high and high love, of a new pleasure madness and a decaying Victorian sentimentality, of mass culture’s uncertain acceleration towards both liberation and Fascism, is in this sense a statement of the age.

Working in Armstrong’s archives over the past few months has added to my own densely layered
collage of Armstrong. A few details rise to the fore: a photograph of an old Armstrong wearing a
pair of headphones that engulf his ears; a flattened pot leaf in one of Jack Bradley’s books; a
letter to Armstrong’s once wife Lil filled with a slew of dirty jokes that FCC regulations would
prevent us from reading over the air; a huge print of Armstrong eating spaghetti over the desk
where I’ve been working at the scanner. Somewhere in the process of recently moving
Armstrong’s massive collection from Queens College to the new Louis Armstrong Center, I
overhear Alex, the main archives packer, comment on the numerous books about Hitler in
Armstrong’s voluminous library. Ricky tells Alex, “Armstrong said you have to learn about your
enemies before you can hate them.” And somewhere I hear that high concert F.

Notes:

1 Satchmo: The Louis Armstrong Encyclopedia, p. 180
2 Ricky Riccardi, “Six Minutes with Satch: Laughing’ Louie / Tomorrow Night”
https://dippermouth.blogspot.com/2020/04/six-minutes-with-satch-laughin-louie.html

And here‘s the music for “Love Song”: try it over on your piano, as sheet music used to suggest.

And a few words from Michael, who regards all things Louis as sacred.

Having read the piece above, you won’t need me to tell you that Matthew Rivera, although not yet thirty, is a superb writer / thinker with great emotional depth. He not only looks but sees, and he, too, listens. And he has many talents: WKCR-FM broadcaster, creator of the Hot Club of New York, connoisseur of improvised music on 78 rpm records, deep student of modern culture and not just jazz . . .

I’m honored to present his memorable essay on our Louis.

May your happiness increase!

ARTERO PLAYS ARMSTRONG PLAYS MONK

I have revered Louis Armstrong for over half a century now, and this performance (exerpted from a longer Nice concert, also available on this channel) never fails to move me. Patrick Artero understands and embodies Louis here in every molecule of his being, and the band — heroes all! — reminds me at points of one of Louis’ 1933 Victor recordings, at others an expanded version of his Fifties All-Stars. Whatever and whichever: this five-minute interlude makes me want to stand up and put my hand over my heart.

Your response may be less histrionic, but I urge you to watch and listen.

And perhaps some reader with connections will pass this on to M. Artero so he can know how his music reverberates with such grand passion. If I am correct that the lovely evocative arrangement is by M. Baudoin, I salute him equally. Dan Morgenstern told me that Gil Evans, a great Louis-admirer, wanted to do arrangements for a Louis record date, but the project never came to pass. Some of the floating textures of this arrangement made me think of what Gil might have done.

Although Monk — among those who know his music only superficially — is perhaps still perceived as more angular than romantic, ASK ME NOW should put those ideas to rest.

ANACHRONIC JAZZ BAND (La grande parade du jazz, Nice, July 16, 1977, broadcast June 6, 1978): Patrick Artero, trumpet; Daniel Barda, trombone; Marc Richard, clarinet; André Villeger, tenor saxophone; Daniel Huck, vocal, clarinet, alto saxophone; Philippe Baudoin, piano; Gérard Gervois, brass bass; Patrick Diaz, banjo; Bernard Laye, drums.

Soon, we will arrive at that point in the summer where people who like to argue can argue about the correct date for Louis’s birthday. I know what I think, but every day that we can listen and watch music like this is a birthday celebration, with Louis and his children giving us presents.

May your happiness increase!

P.S. I’m still in exile from Facebook, having been hacked on May 7: if the spirit moves you, please share this post with your friends. Thank you!

Hidden in Plain Sight, Volume Two: TEDDY WILSON, STAN GETZ, BOB BERTEAUX, JIMMY PRATT (Falcon Lair, Beverly Hills, California, July 3, 1955)

My title, I think a borrowing from Poe, refers to those musical performances, rare and surprising, that have gone unobserved on YouTube for months and years. Volume One can be found here.

Joe Castro with Louis Armstrong and Teddy Wilson, backstage at Basin Street in 1956

Doris Duke is usually identified as tobacco heiress, philanthropist, and socialite. She’s less well-known as a fervent supporter of jazz and an amateur pianist. She and pianist / singer / composer Joe Castro had a lengthy relationship, and Doris’ devotion to jazz led her to stage and record jam sessions in studios on both coasts. Two CD box sets on the Sunnyside label, under Castro’s name — LUSH LIFE and PASSION FLOWER — collect astonishing recordings in first-rate sound, the participants relaxed and eloquent. Here, Castro is not the pianist, but Doris’ friend Teddy Wilson is.

Teddy and Stan Getz only recorded together on one other occasion — the soundtrack of the BENNY GOODMAN STORY, but nothing quite so personal as this quartet, where they are supported splendidly by Bob Berteaux, string bass; Jimmy Pratt, drums. I hear parallels to PRES AND TEDDY (which had not yet happened) and the Lester Young – Nat Cole – Buddy Rich date, but Stan is very much himself here, and the quartet soars and muses beautifully.

FALCON BLUES (BLUES IN G):

SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME:

JUST ONE OF THOSE THINGS:

OUT OF NOWHERE:

I WANT TO BE HAPPY:

“Hidden in Plain Sight”? When I assembled these titles for this post, I noted that the music had been on YouTube for three years and none of these performances had received more than a hundred views. Surprising is the most gentle way I can put it. Some digging on YouTube often yields treasure.

May your happiness increase!

CONTEMPORARY ANALYSIS PUTS IT ALL IN A NEW LIGHT: TRAUMA, ADDICTION, CLMATE CHANGE, and GLOBAL WARMING

A site called Hello Music Theory posted this morning “21 Of The Best Songs About Nature And The Environment.” I was delighted to see that they led off with Louis Armstrong, although less so that their selection was “What a Wonderful World.”

And the biographical sketch that follows is sympathetic — but couched in language that would have Louis either laughing or furious (I can’t tell):

Born in 1901 and raised in New Orleans, Louis Armstrong knew firsthand the disastrous effects of climate change and global warming. Despite that, his song, “What a Wonderful World,” is a ballad that lauds the beauty of nature.

From “trees of green” to “clouds of white,” this is a song that mentions forms of nature. Here, Armstrong sings about the beauty of the world around him. However, it’s not just the nature he praises. He also brings attention to friendship and care among people.

The song is a testament to Armstrong’s love of nature and his native city, a Southern oasis home to great oaks and Spanish moss. The song also has a deeper meaning. Armstrong struggled most of his life with trauma and addiction, yet he maintained a cheerful, positive attitude through it all.

I suppose you could call Louis’ poor childhood traumatic. I wouldn’t call his use of marijuana an addiction, and wonder at that censorious term. As to his awareness of global warming and climate change . . . I am more ready than most to give him credit for being omniscient and prescient, but I couldn’t think of his commentary on those subjects. Until the light bulb went on and I realized that his 1927 OKeh recording was not simply an improvisation on the chords of TIGER RAG, but a scientific commentary on rising temperatures. Hear it in a whole new light:

Scorching, no?

Thanks to Ricky Riccardi, who is, even as I speak, writing the definitive book on Louis’ early years — from New Orleans to Chicago, from fireworks and coal cart to fame and recordings. It will be the first volume of his trilogy which already covers Louis from 1929 to the end, with new stories on every page.

May your happiness increase!

“A BIG HUNK OF TERRIFIC JIVE”: ALMOST 900 PAGES, TO BE PRECISE

If you were in school before Google, you know what reference books look like. Dark cloth bindings fraying at top and bottom, thin yellowed pages, tiny type, a dusty smell, heavy in the hand. Useful to find an errant fact but not in the least entertaining.

Mark Cantor’s two-volume book —

The Soundies

THE SOUNDIES: A HISTORY AND CATALOG OF JUKEBOX FILM SHORTS OF THE 1940s (forewords by Leonard Maltin and Will Friedwald) published by McFarland, is a vibrant contradiction of the stereotype. It’s full of lively information, photographs, and vibrant stories. And its cover is a bright orange.

Here’s an eleven-minute film interlude: a tour through Soundies themselves, with Mark as guide:

The publisher writes:

The 1940s saw a brief audacious experiment in mass entertainment: a jukebox with a screen. Patrons could insert a dime, then listen to and watch such popular entertainers as Nat “King” Cole, Gene Krupa, Cab Calloway or Les Paul. A number of companies offered these tuneful delights, but the most successful was the Mills Novelty Company and its three-minute musical shorts called Soundies.

This book is a complete filmography of over 2,500 Soundies: the musicians heard and seen on screen, recording and filming dates, arrangers, soloists, dancers, entertainment trade reviews and more. Additional filmographies cover more than 80 subjects produced by other companies. There are 125 photos taken on film sets, along with advertising images and production documents. More than 75 interviews narrate the firsthand experiences and recollections of Soundies directors and participants. Forty years before MTV, the Soundies were there for those who loved the popular music of the 1940s. This was truly “music for the eyes.”

I first encountered the Soundies through the famous ones by Duke Ellington (with Ben Webster, Ray Nance, Rex Stewart, and Sonny Greer) and Louis Armstrong (with precious glimpses of Sidney Catlett driving the orchestra) — then I found Mark Cantor’s invaluable website, https://www.jazz-on-film.com/. (He also calls it “Celluloid Improvisations.”)

Now, I can hear some of you saying, “I like jazz, and I like to see my heroes on film. I can see these Soundies on YouTube. Whatever do I need this book, these books, for?”

It’s true that the bulk of the book is, as its title states, a catalog of these film shorts. But what a deeply researched catalog! To explain the book’s many virtues, let us imagine someone seeing this Soundie for the first time:

Certain things are obvious: the title, director, and producer. Ellington announces Ben Webster, and it’s clear the band and he are playing COTTON TAIL. But who are the dancers? And when was this filmed?

THE SOUNDIES has the answers and more. On page 226 of the first volume, even a casual reader would learn that the Soundie was released on February 2, 1942, that the legendary dancers are Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers, featuring Frankie Manning and Norma Miller. Cantor’s book also includes contemporary press reviews and the one-word description on the Soundies production sheet, in this case, “Colored.”

Then the book can reveal more, even to someone paging through casually.

The very first Soundie, thus the first entry in the listing, is SWEET SUE by Six Hits and A Miss, accompanied by the Lorraine Page Orchestra but the music is provided by composer Victor Young’s Orchestra and he is briefly seen on screen. In addition, the orchestra includes Andy Secrest, trumpet; Arthur Schutt, piano; Bill Rank, trombone; Spike Jones, drums.

Not all the performers listed for every Soundie are audible; Mark has dug out information from union contracts and recollections of the musicians. In one case, Dave Tough is playing drums in 1946 Soundies by Gracie Barrie, accompanied by Jerry Jerome’s Orchestra, but he’s not recognizable.

THE SOUNDIES will add information to what we know about Eddie South and Henry “Red” Allen, but the shorts were not restricted to jazz, which makes the volumes even more valuable as a cross-section of musical taste from 1940 to 1947. But for every solo by Don Stovall, there is comedy, vaudeville, war propaganda in song, mild double-entendre, calypso, and more. (A student of popular culture of the time could dive into this book and never come up for air.)

And more. The book begins with a history of the companies that made these films, the machinery that played them, and — in the process — offers priceless information about singers, dancers, and night spots. “Jaw-dropping” is not a usual phrase in my vocabulary, but it describes my reaction to page 84, where Mark has included a small advertising card from Small’s Paradise — the band then appearing was Charlie Johnson’s Paradise Orchestra. New to me, and thrilling.

And even more. One of the most delightful sections of the book is a thirty-plus-page compendium of interviews of people connected with the Soundies. Not surprisingly, the stories spring off the page. Some of the people Mark has spoken with are Van Alexander, Tony Mottola, Les Paul, Ray Anthony, David Raskin, Abe Most, Jane Harvey, Hugh Martin, Joe Wilder, Mary Osborne, Martha Tilton, Kay Starr, Liza Morrow, Tiny Grimes, Pete Candoli, and more.

Three tales:

Saxophonist Jay Migliori tells of making Soundies with the Gene Krupa band when Roy Eldridge was a member and the director saying that Roy could not be seen in the trumpet section. Gene’s reaction? “Pack up, boys,” and Roy stayed.

Mark himself tells the story of watching a Lucky Millinder Soundie — with a trombonist he couldn’t identify — with trombonist Benny Powell and reedman Joe Farrell:

They both watched attentively and seemed stumped. But then Joe asked Benny, “Could that be Trombonesky?” Yes, said Benny, it was a legendary Harlem trombone player everyone listened to, but who mysteriously vanished without a trace. I dutifully took notes and always told audiences about this amazing, unknown musician. “Ladies and gentlemen, please note that this is the only film, or recorded evidence, of the legendary Trombonesky, a Harlem musician briefly on the scene, influencing others, then disappearing in 1941 and not heard from since.“

It was years later that I realized I had been conned by these two wonderful gentlemen , who didn’t recognize the soloist as Floyd Brady and decided to put me on. Hats off to their superb improvisation and acting skills. Trombonesky, R.I.P.

And an expurgated comment from the exuberantly profane Henry Nemo:

“Kay Penton [who appears with Nemo in the Soundie Hip Hip Hooray (entry 907)] was really hot. She was what we used to call a real dish, had a great pair of tits. I wanted to get something going with her, but she didn’t have eyes for me.”

“Shit, man, I can’t recall hardly anything from back then. It was just something to make a little money. You don’t really carry that type of thing with you through the years. Let’s see another movie!”

Anything done carefully and with passion is in itself indelibly intriguing. For forty years, Mark Cantor has been doing the hard work that makes this book remarkable. And although his website already has space for additions and corrections, no other book will replace this one. And it’s fascinating, whether the reader starts dutifully at the begining or dips in here and there.

By the way, my title — approved by Mark — refers to a reviewer’s praise for the substantial singer, June Richmond, in a Soundie. But it surely applies to these volumes: enlightening, full of surprises, and great fun.

May your happiness increase!

P.S. As I write this, May 23, 2023, I am still exiled from Facebook because of a hacking two weeks prior. If you are on FB and know someone else who would like to read this, please pass it on. Thank you.

SOUND THE TRUMPETS! FOR LOUIS and EARL: RANDY REINHART, JON-ERIK KELLSO, BOB BARNARD, DUKE HEITGER, JOHN SHERIDAN (Jazz at Chautauqua, September 15, 2007)

I first heard the Louis Armstrong – Earl Hines duet on WEATHER BIRD about fifty years ago, and I write that as a point of pride, not as a marker of senescence. It is a marvel, and if you are unfamiliar with it, please take three minutes and hear it again on YouTube or whatever music-purveyor you use. We’ll wait. (There are at least ten versions on YouTube, one of them the 78 that was Mel Powell’s cherished copy.)

In the past decades, I’ve heard recreations of that recording, most notably the three-trumpet choir that Dick Hyman would assemble for this New York Jazz Repertory Company tributes to Louis. Once I saw them in person — Joe Newman, Pee Wee Erwin, and Mel Davis, with Hyman brilliantly playing Hines (November 4, 1974, Carnegie Hall, issued on an Atlantic Records lp called SATCHMO REVISITED). In 2020, Jerome Etcheberry’s SATCHMOCRACY performed it spectacularly on their first CD. (A second volume has just been issued, and you’ll hear more about it here soon.)

I also had the good fortune to be in the audience at the 2007 Jazz at Chautauqua weekend, created by Joe Boughton, where pianist John Sheridan (also responsible for the transcription heard here) performed WEATHER BIRD with four brass masters: Randy Reinhart and Bob Barnard on cornet; Jon-Erik Kellso and Duke Heitger, trumpet. In 2007, Joe had not yet allowed me to bring my video camera, and he frowned upon recording by other people. So this is a surreptitious illicit bootleg (!) recording made with a digital recorder concealed in my jacket pocket. I trust listeners will forgive the occasional rustle of cloth or human sound. The music is worth it, I assure you.

“How’s that, Gabe?”

May your happiness increase!

“SIGN IN, PLEASE” (2023 Edition): LOUIS, BILLIE, JUNE, BUSTER, MILDRED, LEO, GUS, BOOTS, BOYD, KAHN, KLOOK, SHORTY, MILLI(E), THE JAZZ GIANTS, SWOPE, TEDDI, WARNE, RUBY, BIRD and HAWK

eBay. Yes, eBay! The national museum, treasure chest, attic . . . with these signatures collected over the past year.

GUS ARNHEIM:

BOOTS MUSSULI:

BOYD RAEBURN:

BUSTER BAILEY:

JUNE CHRISTY:

ART KAHN:

KENNY CLARKE:

LEO WATSON:

MEADE LUX LEWIS:

CARMEN MASTREN:

MILDRED BAILEY:

PETE JOHNSON:

SHORTY ROGERS:

THE JAZZ GIANTS:

EARL SWOPE:

TEDDI KING:

MILLI(E) VERNON:

and

WARNE MARSH:

RUBY BRAFF:

and

LOUIS ARMSTRONG to STEW PLETCHER:

and

and

BILLIE HOLIDAY:

and

COLEMAN HAWKINS and CHARLIE PARKER:

and

That should be enough for the moment. Without being didactic, I propose that the names here are a wide-ranging history of the music in themselves, and if any are new to you, a little online research will open doors, or rabbit-holes, of pleasure and knowledge.

Most of the items above are no longer being offered for bid, and eBay is caveat emptor at its finest. Odd inexplicable pricing, and forgeries — some of them quite unintelligent — are blandly offered as “rare.” (Al Jolson, dead in 1950, could not have signed his name on a record issued seven years later. An antique photograph of a young man with a cornet looks nothing like the dear boy from Davenport.) But the signatures above are, as far as I can tell, both genuine and precious.

May your happiness increase!