As my friend Nick Rossi would say, I fell down the rabbit-hole — comfortable, not claustrophic. And I’m grateful to Dustin Wittmann for pointing out where the entrance was located, by posting this anonymous-but-delightful dance band side on Facebook.
Forty years ago, I wouldn’t have paid much attention to this recording, disdaining the tune as nothing much — not Hart, Rodgers, Porter, Kern — and I would have been waiting for the hot solo and been disappointed that the side wasn’t full of episodes by known players.
Now, I think, “What lovely music! How well-played! How charming this is!” And the tune, with its descending chromatic hook, might not be the high point of twentieth-century composition, but it certainly lingers in the ear:
It must have been a staple of the 1931 dance-band repertoire, I assume in a stock arrangement. And I am posting variant versions of it so that you can muse over how a variety of bands brought their own flavors to it — voicings, tempo, vocal, ensemble work, rhythmic approach, and solos.
Incidentally, it’s hard to clear my mind of the 1931 Tin Pan Alley scenario: Kahn and Fio Rito, in shirtsleeves but with ties and suspenders, perhaps with cigars. “Awright. BLONDE. What the hell can we do with that? POND? FROND? No, none of those tropical songs. Hey! FOND!” And they were off.
I think comparative study like this is so enlightening, but it’s also fun. If there’s a blue-eyed blonde nearby, listening seriously but joyously, so much the better, but it’s the spirit that counts, not the genetics.
Debroy Somers and Dan Donovan, a very bright approach, a clarinet trio, and assertive cymbal work. If you couldn’t move your body to this, something was wrong:
The Phillips version has a slightly more prominent banjo part and a wonderful alto saxophone explosion. One of the things close listeners will also note is how the various sections sound on each recording, and the recording balance itself:
This American version has a slightly looser rhythmic feel, perhaps because the drummer is relying less on his cymbals. The tempo seems a touch slower: a fox-trot more than a one-step? I don’t know. It just sounds good:
and back to the UK for no reason at all except the delight in hearing another approach as well as Sam Browne’s tidy, affectionate vocal. The Blue Lyres were perhaps twelve musicians, but this recording shows off soloists throughout in obbligato as well as improvised passages, as if the leader or arranger had chosen to treat it as rich material for individual players as well as keeping the skeleton of the stock arrangement intact. To me, this recording suggests most clearly how a free-spirited swing / hot dance orchestra might handle this material in 2018. Any takers?:
and, finally, this delight (a Gene Gifford arrangement?) with a new introduction and a stylishly individualistic vocal by Pee Wee Hunt before an unusual transition into the final chorus, where Clarence Hutchenrider takes the bridge. A recording beautifully anchored by tuba, and note the sweetly decelerating ending:
There are several subtexts here, but only one for the moment that deserves a few sentences. It’s about what I’d call JAZZ POLITICS, or “What’s worthy?” Tom Lord, whose work I rely on, lists only the final side in his massive jazz discography. Does that mean the others aren’t jazz? Does that mean they aren’t worth our attention? They sound like beautiful elastic hot music to me. But then again, I could be someone who’s grown out of his earliest rigid adolescent definitions of what’s rewarding to the ears and heart. In this, as always, I owe much to the not-didactic guidance of my mentor, Sammut of Malta.
May your happiness increase!