I present a record date, eight songs recorded, originally issued on a 10″ lp, with a British septet led by clarinetist and satirical cartoonist [“Trog”] Wally Fawkes, devoted to the recordings Billie Holiday made in the second half of the Thirties.
What you would have seen in the record store in 1958 or 1959:
and the reverse, here for the sake of authenticity and nostalgia for those who remember such icons:
and let’s go even deeper:
and
For some of us, this is the tangible equivalent of Proust’s madeline (even though I was not yet buying records in 1958-9). The music will follow, but first a few words about the trail leading to it in 2026.
For me, it all begins with trumpeter Spike Mackintosh. I first met him in Dave Gelly’s entrancing book:
Even before I heard Spike’s too-few recordings, I was thrilled by another person who not only bowed low before the majesty of Louis Armstrong, but who played the trumpet. When Louis visited England and a group of trumpeters serenaded him as he got off the airplane, Spike was the man who impressed him.
I was also delighted to read that when Spike was at a party and the host had put a record on the phonograph, Spike would (however secretly or openly I do not know) take the record off the turntable and replace it with one of Louis’. My kind of apostle.
My research into Spike was as deep as I could do, and I published the results (conversations with the few musicians who knew him, even writing to his famous son Cameron) here. Between 2014 and 2015, I published half a dozen posts about him, and if you care to type MACKINTOSH into the Search bar, I can promise you good stories and memorable music.
Nearly a dozen years later, I was searching eBay for music and holy relics related to my idols, although I try hard to not buy them. I typed “wally fawkes” and saw the record above, wanted it with furious covetousness, but calmed myself down because between the total cost would be fifty dollars, more or less. Once I had gotten my heart rate back to near-normal, I checked Tom Lord’s online discography, which is curiously lacking in its Spike listing, but saw under Fawkes that this music had been issued on LAKE LACD 143, which I was relieved to find I had. That CD And it is the source of the music which will follow.
The facts? BILLIE’S BLUES / MOANIN’ LOW / I WISHED ON THE MOON / TELL ME MORE / MISS BROWN TO YOU / WITHOUT YOUR LOVE / THEM THERE EYES / WHY WAS I BORN? Wally Fawkes, clarinet; Spike Mackintosh, trumpet; Jeremy French, trombone; Lennie Felix, piano; Russ Allen, double bass; J.M. “Jackie” Turner (May 20, 1958) or Dave Pearson (June 2 and 4, 1958), drums, as indicated on the label above.
Fawkes was categorized as a “trad” or “Dixieland” player, his influences being New Orleans players and Sidney Bechet. But like younger Americans in the Fifties, he and his colleagues listened to everything they could, in person and on record, and it is not surprising that they approach these songs with heartfelt affection and reverence, copying a turn of phrase here or there, but more often emulating what they had played and played along with countless times.
Happily, there is no singer attempting to copy Billie, no tenor saxophonist doing the same for Lester Young. Jeremy French at times honors Bennie Morton, Lennie Felix has Teddy Wilson in his mind, and Spike leavens his worship of mid-period Louis by thinking now and again of Buck Clayton, but who would object to that?
Sharp-eyed readers will notice that the notes are by Kingsley Amis, author of LUCKY JIM and much more. Like his poet friend Philip Larkin, Amis loved hot jazz with all his heart.
It is a delightfully homespun session, heartfelt rather than exact. Occasionally the rough edges show: on one or two songs, it’s clear that these humble acolytes imperfectly remember the harmonies of the original composition, and no one has the sheet music or a lead sheet to rely on. When this record came out, I doubt that Billie, in her last year, saw the cover with its somewhat awkward jest, but I imagine her reaction would not have been whole-hearted laughter. But these are small things when compared to the sweet lyrical energy of the music.
Although Fawkes is justly the leader and the star, when Spike solos, I want to stand up, put my hand over my heart, and face in the general direction of Corona, Queens, New York. Hooray for this little band, propelled by love, a love that doesn’t seek to imitate, but to honor.
May your happiness increase!
JAZZ LIVES 