HOW’S YOUR SUPPLY OF CRUMBS?

Let me ask you . . .

Tree sparrows, Passer montanus, on bird table in garden. Co. Durham.

Did you awake from a five-star anxiety dream?  Is the news its own generator of such dreams?  Are the gray days of winter not getting longer quickly enough?  Are the inanimate objects ganging up on you: the banging radiators, the toilet that threatens to overflow?  Can you see the bottom of the crumb supply?

Perhaps you want to insert this piece of music into your mental jukebox.

The song is by Jack Yellen and Lew Pollack and it is central to this 1936 musical, with a singularly foolish plotline.  Alice Faye cheerfully delivers this song in one of the obligatory nightclub scenes. (It’s on YouTube.)

It was a small hit in 1936, if these records are any indication.  And I find it cheering now.

Teddy Wilson in Los Angeles, with Chris Griffin (tp) Benny Goodman (cl) Vido Musso (ts) Lionel Hampton (vib) Teddy Wilson (p) Allan Reuss (g) Harry Goodman (b) Gene Krupa (d) Redd Harper (vcl):

Ruby Newman (an unknown recording where his band sounds very much like that of a Chicago clarinetist — Dick McDonough happily prominent! — as well as JAZZ LIVES’ hero Larry Binyon . . . Jack Lacey, Felix Giardina (tb) Alfie Evans, Sid Stoneburn (cl,as) Larry Binyon (cl,ts) Rudolph Adler (bar) Ruby Newman (vln,ldr) Sam Liner (p) Dick McDonough (g) Sam Shopnick (b) Al Lepin (d) Barry McKinley (vcl):

Putney Dandridge, with Henry “Red” Allen (tp) Joe Marsala (cl,as) Clyde Hart (p) Eddie Condon (g) John Kirby (b) Cozy Cole (d):

Bob Howard, with Marty Marsala (tp) Sid Trucker (cl) Zinky Cohn (p) Dave Barbour (g) George Yorke (b) Stan King (d):

Bob Crosby, with Zeke Zarchy, Yank Lawson (tp) Ward Silloway, Warren Smith (tb) Matty Matlock (as,cl) Gil Rodin, Noni Bernard (as) Eddie Miller (ts,cl) Deane Kincaide (ts) Bob Zurke (p) Nappy Lamare (g) Bob Haggart (b) Ray Bauduc (d) [Tom Lord actually identifies the bassist as “Bob Haggard” — those transcription dates could wear you out]:

Charlie Barnet: George Kennedy, Kermit Simmons, Irving Goodman (tp) Johnny Doyle, Sonny Lee (tb) Charlie Barnet (sax,vcl,ldr) Willard Brady, Don Morris, George Vaughn, Murray Williams (reeds) Horace Diaz, Jr. (p,arr) Scoop Thomson (g) Sid Weiss (b) Billy Flanagan (d):

Teddy Stauffer gives those crumbs some Continental seasoning, with Betty Toombs (voc), Harry Herzog, Carl Hohenberger, Max Mussigbrodt (tp) Walter Dobschinski (tb,arr) Erich Bohme, Albert Wollenhaupt (tb) Ernst Hollerhagen, Bertalan Bujka (cl,as) Helmut Friedrich, Teddy Kleindin (ts) Teddy Stauffer (ts,vln,ldr) Franz Thon (bar,as) Jack Trommer (p) Buddy Bertinat (p,vln,accor) Billy Toffel (g,vcl) Andre Schuster (b) Polly Guggisberg (d):

The Swingtimers, who may be unknown (tp) Abe Walters (tb,p) Ern Pettifer (cl,as) unknown p, g, b, d, Sam Costa (vcl):

and let us leap forward from 1936 into this century (January 2016) with a sweetly swinging version from string bassist and raconteur Bill Crow — singing the optimistic message straight to our hearts, nobly aided by Flip Peters:

There will be crumbs — and more — enough for everyone, if we keep singing.

May your happiness increase!

 

“CAN YOU GET BACK IN?”

“When did you leave heaven?” may not be in anyone’s list of the worst pick-up lines (which, in 2019, are far more salacious) but I doubt that it would effectively start a conversation with an attractive stranger — I mean a conversation where the response was more promising than “Get away from me.”  But the impulse to call someone we’re attracted to divine is venerable and strong.

A Mexican image of the divine feminine, from my favorite folk art gallery, eBay.

There are many songs where the loved one is described as an angel, but here’s a tender and witty one, music by Richard Whiting, lyrics by Walter Bullock, from the 1936 film featuring Alice Faye, SING, BABY, SING (a song revitalized by the cheerful Bill Crow).  Follow me into adoration territory in swingtime.

Henry “Red” Allen in all his glory, playing and singing, 1936:

and a more famous version from 1942 with a famous clarinetist under wraps for two minutes, a session led by Mel Powell, and featuring colleagues from that clarinetist’s orchestra except for Al Morgan and Kansas Fields.

Thank goodness for the first forty-five seconds devoted to that hero, Lou McGarity, before it becomes Mel’s own Bobcats:

Mel Powell, Jimmy Buffington, Bobby Donaldson, a dozen years later, and one of my favorite recordings — a Goodman Trio without the King:

Something you wouldn’t expect, Big Bill Broonzy, 1956:

and the intensely passionate reading Jimmy Scott gave the song in 2000 (with our hero Michael Kanan in duet):

and the Master.  Consider that stately melody exposition, how simple and how moving, and Louis’ gentle yet serious reading of the lyrics is beyond compare.  Complaints about the surrounding voices will be ignored; they’re the heavenly choir:

Love has the power to make the Dear Person seem so much better than merely human, and this song celebrates it.  As we do.

May your happiness increase!

WHEN BECKY MET HARRY (Jazz at Chautauqua, Sept. 17, 2011)

“Becky” we know as our own Rebecca Kilgore, deeply moving but ever so natural — in pearly form for this Saturday morning set at Jazz at Chautauqua, surrounded by gentlemen with similar names: John Sheridan, piano; Jon Burr, string bass; John Von Ohlen, drums.

But the “Harry” in the title was neither Billy Crystal nor Harry Allen.  It was “Harry Warren,” born Salvatore Antonio Guaragna in 1893, author of more hit songs (musically valuable ones, as well) than almost any of his peers.  Here are five, each one its own little concerto — full of emotion and humor.

With its rarely-heard verse, here’s YOU’RE GETTING TO BE A HABIT WITH ME:

The classically pretty YOU’RE MY EVERYTHING:

NO LOVE, NO NOTHIN’ comes from a film musical, THE GANG’S ALL HERE, with Benny Goodman and Alice Faye.  It’s a classic wartime song, but it makes the vignette of fidelity-under-duress seem new:

I associate SERENADE IN BLUE with Glenn Miller and many other singers, but none bring to it the depth of casual feeling that Becky does here.  And listen very closely to what she does with the two versions of the phrase “whistling in the dark”:

Both Dick Powell and Art Tatum put their stamp on WITH PLENTY OF MONEY AND YOU, and Ms. Kilgore romps away with it here:

Thanks to our Rebecca for creating something so touching, so light-hearted, yet so deep.  I would send any singer to her work to admire, to study.  And let’s not omit the floating, on-target provided by the three gentlemen surrounding her: their melodies, their gracious accompaniment, their rhythmic embrace.  Together, they made for a memorable half-hour — sweet stylings without artifice.

Rebecca Kilgore’s gotten to be a habit with us, one we have no intention of breaking.

THIS ONE’S FOR STEVE SANDO

What instrument does Steve Sando play?

I don’t know if Steve is a secret hot pianist, but I do know that he’s responsible for the most tasty heirloom beans on the planet — ones the Beloved and I ate last night.  Steve (whose music library starts at five thousand CDs, a man after my own heart) is the Man In Charge of Rancho Gordo, from which delicious beans and grains come.  (His site is www.ranchogordo.com.)  And Steve also adores singers, both well-known and obscure: last night we spoke of Jack Teagarden, Fats Waller, and Alice Faye. 

So these two pieces of paper are in honor of our pal and provider of good things Steve Sando:

That’s Annette Hanshaw!

And Connee Boswell in 1966.  Just remember, jazz fans, it is just as easy to have something delicious to eat as it is to dine on something unsatisfying.  (An unsolicited testimonial from a deeply satisfied consumer.)