Tag Archives: Down Home Music Store

“THE OLD TIME BAND ORCHESTRA” and “MILITARY BAND”

I begin 2015 with an ancient record that cost me a dollar.

This record came from Down Home Music in El Cerrito, California, the home of surprises.  I had never heard of either ensemble, but had faith in the repertoire chosen.  One side was MAPLE LEAF RAG (by the Old Time Band Orchestra, whose title delights me for its vague wordiness) and the other HIGH SOCIETY (by Military Band).

I’ve not been able to find out anything trustworthy or substantive about these recordings, except for a dubious online posting that notes that MAPLE LEAF was issued on a Bluebird 78 in 1938.  I was also pleased to acquire an actual Montgomery Ward label . . . in my childhood, Montgomery Ward existed only as a catalog entity — no actual stores, I think — from which one ordered items that looked enticing in the pages and waited eagerly for them to come.  By that time, no one was ordering 78s from “Monkey Ward,” but I am guessing that this label offered material recorded by Victor for a distinct audience, perhaps people who lived too far from cities with record stores.

But no matter.  I do not presume that the disc is so rare or even so esoteric.  I find the music very pleasing in a genre-crossing way — stylistically bridging ragtime-orchestra and brass-band instrumentation, voicings, and conventions to create versions of two jazz classics that are recognizable, situated between concert-in-the-park orchestral performances and more liberated jazz band ones.

I hear looser syncopations on MAPLE LEAF; HIGH SOCIETY is harder to find in that orchestration . . . but both records have their own swagger and pleasure.  It wouldn’t be fair to put them against the 1932 New Orleans Feetwarmers (MAPLE LEAF) or the Blue Note Jazzmen (HIGH SOCIETY): I appreciate them on their own terms.  And I hope you will also.

Wishing you happiness and perceptions and joy in 2015.

May your happiness increase!

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THE MOST RECENT EXPLOITS OF MRS. MOSE MIGHT SURPRISE YOU. THEY CAME AS A SHOCK TO ME.

If you’ve been following the jazz news of the Thirties, it will not come as a shock to learn that Old Man Mose is dead.  The saga of his demise is sad, mysterious, and not a little frightening:

For the extended, fascinating coverage of the variations created by Louis and friends on this theme, I direct you to Ricky Riccardi’s unequalled blogpost here.

Hearing this song, I always wonder at its genesis: my guess is that someone in Louis’ Chicago band — where Zilner Randolph was one of the trumpets and the “straw boss” — fell asleep on the bus or elsewhere and the spectacle struck everyone else as comic.  “Man, you were so asleep you looked just like Old Man Mose.  We didn’t know if you were dead.”  Great art comes from such humble beginnings, you know.  Cultural anthropologists may note that here is another example of African-Americans making fun of the stereotype — its source too deep for me to discover here — that they were afraid of occult creatures, of “hants,” of the dead: make of that what you will.

But I dugress.  From Ricky’s blog, I learned that several “sequels” to this song, hoping to cash in on its popularity, had been created.  (On YouTube, you can even hear a group of Beatles imitators try their hand at it in 1964.  By the time their rendition is over, I do not hold out much hope for Mr. Mose being resuscitated, but that is only one man’s opinion.)

However, it was only on a recent record-shopping afternoon at the Down Home Music Store in El Cerrito that I found this latest chapter, a Bluebird 78 (circa 1939, I surmise) by the Eddie DeLange Orchestra, vocal by diminutive Elisse Cooper, of MRS. MOSE HAS A MILLION BEAUS (Since Old Man Mose Is Dead) — a Fox Trot penned by McCarthy, Redmond, and David.  For the discographically-minded, it is the “B” side of Bluebird 10213; the “A” side is another novelty song, EAGLE EYE FINKLE, which chronicles the exploits of a roving gossip / scandal reporter for an imagined Russian newspaper.

I don’t know who is in the band, nor do I know who plays the chordal guitar solo in the middle* . . . but I thought JAZZ LIVES readers deserved full disclosure of posthumous marital news amongst imaginary characters in novelty songs.  See if you agree:

It leaves me speechless, too.  Especially the part about Old Man Mose’s life insurance policy.  I’m on the edge of my chair, waiting to hear what happens next.

*Wise friend David Weiner tells me that it was recorded in March 1939 and the guitarist is one Guy Smith — no one else in the band is a “famous” musician (my quotation marks, not David’s).  Nice ensemble sound, though.

May your happiness increase!

I GOT IN THE GROOVE(S) AT DOWN HOME

I went record-shopping yesterday (January 11, 2014) at one of my favorite places on the planet, the Down Home Music Store on San Pablo Avenue in El Cerrito, California — details here.  The only fault I’ve ever found with DHMS is that they are only open from Thursday through Sunday, so I have to plan my life accordingly.  But I came home with a cardboard box of 78s, one 45, 10″ and 12″ lps.  Total price: less than a hundred dollars for hours of fun and amazement.

A brief list follows, just to encourage all of you who have such leanings to pay the lovely amiable folks at the DHMS a visit soon.  Of course, the records I bought aren’t there in multiple copies, but they have an astonishing selection of new compact discs covering every kind of music I can think of, and some I haven’t even imagined.

One 45 EP of the late-Forties West Coast Fletcher Henderson band with Vic Dickenson as prominent soloist.

Several 10″ lps: Paul Lingle solo on Good Time Jazz; Pee Wee and Ruby at Storyville, 1952; early Artie Shaw with strings;

12″ lps: a Queen-Disc Italian bootleg of Goodman 1938, all with Dave Tough; another copy of the Harry James 1937 Brunswicks on Tax; Edmond Hall’s PETITE FLEUR on United Artists; Eddie Barefield with Vic and Taft Jordan on UK RCA Victor’s SWING TODAY series; the New Hampshire Library of Traditional Jazz collection of 1949 airshots from the Savoy in Boston with Hall, Windhurst, and Vic; Wingy Manone’s late-Fifties Deccas as TRUMPET ON THE WING; TUTTI’S TRUMPETS on Buena Vista; Jimmy Rowles playing Ellington / Strayhorn on Columbia . . .

78s: a 12″ Commodore of MEMPHIS BLUES / SWEET SUE with Muggsy and Pee Wee; the Asch album set of Mary Lou Williams with Bill Coleman and Al Hall; two copies of THE WORLD IS WAITING FOR THE SUNRISE / MOOD AT TWILIGHT by Mel Powell and a clarinetist (one for Kati P); I WANNA WOO by Joe Haymes; Musicrafts by Joe Marsala and Joe Thomas, by Teddy Wilson’s Quintet; late-Twenties Brunswicks by Nick Lucas; early-Twenties ditto by the Cotton Pickers; Tab Smith and Trevor Bacon on Decca; Betty Roche with Earl Hines, Pettiford, Hodges, and Catlett on Apollo; several Forties sides by the Charioteers, one “with orchestra directed by Mannie Klein”; an Edison 78 of some hopeful dance tune; an early Vocalion of TESSIE! STOP TEASING ME; one of the Bluebirds with Peg La Centra and Jerry Sears and Carl Kress . . . and more.  (I am doing this from memory and haven’t even looked at the box.)

And the experience of buying records is so sweetly nostalgic for someone like myself who found great pleasure in stores like the DHMS.  The results are more than “collecting,” “amassing,” and “having”; I learn something every time.  For instance: the soundtrack to this post is the 1938 Goodman band, with glorious work from the Man Himself, Bud Freeman, Vernon Brown, Dave Tough, and Jess Stacy — but did you know that when DON’T BE THAT WAY was announced for a repeat performance on Camel Caravan, it was credited as being “Professor Goodman’s own tune.”  I feel very sorry for Edgar Sampson and hope that the royalty checks made up for the erasure.

Some of the records had identifying labels on them; many were well-played and well-loved.  I thank you, dear Collectors with Taste whose possessions I am now enjoying.  What gifts you pass on!

And as far as record-buying, I know that someone could read this as another example of excessive materialistic self-gratification, when there are people on the planet so much less fortunate.  I know I do not need more music, but I retreat into KING LEAR mode and mutter, “O, reason not the need!”  Records are less expensive than bringing a hundred knights with me wherever I go.

So, if you can get down to the Down Home Music Store, I commend it to you.  If you can’t, I understand, so play some music for yourself today.  It lifts the heart.

May your happiness increase!