- HAL SMITH’S SWING CENTRAL AT THE REDWOOD COAST MUSIC FESTIVAL, PART TWO: HAL SMITH, STEVE PIKAL, DAN WALTON, JAMEY CUMMINS, JONATHAN DOYLE (May 11, 2019)
- MIGHTY PROSPEROUS: MARTY GROSZ and his DIVIDENDS, 2013 and 2016 (ED WISE, DAN BLOCK, DANNY TOBIAS // JON-ERIK KELLSO, BILL ALLRED, DAN LEVINSON, SCOTT ROBINSON, EHUD ASHERIE, JON BURR, HAL SMITH)
- MAKING NEW MEMORIES: MARC CAPARONE, BRIAN HOLLAND, STEVE PIKAL, DANNY COOTS at the SAN DIEGO JAZZ FEST (November 29, 2019)
- PARADOXES OF FEELING: BRIAN HOLLAND, MARC CAPARONE, JOHN OTTO, STEVE PIKAL, DANNY COOTS at the EVERGREEN JAZZ FESTIVAL (July 27, 2019)
- “HOW HAPPY WE WILL BE” and “THE LITTLE STARS CLIMB”: TWO CLASSIC SONGS by RICKY ALEXANDER, DAN BLOCK, ADAM MOEZINIA, DANIEL DUKE, CHRIS GELB (Cafe Bohemia, Nov. 22, 2019)
- “OH, MEMORY! OH, MEMORY!”: The MANHATTAN RAGTIME ORCHESTRA at THE CAJUN, PART ONE: JOHN GILL, MATTHEW SZEMELA, JON-ERIK KELLSO, CONAL FOWKES, BRAD SHIGETA, PETE MARTINEZ, JESSE GELBER, ROB GARCIA (July 13, 2006)
- BILLIE AND BLUES at THE CAFE BOHEMIA PREQUEL (Part Two): MARA KAYE, JON-ERIK KELLSO, MATT MUNISTERI, EVAN ARNTZEN, BRIAN NALEPKA (Sept. 26, 2019)
- “THE LAMB OF GOD!”: ELEGIES FOR DONALD LAMBERT IN STORIES, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND MUSIC
- ANDY’S GANG, OR “BIX ONE-SIX”: ANDY SCHUMM, JIM FRYER, LARS FRANK, ROBERT FOWLER, DAVID BOEDDINGHAUS, JOSH DUFFEE (Mike Durham Classic Jazz Party, November 4, 2016)
- BRIGHT SPARKS, DEEP SHADOWS: JON-ERIK KELLSO, ROSSANO SPORTIELLO, TAL RONEN at MEZZROW (Sept. 16, 2019)
- “SPIRITUAL REFRESHMENT = LIVE MUSIC” (Part Two): YAALA BALLIN and MICHAEL KANAN, “The Great American Songbook, Requested” (St. John’s in the Village, New York City, October 19, 2019)
- “LIKE THE RIPPLES ON A STREAM,” or IMPERMANENCE, by HARVEY SHAPIRO and by BRIAN HOLLAND, DANNY COOTS, MARC CAPARONE, JOHN OTTO, STEVE PIKAL (Evergreen Jazz Festival, July 26, 2019)
- “V. HOT”: A JAM SESSION AT THE MIKE DURHAM CLASSIC JAZZ PARTY (November 3-4, 2019)
- “JAZZ ON BROAD” AT THE HOPEWELL VALLEY BISTRO AND INN: PHIL ORR, WARREN VACHÉ, LARRY McKENNA, JOE PLOWMAN, DANNY TOBIAS, ANGELO DiBRACCIO: September 9, 2019
- “IT’S HOT DOWN THERE!” (Part One): SWINGING JAZZ FROM CAFE BOHEMIA: JON-ERIK KELLSO, EVAN ARNTZEN, JARED ENGEL, ARNT ARNTZEN (October 24, 2019)
- HAL SMITH’S SWING CENTRAL AT THE REDWOOD COAST MUSIC FESTIVAL, PART ONE: HAL SMITH, STEVE PIKAL, DAN WALTON, JAMEY CUMMINS, JONATHAN DOYLE (May 11, 2019)
- JAMES DAPOGNY IN RECITAL (Jazz at Chautauqua, September 20, 2013)
- “WARM REGARDS” and “THANK GOD FOR EARS”: A COLLECTION OF PRECIOUS PAGES
- FREDERICK HODGES, HIMSELF, CHARMS US (Stomptime, April 27 – May 3, 2019)
- DELIGHT IN DECEIT, or A FEW MINUTES MORE WITH REBECCA KILGORE, ROSSANO SPORTIELLO, DAN BARRETT, JON BURR, RICKY MALACHI (Jazz at Chautauqua, Sept. 21, 2012)
SUBSCRIBE TO “JAZZ LIVES” BY E-MAILSUBSCRIBE TO "JAZZ LIVES" BY E-MAIL Subscribe to Jazz Lives by Email
- jazzlives.wordpress.com/2019/12/07/hal… jazzlives.wordpress.com/2019/12/07/hal… 19 hours ago
- Need a little more Thirties romance... jazzlives.wordpress.com/2013/03/24/the… 1 day ago
- All happiness to one of the most surprising artists we will know! facebook.com/michael.jazzli… 2 days ago
- jazzlives.wordpress.com/2019/12/05/mig… jazzlives.wordpress.com/2019/12/05/mig… 2 days ago
- jazzlives.wordpress.com/2019/12/02/mak… jazzlives.wordpress.com/2019/12/02/mak… 5 days ago
SUBSCRIBE TO “JAZZ LIVES” BY EMAILSUBSCRIBE TO "JAZZ LIVES" BY E-MAIL Subscribe to Jazz Lives by Email
Tag Archives: Murray McEachern
At the most recent (November 2013) San Diego Jazz Fest, a friend introduced a smiling woman to me with these words, “Michael, this is Vonne. Her father was Tommy Thunen.” I was very excited, and told Vonne so, for I knew her father’s name for years: as the second or third trumpet player on many Red Nichols recordings. She was happy that I was so excited, and she promised to send more about her father.
The children of jazz heroes — a rare breed — fascinate me. Many of the musicians I admire were childless, or their relations with their children were less than ideal — so my occasional attempts to speak with these survivors have not always been successful. Nephews and nieces, grandchildren and cousins have surfaced but little substantial has come of these brief contacts. (A notable exception has been the interchanges I’ve had, documented in JAZZ LIVES, with the very generous son of Leo McConville, a trumpeter who probably sat alongside Thunen many times in the late Twenties and middle Thirties.)
But Vonne clearly remembers her father with affection:
My dad, Tommy Thunen, played with Red Nichols, Paul Whiteman, and later Russ Morgan. As you probably know, Russ Morgan played at the Claremont Hotel in Berkeley for a number of years. My dad played with Abe Lyman’s Orchestra in the 30’s I believe. He also played on two radio programs in New York. One was called “Waltz Time” on Friday nights and the other was “Manhattan Merry-Go-Round” on Sundays. I believe it was one of the major radio stations in New York.
In later years he was living in San Fernando Valley and played with a band led by Rosy McHargue at a place called The Cobblestone, and he also played with Rosy in Las Vegas. Musicians have told me that he had a “sweet” sound. He also played cornet and alto sax. One of his first “gigs” was at age 13 when he played at an Armistice parade at the end of the first World War.
My own investigation into Tommy’s recorded work as documented in the “jazz” records to be found in Tom Lord’s discography shows him to be a New York regular who traveled in fast company: not only with Nichols, but the Irving Mills recording groups that used men out of the Ben Pollack Orchestra, starting in 1929.
Tommy played alongside Gene Krupa, Jimmy McPartland, Jack Teagarden, Benny Goodman, Jimmy Dorsey, Larry Binyon, Ray Bauduc, Bud Freeman, Joe Sullivan, Eddie Condon, Mannie Klein, Dave Tough, Red McKenzie, Pee Wee Russell, Fud Livingston, Glenn Miller, Irving Brodsky, Joe Tarto, Mickey Bloom, Rube Bloom, Babe Russin, Adrian Rollini, Tommy Dorsey, Tony Parenti, Annette Hanshaw, Eddie Miller, and other New York Reliables — all of this in 1929-30. He surfaces again on some hot recordings by the Abe Lyman band in 1933, and then not again until working with Rosy McHargue in 1957, and — fittingly — he is the sole trumpet, out in the open, on his final recordings with Jack Teagarden in Jack’s Sextet that same year: the soundtrack from a television program, a July appearance at the Newport Jazz Festival, and a promotional record of the Marlboro cigarette jingle in September — alongside Jerry Fuller, Don Ewell, Stan Puls, and Monte Mountjoy.
I can’t offer JAZZ LIVES readers tangible evidence of Tommy’s sweet sound, but here are two records where he is said to be playing. Is that him on the bridge of I’VE GOTTA HAVE YOU? (The pleasure of hearing Red McKenzie — and tenor saxophone soloing by Pee Wee Russell — makes up for all uncertainties.)
Other recordings on YouTube might have Tommy in the personnel: a search will turn up some lovely music from Annette Hanshaw, among others.
But now for the photographs!
Here’s bandleader Abe Lyman, inscribed to Vonne:
“Jean Wakefield and her Mischief Makers”:
All I know about mischievous Jean is she and the Makers are listed in the radio section of the Berkeley, California, Daily Gazette for Saturday, November 7, 1931, broadcasting over KLX at 7 PM. (Airchecks, anyone?) To me, the most important part of that photograph is the inscription on the left.
Here’s a band appearing at a nightspot with its own kind of transient fame, Fatty Arbuckle’s Cobblestone Cafe:
and some needed identification:
I haven’t found any reference to the Cobblestone Cafe, although I don’t have a biography of Arbuckle at hand. He was dead in mid-1933 and this photograph is from some decades later. Aside from Tommy, the most famous musician, pianist Arthur Schutt, who lived until 1965, is hidden from view. Clarinetist Gene Bolen, however, recorded from the late Fifties onwards, so I await informed speculations about a more precise dating.
Rosy McHargue and his Dixieland Band, dated 1953:
I hope we will find out more about the life and music of Tommy Thunen, not only from his daughter.
I think of him as a professional musician who is now characterized, if at all, as a “jazz musician,” then a “studio musician,” perhaps a “Dixieland jazz player.”
But the music we hold dear is not simply a matter of famous soloists and stars, the people about whom biographies are written, but of reliable professionals whose names aren’t famous, indispensable craftspeople nevertheless. These quiet men and women might appear predictably bourgeois, not exciting. But any communal art form — be it jazz, the symphony, or the theatre — needs people one can count on to be on time, well-prepared, clean, sober, expert. After the fact, people tell tales of the brilliant musician who is also unpredictable — but such artists are at best hard on everyone’s nervous system. But we are more intrigued by Jack Purvis or Charlie Parker than Mannie Klein or Hilton Jefferson.
How many beautiful players were there who did their work superbly but never got interviewed, whose names were known only to fellow musicians and discographers . . . who made the whole enterprise of music go on as it did?
I’d like to see books called THE JAZZ PROFESSIONALS — consider among thousands Harold Baker, Buster Bailey, Murray McEachern, Helen Humes and Nick Fatool — people who didn’t lead bands or win Metronome polls, but who were the very foundation of what we take for granted.
And Tommy Thunen, about whom we now know a little more, thanks to his daughter.
May your happiness increase!
This story begins in a sweetly undramatic way.
The Beloved and I had spent the afternoon of July 6 doing a variety of errands in the car. We had some time before we had to return home, so she suggested that we do a short bout of “thrifting” (visiting our favorite thrift stores) in the nearby town of San Rafael, California. She favors a hospice thrift place called HODGE PODGE; I opt for GOODWILL, which is half a block away.
Once in Goodwill, I looked quickly at men’s clothing and took two items off the rack for more consideration. I saw there were many records in the usual corner, perhaps three hundred LPs and a half-dozen 78 albums.
Just as I write the novella of the life of the person ahead of me on line in the grocery store by the items (s)he is buying, I create the brief biography of a record collector by what patterns there are. Admittedly, the collection I perused was not solely the expression of one person’s taste, but it seemed a particularly deep 1959 collection: original cast, Sinatra, Dino, Hank Williams, comedy, unusual albums I had not seen before.
In about ten minutes, I found a Jack Lemmon record on Epic, where he sings and plays songs from SOME LIKE IT HOT (he was quite a good pianist), the orchestra directed by Marion Evans. (Particularly relevant because I am also finishing the 1999 book, CONVERSATIONS WITH WILDER — that’s Billy — and enjoying it greatly). A Murray McEachern mood-music session for Capitol, CARESS, with Jimmy Rowles; the somewhat dubious JAZZ: SOUTH PACIFIC, with Pettiford, McGhee, J.J. Johnson, Rudy Williams; Ethel Waters doing spirituals and hymns on Word; Clancy Hayes with the Salty Dogs — Jim Dapogny on second cornet / valve-trombone, Kim Cusack on clarinet — OH BY JINGO on Delmark.
Then I moved to the 78s. I thought about but did not take a Black and White album of six songs by Lena Horne with Phil Moore, but took without hesitation a Capitol collection of Nellie Lutcher, because Sidney Catlett was on a few sides, I think.
More than a few minutes had passed. My knees were beginning to hurt and other people, one with a well-behaved dog, had been drawn to the trove.
The last album I looked at was an unmarked four-record 78 album. The first sleeve was empty. The second one held a Fifties TOPS record “Four Hits On One Record,” which I disdained. The third was a prize — a late-Thirties Bluebird of Fats Waller and his Rhythm doing AIN’T MISBEHAVIN’ (“Recorded in Europe”) and GEORGIA ROCKIN’ CHAIR, which pleased me a great deal. It would have been the great treasure of my quest.
I turned to the last record and caught my breath. I know this feeling well — surprise, astonishment, intense emotion — the equivalent of a painless punch in the solar plexus. I’ve felt it other times before — once a year ago in California with a Bluebird 78 in a Goodwill (take that confluence as you will) which I have chronicled here.
This record was another late-Thirties Bluebird, this one by Louis. One side was Hoagy Carmichael’s SNOWBALL (which made me smile — it’s a great sweet song).
For nearly a decade my email address has been email@example.com.
Initially, I took it as a self-definition and an online “alias” because those three words are to me a collective exaltation — “Hallelujah, Brothers and Sisters!” in a swinging four – four.
But “Swing you cats!” is not only exhortation — “Let’s unite for our common joyous purpose!” but celebration that we are communally on the same delighted path.
As I did in the previous Goodwill experience, I took the record over to the Beloved, who was seated peaceably, reading a local free paper. “What did you find?” she said cheerfully. I went through the records I’ve described, and then reached for the unmarked album and said, “Look at this.”
She admires Fats as I do, so GEORGIA ROCKIN’ CHAIR was properly celebrated. Then I silently showed her the final record, and we both drew in our breaths. When she could speak, she said, “Is today a special day? Some anniversary of your blog?”
And then it dawned on me. Choked up, I eventually said, “This is the anniversary of Louis’ death. July 6, 1971.” After a long, tear-stifled interval during which we simply looked at each other and the record, I took my treasures to the cashier, paid, and we went home.
To describe my feelings about this incident, I run the risk of characterizing myself as one of the Anointed and elaborating on this fantasy vision, where Louis, in the ethereal sphere, sees what I do in his name and approves — sending a little token of his approval my way.
I know that some readers might scoff, “Please! That record was a manufactured object. Thousands of copies were made. It was simple luck that you got it. Do you think Louis — dead for forty-plus years — would know or care what your email address is?” I can certainly understand their realistic scorn.
But since I am sure that the Dead Know — that they aren’t Dead in any way except the abandoning of their bodies, who is to say that my taking this as an affirmation from Somewhere is so odd? How many of us, for whatever reason, have felt the presence of someone we love / who loved us, even though that person is now “dead”?
So I felt, in a more intense way, connected to Louis Armstrong. That is not a bad thing. And I could hilariously imagine the way I might have popped up on one of his letters or home tapes.
I hope all my JAZZ LIVES readers, cats indeed, will happily swing on now and eternally.
I send them all my love.
And I celebrate SWING YOU CATS by making it the first whirl of the JAZZ LIVES homemade video jukebox*:
For those who want to know more about this record, read and hear my man Ricky Riccardi’s essay on SWING YOU CATS, here.
*I have witnessed much high-intensity irritation on Facebook directed at people like myself who make YouTube videos of a spinning vintage record without using the finest equipment. I apologize in advance to anyone who might be offended by my efforts. SWING YOU CATS sounds “pretty good” to me. And my intermittent YouTube videos — the “JAZZ LIVES” DANCE PARTY — will offer 78 sides that aren’t on YouTube. Just for a thrill.
May your happiness increase!
If you’re going to hear jazz that was recorded before 1990, you might need to be friendly with those archaic objects — phonograph records. It isn’t essential. Modern friends (M. Figg and others) get their daily ration of Charlie Johnson’s Paradise Orchestra through the invisible magic of digital download. (How Sidney deParis, Ben Whitted, and Jabbo Smith feel about being mashed into an mp3 is something for the metaphysicians to explore).
But when the Beloved and I go a-thrifting, as we do regularly, she is a fine and generous spotter of records. Often they are the most popular examples of the genre: supermarket classical, Andy Williams, easy listening, disco 12″. But the person who passes by these stacks and heaps in a spirit of snobbery misses out on great things. Of course, one needs reasonably flexible knees, a willingness to get mildly grubby, and perseverance . . . but sometimes the quest ends with something hotter than Mantovani.
Six dollars and tax — in two stores in Novato, California, on December 24 — was a small price to pay for these six discs.
SWINGIN’ INTERPRETATIONS OF PORGY AND BESS (Capitol stereo): Hank Jones, Kenny Burrell, Milt Hinton, “Alvin” Jones, with arrangements by Al Cohn.
SORTA-DIXIE (Capitol): Billy May (glowering under a straw boater) with soloists are Dick Cathcart, Moe Schneider, Eddie Miller, Matty Matlock. The big band is also full of luminaries: Uan Rasey, Conrad Gozzo, Manny Klein, John Best, Skeets Herfurt, Murray McEachern.
SWEET GEORGIA BROWN (Tops): Billy Tipton Trio. Wow, as we say.
TEDDY WILSON AND HIS TRIO PLAY GYPSY IN JAZZ (Columbia): liner notes by Jule Styne.
MUNDELL LOWE AND HIS ALL STARS: PORGY AND BESS (Camden stereo): Art Farmer, George Duvivier, Osie Johnson, Ed Shaughnessy, Tony Scott . . . and Ben Webster.
THE DIXIELAND BALL: THE L ANCERS with GEORGE CATES’ ALL STARS (Coral). This one is a mystery. I know that the Lancers recorded with Charlie Barnet and Les Brown; Cates arranged for some jazz-flavored sessions. There is no personnel listed, which means that the music might be tepid, the All Stars undistinguished. But I dream of an unacknowledged Abe Lincoln in there. I couldn’t pass this one up — not only for its mysterious potential, but for the liner notes by Jane Bundy, which begin:
Born in sin and raised in controversy, Dixieland was the musical problem child of World War One–the rock and roll of its day.
Jane, you had me with “Born in sin.” But enough of that. So if you see a brightly-dressed man on his knees, reverently going through a stack of records in Northern California or elsewhere, you might be looking at me.
May your happiness increase.