I can’t say, but through the kindness of a friend, I can take us all back to the Nice Jazz Festival to hear some priceless music: for instance, Kenny Davern and Bob Wilber using DIZZY ATMOSPHERE as a riff on I WANT TO BE HAPPY. Vic is in rare form (catch his ROSETTA); Davern is a trumpet-spectacular; Wilber is lyrical and hot. And how lovely to hear Wilson (brilliant on ROSETTA) and Duvivier in this context. (Who knows something about Dallas Taylor?) Davern lectures the crowd, memorably.
Everyone sounds truly happy.
Audiophiles be warned: this is a cassette-recording of an outdoor performance; it may run off speed; there is chatter. But wouldn’t it be ungracious to fuss over these things? This, more or less, is what we would have heard at Nice, and what a treasure it is.
The heroes are Teddy Wilson, piano; Bob Wilber, Kenny Davern, clarinet, soprano saxophone (Davern and Wilson make the announcements); Vic Dickenson, trombone, vocal; George Duvivier, double bass; Dallas Taylor, drums. Nice Jazz Festival, July 16, 1977. The tape is generously provided by Derek Coller. I WANT TO BE HAPPY (late start) / ON THE ALAMO / ROSETTA / [public service announcement] / I WANT A LITTLE GIRL (Vic, vocal) / RUNNIN’ WILD (rhythm) / MOTEN SWING //
The tape is a precious document. Bless Derek and people like him! But he does more than go to jazz oases with a cassette recorder. Derek is a great jazz scholar. His book on Big Joe Turner is a monument:
We owe so much to people like Derek who have made the evanescent beautifully permanent. And to these glorious musicians who give so unstintingly for decades.
If you enjoy dystopian / alternate-universe science fiction, imagine this: a world, where Teddy Wilson, born today in 1912, decides to teach classics at Tuskegee and is world-famous for his translations of Homer. Frank Froeba plays with the Benny Goodman Trio and Quartet. The Milt Herth School for Pianists. Pat Flowers and Harry Grey make all the Billie Holiday and Mildred Bailey dates.
There, there. It’s only a bad dream.
We DID have Teddy at the piano, and he enriches our lives still.
I can’t imagine anything more lovely than his steady, quietly emotive reading of Richard Rodgers’ WHERE OR WHEN, performed at Timme Rosenkrantz’ famous Town Hall concert: Teddy, with Specs Powell, drums. Originally issued on Commodore Records:
Thanks for all the love-notes, Teddy. You were taciturn and reserved in person but you shared your heart and wisdom with us for forty years.
Coleman Hawkins, the enduring pioneer of the tenor saxophone, was born on November 21, 1904. Let us celebrate him with some mellow sounds from an early period.
MAKE BELIEVE (Teddy Wilson, piano; John Kirby, double bass; Sidney Catlett, drums, May 29, 1944):
BLUES EVERMORE (Freddy Johnson, piano; Maurice Van Cleef, drums, June 14, 1938):
I WISH I WERE TWINS (Leo de la Fuerte, piano, 1935):
PICASSO, unaccompanied (July or August 1948):
and this post’s title comes from Hoagy Carmichael’s lyric to his own RIVERBOAT SHUFFLE:
Do you fling our alarm clock across the room? Do you curse your Apple watch or smartphone when it makes those terrible noises at 6 AM? Are you late to work?
JAZZ LIVES is here to help. We can’t provide melatonin to ensure good sleep, nor can we make what you face in the morning any easier. But here are a few improvements on your morning wake-up call, free of charge. Take as needed.
ONE is this reasonably gentle approach, thanks to Irving Berlin, Teddy Wilson, Chick Bullock, Bill Coleman, Bennie Morton, Jimmy Hamilton, George James, Eddie Gibbs, Al Hall, J.C. Heard, and John Hammond (February 12, 1941):
Don’t hit that snooze button: here’s another take:
The mythology attached to this music goes in two contrary directions when it comes to musicians who have been playing, and in the public eye, for decades. One group — often a “fan base” — disregards all objectivity and says, in effect, “It’s so wonderful that X is playing at their advanced age,” and celebrates the durability, ingenuity, and pure physical effort needed to perform. I am most often in this group.
Then, the people who give grades and stars to recordings, the self-appointed critics, say, in the name of objectivity, that X was marvelous for three years and is now “a shadow of their former self.” Andre Hodeir, writing of Dicky Wells in 1952, entitled his essay, “Why Do They Age So Badly?” The men in this 1977 performance had been playing for decades, and two of them, especially, were excoriated for their inability to be their younger selves: Barney Bigard and Teddy Wilson. One has only to look at commenters on YouTube videos criticizing the former, and a critical commenplace is that Wilson had lost his improvisatory fire after 1960. (I am sure, given the demographics of the hot-jazz audience, that many of the most severe critics are men in the same age bracket. Hmmmm.)
So here we have fifty minutes of leisurely swing performance by six masters who not only knew the language but had invented it: Teddy Wilson, piano; Jimmie Maxwell, trumpet; Vic Dickenson, trombone; Barney Bigard, clarinet; Slam Stewart, double bass; J.C. Heard, drums.
Yes, J.C. rushed in his solos, and Slam’s witticisms were fresher decades earlier, but I would give a great deal to play clarinet as “badly” as Bigard does here, for one example. Few of us at sixty can climb the stairs as we did thirty years earlier, but that hardly means we should be tossed down the stairwell. These performances so evoke the beauties of the great (but also recent) jazz past, that they are to be cherished as evidence of sustained expertise and emotion.
LADY BE GOOD / POOR BUTTERFLY / AFTER YOU’VE GONE:
MOONGLOW / I GOT RHYTHM:
ST. LOUIS BLUES:
No, it was no longer 1944, but the Nice Jazz Festival was an absolute blessing, and the fact that so much of it was also broadcast on French television and radio is a boon beyond words. Let us celebrate it, and the musicians young and old who made it so.
The music that follows is obscure in its provenance — a transcription session in October 1944, we are told — but nothing is obscure about Wilson’s art. It’s melodic in the utmost and distinguished by a ringing clarity, compact and treacherous in its apparent simplicity. Hearing Wilson lay out the first chorus of one of these well-known tunes, one might feel the way one does hearing Bing Crosby sing: “With a little practice, I could do that!,” an illusion that disappears as soon as one sits down at the piano keyboard. I know. On top of my piano is a transcription of a 1938 Wilson solo on I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS, from the presumably-simplified Teddy Wilson School for Pianists, and there are few sheets of paper within reach capable of inspiring such frustration. He was a subtle master among masters, and no one can challenge that.
The songs — in very contained performances — are BYE BYE BLUES; ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET; YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF ME; JUST ONE OF THOSE THINGS; JEALOUS; LOUISE; I SURRENDER, DEAR; ISN’T IT ROMANTIC?; I’VE GOT THE WORLD ON A STRING; LIZA. A few of the compositions were familiar ones for Wilson since 1933, but how many times have we heard him play ISN’T IT ROMANTIC?
And let us marvel at the balance, so delicate, between plainly stated melody, ornamented melody, and spellings-out of the chord sequences to make new melodies. He did this, performance after performance, for fifty-five years.
We lived on Teddy Wilson’s planet, and through recordings, we continue to do so:
Teddy himself is the true benefactor, but standing behind him in generosity is the BlueBlackJazz YouTube channel, where all sorts of piano delights await the curious.
If you figure out how to play like Teddy without spending a lifetime doing so, please let me know. I saw him several times in the early Seventies, and he could still create beauties.
And (as an aside) I am skeptical about most performances that imitate recordings, and performers who copy others, but I’ve always said that if I had a next-door neighbor who could mimic Teddy Wilson at the keyboard, I would be more than happy to listen and applaud.
When you’re remembered long after you’ve moved on, that’s immortality. And as Wilde said somewhere, one can create a work of art or be one. Duke Ellington lasts for both reasons.
The Duke moved to another neighborhood in 1974. None of the musicians in the tribute below is still with us, but nothing seems distant or dusty in the music and the vibrant energy they bring to it. Immortality.
The tribute was performed at the Nice Jazz Festival on July 17, 1977, and it was then broadcast on French television, on October 15, 1978 (and at a later date) as “BARNEY BIGARD SPECIAL No. 4 / HOMMAGE A DUKE ELLINGTON.”
Beautiful leisurely performances: I take particular delight in Teddy Wilson’s work here, and, yes, that is Clark’s wordless vocal on CREOLE LOVE CALL.
COTTON TAIL / CREOLE LOVE CALL* / DON’T GET AROUND MUCH ANYMORE / JUST SQUEEZE ME* / IN A MELLOTONE // Barney Bigard, clarinet; Clark Terry, flugelhorn and vocal*; Billy Mitchell, tenor saxophone; Teddy Wilson, piano; Slam Stewart, string bass; Bobby Rosengarden, drums.
My title, I think a borrowing from Poe, refers to those musical performances, rare and surprising, that have gone unobserved on YouTube for months and years. Volume One can be found here.
Joe Castro with Louis Armstrong and Teddy Wilson, backstage at Basin Street in 1956
Doris Duke is usually identified as tobacco heiress, philanthropist, and socialite. She’s less well-known as a fervent supporter of jazz and an amateur pianist. She and pianist / singer / composer Joe Castro had a lengthy relationship, and Doris’ devotion to jazz led her to stage and record jam sessions in studios on both coasts. Two CD box sets on the Sunnyside label, under Castro’s name — LUSH LIFE and PASSION FLOWER — collect astonishing recordings in first-rate sound, the participants relaxed and eloquent. Here, Castro is not the pianist, but Doris’ friend Teddy Wilson is.
Teddy and Stan Getz only recorded together on one other occasion — the soundtrack of the BENNY GOODMAN STORY, but nothing quite so personal as this quartet, where they are supported splendidly by Bob Berteaux, string bass; Jimmy Pratt, drums. I hear parallels to PRES AND TEDDY (which had not yet happened) and the Lester Young – Nat Cole – Buddy Rich date, but Stan is very much himself here, and the quartet soars and muses beautifully.
FALCON BLUES (BLUES IN G):
SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME:
JUST ONE OF THOSE THINGS:
OUT OF NOWHERE:
I WANT TO BE HAPPY:
“Hidden in Plain Sight”? When I assembled these titles for this post, I noted that the music had been on YouTube for three years and none of these performances had received more than a hundred views. Surprising is the most gentle way I can put it. Some digging on YouTube often yields treasure.
Update, November 20, 2023. Here are newspaper articles (thanks to the tireless Tom Samuels), heralding the concert, one after the fact.
NEW YORK AMSTERDAM NEWS, March 11, 1944:
BALTIMORE AFRO-AMERICAN, also March 11:
NEW YROK AMSTERDAM NEWS, March 25, 1944:
CHICAGO DEFENDER, April 8, 1944:
Music first. Then, words. Many words: suitable for lovers of jazz mysteries.
HONEYSUCKLE ROSE Teddy Wilson Sextet at the Fats Waller Memorial Concert, April 2, 1944, [mis-dated as May 4, all issues] Carnegie Hall, New York City: Wilson, piano; Edmond Hall, clarinet; Emmett Berry, trumpet; Bennie Morton, trombone; Al Hall, string bass; Sidney Catlett, drums:
GET THE MOP:
LADY BE GOOD Mezz Mezzrow Septet at the Fats Waller Memorial Concert, April 2, 1944, [mis-dated as May 4, all issues] Carnegie Hall, New York City: Mezzrow, clarinet; Ben Webster, tenor saxophone; unknown, tenor saxophone; Trummy Young, trombone [mis-identified as Dicky Wells on all issues]; unknown, piano; unknown, string bass; Sidney Catlett, drums:
and from the Carnegie Hall archives:
Sunday, April 2, 1944 at 8:30 PM
Main Hall PRESENTED BY American Youth for Democracy A Salute to Thomas (Fats) Waller
Selections (unspecified) Raymond Edward Johnson, Actor Will Geer, Actor Mezz Mezzrow, Clarinet Jimmy Savo, Comedian Al Hall, Double Bass Oscar Pettiford, Double Bass Pops Foster, Double Bass Cozy Cole, Drums Sid Catlett, Drums Slick Jones, Drums Josh White, Folk Singer Ralph Cooper, Host Al Casey Trio, Jazz Ensemble Count Basie and His Orchestra, Jazz Ensemble Teddy Wilson and His Band, Jazz Ensemble Art Hodes, Piano Bob Howard, Piano Count Basie, Piano Hazel Scott, Piano J. C. Johnson, Piano Mary Lou Williams, Piano Pat Flowers, Piano Teddy Wilson, Piano Willie “The Lion” Smith, Piano Edith Sewell, Soprano Muriel Rahn, Soprano Howard Da Silva, Speaker Paul Draper, Tap Dancer Ben Webster, Tenor Saxophone Trummy Young, Trombone Erskine Hawkins, Trumpet Frankie Newton, Trumpet Hot Lips Page, Trumpet Teri Josefovits, Unspecified Instrument Xavier Cugat, Violin Baby Hines, Vocalist Billie Holiday, Vocalist Jimmy Rushing, Vocalist Mildred Bailey, Vocalist Thelma Carpenter, Vocalist
A little history, a little mystery. I first encountered these three selections on two Jazz Archives microgroove issues in the early Seventies. Jazz Archives was the creation of the assiduous collector Jerry Valburn, whom I met in person a few times because we lived only a few miles away. His label issued live recordings, alternate takes, rare issues, and more. But in this case his documentation was not completely accurate, or it may have been the fault of the person identifying the source material. All issues have placed this concert as May 4, which couldn’t have happened, because that night A. Philip Randolph and others were speaking at Carnegie. The issue mis-identified the trumpet player on HONEYSUCKLE and MOP as Hot Lips Page, a logical error, but it’s very clearly Emmett Berry, who also recorded with the almost-identical Wilson band in 1944. Finally, the trombonist on LADY BE GOOD was identified as Dicky Wells, but it’s very plainly Trummy Young.
There are several other blank spaces in the identification of the Mezzrow Septet: Mezz, Sidney, Ben, and Trummy are completely recognizable. But the oom-cha pianist and anonymous string bassist? Since the concert drew on musicians connected to Cafe Society Uptown and Downtown, I wonder if the first tenor saxophonist is Kenneth Hollon. Teri Josefovits composed and played “novelty piano,” rather like a modern Zez Confrey. But I also want to know how Xavier Cugat fit in. And if you are wondering, “American Youth for Democracy” was the youth group of the Communist Party: not at all surprising, for in 1944 “the left” was vigorously in support of jazz, African-American art, and interracial presentations.
All of this is understandably minutiae, “into the weeds,” as our friend Matthew Rivera calls it. But the three recordings above are professionally done. (A fourth performance from this concert, AIN’T MISBEHAVIN’ by the Basie band, was issued on lp, not CD — Valburn’s “Everybody’s” label — but I don’t have that disc.) I want to know what happened to the other discs. Where are the performances by Newton, Lips, Mildred, the Lion, Pettiford? I did go down a few alleys in my quest: I asked the wonderful musician-archivist David Sager if the discs resided in the Library of Congress (Valburn had donated his Ellington collection there, I seem to recall) and the answer was no. I have a vague memory of leaving a phone message with Lori Valburn, Jerry’s daughter, whose artwork decorated more than a few Jazz Archives covers, but she never called back.
If anyone knows, I’d be thrilled to learn more. Until then, three more performances that many of you may not have heard.
This music was created. It was recorded. Where are the records?
Jazz festivals, by their very nature, lean heavily on all-star groups of musicians who don’t work together often — sometimes resulting in a gathering of brilliant names that is less than the sum of its parts. This set, nearly an hour, is an exception. Benny Carter and Teddy Wilson had associations going back to 1933; Bobby Hackett appeared memorably on a few of Teddy’s recording dates in 1938. Larry Ridley was a versatile player, often called in for such gatherings (he supported Benny, Bobby, and Teddy at the Newport Jazz Festival in New York for a jam session at Radio City Music Hall). Sometimes his bass is not caught well by the microphones, but when it is, it is lovely.
Those four players did not travel in the same orbits in the Seventies, so it is a wondrous thing that they were caught together, not only in performance, but for posterity by French radio.
I’ve left the drummer, David Lee, Jr. (1941-2021) for last, because initially he seems distant from the rhythmic feel of the other players, even though his working associations were with Dizzy Gillespie and Sonny Rollins, who understood swing, if in their own idiosyncratic ways. But Lee adapts himself more as the session continues and his hi-hat, initially relentless, is less distracting.
In 2023, only Larry Ridley (born 1937) survives. Bobby would die of a heart attack less than a year later. Note that Bobby, always gracious, calls a Carter composition for his feature. Easy medium tempos and arching lyrical solos are consistent beauties here.
The details.
Bobby Hackett, trumpet (or cornet?); Benny Carter, alto saxophone; Teddy Wilson, piano; Larry Ridley, string bass; David Lee, Jr., drums. Grande Parade du Jazz, July 18, 1975. Broadcast on French radio: audio only.
I MAY BE WRONG / LOVER, COME BACK TO ME / CAN’T WE BE FRIENDS? / ON GREEN DOLPHIN STREET / BLUES IN MY HEART (Hackett) / BODY AND SOUL (Carter) / WHAT IS THIS THING CALLED LOVE?
I’m not sure that great art ever points the way to a “moral,” but two occur to me. One is to bless these adaptable musicians, so sweetly durable. Their lyricism did not age and will not. The second is to tip our hats in the direction of Thomas Edison’s lab in New Jersey . . . and bless all recording equipment. Yes, “recording” brings us TikTok, but it also made these notes and tones eternal, undying.
We don’t often use “Benny Goodman” and “New Orleans” in the same sentence, but this sublimely relaxed performance suggests we might have been wrong.
It’s reminiscent of the happy ease of the 1935 Trio, with a smooth rhythmic push throughout provided by Sid Weiss, string bass, and Morey Feld, drums. Benny and Teddy seem joyously in synch and free. The sound isn’t perfect but one’s ear gets used to it quickly.
Deep Goodman collectors no doubt know this music, but it hasn’t been issued in any commercial form that I know of. And it’s a consistent pleasure, free from the demands of the recording studio.
Municipal Auditorium, New Orleans, “National Jazz Foundation,” WWL radio broadcast: LIMEHOUSE BLUES / EMBRACEABLE YOU / AFTER YOU’VE GONE / BODY AND SOUL / ‘WAY DOWN YONDER IN NEW ORLEANS / ROSE ROOM / THE WORLD IS WAITING FOR THE SUNRISE / HALLELUJAH! / THE MAN I LOVE / BOOGIE WOOGIE / HONEYSUCKLE ROSE / ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET //
My tape copy is from the collection of the late John L. Fell; audio limitations are to be expected: acetates transferred to magnetic tape of unknown generations from the original.
And since so much conversation about Benny is detached from his music, let me urge you to put the mocking anecdotes aside and just bask in the sounds: the melodic fluidity, the rhythmic ease, the masterful playfulness. I propose that those qualities are more important than whether Benny forgot someone’s name.
This post is for Alessandro King and Nathan Tokunaga, both of whom understand Benny in deep ways.
That’s a very important question, I think. Sincerity leads to shared joy; duplicity to heartbreak. Popular song of the great period revels in the second (think of Bing singing WERE YOU SINCERE?) but we know the delight of being told the loving truth.
Helen Ward, aglow.
We all have recordings that touch us, for a variety of reasons. I have too many “desert island discs” to consider the possibility to transporting them all, even metaphysically, somewhere else. But this post celebrates one of them. The song is the clever and touching DID YOU MEAN IT? from 1936. The title had been used nine years earlier and there is a contemporary version, but this song may be most familiar in a recording pairing Ella Fitzgerald with Benny Goodman, a joint venture that happened only once.
But with all respect to Ella and Benny, this is the version that touches me deeply: I have been playing it over and over.
On this venerable disc — part of a copy of a radio broadcast from March 1937 — Helen Ward’s voice comes through with the most earnest candor. You can believe that she believes what she is singing: no tricks, no gimmicks. She is sincere through and through, and she has the most wondrous band of musicians having the time of their lives around her.
The recording has a good deal of surface noice but one can ignore that easily. It’s what was called an “airshot,” in this case, a recording made of a live performance “off the air.” We don’t know the source and the date is not certain, but whoever had the disc prized it and played it often.
We can hear it now, eighty-five years later, through the brilliant diligence of the jazz violin scholar Anthony Barnett, who has devoted decades to the reverent study of well-known figures Stuff Smith and Eddie South, less well-known ones Johnny Frigo, Ginger Smock, Harry Lookofsky, Dick Wetmore, Henry Crowder, Juice Wilson, and dozens of others. His CDs are models of presentation of the rarest (and most entertaining) material; his books are serious but never ponderous studies in which the people chronicled are instantly alive in evidence and good stories. Learn more here.
Now, to the music.
The band is Helen Ward, vocal; Teddy Wilson, piano; Stuff Smith, violin; Jonah Jones, trumpet; Ben Webster, tenor saxophone; Lawrence Lucie, guitar; John Kirby, string bass; Cozy Cole, drums.
After a declamatory introduction by Jonah, three choruses: one by Helen (obbligati by Stuff and Teddy), one split between Teddy (thank you, Kirby) and Ben at his best pre-1940 rhapsodic, the last for Helen, even more earnest and tender, if such a thing could be imagined, with Jonah making derisive noises behind her as the room temperature rises and she — without changing very much at all — becomes trumpet-like in the best Connie Boswell manner. Please notice the way the band stops, to hold its breath, perhaps, at 2:42. Was this an arrangement based on Helen’s having performed it with the Goodman band, even though Ella made the Victor record?
The applause that closes this performance sounds artificial, but mine is genuine.
This was broadcast on the radio in March 1937. Listen and ponder: do we have it so much better? I wonder.
Thank you, Helen and colleagues. Thank you, Mort Dixon and Jesse Greer.
Perhaps because I have been listening to this music adoringly, obsessively, for decades, occasionally I think there will be no more surprises, no more electric shocks of delight. And then someone comes along and wonderfully proves me wrong. Without further ado, Arifa Hafiz and “Arifa’s Reefers,” led by Ewan Bleach, in performance in the Netherlands in November 2022.
ROSES OF PICARDY:
BACK IN YOUR OWN BACKYARD:
Now, a pause for breath. And for information. The band is Ewan Bleach, clarinet and saxophones; Mike Soper, trumpet; Will Scott, clarinet; Colin Good, piano; Jean-Marie Fagon, guitar; Louis Thomas, string bass. And Ms. Hafiz.
DID I REMEMBER?:
and, finally, FOOLS RUSH IN:
Now, a few words, although they are hardly necessary. That band is completely grounded in the present: they aren’t museum curators. But they have the finest swing-romp one could have, a mixture of Basie and the Commodore Music Shop, with a good deal of Teddy Wilson stirred in for warmed leavening. Arifa is passionate but not melodramatic, joyous yet exact. She loves the song: that’s clear immediately, and she gets right inside it and makes herself comfortable. And in my very brief correspondence with her, she reveals herself to be without pretense: modest, friendly, and gracious — what you hear in her voice is who she is as a person.
You can’t imagine how much my happiness has increased. And there’s a CD in the works. Bless everyone in these videos, and (to borrow from Whitney Balliett) may they prosper.
which contained six sides that Teddy had recorded as a sideman with “Redd Evans and his Billy Boys” for Vocalion Records — great records I think few had ever heard.
But a little online research — my effort to answer the question, “How had Teddy or John Hammond or someone else heard of Redd Evans, and what had they heard that would lead them to offer him more than one record date?” led me to these listings in the DAHR:
Victor BS-019565 10-in. 2/11/1938 A shack in the back of the hills Lewis “Red” Evans and the Boys Jazz/dance band, with male vocal solo director, vocalist
Victor BS-019566 10-in. 2/11/1938 Please be kind Bama Boys Jazz/dance band, with male vocal solo director, vocalist
Victor BS-019567 10-in. 2/11/1938 Thanks for the memory Lewis “Red” Evans and the Boys Jazz/dance band, with male vocal solo director, vocalist
Victor BS-019572 10-in. 2/11/1938 Thanks for the memory Lewis “Red” Evans and the Boys Jazz/dance band, with male vocal solo director, vocalist
Victor BS-019573 10-in. 2/11/1938 Prove it Lewis “Red” Evans and the Boys Jazz/dance band, with male vocal solo director, vocalist
Victor BS-019574 10-in. 2/11/1938 Moments like this Bama Boys Jazz/dance band, with male vocal solo director, vocalist
I also found out that the February 11, 1938 session had the following personnel, some names completely unknown, others familiar to those of us who have studied the period: Russ Case, trumpet; John Potoker, piano; Art Ryerson, guitar; Syd Debin, string bass; Bobby Jones, drums. February 11, 1938, New York City.
I have been able to find nothing about Debin and Jones. Potoker was recognizable to me as a member of Tommy Dorsey’s orchestra, and part of a Charlie Shavers date (1946) for Vogue on its short-lived picture record line. But the first record date I found for him was in 1945. Russ Case was famous — an early Goodman trumpeter, someone appearing with Teagarden, the Boswell Sisters, and Trumbauer. Most intriguing was this early appearance by guitarist Art or Artie Ryerson, explicated by guitarist-scholar Nick Rossi: Artie staking his claim as perhaps one of the first US guitarists to show an explicit Django influence! Ryerson told my friend (and journalist) Jim Carlton that he heard Django on record in 1935 and was influenced by him for the next several years. This, to my ears, is proof of that claim. Ryerson elsewhere in the interview was pretty good with dates by the way – even if he is off by a year or so (which he may very well be based on the research I’ve done around Django’s US record releases), that still gives him ample time to absorb the influence by the time of the recording in question. And who else WAS showing a Django influence in the USA on record in February 1938?
Luigi Lucaccini pointed the way to this gem:
and Javier Soria Laso added more delightful evidence:
These sides are hidden gems in the best pop-songs-swung Thirties tradition. Yes, Evans was more confident on the later sides (or was it Victor’s microphone setup?) but the instrumentalists are splendid; the ocarina solos are delightful — not jokey at all — and the overall effect is polished and homespun at once. And we remember that these three pop tunes were classics in their own way — more memorably recorded, perhaps, by Mildred and Maxine, but touching. I am especially fond of Leo Robin’s wry-mounful lyrics to MEMORY, so true and witty at once; his niece told me a few years ago in conversation that the narrative came from her uncle’s very real heartbreak, and the genuineness comes through in every turn of phrase.
I decided to look deeper on my own and found the two remaining sides from the 1938 date, surprising myself.
PROVE IT:
A SHACK IN THE BACK OF THE HILLS:
If I’d heard any of those sides coming out of a record store speaker or jukebox, I would have been entranced, As I am now. And the gentlemen of the ensemble play so sweetly and easily.
And by the way, if you want what Germans call “the thing in itself,” a reputable eBay seller has the 78 of MOMENTS LIKE THIS and PLEASE BE KIND for sale — $25.00 plus 8.63 shipping) here.
Thanks again for kind erudite diligence, Luigi, Javier, and Nick.
One of the great pleasures of jazz recording and performance is the sound of Teddy Wilson, born 110 years ago today: a complete orchestra, every measure of jewel-box of shining details. The records he made with Billie Holiday have to be among the most famous in the last century, with his sides with Benny Goodman, Mildred Bailey, Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young, Benny Carter, Louis Armstrong, Jo Jones creating a galaxy of pleasures.
But here are some sides from 1939 that few have heard.
They require a bit of speculative research for context. It’s hard in 2022 to imagine how violently the world, and, yes, the entertainment world, was racially segregated. Benny Goodman had broken “the color line” by hiring black musicians who would appear on the same bandstand, but the integration of those artists into radio orchestras and recording groups (as in “studio work”) happened very slowly.
One of the people fighting to break this barrier was John Hammond. I have a good deal of ambivalence about him: he created self-glorifying narratives, he played favorites, he had numerous agendas — but the results of his crusading cannot be denied.
At the start of 1939, Wilson had had almost five years in the spotlight from his work with Goodman; he made many small-group recordings under his own name for Brunswick; he even had a business venture, the “Teddy Wilson School for Pianists.” This was a transitional period: he appeared on a few broadcasts as a member of Benny’s band while his own orchestra was taking shape and broadcasting from the Savoy Ballroom.
Hammond tried, often without success, to stage-manage musicians’ careers (Ellington, Holiday, Frank Newton, and Rex Stewart are the most dramatic examples) and often those musicians grew exasperated and broke off the relationship. But I think he and Teddy respected each other, and Teddy was grateful.
One of John’s ideas was to slowly, subversively mix white popular artists with black jazzmen and women on record. So in 1939-41, Wilson was part of a band or the leader of his own unit for record dates with Redd Evans, Eddy Howard, and Chick Bullock. All of those sessions are rewarding and more: the mix of sweet crooning and hot solos and accompaniment is, to me, irresistible.
Of the three, Redd Evans is perhaps the most obscure, and his fame is now as a lyricist for NO MOON AT ALL, THERE! I’VE SAID IT AGAIN, THE FRIM FRAM SAUCE, ROSIE THE RIVETER, LET ME OFF UPTOWN, and DON’T GO TO STRANGERS. But in 1938 he made six sides for Victor or Bluebird as “Lewis Evans and his Bama Boys,” which I have never seen nor heard. (Anyone?) Here the connections become pure speculation. Did Hammond hear those records, or was Evans performing in a club or on the radio? Or did Evans reach out to Wilson or Hammond? A side note: an internet source says that Evans was a saxophonist and that he played the ocarina.
This just in, as they say on news programs. Luigi Lucaccini pointed me to the one “Bama Boys” record — on Bluebird — that not only delights but answers the question. It’s PLEASE BE KIND:
That’s perfectly charming — I want to hear all of them! And I can completely understand Hammond or someone else wanting Evans, a delightful singer and ocarina soloist, to record again with jazz accompaniment. The facts about this session are: Russ Case, trumpet; John Potoker, piano; Art Ryerson, guitar; Syd Debin, string bass; Bobby Jones, drums. February 11, 1938, New York City. Again, this is a worthy entry in the pop-song-swung tradition, and it shows that fine music was played by people who weren’t stars, although Potoker, Case, and Ryerson are certainly known.
So these would be called “crossover” recordings, mixing jazz and Western swing. And here is the discographical data, thanks to Tom Lord (I’m puzzled by the note that Evans sings on the first session but the vocals are done by “Hot Sweet Potato,” since Evans played the ocarina. But this doesn’t stop me from enjoying the music.)
Redd Evans (vcl) acc by tp, ts, g, Buster Bailey (cl) Teddy Wilson (p) unknown (b) J.C. Heard (d). New York, April 17, 1939. W24381 They cut down the old pine tree Voc 4836 W24382 Red wing – W24383-B Carry me back to the lone prairie 4920 W24384-A Red River Valley –
Here are files (courtesy of the Internet Archive) of the first four songs.
The trumpeter sounds both fine and familiar: Emmett Berry, possibly?
Those four sides enjoyed some popularity — if you count appearances on eBay as a valid indicator. I have one of the two discs (OLD PINE TREE and RED WING) and made rudimentary transfers of the worn 78 for YouTube, for those who like to see the disc spin.
RED RIVER VALLEY and RED WING were classic Americana; the other two were more contemporary creations, with the light-hearted morbidity of OLD PINE TREE, which always catches me unaware.
The other two sides were both fascinating and elusive: the digital transfers are a gift from collector Peter J. Doyle, although I have never seen the disc. But brace yourself for BAGGAGE COACH, which is an ancient barroom ballad (Eugene O’Neill used it in A MOON FOR THE MISBEGOTTEN) much more morbid than OLD PINE TREE. This rocking version owes something to Jerry Colonna and the Tommy Dorsey “glee club.” It’s a favorite record of mine. And MILENBERG JOYS simply rocks: when wasn’t that the case?
Redd Evans And His Billy Boys : Willis Kelly (tp) Floyd Brady (tb) Reggie Merrill (as) Clark Galehouse (ts) Teddy Wilson (p) Al Casey (g) Al Hall (b) Cozy Cole (d) Redd Evans, “Hot Sweet Potato” (vcl). New York, August 11, 1939. 25189-1 Milenberg joys (re vcl) Voc 5173 25190-1 In the baggage coach ahead (re vcl) – 25191-1,2 Am I blue ? (re,hsp vcl) (unissued) 25192-1,2 When it’s springtime in the Rockies (hsp vcl) –
and a less unusual composition:
Are these six sides imperishable jazz classics? Perhaps not. But Teddy’s work is stunning — a magical combination of ease and intensity. As always.
Thank you, Mister Wilson, for all you gave us and continue to give us.
Although I have spent the better part of my life wholly immersed in this music, I envy those who are coming to it for the first time. Because they don’t “know everything” behind and around what they hear, they are able to hear the music’s energies and shadings in ways that those of us whose minds are portable libraries can’t. The more you know, ironically, the heavier your psychic knapsack becomes, even though some of those accretions are relevant and precious.
I imagine someone coming to the four-minute performance with no knowledge of the players, their personal histories, the cultural context in which this performance happened, and simply thinking, “That sounds wonderful!” They know nothing of “Benny Goodman”; they hear a clarinet, piano, vibraphone, and drums at once being expert beyond belief and playing like children, full of joy. Personal quirks and tragedies aren’t in that knapsack, merely exuberant bright thrilling sounds — the music of great artists having a great time, on the spot.
So I urge the most erudite of my readers to attempt an experiment. Put aside all the gossip you’ve heard about the players, forget your memories of perhaps seeing them live or buying your first recordings by them. Forget what you know or what you think you know, and drop down, trusting and blindfolded, into the rich irreplaceable sounds:
To quote Frank Chace about another clarinetist, “Doesn’t that just scrape the clouds?”
I could write a thousand words on what seems marvelous to me here, but I’d hope that readers take the pleasure of hearing this performance again. And before turning to their other tasks, I invite them to subscribe to the YouTube channel created and maintained by my friend who calls himself, not by accident, “Davey Tough” — a treasure-house of marvels, presented with care, intelligence, and love.
Yes, that’s right: Tommy Dorsey taking Bennie Morton’s place, briefly, reading the trombone book, alongside Emmett Berry, trumpet; Ed Hall, clarinet; Sidney Catlett, drums. Members of this band we don’t see are the leader Teddy Wilson and the bassist, either Johnny Williams or Slam Stewart. Alas, there’s no recorded evidence, but Brown Brothers had a photographer there to show us that it did happen.
Incidentally, “sits in” means that he wasn’t there as a regular member of the group; his business suit isn’t their tuxedo band uniform, and his posture suggests (even though Tommy was a completely expert professional musician) that he is seeing the music for the first time.
and the front, so remarkable:
I suspect whatever they are playing is or was an arrangement new to them, because Emmett and Ed are looking at their music as well. It must have sounded so fine.
How do I know about this? This photograph, with watermarks added, appeared on eBay about a week ago and I put in a substantial bid and sat back. The auction ended less than an hour ago; I was outbid, and the new owner will pay $134 (shipping included) which was more than I felt up to. But we all can see this version — even with watermarks — and marvel, for free.
And just because it would be cruel tp post silently in this context, here is nearly forty-five minutes from that same Wilson band (Berry, Morton, Hall, Slam Stewart, Catlett) recorded for Associated Transcriptions in 1944. Ignore the incorrect “Onyx Club” description and float along in the finest swing:
That photograph says a good deal about Tommy Dorsey the active and respected jazzman, something that posterity hasn’t always said quite as generously. He could, and did, play, and I am sure that Teddy was delighted to have him on the stand.
In his sixty-year performing career, Earl Hines was never characterized as a timid improviser. No, he was daring — that he had a piano in front of him rather than a machete was only the way the Fates had arranged it. Dick Wellstood called him, “Your Musical Host, serving up the hot sauce,” and that’s apt. Whether the listener perceives it as the freedom to play whatever occurred to him or a larger musical surrealism, it was never staid.
Later in life, Hines had (like his colleague Teddy Wilson) various medleys and tributes that could form a set program for an evening, but he improvised, even within set routines. The listener was in the grip of joyous turbulence, and Hines’ showmanship was always part of the show. Here, first solo and then accompanied by Harley White, string bass, and Eddie Graham, drums, he plays music composed by and associated with his friend Fats Waller. Make sure your seat belt is low and tight across your hips before we start.
Photograph by David Redfern
The songs are BLACK AND BLUE / TWO SLEEPY PEOPLE / AIN’T MISBEHAVIN’ / JITTERBUG WALTZ / SQUEEZE ME / HONEYSUCKLE ROSE . . . and each of them has its possibilities examined, shaken, stirred, and offered to us in the most multi-colored way. And, yes, my mixing of metaphors is an intentional bow to the Fatha:
Hines told more than one interviewer that his flashing “trumpet style” of playing — octaves and single-note lines exploding like fireworks — was born out of necessity, his desire to be heard over the band. He kept to that path even when no band was present, and it’s dazzling.
It is raining in my world, so that is reason to work more on closet-archaeology (“What was I saving this for?”) and other probing questions, which led coincidentally to emotional-musical introspection. Thanks to Nick Rossi, who holds the lantern for so many of us, I wandered to this brief lovely rousing performance (November 23, 1937):
Three choruses and an extension, a masterpiece of individual improvisations and collective Swing architecture. Imperishable. If you need subtitles: the Benny Goodman Trio, which was Benny, clarinet; Teddy Wilson, piano; Gene Krupa, drums — performed live on the Camel Caravan radio program, recorded for us by the Blessed William Savory and shared with us by the equally Blessed George Avakian. (I understand there are many hours of unheard BG in the Savory discs, but don’t know the state of the negotiations that would make them audible.)
And one more. Anyone for pineapple and plumeria, still fresh, from June 29, 1937?
I heard these recordings when I was still in the first years of high school — the gift of a friend who had played clarinet in his childhood, who later, as a math teacher, helped me pass the Regents — and they stuck with me. Doug Brown, thank you across the decades.
Then and now, I delight in Benny’s enthusiasm, his special kind of melodic embellishment; Teddy’s marvelous pulse and harmonic surprises; Gene’s energetic delight. (If you think that Gene is “heavy” on these recordings, listen to the way Benny and Teddy are inspired by him, then ask yourself, “Is this what I am hearing or am I merely repeating what someone else has said?”)
And one other thing. These were brand-new popular tunes in 1937 (you can look up their histories at your leisure) so it wasn’t a ponderous matter of “the classics from the Great American Songbook,” but three masters having fun with new music. What a blessing such music was made, and captured.
First, some music: STOMPIN’ AT THE SAVOY as performed by Don Redman’s Orchestra in Geneva, Switzerland, October 27, 1946. The band is Bobby Williams, Alan Jeffreys, trumpet; Peanuts Holland, trumpet, vocal; Quentin Jackson, Jack Carman, trombone; Tyree Glenn, trombone, vibraphone; Don Redman, alto saxophone, piano, vocal, arranger; Chauncey Haughton, Pete Clarke, alto and baritone saxophone, clarinet; Don Byas, Ray Abrams, tenor saxophone; Billy Taylor, piano; Ted Sturgis, string bass; Buford Oliver, drums; Inez Cavanaugh, vocal:Â
The music (in this case featuring Tyree Glenn, Ted Sturgis, Don Byas, and others) is relevant to the pieces of paper below. And for those who would like to hear the whole Geneva concert — happily broadcast on Swiss radio and even more happily, preserved for us seventy-five years later! — here are all the performances:
Now I shall modulate into another key.
As a young jazz fan, I had to decide what variety of souvenir I wanted to take home from an evening’s entertainment. At one point, I fancied myself a still photographer — with a Canon AE-1 — and I would take as many shots as I’d bought rolls of 35 millimeter film. That was especially appropriate in the venues where I had learned beforehand that illicit audiotaping would get me thrown out unceremoniously (as in, “We don’t allow that here. Give it to me and please leave”).  Â
I asked very few musicians for autographs, because I was afraid that they would say, “Was that a cassette recorder I saw in front of you? Kindly bring it here so that I can smash it with my shoe, if you don’t mind.” I also felt at the time that asking for a hero’s autograph relegated me to the status of “fan,” where conversation would have been limited. I could speak to Bennie Morton, but if I’d asked him to sign something, perhaps he would have done so, said a few polite words, and the interchange would have ended.
Eventually I also realized that approaching an artist for their autograph right before a set was ungenerous (“Let me get prepared, let me discuss the first song and the key, or let me get my charts together”) and after a set perhaps more so (“I just gave you my all for 45 minutes; I’m depleted, and want to visit the facilities”) so thrusting a tiny piece of paper in the Idol’s face was not always a kindness.
I must say, though, that in 1971 if I delayed Teddy Wilson for three minutes to ask him to sign my copy of PRES AND TEDDY and send beams of admiration at him, I feel no guilt now, and a prize of mine (thanks to the very dear Mike Burgevin) is an enthusiast’s 1933 autograph book that has a Jack Pettis signature. So I am not free from such urges.
Many people, however, perhaps with less timidity, have asked for autographs. Their ease, decades after the fact, results in slips of paper being offered for sale on eBay. One of the most rewarding sites is “jgautographs”— and here are a few items of unusual interest from a recent auction.
Don Redman’s 1946 orchestra (including Don Byas) that “went to Europe”:
and
and one of its trumpet stars, Peanuts Holland:
another Quentin Jackson signature (he deserves the attention):
our hero, James Rushing, Esquire:
the underrated and superb drummer Kansas Fields:
A souvenir of the 1938 Paul Whiteman orchestra, featuring Charlie Teagarden, Frank Signorelli, and George Wettling, and what looks like a Miff Mole signature squeezed in at the bottom:
Finally, a trio that I would have loved to hear — perhaps at a festival in 1978 — Jo Jones, Milt Hinton, and Ray Bryant:
Holy relics, mingling gratitude, admiration, affection, passing back and forth from artist to happy listeners.
(Postscript: none of these seem mechanical: if you haunt eBay, as I do, you can find what seem like hundreds of signatures by certain famous musicians, and I suspect they sat at a table, as do sports stars, and signed a thousand in an afternoon, which now are for sale. These seem to be signed in real life and under real circumstances, which is a very fine thing.)
I’m in favor of authenticity, especially when it comes to matters of the heart, but for fifty years, Benny Carter’s song (music and lyrics) SYNTHETIC LOVE has been a true favorite of mine. So many things come together in it: the irresistible little motifs of the opening melody line and the notes that underpin “Although my life may be pathetic, better that than more synthetic love.” It should have been a hit, but I think the lyrics — so clever — were not easy for singers. “What rhymes with synthetic? With artificial?” Benny was living in the age of synthetics — between Bakelite in 1907 and nylon in 1935 (yes, I looked this up) — so the idea of “synthetic love” might have hit him as hard as “milkless milk and silkless silk” did W.C. Handy.
I am terribly fond of Carter’s early singing, how clearly he idolizes the equally-young Crosby, with the patented mordents, dips and slides. The usual jazz-history response to Bing is that he was influenced by African-American musicians, but I think the reverse is also true: his work was deeply absorbed by them as well.
I cannot provide any facts about his vocal work of the time: our friend Matthew “Fat Cat” Rivera, founder of the Hot Club of New York, talked to Hilma Carter, Benny’s widow, who told him that the King had no desire to linger on or in the past . . . he was always moving forward, so that he recorded SYNTHETIC LOVE once in 1933, then a year later, and never again. Here are those two versions and two modern evocation-tributes. All entrancing, I feel.
Shad Collins, Leonard Davis, Bill Dillard (tp) George Washington, Wilbur DeParis (tb) Benny Carter (cl,as,tp-1,dir,arr) Howard Johnson (as) Chu Berry (ts) Nicholas Rodriguez (p) Lawrence “Larry” Lucie (g) Ernest Hill (b) Sidney Catlett (d,d & vib-2) New York, March 14, 1933.
Here we have — in addition to Carter, composer, arranger, and singer, Benny’s first recorded trumpet solo, a beauty. This recording is not only splendid jazz, but wonderful dance music, thanks to Lucie (who takes a break), Hill (who’s swinging with the bow), Sidney Catlett’s propulsive brushes — switching to powerful press rolls in the outchorus. Also note the trombone (Washington?), early Chu, and lovely Carter clarinet. Hard to believe one man was so talented!
If the first version was an expansive yet unaffected display of Carter’s talents, the second is far more modest (although not in its effect).
Russell Smith, Otis Johnson, Irving “Mouse” Randolph (tp) Bennie Morton, Keg Johnson (tb) Benny Carter (as,cl) Ben Smith, Russell Procope (as) Ben Webster (ts) Teddy Wilson (p) Clarence Holiday (g) Elmer James (b) Walter Johnson (d) Charles Holland (vcl). New York, December 13, 1934.
The trumpet solo is by Irving “Mouse” Randolph, whom no one chronicles — maybe I should? — the glorious trombone solo is by Bennie Morton, and you hear Teddy Wilson gleaming throughout. Carter did not sing again; rather, the vocal chorus is by Charles Holland, who also recorded with Chick Webb; he was (I learned this morning) trumpeter “Peanuts” Holland’s brother:
Into this century, from November 2000. Dan Barrett, cornet and vocal; Chris Hopkins, piano (a version I had the honor of playing for THE Benny Carter scholar and all-around gentleman Ed Berger, who hadn’t known of it). What a wonderful idea to take the chorus rubato, then pick up into a swinging 4/4:
The most recent version, from 2002, by ECHOES OF SWING: Colin Dawson, trumpet / vocal; Chris Hopkins, alto saxophone; Bernd Lhotzky, piano; Oliver Mewes, drums:
Who will bring this neat, clever song into 2021? And may I wish all my readers love that is in no way synthetic. We know the difference.
P.S. This blogpost is for all the members of the Hot Club of New York, many of whom love this song as I do.
This is not the most famous of Cole Porter’s songs, nor the most heralded of Teddy Wilson’s performances. But I found myself humming it — silently — the past few days, and thought I would remind myself and you of these moments of beauty. The three-note downward motif is not complex, but it ensnares the listener, and the bridge is so lyrical that it startles on first hearing or rehearing. The version I have permanently embossed on my brain is Lee Wiley’s, but when I turned to the solo piano inventions here — Teddy at his thoughtful best — I was entranced.
Here, from a 1939-40 transcription session:
Here, for Musicraft Records, in 1946:
It’s easy to caricature the most obvious facets of Wilson’s style: the rapid tempos, walking-tenths basslines, the magnificent right-hand arpeggios, but at this tempo, the beauties of his style — sedate, grave, respectful but rhythmic — are evident. Teddy, like his colleagues of the early Thirties, knew how to honor the melody while spelling out the harmonies, and to create new melodies from those harmonies. Elegance, grace, and feeling, all in place from his introduction to Louis’ I’VE GOT THE WORLD ON A STRING. The ease of his performance, less violent than Hines, or room-filling like Tatum, could lead someone to believe that it was easy to do, but having spent some time attempting to reproduce four measures of his introduction to I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS from the 1928 “School for Pianists” recordings, I assure you that even when he simplified his style, he was creating magic. And these two performances, exploring Porter’s melody without the “smart” lyrics, have a wistful grace.
And, just because Miss Wiley’s version didn’t leave my mental soundtrack either, here she is at an Eddie Condon concert (Ritz Theatre, March 17, 1945) with Joe Bushkin, piano; Sid Weiss, string bass. That the top notes are slightly beyond her reach only adds to the poignancy of her rendition):
JAZZ LIVES 