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THE INFLUENCE of BIX BEIDERBECKE – VOLUME ONE: USA by Max Easterman Even Though It Became Known As “The Jazz Age”, Real Ja

THE INFLUENCE of BIX BEIDERBECKE – VOLUME ONE: USA by Max Easterman Even Though It Became Known As “The Jazz Age”, Real Ja

THE INFLUENCE OF – VOLUME ONE: USA

By Max Easterman

Even though it became known as “The Age”, real jazz was rarely popular in its own right during the 1920s, as witness the rarity of many of the finest jazz recordings from this era. Jazzmen – particularly white jazzmen – made much more money and often won greater fame using it to pep up dance music than they ever did making pure jazz recordings, though, of course, it’s by the jazz they played on records that we now judge their worth. Such is the distorting mirror of history! Of course, to the general public of the time, arranged dance music played with a rhythmic bounce and offering the occasional jazz-like solo was what they thought of as “jazz”.

Two recordings suffice to illustrate the point. The recording of ’s Back In Your Own Backyard , issued in March 1928, sold 88,000 copies; Bix’s recording of Somebody Stole My Gal , recorded a few weeks later, made sales of only 2400. The first is a highly arranged dance band recording containing just two short solos by Bix; the latter is a romping jazz gem, on which Bix flies like a bird throughout and inspires his fellows to greater things than they knew they were capable of.

Bix was a legend in his lifetime for the men who played with him, or listened to him and tried to play like him. But for the general public, who bought the discs, he was just another name, a name which only became significant, for some of them, long after his death.

However, Bix’s influence on the and players of his generation, indeed on horn players generally, is what this CD set is about, and there can be no doubt that it took hold very early on in Bix’s career.

Bix and the Wolverines recorded Jazz Me Blues for Gennett Records in Richmond, Indiana, in mid-February of 1924. Just over four months later, interpolated Bix’s solo, almost note for note, into George Olsen’s recording of You’ll Never Get to Heaven With Those Eyes . According to Richard Sudhalter and Phil Evans, in Bix: Man and Legend, it was in fact Olsen’s arranger, Eddie Kilfeather, who’d heard the record and transcribed the solo for Nichols, even though the chord sequence bears no relation to the pop tune recorded by the Olsen band! Nichols’ phrasing is more staccato than Bix’s, especially at the faster tempo of the Olsen recording. It’s a good enough solo in its own right, but the historical significance here is that it’s the earliest known example of a Bix solo being transcribed from a recording and played by another musician. Nichols was, apparently, so impressed with Bix’s work on the Gennett recordings that he made a point of going to meet him a few weeks later. They became firm friends thereafter and Bix roomed with Nichols on one of his early visits to . It’s claimed that they may have recorded together but there’s no evidence it happened: no such record has – as yet – come to light. Certainly, Bix’s playing had a deep and long-lasting effect on Nichols’ style, and he suffered venomous criticism from some quarters as a result.

Perley Breed’s Shepard Colonial Orchestra played in the restaurant of the Shepard Colonial department store in Boston. John Shepard III, the store’s owner, was something of a media pioneer, with a radio station, WNAC, broadcasting directly from the store. The band’s trumpeter, Warren Hookway , is a mysterious figure, described as a “wild guy” by . Hookway’s only other recorded contributions of the period are as a member of groups led by a much better known trumpeter, . His half- chorus solo on Where’s My Sweetie Hiding? is Bixian in tone and competent enough, though not outstanding. Much more significant is the ensemble playing of the band, which strongly reflects the Wolverines’ style, both in tone and beat, known as ‘sock’ rhythm (with the cornet playing a very heavily accented first beat of four); in this respect, the recording demonstrates the fact that the Wolverines’ influence had spread well beyond the mid-West within a matter of months. Later on in the 1920s, Perley Breed sailed the Atlantic to join the Ambrose Orchestra in . As a matter of fact, it was Al Sudhalter – father of Richard Sudhalter – who was originally picked for the job, but Sudhalter decided not to go for family reasons. Perley Breed returned to in 1929 and quickly faded into obscurity; he died, probably as a result of alcoholism, in the late 1930s.

Controversy has long surrounded the identity of the cornet soloist on Marion McKay’s recording of Doo Wacka Doo . At one time, the solo was thought to have been by Bix himself: the story goes that he was invited along to the Gennett studios by McKay’s drummer, Jack Tillson, sat in for the solo and was paid $30 for the gig. However, later research by Warren Plath revealed the true identity of the Bixian soloist – McKay’s regular cornetist, Leroy Morris; in any case, Tillson did not play on this date! It’s a fine solo, though, which stands out from the rest of the performance – and provides yet further evidence of Bix’s early and widespread influence.

Hitch’s Happy Harmonists (left and right) Haskell Simpson, Maurice May, Henry Wright, Early “Buddy” McDowell, Arnold Habbe, , Curtis Hitch and Fred Rollison. Taken at Gennett Records studio in 1924

McKay’s was one of many mid-West bands that recorded for Gennett at its Richmond, Indiana, studios. By the mid-1920s, the company had pretty well cornered the market for hotter groups in the Indiana, Ohio and Illinois region. Curtis Hitch’s Happy Harmonists was one such outfit, hailing from Evansville, Ohio. Hitch and his band of high school friends started out as dedicated followers of the Rhythm Kings (NORK), after hearing their Gennett recordings; indeed, the NORK’s influence is quite obvious in the Happy Harmonists’ first records (also for Gennett), which pre-date the Wolverines’ recordings by several months. But a chance encounter with the Wolverines, playing in Bloomington, Indiana, turned Hitch and his men into Bixophiles virtually overnight! Cataract Rag Blues could have been recorded by the Wolverines, so similar is the sound, the rhythm and Fred Rollison’s cornet playing, which rings out over the ensemble, just as Bix’s did.

Jimmy Joy’s Orchestra, circa 1926, with Rex “Curley” Preis, trumpet. Note contrabass sax in background!

Riverboat Shuffle was written by Hoagy Carmichael, a close friend and admirer of Bix, and was another title recorded by the Wolverines. By the time Jimmy Joy got around to recording it, the tune had become something of a standard (it was even recorded by the Kit Cat Band in England a few months later – see Volume Two of this CD set), and it was one of the first titles Bix recorded with in 1927. The Jimmy Joy band follow the orchestration of the Wolverines very closely, though Rex Preis’ cornet solo is modelled on Bix’s more in tone and attack than actual style, and the band interpolate an extra chorus. This track was recorded in Kansas City, Missouri, rather than the band’s base of Dallas, Texas. After recording , the Joy band travelled on to . There they met up with Bix himself, who was working in Charley Straight’s band, and even persuaded him to do a private recording with them, but – and this presaged things to come – he cancelled at the last minute because of a hangover.

Tiger Rag is one of the most frequently recorded tunes in jazz (only beaten by St Louis Blues ). The Wolverines’ own recording of the number was made in June 1924 and is noteworthy for one of Bix’s most original and instantly recognisable solos. Almost identical solos to that played by Bix appear on records made by several other bands over the following four years…including one by the Ramblers in May, 1925. But who is playing it and how did this trumpeter come to hear Bix’s solo? The first question is perhaps easier to answer: the finger clearly points to Red Nichols (again!), who was recording regularly with the Ramblers at that time. Another Ramblers-group version, by the University Six, of almost exactly a year later, features the same solo, by what sounds like the same soloist. In the past, this solo was ascribed to Chelsea Quealey, but Quealey had both a warmer tone and a more Bixian style than that of the player(s) on either of the Ramblers’ versions of the number. The latest edition of Brian Rust’s Jazz Records lists Roy Johnston for the University Six side and this seems entirely plausible: Johnston, in 1926, was still playing in the rather staccato style that Red Nichols had been using a year earlier. Nichols is most likely to be the man on the full California Ramblers version presented here.

The California Ramblers, circa 1924. Note playing bass in the background

But now for the real mystery: how did either man come to hear and copy Bix’s solo? The Wolverines’ recording wasn’t issued commercially until 1936. Only a few test pressings were made at the time of the original session. There are two possible answers. It is known that Bix himself owned one of the tests (which he later gave to his mother, and which is now at the Institute of Jazz Studies at Rutgers University). It’s therefore possible that Bix played it to his friend, Red Nichols (whom he first met two weeks after The Wolverines’ Tiger Rag was recorded). Johnston could similarly have heard one of the tests or, of course, the Ramblers 1925 record…or the solo could have been transcribed for the Ramblers’ stock arrangement of the number. On the other hand, perhaps Bix regularly played the solo as a speciality: Tiger Rag would, after all, have been in the repertoire of almost every band he played with at that time. Whatever the reason, Bix’s Tiger Rag solo was clearly well-known to the musical fraternity long before the general public heard it through the eventual release of the Gennett recording.

No such mystery surrounds the Arcadian Serenaders’ recording of The Co-Ed . Their cornettist, , was born in Alabama, but made his first recordings in New Orleans in March 1924 with the Original Crescent City Jazzers. replaced Bose later on in 1924, and under his leadership the band took up a long-term engagement at the Arcadia Ballroom in St Louis, Missouri, changing its name to the Arcadian Serenaders as a result. Manone left in 1925 and Bose rejoined the band. From September 1925, Frank Trumbauer’s Orchestra – with Bix on cornet – played opposite the Arcadian Serenaders at the ballroom, and Bose soon fell under the influence of Bix. Years afterwards, Bose told how he would spend all day practicing his idol’s choruses. The results of Bose’s efforts are clearly audible on The Co-Ed; his entry after the solo and driving lead in the ride-out chorus are pure Bix . Bose later worked for , after Bix had left that outfit to join Whiteman; his playing on Goldkette’s Don’t Be Like That , recorded in 1928, has often been mistaken for Bix. Bose played and recorded extensively in the 1930s, with , and .

Sterling Bose

Bix recorded on his first session under his own name, for Gennett, in 1925. But it was the two recordings made by Red Nichols groups in 1927 – and the one presented on this CD, ’s Molers – that established this number in the jazz canon. Compared to Bix’s original recording, the tempo here is slightly slower, the rhythm smoother, bouncy rather than punchy, and the cornet takes a back seat to the reeds. This is ’s record, without a doubt: and, as we can also hear on the penultimate track of this CD ( Jazz Me Blues , track 24), his playing is heavily influenced by Bix. On the original Davenport Blues, Bix led his own group from the front throughout, dominating what is largely an ensemble performance; here the trombone states the verse and hands over to Dorsey’s alto sax, which creates a melody line that inverts the basic tune and is at the same time full of Bixian leaps and turns. Nichols confines himself to a pretty straight, on-the-beat lead in both opening and closing ensembles, only occasionally indulging in his characteristic ‘slurs’.

The Original Wolverines were not ‘original’ at all! The band Bix played in underwent a number of personnel changes and other vicissitudes after he left, eventually disbanding in 1925. Pianist Dick Voynow, the original leader, sold the name to a Chicago impresario, Husk O’Hare, who used it for a number of years and did record as Husk O’Hare’s Wolverines in 1928. So when Voynow got the chance to record again in 1927, he revived the name and added ‘Original’, to distinguish his group from O’Hare’s. Cornettist Jimmy McPartland had replaced Bix on the Wolverines’ final date for Gennett – having been hired on Beiderbecke’s recommendetion; he returned for this session, along with their original drummer, Vic Moore. McPartland was one of the Austin High Gang, as they were known: a bunch of jazz-crazy kids from Chicago’s west end, which included several of McKenzie & Condon’s Chicagoans of the next track (Teschemacher, Freeman and Lannigan). Like so many other Chicago-based groups, they drew their initial inspiration from the . But, once again, the Wolverines changed all that.

Husk O’Hare’s Wolverines, featuring the Austin High Gang (from left to right) (wearing glasses!), Jim Lannigan, , Jimmy McPartland, , Floyd O’Brien, Dave North, Dick McPartland

McPartland wasn’t just jazz-crazy, he was Bix-crazy as well….“Bix”, he eulogised, “had just about everything I looked for in a jazz musician”. A Good Man Is Hard To Find reveals the 20-year old still struggling to find his style: his lead is driving and urgent, but the tone is rough, at times quite harsh, as if he’s trying too hard; overall, this whole performance is very uneven. Two months later, on the Chicagoans’ date, he sounds like a different player altogether: the tone is much more round, and he executes his Bixian glissandi in the ensemble with confidence and ease. Something to note, though, in this context is that a particular recording company’s studios and microphones could make a big difference to the sound – and there’s no question that Brunswick produced an inferior result to Okeh – which may partly account for the apparent improvement in McPartland’s tone between the two sessions.

Liza is a fine example of how the Chicago style developed: the tight ensemble-dominated days of the Wolverines had given way to a more open, freer style, as soloists take centre stage. Neither Red McKenzie nor were ‘founder’ members of the Austin High Gang, though Condon had been playing with them on and off since 1924. McKenzie was a jockey who got into music through ‘blue-blowing’ (playing paper and comb) – and had a huge seller with the ’ recording of Arkansaw (sic) Blues . According to Bud Freeman, McKenzie “had a lot of nerve”, which is how he persuaded to make the Chicagoans’ session; but other sources suggest he was in fact an unofficial talent scout for the company, and also had a hand in organizing Bix’s sessions for that label.

Jan Garber was a violinist, who made the big time as “The Idol of the Air-lanes” in the 1930s, broadcasting sweet music from Chicago’s Trianon Ballroom. But it was as leader of a hot dance band in the 1920s that he’s best known to jazz collectors. A glance at the personnel who played with him in that period gives us an idea of the close-knit nature of the world of ‘hot’ players. Trumpeters Chelsea Quealey and Harry Goldfield were with him as early as 1923: Goldfield later played alongside Bix in Paul Whiteman’s orchestra and on several Trumbauer dates; by the end of the decade, Jimmy McPartland had graduated to the Garber band, alongside Adrian Rollini, who had played on Bix’s own recording of Since My Best Girl Turned Me Down .

Jan Garber and his Orchestra, circa 1927

The trumpeters on this particular Garber side are Goldfield and possibly Paul Weirick (according to Richard DuPage, in Record Research ). Weirick – who also played in Marion McKay’s band – is presumably the man responsible for the fine Bixian solo just before Goldfield’s vocal (which proves that he should have stuck to the trumpet!). Of even greater pleasure, though, is the scoring for the brass, who execute a break of extraordinary complexity into the trumpet solo, and then lead the final ensemble with all the verve and gusto of the Whiteman brass section, sounding uncannily as if Bix is in there with them. Paul Weirick may have actually been responsible for the scoring as well. He became a top arranger for 1930s dance bands, and his 1936 book Dance Arranging is, incredibly, still in print!

With the Lou Raderman side, we return to the land of mystery and enigma. The cornet solos on Why Do I Love You? and its session-mate Ol’ Man River have long been the subject of much rancorous dispute. It sounds like Bix, and indeed Raderman himself claimed that it was; various jazz writers and Bix specialists, after exhaustive listening, have concurred. Yet several others disagree equally vehemently and say it’s Manny Klein, who claimed when he was played the record that it was him (Klein, apparently, could play anything in any idiom). Noted researcher and musician Brad Kay says there are ‘pitch goofs’ in the solo on Why Do I Love You? that Bix would never have made at his peak in 1928; but that, of course, assumes he was not once again hung over! And then, why would Manny Klein, not a player normally associated with playing like Bix, do so on this particular session? Just to prove he could? Maybe…and he makes a similar claim about a solo on a recording (track 20).

Red Nichols

It would be surprising if there weren’t some stylistic differences between the earlier recording by Miff Mole’s Molers (track 8) and their version of the hit tune , made some sixteen months later, in July 1928. In particular, Red Nichols’ cornet playing shows much more of Bix’s influence. Though Nichols plays the lead pretty well dead straight in the opening chorus, with just the final two notes slurred precisely as Bix might have done, his half-chorus solo after the verse is quite different in style to how he was playing on Davenport Blues . He opens with a typical Bixian melodic inversion, and his phrasing generally is very much what we’d expect from Bix himself; only in the last two bars of the solo does Nichols produce a more staccato style often associated with his playing. Another point of interest here is the brass solo that follows the opening chorus: some people have suggested this is by Dudley Fosdick on mellophone, but it’s not his typical bubbly style and the glissandi and very low notes that pepper this chorus make it clear it’s by Mole himself on trombone, using a ‘can’ mute. Fosdick does duet with Mole on the final middle-eight, and he is obviously responsible for the coda, which repeats the 11-note figure he plays in the introduction.

There’s considerable doubt about the identity of the cornettist on Andrew Aiona’s Hula Girl, as indeed that of most other members of the group. Uniquely in this collection, the cornet solo is tightly muted, something not associated with Bix’s own solo work: he normally played open and when he used one, his preferred mute was the derby, whereas the one used here is almost certainly a straight mute. K.A. Theck is credited in Jazz Records with the cornet part (doubling alto?), though it has also been suggested that Aiona used musicians from Curtis Mosby’s band (with whom they shared a later recording session). Were this to be so, the brass player would be James Porter ; Porter does often play muted, though his style is clearly rooted in the Armstrong tradition, as might be expected of a black musician. Again, the real interest here is how far-reaching Bix’s influence had grown: he didn’t himself reach California (with the Whiteman Orchestra) until five months after this side was recorded.

The Hotsy Totsy Gang was one of many names used in the recording studio by New York impresario and band-manager – his most famous client being . On Out Where The Blues Begin , we once again meet Jimmy McPartland , who gives a good account of himself in the solo immediately after the rather routine vocal. Although his phrasing is noticeably Bixian, he sticks much closer to the melody than Bix often did; another interesting point here is that this solo is very similar to the one he played on Mills’ Musical Clowns’ version of the same number, recorded the previous day: jazz musicians, like anyone else, having invented a good thing, tend to stick with it!

Harry Reser and his band, circa 1926, with Tommy Gott (holding trumpet)

Banjoist Harry Reser used the name The Jazz Pilots for his recording dates with OKeh…as the name implies, these were often his hotter sides. His regular trumpet player was Tommy Gott , who is better known for playing in a somewhat four-square style, reminiscent of early Red Nichols rather than Bix. But by 1929, Gott had adopted a more relaxed approach, and his round open tone on this track is clearly influenced by the master. Gott was a freelancer par excellence and turns up on sides by Paul Whiteman, Roger Wolfe Kahn, , , , and in numerous other studio bands.

The Eyes of Texas is a college song, the alma mater of the University of Texas at Austin. These anthems were extremely popular with dance bands in the late 1920s, and much featured by college bands themselves when they made – mainly – private recordings for sale on campus. The most famous was the University of Maine’s Stein Song, which was a hit for and was guyed in an uproarious Ben Selvin version as The Mug Song ! As befits marching tunes, they were written in 6/8 time, but it was often the case that recorded versions would break out into a fox-trot in 4/4, this heralded by a roll of drums and a ‘warm-up’ call on the trumpet: precisely as played here by (Hal Kemp’s) Carolina Club Orchestra. Trumpeter Bob Mayhew goes on to deliver a very fine solo indeed. Mayhew briefly played alongside Bix in the Whiteman Orchestra, and, apparently, already had a Bixian tone at that time. The story goes that, when they first met, Bix remarked “So you’re the son of a gun (sic) I’m meant to sound like”.

Hal Kemp and his Orchestra, circa 1929 (left to right); back row: Hall Kemp, “Saxie” Dowell, , Ben Williams, Joe Gillespie, Skinnay Ennis. Front row: Mickey Bloom, Bob Mayhew, Jack Purvis, Olly Humphries, Paul Weston.

Mayhew may also be the man who turns in the heavily Bix-influenced solo on the next track, Broadway Rose , an unissued item credited to guitarist Dick McDonough. For many years, this side was a mere footnote in the discographies, as no-one had heard it – though there were continual rumours to the effect it was a Bix recording. When the master record finally came to light, it appeared to be a contingent from Hal Kemp’s band, with McDonough replacing his regular guitar player – but it was clear that Bix it certainly wasn’t. Kemp had two regular trumpet/cornet players at the time, both of whom could sound like Bix: Bob Mayhew and Mickey Bloom . Which is it? Repeated listening to solos by each man confirms only that it’s very hard to say! Ironically, whichever it was, the ‘clinker’ in the middle of his solo may be the reason the recording was rejected for issue!

We might have thought to be on safer ground for identifying the soloist on Alabammy Snow , from a session Frankie Trumbauer made for Columbia as The Mason-Dixon Orchestra. The discographies list the whole of Paul Whiteman’s trumpet team for this date: Charlie Margulis, Harry Goldfield and Andy Secrest – but minus Beiderbecke. Sudhalter and Evans confidently state that Beiderbecke takes no solos on any Trumbauer date from this point on – they’re all by Secrest: ‘There are no exceptions’. The words ‘head’ and ‘parapet’ come to mind: and indeed, a great debate now rages over this recording! Careful listening suggests there are only two brass players anyhow – one of whom is clearly playing a cornet – and in the opening chorus, he plays a couple of obbligati behind the lead that sound so like Bix that several authorities are now convinced it is indeed he. If so, it may well also be Bix who plays the bridge and solo in the next chorus. Moreover, both men are playing cornet in the ride-out. When Bix was absent, Andy Secrest took over his parts in the Whiteman Orchestra, and there is plenty of evidence he could do a fair approximation of the man. The question here is, was it Secrest, suddenly thrust into Bix’s shoes when the booze had begun to take hold; or was it Bix, playing well below par for the same reason?

Mannie Klein

Bix himself has again been cited as the candidate for the derby-muted solo on Roger Wolfe Kahn’s When A Woman Loves A Man. I’m not sure why: while the solo is certainly Bixian, it really doesn’t have the inventiveness we could expect from the man himself. Moreover, detailed research into Bix’s life makes it as certain as we can be that he was back home in Davenport, Iowa, throughout January, 1930, when this recording was made. So who was it? It’s been suggested that either or ‘Wild Bill’ Davison was present on this session, but neither of these had any pretension to playing like Bix. Enter Manny Klein again. He was played this recording back in the 1970s and dismissed Bix’s presence with the words: “That’s not Bix. Bix played a lot better than that. That’s me!” When New York musician Vince Giordano subsequently played this record to (who knew both Bix and Klein well), he too felt that it was Klein. However, since then Klein’s presence has been doubted, and the discovery of alternate takes with different solos lends credence to the likelihood that one of Kahn’s regular trumpeters ( Tony Gianelli or John O. Egan ) was responsible for this Bixian solo.

With Fred Gardner’s Texas University Troubadours , we return to the world of college bands, although in this case they seem to have been graduates rather than students when these recordings were made. Papa’s Gone in particular, displays a rhythmic approach to jazz that really does hark back to the days of the Wolverines – with a heavily accented first beat and a punchy, frenetic drive that had been abandoned in favour of a much smoother style by most bands of the period. But here’s an interesting point: recordings made by Boots and his Buddies – a black Texan group – have a very similar rhythm on their faster numbers recorded some five years later: so maybe this was a regional feature. Incidentally, No Trumps , which features two superb solos by Tom Howell , is a thinly disguised version of The Darktown Strutters’ Ball.

Tom Howell

There was a rumour that Bix had played with the Troubadours, and that Tom Howell’s cornet playing heard here was actually that of the man himself…..unlikely, as Bix never visited Texas, as far as we know, and certainly not in June of 1930! The rumour in fact was more in the way of a hoax, hatched in an article that appeared in a long defunct British music magazine. The perpetrators suggested that British reedman Freddy Gardner, on holiday in Texas, had gathered a band together (including Bix) in a recording studio and made four numbers. It seems ridiculous now, but stranger things have been suggested before and since concerning Bix, and many have been believed! Such is the power of ‘Bixing’, the term by which such hoaxes have come to be known.

Little Did I Know comes from the ’s final date for OKeh, before they moved to Brunswick and the beginning of a glittering career as one of the most popular and best known bands of the 1930s. Its arranger, Gene Gifford, had learned his trade in Texas, but his great inspiration was Bill Challis, first Jean Goldkette’s, then Paul Whiteman’s arranger (the Casa Loma was originally managed by Goldkette). Gifford’s arrangements were, for the period, revolutionary and pre-dated what became accepted swing-band style by a good five years. The band also had in Dub Schoefner (or Schoffner) a devoted follower of Bix, as his solo on Little Did I Know shows. Gifford scores a ‘bed’ of rich saxes behind him, reminiscent of the Challis style for Whiteman. Schoefner, like Sterling Bose, also shared Bix’s love of alcohol; a few months after this recording was made, his drink-related unreliability persuaded the band they would have to ditch him. Bill Challis suggested that Bix, now fit and ‘dry’, should fill his chair. In spite of misgivings all round, he joined up; but the Casa Loma’s tight (and as he saw it, mechanical) arrangements weren’t for Bix and when Schoefner himself turned up with a jug of hooch, it was all over. His stay lasted precisely four days.

The (often abbreviated by collectors to OM5) had no connexion whatever with either Memphis (Egypt or Tennessee!); the name was, apparently, taken from W C Handy’s Memphis Blues. The founding musicians – which included trumpeter Phil Napoleon and pianist , both to be heard on this track – were all from the north-east (Boston and New York City), but Memphis no doubt conjured up notions of , the sunny south and other exotica. OM5 records sold in large numbers, and for many casual record buyers in the early to mid 1920s, their music was probably the only real real jazz they had encountered; for, unlike most white groups of the time, hardly any of their recordings are diluted with ‘straight’ passages. They recorded prolifically – and under a wide variety of pseudonyms – throughout the ‘acoustic’ years, but made only a few electric recordings. Jazz Me Blues is from their final session, one of the very few on which either of played. Again, as with Davenport Blues (track 8), the Bixian interest is in Jimmy Dorsey’s solo, in which he gives a good account – although with a minor ‘clinker’ – of Bix’s solo on the Wolverines’ version of the number recorded seven years earlier. Moreover, the ensemble sound on this track echoes that of Bix’s own recording in 1927. A point to note here is that pianist Frank Signorelli made the first recording of Jazz Me Blues, with the Original Dixieland Jazz Band in 1921 – and also played on the Gang version just mentioned!

Jimmy Dorsey

We round off this CD with a Bill Challis arrangement: he wrote it for the Jean Goldkette Orchestra, was immensely proud of it and claimed it was this ‘chart’ that got him the job. Unfortunately, Goldkette never recorded The Blue Room , even though the tune was very popular with dancers and avid followers of the band alike: according to Challis, Victor Records had already assigned this title to Roger Wolfe Kahn, but his memory must have been at fault, because Kahn didn’t record it either. The only band that recorded it for Victor was Waring’s Pennsylvanians, but it was never issued. So, it wasn’t until the Dorsey Brothers’ Orchestra took Challis on as an arranger in 1933 that he had the chance to put it on disc. Manny Klein takes the solo that was originally allocated to Bix, but he does not play it as Bix would have done. Indeed, when the record was first issued, many people believed the solo was played by ! Klein, it seems, really could play pretty well in any style!

References: Clark, Andrew (Ed.) (2001), Riffs & Choruses : London, Continuum. Crow, Bill (1990), Jazz Anecdotes : New York, NY, Oxford University Press. Goffin, Robert (1946), Jazz : London, Musicians’ Press. Green, Benny (1962), The Reluctant Art : London, McGibbon & Kee. Rust, Brian, (Ed: Malcolm Shaw), (2002), Jazz Records (1897-1942) : Denver, CO, Mainspring Press. Shapiro, Nat & Hentoff, Nat, (1955), Hear Me Talkin’ To Ya : London, Peter Davies. Sudhalter, Richard M & Evans, Philip R (1974), Bix, Man and Legend : London, Quartet. Sudhalter, Richard M, (1999), Lost Chords : New York, NY, Oxford University Press.

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