A (more or less) Tribute to The Fabulous Dorseys (Palace M-707, 1957)

 

My guess is that (Jaques) Fontanna's A Tribute to the Fabulous Dorseys is the least of the budget cash-ins--er, salutes--to the late Jimmy and Tommy to appear in the latter half of 1957 (though Coronet's effort seems unusually tacky, even by dollar-bin, er, standards).  Jimmy had left us in June, 1957, and brother Tommy had died in November of 1956.  So, it was a race to the racks.  Other low-to-no-budget tribute LPs appeared on Broadway, Hollywood, Sutton, Omega, Pickwick, Tops, Crown, Somerset, and of course Promenade (SPC).  Not to mention the tribute packages on RCA (naturally), Mercury, and other "actual" labels.  Behold the bargain batch, in part:

In September, 1957, Jimmy Dorsey had a decent-sized (#39) posthumous hit with June Night, whose absence here leads me to guess that this rush job was sped onto the (tape) spindles circa August.  My reasoning: The early-1957 Jimmy Dorsey hit (a huge one) So Rare is included, but not June Night, the posthumous Top 40 hit (of September) for the same leader.  That would put this release date at circa August, 1957.  Otherwise, why wouldn't Palace/Masterseal/Remington have added a junk-job June Night, too?  Of course, I'm operating under the notion (delusion?) that the cheap operations engaged in any form of planning whatsoever.

Most of today's twelve tracks were associated with Tommy Dorsey: Boogie Woogie, Swing Low, Marie, Swanee River, Opus No. 1, I'll Never Smile Again, Song of India, and (of course) I'm Getting Sentimental Over You.  Jimmy: Breeze and I, So Rare, and Green Eyes.  As for the clunky Sy Oliver-esque Battle Hymn of the Republic, I can't establish a Dorsey connection, save that the number also appears on the Promenade and Broadway Tributes. Maybe its Dorsey association is a rack-jobber urban legend.

The unidentified vocalists aren't bad, despite a painful out-of-range moment in Breeze and I, and, on Green Eyes, a Helen O'Connell imitator whose headphones must have been on tape delay.  She needed to drop the inflections and do another take, but extra takes cost money, so...

The Palace label is related to Remington, Masterseal, and Paris, but discovering this factoid at Discogs is an exciting journey.  At Discogs, we learn that Palace's parent label was Buckingham Records, whose parent label was Masterseal, whose parent label was Remington, whose parent label was Remington Records, Inc.  The latter evidently being the end (or top) of the lineage.

So... Palace's parent-parent-parent label was Remington Records, Inc.  And there were a number of Remington Records, Inc. sublabels (and sub-sublabels), including the Remington sublabel Paris International, Inc. the parent label of Paris.  Whatever I just typed.

The album's chief--and most endearing--shortcomings include musicians either not ideally suited (or ideally rehearsed) to tackle the charts, a generally awkward feel, a few inept intros (Green Eyes, especially), and the total bombing of the Helen O'Connell slow-swing portion of Eyes.  At first, I thought the problem was with the ersatz Helen, but in fact she's fine--almost terrific--but the band, for some ungodly reason, is playing a Bolero-style rhythm which clashes with the singer's swing inflections.  In the Annals of Dumb Band Chart Choices, this moment should be graced with its own special display.

And I love So Rare, maybe because it's the essence of a cheap-label knockoff: "Well, we barely got through that one.  Great job!"  It has "cash-in" written all over it (luckily, my Spin Cleaner took care of that, though I had to change the water), and it's delightfully almost-there.  The best parts of the J. Dorsey original were probably the dramatic opening and closing sections--here, they're these moments are stripped of their inspiration via a lazy transcription.  Why I find a dumbed-down So Rare so cool is so puzzling to me.  I guess that, once bitten by the junk-label bug, there's no cure.

Oh, and there's the dreadful vocal chorus on Marie--no fault of the singer, but more the draggy backing of the percussionist, who sounds like he's 1) half-awake, 2) angry at the gig and thus determined to ruin any semblance of swing, 3) both, or 4) listening to the orchestra on delayed feed.  But had this album been competently carried out, it would be just another middling memorial of the dollar-bin kind, and not nearly as diverting (even as it diverts from the tone of the originals).  And, again, I'd have to pick the two-different-pages close to Green Eyes (a fitting sendoff) as the most genuinely hilarious moment here.  And, again, the tragedy is that the singer nails Helen O'Connell's classic vocal, only to be tripped up by the backing. The insertion of Ravel was clearly a choice made while rushed or drunk--or both.  At any rate, there's too much rubato in the O'Connell-esque vocal to allow for a strict triplet backing, but the mark is so memorably missed, it's one of the all-time best budget botches in my book.

The LP condition is pretty iffy, forcing me--for once--to bypass VinylStudio's declicker filter, since it was removing tiny portions of the audio.  First time ever, and I imagine it's because the mastering was marginal to start with--it may not sound that much better in a clean copy, but I'm too cheap to find out.  I manually removed the worst of the clicks and pops: What remains adds junky provenance to this labor of quick and cheap profit.  But I'll need to at least get my hands on the SPC and Pickwick tribute knockoffs (unless I already have them), if only to hear their versions of So Rare, though I imagine those are too close to competency to begin to compete.  Or, when is viability not a virtue?

DOWNLOAD: A Tribute to the Fabulous Dorseys--(Jacques) Fontanna and His Orch. (Palace M-707; 1957)

Boogie Woogie

Swing Low Sweet Chariot    

Breeze and I

Battle Hymn of the Republic

Marie

Swanee River

Opus No. 1

I'll Never Smile Again

Song of India

So Rare

I'm Getting Sentimental Over You

Green Eyes

Lee

More post-WII nostalgia: "Do You Remember?"--Morton Gould and His Orchestra, 1948

 

Internet sources give 1949 as the release year for this boxed set, despite the 1948 date on the cover.  And, in fact, the matrix numbers for the 78 rpm set reveal that these were recorded in 1947.  Anyway, I'll go with the release year, though I sometimes favor the recording date.  It's always a toss-up.

"Music has many powers, but scarcely any more potent than the ability to evoke in the listener dozens of personal memories, some of them romantic, some amusing, some poignant, and many of them half-forgotten until brought to vivid life by some melody."  In the realm of liner notes, this is a literary device called "filling space with words."  And, yes, half-forgotten memories: After all, On the Sunny Side of the Street was a whole 17 years old come 1947.  Ancient history!

In older times, ironically, people had a greater sense of "old."  "Old" was older.  Nowadays, everything is kept in rotation, and audio recording copyrights go back to 1924, ludicrously.  But, prior to the abolishment of "old," mass-culture products enjoyed a much shorter shelf life.

So, instead of a sing-along or Lawrence Welk/Sammy Kaye/Paul Whiteman rehashing of older material (and, to an extent, older styles), we have the floating-on-air character of mood music, a genre which filled the airwaves of the 1930s and 1940s but which was, for some unknown reason, greeted as a new style by pop music critics when Mantovani's Charmaine made the 1951 charts.  Short-term memory issues?  The critics never listened to the radio during childhood?  

And I suspect, minus any hard evidence, that the classic mood style didn't gel well with the "old songs" format.  And here, the majority of the tracks (much as I like Gould's arrangements) lack much of a beat.  Exceptions: Twelfth Street Rag, practically a send-up of the 1914 Euday Bowman classic, which of course was a monster 1948 hit for Pee Wee Hunt.  Plus, The Sheik of Araby, though the rhythm is hardly pronounced, save in the clever, Grofe-esque opening.

I can find no evidence that this Gould album made the transition a from ML- (Masterworks) status to a CL- (popular) release, which suggests less than excellent sales.  It apparently first appeared as a 78 set, then a 10-incher, and then as the EP set featured today.  But no CL- release in sight.  Just in case it had known life in the CL- series, albeit with a different title, I checked out each track at Discogs.  And zero indication of a popular release.

Oh, and there was this catchy edition of the 10-incher (image swiped from Discogs):

By contrast, nearly all of Ander Kostelanetz's Masterworks material made it into the CL- series.  My guess is that the languid, seamless, just-sit-back-and-take-a-nap approach to the "old songs" didn't fly with the public.  In the realm of faux-1890s-1920s, people wanted a glee-club approach--preferably with a banjo or three--or anything else with a beat.  Even if it meant the "Mickey" (Mickey Mouse) styles of Sammy Kaye, Art Mooney, or Guy Lombardo.  Maybe, especially if.

But I'm very fond of this set, and I like the novelty of the "midnight strings" approach as applied to Whispering, Nola, and The Sheik of Araby (the arrangement of which has more than a hint of exotica). 

DOWNLOAD: Do You Remember?--Morton Gould and His Orchestra, 1948

My Blue Heaven

Nola

Dardanella

On the Sunny Side of the Street

Poor Butterfly

The Sheik of Araby

Whispering

Twelfth Street Rag

(All arrangements by Morton Gould)

Lee

No bummed-out banjos here: "Those Happy Banjos"--Art Mooney and His Orch. (Lion L-70062; 1958)

So, what do we call phrases like "happy banjos"?  Are they an example of anthropomorphizing or personifying?  (Clock ticking; buzzer.)  Right!  Personifying!  In this case, we're talking the happy sound of banjos, which is a human perception/experience.  As personified in the form of "happy banjos."

Aren't you glad I cleared that up?  And this was a problem LP.  Namely, with some bad engineering on Side 1, plus all-over-the-place Googling required to determine the probable recording dates.  I had to do some comparison listening, at least for one track, to determine the precise version.  But the banjos were smiling all the while!

Seven of these tracks were carried over from a 1953 ten-incher called Banjo Bonanza.  The carried-over tracks consist of the entirety of Side 1, plus 1949's Paddlin' Madelin' Home.  For some reason, 1948's Baby Face was not retained. 

So, the four unique-to-this-LP tracks--Barefoot Days, Pal-ing Around With You, In the Twi-Twi-Twilight, and Joshu-ah--were either recorded in 1958, specifically for his LP, or... they're earlier, unreleased tracks.  And there's 1953's "O" (Oh!), which was not on Banjo Bonanza, but was released as a single (45 and 78 rpm).  There'll be a quiz.

The sloppy. slapped-together quality of this enterprise suggests a quick release--namely, a cash-in on Sing Along With Mitch.  The tracks have the same general vibe, obviously, though Miller's choruses were all-male, while only three of these are men-only (Row, Row, Row; "O," and Barefoot Days).  Had all four of the unique-to-this-LP tracks been men-only, we'd have positive proof of a cash-in attempt.  But I'm nevertheless pretty sure.  

It's tempting to classify Mooney's 1947-1949 glee-style releases--Four-Leaf Clover, in particular --as part of a postwar trend of reviving the "old songs" of the 1890s-1920s, but said songs and styles were in a constant state of revival (and re-revival) prior to the late 1940s.  Beatrice Kay's Naughty 90's dates back to 1940, and Frankie Carle recorded versions of Stumbling and Twelfth Street Rag in 1942.  And there's the 1941 John Scott Trotter recording of Kitten on the Keys which I posted back in 2019.  In short, the neo-Dixieland/-Twenties/-ragtime period didn't start with Del Wood or Pee Wee Hunt.  As far as that goes, the novelty numbers of Zez Confrey were the neo-ragtime of their time, and we're talking back to 1920.  And people were assessing Dixieland as old hat as early as 1924!  ("Old hat as early..."?  Hm.)

Maybe the sing-along genre is simply a reflection/acknowledgement of an ongoing style of community singing, which would include glee and close-harmony vocalizing (Barbershop).  From the 1800s to the present, glees, church choirs, and Barbershop choruses have been happening behind the scenes of mainstream popular music, but because it rarely show up on recordings, outside of the private type (one notable exception: 1955's Alabama Jubilee), such music seems hopelessly dated.  And I think I've set the world's record for overthinking the sing-along genre!  But it has me puzzled.

Note: Heartbreaker is a 1948 number inspired by the Ferko String Band (!) and cowritten by Max (Rock Around the Clock) Freedman.  And could that group have inspired Mooney?  (The FSB did a 1948 version of Four-Leaf Clover which could almost pass for the 1947 hit.  Hm.) And Pal-ing Around With You appears to be from 1949.

DOWNLOAD: Those Happy Banjos--Art Mooney and His Orch. (Lion L-70062; 1958)

I'm Looking Over a Four-Leaf Clover, 1947

Toot, Toot, Tootsie! (Goodbye), 1949

Somebody Stole My Rose Colored Glasses, 1949

Row, Row, Row, 1949

Heartbreaker, 1952

Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue (Has Anybody Seen My Girl), 1949

"O" (Oh1), 1953

(Oh Boy!  What a Joy We Had In) Barefoot Days

Pal-ling Around With You

In the Twi-Twi-Twilight

Joshu-ah

Paddlin' Madelin' Home, 1949

Lee

Easter 2024!! Eddie Brandt, Jerome Hines, Smith's Sacred Singers, Collegiate Choir, "Hoppy" the Bunny, Haydn Quartet

 

Joyous Easter music, rescued from Workupload exile.  As you can see, the bunnies are excited.  A mix of secular and sacred, though many (most?) details of Easter were, at some point in time, religious.  In All Around the Year (1994), Jack Santino (a former prof of mine) writes about Easter eggs as "natural symbols of birth, new life, resurrection, and renewal," and we won't even mention bunnies (rabbits) as symbols of fertility.  Except, I just did.  But Easter eggs, come 2024, are regarded as "secular" in nature.  (Actually, most eggs have no professed religion.)  Or an unpeeled egg, once peeled, can be regarded as a symbol of Christ's rebirth--a victory over death.  It's your call.

Meaning that any and all controversy over religious holidays (at least in my culture) is a matter of sacred vs. popular rather than sacred vs. secular.  Approximately 80 percent of U.S. citizens celebrate Easter, and it's closer to 90 percent for Christmas.  Which means, obviously, that a hefty number of non-Christians are happily engaging in Christian events.  This, of course, inevitably leads to debate over whether or not these holidays are, in fact, Christian.  My take is that, if we celebrate them in the (so to speak) mode of Christianity, they are Christian.  Historically, that is. This fits in with my "The past can't be conveniently jettisoned" cultural-history stance.  To put it another way, Silent Night doesn't cease to celebrate the Nativity, even if sung by an atheist or a religiously-undecided person as part of the popular celebration.  That is, unless the text is radically altered to eliminate that central reference--in which case, it's an utterly new number, since the removal of the Nativity theme would necessitate a title change and the elimination of "holy," among other details.  It's enough to know that millions of Americans annually sing Christmas carols and hymns with little or no thought to the sacred nature of caroling.  It's simply something people do during "the holidays."

As to whether the spring equinox, the winter solstice, and other vital planetary events are the property of a given faith, or any faith at all, my take (forgive me) is that the planetary events take precedent.  Holy details are "scheduled" around the seasons, and obviously not vice versa, so...

How did I end up on that tangent?  I guess I'm saying that, even as a Christian, I'm overjoyed by the fact of any Christian holiday pulling popular duty--i.e., becoming a holiday of and for the people.  Such as Easter.  Hence, I feel that How Great Thou Art conveys the joy of the event (birth, rebirth, the return of leaves and flowers, "longer" days) as legitimately as Eggbert, the Easter Egg, though I would argue that the former is a more inspired work of art.

And any excuse to put Eddie Brandt (of Spike Jones fame) and (His) Hollywood Hicks, Jerome Hines, Smith's Sacred Singers, "Hoppy" the Bunny, Ray Heatherand the Cincinnati Baptist College Quartet in the same playlist is an excuse to be cherished.

And the "Anthony Auletti" credit for Bunny Hop (by the Peter Pan Orch. and Singers) is actually, "Anthony, Auletti," but we believe in keeping typos as they originally appeared.  And my all-time favorite gospel songwriter, Charles H. Gabriel, is represented by three selections, including the gorgeous 1925 Homer Rodeheaver--Mrs. William Asher duet, Love Led Him to Calvary.  Incredibly vivid fidelity on a nearly 100 year old 78.  And we close with two joyous Gabriel anthems, by way of conveying the joy of the season.  And nothing says "joy" quite like joyousness.

DOWNLOAD: Easter 2024

Peter Cotton Tail--Meadowlarks (Irene Records)

Old Rugged Cross--Mac MacFarland--(Same)

Easter Parade--Eddie Brandt and (His) Hollywood Hicks, V: Ruthie James (Same)

Christ Arose--Collegiate Choir, 1920

Easter Bunny Polka--Eddie Brandt and (His) Hollywood Hicks, V: Eddie Brandt and Ruthie James (Irene Records)

Jesus Died for Me--Smith's Sacred Singers, 1929

Are You Washed in the Blood of the Lamb--Smith's Sacred Singers, 1929

Power in the Blood--The Cincinnati Baptist College Quartet, c. 1971

How Great Thou Art--Jerome Hines, 1965

The Old Rugged Cross--Jerome Hines, 1965

Unknown Choir, Word Records--He Lives

He Arose--Haydn Quartet With Orchestra, `1908

Victory in Jesus--Church of the Nazarene Male Quartet, 1959

Bunny Hop--Peter Pan Orch. and Singers, Dir. by Vicky Kasen (1955)

Love Led Him to Calvary (Webster-Gabriel)--Mrs. William Asher-Home Rodeheaver, With Pipe Organ, 1925

Funny Little Bunnies--The Cricketts, Feat. "Hoppy" the Bunny, Peter Pan Orch.

Reapers Are Needed (Charles H. Gabriel)--A.T. Humphries and Lee College Choir, c. 1959

Awakening Chorus (Charles H. Gabriel)--Same

Peter Cottontail--Ray Heatherton (The Merry Milkman), 1951

Eggbert, the Easter Egg--Same

Lee

Stardust Melodies: Raymond Paige and His Orchestra, Raymond Paige's Young Americans, 1940-41 (RCA Camden CAL-153)

Sorry for my longer-than-planned absence.  Today's offering is from the mood-music/easy-listening radio heyday, though these are reissued 78s, not airchecks.  This appears to be the second edition of this reissue, and I have a dim memory of once owning the earlier Camden LP.  As ever, I love the "How This Record Value is Possible" bit on the RCA Camden back jacket: It amounts to, "We're doing you a favor by offering back catalog material."  No, we're doing RCA a favor by keeping its back catalog profitable.  Then again, "Here's some older stuff, priced down because charging a current tab would be unethical" wouldn't have the same ring.

For once, LP-wise, I did a good deal of equalizing, dynamic adjustment, and even added very slight reverb, just to pump more life into the sound.  It seemed a bit too "flat."  Normally, I would have pushed up the treble slightly and let things be, but I felt these transfers needed more punch.  My plan was to retain the main file, in case I didn't like the changes--but I blew that.  I should have used the "save as..." option for the original file and not the extra-doctored "project."  Live and learn.  I had the right idea, only in reverse.

These tracks, recorded in 1940 and 1941, originally appeared on two 78 sets by Raymond Paige and His Orchestra and Raymond Paige's Young Americans (falsely credited here as "American Youth Orchestra").  These images come courtesy of eBay:

No idea if "Young Americans" refers to a youth orchestra or if Paige simply used it for a catchy handle.  However, going for youth association while performing older songs: That's kind of odd.  But no one asked me.  (I was nowhere to be found in 1941.)

Because Paige was an RCA artist, his performances, while Kostelanetz-esque (how's that for an adjective?), lack the lovely spacious, distant-miked sound that graced Kosty and Morton Gould's Columbia recordings from the same period.  And the arrangements, while perfectly good, aren't quite up to Kosty's or Gould's.  On the other hand, all examples from the first wave of mood/easy-listening have historical significance, even if nowadays it's hard to picture folks relaxing to soothing music from 12-inch 78s as they plopped, one after the other, onto the turntable platter.  (These sets were typically designed for changers.)  Then again, a good phonograph would have produced better fidelity than a radio set, despite the lesser ease of use.

And, checking just now, I didn't enter "Endearing Young Charms" as "Enduring Young Charms."  Whew!  I often think one thing and type another.

To the radio-era easy-listening sounds of Raymond Paige...

DOWNLOAD: Stardust Melodies: Raymond Paige Orch. and Young Americans, 1940-51

Rhapsody in Blue

When Day Is Done--La Cumparsita

Mood Indigo

Donkey Serenade (Chansonette)

Night and Day

Let Me Call You Sweetheart

Star Dust

Andalucia

My Moonlight Madonna

Believe Me, If All These Endearing Young Charms--A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody

Thru' the South (Swing Low, Sweet Chariot; Turkey in the Straw; Deep River)

By the Bend of the River

Lee

Monday afternoon gospel: Smith's Sacred Singers (and two guests): 1926-1930

 

Of course, I'd hoped to have this up yesterday (Sunday), and I might have succeeded if the originals were in average-to-above condition.  But sacred shellac of the late 1920s has a far lower probability of showing up in decent shape than "pop" 78s.

But I did manage to get twelve sides good to go for this Monday.  The two "guest" artists are Rev, J.C. Burnett and His Quartet with the "folk" version of Will the Circle Be Unbroken (which, far as I can determine, is a variant on the 1907 Ada Habershon-Charles Gabriel hymn).  That, or the 1907 hymn followed from a folk source.  But, at this point in my investigation, it seems like a popular-to-folk migration.

And the other "guest" performance features the 1907 Circle, as performed by "citybilly" greats Bud Billings and Carson Robison.  Robison, while an imitation-"hillbilly" singer, did an important service in popularizing genuine from-the-hills material--and he was a gifted performer, besides. 

The rest are fabulous numbers by J. Frank Smith's quartet, Smith's Sacred Singers, spanning the years 1926-1930 and recorded in Atlanta, Georgia.  I really should know, but I'm not sure whether Columbia had a studio in Georgia or whether the group was recorded in "field" style with portable equipment.  Easily researched on line, I'm sure, but I'll leave that to you, dear reader/listener.

Here's a group photo I swiped from the great SecondHandSongs site, one of the net's most amazing resources:

1927's We Shall Rise might be my favorite SSS performance of all, and it's one of two resurrection-morning numbers often confused.  At one point, I went to the trouble of documenting the two numbers after much songbook research, but of course I can't recall the details offhand.  And a quick blog-history check didn't help.  The numbers in question are not as blatantly similar as A Wonderful Time up There and Gloryland Jubilee, both 12-bar boogie tunes, but they're close enough.

And the superlative 1927 SSS version of He Will Set Your Fields on Fire is an important document of the song as written (two years earlier, in 1925), and not with the "swingy" 2/2 pulse that came to dominate country and Southern gospel.  The distinction between the as-written and "swingy" pulse is too subtle to describe--it's akin to a choral score written in quarter and eight notes but with the instruction to introduce a "swinging" triplet pulse.  Country/bluegrass typically does not involve a jazz/R&B pulse (just every once in a while), but it rocks in its own way.  We're hearing Fire before it acquired the standard Chuck Wagon Gang/Cary Story feel. 

I hope that made some sense.  Sometimes, the slightest change in the feel of a performance can make a world of difference. 

Getting back on topic, SSS's style is often described as "shape note" (a variant on "shaped notes"), a term which refers to "Sacred Harp" singing, a choral style (typically rendered in the shouting manner of SSS) that started in New England and made its way down South.  "Shape note" refers to notation styles in which the scale degrees--do-re-mi-fa, etc.--are represented by (as the term implies) different shapes.  The most common variant is a repeated four-note scheme, which works because the standard seven-note Western scale (with the "do" degree doubled) consists of two tetrachords separated by a whole step.  I personally find shape notes an epic pain to read, and it seems, along with all the other music-reading shortcuts of its type, like more hassle than help.  Learning the various key signatures isn't all that much harder than memorizing different notehead shapes.

And... since any SATB or close-harmony number can be rendered in shape-note form, "shape-note" technically does not refer to a specific performance style.  But the SSS members were likely "singing school"-trained; thus, their style would be closer to "Sacred Harp" than not.  Aren't you glad I cleared that up?

Life's Railway to Heaven might have been my late foster mother's favorite gospel hymn, since the text is such a brilliant exercise in sustained spiritual metaphors: The spiritual journey of life as a train ride.  She was an OSU English prof and thus appreciated all expert vernacular examples of that literary device.  She also loved the allegorical aspect of A Tramp on the Street (aka, Only a Tramp), in which the tramp turns out to be no less than Christ himself.  Allegory-wise, Deliverance Will Come (more often titled Palms of Victory) is a condensed version of Pilgrim's Progress, that 1678-1684 work chosen by the Guardian as the greatest novel of all time.  SSS takes Deliverance at a slow tempo, in contrast to later versions.  

Oh, and apologies for the wrecked condition of Shouting on the Hills, but it's too good to omit.  Plus, it increases the track count from thirteen to fourteen.  Not that I'm superstitious, but I'm superstitious.

As mentioned before, the 1928 Bud Billing/Carson Robison Will the Circle Be Unbroken presents the 1907 hymn as written, its lyrics intact (save for "Is a better world" revised into the more hopeful, "In a better world").  Though beautifully done, the recording is not something modern ears are likely to regard as remotely folk--or country, for that matter--but for 1928 listeners, it was a different story.  That is to say, the 1920s had its pop-country variant, just as we have ours today.  In fact, the latest variant is something I can happily do without, though I like the now-"classic" country of Marty Robbins, Hank Snow, and Johnny Cash.  A reminder that "authentic," "classic," etc. are temporally specific labels (and, usually, in reference to our own period).

To the downhome goodness of Smith's Sacred Singers:

DOWNLOAD: Smith's Sacred Singers, Feb. 2024

We Shall Rise--Smith's Sacred Singers, 1927

He Will Set Your Fields on Fire--Same, 1927

I Will Sing of My Redeemer--Same, 1927

The Church in the Wildwood--Same, 1927

Will the Circle Be Unbroken--Rev. J.C. Burnett and His Quartet, 1928 (Take 2)

Deliverance Will Come--Smith's Sacred Singers, 1928

The Home Over There--Same, 1928

Life's Railway to Heaven--Same, 1928

Meet Me There--Same, 1929

Working for the Crown--Same, 1929

City of Gold--Same, 1927

Climbing up the Golden Stairs--Same, 1927

Will the Circle Be Unbroken (Habershon-Gabriel)--Bud Billings and Carson Robison, 1928

Shouting on the Hills--Smith's Sacred Singers, 1926

Lee

A variation on the standard twist-ploitation album: "New Twists on Old Favorites"---Sammy Kaye and His Orchestra, 1962

 

Finally, my promised Sammy Kaye post--1962's New Twists on Old Favorites--and sorry it took so long.  And, the big question: Do I like it?  Did it please your blogger?  I'm not sure, really.  However, I am impressed by how brilliantly this succeeds in its primary mission: The merging of Sammy Kaye's "sweet band" (aka, "Mickey") style with that 1960 and 1962 dance craze which heralded a new era of popular music.  That is, if you believe in the contemporary hype.  In my mind, the question remains: Why was this particular dance, the music for which was standard eight-to-the-bar boogie-woogie (instrumental blues), greeted as an epic moment in pop music history?  Most answers offered in this regard are classic tautologies.  Such as, "It was a dance which crossed generational lines."  Which I find weird, since the chief objection to r&r dances (on the part of grownups) was their absence of close contact. Rewind back to the 1830s, and the waltz was scandalous BECUASE of its close-contact nature.  Yes, such perceptions often do a 180 over time.  What is correct becomes incorrect, and what is is incorrect, etc.

But any answer which generates further whys (such as, "The twist crossed generational lines") is tautological.  Circular, even.  X is so because x is so.  In a word, "Because."  To me, the vastly over-the-top reaction to the twist makes no sense.  If there was a perceived cultural need for a style which put grownups and teens on the same page, why this one?

And could that be Barbara Nichols posing on the cover?  I can easily imagine Barbara taking such a gig.  At any rate, the model is Barbara Nichols-esque, anyway.  Here's Barbara Nichols.  A nice picture of her, um, face:

For vocals, we get the Kaydets and SPC great Laura Leslie, typically with spoken intros by Kaye.  And, again, these tracks are a remarkable marriage of Kaye's brand of big band and the twist beat (eight-to-the-bar with a backbeat, a la Chuck Berry and the Beatles).  But... Kaye started recording in 1937 (according to Brian Rust), and so why does the song list focus on the 1910s and 1920s (exception: 1939's We'll Meet Again)?  The arrangements are true to his style (if we make allowance for the boogie-woogie twist pulse), but the titles are not true to his era.  Was Decca expecting listeners to associate Kaye with the Victor Military Band, Paul Whiteman, and the Original Dixieland Jazz Band?

There are the questions which haunt us as we travel along this mortal coil.  So, my verdict for the moment: This effort accomplishes precisely what it sets out to do as far as expertly merging a "sweet band" style with Chubby Checker (and with impressive musicianship), its song choices are anachronistic, and Laura Leslie should have been given more chances to shine on vinyl.  Her brief discography doesn't befit her talent.  I may grow to love this, but at the moment I'm very impressed by its originality and expert presentation.  Clever title, too, though I would have liked "Twist and Sway With Sammy Kaye."  

Enjoy!  Oh, and I neglected to note that this was another thrift gift from Diane.  Thanks, Diane!

DOWNLOAD: New Twists on Old Favorites--Sammy Kaye and His Orch. (Decca DL 4247, 1962.

Alexander's Ragtime Band

After You've Gone

Doodle Dee Doo

Who's Sorry Now

We'll Meet Again

I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate

That's My Weakness Now

The Darktown Strutters' Ball

Somebody Stole My Gal

Nobody's Sweetheart

Five Foot Two Eyes of Blue (Has Anybody Seen My Gal)

It's Sunday Down in Caroline

Lee

Light music festival: "Exotic Music" (Andre Kostelanetz), plus "London Suite," "Warsaw Concerto," "Park Avenue Fantasy," and "Deep Purple"!

I promised to get to Sammy Kaye (and, yes, musicman1979--it's his contribution to the twist-ploitation craze), and I will, but for today we have a light concert (aka, light music) post, all of the selections ripped from 12-inch 78s in my collection and spanning the years from (let's see) 1934 to 1946.  

We start with the four selections (!) of the two-disc Andre Kostelanetz set, Exotic Music (1946), whose standout track is the roots-of-exotica selection Lotus Land, composed by Cyril Scott in 1905.  From the liner notes:

"Lotus Land finds its story in the Odyssey of Homer.  During the ten years of tribulation which he spent returning from the siege of Troy, Odysseus braved and overcame many perils, some fierce and aggressive, others latent and passive, but just as deadly.  One of these periods awaited him in the land of the Lotus-eaters.  Whoever stopped here and ate of the lotus flower would at once forget all thoughts of home and duty and remain on to live in dreamy indolence.  This peril, successfully defied by Odysseus, is pictured with wonderful realism in this impressionistic music.  The languid, dulled ease, the meaninglessness of time, the fatal beauty of the flower, are all richly embroidered in this tonal tapestry."

Debussy Lite, in other words.  And I wish there had been at least two additional numbers, but maybe they ran out of studio time?  ("I thought we were booked till 4 pm.  Okay, we'll clear out.")

The other three titles are fine, even if lacking in conventional "exotica" feeling, as that term is applied to Esquivel, Les Baxter, et al.  

Then, Eric Coates' London Suite, played by the London Philharmonic Orch., as conducted by the composer, on a 1937 Masterworks single, the A and B sides combined into one file.  The individual sections are Covent Garden (Tarantella), Westminster (Meditation), and Knightsbridge (March).  Note the ingenious treatments of the bell chime ("Westminster Quarters").  This is joyful and skillfully constructed light fare--the epitome of a "Pops" selection.  The audio is exceptional.

Andre Kostelanetz returns with the famous Warsaw Concerto, penned by Richard Addinsell for the 1941 movie, Suicide Squadron.  Kosty must have recorded this somewhere other than in his usual studio, given the rather muffled highs (which I restored).  This isn't the usual distant-mic AK sound, but I don't suppose that would have worked for such a dynamic number.  I'm pretty sure the year is 1946.  Wish I knew who did the ivory tickling.

Next, Paul Whiteman conducting his 1934 Concert Orchestra in two famous "symphonic jazz" works, both of which yielded highly successful pop songs: Park Avenue Fantasy ("Stairway to the Stars"), and Deep Purple ("Deep Purple" [what else?]."  The scoring is by Roy Bargy and (probably) Irving Szathmary, respectively.  The pianist is Dana Suesse.  Some gramophone-soundbox wear in the loud closing passages for both, but with only minor distortion.

And we wrap up with even more Andre: The 1944 "Oklahoma!" Medley.  We're back to the classic easy listening/mood music acoustics we associate with Kosty.  Wish I had arranger information--the scoring really sells the wonderful Hammerstein II-Rodgers numbers.  It's too bad that much music of this sort/era (the kind of popular instrumental fare common to 1930s and 1940s radio broadcasts) has come to be perceived as "Muzak"--as that brand name is generically used, that is.  A style which, for a time, entered the "Music to (name of activity) By" category during the 1950s.  Music to study by, read by, date by, knock over convenience stores by, etc.  As this 12-inch single demonstrates, it was, often as not, music worthy of full and admiring attention.

Click here to hear: Light Music Festival--Andre Kostelanetz, London Philharmonic Orch., Paul Whiteman Concert Orch.

Andre Kostelanetz and His Orch. (Columbia Masterworks MX-264, 1946)

Flamingo (Grouya)
Poinciana (Song of the Tree; Nat Simon)
Song of India (Rimsky-Korsakov)

Lotus Land (Cyril Scott)

Various

London Suite (Covent Garden, Westminster, Knightsbridge)--London Philharmonic Orch., c. Eric Coates, 1937

Warsaw Concerto (Richard Addinsell)--Andre Kostelanetz and His Orch., 1946

Park Avenue Fantasy (Matt Malneck-Frank Signorelli, A: Roy Bargy)--Paul Whiteman and His Concert Orch., piano: Dana Suesse, 9/11/1934

Deep Purple (Peter De Rose, A: prob. Irving Szathmary)--Same

"Oklahoma!" Medley--Andre Kostelanetz and His Orch., 1944




Lee

The Electro-Sonic Orchestra, c. Dick Jacobs, 1961. "Defies all restrictions"!

 

So, this 1961 album is either a revelation or a snooze, and I have yet to decide on that count.  It demands multiple plays.  But the liner notes are unambiguous in their acclaim: "The Electro-Sonic Orchestra represents a new sound, a sound never heard before, a sound that defies all restrictions and delights in its breathtaking scope and startling dept."  Sounds which are new and never heard before.  How's that for redundancy?  "A sound that defies all restrictions."  Is that even possible?  I love to make fun of liner-note puffery.

The secret of the new, never-before-heard, restriction-obliterating sound is the transducer.  Which all microphones are, fundamentally (transducers), but we'll overlook that technicality and let Coral continue:

"The Transducer--an especially designed device that attaches directly to the instruments."  No "open" microphones, and so we're hearing the vibrations of acoustic instruments as picked up by contact microphones, I'm presuming.  We're talking piano, drum, bass violin, guitar, electric bass, cello, two violas, and six violins (Oxford comma added).  

And: "This is electronic music.  Not the weird machine-made sounds usually associated with the term."  Yet, a vintage synth--the ondioline--and an organ (electric, presumably) are used, and so we are, in fact, getting some of "the weird machine-made sounds usually associated with the term."  Hey, Coral's description, not mine!

And, when introducing a new sound never heard before--one which defies all restrictions--Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini is a playlist must!

Though this has obvious historical interest, it goes for ordinary prices, and possibly because it sold well (with umpteen copies extant).  And because its gimmick didn't catch on (to my knowledge).  Still, the crisp stereo separation is cool, and the constant panning (to add to the orch.'s "new" feel) is hilarious in a dated way.

DOWNLOAD: The Electro-Sonic Orchestra, c. by Dick Jacobs (Coral CRL 757381; 1961)    

Volare

Cry

Hey There

Tammy

Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini

Sincerely

Mack the Knife

Fascination

I'm Sorry

Little Things Mean a Lot

(Put Another Nickel In) Music! Music! Music!

That's My Desire

Lee