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(j) April 9, 1936

The band’s debut session for Victor finds it in first-rate form with more commercial arrangements. Israel Crosby has joined the band, and when Horace Henderson takes over at the piano from Fletcher, the rhythm section coalesces into a truly first rate unit. You can hear their smooth beat on moonrise on the lowlands, and speaking of smooth, Berry glides in with a silken sound and a feeling all his own. When Eldridge comes in for the bridge of his chorus, it becomes apparent that in some ways they functioned as ice and fire – Berry the cool one and Eldridge invariably ablaze.

i’ll always be in love with you is served up in the Henderson style that made Benny Goodman famous. One of the reasons that Henderson never benefited as much as Goodman from these arrangements was the primacy Goodman placed on ensemble perfection – he never would have stood for the tenor sax that sticks out twice in the first 16 bars of the melody chorus. Compare this version with Goodman’s December 1938 Victor recording and see what a difference there is. Granted, Goodman (with the exception of himself) did not have soloists of Eldridge and Berry’s caliber, but Henderson’s mature style placed the emphasis on the ensemble not the soloists. Joe Thomas, a golden toned trumpeter in the Armstrong mold gets a rare half chorus, and Elmer Williams, called “Tone” for his full sound, plays the first bridge. Other solos are Bailey and the leader before Berry’s eight bars.

jangled nerves is an up-tempo blues in the Casa Loma style graced by two fluid choruses apiece by Berry, playing some arpeggio-like figures that Dick Wilson, the tenor soloist with Andy Kirk’s band, was also partial to. This solo led Gunther Schuller to a particularly fresh metaphor when he wrote in The Swing Era that it was as “smooth-as-an-otter-gliding-through-water” and in another chapter “fleet as an otter”. When Eldridge enters there is a slight surge in tempo and a groan from someone in the background, possibly Catlett, who gets a brief break before the Cuffee and Bailey solos. The closing choruses are notable for the clarinet trio and Catlett’s fancy hi-hat work.

                        (k) May 14-15, 1936 (11:30 pm – 5:45 am)

Originally scheduled to have been made in New York in late January, this session had to be rescheduled when Henderson’s band was sent to Chicago. Luckily, Teddy Wilson was also brought there to play with Benny Goodman at a jazz concert held at the Congress Hotel, so we not only have a reunion of Berry, Eldridge and Wilson, but also get to hear Crosby fire the rhythm section. This is a sextet from the Henderson band with Teddy at the piano. The session was held from 11:30 p.m. to 5:45 a.m. as the band finished a week at the Oriental Theater and was about to reopen at the Grand Terrace.    

mary had a little lamb has nothing to do with cloning, but is a typical novelty of the day sung by Eldridge in his intense, sometimes breathless manner. Catlett is really in charge here, commenting on the proceedings in a variety of ways (hear the sighing cymbals when Berry works his way briefly out of the key in his last eight), culminating in a press roll as things heat up at the end that cues Bailey for one of those high, keening New Orleans clarinet notes.

As mentioned before, Wilson’s care in setting the harmonic grid was like catnip for soloists like Berry and Eldridge as we hear in too good to be true. Wilson had recorded a classic version with the Goodman Trio and Helen Ward a few weeks earlier, and this one brings us face to face with Berry’s ripe ballad style. He, along with Johnny Hodges, were admirers of tenor saxophonist/bandleader Freddy Martin, whose bovine sound was tremendously popular at the time. It may have been a quality of Martin’s tone that made him attractive to jazz players, but Berry appropriated some of his florid tendencies of phrasing as well as evidenced here. In comparison with his peers--Hawkins, Ben Webster, Lester Young, Herschel Evans, Dick Wilson, Bud Freeman and Don Byas--Berry can sound like the equivalent of an actor smitten with George Arliss (in many ways a European 19th century actor) whereas the others can be compared to Walter Huston, Spencer Tracy, and other proponents of a more contemporary American style. To keep the analogy going just a moment more, the balladeer Berry at times seems to wearing the musical equivalent of one of those 18th century French beauty marks that the aristocracy were so fond of. Berry is followed by Wilson, whose solo is couched in such natural, unaffected terms that the comparison is stark. But if the session really belongs to one player, it is Roy Eldridge, who can’t help but send fireworks up every time he plays. Hear the galvanizing effect he has following Wilson, with his vocal tone, and the variations he brings to bear on the melody, harmony, and especially the rhythm. When Wilson reenters, he responds with a rhythmic gamble, leading to yet another Eldridge epiphany.

warmin’ up is based on a harmonic scheme very close to it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing, and fits in nicely since Ellington had just opened for an extended engagement of the Congress Hotel, from where he was broadcasting nightly. Bailey’s wooden solo sounds very much as his other forays in this set. He was as unlimited technically as he was limited melodically. Once again, Catlett serves as a good emotional barometer as the intensity ebbs and flows from Berry to Eldridge to Wilson and then to a series of riffs leading to a brief jam out. Fletcher Henderson was legendary for writing arrangements in what were, for the bulk of jazz players at the time, unusual keys. Whereas most bands stayed in Bb, Eb, F, G and C most of the time, Henderson favored A, B, D, E, and F#, which gave the orchestrations a more brilliant sound than the standard keys. So it was not that much of a stretch for these men to handle the blues in C# minor. As Teddy Wilson told Steve Voce, “We thought for fun we’d play in C# minor. The bass figure was mine, I invented that and gave it to Israel Crosby – it was inspired by Jimmy Yancey’s playing…” Crosby, once again shows his virtuosity in a difficult key for the bass (the open string on a bass are E, A, D and G, making a key like C# minor quite a stretch, literally and figuratively).  He provides the ostinato which the others play off of. Remember that C# is the same note we heard from Crosby on mutiny in the parlor - one man’s C# is another man’s Db. Berry’s solo, played off mike, is especially haunting.

(l) May 23, 1936

The Henderson band is starting to slack off, as we hear on this session. The sax section, under the leadership of Jerome “Don” Pasquall (previously in the band in 1927-28) leaves a lot to be desired in terms of phrasing and precision; the brass is much superior, though the blend and intonation is far from perfect. These may have been new arrangements done especially for the recording, but recordings such as these didn’t stack up well against their competition. As usual, it is Berry and Eldridge who command our attention. where there’s you there’s me has a jaunty 16-bar Berry solo with inspired backing from Crosby. It’s pretty much the same story for the band on do you or don’t you love me, with another vocal from Detroiter Teddy Lewis. The highlight is the chorus Berry shares with Eldridge, with Catlett doing things with his bass drum (Berry) and cymbals (Eldridge) to inspire the soloists. mary had a little lamb was unissued for decades (odd in that it’s so much stronger a performance than the issued sides). It also has a drastically higher jazz content, with Eldridge singing and playing, and solos from Bailey, Cuffee and Berry (sounds like a law firm, no?). 

It was around this time that Billie Holiday, in one of the more unfortunate bookings of her career, was brought out to appear with the band at the Grand Terrace. The management had no use for her and, as John Hammond reported in the July 1936 issue of Metronome, expressing frustration over the band’s lackluster broadcasts: “I suspect that Ed Fox, the dictator of the Grand Terrace, is largely to blame, since he chooses Fletcher’s tunes, his vocalists, and – despite his lack of any musical qualifications – his style. Fox arbitrarily kept Billie Holiday off the air against Henderson’s wishes; he fired Fletcher’s male vocalist, Teddy Lewis, in an abusive tirade in front of a group of onlookers. Fletcher’s refusal to stand up for the elementary rights of his band and himself will land again in the mess from which he has been painfully extricating himself. It is certainly tragic that colored performers are so subject to exploitation, but it is even sadder when they are themselves to blame.” This helps create the context in which to better judge these recordings.

(m) August 4, 1936

shoe shine boy introduces drummer Walter Johnson, brought in to replace Catlett, who left Henderson to join Don Redman’s far more disciplined and successful band. Eldridge once again brings things vibrantly to life with his vocal and Armstrong-esque solo. Berry double-times his bridge, following Cuffee. sing, sing, sing was just another novelty during the summer and fall of 1936. It wasn’t until Goodman recorded his head arrangement (that interpolated Berry’s christopher columbus ) in July 1937 that it became a standard. Vocalist Arthur “Georgia Brown” Simpkins makes his only appearance with the band and does no harm. What is striking about Berry’s chorus is that he needs no time to warm up – his ideas start at the top and never ebb. Eldridge’s sets a dark mood with the entrance to his solo; note the extra urgency in Johnson’s cymbals when the trumpet re-enters after Cuffee’s bridge. The band seems to do better at faster tempos and there are moments in the outchoruses where they really take off. knock, knock, who’s there comes in two takes that are quite similar in content, with the second one having a better balance, especially for Berry’s baritone sax solo. Most saxophonists doubled on different instruments during the big band era and it’s interesting to hear Berry’s ideas on a horn he couldn’t quite fill up the same way he did the tenor. There is a quality to his repeated notes and the extroversion of the style that is reminiscent in Cecil Scott’s tenor playing – it’s worth remembering that he was one of the top men in New York when Chu was coming up.

Once again it is Eldridge who is the prime focus on jim town blues, with Berry getting two short episodes with the band. Crosby really digs in during the last section, perfectly in sync with Johnson’s cymbals. No mention has been made of guitarist Bob Lessey, who has been on all the Chicago sessions. He never gets in the way and must have been a musician of note to last this long is such company. After an eight bar unison band fanfare, Eldridge, at his crackling best, is off to the races on you can depend on me, his swan song with the Henderson band. It’s hard to fathom why Cuffee, a good musician but an undistinguished stylist is featured so often on these recordings – here he breaks up Berry’s chorus. Vance’s vocal is pleasantly unassuming and notable for the Horace Henderson obbligato. The closing riffs are well played, and we get a closing Berry bridge with some characteristic staccato phrasing before the ending.   

(n) March 2-3, 1937 (12:30 pm – 4:45 am)

Recorded during the band’s week at the Apollo Theater, this session introduces Emmett Berry as Eldridge’s replacement, and while he would evolve into a personal stylist in a few years’ time, he was cast here very much as the proto Roy. Trumpeter Russell Smith, the longtime Henderson lead trumpeter is back, as is trombonist J.C. Higginbotham, who is inexplicably absent from the solo roster. Other personnel changes as well have resulted in a tighter ensemble than before. Berry, now the band’s star soloist, was attracting notices like this one from the March 1937 Down Beat: “Fletcher Henderson wowed them as usual last month at the Hotel Royal York, where he was playing a one-nighter. Tenor man ‘Chu’ Berry was the hit of the evening with his willingness to swap notes with the local boys as well as drown out the entire Henderson band at a will.” They used to say the same thing about Hawkins during his tenure with the band. Louis Armstrong had also caught the band around this time, noting in a letter to JAZZ HOT  “that Choo Berry really did himself proud every time he’d take a solo.” slummin’ on park avenue would fit right in a Frank Capra movie. Here it’s sung by reedman/arranger Jerry Blake, and includes a lovely 8 bar Berry cameo, played with that floating tone and effervescent lyricism. Benny Carter’s rhythm of the tambourine gives the band a chance to show its jazz capabilities, and they make the most of it. The rhythm section is well recorded (another alumnus, Lawrence Lucie is on guitar), with Crosby given prominence in the balance, and they pace things masterfully. As usual, Berry, following Emmett Berry, doesn’t waste any time getting into high gear, starting with a two bar introduction to his chorus. Blake’s spiky clarinet rides over the band before Crosby’s short coda.

(o) March 22, 1937

From its introduction on down, back in your own backyard is in the classic Henderson/Goodman mold. It’s odd that with this band Henderson chose not to record the same quality of arrangements that he wrote for Goodman, which makes this exception all the more significant. Blake plays the melody, with Elmer Williams leading the saxes during the bridge. Berry gets two solo spots in his relaxed mode, and there are also short solos for the leader and Emmett Berry. Oddly enough, the Henderson arrangement of this tune that Goodman recorded in the mid-40’s was totally different. rose room was named for the dining room of the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco, where Art Hickman’s band played in the late 1910’s and created part of the matrix for the big bands of the swing era. Henderson of course also played a large role in that evolution, so it’s a historical nicety to have this musical link between these two figures. The soloists are the same as above, and Berry benefits from and responds to the band’s dynamically shaded background to his solo. This has been listed as a Fletcher Henderson arrangement but it sure doesn’t sound like one- maybe it’s Horace’s. Dick Vance wrote great caesar’s ghost and plays the muted trumpet solo preceding Berry and Blake. Johnson’s accents in the out chorus are subtle in the extreme although in some ways his style was already a tad dated.

(p) March 23, 1937

It’s important not too underestimate the significance of Berry making records under his own name at a time when very few sidemen were given the opportunity. Aside from a handful of stars in the Ellington and Goodman bands, this usually didn’t happen unless a player was being groomed to become a bandleader themselves. Suffice it to say that Ben Webster, Lester Young, Charlie Christian and Buddy Rich never had their own dates while sidemen. This octet is comprised of five Henderson band members or alumni, supplemented by Cozy Cole, then working on 52nd Street, trombonist “Big” George Matthews, coming from the Tiny Bradshaw and Willie Bryant bands, soon to join Chick Webb and a master of the Jimmy Harrison/Sandy Williams style, and trumpeter/vocalist Oran “Hot Lips” Page, whose last appearance on disc had been on the classic 1932 Bennie Moten sessions done in Camden, N.J. Page had been featured in the small Count Basie band in Kansas City that John Hammond and Benny Goodman had heard and subsequently bought east, but before that happened, Louis Armstrong’s manager Joe Glaser signed Page to an exclusive contract, some feel to keep him away from competing with Armstrong as anything else. Suffice it to say, Page’s only major work for the entire calendar year of 1937 was with Chu Berry and one of the sessions was unissued for half a century. It’s a joy to hear Page in superlative form on this session, singing two of the tunes and playing throughout. His Texas by way of Oklahoma City and Kansas City approach to improvisation was quite different from the way it was done on the East Coast and he provides a fascinating contrast with the other players here.

now you’re talking my language, along with the other tunes was probably arranged by Horace Henderson. Berry sounds inspired as well he should have been, surrounded by a crack band and getting to play complete choruses with no interruptions. The architecture of his solos are something to marvel at; here, he uses short, high notes as signposts. Page is slight-off mike for his half-chorus which makes it all the more enticing in its absolute originality. Cozy Cole is well recorded and gets in some of his patented breaks and swirling cymbals. back home again in indiana was not a jazz standard in 1937, in fact, it had only been recorded a half dozen or so times after the Original Dixieland Jazz Band recorded it 20 years earlier. We have it in two takes, which are about equal in stature, the only difference is that the 78 take is slightly more relaxed (especially Berry) and less well balanced than the alternate. Matthews plays the first half of the opening chorus before Page starts talking with his trumpet. A pleasant surprise throughout the date is Henderson’s sprightly piano playing, laced with Hines-esque tremolos, runs and surprising harmonies. Berry’s four bar break and solo reveal his surging beat that seems to pull the band along with it. He comes back twice in the out chorus, sandwiched by more Cole punctuations. There is also a quality to the vibrato and phrasing that is not unlike Ben Webster (listen to the break and following phrase on the 78 take)  – as we shall see, there careers, already intertwined, would meet again.

This is the first jazz performance of too marvelous for words (again in two equal takes outside of a few ensemble glitches on the alternate) which helps why Page doesn’t know exactly what to do with the bridge during his vocal chorus; it was a brand new tune. Berry is featured after the vocal, with short spots for piano and trombone. Listen carefully and you’ll Crosby in there with what were for the time extremely articulate and swinging bass lines. You’ll also hear an awkward voicing in the horns in the four bar riff that follows Berry’s chorus, and another one towards the end when it’s not at clear who has the lead.

With the uptempo limehouse blues we hear the Berry who was the despair of other hornmen in jam sessions. Like Tommy Dorsey, he was a master at breathing in unusual places, enabling him to play long snaky phrases that other musicians could not even conceive because they couldn’t breathe that long or precisely. Unlike Dorsey, he could improvise in a stream-of-consciousness manner for long periods of time and one wishes that on this, his first date as a leader, someone would have insisted he take more than one chorus (and also made sure that the trombone didn’t stick out quite so much in some of the ensemble passages). Berry manages to pack a lot nonetheless in his 32 bars, and in the winding chromaticism we hear the birth of the style Paul Gonsalves developed in the Ellington band. And let’s not forget that the young John Coltrane sat next to Gonsalves for a year in Dizzy Gillespie’s 1949 big band, so the Berry legacy reaches far and wide in the jazz lexicon. It’s also instructive to hear Bailey, whose approach to harmony and rhythm was quite rigid, in tandem with Page, who took a far more broad and blues based view of what notes fit when and where. A typically pristine Cole drum solo leads the band on out. 

(q) June 30, 1937

This is Berry’s last session with the Henderson band; wouldn’t it have been nice if Henderson has given him a ballad feature like Hawkins had recorded? Both all god’s chillun got rhythm and chris and his gang are presented in workman like arrangements, leavened with solos by the Berry’s and Blake. Nothing exceptional happens, though the band sounds quite good, no doubt at least partially because of the legendary lead alto saxophonist Hilton Jefferson; we’ll hear quite a bit more of him later on in the Calloway band. chris is an amalgam of riffs from christopher columbus  and columbia the gem of the ocean - go figure.

(r) August 24, 1937

Ben Webster and Chu Berry both were in need of change in the summer of 1937. Tired of the lack of blowing opportunities in the Calloway band, Webster was happy to forsake being in a band at the top of the black entertainment world for one were they played more jazz, so he and Chu swapped jobs and it looks as though Chu got the better deal. Confronted with a master soloist and one who has not averse to speaking his mind, Calloway eventually relented to Berry (and others) badgering and began to commission more instrumentals and to increase the jazz quotient in his band’s output. The change came gradually. For a first-hand account of this story, read Milt Hinton’s classic collection of his photographs and prose, Bass Line.

i’m always in the mood for you introduces Calloway and his band and it’s clear from the outset that this is a crew that prides itself on its ensemble sheen, cohesiveness (although we shall see that there are some significant holes in their armor) and professionalism. Add to that Calloway’s sometimes maligned but in actuality superb vocal skills and you have quite a different picture from the Henderson organization. Although he only gets two short solos after the vocal, Berry packs a wallop with the first one, which includes a flurry only he could have pulled off. The trumpet at the beginning sounds like Doc Cheatham while the solo after Berry is Irving “Mouse” Randolph, one of the band’s main soloists and himself a Henderson alumnus. Note how far back in the balance the band is behind Calloway’s vocal on she’s tall, she’s tan, she’s terrific and how the band comes into the foreground when Berry enters for his solo. He’s in inspired form, making way for another Henderson alum, trombonist Keg Johnson’s bridge (he plays most of the trombone solos in band, unless otherwise noted). Randolph plays a heraldic closing segment before drummer Leroy Maxey, long forgotten but quite a marvelous big band man puts a button on the piece.

(s) August 31, 1937

One wonders what Calloway and band must have really thought about a song that told someone to go south, young man at a time when lynchings were commonplace. The arrangement is superlative, and Berry bursts out with an eighth-note solo laden chorus (this time the bridge goes to the entire trombone section) before Calloway comes back to take it out. This is an extremely short recording, coming in at just over two minutes – maybe they didn’t want the message to get out!  The leader’s vocal versatility is showcased on mama, i want to make rhythm who between the verse, the chorus and the scatting inhabits several personalities, all of them convincing. Randolph plays the first solo, and then the band chants an entrance for Berry who responds with long, singing phrases. It’s a joy to hear the rhythm section bear down when he plays. Bassist Hinton, like Crosby, was one of the leading players in this pre-Jimmy Blanton era. queen isabella is, naturally, a close variation, on christopher columbus. Randolph and Berry contribute solos that are melodically inspired. savage rhythm has the feel of the early ‘30s to it; its only other version was made by the Mills Blue Rhythm Band in 1931. The reed section plays a virtuosic chorus (bridge by Randolph), followed by tom-toms and trombones leading to Berry’s omnivorous solo, the second eight of which contains some real sleight of hand. He has a fluid break going into the last eight of the solo as well. The intro and coda echo Don Redman’s theme song, chant of the weed.

(t) September 10, 1937

Berry’s second session as a leader, of which only two of the four tunes recorded were issued at the time. Solo breaks from Randolph, trombonist Keg Johnson and Berry kick off chuberry jam, a medium tempo romp on familiar changes. Berry gets a chance to stretch out a bit. The soloists manage to float despite pianist Benny Payne’s heavy comping. Indeed it sounds as though the players are playing as though there were still a big band surrounding them. Maxey has a good sound on the ride cymbal and a perfectly placed backbeat on a par with Sid Catlett’s, though he doesn’t use it nearly as sparingly. maelstrom is a minor-keyed bit of exotica, with a chromatically descending bridge. The broadness of Berry’s is well captured on this session, and as noted before, the pristine transfers made for this collection make the music sound far more clear than it ever has before. The alternate take, heard first, has a Berry solo that uses space and repeated motifs more than the issued one. They show what a complete improviser he could be. Johnson gets as funky as funky can be in his short solos after the tenor solo. my secret love affair has a lovely ballad chorus by Berry at the top, with guitarist Barker and Paine strumming and chording behind him. Paine then sings with the guitar’s broken chords (they don’t ring very long) right on mike, and a silken Berry in the background. As good as Maxey’s back beats are, they seem out of place on what was until the trumpet solo, a lovely ballad. Maybe this is what playing in a big band for several years can do to you.

ebb tide is not the ballad that Frank Sinatra sang on only the lonely but a piece of island pining written by Robin and Rainger and recorded by Connee Boswell and Bunny Berigan among others. This version rocks and rolls and Berry’s solo reveals a side of his playing that we haven’t heard so explicitly up to this point. It will surface later on sweethearts on parade, and is a precursor to the honking, shouting R&B saxophonics of the ‘40s and ‘50s. The difference is Berry never throws the aesthetic baby out with the bath water. Paine’s intro is reminiscent of Ellington, and throughout the date for all his heaviness in the rhythm section he throws in some interesting ideas know and then (hear the ascending scale before Johnson’s solo). Randolph seems incapable of playing clichés, and has a blues-based approach that never wears thin, as befits a St. Louis trumpeter. They have a legacy of beautiful tones and an elegance that dates from Charlie Creath in the early 20th century through the very 21st century Russell Gunn (born elsewhere but raised in and around St. Louis.) 

(u) December 10, 1937

a minor breakdown was unissued until the 1980s, and is an undistinguished instrumental notable only for its solos by and for the sterling work of the ensemble, especially the trombone section. Randolph (shouting), Berry (prolix) and Johnson (straining) and clarinetist Chauncey Haughton (slightly stiff) get 8 bars each in the midst of this extravaganza. You can hear the end of a count off on the alternate take. bugle blues is the bugle call rag and Berry’s kick off solo contains one his signature breaks, with its emphasis on chromatic intervals and half-steps that sounds vaguely middle-eastern. Unfortunately, he is too far from the microphone to better hear the beautiful notes he plays towards the end. Randolph follows, with yet another shout. Haughton had just left Chick Webb’s band where his virtuosic clarineting had been showcased in the Little Chicks small band. He would later have a brief stint in the Ellington band. The leader gets in the act with some swinging and accurate scat breaks. The band handles the brisk tempo effortlessly.

(v) December 17, 1937

We’re in heaven. Teddy Wilson’s series of chamber music recordings for the Brunswick label contain some of the most poetic jazz captured during the 1930s. They took their cue from their leader, whose innate instrumental elegance frequently brought out the best in his sidemen. Working with the Calloway band day in and day out afforded Berry very few chances to play music this softly and sensitively, and he, along with his session mates here, respond superbly. It would be hard to think of three more different improvisers than Berry, trumpeter “Hot Lips” Page and clarinetist Charles Ellsworth “Pee Wee” Russell. Hot Lips, Pee Wee and Chu had more than likely never played together before as a unit but nonetheless create timeless ensemble music together. Hot Lips, as mentioned previously, used the chord changes as a guide but not as a law to determine his melodic shapes. Pee Wee had the same quirky and involuted relationship to harmony that Thelonious Monk developed later (they recorded together once, during a hit and run Newport concert), with a predilection for finding craggy melodic corners that would never occur to others. Chu did adhere to the letter of the law when it came to the harmonies, but knew how to use loopholes to transcend mere literalness, and could, at will, go “outside”. 

Wilson’s introduction to my first impression of you , as brief as it is, sets the stage with its insistence on bringing things dynamically down to a level where every sound means something. Think of the sheer volume of the rhythm section on the second of the Stompy Stevedore’s sessions for a reality check on how most bands played at the time. In laying out the melody, Berry takes quite a few liberties but still manages to get the point of the song across, making way for and then following Page’s high and muted bridge. Wilson signals for a change to 4/4 times with some repeated octaves behind Berry two measures before vocalist Sally Gooding enters. Is it her fault she wasn’t Billie Holiday, or Nan Wynn for that matter?  It seems more than likely that her pedestrian phrasing, average diction (Holiday, for all her idiosyncrasies made every syllable count), a slightly nasal sound, not much feeling and a goofing of some key lines (including the title of the next tune) was the reason this session was shelved. It certainly couldn’t be the musicians, who play superbly. As it turns out, three of the four titles were redone with Holiday and some Basieites the following month and have long had classic status. The real interest during the vocal lies in Russell’s low register obbligato. Relegated for the bulk of his career to “Chicago” jazz and the like, Russell was in reality a forward thinking improviser with an exceeding abstract conception. Again, like Monk, he was a true original and ultimately inimitable. Hearing Wilson’s almost dandyish half chorus followed by Russell’s rough and ready bridge makes for a wonderful contrast, as the clarinetist pounds out some elemental and at some times almost elementary riffs that harken back to the music’s roots. What both players (and Page as well) share is an internal logic that gives their solos an air of inevitability. They bring the same quality, merged with spontaneity, to the jammed last eight bars. Page was quite off-mike, but comes back to the fore after Wilson’s tag, as they, in Benny Carter’s term, jazz it out. 

For someone who was known for spinning out long lines and not being at all concerned with conserving notes, Berry nonetheless creates a gorgeous sound picture with just a handful of notes as he ushers in with a smile and a song with a four bar preamble.  What follows is Teddy Wilson at his classic 1930s best, defining a new mood in jazz piano, one that would have a tremendous impact and in its way set the stage for Ahmad Jamal and Bill Evans 20 years later. There is no sweat here, no reaching for things seemingly unobtainable. The dynamic level is never raised beyond a mezzo-forte, and rarely that. But what there is, is an Apollonian grace; some have called it Mozartean – how about Wilsonian?  He set the stage for himself perfectly, with far away horns lazing on what pianists called thumb notes; left hand lines (played with the thumb) that delineate the harmony simply. Russell’s almost acerbic bridge includes some characteristically staccato triplets, echoed by the excellent bassist (both he and drummer are unknown and positively first-rate), leading to Page’s last eight, played, as is most of his work on the slower tunes, with a very vocal mute – listen how he twists his sound at the end of the solo. Once again, it’s the accompaniment to the vocal that draws our attention, and the focus this time is Russell’s blues playing and Allan Reuss’s virtuosic Eddie Lang-inspired fills. This is what Danny Barker was shooting for on my secret love affair. When Berry follows, there is a quality of his tone that is reminiscent of Ben Webster. We’ll never know how influences flowed between players such as these; all we can do is cite the similarities are hopefully refrain from making definitive statements about which way the changes occurred. The second take is just as perfect, with a slightly more declarative opening Wilson solo, Page sculpting a more refined 8 bars, and an absence of the lovely Reuss fills. The bass playing is so good that it would feasible to guess that it was Israel Crosby, but he was on the west coast with Henderson; it could be Milt Hinton or Walter Page.

We get more of Page’s blues-drenched phrasing throughout when you’re smiling. Although Armstrong was admittedly his biggest influence (and this tune one of his most famous), Page could sound remarkably unlike his mentor, as he does here.  It’s interesting to compare this version with the one done in January with Lester Young. Both he and Berry both followed a similar Wilson solo and what strikes one is that it wasn’t just notes these horn players played. They brought with them their own emotional vibration, possibly easier in those days when there less people to copy and only about a dozen years worth of jazz via recordings to internalize. What Young and Berry share is a feeling of total and utter relaxation. The drummer gets in an occasional cymbal splash, which are enjoyable for their irregularity, and as a unit, the rhythm section really propels the beat. Russell’s closing ¾ of a chorus has him avoiding not only every cliché but turning them inside out. This was a unique period in his career when the overt technical command he displayed in the ‘20s was gradually being submerged for a far more difficult and subtle virtuosity of pitch and tone.

i can’t believe that you’re in love with me is another tune Armstrong put on the jazz map and Page introduces it (bridge by Berry) in strictly his own twisty and dry terms. Although these record sessions were made with what now would be considered medieval recording techniques, there was some mixing going during the performance. You can hear Wilson’s mic turned up as his solo starts, and it turns out to be his most demonstrative solo of the session, though he shared the trait with his mentor Benny Carter of most times leaving you wanting more. Russell’s bridge (that’s what he gets mostly on this session) makes for a sweetly gritty melodic contrast with Wilson’s thumb note accompaniment. The way the clarinetist leads into Wilson’s return with a descending scale is a beautiful moment. Berry really digs in for this solo, which is (for him) quite spare and which revolves around a handful of repeated notes that give the solo a vaguely Eastern feel in the second eight bars. Reuss chords the last bridge before an eight bar jam out that is so well done that is deserves repeated listening to appreciate how well they were listening to each other.

(w) January 10, 1938

After Ellington, it’s hard to think of a more original arranger during the Swing Era than Eddie Sauter. Working at the time of this session with Red Norvo and Mildred Bailey, he manages to create the same sophisticated atmosphere with only three horns as he did with their big band. That is no small feat; writing for two or four horns is far easier than three for reasons having to do with voicings, range and blend. Trumpet, clarinet and tenor saxophone present their own challenges, with the clarinet and the trumpet being in the same range; to make the tenor fit, they have to play low or the tenor has to play high. Sauter handles this so smoothly that the seams are never apparent.

thanks for the memory, a harmonically advanced tune to begin with, begins with a fetching introduction that counts out to be four measures but feels like anything but. Sauter was as meticulous with the chord changes as Teddy Wilson, but with the advantage of writing more involved parts for the horns, Sauter raised the harmonic ante to a place that would feel unnatural if the parts were less arranged. The ensemble playing throughout is exemplary, as is the work of the rhythm section. That comes as no surprise, given the presence of drummer Dave Tough. Artie Shaw once referred to the diminutive Chicagoan’s psychic energy an essential component of his greatness. If you follow Tough measure by measure, you’ll find an amazing amount of timbral and metric subtlety that is at once leading the band and yet always intrinsically within the music. His dynamic range lets you hear all sorts of other details that are usually obscured. Then there are the odd slaps, flaps, crashes and booms that he unleashes sparingly enough to make every one mean something. Switching from brushes to sticks to the hi-hat and to his great swooshing Chinese cymbal, Tough creates a swinging aural tapestry that still inspires awe. I was sitting next to bassist Bill Crow who over the last 50 years has played with more than his share of great drummers, when a Woody Herman recording with Tough was played. The sheer joy on his face made me ask what exactly was it that engendered such an endorphin rush; it was Tough at the remove of half a century. Credit must also go to the engineers who took great pains to get this sort of balance. Once again, Allan Reuss is the guitarist, playing wonderful fills (listen as Bailey sings “it was swell while it lasted”) and immaculate rhythm. Everything Bailey sings reveals a perfect marriage between the words and the melody; at no point does she sacrifice one for the other. The superb fidelity lets us hear the air in her voice and all the little inflections that make her work so immediate and so heartfelt. She may have often been hell on wheels in person but when she opened her mouth to sing, her angelic side came shining through. Berry is in the same off-mic position we have heard  before, so it’s fair to assume (given his extensive experience in the recording studio) that this is how he wanted it. The similarities with Lester Young in terms of cooling it, no matter what the decibel level, or eschewing the heart-thumping passion that defined Coleman Hawkins’s approach, are striking. The issued take comes from a better transfer, so we hear all of the details noted in the alternate magnified. The Reuss broken chords come during the second bridge instead of the first, Bailey is just as good (though she misses a note in the first bridge), we get more presence on the bass drum, and Berry is closer to the mike.

Bailey recorded lover, come back to me  three times; this was the first. It was one of her signature tunes; the opening chorus is a virtual definition of her art, with the wide open vowel sounds, plaintive phrase endings and a judicious injection of the blues. Tough contributes some unexpected clicks and clacks that drive the proceedings without ever becoming aggressive. Sauter’s minimal but pervasive horn textures don’t leave Teddy Wilson much room to weave his usual two and three part accompanimental counterpoint (although he gets his innings on i see your face before me, not included in this package). Trumpeter Jimmy Blake plays both his ensemble and solo parts with sensitivity but never had a chance to really shine on record. During his years with the Tommy Dorsey band, he was usually in the shadow of someone else in the trumpet section, and was referred to by George Simon as a forgotten man. His trail runs dry after a few sessions with Jimmy Dorsey in the early ‘50s. Clarinetist Hank D’Amico fared better as an in-demand studio musician, also making many high-profile jazz record dates, both as a leader and along side the likes of Lester Young, Bobby Hackett, Coleman Hawkins, and Jack Teagarden. Few clarinetists of the era escaped unscathed from the overpowering influences of Goodman and Shaw, but D’Amico always had his own particular angle on sound and phrasing. Here he shares a bridge with Berry. In his accompaniment, Tough chooses a dry sound for the clarinet and a wet one for the tenor. This is sublime music.

(x) January 12, 1938

Berry is the sole focus of our interest on this session and most of the subsequent ones done under the leadership of trumpeter Wingy Manone. Hailing from New Orleans, Manone had one arm, hence his nickname. Berry’s fellow reedmen are clarinetist Joe Marsala, who had played with Manone on and off from 1929 to 1935, and journeyman saxophonist Arthur “Doc” Rando, 95 and living in Las Vegas as of 2005 (where they named a recital hall at the local university after him). Folk songs in the public domain were enjoying a spurt of popularity at the time, hence annie laurie and loch lomond. my mariuccia take a steamboat was something to talk about in 1906, when comedian Billy Murray, as big as big could be, was just one of the many to record this dialect comedy song. Without the accent, the lyrics lose their charm; the arrhythmic steamboat sound effects behind the vocal are (hopefully intentionally) funny. in the land of yamo yamo hails from 1917, and had its moment; it’s an odd piece. The Victor engineers (these sides came out on their cheaper subsidiary Bluebird label) capture a delicacy in Berry’s tone we haven’t been able to hear before. He is using far less air than he usually does in larger band settings, but still manages to achieve a full, rounded tone. Undaunted by the setting, Berry’s solos have a lilting quality on top their usual propulsion that is quite attractive; hear the rhythm section suddenly coalesce when he enters. Both bassist Shapiro and drummer Alvin keep the beat moving. This was early in former’s and midway in the latter’s long careers as in-demand sidemen.

(y) January 26, 1938

All three tunes from the session are attributed to Calloway; like many bandleaders he put his name on other people’s work, and while there’s no proof either way, it seems highly unlikely that he actually composed the tunes where he listed alone. rustle of swing is presented in a lovely arrangement, with the reed sections on clarinets (and bass clarinet) in the first chorus. In its modulations and bass patterns, it shares much in common with pieces written by Willie “The Lion” Smith, it would be nice to find out who wrote it! The title is a pun on a popular 1896 piano piece composed by the Norwegian composer Christian Sinding, originally titled fruhlingsrauchen. After the delicate opening chorus, things open up with Randolph sharing a chorus with Berry, backed by a tasty Maxey ride cymbal and horn backgrounds. The unissued take (heard first) has a slightly informal air and a more relaxed solo by Berry with his last eight bars being particularly memorable; the second has some a clean and swinging double time passage in the first eight of his solo. Intonation problems rear their nettlesome heads in the closing brass passages (and other similar places throughout the session); this will be a recurring problem for the band.

three swings and out has another example of Randolph’s playing, underscoring what a superb improviser he was; this solo also contains one of his highest notes on disc, a high Eb. His Calloway section mate Doc Cheatham told Stanley Dance: “(Randolph) could always play. He had studied a lot, and he played everything, especially good New Orleans music. He was tops in that. He had a good conception…” When Berry enters, relaxed as always, we can hear Hinton’s clean, descending bass line and the unity of the rhythm section. It’s hard to believe it’s the same unit that played on the first Stompy Stevedores session. Here, they are smooth, together and playing with dynamic shading. The brass alternates two bar phrases with Berry before the shout chorus which owes more than a little to the king porter stomp. Berry’s influence on Calloway can already be felt by the growing number of instrumentals in the band’s discography and by the increasing sophistication of some of the arrangements. Calloway starts i like music (with a swing like that) like a blues shouter (his sister Blanche, a singer/bandleader in her own right who served as his inspiration) before switching back to his usual personality and then to some in the pocket scatting. His vocal versatility is astonishing, as Gunther Schuller goes into quite a bit of detail on in his monumental tome, The Swing Era. Both Berry and Randolph get mentioned by name before solos by Hinton (slapping), trombone and Maxey.

(z) February 10, 1938

penguin swing is the only evidence of an undocumented session, and there’s something about the balance that sounds like a radio broadcast or a film soundtrack. Berry comes in and goes out with a key change. His solo might very well have a part of the arrangement that would have been extended in person, since it sounds as though he could have gone on for quite a while. There is also ample room for Randolph and the trombone section; though the arrangement builds nicely and is three and a half minutes, it’s somewhat short on content. The famous trombone lick that the tune is built on was a hearty piece of Americana – Henry Fillmore’s lassus trombone, one of a series of pieces he wrote and performed featuring the trombone smear. He became known for this, and also for his dog Mike, whom he had trained to bark on command (by a secret hand signal) during concerts. Fillmore aspired to greater things and also wrote not-so-eloquently titled concert band works such as americans we, his honor, the klaxon, and the footlifter.

(aa) March 23, 1938

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