Sundays with Duke #12: Old School

We stay with the 1930 RKO picture Check and Double Check for one more Sunday as we visit the song “Old Man Blues,” which also gets a prime feature in the movie.

The Session: Old Man Blues (1930) 

Old Man Blues moves along at a fantastic clip. It’s one of those early Ellington sides that shows how Duke could take a basic “blues” structure and make it swing with incredible forward momentum — tight, punchy, and already pointing toward the band’s 1930s evolution.

The Alternate Take: The Harlem Footwarmers (1930)

Recorded for Okeh the very same year, this version was issued under the pseudonym The Harlem Footwarmers - Duke’s way of slipping an extra side into the marketplace without competing with himself. It’s a different arrangement, looser in some spots and more sharply accented in others, and it gives us a fascinating glimpse of how Ellington could rethink the same tune in real time.

The Cover: Through the Ringer

We have one contemporary cover of Old Man Blues — a snappy budget‑label recording by the Washboard Rhythm Boys. 

Let’s spin it:

They had me at washboard!

The Remake: Sidney Bechet (1940)

For our remake, we turn to the Old School itself: Sidney Bechet. Recorded for Victor in 1940, Bechet’s soaring soprano sax brings a whole new fire to the composition. It’s bold, brash, and unmistakably Bechet — and it sounds terrific.

The Warehouse Reel: Duke in Action

To close out our movie coverage, here is a clip of the band actually playing "Old Man Blues" in the film. It’s a rare treat to see the 1930 lineup looking sharp and swinging even harder than they do on the record.

So nice to see them in action!

---

Does the Washboard addition make this your favorite version of the tune, or does Bechet — or Duke himself — still hold the crown?

Friday Fun: The Bluebird Flight Begins

 

For today’s Friday Fun, we jump from Larry Clinton’s dreamworld into a very different kind of reverie - the one that launched a juggernaut.

The Opening Salvo: My Reverie (1938)

Glenn Miller’s version of My Reverie, the first song recorded at his very first session under his brand-new Bluebird contract, was literally the opening salvo of the Miller era. He wasn’t famous yet, but you can hear the ambition, the polish, and the early hints of the sound that would soon take over America.

One of the things that’s always struck me about this record is that cold-open trombone solo. I think it may be the only Miller side that begins this way - and it’s the first recording he ever made for Bluebird! It feels more like something Tommy Dorsey would do - and Glenn was no TD. Very soon afterward, he realized he didn't want to be seen as a road-company Dorsey, so he featured his own trombone far less.

Ray Eberle also sounds a bit tentative with his vocal here. He was only nineteen, so it’s understandable. Bea Wain was only twenty‑one when she recorded My Reverie with Larry Clinton, but she’s light‑years ahead of Ray in confidence and interpretive poise.

It’s also worth noting that Larry Clinton was five years younger than Glenn Miller, yet he beat him to the top of the charts!

What really “makes” Glenn’s version, though, is that fabulous Miller reed sound. The sax section already includes mainstays Wilbur Schwartz on lead clarinet, Hal McIntyre on alto, and Tex Beneke on tenor. Audiences must have been thinking, “Hey… what’s that?” when they first heard that blend.

The "King Porter" Connection

The flipside of this debut disc is also intriguing: Glenn’s take on King Porter Stomp:

We traced Jelly Roll Morton’s old tune through Fletcher Henderson to Benny Goodman here, and by 1938 it was a big-band staple. Glenn plays some genuinely hot trombone on this side!

This record may be a humble beginning, but it shows that Glenn Miller’s new band could mix sweet and swing in a most pleasing way. With this disc, Glenn Miller arrives as a bandleader - no longer that trombone player who’s a pretty good arranger and always trying to start a band, but the man who’s about to define an era.

Which side of this debut do you think pointed the way forward: the "Reverie" or the "Stomp"?

Threaded Thursday: Into My Reverie

Yesterday’s Word Association Wednesday spun out from Double Check Stomp and landed us squarely in the world of Larry Clinton and Bea Wain—a world I’m always happy to revisit. If I Double Dare You was their calling card, then today’s pick - My Reverie - is the masterpiece that sealed their legacy.

The Masterpiece: My Reverie (Victor, 1938)

This is the Clinton orchestra at its most elegant, and Bea Wain at her most luminous. This is the record where everything that made them special suddenly crystallizes: Clinton’s gift for tasteful, uncluttered swing; his knack for adapting classical themes without a hint of pretension; and Bea’s ability to float a melody with warmth, poise, and just enough emotional shading to make it feel personal.

The tune itself began life as a Debussy piano piece (“Rêverie”), but Clinton’s arrangement turns it into something unmistakably 1938 - a dreamy, slow-dancing swirl of reeds, muted brass, and that signature Clinton polish. And then Bea enters, and the whole thing lifts off. She doesn’t oversell a single phrase. She doesn’t need to. Her voice is the reverie.

Let's give it a spin:

The Architect

On a personal note, this was one of my early “gateway” records—the kind that quietly rewires your ears. I already knew Larry Clinton had done arranging work for other bands, most notably Tommy Dorsey, but hearing My Reverie for the first time was the moment I realized: this is what happens when the arranger finally gets to present his own vision. Larry’s arrangement of Larry’s song, played by Larry’s band. No house style to fit into, no compromises, no trombone-centric polish to accommodate. Just Larry’s taste, Larry’s textures, Larry’s sense of space—fully realized. It doesn’t sound like anything else from 1938. It’s a three-and-a-half-minute trip to another level, a little pocket universe where Debussy drifts through a swing orchestra and Bea Wain becomes the dream guide!

The Canary

While we’re being honest, I’ve always had a bit of a retro-crush on Bea Wain. Not in the pin-up sense -although she was very attractive - more in that “voice that understands you” way. She had this warmth, poise, and intelligence that comes through even in a 78rpm groove. She didn’t oversell a lyric; she invited you into it. That kind of charm is timeless.

The public felt it, too. “My Reverie” became one of Clinton’s biggest hits and the performance that cemented Bea Wain as one of the era’s defining canaries. If you ever need a single track to explain why I consider Larry Clinton the most underrated bandleader of the Swing Era—this is it.

---

Does this version of Debussy feel like a "swinging of the classics" gimmick to you, or does it stand on its own as a modern masterpiece?

Word Association Wednesday: The Double Dare

 

For this week’s Word Association Wednesday, we’re springboarding off Sunday’s Double Check Stomp and following the word double straight into one of 1938’s most irresistible pop confections: I Double Dare You. It’s one of those songs that seemed to be everywhere at once in the late ’30s - a perfect blend of bounce, flirtation, and that lightly sassy wink that defined so much of the era’s dance music.

And if we’re talking I Double Dare You, there’s only one place to start.

Larry Clinton and Bea Wain

Let me just say it plainly: Larry Clinton is the most underrated bandleader of the Swing Era. The man had taste, polish, and a knack for arrangements that were both danceable and musically satisfying. He wasn’t flashy, he wasn’t gimmicky - he was just good, consistently and quietly good, in a way that history tends to overlook.

And then there’s Bea Wain, my favorite big‑band “canary” of them all. She had that rare combination of warmth, clarity, and rhythmic poise - never overselling, never underplaying, always landing right in the pocket. On I Double Dare You, she’s at her absolute best: bright, confident, and just teasing enough to make the title feel like a promise.

Let’s spin their Victor record:

The Clinton/Wain version is the hit for a reason. It’s crisp, buoyant, and utterly charming — the kind of record that makes you understand why 1938 dancers kept dropping nickels into jukeboxes.

Satchmo Doubles Down

For contrast, we hop over to Decca for Louis Armstrong’s take, recorded in January of 1938 — just weeks after Larry Clinton had already put his version in the can at the tail end of ’37. Clinton’s record hit the market first, but Armstrong wasn’t far behind, and the two versions ended up circulating side by side through most of 1938.

At this point in time, Decca often paired Louis with then‑current pop material to keep him in the mainstream ear. His I Double Dare You sits alongside other pop covers that he transformed into Armstrong vehicles through sheer personality.

It’s fascinating how the same tune can wear two completely different suits: Clinton’s is pressed and tailored; Armstrong’s is relaxed and lived‑in. Both work. Both swing. Both show how flexible a good pop tune could be in the hands of musicians who knew exactly what to do with it.

A curious footnote: Even though Terry Shand was currently leading a band and had just come off a stint as singer–pianist with Freddy Martin’s orchestra, neither he nor Martin seem to have ever recorded I Double Dare You!

Which One Wins?

Depends on your mood. If you want polish, charm, and the best canary in the business, Clinton and Wain take the crown. If you want personality, grit, and that unmistakable Armstrong joie de vivre, Decca’s your stop.

Either way, “I Double Dare You” proves that a simple word - double - can open the door to a whole little corner of 1938 worth revisiting.

St. Patrick's Day Bonus!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

In keeping with the situation, let’s pull a shamrock from the stack of 78s and spin a fun Irish‑themed novelty from 1942.

Here’s Freddy Martin and his Orchestra on Bluebird Records with “Rose O’Day.”

That’s our old friend Eddie Stone handling the vocal. He fits as well with Freddy's band as he did with Isham Jones's!

I once heard this song described as an “Irish ‘Hut Sut Song,’” which absolutely nails it — the same bouncy nonsense‑syllable charm, just with a brogue and a wink. A fun little nugget from the pot of gold!

Tuesday Tidbit: The Love That Wasn’t

Yesterday, we flipped over the Brunswick and Victor records to find Duke’s hidden gems and Cornell Smelser’s all‑star accordion. Today, we finish the job by flipping over that Cornell and His Orchestra record on Okeh.

The “Ghost” Vocal: Collegiate Love (1930)

If you look at the original Okeh label for Collegiate Love, it explicitly promises a “vocal refrain.” But when you drop the needle? Nothing. Not a peep. It’s a pure instrumental!

Adrian Rollini with his ginormous bass sax!

Whether session singer Artie Dunn stepped out for a smoke or the label printer was just having a bad day, we end up the winners - because it leaves more room to enjoy that incredible lineup: Jack Teagarden, Jimmy Dorsey and Adrian Rollini, all weaving through a snappy, campus‑fresh arrangement. And when Rollini opens the record with that big, swaggering bass sax, we know we’re in for a treat!

The Comparison: Ted Weems & His Orchestra

To hear what that “missing” vocal might have sounded like, we turn to the high‑society sparkle of Ted Weems. His Victor version from 1930 captures the collegiate spirit in full Technicolor - light, bright, and very vocal‑forward, telling us exactly what this kind of love is supposed to be.

I love peppy collegiate songs from the 1920s and ’30s, but this one somehow slipped past me back when I was on my college‑song kick. If you’re in the mood for more rah‑rah charm, be sure to check out the Warehouse archives.

Which version fills you with the most collegiate love - the ghost‑vocal Okeh side or the polished Victor vocal? Personally, I just love that we get both.

Monday Side‑Session: Squeezing Out The Flips

For today’s side‑session, we’re flipping over those two versions of Double Check Stomp from Duke Ellington that we heard yesterday - because around here, the B‑side is never just an afterthought.

The Victor Flip: “Jazz Lips” (1930)

We’ll start with the Victor disc. Its flipside is an Ellington original called Jazz Lips.

As far as I can tell, Duke only recorded this one once, and I don’t think anyone else ever took a crack at it. But it’s a fun little number — compact, confident, and unmistakably Ellington.

What’s funny is that Jazz Lips actually sounds more “jungle‑y” than the Jungle Band flipside we’re about to hear. The growls, the textures, the rhythmic snap - it’s like they accidentally put the Jungle Band track on the wrong label!

The Brunswick Flip: “Accordion Joe” (1930)

Things get a bit wilder when we flip over the Brunswick record, credited to The Jungle Band.

You may remember that accordionist Cornell Smelser (recording as Joe Cornell) sat in on Double Check Stomp. On Accordion Joe, he steps right into the spotlight - and he’s joined by the ubiquitous session vocalist Dick Robertson.

It’s honestly a little surreal to hear Smelser and Robertson dropped into a Jungle Band session. It’s like someone shuffled the personnel cards when nobody was looking. The result is a stylistic curveball in the Ellington library - part novelty tune, part hot dance record, part “wait… what band is this again?”

The All‑Star “Joe”: Cornell and His Orchestra

And the plot thickens...

Cornell Smelser also recorded his own version of Accordion Joe - he co-wrote the song, so why not record it as many times as you can? - for Okeh, this time under the name Cornell and His Orchestra.

This take features a vocal by Artie Dunn, and the studio band is stacked with ringers:

• Jack Teagarden
• Jimmy Dorsey
• Adrian Rollini

It’s basically a who’s‑who of 1930 studio royalty backing an accordion novelty. Only in the 78 era could something this odd — and this delightful — exist.

Which Flip Makes You Flip?

So what’s your pick?

Do you go for Duke’s one‑off Jazz Lips, with its sly, jungle‑tinged swagger?

Or does the all‑star accordion madness of Cornell Smelser’s Accordion Joe win the day?

Either way, it's proof once again that Ellington’s universe is full of delightful detours if you’re willing to flip the record!

Note: There's also a Fleischer Studio cartoon from 1930 titled "Accordion Joe" which does feature the song. It's historically interesting as it features an early prototype of Betty Boop as love interest for Bimbo, the star of the cartoon. It's more than a bit racially insensitive, however, so I won't link to it. You can find it if you look for it.