Threaded Thursday: Flipping the Daybreak

Yesterday we enjoyed five versions of the song Daybreak, and it struck me that each of those records also had a very strong flipside. So let’s keep the thread rolling and give those five flips their moment in the sun.

Tommy Dorsey’s Victor disc paired Daybreak with his massive hit There Are Such Things, with The Pied Pipers joining Frank Sinatra on the vocal:

Just a gorgeous record. Nobody could float a ballad quite like Tommy’s band.

Jimmy Dorsey also had a blockbuster on the reverse of his Decca release - Brazil, with Bob Eberly and Helen O’Connell:

Another gem in Jimmy’s run of Latin‑flavored smashes: Bob opens with a slow, romantic chorus, Jimmy slips in an alto sax solo, and Helen brings it home with that bright, rhythmic lift. Ace arranger Tutti Camarata was a wizard at stitching those elements together.

Over on Columbia, the flip of Harry James’ record gives us Manhattan Serenade, sung by the preeminent Helen of the band era - Helen Forrest:

Harry and Helen were simply unbeatable together!

Bob Carroll returns on Capitol with Gordon Jenkins for There Will Never Be Another You:

This one comes from the 20th Century Fox Sonja Henie film Iceland, written by the powerhouse team of Mack Gordon and Harry Warren, who were on a remarkable streak for Fox at the time.

And finally, we turn over Roberto Inglez’s Parlophone disc to find his take on the Cole Porter classic Begin the Beguine:

You truly never know what’s waiting on the other side of a record. That’s why we always flip ’em over at the Warehouse!

Word Association Wednesday: Day Keeps Breaking

For today’s Word Association Wednesday, we simply take the “Daybreak” from Daybreak Express and wind up with the popular 1942 song Daybreak.

The tune takes Ferde Grofé’s “Mardi Gras” theme from his 1925 Mississippi Suite and adds lyrics by Harold Adamson, resulting in a brand‑new hit song nearly two decades later. And all the major labels jumped on it!

The most popular version was recorded by Tommy Dorsey for Victor, featuring a young vocalist named Frank Sinatra:

Tommy’s band was really something. And that boy singer showed promise. Whatever became of him anyway?

Of course, Decca needed to get in on the action, so they had their own Dorsey brother, Jimmy, record it with his star vocalist Bob Eberly:

It’s always interesting comparing Tommy and Jimmy’s versions of the same song — and comparing Frank Sinatra and Bob Eberly while we’re at it. Bob was probably the more popular band singer at the time, and Frank reportedly left Tommy to start a solo career partly because he thought Bob might leave Jimmy’s band first and beat him to it!

Columbia also wanted a slice of the sunrise, so they handed “Daybreak” to their top bandleader, Harry James. His version features vocalist Johnny McAfee:

I like Johnny McAfee a lot — he’s obviously not as famous as Frank or Bob, but he had a lovely, warm sound. He also played sax, but as a romantic singer he was more in the Kenny Sargent mold than the Tex Beneke mold, as far as singing sax sideman go.

The new Capitol label joined the parade too, with arranger‑conductor Gordon Jenkins handling the chart and "guest vocalist" Bob Carroll doing the honors:

Bob Carroll was another fine singer who isn’t well‑known today, but he always delivered the goods.

Let’s jump ahead to 1947 for a nice instrumental detour. Here’s pianist Roberto Inglez on the British Parlophone label:

Roberto was born Robert Inglis in Scotland, but Latinized his name to match the Latin music he specialized in.

So, day has just broken five times now. No wonder this week is going by fast!

Monday Side-Session: Expressly Flipped

For today’s side‑sesh, we flip over yesterday’s two records of Daybreak Express to see (and hear) what’s hiding on the other side.

Duke’s Brunswick Flip: A Southern Stroll

On the flipside of Duke Ellington’s Brunswick disc, we find his take on Dear Old Southland, recorded in late 1933:

The sort‑of‑vocal comes courtesy of trumpeter Louis Bacon, who appeared on just a handful of Ellington sessions. I love how Tricky Sam Nanton threads his wah‑wah trombone around Louis’s vocal — it’s like a sly commentary track running underneath.

To better appreciate Louis Bacon, let’s spin Rude Interlude, a slightly earlier Ellington side for Victor featuring Louis’s scat vocal:

Not rude at all — actually quite lovely. Before the vocal arrives, we get graceful solos from Juan Tizol and Cootie Williams, setting the mood with that early‑’30s Ellington shimmer.

Back to Dear Old Southland: Duke revisited it in 1941 with a solo piano version for Victor:

This comes from the same session as Duke’s solo Solitude we heard last week, both originally issued on Victor’s Hot Piano album — a nice little nugget of unaccompanied Ellington.

Borrah’s Decca Flip: A Moonlit Glide

Now we flip over Borrah Minevitch’s Decca record of “Daybreak Express” and find his harmonica‑band take on the Will Hudson–Eddie DeLange standard Moonglow:

Proof positive that a great song can wear any outfit and still look fabulous!

And while Borrah and his Harmonica Rascals never recorded Dear Old Southland, they did cut a version of Deep River for Brunswick in 1933:

Here’s the twist: Dear Old Southland was based on the melody of Deep River, an earlier spiritual. At the time (1921), adapting a spiritual into a popular song stirred controversy — and understandably so. The lineage is unmistakable once you hear them side by side.

Flip, Listen, Learn

As always, flipping those records over reveals a whole new little world — unexpected pairings, hidden gems, and the occasional spiritual‑to‑song intrigue. That’s half the fun of these Side‑Sessions, and today’s stack delivers beautifully!

Sundays with Duke #19: A Dawnbound Dash

As we continue through 1934, we arrive at one of Duke Ellington’s most joyful recurring themes: the sound of the train. This time it’s a full‑on novelty delight — Daybreak Express.

Leaving the Station

Let’s spin the Victor recording:

It’s remarkable how the arrangement captures the whole journey — the whistle, the wheels, the gathering speed — yet still holds together as a real composition rather than a sound‑effects stunt.

Duke recorded this in late 1933 for a 1934 release, but I don’t think he ever revisited it, unlike, say, Solitude. Everything that needed to be said was said right here.. And after last week’s twelve‑car “Solitude” special, this one‑car novelty train pulls in nice and tidy!

The Warehouse Find

Although Duke’s record was popular, perhaps due to the novelty aspect of the tune, Daybreak Express didn’t inspire many contemporary covers. But I did manage to dig up one!

Borrah Minevich and his Harmonica Rascals recorded their own version for Decca in 1934:

Borrah and the boys could seemingly do anything with their “Technique‑Tone Harmonicas” (as the label proudly put it), so this was a perfect vehicle for them to show off.

I’d happily hop aboard either train!

Collector's note: The sheet music shown at the top isn't real. I'm not sure if there was sheet music published for Daybreak Express, but if there was, I hope it looked like this!

Threaded Thursday: Floyd Plays the Blues

Following Charlie Christian and Benny Goodman yesterday, we stay on the thread of pioneering electric guitarists working inside big‑band settings — and today we meet up with Floyd Smith, who recorded his signature number Floyd’s Guitar Blues with Andy Kirk and His Clouds of Joy for Decca in 1939.

Let’s spin it:

That’s a remarkable display of technique from Floyd. It doesn’t sound like anything else from 1939 — it’s almost like someone slipped a post‑war guitar solo into a pre‑war session!

I’ve always said Andy Kirk’s band was underrated, and one reason I enjoy it so much is the roster of fascinating musicians he nurtured, especially Floyd Smith and Mary Lou Williams. They gave that band a personality all its own.

Indies to the Rescue

Floyd revisited his tune a couple more times, including this small‑combo version from 1947 on the independent Hy‑Tone label:

The rise of independent labels after WWII gave players like Floyd the chance to record material the majors wouldn’t touch — and we’re lucky they did. These sides are little windows into what musicians actually wanted to play.

Krazy King-Sized Blues

One of the most successful of those independents was King Records, and Floyd turned up again in 1957 on a King remake of Floyd’s Guitar Blues, credited to the pickup group Krazy Kris and the Swinging Gentlemen:

It’s a fun, updated take, though I’m not convinced the tune changed enough from Floyd’s original to justify co‑writer credit for Chris Columbo and John Weigland. But that’s the record business for you.

El Rey de la Guitarra

We sneak into the 1960s with one more version — this time without Floyd himself. It’s a stereo remake by Glen Gray and the Casa Loma Orchestra from their 1962 Capitol album They All Swung the Blues, featuring guest guitarist Alvino Rey:

Alvino Rey was the public face of the electric guitar in the 1940s, so bringing him into a Hollywood studio for a session that needed a guitar master was a no‑brainer. I like how he gives a bit of his own twist while staying pretty faithful to the original. I'm a huge fane!

And there you have it — Floyd’s guitar resonating across four decades, from a 1939 Decca side to a 1962 Capitol stereo remake. A single tune tracing the evolution of the electric guitar in American popular music.

But who in 1939 — besides Floyd Smith, Charlie Christian and Alvino Rey — could have imagined that within 20 years, the electric guitar would be the predominant instrument in popular music?

Word Association Wednesday: Charlie Takes Flight

Today’s word association takes off from Sunday’s Solitude. That title had me thinking of “solo,” which sent my brain straight to Benny Goodman’s Solo Flight.

Recorded for Columbia on March 4, 1941, the tune spotlights the dazzling, trailblazing electric guitar work of Charlie Christian — a musician who seemed to bend time, harmony and gravity every time he took a chorus.

Let’s give it a spin:

Even after all these years, that record still feels... electric.

What’s always fascinated me is the timing: although it was recorded in 1941, Columbia didn’t issue it until 1943, when the label was digging through its vaults for unreleased material to keep product flowing during the recording ban. It makes you wonder why this particular gem wasn’t released right away, especially with the ban still more than a year off.

When Solo Flight finally did hit the shelves, it became a major hit — but heartbreakingly, Charlie Christian wasn’t around to see it. He had passed away from tuberculosis in 1942 at the far-too-young age of 25.

Charlie was like a comet across the late‑’30s and early‑’40s jazz sky: suddenly there, blazing with new ideas, and gone before the world could fully catch up. But recordings like Solo Flight remain joyful, vivid snapshots of his genius — little time capsules of a musician who changed the instrument forever.

Monday Side‑Session: Eleven More Strolls

Following along with Duke Ellington’s classic composition Solitude, here are eleven versions by eleven different artists from the 1930s. So let’s get strolling!

Eddie DeLange’s lyrics to Duke’s tune were clearly well‑received — most of the 1930s covers were vocal versions, and they came fast.

Mills Thrills and Red Riffs

We start off hot on the heels of Duke’s original with The Mills Blue Rhythm Band, featuring vocalist Chuck Richards:

As you might guess from the group’s name, the band was managed by the ubiquitous Irving Mills. It was led by Lucky Millinder and included top musicians like trumpeter Henry “Red” Allen, who contributes a tasty solo on this side.

Lunceford’s Lonesome Lilt

Another 1934 vocal version came from Jimmie Lunceford, with trombonist Henry Wells handling the vocal:

I say it all the time, but you really can’t go wrong with the Lunceford band covering an Ellington tune!

Goodman Goes Generic (But Great)

Moving into 1935, we get a couple of intriguing instrumental takes. First up is a budget‑label release by The Modernists — but don’t let the generic name fool you. It’s pre‑fame Benny Goodman and his band:

A really nice version from not too long before BG would become the King of Swing.

A Stone's Throw Across the Pond

Next we hop over to the U.K. for a snappy version by British bandleader Lew Stone on Regal Zonophone:

I really like the guitar work on this one — a lovely touch.

Bowlly's Bow

The most popular British bandleader of the era, Ray Noble, had already relocated to the States by 1935, fronting a great band assembled by Glenn Miller. Ray brought vocalist Al Bowlly with him, and Al sings Solitude on this radio aircheck:

Ray never made a studio recording of the tune, so we’re extra lucky to have this wonderful version.

Dorseys’ Deluxe Disc Detour

Tommy and Jimmy are on either side of canary Kay, Glenn Miller is to Jimmy's left and Ray McKinley is kneeling in front of Glenn.

Meanwhile, Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey were still co‑leading The Dorsey Brothers Orchestra when they cut their own outstanding version on a 12‑inch Decca disc with vocalist Kay Weber:

Not sure what prompted Decca to go with a 12‑inch pressing instead of the usual 10‑inch, but we’re glad they did. And perhaps Glenn Miller arranged it!

Prima Turns Up the Heat

For one more 1935 entry, we check in with Louis Prima and His New Orleans Gang, whose Brunswick recording gets the tune swinging:

Louis always sounds like he’s having a blast!

Satchmo’s Solitary Spotlight

The other singing trumpeter named Louis — Mr. Armstrong — took his turn for Decca in 1936:

Great to hear Satchmo’s solo version, recorded 25 years before his later take with Duke.

The Mills Brothers Multiply the Mood

Decca wasn’t shy about doubling (or tripling or quadrupling) up on a good thing, so in addition to Lunceford, Armstrong and the Dorseys, they also had The Mills Brothers record Solitude in 1936:

Another terrific example of the early Mills sound with John Jr. on guitar and bass vocals.

The Club Stays Hot

We head back to Europe for a 1937 instrumental version by The Quintette of the Hot Club of France on British HMV:

That’s the usual suspects — Django Reinhardt on guitar and Stéphane Grappelly on violin.

Adelaide Abroad

And we stay overseas for one more, a 1939 British Decca recording by Adelaide Hall, whom we last heard way back on Duke’s 1927 “Creole Love Call”:

Let’s spin Adelaide’s Solitude:

A nice version, and the organ accompaniment is by Fela Sowande, a pioneering Nigerian musician — a very cool detail.

There are a zillion other versions of “Solitude,” but these eleven sides from the 1930s show how the tune began its solitudinous stroll toward becoming a standard.