Threaded Thursday: Life Could Be a Dream

As I mentioned yesterday, there was something interesting lurking on the B‑side of The Chords’ Cat label cover of Cross Over the Bridge. It was a sleeper — Sh‑Boom.

Back in the single‑record era, this happened from time to time: the intended A‑side wouldn’t catch fire, a disc jockey would flip the record over, like what he heard, and suddenly the “throwaway” track was the one lighting up the airwaves. Presumably something like that happened with The Chords — their flipside Sh‑Boom became a massive hit.

Let’s spin that Cat side:

There’s a rugged charm to it — a kind of street‑corner vitality that must have caught listeners off‑guard in 1954.

And here’s where things get delightfully tangled: this B‑side of the cover of a Mercury record aimed at the R&B market on the Cat label was itself covered by Mercury Records for the pop market, courtesy of Canadian vocal quartet The Crew‑Cuts.

Let’s spin that one:

The Crew‑Cuts’ version was an even bigger hit, though both charted well. The record‑business logic of the time was complicated — execs assumed rhythm and blues numbers by Black artists wouldn’t be acceptable to white audiences, so major labels often commissioned sanitized pop covers. It’s a frustrating pattern, but historically accurate.

That said, I genuinely like the Crew‑Cuts’ take. It’s bright, sunny, and not pretending to be R&B at all. And in some cases, those pop covers did help bring attention to the originals.

Whatever the case, 1954 saw a seismic shift. Rock ’n’ roll was taking its first baby steps, and not everyone was thrilled.

One of the loudest skeptics was master satirist Stan Freberg, who cut this parody version of Sh‑Boom for Capitol:

It’s brilliant — like Marlon Brando moonlighting as an A&R man for an R&B session. And the references to Mambo and Hugo Winterhalter? Pure 1954 flavor. Stelllaaa!!!

It’s also funny in hindsight to think how worried the squares were about the “state of music” seventy‑odd years ago. What would they think of today’s scene?

Warehouse Whispers

Once The Chords’ record of Sh‑Boom took off, Cat Records changed the flipside from Cross Over the Bridge to Little Maiden, another Chords original. No sense splitting royalties with Bennie Benjamin and George Weiss anymore!

Still, I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened to Sh‑Boom if it hadn’t been pressed into service as a B‑side for a crossover attempt at Cross Over the Bridge.

Sometimes history hinges on a flip of the record!

Word Association Wednesday: Crossin' Over

Spinning off Billy Strayhorn’s Chelsea Bridge for today’s WAW, my brain got snagged on the earworm chorus of the 1954 hit Cross Over the Bridge.

Instead of fighting it, let’s lean in and spin Patti Page’s smash Mercury version:

This is peak 1954 pop perfection. Written by Bennie Benjamin and George Weiss — the same duo who gave us everything from Wheel of Fortune to Can’t Help Falling in Love — the tune is a brilliant snapshot of pre‑rock ’n’ roll mainstream American radio. It’s hooky, moralistic, deceptively clever, and completely unashamed of its own bounce.

I think this whole era gets unfairly dismissed as something rock ’n’ roll “rescued” us from, but honestly? It’s a blast. Performers like Patti Page were the total package — looks, vocal chops, poise — and they were popular for a reason.

For further evidence, here’s The Singing Rage herself on The Ed Sullivan Show:

Lots of fun, and intriguingly, Patti starts with the verse not included on the record!

Crossing Over the to R 'n' B Bridge

To show how the musical landscape was shifting, we’ve got a couple of 1954 rhythm‑and‑blues covers of Cross Over the Bridge. They weren’t trying to compete with Patti Page — they were literally trying to “cover” another branch of the musical tree.

First up: The Flamingos on the Chance label:

The proto‑doo‑wop vocals and Red Holloway’s jump‑blues sax give the song a totally different vibe. And the gender flip from brother to sister is a fun twist.

This version didn’t go anywhere chart‑wise, but The Flamingos were just getting warmed up on their way to a string of hits.

Next: The Chords on the Cat label:

Another interesting take that didn’t gain much traction. But… there was a secret weapon on the B‑side.

More on that tomorrow...

Sundays with Duke #39: Billy’s Bridge

We stay in 1941 with Duke Ellington for one more session — this one giving us another classic from Billy Strayhorn: Chelsea Bridge.

The First Crossing

Let’s spin the Victor disc recorded in December 1941:

A lovely record, with Ben Webster’s tenor and Juan Tizol’s valve trombone floating through the mist.

In addition to composing and arranging the number, Billy plays piano and directs the band — a clear sign of how much trust Duke already placed in him.

The Lost Bass Line

Interestingly, the band had recorded an earlier version for the Standard Transcription service the previous January, with Duke at the piano:

What really jumps out here are the delightful bass passages from Jimmie Blanton.

It’s not clear why Duke waited almost a year to make a commercial recording — a rejected version was attempted in September — but by the time he did, Blanton had contracted tuberculosis and left the band shortly before the December session. Jimmie passed away the next July at just 23 years old — a heartbreaking loss for the music world.

Billy’s revised arrangement for the Victor recording has him playing piano in place of the bass solos, rather than giving them to new bassist Junior Raglin.

A Tune Ahead of Its Time

Chelsea Bridge was something of a slow burner — not a big splash at first, perhaps because listeners didn’t quite know what to make of its dreamy harmonic world. But it eventually became a standard and has been frequently recorded.

Bothwell's Signature Sound

The earliest cover seems to be alto saxist Johnny Bothwell’s 1945 recording for Signature:

Bothwell played a lovely alto — clearly influenced by Johnny Hodges — and his “Swingtet” for this session includes Harry Carney and Ray Nance!

LP Era Bloom — 1950s

Like so many slow‑burning standards we've visited, Chelsea Bridge blossomed in the LP era. Let's cross the bridge a few times with some highlights...

Big Ben Brings It

Ben Webster revisited it with this string-laden take from his 1954 Norgran album Music with Feeling:

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Lots of feeling indeed — Ben’s tenor sound is pure velvet.

Marian's Magical Mood

Then in 1956, pianist Marian McPartland included it on her Capitol album After Dark:

Betty Glamann’s harp gives this one a celestial shimmer.

Pre-Peanuts Piano

Also from 1956 is this track from pianist Vince Guaraldi’s debut Fantasy album:

Vince is best remembered for his brilliant scores for the Peanuts TV specials, so it’s fun catching him with his trio a decade earlier.

Ella Strolls Across with Ben

Things always get intriguing when Ella Fitzgerald visits the Ellington songbook. She offers some lovely vocalese on this 1957 cut from her Verve sessions, with Billy sitting in on piano and Duke’s band behind her:

Nice to have Ben Webster back in the house for this one!

The Freshmen Go Latin

The vocal angle gets even more interesting in 1958, when The Four Freshmen recorded Chelsea Bridge with lyrics for their Capitol album Voices in Latin:

Apparently the lyrics were written by future Freshman Bill Comstock, who was a friend of current Freshman Ken Albers, specifically for this album. But since the lyrics weren't authorized by Billy Strayhorn or his publisher, only Billy got songwriter credit on the label.

I’m not sure why they went through all that trouble to include the non-Latin Chelsea Bridge on this album alongside Latin standards like Brazil and Frenesi, but, hey, it works!

Cat's Crossing

Back to instrumentals, Cat Anderson cut this very intriguing version for his 1959 album Ellingtonia on the Wynne label:

Ray Nance's violin lines adds a nice texture to the arrangement and Cat shows he didn't have to hit those stratospheric trumpet notes all the time!

A Peaceful Return

Billy brings the song back to its roots on his 1963 United Artists album The Peaceful Side:

I think I say this every time we visit that album, but it really is peaceful!

Duke's Island Crossing

We close in 1965 with Duke returning to the tune for his Reprise album Concert in the Virgin Islands:

Lovely as ever with Paul Gonsalves' gorgeous tenor sax!

That’s about 25 years of crossing Billy’s bridge — and it never gets old. Thanks for walking along with me!

Warehouse Whispers

There are a couple of different stories about where Billy Strayhorn found the title Chelsea Bridge. It seems certain that he was inspired by James McNeill Whistler’s painting Nocturne: Blue and Gold – Old Battersea Bridge.

One story says he mistakenly thought it depicted Chelsea Bridge.

Another says he knew it was Battersea Bridge but felt Chelsea Bridge simply sounded better for a song.

Billy was pretty smart — I vote for story number two.

Whistler's mother was unavailable for comment!

Word Association Wednesday — Jumpin’ and Jivin’

Following Sunday’s Jump for Joy, we make a quick jump back to 1939 for Cab Calloway’s great hit The Jumpin’ Jive.

Let’s spin Cab’s 1939 Vocalion record:

That’s just a blast — a perfect little nugget where everything snaps together. One of those records so alive, so self‑contained, that the contemporary cover versions never quite do it for me. It’s Cab’s song, full stop.

Here’s Cab again, singing The Jumpin’ Jive in the 1943 Twentieth Century‑Fox picture Stormy Weather, joined by the incomparable Nicholas Brothers:

That’s a tremendous amount of talent in one frame — Cab in full command, the band cooking, and the brothers defying gravity like it’s a parlor trick.

JJ's Jive

If we jump all the way to the 1980s, there is one version I love: Joe Jackson’s take from his 1981 A&M album Jumpin’ Jive:

Joe doesn’t just copy the style — he inhabits it. He treats the song like a living thing rather than a museum piece, and it shows.

And here’s Joe again, live on his 1986 tour:

Tom Teeley’s guitar gives the whole thing a rockabilly edge, and I dig it. It’s a different kind of jump, but still true to the spirit.

Warehouse Whispers

Time is a funny creature. When Joe Jackson’s version came out in 1981, 1939 felt like ancient history — a sepia‑toned world far, far away. But now more time has passed between Joe’s version (45 years) and today than had passed between Joe’s version and Cab’s original (42 years). Yet 1981 doesn’t feel distant at all.

I don’t know what to make of that!

Sundays with Duke #38: Everyone’s Jumping

Last Sunday, while we were digging into Duke Ellington’s I Got It Bad (And That Ain’t Good), I mentioned that the tune first appeared in Duke’s 1941 musical revue Jump for Joy. So this week, let’s jump straight to the title song itself.

Herb's Hurdle

Duke and the band recorded Jump for Joy for Victor in July 1941, with Herb Jeffries handling the vocal:

It really is joyous. Herb sounds terrific, but for me, Tricky Sam Nanton quietly steals the spotlight — his trombone practically sings the lyrics. It’s one of those moments where the Ellington band blurs the line between voice and instrument.

Ivie's Impetus

I’d known Herb’s version for years before stumbling across an alternate take from the same session on a later compilation. When I first heard it, I thought, “Hmmm… something’s a little different.” Then after Tricky Sam’s solo, the arrangement shifts — and suddenly Ivie Anderson comes in instead of Herb Jeffries.

It’s such a treat to hear the band try the tune with each vocalist. Herb’s take will always feel like the “official” one to me, but Ivie brings her own sparkle.

Ray's Romp

Duke kept Jump for Joy active in the band’s book, and after Herb left, it became a Ray Nance specialty. The band cut this version for Capitol Transcriptions in 1947, with Ray on the vocal:

This one sticks close to the original arrangement, with Tyree Glenn stepping into the trombone role. Tyree had taken over after Tricky Sam’s passing the year before — and while Tyree was a fine player, no one could truly replace Tricky Sam’s voice‑like magic.

Jimmy's Jump

Ray continued singing the tune for years, but let’s close with something different: an intriguing small‑group instrumental from 1956 featuring Jimmy Hamilton on clarinet:

This unreleased‑at‑the‑time performance is just Jimmy backed by Duke on piano, Jimmy Woode on bass, and Sam Woodyard on drums — a tight little rhythm section giving Hamilton plenty of room to dance, with a cameo from just the band's trombone section only!

So… Who Jumped the Best?

Plenty of jumping goin on — Herb, Ivie, Ray, Jimmy, Tricky Sam, Tyree. Each brings a different kind of lift.

Who jumped highest for you?

Warehouse Whispers

Was this the first song to rhyme groovy with movie? It seems so 1960s!

Tuesday Tidbit: Smoke Rings

Still thinking about Duke Ellington’s I Got It Bad (And That Ain’t Good), I’m reminded of how I first encountered that record. It goes all the way back to my early big‑band‑fan days — young, curious, collecting anything I could get my hands on, absorbing the era one 78 at a time.

One of the most enlightening finds from that period was the Smoke Rings album of Victor 78s from 1944. Eight discs, eight bands, each with a hit from 1936–43. It felt like a curated crash course in the pop landscape of the time. Duke’s side was in there, of course — and hearing it in that lineup made a lasting impression.

So today, I thought it would be fun to revisit all eight sides and add the impressions I had back then.

Side 1: These Foolish Things Remind Me of You — Benny Goodman

At the time, I mainly knew Benny Goodman as the King of Swing — Sing, Sing, Sing, Don’t Be That Way, all the up‑tempo instrumentals. So hearing his band play a ballad was a surprise. Helen Ward’s fragile, wistful vocal style fits the song perfectly, like tissue paper around a keepsake. It was my first glimpse of BG’s softer palette.

Side 2: Once in a While — Tommy Dorsey

A lovely record from the cold‑open trombone solo straight through the quartet vocal. I already knew Tommy Dorsey’s trombone sound, so that felt familiar. Jack Leonard I recognized from Marie, and later — once I’d heard more TD sides — I realized Edythe Wright was tucked into the vocal ensemble even though the label claimed it was a male quartet.

Side 3: My Reverie — Larry Clinton

My favorite of the set. Larry Clinton wasn’t as famous as Goodman, Dorsey, or Miller, so this felt like a real discovery. A star arranger leading a band rather than a star instrumentalist — that intrigued me. And Bea Wain’s vocal is just gorgeous. I raved about this one in this earlier post.

Side 4: Moon Love — Sammy Kaye

A wild card. Sammy Kaye sits firmly in the sweet‑band category, and sweet bands don’t get much respect now (or then), but they were an important part of the era’s musical tapestry. Same basic instrumentation as the swing bands — trumpets, trombones, saxes, rhythm — yet completely different results. That's always been fascinating to me.

The sweet bands heavily featured vocalists, such as Clyde Burke here. I liked this side then, and I still do — singing song title and all!

Side 5: All the Things You Are — Artie Shaw

This one’s the goods — wonderful song, wonderful band, wonderful singer. Artie Shaw’s clarinet is every bit as brilliant as Goodman’s, just in a different way. And Helen Forrest is one of the great canaries of the period.

Side 6: Intermezzo — Freddy Martin

Another sweet band, but Freddy Martin always stood apart. His tenor sax tone gave the reed section a rich, unmistakable sound. And his fondness for classical‑leaning material makes Intermezzo a perfect fit. I still occasionally mix up Clyde Rogers and Clyde Burke, though!

Side 7: I Got It Bad and That Ain’t Good — Duke Ellington

Here’s the seismic shift. At the time, I think I only really had heard the fabulous Take the “A” Train as far as Duke Ellington records. But this record was something else entirely. Ivie Anderson’s vocal, the band’s texture, and that brief Johnny Hodges alto solo between her choruses — that solo alone sent me down a rabbit hole.

And it wasn’t lost on me that Duke was the only Black bandleader included in the set. In 1944, that was a statement.

Side 8: That Old Black Magic — Glenn Miller

A fitting closer. Glenn Miller was the band I knew best back then — LP compilations of his records were readily available. But this was my first time hearing Skip Nelson instead of Ray Eberle, which felt different, but Skip fit in well during his brief stint before Glenn entered the service.

When this album was released, Miller was in the AAF, and no one could have imagined he’d be lost later that year. It’s bittersweet in retrospect.

I look back on Smoke Rings as a key piece of my big‑band education — a curated sampler that opened doors, raised questions, and helped set me on the path I’m still walking today.

Thanks for strolling down memory lane with me.

Warehouse Whispers

Because it’s my job to wonder about such things, I’ve always been intrigued by the billing of the bandleaders on the album cover. It’s not in chronological order, but it’s not quite alphabetical either.

My take: the artists who were still under contract to Victor at the time — including Glenn Miller — are listed alphabetically first, with Larry Clinton and Benny Goodman appearing afterward. Clinton had left the music business to serve as a flight instructor for the AAF during WWII, and Goodman was recording for rival Columbia by then, so Victor didn’t have much incentive to promote them too heavily.

Look at me thinking like a 1940s record‑label exec!

Monday Side‑Session: We Got It Good

For today’s side‑session, we follow up on Duke Ellington’s “I Got It Bad (And That Ain’t Good)” with ten contemporary covers from the 1941–42 period — a little cross‑section of how the tune moved through popular music right when it was new.

So, let's start spinning...

We start with Dinah Shore on Bluebird:

The tune fits early‑Dinah perfectly — that clean, youthful phrasing she had in the early ’40s.

Next up is Ella Fitzgerald for Decca:

Quite lovely. This comes from the period when Ella was still fronting the Chick Webb band after Chick’s passing, and you can hear that blend of band-singer polish and her emerging solo personality.

Then we have The Charioteers on Okeh:

A warm group sound with Billy Williams leading the way.

A number of bands also picked up the tune, usually with a canary handling the vocal. Here’s Benny Goodman with Peggy Lee on Columbia:

Typically solid work from Benny and Peggy — clean, poised, and right in their wheelhouse.

Jimmy Dorsey recorded his version for Decca with his star vocalist Helen O’Connell:

I think this type of song fits Helen better than the novelties she sometimes performed. JD’s alto is solid as usual.

Les Brown and Betty Bonney cut the song for Okeh:

Betty tends to be overshadowed by Doris Day in the Les Brown story, but she was excellent too — and this track shows it.

Bunny Berigan recorded his version with Lynne Richards for the small Elite label:

These relatively late records by Bunny are always intriguing — you can hear both the brilliance and the strain of those final years.

Next up is Vaughn Monroe, who had Marilyn Duke sing the vocal for Bluebird:

This is from the period when Vaughn was more of a bandleader who sang, rather than a singer who led a band, as I like to say, as he didn't sing on every record and also recorded instrumentals.

We get a rare male vocalist as Eddy Howard takes the vocal himself on his Columbia side:

Eddy, like Vaughn, had his greatest success post-WWII, as they were able to directly compete with the singers in a way most bandleaders could not.

The most intriguing contemporary cover to me is this version by Earl Hines on Bluebird:

What I find fascinating is the vocal arrangement: Madeleine Greene and the Three Varieties sing in the third person, while Billy Eckstine sings about himself having it bad. And that is good!

There have been countless remakes of “I Got It Bad” in the decades since, but these contemporary covers give us a snapshot of how the tune lived in its own moment — across labels, across styles, across the early‑’40s pop landscape.

We got it good!