Friday Fun: More Columbo and a bit of "Stump"

As the week comes to a close, and since I like to keep a good thing going, I feel that we need to sneak in one more Russ Columbo song!

Let’s listen to perhaps Russ’s most popular number, Prisoner of Love from 1931 on Victor Records:

Like You Call it Madness, this song paints Russ as a tragic character - and a crazy level of romantic. Interestingly, Russ is credited as a co-writer on both songs. It’s hard to say what his exact contributions were, but I like to think he was the one who brought the angst!

The Mid-40s Revival

There was actually a mini-revival of Russ Columbo songs in the mid-1940s. As we saw yesterday, You Call It Madness had a few popular recordings, but the biggest hit of a Columbo tune came in 1946 when Perry Como waxed his version of Prisoner of Love for Victor.

Let's give it a spin:

This was a massive early hit for Perry, and it helped cement "Mr. C" as a major force for decades to come. 

Not to be outdone, Billy Eckstine wrapped his great pipes around the song for National Records in 1945.

Whom do you prefer: Mr. B or Mr. C?

I’m thinking the timeline suggests that someone realized these two Columbo songs were perfect for the "Modern Baritone" sound of Billy Eckstine. Mr. B’s 1945 recordings likely caught the ear of the biz, leading us right to Perry and Nat "King" Cole in '46. Whatever the case, we are all the beneficiaries!

The Wacky "Stump" Finale

Because I can’t resist such things, we need to listen to a wacky novelty version of Prisoner of Love that was “inspired” (or perhaps "inflicted") by Perry Como’s record!

Here is the incomparable Jo Stafford in her guise of “Cinderella G. Stump,” along with Red Ingle and his Natural Seven in 1947 on Capitol Records:

This was the follow-up to their massive hit Tim-Tayshun (itself a parody of a Perry Como remake of an early 1930s Bing Crosby tune). It’s as wild as you’d expect - and note that Jo actually gets credit on the label this time! "Cinderella's Back And Ingle's Got Her" - love, love, love it!

Red actually name-drops "Mr. Como" on the record, but it’s really more of a parody of the song’s high-drama lyrics than of Perry himself. Perry was likely a great sport about it - not only was he co-hosting the "Chesterfield Supper Club" radio show with Jo Stafford at the time, but he and Red Ingle were old buddies from their days together in the Ted Weems band!

From the tragic Russ Columbo to the hilarious Cinderella G. Stump... that’s just how we roll in the Warehouse.

Threaded Thursday: The Fine Line Between Love and Madness

As a follow-up to Creole Love Call and Indian Love Call, I was figuring that there must be at least a few other songs with “(Insert Descriptive Adjective) Love Call” for a title. But I figured wrong!

(Puts on thinking cap) Love call… love… call… call… love… (Lightbulb!)… You Call it Madness (But I Call It Love).

The Original "Vignette": Russ Columbo (1931)

Before there was a "Battle of the Baritones" in the late 40s, there was the rivalry between Bing Crosby and Russ Columbo. You Call It Madness was Russ’s signature song, and it’s got that definitive early-30s "penthouse" sound. It’s vulnerable, slightly tragic, and incredibly smooth.

The record is haunting anyway, but Russ’s untimely death due to a freak shooting accident just a few years later gives it an even more tragic tone when we listen to it today.

The Jazzman’s Answer: The King Cole Trio (1946)

As the 40s rolled in, the song got a jazzy facelift courtesy of Nat King Cole. Here, the madness is a bit more polished. With his impeccable piano styling and that intimate, "near-the-mic" vocal, Nat turns the song into a sophisticated conversation. It’s less of a plea and more of a confession.

I really like the sound of the King Cole Trio—there’s a precision there that never gets old.

The "Mr. B" Powerhouse: Billy Eckstine (1945)

Finally, we have Billy Eckstine. If Columbo was the matinee idol and Nat was the jazzman, "Mr. B" was the powerhouse. His rich, vibrating baritone brings a level of romantic authority to the song that few could match. By the time Eckstine gets through with it, you aren't just calling it love—you’re convinced.

Here's Billy with his orchestra on the small National Records label:

Billy (with his forward-leaning band) and Nat (with his trio) were both very jazz-oriented at the time, but these records show that their vocals were simply too good for them not to emerge as solo stars!

The Closing Thought

Whether it’s a wordless vocal from Adelaide Hall, a swinging tenor-sax vocal from Tony Pastor, or the smooth baritone of Russ Columbo, the line between a "Love Call" and "Madness" has always been thin.

In the Warehouse, we’re happy to be guilty of both!

Word Association Wednesday: A Different Kind of "Love Call"

On Sunday, we explored the haunting, wordless mystery of Duke’s "Creole Love Call." Today, it’s a short ride on the train of thought to follow that "Love Call" title over to the king of the clarinet—Artie Shaw.

If Duke’s version was about the "Jungle" atmosphere of 1927, Artie’s Indian Love Call (1938) was about the pure, driving swing of the late 30s.

Let's give it a spin:

What a blast!

You'll note that Artie was billed as "Art" Shaw at the time!

From Operetta to the Jukebox

Originally written by Rudolf Friml for the 1924 operetta Rose-Marie, this song was meant to be sung by Mounties in the Canadian Rockies. It was stiff, formal, and definitely not "hot."

But in the hands of Jerry Gray (Artie’s brilliant arranger), it became a juggernaut. I love how they took that famous "oo-oo-oo-oo" melody and gave it a muscular, rhythmic foundation that made it a massive hit for the Bluebird label.

The Tony Pastor Charm

The "secret sauce" on this record is the vocal by Tony Pastor. He doesn't try to sing it like an opera star; he sings it in a gritty, conversational style—kind of like an Italian Louis Armstrong!

I always like the guys who are part of the band as instrumentalists but occasionally step up to the mic to sing a novelty or rhythm tune. They seem like the coolest guys in the room! Like Tex Beneke with Glenn Miller, Tony was also the tenor sax star of the Shaw band. Drummer/vocalist Ray McKinley (with Jimmy Dorsey and Will Bradley) was in this mode, too. Interestingly, Tony, Tex, and Ray all went on to be successful bandleaders themselves!

The “Secret” Version

Did you know there was actually an earlier version of Indian Love Call recorded by Artie? It was cut in February 1938—a few months before the famous July session for Bluebird—for the Thesaurus Transcription Service. But there’s a twist…

Listen and learn:

It’s an instrumental! Crazy, right? The arrangement is very similar to the famous record (although it sounds like the band chants "Yip! Yip!" rather than "Cheep! Cheep!"), but just when you think Tony Pastor is about to sing, he plays a tenor sax solo instead!

The Flipside: A Jukebox Giant

We can’t leave that Bluebird record behind without spinning the B-Side: a little number called Begin the Beguine.

It’s hard to overstate the impact of this record. It was a massive hit that made Artie a superstar and helped solidify the entire Swing movement. For me personally, “Begin the Beguine” was one of the “gateway” records that made me a Big Band fan. It popped up on so many compilations and just seemed like the perfect Big Band record.

And you know what? I still think so! 

Kudos to ace arranger Jerry Gray for his brilliant work on both sides of that disc.

Which "Love Call" gets your vote? The atmospheric "Creole" mystery of Duke Ellington, or the hard-swinging "Indian" energy of Artie Shaw?

Monday Side-Session: The Blueprint for a "Love Call"

Yesterday, we listened to Duke Ellington’s haunting 1927 masterpiece, Creole Love Call. But to truly appreciate the genius of that record, we have to look at the architectural sketch that came four years earlier.

The Original: Camp Meeting Blues (1923)

On October 16, 1923, King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band—perhaps the greatest ensemble in early jazz history—recorded a tune called Camp Meeting Blues for Columbia.

Let's spin it:

The Personnel

This session featured a "Mount Rushmore" of jazz legends:

• King Oliver and a young Louis Armstrong on cornets.

• Lil Hardin on piano.

• Baby Dodds on drums.

• Jimmie Noone (or possibly Buster Bailey) on clarinet.

The Smoking Gun

The "Warehouse Dope" on this one is all about the clarinet. In the middle section, you’ll hear a soaring, bluesy clarinet solo. Does it sound familiar?

It should—it is the exact melody that Adelaide Hall would hum wordlessly on Duke’s record four years later.

The "Borrowing" Controversy

The story goes that Duke’s clarinetist, Rudy Jackson, played the tune for Duke and claimed he had written it himself. Duke, unaware of the Oliver recording, built his "Creole" atmosphere around it. When King Oliver later heard Duke’s version on the radio, he realized his "Camp Meeting" had been transformed into a "Love Call."

While Oliver eventually sued for copyright, the history books remember the two tracks as a fascinating evolution:

1. The King's Version: A New Orleans stomp, full of grit and sunshine.

2. The Duke's Version: A sophisticated ghost story, full of shadows and mystery.

It’s a reminder that in the 1920s, jazz was a living, breathing conversation—and sometimes, the best ideas were "borrowed" to create something entirely new.

The Modern Echo: Chris Barber’s Jazz Band

The 1923 original does play as more of a history lesson these days, so if it's a bit too scratchy for your ears, we have a "Hi-Fi" solution. The British Trad Jazz giant Chris Barber treated these King Oliver scores like holy scripture. In his remake, you can hear the "bones" of the song with 1950s clarity. Listen to how clarinetist Alex Revell recreates that 1923 solo—it’s the DNA of the Creole Love Call right there, plain as day.

Here's the track on Tempo Records:

It's Trad, Dad!

Sundays with Duke #4: The Ghost in the Wings

For the promised flipside of the Victor version of last Sunday's Black and Tan Fantasy, we move to October 1927, and one of the most haunting entries in the Ellington archive: Creole Love Call on Victor Records.

Let's give it a spin and enjoy Adelaide Hall's vocalizing:

This is the definitive first recording of this Ellington classic, and it introduced a revolutionary "instrument" to the band: the wordless human voice.

                                                          

The Accidental Instrument

The story goes that Duke heard Adelaide Hall humming along to the band from the wings of a theater. He realized her wordless, bluesy soprano was the perfect match for the "growly" jungle sound already being perfected by trumpeter Bubber Miley and trombonist Joe "Tricky Sam" Nanton.

By the time they hit the Victor studios in Camden, NJ, the lineup was a "Who’s Who" of Ellington legends: Otto Hardwicke and a young Harry Carney on saxes, Freddy Guy on banjo, and the flamboyant Sonny Greer on drums.

The "Borrowed" Blueprint

Here’s a bit of Warehouse gossip: The main melody was actually "borrowed" from King Oliver’s Camp Meeting Blues. Clarinetist Rudy Jackson brought it to Duke claiming it was his own. Duke added the wordless vocal and the lush atmosphere, but the "King" eventually noticed the similarity! Regardless of its origins, Duke turned it into a masterpiece of mood.

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The Unusual Suspect: Clyde McCoy (1931)

Creole Love Call is so idiosyncratic that few dared to cover it, but an unlikely interpreter emerged in 1931: trumpeter Clyde McCoy. While McCoy is often remembered for a more "corny" style, his signature "wah-wah" trumpet works surprisingly well here. It’s a rare moment where the ultra-sophisticated Duke and the "Sugar Blues" man find common ground in the growl.

Here's Clyde's Columbia recording:

That's the real McCoy all right! (Sorry, I had to go there!)

The Hi-De-Ho Connection: Cab Calloway (1931)

A more "likely" suspect, Cab Calloway, also tackled the tune in 1931. While Cab is famous for his wild scatting, he plays it relatively straight here with a brief, effective vocal chorus:

This recording made the rounds on various budget labels at the time, but don’t let the "cheap" pedigree fool you—it’s the real goods.

The Swingin' Organ: Milt Herth Trio (1938)

Next, for something completely different, we jump to 1938 for a version by the Milt Herth Trio on Decca. With Milt on the organ, the legendary Willie "The Lion" Smith on piano, and O'Neil Spencer on drums, this is a total romp. It strips away the "haunted" vibe of the original and replaces it with pure, foot-tapping fun.

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Kay Davis looks dreamy as tenor man Al Sears digs Ray Nance's growl!

The High-Fidelity Masterpiece (1949)

Duke himself returned to the song in 1949 with a higher fidelity recording for Columbia, featuring the ethereal vocals of Kay Davis and the growl trumpet of Ray Nance:

What a lovely sound from the classically trained (Northwestern University) Kay Davis. And the versatile Ray Nance shows himself a worthy successor to Cootie Williams and Bubber Miley in the growl department!

The Battle of the Speeds: You might notice that this specific record is a 33 1/3 rpm seven-inch single. At that time, Columbia was battling it out with RCA Victor and its new 45 rpm format. Fairly soon, 45 rpm became the industry standard for singles and 33 1/3 rpm the standard for albums.

But at any speed, that’s a “call” worth answering!

 

Saturday Surprise: History Derailment

File this under: The Warehouse always has another surprise waiting.

I’ve been poking around again (dangerous, I know), and it turns out that Duke Ellington’s “Choo Choo”—famous as the very first tune he recorded at his very first session—wasn’t actually the first recording of the song itself. Someone else beat Duke to the station.

Who? Van and Schenck, of all people. The hugely popular comedic vaudeville team of Gus Van and Joe Schenck recorded the song in August of 1924 for Columbia Records, a full three months before Duke’s inaugural session in November! It’s a little detour in the timeline, but a delightful one.

The Appeal of the Duo

And you know what? I’ve always liked Van and Schenck. I can see their appeal even from more than 100 years later! Their timing, their patter, that easy vaudeville charm - it still plays.

I’ve even seen their 1930 talkie “They Learned About Women” from MGM and enjoyed it as pure entertainment, not just as a historical artifact.

(Disclaimer: Don’t go by me, though - how could I not enjoy a movie from 1930 starring a popular vaudeville duo known as "The Pennant-Winning Battery of Songland" as baseball stars?)

A Tender Edge

I’ll admit it - I get a little retro-sad knowing that Joe Schenck died later in 1930 at just 39. It adds a tender edge to these surviving performances, like catching a last glimmer of something bright. 

Up until Joe's passing, they were huge in their moment - Broadway, vaudeville, records, radio - and then the cultural memory sort of… misfiled them. There’s a whole conversation to be had about why some acts stay in the bloodstream and others fade.

They've Still Got Fun!

But for a little extra fun, let’s hear the boys sing one of their best-known numbers - Ain’t We Got Fun from 1921:

And to answer the question: You sure do, guys!

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Does hearing the Vaudeville "Choo Choo" change how you listen to Duke's debut, or does his version still feel like the "real" beginning?

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Note: I’ve added a tiny pointer on my original "Choo Choo" post, but this is the real update - the kind that reminds me why digging is half the fun. The story keeps unfolding, and I’m happy to follow wherever it leads.

Threaded Thursday: The V-Disc Double Feature

Following up on yesterday’s "Frantic" V-Disc, I wanted to share another "secret" recording from that same 1945 window. While the general public had to wait for commercial releases, the troops overseas were treated to Hollywood Hangover.

This track is a masterclass in the "Warehouse" thrill of discovery. Like Frantic Fantasy, it wasn't a standard studio single—it was cut specifically for the men and women in uniform.

Let’s give it a spin:

The "Dope" on the High Notes

The spotlight here belongs to the one and only Cat Anderson.

If you’ve ever wondered why Duke kept Cat (shown at top of page) in the trumpet section off and on for decades, this is your answer. While Rex Stewart (yesterday's star) was playing inside the trumpet with his half-valves, Cat Anderson was playing above it. His ability to hit those "screamer" high notes with pinpoint accuracy was Duke’s ultimate secret weapon!

The Buck Doesn’t Stop

Interestingly, “Hollywood Hangover” isn't an Ellington composition. It was written by Buck Clayton, the star trumpet player for Count Basie’s band who was in the service at the time.

I always wonder what Buck thought of Cat’s trumpet pyrotechnics on his tune! It’s a rare moment where we get to hear the Ellington engine running on a "Basie-style" blueprint.

The V-Disc Connection

One of the most fascinating things about V-Discs is that they gave artists a chance to record songs they never touched for their "official" labels.

Both Frantic Fantasy and Hollywood Hangover were staples of Duke’s radio broadcasts and live appearances during this era, yet he never recorded them for Victor. Without these V-Discs, these performances might have been lost to the Warehouse of history!

Which V-Disc "Secret" do you prefer: Rex’s "Frantic" gymnastics or Cat’s "Hollywood" high notes?

Word Association Wednesday: Getting Frantic

It's Wednesday, so time for a little word association..

(Me thinking) Black and Tan Fantasy... fantasy... Duke Ellington... Got it!

In 1945, Duke recorded another fantasy - Frantic Fantasy – but not as a commercial record!

The "Dope" on the V-Disc

What makes this track special is that it wasn't a standard commercial release. It was recorded as a V-Disc (Victory Disc), produced specifically for the troops overseas during WWII.

Similar to Glenn Miller’s famous St. Louis Blues March, "Frantic Fantasy" was part of the musical effort to keep spirits high on the front lines. These discs weren't sold in stores; they were the "exclusive" sounds of the war era.

And since the infamous recording ban was in effect for much of WWII, the V-Disc program includes a lot of performances that never had a regular sudio recording or release, such as Frantic Fantasy.

Let’s give it a spin:

Love the extra time allowed on the 12-inch V-Disc!

The Half-Valve Gymnast

The star of the show is cornet star Rex Stewart (shown at top of page). If Bubber Miley gave "Black and Tan" its soul, Rex gives "Frantic" its muscle. Using his famous "half-valve" technique—pressing the valves only halfway to create those squeezed, talking tones—he turns the song into a technical masterclass.

The Evolution

It’s fascinating to note how Duke’s idea of a "Fantasy" changed. In 1927, it was a slow-burn funeral march. By 1945, it was a high-octane, "Frantic" showcase for a virtuoso soloist.

Yesterday we looked at Duke’s secret aliases; today we hear his wartime "secret" recordings. Do you prefer the slow-burn "Black and Tan" or the high-velocity "Frantic" V-Disc?

Monday Side-Session: The Flipside of the Fantasy

Yesterday, we heard three versions of Black and Tan Fantasy by Duke Ellington. But what was on the other sides of those records? Let’s find out!

The "Soliloquy" Snafu

Let’s start with the Brunswick version, as credited to The Washingtonians. The flipside of that record was Soliloquy.

I’m not sure why the composer, Rube Bloom, wasn't credited on the label! 

For a fascinating contrast, let’s hear the same song by Paul Whiteman and his Concert Orchestra on this 1927 Victor record:

Interestingly, Rube Bloom’s first name is actually misspelled on that label! Poor guy just couldn’t win.

Paul Whiteman was known as “The King of Jazz” back then, at the very height of his fame, but we know a certain Duke was about to usurp that crown.

The Jabbo Smith Connection

The flipside of the Okeh version of “Black and Tan Fantasy” was another non-Duke tune: What Can a Poor Fellow Do? This session is notable for featuring the great Jabbo Smith subbing for Bubber Miley on trumpet.

I could only find one other period recording of this Billy Meyers and Elmer Schoebel tune. It’s from 1928 by The Original Indiana Five on the Harmony label:

It’s kind of fun, but it also shows exactly the kind of "standard" jazz sound that Duke was rapidly moving away from as he developed his own language.

The Victor Mystery

So, what about the flipside of the Victor version of “Black and Tan Fantasy?” We’ll have to wait until next Sunday to find out!

Sundays with Duke #3: The "Black and Tan" Trilogy

In 1927, Duke Ellington wasn't just leading a band; he was painting scenes. If East St. Louis Toodle-Oo was the band’s calling card, Black and Tan Fantasy was their manifesto.

Duke was so obsessed with this piece that he recorded it for three different labels in a single year. To truly understand the "Warehouse" soul of the Ellington band, you have to hear how the "Fantasy" shifted depending on the room and the players.

I. The Prototype: Brunswick (April 7, 1927)

Recorded under the name "The Washingtonians." This is the rawest version—slightly faster, a bit more "raggy," and you can hear the band still working out the kinks of that haunting atmosphere. 

Let's give that one a spin:

II. The Masterpiece: Victor (October 26, 1927)

This is the "High-Fidelity" version collectors consider the gold standard. The production is cleaner, the mood is darker, and Bubber Miley’s trumpet growl is at its most expressive. And the spelling is wackier!

Let's listen:

The "Dope" on the Growl

The heart of these first two recordings is Bubber Miley. Using a plunger mute and a secret combination of "growling" in his throat, Miley creates a trumpet voice that sounds hauntingly human.

But listen to the very end. As the song fades, Miley quotes Chopin’s "Funeral March." It was a cheeky, morbid wink to the audience—the musical representation of a "Black and Tan" club (where races mixed) being raided, or a night of partying finally meeting the morning sun. It’s a "Fantasy" in the truest sense: a dreamlike journey that starts in a blues stomp and ends at a graveside.

III. The "Hot" Rematch: Okeh (November 3, 1927)

Cladys "Jabbo" Smith

Recorded just eight days after the Victor session, the big "Warehouse" difference here is in the trumpet chair. Jabbo Smith—the young firebrand once considered the only real rival to Louis Armstrong—steps in for Bubber Miley. His presence gives the record a "hotter," more virtuosic edge that contrasts perfectly with Bubber’s bluesy grit!

Here we go:. 

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The Warehouse Verdict

Why record it three times in one year? Because Duke understood that jazz was a living thing. By comparing these three, you can hear the transition from a 1920s dance band to the most sophisticated musical laboratory in America.

Which one do you prefer? The raw energy of April, the haunting polish of October, or the Jabbo Smith fireworks of November?

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The Warehouse Intrigue: Labels and Legends

For a contemporaneous-ish cover, we turn to Clyde McCoy on Columbia (1931):

Once again, Clyde's signature wah-wah trumpet translates perfectly to that "jungle" sound!

A bit of intrigue surfaces with the above label...

You would think that the great Louis Armstrong recorded a version of "Black and Tan Fantasy" back in the 1920s, and think "Oh, cool!" - but it's a trick! The British Parlophone label put Satchmo's name on the label because he was better known than Duke at that time!

All was not lost, however. The two giants finally teamed up for the aptly titled Roulette album "Recording Together for the First Time" in 1961. They revisited the "Fantasy" decades later, and the magic was still there:

Here they are:

It's a fantastic fantasy!

Sixties Saturday: Toodles!

Last Sunday, during our look at Duke Ellington’s East St. Louis Toodle-Oo, I mentioned that it made me think of Sally Field as “Gidget” using the expression “toodles” to say goodbye. So why not spend a little time with Gidget today on a cold, wintry day here in New England?

The TV Theme

Here’s the 45-rpm single version of the theme from Sally’s 1965-66 TV series, as recorded by Johnny Tillotson on MGM Records:

Nice tune! Johnny Tillotson, who passed away just last year at age 86, cut a lot of enjoyable records back in the day—from "Poetry in Motion" to this bit of TV theme perfection.

The "Twangy" Bonus

For a bonus, let’s listen to my personal favorite Gidget record, which comes from a sort of unusual source: the twangy guitar man Duane Eddy!

Here’s Duane’s version of the title song from the 1961 Columbia movie “Gidget Goes Hawaiian” on Jamie Records:

I’ve had that 45 for a zillion years and I still dig it! It takes that lighthearted Gidget theme and gives it that signature "low-note" grit that only Duane could provide.

Gidget rules! Toodles!

Threaded Thursday: From the Drums to the Mic

We keep the St. Louis theme going today as we reveal the other side of Ray McKinley—the folksy, singing bandleader!

After WWII, and before he took over the leadership of the legendary Glenn Miller Orchestra in the 1950s, Ray led his own highly successful (and very modern) band as both drummer and vocalist. We’ll do a deeper dive on Ray soon—he’s truly one of the great "side characters" of the era—but right now, let's dig into his big 1948 hit on RCA Victor: You Came a Long Way from St. Louis. 

Let's give it a spin:

Pretty cool!

The Folksy Frontman

Ray had a relaxed, drawling vocal style that made it sound like he always "knew the score." Despite the easygoing delivery, he never loses that drummer’s sense of timing; he places his phrases exactly where they need to be to make the song swing.

A look at the label shows the side credited to "Ray McKinley and Some of the Boys." That is just so perfectly McKinley-esque—a down-home, unpretentious way of saying it’s just a small contingent of the band backing him up.

The Modern Touch

While the vocal is folksy, the arrangement is incredibly forward-thinking for 1948. Notice that Paul Kashishian (Kashian) is credited as the drummer here, playing a sparse, atmospheric part that mostly features bongos. It gives the track a "cool jazz" feel long before that term became a marketing slogan.

Ray always insisted on modern, sophisticated charts for his band, proving he was much more than just a "military march" man.

The Warehouse Verdict

So, there you have it: the two sides of Ray McKinley. He was the technically brilliant Sergeant who could get an entire army marching in St. Louis, and the hip, "small-town" vocalist who could tell you exactly how it is once you think you’ve "come a long way."

Whether he was behind the kit or behind the mic, Ray McKinley always delivered the "real dope."

Word Association Wednesday: Crossing the River to the "Blues March"

It’s Wednesday, so time for some more word association! 

Duke Ellington’s East St. Louis Toodle-O naturally makes me think of the "other" side of the river—St. Louis, Missouri. From there, it’s a short ride on the train of thought to the W.C. Handy classic St. Louis Blues, and an even shorter trip to the St. Louis Blues March, the famous Jerry Gray arrangement that became a powerhouse for Glenn Miller’s AAF (Army Air Force) Band.

So, let’s give it a spin:

The Strike-Breaker: The V-Disc Loophole

That comes from a special V-Disc recording session. This session was allowed to happen even though it was 1943—smack-dab in the middle of the infamous AFM recording ban.

While the rest of the music world was silenced by the strike, V-Discs were exempt because they were intended for military use only. They were the only "new" sounds the GIs had, and they weren't available for commercial sale. It gave the AAF band a "sonic monopoly" that cemented this arrangement as a legend.

The Sergeant on the Skins

Being a march, the rhythm is everything. That relentless, crisp cadence is provided by drummer Ray McKinley. At this point, Ray was a Technical Sergeant under his old friend (and now Captain) Glenn Miller.

McKinley’s precision here is staggering. He had to take a blues song—something meant for a smoky basement—and turn it into something 1,000 men could march to without breaking stride. He doesn't just play the drums; he commands them.

The Post-War Strut: Tex Beneke (1948)

Ray McKinley eventually took over the Miller Orchestra in the mid-1950s, but Tex Beneke was the man who first carried the torch right after the war. In late 1947, Tex cut this version of the "St. Louis Blues March" for RCA Victor, this time featuring drummer Jack Sperling in the hot seat.

This is a classic case of a sprawling AAF arrangement needing to be "trimmed for the tailor"—cut down to fit the 3-minute time constraints of a 10-inch 78rpm record. Even with the edits, 1948 listeners were thrilled to finally own a commercial copy of the tune they’d heard on the radio during the war. It was a massive hit for Tex, though, in the Warehouse, we know you still can’t beat that original AAF V-Disc.

A clear victory for the Sergeant!

Monday Side-Session: Whoopee! It’s Duke!

Following up on yesterday’s look at the definitive East St. Louis Toodle-oo, I wanted to share how that same song—and that same band—turned up under a completely different name just a few months later.

In 1928, if you walked into a record shop and bought a disc by The Whoopee Makers on the Pathé label, you were actually taking home the Duke Ellington Orchestra.

The "Dope" on the Alias

Because Duke was under contract with Irving Mills and the Vocalion/Brunswick labels, they often used "The Whoopee Makers" as a pseudonym to record for other companies. It was the same growling brass and the same "Jungle" rhythm, just wearing a different hat!

Let's look at this Pathé pairing:

Side A: East St. Louis Toodle-oo: 

I find it fascinating to compare this version to the Vocalion one we heard yesterday. Even with a wacky name on the label, that Bubber Miley trumpet is unmistakable.

Side B: Jubilee Stomp:  

This is one of the ultimate "hot" records of the era. It’s the band firing on all cylinders, showing that they could move from the dark "Toodle-oo" mood to a high-energy "stomp" without breaking a sweat.

Note also that the composer credit includes quote marks around "Duke," which you don't see too often!

The Collector's Corner

For me, the joy of these Pathé records is the "secret" nature of them. It’s like finding a treasure map where "X" marks the Duke.

Which side of this Whoopee Makers disc do you prefer: the familiar growl of the Toodle-oo or the frantic energy of the Jubilee Stomp?

It’s hard to imagine the sophisticated Edward Kennedy Ellington calling himself a "Whoopee Maker," but the budget labels didn't care.

I’ve always felt that manager Irving Mills was the architect of this chaos. He knew that "Duke Ellington" was for the elite, but "The Whoopee Makers" were for the people who just wanted to dance and pay less for a record by a wackily named group rather than a “name” artist. Either way, the music holds up!

Sundays with Duke #2: The Tired Man and the "Toodle-O" Typo

We continue our chronological journey through the archive in 1926 and '27 as the train stops for another early Duke Ellington classic: "East St. Louis Toodle-O." It served as the band's theme song for years, but as with many artifacts in the Warehouse, there’s a secret hidden behind the label.

First, let's hear the definitive 1926 recording by Duke Ellington and His Kentucky Club Orchestra on Vocalion Records:

The "Todalo" Truth

So evocative, but what is it supposed to be evoking?

I will admit that for many years, I thought the title referred to someone saying goodbye to a section of the Missouri city. You know, like Sally Field-as-Gidget saying “toodles” to STL!

But here’s the real dope: Despite what the label says, Duke and co-writer Bubber Miley didn't intend for this to be a "Toodle-Oo" (the British slang for goodbye). The original title was "East St. Louis Todalo." Duke pronounced it "toad-low," describing a slouching, rhythmic, "broken" walk—the gait of a weary man walking home after a grueling day's work. Duke chose East St. Louis, Illinois, because it was a gritty industrial hub that represented the working man’s struggle. The record label misheard the title, and a jazz legend was born out of a typo!

The "Talking" Horns: Bubber, Tricky Sam, and the Kid

That haunting main melody played by Bubber Miley on trumpet? Bubber actually "borrowed" it from a 19th-century spiritual called "The Holy City." He took a sacred hymn and "corrupted" it with a plunger mute to create the "Jungle Style."

Answering Bubber is the incredible Joe "Tricky Sam" Nanton on trombone. He used a rubber sink plunger to create a "wa-wa" sound that was eerily human. While the industry marketed this as "primitive," it was actually a highly technical art form. He wasn't just playing notes; he was speaking a language.

And listen to the deep "floor" of the saxophone section. That is the debut of Harry Carney on baritone sax. He was just 17 years old here, but he would stay by Duke’s side for the next 47 years.

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The Decade Update: 1937’s "New" Look

By 1937, the band had grown from a club outfit into a world-class orchestra. Duke recorded The New East St. Louis Toodle-O to show off this evolution. Here's Duke Ellington and his Famous Orchestra on Master Records:

If the 1926 version is a weary walk down a dusty road, the 1937 version is that same man finally reaching the city lights. Bubber Miley had passed away by this time, so you hear his successor, Cootie Williams, taking over the "growl" trumpet duties. It’s faster, smoother, and "bigger"—a perfect example of Duke updating his architecture without losing the soul of the building.

Of note is that The New East St. Louis Toodle-O was the first release on Master Records, a short-lived label owned by Duke's longtime manager Irving Mills.

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The Covers: From the "Home of Happy Feet" to Rock Icons

This song is so quintessentially Ellingtonian that except for Duke himself, few dared to remake it for years. But when they did, the results were fascinating.

In 1959, veteran arranger Van Alexander gave it a snappy update for his Capitol album The Home of Happy Feet:

Interestingly, the liner notes credit trumpeter Shorty Sherock with playing in the "Cootie Williams style"—forgetting that it was Bubber Miley who laid the original tracks!

Then, in 1974, Steely Dan threw a curveball by including it on Pretzel Logic. It’s a surreal, faithful tribute where pedal steel player Jeff Baxter does a yeoman’s job mimicking those "talking" horns:

The Flipside: Birmingham Breakdown

Back to Duke himself. Let's spin the original flipside of the Vocalion 78:

While "East St. Louis" was the mood, Birmingham Breakdown was the engine—showing off the band's technical speed. 

Birmingham Breakdown didn't get many covers either, but Ellington devotee Charlie Barnet cut a swinging version for Bluebird in 1941:

Always great to hear the Barnet band keeping the drivers drivin’! That train ain't ‘breakin' down’ anytime soon!

So, until next time..