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!

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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.

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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.

Sundays with Duke #11: The Double Check

We’re spending another Sunday with the 1930 film Check and Double Check. Last week, we saw the band backing the Rhythm Boys, but today we’re looking at Double Check Stomp, the not-quite title song where the band gets to cut loose!

The Original: Double Check Stomp (Victor - 1930)

First up is the high-energy Victor recording. This isn’t a ballad for movie stars; this is a floor-filler that shows exactly why Duke was the king of the Cotton Club. It really... stomps!

The "Jungle Band" Variant: Brunswick (1930)

Recorded later that same month, Duke took the song over to the Brunswick label, where the band was credited as The Jungle Band. This version has a fascinating secret weapon: guest Cornell Smelser (appearing as Joe Cornell) on the accordion.

It’s a rare sound for 1930s jazz, but Smelser plays it with a rhythmic bite that fits the "stomp" perfectly. It gives the track a completely different texture from the Victor session.

The Trad Remake: Chris Barber (1955)

While other versions were rare in the early days, the British "Trad Jazz" revivalists eventually caught on. Trombonist Chris Barber cut this remake for Columbia in 1955. 

As I'm fond of saying: It’s trad, Dad!

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Which flavor of the "Stomp" do you prefer—the classic Victor drive or the unique accordion swing of the Jungle Band?

Sixties Saturday - Happy "Pye" Day!

Happy Pi/Pie/Pye Day!

Friday Fun (Interrupted): It’s Friday the 13th Again!

We interrupt our regularly scheduled Friday Fun again to note that… it’s Friday the 13th again!

When there’s a Friday the 13th in February, another one follows hot on its heels in March - except in Leap Years, which 2026 is not!

So here we are, back in the land of black cats, ladders, and suspiciously creaky floorboards!

One lucky thing, though: we get to spin another version of Bobby Troup’s 1947 novelty gem Triskaidekaphobia.

This time it’s the Page Cavanaugh Trio on RCA Victor, and it’s a charmer:

That’s snappy enough to ward off at least a few evil spirits.

And if it doesn’t… well, just hop back on that Stairway to the Stars and keep climbing.

Friday Fun: Lots of Stairs

We’ve spent the last couple of days with some devilish music and are even currently enduring Friday the 13th, so what better way to climb back up from down below than with a Stairway to the Stars?

I’ve rounded up every version I could find from 1939, the year the song was published after being adapted from Frank Signorelli and Matty Malneck’s 1936 instrumental Park Avenue Fantasy, now with Mitchell Parish’s lovely lyrics. You can read more about the original here.

We have an even dozen, so let’s get started!

Glenn Miller and his Orchestra (Bluebird)

For me, this is the definitive version. The Miller band was hitting on all cylinders at this point. Ray Eberle’s vocal here sounds much more polished than on My Reverie, recorded less than eight months earlier. This song also perhaps suits him better.

Jimmy Dorsey and his Orchestra (Decca)

Always interesting to compare Bob Eberly to his younger brother Ray when they sang the same song. I agree with the general consensus that Bob was the better all‑around singer. I think Bob lifted the J. Dorsey band to greater heights while Ray kind of went along for the ride as the Miller band ascended the heights, you know?

Kay Kyser and his Orchestra (Brunswick)

We catch the Kyser band at the peak of its shticky‑sweet formula, complete with the singing song title. Harry Babbitt saves it with the vocal. Kay was hugely popular at the time and in 1939 starred in the first of several successful movies, RKO’s That’s Right, You’re Wrong!

Swing and Sway with Sammy Kaye (Victor)

Sammy Kaye was even more locked into the sweet‑band formula than Kyser, also employing the singing song title gimmick. While Sammy stayed in this lane, Kyser’s band would eventually prove to be much more versatile. Sweet bands depended on their vocalists and Jimmy Brown was an asset to the Kaye band.

Personally, I don't mind the singing song titles, but I don't care for the spoken introduction of the vocalist during the song. It takes me out of the mood. And this is coming from someone who digs gimmicks!

Ella Fitzgerald and the Chick Webb Orchestra (Decca)

Ella brings us out of the sweet‑band world with a great take. She was fronting the late Chick Webb’s band at this point, just before her solo career really took off.

Al Donahue and his Orchestra (Vocalion)

Al Donahue’s band wasn’t overly sweet, but not really swinging either - a pleasant, middle‑lane outfit. Paula Kelly, though, is always awesome.

Carroll Gibbons and the Savoy Hotel Orpheans (Columbia)

A trip across the pond to England! Vocalist George Melachrino would later find great fame as a conductor, but he certainly had the pipes for this. I like this one quite a bit!

Greta Keller (Decca)

Austrian-born cabaret star Greta Keller brings a wistful, world-weary vibe that adds a touch of sophistication to the climb.

Martha Raye (Brunswick)

You’d think we’d be going from the sublime to the ridiculous here, but Martha plays it straight. She was a talented singer, though her comic gifts (and large mouth) were too great for Hollywood to ignore. Her then‑husband Dave Rose provides the accompaniment.

Chick Bullock and His Levee Loungers (Vocalion)

Prolific session singer Chick Bullock fronts a studio band here. He was a total pro and in-demand for a reason.

Kenny Baker (Victor)

Tenor star Kenny Baker sounds great! He had come to prominence on the Jack Benny radio show but branched out into just about every entertainment field. In 1939, he co‑starred in MGM’s At the Circus with the Marx Brothers. Groucho took the vocal honors in that film with Lydia, the Tattooed Lady, however!

The King’s Men (Vocalion)

We wind up with The King’s Men. Fans of the Fibber McGee and Molly radio show will instantly recognize the quartet’s trademark blend. It’s a treat to hear a Ken Darby vocal arrangement on a ballad rather than their usual novelty fare they performed on the show.

We’ve now climbed twelve flights of the stairway, so we’re well and truly in the stars. Which version elevates you the most?

Threaded Thursday: Holiday in Hades

Turning up the heat a bit, we follow yesterday’s look at “Hell’s Bells” with another pair of numbers that keep us in that extremity (as our friend Mr. Dickens would say) - both from the pen of the Larry Clinton!

The Visual Pun: Shades of Hades (1936/1938)

Before forming his own band, Larry was already a highly successful arranger for top outfits like Glen Gray and the Casa Loma Orchestra. For them, he wrote the wonderfully titled Shades of Hades in 1936.

Let's spin that Decca recording:

The Casa Loma band always struck me as very arrangement‑driven, so it’s no surprise they gravitated toward Clinton’s charts. He gave them exactly the kind of crisp, clever writing they thrived on.

After forming his own band, Larry got the chance to record his own version for Victor in 1938.

I have to say, I love the title as a visual pun - it looks like it should rhyme, but it absolutely doesn’t when you say it aloud!

The Hit He Couldn't Have: Satan Takes a Holiday

For our next Hades-themed tune, we back up to 1937, when Larry was submitting arrangements to Tommy Dorsey. Among them was his original composition Satan Takes a Holiday, which became a massive hit for the TD orchestra.

Here's that Victor record:

Dave Tough does his usual great job on the drums or traps, as it were!

The success of Dorsey’s recordings of “Satan” and “The Dipsy Doodle” (another Clinton original) helped push Larry toward starting his own band. However, because both he and Tommy recorded for Victor, the label didn’t want competing versions. Larry was actually blocked from recording his own hit for twenty years!

The Hi-Fi Redemption (1957)

Larry finally cut his own version of Satan Takes a Holiday for RCA Victor for the album Larry Clinton in Hi-Fi, with a stellar group of studio musicians.

Once again, the drummer steals the show! This time it's Jimmy Crawford (formerly of the Jimmie Lunceford band). His fills absolutely sparkle. If pressed, I might even say "Craw" is my favorite drummer of the entire swing era!

The Spooky Side

An interesting tidbit: The British labels of the time showed the tune as 'Spooky' Takes a Holiday! With that in mind, let's listen to a British version. Here's trumpeter/vocalist Nat Gonella and his Georgians in 1937 on the Parlophone label:

Very intriguing to hear the seldom heard lyrics!

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Who's your MVD (Most Valuable Drummer) on this spooky ride - Davey or Craw?

Word Association Wednesday: Ringing in My Ears

Sunday’s post had Duke Ellington ringing the rafters with Ring Dem Bells, so for this week’s Word Association Wednesday, we follow the echo straight into the underworld. If Duke rings ’em, somebody’s bound to shout Hell’s Bells! - and that’s our cue to go spelunking through the 78 rpm stacks. We've got five versions, so leave us begin...

1. Art Kassel  - The King’s Writer (1932)

We start at the source: Art Kassel, who not only recorded Hell’s Bells but wrote it and used it as the theme song for his "Kassels in the Air" Band. His 1932 Columbia side is a bit raucous for a polite hotel band, but it’s novelty‑adjacent without ever quite tipping into corn, and it sets the tone for everything that follows.

2. Bob Causer (with Dick Robertson) - The Budget‑Label Surprise (1932)

Next, we flip over to the budget bins for Bob Causer and his Cornellians, featuring ubiquitous session vocalist Dick Robertson. Same year, totally different flavor. Robertson actually sings the “It’s certainly hot…” verse - the one Kassel only plays instrumentally - giving us a glimpse of how the tune played when the full lyric was in circulation. Scrappier, cheaper, and absolutely delightful!

3. Hal Kemp - Elegance with a Sly Grin (1932)

From there, we glide into the satin‑smooth world of Hal Kemp. His instrumental take on Brunswick is airy and lightly syncopated - the kind of thing that makes you imagine a hotel ballroom with perfect lighting and a floor that never squeaks. Kemp takes the tune’s novelty edge and files it down to a chic, urbane shimmer, all while keeping the band’s trademark “typewriter” trumpet sound. But in my in mind, I can definitely imagine Skinnay Ennis singing the lyrics!

4. Jimmie Lunceford - Discipline, Fire, and a Ghostly Shimmer (1937)

Then the door swings open and in marches Jimmie Lunceford, whose 1937 Decca recording turns Hell’s Bells into a precision‑swing showpiece. Sy Oliver is the architect here, and his arrangement gives the track its bite: crisp attacks, sly rhythmic kicks, and that buoyant lift only Lunceford’s band could deliver. Adding a delicious layer of atmosphere is pianist Edwin Wilcox, who slips over to the celeste for a few choice moments — a little chiming shimmer that makes the whole thing feel like a haunted music box.

The slower pace of this version actually makes it spookier. It’s been a staple of my Big Band Halloween playlist for years!

5. Clyde McCoy - The 20‑Year Detour (1952)

And then we leap forward two decades to Clyde McCoy, who finally records Hell’s Bells in 1952 — a tune so perfect for his wah‑wah trumpet that you’d swear it had been waiting for him! Why it took him twenty years to wax it is anyone’s guess, but once he does, it’s a wild, swaggering instrumental that feels like the natural endpoint of every version that came before.

Five versions, five angles, one tune that refuses to stay in its lane. From Kassel’s original to Causer’s budget‑label charm, Kemp’s elegance, Lunceford’s fire, and McCoy’s late‑breaking swagger — which one rings your bells?

Bonus Round: Betty Boop turns up the heat (1934)

And for dessert, we hop from the bandstand to the cartoon studio. In Betty Boop’s 1934 short Red Hot Mamma, Betty — voiced by Bonnie Poe — actually sings Hell’s Bells right in the middle of her infernal adventure. It’s exactly what you’d expect from the Fleischer studio: surreal, spicy, and the kind of cross‑pollination that made early ’30s pop culture such a glorious tangle.

With Betty around, "It's certainly hot..."

Monday Side-Session: She Swings the Band!

Among the versions of Ring Dem Bells we heard yesterday was one by Andy Kirk and his Clouds of Joy, as arranged by the great Mary Lou Williams - The Lady Who Swings the Band. So for today's side-session, let's turn the spotlight on Mary Lou and see what she and Andy were up to in 1930, the year Duke Ellington first recorded Ring Dem Bells!

The Idea (1930)

By 1930, Mary Lou Williams had established herself as a composer, arranger and pianist with Andy Kirk and his Twelve Clouds of Joy. It's almost impossible to comprehend the level of talent as well as determination it took for a 20-year-old Black woman to succeed in the music business almost 100 years ago!

Here's a 1930 Brunswick recording by the Kirk band of Mary Lou's composition Mary's Idea:

That's pretty advanced for 1930. If Duke was leading the way towards more modern sounds, Mary Lou wasn't far behind. She had ideas all right!

The New Idea (1939)

In 1939, Mary Lou was still working with Andy Kirk (now with a non-specified number of Clouds of Joy), though not exclusively, as other bandleaders such as Benny Goodman were now contracting her for arrangements. She and Andy revisited Mary's Idea for this Decca record, giving it a snappy, modernized arrangement that perfectly captures the peak of the Swing Era.

That amply demonstrates that Mary Lou and the Kirk band were keeping up with the times!

The Tribute: The Lady Who Swings the Band (1936)

For fun, let's jump back to 1936 for another Decca record - this one a direct tribute to Mary Lou herself. It’s The Lady Who Swings the Band!

That's just a blast! The uncredited vocal is by Harry Mills of the Mills Brothers. I don't know how he came to sing that number with The Clouds of Joy, but I think it's awesome!

It's also interesting to catch the legendary lyricist Sammy Cahn near the beginning of his long career. He and his early writing partner Saul Chaplin were creating a lot of specialty material at this time and someone had the great idea for them to salute Kansas City's Mary Lou! 

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Drop a comment for which "Idea" do you prefer - the 1930 original or the 1939 update. Either way, she swung it!

Sundays with Duke #10: Flippin' and Ringin'

We’re flipping over Duke Ellington’s record of Three Little Words to find a Duke original that also made its debut in the 1930 film Check and Double Check: Ring Dem Bells.

The Original: Duke Ellington (1930)

This Victor recording is famous for its high energy and the literal bells ringing out, but the real highlight is the scat vocal by trumpeter Cootie Williams. It shows a playful side of the band that worked perfectly for the silver screen.

The Reunion: Lionel Hampton (1939)

While the song didn't get many covers immediately, it picked up serious steam by the end of the decade. In 1939, Lionel Hampton recorded this burner for Victor. Hamp was with Benny Goodman at the time and was leading stellar "pick-up" groups for recording dates.

If you check the label, you'll see a powerhouse combo of Goodman and Ellington sidemen—and Cootie Williams is right there revisiting the tune! Keep an ear out for Hamp giving a shout-out to pianist Jess Stacy.

The Arrangement: Charlie Barnet (1940)

Charlie Barnet "helps" Billy May with an arrangement!

As I’ve mentioned before, Charlie Barnet was a massive Ellington and he had the good fortune to employ a young Billy May as arranger. For this 1940 Bluebird session, they turned Ring Dem Bells into a modern swing masterpiece.

Let's spin it:

The Clouds of Joy: Andy Kirk (1941)

Andy Kirk admires the arrangement by Mary Lou Williams!

Another legendary architect of the era was pianist and arranger Mary Lou Williams - The Lady Who Swings the Band! Here she is providing a sharp, driving arrangement for Andy Kirk and his Clouds of Joy on Decca. It’s a testament to the song’s durability that it sounded just as fresh in 1941 as it did in 1930.

If you listen closely to the brass figures behind the solos, you can hear the same sophisticated DNA that Mary Lou would later bring to her arrangements for Duke himself. She was one of the few who could speak Duke’s musical language fluently and still add her own Kansas City grit to it.

The Solo Stamp: Fats Waller (1941)

Finally, we see the song move from the big bands to the solo piano. The incomparable Fats Waller put his own unmistakable stamp on the tune for the Victor album Hot Piano. Without the bells or the brass, Fats proves that the "swing" was built into the melody all along.

With so many legends taking a swing at this one, which version rings your bell? Are you a fan of Cootie’s original scatting or Fats’ solo piano stride?