Threaded Thursday: The Evolution of a Stomp

Yesterday, we saw how the Casa Loma Orchestra and Fletcher Henderson were competing for the “hot” crown in 1931. Today, we’re pulling a thread that spans nearly a decade to see how one specific arrangement by Fletcher Henderson eventually set the world on fire.

While Benny Goodman eventually became the “King of Swing” using Fletcher’s charts, Henderson had been refining this particular “Stomp” for years with his own band.

The Prototype (1928)

Here is Henderson’s first pass at Jelly Roll Morton’s classic tune. It’s "hot jazz," but you can still hear the remnants of the 1920s “oom-pah” rhythm. It’s a great record, but it hasn't quite learned how to swing in the modern sense yet.

The Breakthrough: "New King Porter Stomp" (1932)

By 1932—the same era as our Casa Loma discussion yesterday—Henderson updated the chart. This version features the same "Connie's Inn" powerhouse lineup we talked about yesterday, including Coleman Hawkins and Rex Stewart. You can hear the "riff" style starting to take over the driver's seat.

The Blueprint (1933)

One year later, Fletcher recorded it again. This is essentially the “final draft.” The brass and reeds are playing off each other with a precision that rivals the Casa Loma boys, but with that unmistakable Henderson drive and soul.

The Explosion: Benny Goodman (1935)

Finally, the thread reaches its destination. In 1934, a struggling Fletcher Henderson began selling his arrangements to a young Benny Goodman. In 1935, Benny’s orchestra took this exact blueprint into the studio and created the anthem of the Swing Era.

The X-Factor: While the arrangement was Henderson's, we have to give props to the legendary Bunny Berigan for adding that "little something extra." His electrifying, soaring trumpet solo provided the spark that put this version over the top. It’s the sound of a soloist at the peak of his powers. And with BG's clarinet and Gene Krupa's drums, a great arrangement turned into a cultural phenomenon!

Is it overkill to listen to four versions of the same song in one go? Not in the Warehouse! Watching history being written in real-time is half the fun. Which version has the most “stomp” for your dough?

Sundays with Duke #8: Stomping at the Cotton Club

Moving into 1929 with Duke Ellington, we find Cotton Club Stomp, a tune obviously named after the famed nightclub that was home to Duke and his band at the time.

The Victor Original

Let’s listen to the initial 1929 version on Victor Records:

By this time, the band had parted ways with original trumpet star Bubber Miley, who was apparently as unreliable as he was talented. But Duke came up with a great replacement in Cootie Williams, who was able to carry on the growling plunger-mute style of Bubber while also developing his own distinct, powerful voice.

The Name Game

The name game continued when the Ellington band recorded a version of Cotton Club Stomp for Brunswick in 1930, this time under the Jungle Band moniker.

Let's give that one a spin:

The flipside of that Brunswick record was another stomper with the then-topical title of Wall Street Wail: 

I sometimes see these two identified as the same song with different titles to get around contract exclusivity, but I don't think they’re the same song at all. And Brunswick wouldn’t put the same song on two sides of the same record, right? Listening to them side-by-side, you can hear that while they share that "Jungle" DNA, they are distinct arrangements.

The 1939 Remake

Duke and the boys revisited “Cotton Club Stomp” in 1939, also for Brunswick, with an updated arrangement—this time credited to Duke Ellington and his Famous Orchestra:

I don't think any other band covered "Cotton Club Stomp" at the time, and no one seems to have remade it since, except as modern recreations. Some songs are just uniquely Ellingtonian!

Stomping or wailing, no one did it better!

Sundays with Duke #7: A "Misty Mornin'" in 1928

Today we’re spending some time with one of Duke’s more atmospheric early masterpieces: "Misty Mornin'." While we are moving into the 1929-1930 Victor era, I wanted to circle back to this specific mood piece.

Originally recorded for OKeh on November 22, 1928, this track is a masterclass in texture. While many of the Cotton Club numbers were high-energy "stomps" meant to get people on their feet, this one feels like it was written for that quiet, contemplative hour just before the sun comes up.

The Personnel

You can really hear the "Big Three" of the early Ellington brass section at work here, creating that signature "shimmer" through the fog:

• Bubber Miley on trumpet (providing that soulful, muted longing)

• Joe "Tricky Sam" Nanton on trombone

• Barney Bigard on clarinet

Also of note is that trumpeter Arthur Whetsel gets co-composer credit. I’m thinking it’s another case of one of Duke’s sidemen coming up with a melodic phrase that Duke turned into a completed song.

The Vibe

There’s a specific "chill" to this record. It doesn't scream; it whispers. It’s the kind of tune that makes you want to turn up the collar of your coat and watch the fog roll in over the city. It’s also a great example of how Duke was already experimenting with orchestral colors that no one else in jazz was even thinking about in the late 20s.

[Insert Link: Duke Ellington - Misty Mornin' (1928)]

Dig Lonnie Johnson, returning one last time with a tasty guitar solo!

I’ve always felt this was one of the most underrated tunes from this era. It isn't a "shouter," but it stays with you long after the needle hits the run-out groove.

The 1929 Victor Version

Bubber Miley had left the band and was permanently replaced by Cootie Williams by the time Duke and the boys returned to the tune in May of 1929, when they recorded this version for Victor:

Note that the billing is now Duke Ellington and his Cotton Club Orchestra!

How does each version hit you? Do you get misty?

The British Connection

I was able to dig up one contemporary cover of “Misty Mornin,” which was recorded by British bandleader Spike Hughes for Decca in 1930. Let’s spin that one:

Those British dance bands had it going on in the 1930s!

Friday Fun: Laughing All the Way

After enjoying The Flight of the Bumblebee on Wednesday, I realized we can’t let the week go by without one more take on the tune - this time courtesy of Spike Jones!

The Chaos: The Jones Laughing Record (1946)

Spike used it as the basis for The Jones Laughing Record, recorded for RCA Victor in 1946, and things get wacky fast.

Let’s give it a spin:

The laughter is absolutely contagious. And I love that the label credits the side to Spike Jones and his City Snickers - one of his best pun‑based band names.

The Technique: The Sneezin’ Bee (1957)

The yeoman work of ace studio trombonist Tommy Pederson (brought in as a ringer) can get lost amid the chaos. Fortunately, Spike revisited the concept in 1957 with “The Sneezin’ Bee,” included on his Verve album Dinner Music for People Who Aren’t Really Hungry.

Let’s hear that one:

That’s essentially “The Jones Laughing Record” without the laughing, giving us a chance to really appreciate Pederson’s dazzling technique.

Here’s a fun clip from Spike’s TV show showing Tommy in action — though this time pianist Frank Leightner is the designated sneezer.

We can trace the whole “laughing record” concept back to 1922, when Okeh released a German recording in the U.S. as The Okeh Laughing Record. It became a sensation and spawned countless imitators.

Let’s hear it:

More than 100 years later, it still gets you laughing along.

That record later inspired (and was included on the soundtrack of) the 1955 Walter Lantz cartoon “Sh‑h‑h‑h‑h,” directed by the legendary Tex Avery.

Let’s watch:

That was the final theatrical cartoon of Tex - my favorite cartoon director.

So tell me: how do you like your Bumblebee - with laughing or just the sneezing? Are you team giggles or team hay fever?

Sundays with Duke #6: Portrait of a “Black Beauty”

As we continue our journey with Duke Ellington, we come across a true Ellington masterpiece: Black Beauty. 

Written as a tribute to the legendary musical theater star Florence Mills (shown above) after her tragic passing in 1927, this tune is one of Duke’s most elegant early compositions.

The Washingtonians on Brunswick

Let’s start with this version from 1928 with the band billed as The Washingtonians on Brunswick Records:

You can hear that "Jungle" growl beginning to soften into something more melodic and stately.

The Solo Spotlight

In addition to that recording with the full band, Duke also cut a solo piano version for Okeh:

This is a real treat for us because Duke was so famous as a composer/arranger/bandleader that it can be easy to forget he was also a world-class pianist!

The Sidemen Step Out

Duke recorded prolifically with his orchestra, but he also participated in sessions with smaller "units" from within the band, often issued under the names of his star sidemen.

As an example, here is a later, swing-era version of “Black Beauty” recorded in 1939 by Cootie Williams and his Rug Cutters on Vocalion Records:

What a great feature for trumpet king Cootie Williams, who had established himself as not only a worthy successor to Bubber Miley in the growl department, but also as a brilliant all-around player.

Backing Cootie is an awesome mini-reed section of Johnny Hodges, Barney Bigard and Harry Carney, plus Billy Taylor on bass, Sonny Greer on drums and Duke himself on piano!

The Legacy: Ahmad Jamal

For a non-Ellington-involved recording, we jump ahead to 1956 to hear the great Ahmad Jamal with his trio on the Epic label. Jamal’s use of space and his light touch bring a whole new dimension to Duke’s melody.

Here's his take on Black Beauty:

Cool version! Gotta love those deep cuts!

Does Duke’s solo piano version hit you harder than the full band arrangement, or do you prefer the 1939 swing update?

Monday Side-Session: The Okeh Speed Trap

Yesterday, we were crawling through the shadows with Duke's The Mooche. But if you flipped that original Okeh 8623 record over in 1928, you were in for a serious case of musical whiplash.

From the Crawl to the Sprint

While The Mooche was all about that "lazy gait," the B-side, Hot and Bothered, was Duke and the boys operating at a breakneck speed. I love this track because it features Baby Cox again, but instead of her haunting moans, she’s delivering a high-speed "scat" vocal that holds its own against the brass.

Let's give it a spin:

And dig the 12-string guitar solo by the great Lonnie Johnson! I’m not sure exactly how the pairing came about, but Lonnie sat in for two recording sessions with Duke in 1928, and the results were pure magic.

The Name Game Returns

We have a little more pseudonym shenanigans with a second recording of Hot and Bothered that made the rounds of the budget labels under various band names, including the old stand-by, The Washingtonians (see top of page).

But The Whoopee Makers return on the maroonish-colored shellac of Perfect Records:

There’s no Baby Cox or Lonnie Johnson on this one, but the band is still hot under any name and I'm not bothered!

Bubber’s Final Burn

These sessions were among the last great showcases for Bubber Miley before he left the band. On Hot and Bothered, his trumpet isn't just growling—it’s screaming. It’s the perfect companion to The Mooche because it shows the two sides of the "Jungle" coin: the dark mystery and the frantic heat.

Which fits your Monday mood better: the slow-burning Mooche or the frantic Hot and Bothered?

Sundays with Duke #5: Mutes, Mysteries, and The Mooche

We are still in 1928, exploring the foundations of the Warehouse with another early classic Ellington composition: The Mooche. This track is the peak of the "Jungle Style"—dark, deliberate, and full of shadows. If you’ve ever wondered about the title, it's not about someone "borrowing" money - it's old Harlem slang for a specific, slow, aimless swagger. I love how the music perfectly mimics that "lazy gait," making it feel like a rhythmic crawl through a midnight club.

Let’s start with what I believe is the first recording of the song, cut for Okeh Records:

That is Baby Cox providing the haunting vocalizing. By this time, the legendary Johnny Hodges had joined the band, beginning his decades-long stay, but trumpeter Bubber Miley - the architect of that growl - wouldn't be around much longer.

The "Duke Brooks" Mystery

"The Mooche" is a song Duke recorded many times, but interestingly, it didn’t lend itself to many cover versions by other bands. However, a fascinating remake appeared in 1945 as part of Capitol Records' "History of Jazz" series.

You can't tell the history of jazz without Duke, but there was a catch: he wasn't a Capitol artist and was under strict contract to Victor at the time. To get around this, Capitol rounded up longtime Ellington drummer Sonny Greer and had him front a group of "The Duke’s Men."

But who was the piano player? The label credits a mysterious "Duke Brooks."

Let's  spin that side:

Once you hear those keys, the mystery vanishes! It sounds great, and when you read the names of the musicians on the session, the high quality is no surprise—contract or no contract, that's the Ellington spirit through and through. Shades of The Whoopee Makers!

The Mooche Goes Latin

Jumping ahead to 1953, we come across a truly fun and unexpected take on RCA Victor by Latin bandleader "Chamaco" Dominguez:

I find this one pretty cool! It proves that the "crawling" rhythm of the original could be translated into a completely different groove while keeping that essential Ellington "mood" intact.

Which version of the "crawling" classic do you prefer: the 1928 original with Baby Cox, the 1945 version with "Duke Brooks" or the Latin-flavored 1953 remake?

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.

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!

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..