Tuesday Tidbit: Smoke Rings

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

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

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

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

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

Side 2: Once in a While — Tommy Dorsey

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

Side 3: My Reverie — Larry Clinton

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

Side 4: Moon Love — Sammy Kaye

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

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

Side 5: All the Things You Are — Artie Shaw

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

Side 6: Intermezzo — Freddy Martin

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

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

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

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

Side 8: That Old Black Magic — Glenn Miller

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

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

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

Thanks for strolling down memory lane with me.

Warehouse Whispers

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

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

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

Monday Side‑Session: Flamingo’s Flight

For today’s side‑session, let’s follow the flight path of Flamingo across twenty‑five years — a tune that kept finding new thermals to ride.

🕊️ Lift‑Off

We begin in 1941, right after Duke Ellington’s hit sent the song fluttering through the band world. First up: Gene Krupa with vocalist Howard Du Lany for Okeh.

They’re clearly reaching for the Ellington flavor — the dreamy glide, the velvet phrasing — but the record never quite settles into that same atmosphere.

Let's slide the needle over to Jimmie Lunceford with Dan Grissom on Decca:

A smooth, confident reading. Lunceford’s band always had that satin‑finish polish, and it fits Flamingo nicely.

My favorite early cover is this Freddy Martin instrumental on Bluebird:

Freddy’s band takes Flamingo somewhere else entirely — a cool, floating place with that silky tenor sax leading the way. I’m absolutely tagging along!

🔥 Thermals Rising

Let's jump ahead a decade to 1951, when Flamingo suddenly rockets up the R&B charts thanks to Earl Bostic’s alto feature on King:

That’s the definitive version for a whole generation — volcanic tone, acrobatic phrasing, and a groove that grabs you by the collar.

🌤️ Crosswind Curiosity

Earl’s shadow looms large over this 1958 Mercury release by The Gaylords:

It honestly feels like sax man Eddie Chamblee was cutting a straight cover of the Bostic hit when The Gaylords wandered in and started singing Italian lyrics. A charming collision!

🌙 Night‑Flight

As we move into 1961, the King label returns with a popular vocal take by Little Willie John:

I love those R&B sides from that period that weave strings into the mix — they give Flamingo a kind of moonlit shimmer.

🌴 Jet‑Age Glidepath

And for our final landing, we touch down in 1966 with Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass on A&M:

That’s Flamingo in full mid‑’60s technicolor — crisp, bright, and perfectly transformed for the era.

🪶 A Quarter‑Century Migration

From Herb Jeffries to Herb Alpert, Flamingo covers a lot of sky. A tune born in Ellington’s world that kept reinventing itself every time it caught a new breeze.

📦 Warehouse Whispers: A Curious Tailwind

Interestingly, Gene Krupa’s version of Flamingo was the flipside of his hit Let Me Off Uptown. And here’s the fun twist: Let Me Off Uptown was co‑written by Earl Bostic!

Coincidence? A stray breeze in the release schedule? Or maybe Flamingo was already circling Bostic’s orbit long before 1951. Hmmm…

Word Association Wednesday: That’s the Thing to Do

Following Sunday’s Day Dream and rolling right into today’s WAW, my train of thought took a few scenic turns — there are so many songs with “dream” in the title. So why not go straight to Dream, the 1945 classic by Johnny Mercer.

🌙 The First Few Winks

Johnny was one of the bosses at Capitol Records at the time, and he handed the tune to his frequent collaborators The Pied Pipers, who recorded it in late 1944 for release in early ’45.

Let’s spin it:

That record was a huge hit, and it’s easy to hear why — it’s really a dream.

By then, June Hutton had stepped in as the Pipers’ lead singer, replacing Jo Stafford, who was busy becoming a solo star on Capitol.

💫 Frankie's Fantasy

Once the Pied Pipers’ version took off, other labels naturally jumped aboard. Over at Columbia, Frank Sinatra recorded it a little later in 1945:

The song fits young Frankie like a glove. Cue the bobby-soxers!

✨ Martin's Mirage

Singers like Sinatra were starting to take over in 1945, but big bands were still holding strong, so Victor had Freddy Martin cut Dream with vocalist Artie Wayne:

A typically smooth reading from the Martin band with a somewhat haunting vibe.

🌜 Jimmy’s Alto Apparition

Meanwhile, over on Decca, Jimmy Dorsey recorded the tune with Teddy Walters:

Jimmy’s alto floats right through that lush arrangement.

🌠 Castle in the Air

For one more band take, we head to the small Musicraft label, where trumpet star Lee Castle recorded his version with Tony Dexter:

Lovely trumpet work from Lee on that one.

💤 Santo & Johnny's Somnambulism

Plenty of other versions of Dream have appeared over the years. Let’s close out with this 1959 track on the Canadian American label from Santo & Johnny:

They’re in full Sleepwalk mode — and I love it!

Warehouse Whispers

Johnny Mercer was known primarily as a lyricist, and out of the approximately one zillion songs in his catalog, Dream is one of the very few for which he wrote both the lyrics and the music.

Quite a dream!

Threaded Thursday: Just Fine

I’d talked a bit yesterday about Freddy Martin’s big 1941 hit Piano Concerto in B‑Flat originally being the B‑side of its Bluebird single, and I’d also mentioned vocalist Eddie Stone, so let’s pick up that thread.

Eddie Brings the Energy

Here’s the intended A‑side, Why Don’t We Do This More Often?, with Eddie on the vocal:

Eddie’s bouncy, good‑natured style is all over this — he had that light, smiling delivery that made even a simple pop tune feel like a little party.

I remember reading an interview with Freddy Martin where he said the publisher and/or songwriters (Charles Newman and Allie Wrubel) weren’t thrilled that their song was paired with “some classical piano thing” on the flip. I’m sure the mountain of royalties changed their minds once the “classical piano thing” became one of the biggest hits of the year!

Duet Delight

The most popular version of Why Don’t We Do This More Often? wasn’t Martin’s, though — it was Kay Kyser’s Columbia recording, a duet by Ginny Simms and Harry Babbitt:

I really love this version. Ginny and Harry were two of my favorite band vocalists, and they always blended beautifully — warm, relaxed, and effortlessly musical.

I’ve mentioned before that by the early 1940s the Kyser band had broken free from the strict novelty formula of the 1930s. This cut is Exhibit A. No gimmicks, no winks — just clean, confident dance‑band pop with two pros at the mic.

As Ginny says, everything’s just fine!

Word Association Wednesday: We Love Concertos

Following Sunday’s Concerto for Cootie, my train of thought didn’t have far to travel before hopping over to Freddy Martin’s massive 1941 hit, Piano Concerto in B‑Flat.

🎹 Ballroom B‑Flat Brilliance

Let’s spin Freddy’s original Bluebird recording featuring pianist Jack Fina:

I think that’s just a tremendous record — one of my favorites of the whole era. There’s a certain lift to it, a ballroom‑bright excitement that’s hard to pin down, but easy to understand why audiences went wild for it at the time.

📀  B‑Side Bewilderment

For years, I mostly encountered this same recording on reissues and big‑band compilations labeled as Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 1, with Jack Fina prominently credited as pianist and arranger. So imagine my surprise when I finally came across the unassumingly titled Bluebird single, which instead credits Ray Austin as arranger and doesn’t mention Fina at all — and it's the B-side!

🎤 “Tonight We Love” Takes Over

Whatever the paperwork says, the record was a smash — and as often happens with hit instrumentals, lyrics soon followed. The tune became best known as Tonight We Love, and Freddy adopted it as his theme song. He also recorded a hit vocal version for Bluebird with Clyde Rogers later in 1941:

Nice enough, but you really can’t beat the original instrumental.

🎶 Concerto Contenders

A nearly forgotten footnote: before Tonight We Love took over, there was a rival lyric version titled Concerto for Two. A couple of bands recorded it, then it slipped into obscurity. I do appreciate that Concerto for Two keeps the “concerto” theme alive.

Claude Thornhill recorded a lovely version for Columbia, so let’s give that one a spin:

Also mostly forgotten today is vocalist Dick Harding, but I’ve always liked his work with Thornhill’s band.

📡 Miller’s Majestic Makeover

Back to the instrumental itself — Glenn Miller had a terrific Bill Finegan arrangement that he never recorded commercially, but we can enjoy this November 1941 aircheck:

I love how the audience hums along, completely swept up in the moment. The arrangement is less pianocentric and very Miller‑esque, with that familiar glide and polish.

🎹 Lopez Looks In

Let’s also drop the needle on this 1941 cover by veteran pianist/bandleader Vincent Lopez, issued on the Classic Record Company label:

It’s fun — not quite in Freddy’s league — but I do enjoy Lopez’s little piano flourishes. He plays it less like a concerto and more like one of his piano specialties!

🎬 RKO Reveries & 44th Street Showmanship

To finish, let’s return to Freddy Martin with a clip from the 1942 RKO film The Mayor of 44th Street, featuring Freddy and the band performing the Piano Concerto:

It’s wonderful to see this “live” version, and I always appreciate when a musical performance isn’t interrupted by dialogue. I’m especially intrigued by sprightly vocalist Eddie Stone playing violin with such a serious expression!

So, there we are — the little concerto that could!

Word Association Wednesday: A Sense of Belonging

For today’s Association Wednesday spinning off from Sunday’s Pyramid, my mind went very quickly to “See the pyramids along the Nile…” — the unforgettable opening line of the great 1952 hit You Belong to Me.

The song was a collaboration by Western Swing bandleader Pee Wee King, his star vocalist Redd Stewart and Chilton Price, though interestingly, Pee Wee and Redd didn't record it at the time themselves, despite issuing several successful records in the same period.

Stafford’s Silky Smash

The big hit version — the one that truly stamped the song into the culture — was recorded by Jo Stafford for Columbia in 1952:

It became the biggest hit of Jo’s highly successful career, and it’s easy to hear why. It’s one of those rare records where everything aligns: the right vocalist, the right arrangement, the right moment. From Jo’s opening vocalizing over the marimba, you know you’re in for something special.

Joni’s Gentle Jump‑Start

But Jo wasn’t the first to record it. That honor goes to a pre‑stardom Joni James, who cut the song for the small Sharp label earlier in 1952:

It’s a lovely record, but Sharp didn’t have much national distribution, so this one couldn't compete with Jo Stafford's version. Not long after, Joni moved to the larger MGM label (who reissued her recording of You Belong to Me) and began her own long run of hits.

Cover Craze Carousel

As with so many early‑’50s pop songs, a zillion competing covers followed. Here are a few of the most interesting...

Martin’s Majestic Makeover

RCA Victor — home base for Pee Wee King — assigned the tune to Freddy Martin, featuring vocalist Stuart Wade:

A beautifully polished late‑period big band performance, with Freddy showing that a veteran bandleader could keep up with the newer bands.

Grady’s Go‑Round

Decca joined the fray with a version by another Martin — ace guitarist Grady Martin and his Slew Foot Five, featuring vocalist Cecil Bailey:

The bouncy sax from Dutch McMillin and Cecil’s jaunty vocal give this one a Western Swing flavor — maybe something close to how the song might’ve sounded if Pee Wee King had recorded it himself in 1952.

Tab’s Tender‑Tone Take

For an R&B‑leaning spin, there’s this terrific version by alto sax star Tab Smith on the United label:

And how can you not love that the label proudly advertises Tab’s “fabulous alto”? They 're not wrong!

Homer & Jethro’s Hijinks

As usual, the final word on the 1952 versions comes courtesy of Homer & Jethro, with their RCA Victor parody “You Belong to Me No. 2”:

It’s not just the clever lyrics — the picking is genuinely brilliant!

Santo & Johnny's Sleepy Serenade

Let's jump ahead to 1960 for a dreamy instrumental version by a much less wacky duo —Santo & Johnny on the Canadian-American label:

They're in full Sleepwalk mode there. I love it!

Duprees’ Dreamy Doo‑Wop

Now we're in 1962, a full decade after Jo Stafford, for what is probably the second‑best‑remembered version: the 1962 hit by The Duprees on Co‑Ed:

The big band arrangement gives it a nostalgic glow that must have felt retro even in 1962.

I used to hear The Duprees’ version constantly on “oldies” shows and stations in the early 1980s. It’s a little mind‑bending to realize that forty years ago, I was listening to an “oldie” that was only twenty years old.

Pee Wee & Redd’s Retro Return

Pee Wee King and Redd Stewart did eventually record You Belong to Me, as featured on their 1964 album Back Again for Starday:

Nice record and Redd sounds great, but it definitely plays like 1964 and not 1952!

But that’s the magic of this song — after all these years, it still belongs to all of us.

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!

Word Association Wednesday: The Black Beauty Rides

Last Sunday, we were admiring Duke’s Black Beauty. Now, as far as word associations go, as a lifelong buff of Old-Time Radio (OTR), that name leads my brain straight to the sleek, supercharged, and heavily armed "Black Beauty" limousine belonging to The Green Hornet!

The OTR Connection

If you were huddled around the Philco in the late 30s or 40s, you knew that the Green Hornet’s arrival was always signaled by the frantic, buzzing strings of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s The Flight of the Bumblebee. For us OTR fans, hearing those opening notes meant Britt Reid (portrayed by Al Hodge) was about to go hunting for criminals with his faithful valet, Kato, in the Black Beauty. It’s fascinating how a piece of 19th-century Russian classical music became the definitive sound of American urban vigilantism, thanks to the power of the airwaves.

The Sting of the Bee

While the classical world claims it, I always think of The Flight of the Bumblebee in the Big Band field due to the stellar adaptation of the piece by trumpet star Harry James! Harry first recorded his take on the piece for the small Varsity label in 1940:

By 1941, Harry was recording for Columbia, for which he waxed a ton of big hits. He recorded a somewhat streamlined version for them, and this is the more familiar version most people would know today:

It’s fascinating to compare the two records. The Varsity side has a sort of swingy section in the middle which doesn't appear on the Columbia version. I personally love catching those little evolutionary steps in a band's arrangement!

The Trumpet Battle

I find it interesting to compare this to Sonny Dunham’s treatment of Memories of You from earlier this week. While Sonny was reaching for the stratosphere with his high notes, Harry was showing off his incredible finger dexterity and speed.

Both are masterclasses in what a trumpet can do when pushed to the absolute limit. I had mentioned that I always liked trumpet stars with idiosyncratic styles, and I’d definitely throw Harry in there. He was extremely versatile and played great jazz, but he could also lean into his circus roots when needed!

Which display of brass brilliance impresses you more: Sonny Dunham’s soaring high notes or Harry James’s lightning-fast "Bumblebee"?

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One More for the Road...

Also keeping “The Bumblebee” in the big band field was Jack Fina, the star pianist with Freddy Martin’s band, who adapted the piece into the snappy Bumble Boogie in 1946! Here are Jack and Freddy with their recording on RCA Victor:

It’s not known if Britt Reid had an opinion on that record!