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!

Threaded Thursday: How They Hypnotize

From yesterday’s detour into the 1938 Mercer/Warren tune that felt like it should’ve been in a Warner Bros. picture (Something Tells Me), we follow the thread to a 1938 Mercer/Warren song that actually was in a Warner Bros. movie: Jeepers Creepers, introduced in Going Places.

The song wasn’t just a hit — it was a big hit, Academy Award–nominated and instantly absorbed into the bloodstream of American pop.

We'll be spinning versions from its 1938–39 moment of peak popularity, let’s drop the needle...

Satchmo Starts the Spell

Louis Armstrong introduced the tune in the film and then cut his Decca version in January 1939:

It’s hard not to treat this as the definitive reading — the one that sets the hypnotic pattern.

Ethel Enters

But Satch wasn’t first in the studio. That honor goes to the wonderful Ethel Waters, who recorded it for Bluebird in November 1938:

I don’t usually slot Ethel into the novelty lane, but she handles the material with real ease.

Ford's Focus

Ford

Victor handed the tune to Larry Clinton, with Ford Leary on the vocal:

Ford was also a trombonist, so he’s similar to the Tex Beneke/Sully Mason side character, but not from the sax section and Ford was his middle name, not a nickname.

Pops' Swing Wing

Jack

Then there’s the king of the singer/trombonists, Jack Teagarden, singing with The Four Modernaires and Paul Whiteman’s Swing Wing for Decca:

Always fascinating to hear the Modernaires before their Miller years.

And yes — this is the version used in the 2001 horror film Jeepers Creepers. Not my beat either.

Paula's Peepers

Future Modernaires partner Paula Kelly sings it with Al Donahue’s band on Vocalion:

I’ll say it again: Paula was an underrated canary.

Leo Leaps In

Leo on left, Gene on right

The wonderfully unpredictable Leo Watson gives a relatively “straight” vocal with Gene Krupa on Brunswick:

“Straight” being a very relative term in Leo‑land! Hear more Leo here.

The Mills Make Eyes

A terrific Mills Brothers version — issued by Brunswick only in England at the time:

It sounds exactly like what the Mills Brothers singing Jeepers Creepers in 1939 should sound like!

Ambrose & Evelyn Abroad

While we’re in England, here's Ambrose and his Orchestra with Evelyn Dall on British Decca:

A sharp, stylish arrangement — very Ambrose.

Hot Club Creeping

Then to France for the Quintette of the Hot Club of France:

Django and Grappelly never miss!

A Four‑Vocalist Free‑for‑All

We close with a Benny Goodman Camel Caravan aircheck from January 17, 1939 — four vocalists, each taking a turn. I won't spoil who they are, Johnny Mercer will let you know:

You can probably guess who I think walked away with it.

And One More Cartoon Thread

Before we leave the hypnotic spell of this tune: I have to mention that there was a 1939 Looney Tune titled Jeepers Creepers. A fun watch — and another place where the song’s DNA seeped into the culture.

And yet, after all this spinning…we're still no closer to knowing where those peepers came from!

Threaded Thursday: Ah, So Pure

Opera to Orchestra: Flotow Finds Swing

Following yesterday’s updates to the classical My Heart at Thy Sweet Voice, we keep the thread going with variations on another 19th‑century operatic theme — Martha by Friedrich von Flotow.

Larry's Lovely Lady

And once again, we start with the preeminent classics‑into‑pop arranger of the big band era, Larry Clinton, and his super‑canary Bea Wain.

Let’s spin their 1938 take on Martha for Victor:

That’s another home run for Bea and Larry!

Connee Captivates

I’ve known that Clinton record for so long — and it’s appeared on so many compilations — that I consider it the definitive swing version of the song. So I was surprised sometime later to learn there was an earlier swing adaptation: Connie (Connee) Boswell’s late‑1937 Decca recording backed by Bob Crosby’s Bob Cats.

Let’s spin it:

That’s a great version! I’ve probably run out of adjectives for Connee Boswell, so let’s listen to the glowing introduction to her performance of Martha from the Philco Hall of Fame broadcast of May 7, 1944:

Connee on Camera: Martha in Motion

We’re still not done with Connee — we have two videos of her singing Martha.

First is this 1950 Universal short in which she sings “I Don’t Know Why” and “Martha,” backed by Les Brown and his Band of Renown:

Fun to hear Connee talk a little about the song.

Next is a video transcription from 1952:

How great is it that we have this footage to enjoy?

One thing I wonder: was Connee drawn to the song because one of her Boswell Sisters siblings was named Martha? And what did Vet Boswell think?

I also notice that neither Connee nor Bea sing gender‑flipped lyrics — they seem to be singing to Martha, not about Martha.

Wingy’s Wild Woman

For a contemporary male take, we turn to trumpeter/singer Wingy Manone, who cut his version for Bluebird later in 1938:

Wingy has officially taken Martha off the opera stage and into a juke joint!

Label intrigue: Wingy’s last name is misspelled on the label, which also credits the adaptation to Larry Clinton — though it’s actually closer to Connee’s version!

Rollini’s Radiant Reverie

Now to 1940 for a cool instrumental version by multi‑instrumentalist Adrian Rollini on vibes with his trio for Okeh:

Cooler still: there’s a video from 1948 of Adrian and his Trio playing Martha:

Adrian is best remembered for his ginormous bass sax, but he could play anything.

Crew Cuts’ Catchy Chorus

To show once again how adaptable a great melody can be, we land in 1955 with the fun Mostly Martha by The Crew Cuts on Mercury:

I still remember when I first played this on an old 45 and instantly knew it wasn’t mostly Martha — it was all Martha!

Martha’s Many Masks

Our girl Martha certainly got around, from the opera house to the soda shop, but she remained herself — a pure heart, a catchy tune and apparently no objections to being reimagined every decade!

Word Association Wednesday: Sweet Voices

For today’s Word Association Wednesday spinning off from I Let a Song Go Out of My Heart, the last two words nudged me toward “My Heart…” — which, in my universe, leads straight to My Heart at Thy Sweet Voice, the famous aria from Camille Saint‑Saëns’s Samson and Delilah.

Clinton’s Classical Conjuring

And more specifically, it leads to Larry Clinton’s adaptation, recorded for Victor in 1938 with the ever‑radiant Bea Wain:

Larry had a real knack for turning classical themes into swing‑era charmers, and hearing my favorite canary float over that arrangement never gets old.

Savitt’s Showcase

From there, the melody takes a stylish detour to Jan Savitt, who recorded an instrumental version for Decca in 1940:

A beautifully tailored arrangement by Billy Moore, and what a terrific trombone solo from Al Leopold — warm, confident, and right in the pocket.

D’Artega’s Delicate Detour

Jumping ahead to 1947, we find a more classically oriented take by D’Artega and his Orchestra on the Sonora label:

The label helpfully notes that one‑time bandleader Will Bradley handles the wonderful trombone solo, with Charlie Margulis stepping forward on trumpet. A nice bit of personnel transparency you don’t always get on mid‑’40s releases on small labels.

Bostic’s Bold Breakout

To show just how versatile a great tune can be, here’s Earl Bostic’s 1954 recording for King:

Always a pleasure to hear Earl's alto — that unmistakable, laser‑bright tone cutting right through the arrangement.

Jackie’s Journey

When I first heard the Larry Clinton record back in the day, the melody felt familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Then it hit me: Night, the Jackie Wilson song! Sure enough, Night is based on the same Saint‑Saëns aria.

So let’s spin Jackie’s 1960 Brunswick record:

A deservedly huge hit. Jackie gets to show off his own sweet voice — soaring, operatic, and absolutely electrifying.

Conniff’s Choral Counterpoint Coda

We’ll close out with another track from 1960. This one is titled An Improvisation on My Heart at Thy Sweet Voice and it appears on Ray Conniff’s Columbia album Concert in Rhythm, Volume II:

I’ve always preferred the Conniff tracks where the male and female choruses provide wordless counterpoint rather than singing actual lyrics — those floating syllables give the arrangement a kind of shimmering, weightless lift.

And I do wonder how many people in 1960 dropped the needle on this LP and thought, “Hey, Ray Conniff is covering Jackie Wilson… but why is he using a different title?” A perfectly reasonable conclusion if your reference point was the Brunswick hit rather than Saint‑Saëns.

Aria’s Amazing Afterlife

A fascinating journey for a 19th‑century aria, winding its way through swing bands, classical pops, R&B sax showcases, easy listening improvisations and ultimately into the hands of one of the great voices of the 20th century.

Which treatment is your favorite?

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.

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?