The record changer (Feb-Dec 1948)

lemme (Continued from Page 4) "produce" an evening either for glory or for a fast buck, and end up by giving jazz a public black eye. The continuing financial success of midnight concert-hall performances of be-bop and various types of semijazz and pseudo-jazz entertainment indicates that the idea is still capable of catching that fast buck. But performances featuring the kind of music that the Record Changer means when we speak of "jazz" are few and far between. They attract a different audience, obviously, than the various bop and pop concerts do, but we all know that there are in New York a great many more lovers of New Orleans music than the pitiful number who showed up at Carnegie. It's a lowdown dirty shame when irresponsible management robs those fans of pne of their few chances to hear good live jazz. (2) Acoustics: Let's face the fact that jazz has some limitations. This isn't a derogatory remark ; it's just a realization that there are some places in which a seven-man New Orleans group can not be heard to advantage, and one of those places definitely is a huge hall whose stage is designed for a hundred-piece symphony orchestra, and whose seating arrangements and acoustics are designed for hearing such an orchestra. Stick a small band, or a blues-and-piano team in that hall, and the results can be painful. Reliable listeners in the box seats tell us that the Ory band played great music that night. Having heard them on records and believing their reputations to be justly earned, we're quite willing to believe that, but personally, sitting in semi-solitude in orchestra seats, we heard only some interesting playing by individuals and were hardly ever aware of the band as a unit. The blame for that, of course, can only be placed on the construction of the hall. New York's other main concert hangout. Town Hall, beinc; somewhat less cavernous, makes for less horrible results, but the fact remains that in most cases you just can't hear jazz properly in these places. In the case of a one-night stand, where it may be impractical to present a set of jazz performers in one of the all-too-few suitable night clubs or dance-halls in town, New York certainly has — and other cities undoubtedly also have — places that are in all respects more appropriate for jazz performances than is some haunt of classical music that happens to have an open night on the schedule. Stuyvesant Casino, where Bunk Johnson's band made its New York home, and where the New York Jazz Club is now running highly successful affairs, is almost always available and would certainly be more congenial. A primary' advantage of such smaller halls is, of course, acoustical. These are the kind of places in which jazz musicians are used to playing; they are also places of such a size that the music of a small band fills them completely and fills them swiftly. No matter where in such a hall you are sitting, or dancing or drinking, the music is with you; you can hear it in its entirety, with no need for the distortions of a public address system. (3) Performance: This is not the place for any critical analysis of the Ory band. Those who were properly placed heard fine musicians playing top-grade music (although I we can only wonder how much better they might have played if they had not had an I almost empty house staring them in the face). But there is always an air of stiffness and discomfort in these concert per formances ; jazz musicians don't seem to like the idea of being stuck up on a stage pedestal, removed from their audience, and seeing their audience sitting there formally and (except for a few extroverts) quietly. Particularly for musicians with some memory of the New Orleans tradition of identification with the community, this sort of set-up must be disquieting. In a dance-hall, or a small night club, the musicians are virtually in the midst of their audience, the reactions and approval of the crowd are readily apparent. This may just be a minor, psychological point, but musicians almost invariably agree that they'd much rather be on the band-stand than on the concert stage. And it might be nice, for a change, for the impressarios to take the players' opinions into consideration. As for the added solo acts on the Ory program (It would seem to be a rule of the Jazz Concert that there must always be extra added attractions), Chippie Hill was her usual robust, crowd-pleasing self, and the presence of Mama Yancey can be excused as a piece of bad judgment. Apparently no one in authority realized that this frail little lady would freeze up completely on the giant stage, and that her particular style of blues delivery would be completely lost as a result. But the addition of Lonnie Johnson to the program was an act of sheer irresponsible bad taste that would be laughable if it weren't that out-of-place entertainers almost invariably seem to get thrown into these concert affairs. Lonnie, on the evidence of some records of past years that we've heard, was once a sincere, interesting blues singer and guitarist. Today, sad to relate, he is a sweet singer of incredibly cliched pop love lyrics in the Eckstine-Jeffries manner, and had no more place on the program with the Ory band than would Carman Lombardo. (We always wonder, when faced with people of this type, how you would go about explaining to some innocent bystander, who might have wandered in, that this is not jazz, has no relation to jazz, is just something that some sad cat dragged in.) (4) Programming : One of the most annoying features of this whole business of the wrong people presenting jazz under the wrong circumstances, is the unwarranted length of the program and the uncalled for quantity of performers used. Somebody obviously has the mistaken idea that the more jazzmen you throw at the audience, and the closer the band comes to playing through the whole repertoire of old standards, the better the show is. This is a tragic misconception. Sitting inmovably in theatre seats (without a drink or a cigarette) through lengthy sets, many encores, and two appearances each by several different types of soloists, is really no fun, as any "producer" of jazz concerts would discover if he asked his audience, or even just sat still through one of his shows. We have found ourselves bored and unhappy with even the best jazz, simply because of a dull ache in our butt. Proper packaging of a show isn't necessarily "commercial," it's just common sense. Most of these faults could doubtless be somewhat corrected by intelligent management, but the unalterable main fact would still remain : the Jazz Concert, an idea of dubious merit to begin with, has run its course and should now be dispensed with. When Ernie Anderson, the first big-time promoter of the current cycle of concert jazz, began his first series of Condon concerts at Town Hall, he advertised that he was taking jazz out of the smoke-filled rooms and cellars. But at the moment, there are very, very few of those natural habitats of jazz still in existence. Most of the "smoke-filled cellars" are shuttered, and jazz is looking mighty uncomfortable up on those air-conditioned stages. For towns that might otherwise have to do entirely without live jazz, certainly the tours remain a fine thing but they might well follow the pattern of typical big band tours and confine their activities to playing dances of the one-night stand variety. Every town has a hall big enough to accommodate a sufficiently large enough number of people to make such a presentation successful, both financially and artistically All this boils down to one simple point. We would like to suggest nnost strongly that it would be a very good thing for all concerned if we sent jazz back where it came from, and went along with it. graeme bel {Continued from Page 9) forms us that most probably these sides will be released in this country in the near future, on Mercury, from Czechoslovakian pressings, giving American listeners an opportunity for first-hand comparison with Stewart-Baxter's enthusiastic report. A September 23, 1947, session produced Panama (45315) /Riverside Blues (45320), SU 18162; Fidgety Feet (45319) /Czechoslovakian Journey (45316), SU 18163; Dallas Blues (45317) /Sister Kate (45318), SU 18164; and Walking Wenceslaus Square (45322), SU 18165, and Just Gone (45321), unissued. On December 13, the Australians cut When the Saints Go Marching In (45429)/ Ballin' the Jack (45430), SU 18169; Get It Fixed (45431 ) /Organ Grinder Blues (45432), SU 18170; and two quartet sides: Blue Tongue Blues (45433) /Willie the Weeper (45434), SU 18173. The first quartet side includes clarinet, washboard, tuba and banjo ; the second has trumpet, clarinet, piano and drums. If t> all you <f; CATS ^ in the los angeles &J?6&* • • • you ' re invited to marie & gene deltch's regular friday night record sessions: cr 1-8240 25.000 RARE JAZZ RECORDS FOR SALE OR TRADE Will Also Buy . . . Send Want Lists WANTS. . . . Niesen, Gershwin, George M. Cohan, New Orleans, Glenn Miller any label except Victor or Bluebird. JACOB S. SCHNEIDER 128 West 66 Street NEW YORK CITY 23, N. Y. JULY, 1948 29