The record changer (Jan-Dec 1949)

17 GEORGE AVAKIAN BUCKLIN MOON records noted Firehouse Five Plus Two Blues My Naughty Sweetie Gives to Me Firehouse Stomp San Fireman's Lament What the hell goes on on the West Coast? The happiest band I have heard in a long, long time has turned up on these surprising records, which I'm told are inhabited largely by Disney cartoon animators. This is as crazy as the idea of starting a record off wkh fire bells and then a banjo solo, or of having the. band sing a chorus all together with the trumpet player answering between phrases. The sanest thing about the outfit (aside from the fact that the music makes an awful lot of sense) is its name. Am I kidding? Well, it seems that aside from being an amateur expert on almost anything else, trombonist Ward Kimball is an antique auto enthusiast, and the band's first jobs were playing at auto-collector's outings from the back of a 1900-something LaFrance fire engine. Naturally, it was called the Firehouse Five, and when the band grew to seven, what was more natural than what you see at the top of this column? It makes sense to me ! The music fits the beautifully scrolled label. There's a cocky beat and carefree sound on every groove, and if you don't feel like laughing just out of happiness when you hear these sides, then you've never enjoyed a silent movie or W. C. Fields, or 15 ounces of bock beer at the Old Heidelberg (any old Heidelberg). The boys are all amateurs and all fine. | Jazz lives. No sense telling you about this part and that, because the four sides are a unified whole, and you'll love every bit of it. If anybody rates kudos, it's probably Kimball, the daring young man on the sliding trombone, and Johnny Lucas, who plays a rare batch of trumpet. And this is probably as good a place as any to mention a guy who won't get his share of comment: Les Koenig, the fellow who wouldn't listen to sound advice and recorded the band anyway. Les was the first man to sit me down in front of Armstrong Okehs, and I've never regretted it, although at the time I was rather surprised at the amateurish sounds that came out of the phonograph. I ( won't keep you any longer. I know you're already pulling on your shoes to go get copies of these. (Good Time Jazz 1, 2) J ' (G. A.) Doc Eyan's Dixieland Five Eight good dixieland sides by the popular mid-west cornetist and a band consisting largely of unfamiliar figures. Surprise of the date is the piano-playing of Joyce MacDonald, who plays like Joe Sullivan in his Fats Waller mood. The band, though, is a little too polite all the way through, and the recording balance, which favors Evans and ignores the rhythm section, doesn't help in adding real meat to the ensembles. And when you've got that situation with only piano and drums in said r. s., you've automatically cut down on the date's guts. Throughout, there's no end of Gaston and Alphonse ; the lightly arranged passages are neat, slick, and reminiscent of the smallgroup Red Nichols records of 20-odd years ago. The level of musicianship is high, but except for Doc's own horn the band never really gets its hair ruffled and gives. It would be my guess that there will be a lot of people who prefer this, and will take these records over the rougher and tougher fare that this corner would prefer. One suspects a worried engineer behind the underplaying of the rhythm, particularly the almostsilenced drums. Clarinetist Johnny MacDonald (the pianist's husband) does a neat, clean performance on Eccentric, which has been the downfall of many a more heated clarinetist. Basin Street Blues responds best to the light touch of this group. The selections, by the way, are so picked that each represents a different facet of jazz : here you'll find a blues, a rag, a spiritual, a march, and so on throughout the set. John Lucas, who arranged the session, writes interesting album notes which bring out these points. The album is being distributed by the ArtFloral Record Shop in Northfield, Minn., which is as surprising a bit of daring as it is gratifying. They've got their feet wet; hope they don't get their fingers burnt, though ! (AFRS-l) (G.A.) Southern Jan Group Canal Street Blues Tiger Rag There's not much on this pairing cut in Australia that hasn't been heard better on American records. The disc is apparently pressed from dubs of rather poorly recorded originals, which means that there's a large degree of difficulty encountered in listening to what goes on. Sounds like a'pirated Oliver reissue, as far as tone goes. The playing is plenty spirited, and Bruce Gray has a nasty, dirty clarinet tone that also can change to nice purity. Bill Munro plays good cornet, too, and, all in all, the musicianship is of a reasonably high level. Still, out of the welter of derivative New Orleans records that have come along in the past eight years, there have been so many better ones that this doesn't have much chance. Top spot : a nice cornet-trombone duet on Canal Street, following a rough clarinet duet which nevertheless has its heart in the right place. No question about it — the music that went into this record was good, but this kind of reproduction didn't help the Oliver band any, either. (Jazz Corner 3). (G. A.) Sidney Bechet and His Blue Note Jazzmen Tin Roof Blues At the Jazz Band Ball Tiger Rag Cake Walking Babies When the Saints Go Marching In Basin Street Blues I don't claim that these are the greatest records ever made, or even the best that lists Sidney Bechet on the personnel. What I do claim, however, is that they -are beautifully conceived and carry a deep emotional impact. I've never heard Pops make a bad one, but if he never makes another these six sides could well stand as a fitting memorial to one of the greatest hearts in all of jazz. And that is something I can't say of most Blue Note albums, which is high praise of this one, rather than a backhand sweep at the others. Bechet, of course, is one of the immortals of Jazz, and if any proof were needed of this just listen to how every one who plays with him usually plays way over his head. I have heard Wild Bill Davison do some wonderful things — barring the showpiece kind of thing, which always makes me want