The record changer (Jan-Dec 1953)

9 zer, Vido Musso, Babe Russin, Arthur Rollini, and George Koenig blend their horns to give the band its memorable saxsection sound ; the rhythm section — Krupa, Stacy, Harry Goodman on bass, and Allan Ruess on guitar — rates special praise. Krupa is in fine form on these sides. On the occasion of the Carnegie Hall concert he would seem to have been suffering from a somewhat inflated ego, and consequently played much too loudly and noticeably on those records. Here, however, he behaves as he more usually did in those days : most unobtrusively, yet with fabulous power, laying down a rocking, rolling beat that drove the swing-loving cats wild. The trio and quartet are well represented. Teddy Wilson and Lionel Hampton had joined the band in 1936, and by this time were at the fiery peak of their unique style of powerhouse chamber-music jazz. Some impromptu jam tunes, such as Benny Sent Me and Killer Diller, show the group at its best. We find it especially fascinating, in a really improvised quartet performance, to note how Teddy will take the lead by a fraction of a beat, moving up to hit the next chord in time to indicate to the others the direction he is about to take. And this split-second hint of the next change is sufficient warning for the keen musical ears of Benny and the Hamp. It's enough to send them both into intricate counterpoint in perfect harmony and beat. When you stop to consider the terrifically swift up-tempo at which most of these numbers were taken, you begin to really know what amazing musical performances these were. These comments could go on forever — describing how much Benny sounds like Tesch on many of these numbers, how easily this band could make trite pops sound like something of musical value, how Stacy, Elman, and James romp on an extra-long St. Louis Blues, how pleasant it is to hear a touch of Helen Ward and Martha Tilton (one vocal each). We could write in detail about the rare Rollini and McEachern soloes on Bugle Call Rag, about Chris Griffin roaring through on a Darktown Strutters Ball, and so on. But the whole thing can be wrapped up by saying that everything is very great, and that undoubtedly never before has the essence of an entire jazz period been Above: add to your collection of littleknown facts the information that B. G. on occasions filled out his own sax section. This picture dates back to about 1935. Right: Same day (or at least the same tie ) ; Benny chats with Bunny Berigan, celebrated trumpet man of the band immediately preceding the one that produced the newly-released LPs. Bottom: Benny, Gene Krupa, and Harry James, switch instruments for one of those inevitable comic pictures. (Otto Hess photos) so definitively and so enjoyably wrapped up in a single package. Much thanks should go to Bill Savory for his foresight, to the manufacturers of early home-recording equipment for having been early enough, to the brass at Columbia for having recognized a good thing when they were offered it, and to George Avakian both for his part in that decision and for the delightful, informative, free-swinging album notes he has provided. This sort of thing happens rarely enough to warrant all possible support — in hopes that the major companies will be encouraged to release other such material if and when it turns up, in this and other areas of jazz. This is an expensive package, make no mistake about it; it'll set you back something like ten bucks. But if you can look at it as buying all these fine recordings for about 35c per number, it should seem like a bargain — and it is.