The record changer (Jan 1955-Dec 1957)

7 llphe Sax, who, I understand, never \; it to Lake Ponchartrain? Mlowing the time-honored traditions of par spellbinders, Mr. P. commonly indices his most sensational lies with "The 1 truth is . . .", "No one will question ', "All music-lovers are aware that ,", und so weiter. So, on p. 150: Uo one will question the extent to which e various types of jazz orchestra are rived from the symphony orchestra. ' . One might even describe it as a tenement of the sound of the symphony 9,chestra. . . ." ed one might. Only one: Mr. Henry •;ants. But, 20 pages later, we get the if : |azz has ignored the symphony orchestra . and developed an orchestra of its ,/n, derived from its own instrumental Irposes. !i so, he seems unaware of the jazz .j's real ancestry, the brass street-band, lone paragraph later, he reverses himagain : "he influence of the symphony orchestra 1 the jazz orchestra is obvious." never does explain how we are "in' ced" by something we "ignore," nor, retely, when it was that Yellow Nunez, l|Eye Louis, Buddy Bolden, Monk Hazel, Mutt Carey, and Malt Can Rodgers d opportunity to expose themselves to honic influences, and why these influh are not "obvious" in other aspects of I New Orleans jazz. I sliver us from our friends — we can take j of our enemies. As a Friend of Jazz, P. finds it exhibits all the stigmata of nuine art. Doubtless someone with an ias told him so, for it is hard to see a "critic" who cannot distinguish ieen Ellington and Guy Lombardo could have arrived at such judgements on his le infallible sign of the square is his lity to tell (if I may slightly clean up Mgarly apt musicians' locution) ships ! Shinola; and, sure enough, in Mr. P.'s (Hilary "jazz" means anything from the Five to the Hit Parade. Like all squares ses "jazz" and "popular" interchangeathough here again some hip acquaintj who probably didn't even know his ,s were being picked, must have made iaware that such distinctions do exist for jn-deaf, for he hastens to cover himself e very first page of his preface : t would have gone beyond the approl ate bounds of the discussion to take [o account the distinction the jazzmen >w between true jazz and what they ?ard as its popular or commercial derives." ntence later we get the real reason for jlofty impartiality. Henry is about to Is that old hair-oil again — the infallible |al taste of the Peepul, this time in a .ing new wig and falsies and labelled ":ntieth Century Society": /hat is important is not the various •ases and types of jazz. . . . t that popular music is now a "phase" P— just as, no doubt, comic books are base" of English literature) :t its significance generically as the art isic of Twentieth Century society." This is an ideal example of the sleight-ofhand referred to, and an essential fulcrum on which Pleasants' whole "argument" turns — for, if the term "jazz" can be made to mean something as artistic as Mahogany Hall Stomp and simultaneously something as popular as the latest best-seller on the Hit Parade, then Mr. P. has made a fantasy come true, and his more innocent readers may be made to believe that "art" is "popular." The ambiguity is carefully contrived, the resulting confusion intentional; for Mr. P. wants to eat the cake (jazz's artistic validity) and have it (the Hit Parade's popularity) too. The slightest breeze from the real world would demolish his patiently manufactured house of cards, the impudent lie of the Peepul's unerring musical judgement; but that's Mr. P.'s story, and he's stuck with it; on his very last page he blandly reaffirms it: "Thus the jazz accomplishment is simply defined . . . because of popular guidance [it] is culturally valid." The thousands of creative jazz musicians compelled by financial pressures to immure themselves in corny society bands ought to get a wry giggle out of that one. Apparently Mr. Pleasants hasn't been around long enough to have heard the musicians' own terse, bitter phrase to describe this particular form of popular guidance: "Fifty cents a note." One night at the Meadowbrook about 15 years ago, where Tommy Dorsey's big commercial band was being held over for the 4th record-shattering week, and his 10gallon jug of schmaltz, Never Smile Again, had been leading the Hit Parade for something like two months, a certain well meaning jazz critic made bold to ask Tommy, privately, whether he couldn't manage, now that he was really on top, to play a little more decent jazz. T.D. permitted himself a weary smile. "See for yourself," was all he'd say; The very next number happened to be I'll Never etc. At the first notes, a strangled moan of ecstasy rose from the assemblage ; in 30 seconds the dance floor was packed. The kids stood 8 deep in front of the stand, open mouthed, eyes glazed, arms entwined, swaying dreamily in a mass trance. The song ended amid profound sighs, and the band swung into a solid original jump blues perfunctorily entitled Another One Of Them Things, rocking like mad. Instantly the seance was over. The kids woke up, broke ranks, drifted back to tables, ordered drinks, chatted with the girl friend. No one but the jazz critic listened as these 16 fine musicians blew as only they could blow: Tommy, Ziggy, Johnny Mince, Chuck Peterson, Les Jenkins, Joe Bushkin, Sid Weiss, Buddy Rich, among others. At the bar, later, T.D. said to the critic: "Well?" The latter shook his head, too depressed to reply. Tommy ordered a couple of beers, then mused aloud: "I can get away with about one out of twelve. One night I tried making it one in six — but the kids wouldn't take it, not even from us. As a matter of fact the manager spoke to me about it." He finished his beer, and added, "You know, I'd like to send my kids to college. I don't feel like going back to living in furnished rooms." As I write (May 1955), there is a vogue for a kind of pseudo-jazz known to the trade as Rhythm & Blues, momentarily providing pork chops for some of the good musicians who can smother their artistic consciences in order to feed their families. Buck Clayton, who was an onlooker at one of these R & B recording dates, reported to me the following edifying incident. Some of the musicans were tuning up when the "leader" hurried over. "Don't tune up, you cats," he said. The musicians blinked. "This is strictly R & B," the leader went on. "Last record we made, we had the horns all out of tune so it sounded real rough. We sold 200,000 copies." The musicians thought this over, and finally one of them said, "You want us to sound bad." "I don't know nothin' about 'bad,' " replied the boss testily. "All I know is we sold 200,000 copies." If only the man had read "The Agony Of Modern Music," he could have framed his reply more learnedly. He could have said, "I merely insist that your music have the validity guaranteed by popular guidance." I HAVE PURCHASED THE ENTIRE FABULOUS STOCK OF LEW IN 'S RECORD OUTLET OF HOLLYWOOD, CALIF. I NOW HAVE 4oO,C<?0 OUT-OFPRINT HARD-TO-GET RECORDS. I WILL SELL OR TRADE OR BUY COLLECTIONS OR STOCKS. SEND ORDERS GET ON MY MAILING LIST NOW, JACOB S. SCHNEIDER 1 2b WEST 66TH STREET, NEW YORK 23, N..Y. RECORDING TAPES any brand or length — you name it. Complete stock of accessories. (See our big "ad" page 8 Dec., 1954 "Tape Recording.") • Agents for Tape Recording Magazine. Back issues available. • Used Tape, plastic and nylon bought & sold. • Send for our price sheet. New empty plastic reels in boxes for easy labeling. 3" 10c; 4" 22c; 5" 24c; 7" Professional reel (2'A" hub) 29c ea. EMPTY BOXES: 3" 3c; 4". 5". 7" 5c ea. PLEASE INCLUDE SUFFICIENT POSTAGE. COMMISSIONED ELECTRONICS CO. 2503 Champlain St. N.W. Washington 9. D. C.