This year, I made headway on a substantial update to the format of my exploration of early 20th century music. I got hold of a microphone and audio editing software, and began recording a podcast. The podcast version of this blog now stands at three episodes, with many more planned in the future. It can be found presently at Anchor: https://anchor.fm/joshua-ely and on Itunes: Music Through The Mists of Time. I’ll explore placing it on more platforms as more content is added/to raise the visibility of the series. I’m excited as to where this may take this project of passion.

 

Here’s a smaller, regional act that can be appreciated because of its sincere sound. This act found success in (where else?) the Detroit area in the late 20s and early 30s. Shaw and his orchestra were out not to reinvent the wheel, but ensure that their group had access to the best wheels at the time. They would cut records of established popular music, but with polish. Instrumentation and vocals were presented in the jazz style. Even while this strategy of “pandering” (as some might cynically label it) will last fleetingly, Shaw and his group may well have found success into the 30s and beyond. It isn’t as if the style lost all popularity as the years went by. The big band sound, the heir apparent to 20s hot jazz, lasted a bit into the 50s. It is therefore unclear why Milt Shaw cashed in his chips in February of 1931. Perhaps he felt he had reached the apex of his popularity. Perhaps he felt tastes would inevitably change and didn’t want to deal with a sharp decline. No matter the reason, his departure was one of a competent ensemble from the craft. Today’s tune should demonstrate that point.

The instrumental introduction is easy, breezy goodness. The presence is firm but not trying to overwhelm the listener. There are some tracks where one may feel compelled to dance. This song is more of a gentle invitation in that regard. Around the middle of the introduction we get to hear some beautiful violin. This reinforces the gentle nature of the piece. The lyrics make their arrival and there’s the interesting appearance of adversity. Or, at the very least, inconvenience. Rain is impeding the gentleman’s progress to his lover. Yet, he doesn’t seem to mind, as he’s “running between the raindrops”. Its simply too easy to slap a “love makes you feel better about any situation” label onto this song and call it a day. Rather, it lends lyrics more depth to think on a relationship that is worth suffering for. The rain will always be wet. This gent is going to get soaked. His love won’t change an iota of the situation. The presence of the bad makes the good that much more desirable. The lyrics even acknowledge that the gentleman could simply wait for the storm to cease. Still, brave or foolish, he presses onward. Certainly listeners could hope that their loved ones would rush through rain for them, all while taking in this song from a warm dry place.

As a college dropout, fate might have killed Vaughn DeLeath’s career before it had a chance to begin. Yet, in this instance of raw talent, she was able to rise to fame on the radio. Born Leonore Vonderlieth in Illinois, she had finished her schooling in California. Jazz and the advent of radio brought her to the east coast, where she made an immediate impression. Radio opened the door to the recording industry, and many labels carried her songs. Her voice was notable because it could adapt to many styles. In addition, she was also proficient in a number of instruments, a talent used most when giving live performances. She was one of the first women to participate in a transatlantic broadcast, as well as an early female radio station manager. Her recording career spanned from 1921 to 1931. By the mid to late 30s she ceased even her radio performances. She died in the early 40s. Her impact on the world of music would be felt in many ways, with one such ripple coming when Elvis Presley covered her song “Are You Lonesome Tonight” in 1960. Today’s song hails from the same year as that recording, 1927.

The song has an immediate and apparent “wedding bell” theme to it. Appropriate, since the piece stands as a celebration of romantic togetherness. Throughout the song, De Leath’s harmonies with Ed Smalle are gorgeous. The lyrics begin with the singer looking back on the “happiest day of his/her life”. The song then details how a couple plans for life together, from living space to how they’ll face all kind of weather, together. The song is sugary sweet, as the couple looks forward to listening to birds from their home at the bottom of a hill. When all is said and done, sugary lyrics are still part of the musical food pyramid, all listeners need them, even if in small doses.

Stuff Smith (real name Hezekiah Smith!) was born in 1909. A vocalist, Smith was also one of the top jazz violinists of his time. He modeled his career on legendary musician Louis Armstrong. He worked in Texas through the 1920s, but would later head toward that Mecca of Jazz, New York City. There he would form a sextet that performed regularly at the Onyx Club. The club had begun life in the 1920s as a speakeasy, but was later run honestly following Prohibition’s repeal. This gig enabled Smith to be signed onto record labels like Decca and Vocalion. In 1938, Smith took part in the Carnival of Swing on Randall’s island, one of the first outdoor jazz festivals. Following the close of the Swing era, Smith moved to Europe in the 60s, remaining on that continent until his death in 1967. Today’s tune was cut while Smith was signed onto Decca.

“Where is the Sun?” kicks off at a steady pace, but rather suddenly shifts into what will be the tempo for the remainder of the song. Even with the minor hiccup, Smith powers through with his vocals. His tone and delivery make Armstrong’s influence upon him quite noticeable. Still, Smith carves his own brand with ease and finesse. Early on, there’s a phrase where he seamlessly breaks into scatting. Lyrically, the song uses a standard metaphor of weather for the state of one’s romantic endeavors. One can guess that Smith’s prospects must have taken a nosedive, as he’s left to wonder where is the sun, and the one who used to love him. During the instrumental break, we get the chance to hear Smith on his violin. The interlude proves that his great reputation was well deserved. The violin is made to  feel right at home with the others. As the instrumental closes out the tune, Smith has demonstrated all of his talents in a coherent, accomplished package. The only way a song like this can leave you is satisfied.

Listeners tend to think of music in very self-fulfilling terms. “This song makes me feel….” or “OMG this is MY JAM!” Such is the natural order of things. After all, we know ourselves better than all else, so musicians and their impact are often interwoven with the feelings they caused to listeners. One thread that I’ve touched on, ever so slightly, is the power of a musician to impact other musicians, to discover and nurture talent. Such is the power of today’s subject, Mr. Edward Elkins. Or, for a jazzier sounding name, Eddie Elkins. He was born in San Francisco in 1897. As he grew in his career, Elkins became known for supplying orchestras with sophisticated dance numbers. With his nurturing capability, he had greats like Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Red Nichols and Oscar Levant within his ranks. His orchestra recorded through the 1920s for the Columbia and Okeh labels. In the 30s, he recorded for the Banner label, which is where today’s song hails from. The same year this song was cut, Elkins would retire from music and take on the Stock Market. He died in 1984, survived by a wife and two daughters. Now, onto the tune.

The vocals on the track belong to Chick Bullock. The song is about moving on at the end of a relationship. From the beginning instrumental, its made quite clear that the song will not handle its subject matter in a “woe is me” way. Rather, the music sounds quite happy and sure of itself. This is made all the more apparent when the lyrics reveal that the singer has an “easy come, easy go” attitude to love. He doesn’t feel badly about the relationship, he just wants to part as friends. Its unclear what caused the romance to take a turn for the worse. The only hint toward this is the line that “we never dreamed of romantic danger”. In other words, neither of the lovers saw the end coming.

Too many songs like this delve into a “why didn’t I see it” lament. Lyricists should always remember hindsight will forever remain 20/20. This song doesn’t even bother with the analytical approach. The tune is perhaps at its most brooding in the second instrumental section. It still embraces the jaunty melody, but the section that kicks it off sounds more subdued. The song still concludes on a triumphant note, however. Perhaps this miniature journey is meant to convey the highs and lows of a lost love. Perhaps its meant to grant the tune some emotional depth. Whatever the reason, the song still benefits from these slight departures from the cohesive core that gives the free and easy message of the lyric.  (Audio in the clip begins at 10 seconds in).

Time to take a journey to the land down under. At least, that was the land of Florrie Forde’s formative years. By the time she had reached age 21 she left her native Australia for London. Her impact upon the London stage was immediate and caused her to be drawn up into the world of early recorded music. Forde would make her first record in 1903 and keep right on going. In the 1920s, she formed her very own traveling revue. She would pass away in 1940 at the age of 64. Though her stage presence is not visible in her recorded work, her powerful voice certainly is.

This song will forever hold a special place for me. It was this song, used in the background of a YouTube video, that piqued my interest into this whole time period. While its timing (1919) is just a teeny bit outside the realm of my primary interest, it’s close enough. After all, it speaks heavily of jazz music. The song is an assertion that jazz can, and should be a global movement, not simply confined to one region or country. The song opens with “they say you must go to Dixieland, if you want to hear a real jazz band”. Forde spends the rest of the song proving that notion, quite, quite wrong. The meat of the lyric is essentially a list, noting that an ordinary orchestra contains all the instrumental makings of the hot fresh sound that jazz represented. The song demonstrates that the jazz sound of the time was like a well mixed stir-fry. Individually, the ingredients may be fine and good. Put them together, as the song does towards its conclusion, and you’ve got a dynamite combination. The instrumentation itself may not be reaching the heights of later compositions, but the song seems to grasp that jazz would not be an idle player in the world of music. It is rare that entertainment demonstrates such prescience. Perhaps the composers knew that the world was primed for a party in the wake of the Great War and other crises.

A tad of a double dip here, as we’ve previously covered the exploits of Paul Whiteman. Still, this song leapt out of my iPod and grabbed hold of me. I’ve taken to listening to my playlist of jazz on the way home from work, and it is very much the capstone to a great day, or the relaxant on a day that could have gone better. This song was in rotation the other day, knowing instantly it was worthy of a shout-out. Since we know so much about Whiteman, let’s focus on the vocalist on this track, Irene Taylor.

Taylor was the first female vocalist to ever record with Whiteman, on a 1928 track called “Mississippi Mud”. Her career flourished mainly on the radio. Taylor put in appearances on Bing Crosby’s show, and even appeared on Broadway and in a short film. These successes would draw to a halt at the end of World War II. She would retire into private life, passing away in 1988. It is comforting to note she got to live a full life, not tainted by any of the vices that all too often accompanied the music industry of the 1920s and 1930s.

The song is an ode to lovebirds staying up late with one another. Lyrically, this song is not too far off from the territory of a song like “Baby its Cold Outside” where the singer grapples with the need to leave their lover due to fatigue or another commitment. This singer doesn’t have the weather to blame, she simply feels that her lover’s company is “heavenly”.  So it comes to pass that the dawn is breaking as the lovers are saying goodnight. Taylor notes that her lover’s eyes are “twice as bright” as stars and moon. She then goes on to list the hours that have flown by since she “should have” said goodbye. Whiteman’s instrumentals cut in for a brief interlude, but quickly switch back to Taylor. Once she completes her portion, the orchestra gets a lengthy outro, playing back the melody. The melody itself is catchy, so Whiteman’s orchestra takes few opportunities to stray from its course. Why should they, with such strong material? They are able to match Taylor’s energy, and both emerge the better for it.

It’s time to get to the little lady with the great big voice. Born Lena Corinne Taylor, Lee Morse learned to sing at an early age. This childhood exposure to the arts translated into a desire to make music a career. Just prior to her career’s inception, Taylor had married an Elmer Morse, the most lasting aspect of the marriage for Taylor was the change in her last name. Once separated from her husband, she found success in Vaudeville and the theatre. Beginning her recording career in 1924, Morse’s voice was perhaps the feature that separated her from the majority of female artists. With success came pressure, and Morse’s coping mechanism became, increasingly, alcohol. This, paired with the changing in tastes as time bore on, meant that Morse couldn’t stage a proper comeback when she was finally living in a more stable fashion. She passed away in 1954 at the age of 57. Today’s song hails from when Morse’s star burned the brightest.

Unlike many other songs we’ve explored up to this point, this one cuts almost immediately to the chase. Morse’s instrument was her voice. The distinct depth of that voice becomes immediately apparent. Lyrically, the song speaks of a love that has drifted by the wayside. Yet, the chorus informs us that Morse still gets a thrill when thinking on the past. She can vividly remember a particular night shared under the moon. However, even the pleasant memories are tainted by the recollection that every part of the relationship ended far too soon. Morse’s emotional delivery is not bitter or angry. Rather, it remains painfully wistful. For all its depth, the song could not escape all of the trappings of the day, and includes an instrumental break smack dab in the middle of our musical soliloquy. Perhaps this is for the best. In stark contrast to Morse’s melancholy, her band maintains an upbeat presence. This leads to some refuge for the listener. It also leads to emotional confusion by the end, which I think is a great quality in a song. Life and love are rarely black and white. Music should speak a measure of truth to this notion, and not plop its listener down in a firm “happy” or “sad” camp. Morse’s voice hits all of the complexities to leave us guessing by the end. At the very least, we can be sure we’ve heard a true standout.

For Nathaniel Shilkret, music may have been his fated profession. Born to a pair of musical Austrian immigrants, his life was infused with musical learning almost from the word “go”. Luckily for his parents (and music lovers) young Nat was an apt student, and child prodigy. His childhood and teens focused more upon classical music, but by 1915 he had found a place within the Victor company. By 1926, he was Victor’s “director of light music”. Shilkret made thousands of recordings, compositions and was also a conductor for many of the up and comers in the music world. This particular song was not penned by Shilkret, but the listener can get the sense that his conducting lent an element to a piece that allowed it to become something special. With that, let’s examine “You Came Along”.

The piece makes clear from note one that it is for feeling, not thinking. That’s perfectly fine, though. The intro breezes past and doesn’t burden the listener much. When the vocals kick in, they are light and airy to match the instrumentals. The focus is at that instant that one feels that love has entered his/her life. The object of the singer’s affection smiles, and they are sure that they need their love’s companionship for the foreseeable future. Whether it works (or doesn’t) for our infatuated singer, we will never know. Yet, the song seems so earnest in its portrayal of the moment that love hits that it might not matter. The instrumental section picks up after the lyrics end, and the presentation is perhaps a bit more energetic, to ensure the song doesn’t wear out its welcome after an intro and a chorus. This energy also means that the song ends with a bang, not a whimper. Such can certainly be said for the career and impact of Mr. Shilkret. (Audio for song is below)

One of the definite hindrances of examining the beginnings of any medium is that information or entire samples tend to be poorly preserved. Many silent films and early television broadcasts will never be seen by the general public. The earliest video games coded on mainframes on college campuses have long since been expunged. Sounds from the 1920s and 1930s may remain, but the facts surrounding them may be lost to the ether. Such is the case with the group/song I intend to highlight today.

What is known is that Ted Brownagle was the leader of an orchestra that recorded music in the mid to late 20s. The Discography of American Historical Recordings lists their earliest output as being from 1924, with today’s song hailing from 1928. After that year was out, they produced nothing more. Some complimentary research has shown that they came from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and played for different venues (this account says they played for a Fraternal Order). Beyond this, the group is shrouded in mystery. Even with a lack of knowledge, the fact remains that this song is quite good.

The song comes from the never-ending parade of “female name” songs, but incorporates the name right away. The rhymes that play off of “Helen” are clever and do not sound forced. The vocalists (uncredited for this track) rely on vocal variety to strengthen the song. Before too long, they use scatting to compliment the main content, lest it wear on the listener. After an instrumental break, the singers return for a quick cap to the lyrical narrative. All in all, it stands as a simple message: the singer loves Helen and feels compelled to tell the world. The listener is treated to this love story, and given an opportunity to dance. The tune might not have lofty goals, or be particularly high energy. That may have led to the lack of notoriety experienced by Brownagle and his Orchestra. The song still meets its goals and plays by the “rules” for popular music at the time, still enjoyable today.