Louis Armstrong, Master of Modernism

by Thomas Brothers

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  ENDNOTES

  1The impact of Armstrong’s physical appearance should never be underestimated. Charlie Holmes, an African-American saxophonist who first played with him in 1929, first heard him in Boston in 1925, when the Fletcher Henderson Orchestra visited. Holmes remembered (Holmes IJS) that at that time (he was fifteen years old) he couldn’t appreciate Armstrong because “he didn’t look nice.” The teenage Lionel Hampton had a similar impression (Hampton 1993, 24): “I forgot all about how he looked when I heard him play.”

  2The notoriously slippery designation “black and tan” meant different things in different cities and venues at different times. What is often missed in historical accounts is the fact that, from a white point of view, it was easy to turn a black venue into a black and tan just by showing up.

  3Garvin Bushell (1988, 36): “I never saw a white person in a TOBA theater.”

  4Taylor 1987, 36. Hunter (Hunter IJS 1976–77) also gave this account: “He played that thing, ‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem, sing for the night is over.’ He played the lead and somebody else would play the other part of it you know. It would be three or four of them playing. And what a beautiful thing it would be … when Louie was there, then just he and Louie would play and it would be the most beautiful thing you ever heard in your life.” Ed Garland (WRC 1958) played Jerusalem on his bass. Humphrey Lyttelton (Lyttelton 1978, 150) observed another important usage of Holy City in the 1920s: Bubber Miley’s minor-mode transformation of the theme in Ellington’s Black and Tan Fantasy.

  5When Dodds was asked to fill out a questionnaire (Dodds, Johnny WRC n.d.) that included the question, “What musician influenced you the most?” he answered simply, “Sidney Bechet.”

  6Armstrong’s solo on Chimes Blues, however, was on Richard M. Jones’s mind when he entered the OKeh recording studios on Nov. 6, 1925, with clarinetist Albert Nicholas and banjoist Johnny St. Cyr. Jones’s 29th and Dearborn takes Armstrong’s melody as a point of departure; and, as if to make the connection crystal clear, Jones follows it with a spin on the theme from Holy City. It cannot have been mere coincidence that Armstrong was in transit from New York City to Chicago at this very moment, having been away for a little over a year; he recorded with Jones three days later, on Nov. 9. A recording for “Hociel Thomas, accompanied by Louis Armstrong’s Jazz Four” followed on Nov. 11, and the inaugural recording of Louis Armstrong and His Hot Five on Nov. 12. />
  7Armstrong composed the tune Weather Bird Rag on the boats, and it includes a diminished chord, which deviates from the standard chordal formations of major and minor. Clearly he understood advanced chords like this before his arrival in Chicago. On Petit’s use of diminished chords and his influence on Armstrong, see Brothers 2006, 266; on Weather Bird Rag, see also Armstrong LAHA 1960; Brothers 2006, 254. Weather Bird Rag is transcribed with some errors in Gushee 1998, 296, with useful analytical observations. A facsimile of the lead sheet is in Chevan 1997, 486. The diminished chord is placed on the second staff from the bottom, page 1; it is difficult to see in this photograph, but it reads C-sharp, B-flat, G, E-natural. I am grateful to David Sager for supplying me with a photocopy of the lead sheet. Dipper Mouth Blues includes prominent diminished chords, harmonized by Armstrong and Oliver, in the introduction; see the transcription by Harker 2003, 145. Gushee suggests that the lead sheet was notated by Armstrong, but my own analysis of handwriting in many lead sheets from this period leads me to conclude that Hardin notated it.

  8The nexus of sheet music and phonograph record for Dipper Mouth Blues, both generated in April 1923, is particularly rich. Oliver’s recorded solo for this piece quickly became his most famous one, and it remains so today. Lillian copied the lead sheet—which did not include Oliver’s solo—that was sent in for copyright, and Oliver added his name in the upper-right-hand corner. That it was Armstrong and not Oliver who composed the music documented by the lead sheet is suggested by three pieces of evidence: first, Dipper Mouth was his nickname at this time; second, Bill Johnson, the bass player in Oliver’s band, reported (Johnson WRC ca. 1938) that Armstrong was the composer; third, in 1925, in New York City, Armstrong pulled out a “little book” of music manuscripts and suggested that Fletcher Henderson’s arranger, Don Redman, work one of them up. Redman chose Dipper Mouth Blues; it makes sense for him to be carrying a book of tunes he had composed. Does the lead sheet document “his rendition of the blues” that he played on his first night in Chicago, in August 1922? There is no way to know, of course, but a piece entitled Dipper Mouth Blues must be a likely candidate. Armstrong’s notated tune and Oliver’s famous solo are two different types of melody: one is a lead, the other a blues. Neither was an improvisation, both were composed by ear, but one was conceived for and documented by a lead sheet, while the other could only be documented on a recording. It would never have crossed Oliver’s mind to notate his famous solo. It belongs to the performer-centered tradition of New Orleans, the highest goal of which was not copyright but the crown of king at places like Lincoln Gardens.

  9Integration was not, of course, widely appreciated, and there are indications that authorities found excuses to close places like this down. The Chicago Daily Tribune reported (May 9, 1923, p. 11) that six black-and-tan cafés, including the Fiume, were being closed down for, among other things, “soul kisses between colored men and white women.”

  10Tears, as recorded in October 1923 by OKeh, is a classic case of the lead being too faint and not dominating the performance. This leads Brooks (2002, 59) to parse the form with trombone playing lead in the verse. But the lead sheet makes it clear that Oliver has the lead for the entire performance. Armstrong’s breaks are transcribed in Harker (2011, 30). A touching moment, late in life, is documented in Armstrong 2008, a CD that preserves Armstrong playing, in his home, the lead for Tears while the 1923 recording plays on his phonograph. He pauses for his twenty-two-year-old self to play the breaks, an homage to the creativity of that moment, and perhaps also a gesture of pride in having been the composer of the tune.

  11See, for an example of the confusion, Howard Spring’s analysis (Spring 1997) of trends in the 1920s. There are some useful observations here about the relationship between musical styles and dance styles, but Spring exaggerates the impact of recording technology when he says (p. 184) that “the appearance of electrical recording in the mid-1920s provided the conditions for the instrumentation and playing techniques that led to swing.” He also misses the significance of the flat 4/4 in New Orleans (except for bass playing), maintained to various degrees by bass, piano, guitar/banjo, and sometimes drums. For me, the trend toward “more drive and forward propulsion” over the course of the 1920s, in both white and black dance-band music, is the result of spreading impact of the New Orleanians in specific and the African-American vernacular in general; “more drive and forward propulsion” could be a focus for analysis of so much of what happened in New Orleans, from sharp initial attack to swing triplets to collective improvisation to flat 4/4. Spring also exaggerates the role of the Lindy Hop. I prefer the analysis, suggested but not fully developed in the article, that the impact of horizontally oriented African-American vernacular dancing (in contrast with vertically oriented Euro-American dancing) grew over the course of the decade, in a development parallel to music, with the Lindy Hop being one point of focus in this long-term trend. But of course the problem with advancing this inquiry is the same problem we have for studying dance throughout the period covered in this book: there is very little video documentation. On New Orleans use of flat 4/4, see Brothers 2005, 43, 227, 245, and 285–86; also Lawrence Gushee 1979, 41. An undated and unidentified report on the Dickerson band playing at the Sunset Café (Scrapbook 83, LAHM), references “Louis (Rubberlip) Armstrong” playing there after his gig at the Vendome. The writer then makes an interesting observation about 4/4 time: “And just to check up, so to speak, I have made it a point to notice the increase in popularity recently of the 4/4 time with that peculiar staccato beat right on the nose. You can find the intent, if not the real thing, in nearly every place around town now and due to nothing else than the style that Carroll Dickerson and his Orchestra have originated.”

  12Condon 1947, 111; Bushell 1988, 26. Some recordings from the mid-and late 1920s document flat 4/4 slap-picking on the bass, and there is also some indirect evidence: for example, when Bill Johnson picks up his banjo to accompany a hot chorus by Johnny Dodds in Canal Street Blues, he seems to reproduce the muscular effect of his bass at Lincoln Gardens on the smaller instrument. One observer claimed that flat 4/4 drumming entered New Orleans dance bands during the late 1910s through the initiative of James “Red Happy” Bolton, a childhood friend of Armstrong’s. Bolton, like Louis, grew up immersed in the African-American vernacular; he was good at scat singing, for example, and he probably influenced Armstrong in this. Described as a “sensational” drummer, Red Happy is said to have first brought the flat 4/4 into a dance hall during a blues piece. Another friend of Armstrong’s, “Black Benny” Williams, may have been the first to play four-beat drumming in street bands. Guitarist Bud Scott, inspired by hand clapping in church, claimed to have been the first to use flat 4/4 on his instrument in dance bands. Russell 1994, 51, 58, 67, 164; Paul Barbarin HJA 1957; Russell 1994, 58; Moore HJA 1959; Shapiro and Hentoff 1955, 37.

  13According to Michael Harris (1992, 79 and 84), Dorsey registered Riverside Blues for copyright on July 27, 1923; the March 1, 1924 (pt. 1, p. 7), edition of the Defender reports that he “made the special arrangement of ‘Riverside Blues’ for King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band when that organization recorded that number for the Paramount people.” Since the two recorded versions of the piece, one made for OKeh on Oct. 26 and the other made for Paramount on Dec. 24, are very similar, it seems unlikely that Dorsey’s arrangement was made specifically for the Paramount recording.

  14It seems that Oliver plays this solo in December (with Armstrong staying under with precision and strength), while Armstrong took the solo on the Oct. 26 recording. According to Chevan (1997, 500) a copyright deposit for this piece was filed on July 27, 1923, listing only Dorsey as composer.

  15At different places in this book I will draw attention to what is known as “harmonic rhythm,” which brings the discussion to a technical level that is, nevertheless, of vital importance for understanding Armstrong’s music. Harmonic rhythm is the rate of change of chords, and it forms a layer of the fixed foundation.
In this repertory chords usually change at one-or two-measure intervals. Phrase lengths usually flow in four-and eight-measure groups, defined by harmonic arrivals. Popular music in 1923 almost always meant this kind of rigidly binary pattern, which made it easy to follow and dance to. Melodies unfold in eight-bar phrases, commonly built out of two four-bar subphrases, which are commonly built out of two-bar units, which are, in turn, built out of one-plus-one combinations. Rigid patterns like this, designed for instant comprehension, made further exploration of the fixed and variable model possible for musicians like Armstrong.

  16Could “frog-mouthed” have been a reference to the piece entitled Froggie Moore, which the band recorded in mid-June, featuring a solo by Armstrong?

  17The current clerk of the Circuit Court, Cook County, Illinois, has featured Armstrong’s application for a divorce and the resultant hearings as a celebrity item on the website www.cookcountyclerkofcourt.org. At the November 1923 hearing, Armstrong stated his address as 508 East 42nd Street. He overstated his time in Chicago, claiming he had been living there three years, and laughably stated his occupation as machine mechanic. On Feb. 11, 1924, Daisy filed a complaint against the divorce and challenged that statement, asserting that Armstrong was actually earning “large sums of money” as a musician employed by the Sunset Cabaret. That early date for a connection with the Sunset Cabaret would be an addition to the Armstrong biography, but it seems more likely that she or her attorney confused the venue with Lincoln Gardens.

  18According to Preston Jackson (Jackson 2005, 78), Bobby Williams “was playing a lot of horn and many people were of the opinion that he was going to catch up with Louis Armstrong, but he died young—it was said that he was poisoned by his wife.”

  19Cheatham IJS 1976; Vincent 1995, 74; McHargue HJA n.d. An interesting (and pejorative) juxtaposition of chop suey with jazz is offered by a writer for the Amsterdam News in the Oct. 13, 1926, issue (p. 11): “[Jazz] is probably here to stay, in order to appease the exotic period which recreation seems to demand nowadays. It is the ‘chop suey’ of the musical world—but the world seems to want more and more of it, sad though that fact be.”