Bessie Smith - The Complete Columbia Recordings Vol.1

by Chris Albertson

      People whose job it is to turn a performer's name into a household word are—by the very nature of their task —given to exaggeration. They tend to wrap their clients in superlatives that have long been rendered meaningless by overuse, and, more often than not, the puffery is just that. There are of course always exceptions, and Bessie Smith is a case in point. Naming her "Queen of the Blues" was obviously a promotional ploy, but later when the pro­motional buildup escalated and she became "Empress," no one objected. Both appellations happen to have been eminently fitting, and even true royalty concurred. 'The Prince of Wales was showing us around," singer-dancer Mae Barnes once told me, recalling an early thirties visit to Windsor Castle, "and we came to a huge portrait of Queen Mary. 'What a regal woman,' I said. He nodded and said 'Yes, I believe there are only two truly regal women in this world, my mother and Bessie Smith.'"
      "Bessie was a queen," said Ruby Walker, her niece by marriage. "I mean, the people looked up to her and wor­shipped her like she was a queen. You know, she would walk into a room or out on a stage and people couldn't help but notice her—she was that kind of woman, a strong, beautiful woman with a personality as big as a house. No hanging around in the corner, not Bessie! She'd let you know she was there, and she didn't have to open her mouth to do it."
      Of course, Bessie took her commanding presence with her to the grave, but her artistry—captured on one 17-minute film and 160 3-minute recordings—has made her immortal. For decades, Bessie also lived on in the memories of those who knew her and heard her perform, but they are a dwindling number as this century draws to a close. "I don't ever remember any artist in my long, long years who could evoke the response from her listeners that Bessie Smith did,' said the late Frank Schiffman, who owned Harlem's Lafayette and Apollo theatres when Bessie was a headliner there. "Whatever pathos there is in the world, whatever sadness she had, was brought out in her singing—and the audience knew it and responded to it." Band leader Sy Oliver remembered seeing Bessie "hypnotize" and "walk" a member of the audience during a Baltimore engagement: "That man was completely mesmerized by Bessie's singing, and as she slowly walked backwards, looking straight at him, he followed." Drum­mer Zutty Singleton, who played for Bessie in New Orleans, likened her performances to sermons. "She could do that kind of thing," he said, "because her songs were like church hymns—they kinda grabbed you tight." New Orleans guitarist Danny Barker concurred: "If you had any church background, like people who came from the South, as I did, you would recognize a similarity be­tween what she was doing and what those preachers and evangelists from there did, and how they moved people. She could bring about mass hypnotism."
      Bessie's absorbing style also profoundly influenced other singers—not only the blues ladies of her day but, indeed, generations of vocalists that followed, from Billie Holiday to Janis Joplin. She was in her day what Aretha Franklin is in ours: that one singer whose combination of musical skill, artistic honesty and good taste separates her from all others. It is no wonder that Aretha, the undis­puted Queen of Soul, sees a great deal of herself in the Empress of the Blues. When Bessie began recording, there were no microphones, just an ominous, cone-shaped horn; it did not capture every nuance of a perform­ance, but there was a raw honesty about what it did preserve, and it never flattered. Today's advanced, elec­tronic recording equipment can not only enhance a sing­er's voice, it can be downright deceitful and create the appearance of talent where none exists. But not even the most sophisticated recording equipment can fake that special something which gives performances by Bessie Smith, Aretha Franklin, Mahalia Jackson—and a handful of other singers, like Carlos Gardel and Edith Piaf—their enduring quality. Hype may have given Bessie her "title," but it is her true artistry—captured primitively, by today's standards—that lets her continue to leave her mark on soul divas and cabaret crooners as we approach a new century.
      Bessie rose to become the highest-paid black entertainer of her day with earnings totaling $2,000 a week. That is a mere pittance by today's standards, but it was considered a small fortune in the twenties, especially in the netherworld black show business, which Bessie em­braced. And, although she had to pay the show's salaries and expenses out of that money, the amount she could claim as personal profit was a staggering one for a woman who grew up in abject poverty.
      Bessie was born on April 15, probably in 1894, the daughter of William and Laura Smith. Her father was a laborer and part-time Baptist preacher who died before Bessie was old enough to remember him, and before she was ten, she had also lost mother and a brother. To Viola, the oldest sister—whom a stranger in the night had left carrying a baby girl of her own—fell the burden of raising and caring for the remaining family. Their home was a one-room wooden shack on Charles Street in the Blue Goose Hollow section of Chattanooga, Tennessee. Bessie would later describe it as a "ramshackle cabin" where rats outnumbered the Smith family. Bitter and old beyond her years, Viola worked hard, taking in laundry, which she boiled atop an outdoor coal stove, and when she wasn't washing, she was cooking. Clarence, the oldest male member of the family, did his best to help by taking what­ever odd jobs he could find, but he had the not uncommon urge to explore the world beyond Chattanooga. In 1904, when a small traveling troupe came to town and pre­sented Clarence with his first opportunity to leave home, he seized it. Always the clown, Clarence had long shown an interest in theatre, and his enthusiasm had rubbed off on Bessie, who was only nine when she entered the Ivory Theatre's weekly amateur contest. Seeing her favorite brother leave town as a master of ceremonies made her all the more determined to one day follow in his footsteps. "Bessie probably wouldn't have been in show business if it hadn't been for Clarence," Ruby Smith observed in a se­ries of 1971 interviews. "She and Clarence often laughed about how he inspired her to go out and dance on the sidewalks, and how Viola didn't like it. I guess she liked the money, though."
      Bessie was now attending the West Main Street School, but she often spent her late afternoons and weekends per­forming in the streets, accompanied on guitar by another brother, Andrew. They were most frequently seen around Ninth Street, a stretch along which the city's black night life centered, but sometimes they stayed in their own neighborhood, in front of the White Elephant Saloon on Thirteenth and Elm. The saloon's patrons were good to the Smith children, their generosity heightened by the establishment's offerings.
     Will Johnson, a friend of Andrew's, still remembered the duo in 1974. "She used to sing 'Bill Bailey, Won't You Please Come Home?,'" he said, "and whenever someone threw a fat coin her way, she'd say something like That's right, Charlie, give to the church.' I always thought she had more talent as a performer—you know, dancing and clowning—than as a singer, at least in those days I don't remember being particularly impressed with her voice. She sure knew how to shake money loose from a pocket, though."
      In 1912, Clarence returned to Chattanooga with the Moses Stokes company, to put on a few shows at a Ninth Street storefront theatre. He arranged to have the troupe's managers, Lonnie and Cora Fisher, give Bessie an audi­tion, which she passed. Thus it was that Bessie Smith launched her professional career as a dancer with the Moses Stokes troupe, and not—as some writers once had us believe—after being kidnapped and dumped, screaming and kicking, out of a burlap bag by henchmen of singer Ma Rainey. That colorful story is nothing more, but Gertrude "Ma" Rainey was on the scene when Bessie left Chattanooga, for she was the Stokes troupe's resident vocalist.
      About eight years older than Bessie, Ma Rainey, a portly woman with an oddly charming gold-toothed smile, was the first known female blues singer. "We [women] weren't singing blues in those days," recalled Ida Cox, one of the great classic blues singers, who in 1911 escaped from Cedartown, Georgia, with a show. "My first song that I sang in public was ‘Put Your Arms Around Me.'" Alberta Hunter, who performed in lowly Chicago dives at that time, recalled that her repertoire consisted of such popular material as "Where The River Shannon Flows" and "All Night Long," adding that these songs "were about as far removed from jazz as 'God Bless America.'" Ma Rainey, on the other hand, was singing blues; not in the vaudeville style that women would later adopt, but in the less pol­ished, earthier manner of male blues minstrels who then roamed the South's streets and back roads.
      It has been suggested that Ma Rainey was Bessie's men­tor, the person from whom she learned everything she knew, but Bessie's style contradicts that theory, as do the recollections of people who heard her sing in those formative years. "[Ma Rainey] may have taught her a few dance steps, or showed her how to walk onstage," said the late character actor Leigh Whipper, who first heard Bessie in 1913, when he managed Atlanta's "81" Theatre, "but Bessie was born with that voice and she had a style of her own when I first heard her in Atlanta. She was just a teen­ager, and she obviously didn't know she was the artist she was. She didn't know how to dress, she just sang in her street clothes, but she was such a natural that she could wreck anybody's show. She only made ten dollars a week, but people would throw money on the stage, and the stagehands would pick up about three or four dollars for her after every performance, especially when she sang the 'Weary Blues'—that was her big number."
      Ma Rainey probably helped to groom Bessie for life on the road, and she may have introduced her to the blues, but there is general agreement among those who experi­enced her performances that Bessie had her own style by 1913. Revered gospel composer and former Ma Rainey accompanist Thomas A. Dorsey sold soft drinks at Atlanta's "81" Theatre when Bessie first ventured out on her own. "It was about 1913 or 1914," he recalled some fifty years later, "and Bessie was already a star in her own right, but she really got her start there at the '81,' and I don't recall Ma Rainey ever having taken credit for helping her."
      The "81" Theatre served Bessie as a home base while she traveled with such popular troupes as Pete Werley's Florida Blossoms and the Silas Green show, often in as a chorine. She was in the chorus line of one of his shows when Irvin C. Miller—one of the following decade's most powerful black producers—first saw her. "She was a natu­ral singer, even then," he recalled in a 1970 interview, "but we stressed beauty in the chorus line, and Bessie did not meet my standards as far as looks were concerned. I told the manager to get rid of her, which he did." It was Bessie's dark complexion that disturbed Miller—it contradicted his motto: "Glorifying the Brownskin Girl."
      As her reputation grew on the southern circuit, Bessie began to move north. She was a veteran trouper by 1921, when she took up residence in Philadelphia. Around that time, a three-minute performance sent a very strong sig­nal to the burgeoning record industry: Mamie Smith's 1920 recording of "Crazy Blues." Ms. Smith was a black pop singer from Cincinnati who had a sweet, rather ordi­nary voice and a complexion Irvin C. Miller would have approved of. She had made two sides previously, but "Crazy Blues" was different: it was the first record by a black singer to register large sales, and it was a vocal blues tune. It all added up to a new market, so record companies, big and small, formed so-called "race record" divisions, and began scrambling to sign up blues-singing ladies. What they got, for the most part, were more pop singers like Mamie Smith, but now the accompani­ments became hot, and so—with musicians like Louis Armstrong, King Oliver, James P. Johnson, and Johnny Dodds supplying backgrounds—even the dreariest of singers made interesting records.
      Since no earlier recordings have ever turned up, there is every reason to believe that Bessie's February 16, 1923 Columbia session was her first, and one must wonder why someone didn't whisk her into a studio sooner; after all, "Crazy Blues" was two years old by then. Still, two puz­zling items from 1921 raise some questions as to whether or not Bessie made her recording debut that year: one is a Philadelphia Tribune advertisement for the week begin­ning May 16; it lists Bessie's name in big headliner letters, followed by "Hits on Columbia Records and her 5 Jazzoway Dandies." The other is a mysterious item buried in the entertainment pages of the Chicago Defender's February 12 issue:

"One of the greatest of all 'blues' singers is Miss Bessie Smith, who is at present making records, with the aid of six jazz musicians, for the Emerson record company. The first release will be made about Mar. 10. Bessie Smith is a native of Chattanooga, Tennessee."

      Collectors would pay a small fortune for any pre-1923 Bessie Smith sides, were they to turn up, but, at this point, no one expects to find such treasures.
      The Columbia recordings are quite a different matter, but just how Bessie came to the label is not known for certain—several people have taken credit for "discovering" her, and several stories of how that came about circu­lated for several decades. The most publicized version originated with Frank Walker, Bessie's producer, who in 1923 was appointed the head of Columbia's race records division. He said that he had heard Bessie perform in a small Selma, Alabama, dive around 1917, and that he sent for her. "I don't think there could have been more than fifty people up North who had heard about Bessie Smith when I sent Clarence Williams down South to get her," he said. "I told Clarence about the Smith girl and said, This is what you've got to do. Go down there and find her and bring her back up here.'" Two weeks earlier, Williams had, in fact, brought Bessie to an OKeh Records audition in New York, where she cut a test side, but after interrupt­ing a take with a "Hold it, I gotta spit!" she was turned down for being "too rough." The truth is that Frank Walker knew full well that Bessie lived in Philadelphia. "When Mr. Walker came into Columbia, he asked me to get that Bessie Smith I had been talking about," Williams told an interviewer. "I said that those others had said that her voice was too rough. 'You just get her here,' he told me, 'bring her back up here.'" Incidentally, Bessie had also au­ditioned for Thomas Edison, who simply entered a "NG" next to her name in the studio log.
      While living in Philadelphia and performing nightly at Horan's cabaret, Bessie met a semi-illiterate night watch­man named Jack Gee, whom she would later marry. From Gee came a story more plausible than any other. "Charlie Carson had a little record shop at 518 South Street," he recalled in 1971, "and he used to hang out at Horan's. He loved to hear Bessie sing and he used to tell her how she was better than Mamie, who was about the hottest thing going at the time. That's why he told Clarence [Williams] to take her to Mr. Walker. I think he was hot on her getting a recording deal because he knew she was better than all the rest of them girls." Indeed she was, and, out of all these stories there rises one indisputable fact: on February 15, 1923, Clarence Williams brought Bessie Smith to a Columbia studio where he accompanied her in a performance of two songs, neither of which were deemed to be of releasable quality. No masters survive, so we don't know whether these sides were rejected for artistic or technical reasons. Walker described her on that day: "She looked about 17, tall and fat and scared to death, just awful!" Others recall that Bessie was still fairly slim in 1923, and photographs bear this out. If she was "scared to death," she had clearly overcome her fright by the following day when she again faced the ominous recording horn and sang three songs, including the coupling that would com­prise her first release: "Gulf Coast Blues" and "Down Hearted Blues."
      The debut record was an overwhelming success, due largely to Bessie's gripping delivery of "Down Hearted Blues," a song with whose message many of her listeners could identify. Accompanied by Williams—whose playing seems restricted to the notes on the sheet music—she is in top form, delivering the story of woe with a masterly blend of pathos and defiance. "I don't believe anything that had to do with singing could make that woman nervous or scared," said Ruby Smith when she heard Walker's description of Bessie. "In fact, it took an awful lot, period, to make Bessie scared, and singing was one thing she knew no one could beat her at."
     Walker did not wait to see how well the first release would do. He signed Bessie to a one-year contract, calling for a minimum of 12 "usable" sides, and had her back in the studio for four sessions in April. Eight selections were recorded, including "Baby Won't You Please Come Home"—which is not a blues, but became a part of the traditional jazz repertoire—and the gloriously spunky "Tain't Nobody's Bizness If I Do." Clarence Williams took composer credit for both these songs, but he was known to claim more tunes as his own than he actually wrote. ASCAP lists as co-composers Robert Graham Prince and Porter Grainger, others name only Grainger (who later became Bessie's musical director) and Everett Robbins. Establishing the rightful ownership of "Tain't Nobody's Bizness" became an issue when its inclusion in the 1973 film Lady Sings The Blues gave it renewed popularity. Williams again provides minimal, somewhat pedestrian accompaniments, but Bessie overcomes them with her eventful delivery and unwavering authority.
      It was around this time that Bessie discovered a bit of skullduggery on the part of Clarence Williams: he had led her to believe that she was under contract to Columbia, but she was actually signed up with him, and he was quietly pocketing half of her recording fee. Incensed, she and Jack Gee, her intended, paid a surprise visit to Williams' office. "They tell me Clarence crawled under his desk when he saw how mad they were," said Jack's niece, Ruby, "but Bessie and Jack got what they wanted." What they wanted was a voided contract, making Bessie free to sign with Columbia—which she promptly did.
      Bessie's first record shipped to Columbia's dealers on June 7,1923, and she marked the day by marrying Jack in a quiet Philadelphia ceremony. It was the beginning of a tempestuous, roller-coaster relationship, a union of two strong-willed people, neither of whom was comfortable with the other's lifestyle. Bessie breathed show business at this point, and Jack was essentially a meat-and-potatoes homebody who never learned to accept the open-mindedness required for survival in the entertainment world. "Jack was too conservative," said Ruby. "He wasn't in Bessie's life at all; he never understood show business, but he liked the money—that's the only reason he put up with it." From the very start, show business interfered with Bessie's marriage; with the new record on the market, she and Jack had to forego a honeymoon. Instead, Bessie em­barked on a tour arranged by Walker—who now functioned as both her manager and record producer— and Jack remained at his job in Philadelphia.
      Soon she would be known for her elaborate shows, but Bessie traveled light on her first theatrical trek as Columbia Records' "Queen of the Blues." All she brought with her was pianist Irving Johns, a rather plain set of costumes, and a simple canvas backdrop on which was painted the stark silhouette of magnolia trees against an orange sky and an incongruous full moon. It was to be a brief tour, a test run, but Walker played it safe by making the first stop Atlanta's "'81" Theatre, where success was almost guaranteed by Bessie's built-in following. Still, the turnout and enthusiasm went far beyond anybody's ex­pectations, and Bessie was asked to give a special mid­night performance for whites only. Only the most popular black artists were asked to put on a show for white audi­ences, and they did so gladly, because both ticket prices and salaries were increased on such occasions. From Atlanta, Bessie moved to the Frolic Theatre, in Birming­ham, where she broke all previous attendance records. A widely published contemporary newspaper account gives us some idea of her popularity:

"Streets blocked, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds were unable to gain entrance to this performance...Bessie Smith with Irvin Johns at the piano before their own special drop opened full stage with 'Nobody's Bizness if I Do,' with the 'Gulf Coast Blues' following, which received heavy applause, leaving the house in a riot."

      The writer, Billy Chambers, was less pleased with a bit of merchandising that took place between acts:

"'Buzzin' Harris [another performer] an­nounced the 'Gulf Coast Blues' for sale and went down into the audience to sell copies. This, we think, is nonprofessional at this or any other performance, as the lady's reputa­tion should sell the songs at every music house in the city."

      Note that Chambers named only "Gulf Coast Blues," which was considered to be the B-side of "Down Hearted Blues." Of course, one can't sell one side of a record with­out the other, and the coupling did extremely well, nearly 800,000 copies sold in its first six months of release. Many years later, Walker indicated that "Down Hearted Blues" was the selling side, attributing its success to a line from the lyrics: "...there was one line in the blues that did it. It was the first time it was used and it made that record a hit. It was 'Got the world in a jug, got the stopper in my hand.'" As Walker well knew, the song had already become a big hit in a version by its composer, Alberta Hunter, who had written him a letter just a few months earlier, suggesting that he record an instrumental version of the tune with King Oliver's band. Less than a month before he recorded Bessie, Walker wrote back that he was interested in re­cording Alberta, not Oliver, adding "we will try to see what can be worked out of the 'Down Hearted Blues' for you."
      The first tour was a short one, but now the waters had been tested and it was clear that Bessie Smith would be a real asset to Columbia Records. She recorded six more sides in June, this time accompanied by Fletcher Henderson, who was a far better pianist than Williams, and soon would also make his mark as a great band leader and arranger. On the new sides, Bessie's voice seems fuller, and more commanding; the improved accompaniments undoubtedly helped, and if Bessie needed self-assurance, she must have found it in the royal reception given her on the June tour, which clearly established her as the star of Columbia's growing race records roster.
      That roster now included Clara Smith —no relation— a fine singer who lent her somewhat thinner voice to the kinds of material Bessie sang, and often recorded with the same musicians. However, Walker wisely made sure that, as long as both women were signed to the label, they never duplicated each other's material. If Bessie—who refused to share a stage with another blues singer-resented Clara's signing to the label, she could find comfort in the fact that her fee was twice that of Clara's, and in the preferential treatment given her by Columbia's pro­motion department. As the blues fever caught on, and more and more women vied for the spotlight, titles were freely given; Clara was dubbed "Queen of the Moaners," and when Ma Rainey's label, Paramount Records, began advertising its new star, Ida Cox, as "Queen of the Blues," Columbia simply promoted Bessie to "Empress of the Blues."
      As if to quell rumors of an unfriendly rivalry between his two reigning blues queens, Walker united them on October 4, 1923 for the first of two recording dates. The session marked Bessie's fifteenth Columbia date, and Clara's eleventh. Bessie already had enough clout to refuse such a union, but she never felt threatened by Clara's singing; if anything, the duets underline Bessie's superior artistry. "I think Bessie knew she didn't have anything to worry about as long as they were together on a record," said Ruby, "but I guess she wouldn't have been too happy about being seen with her onstage, because Clara was much thinner and prettier than Bessie." Although a certain amount of professional competition surely existed between them, Bessie and Clara actually enjoyed a cor­dial relationship, at least until 1925, when a fist fight abruptly ended it. Their first joint session produced two duets, "Far Away Blues" and "I'm Going Back To My Used To Be," with Henderson at the piano. Neither selection captures the singers at their best, but these duets have a prepossessing quality that transcends their historical value.
      At the time of the initial Smith duets, Bessie could look back on a spectacularly successful summer on the road. Jack, bitten by his wife's success—not to mention her commanding weekly salary—quit his job and made a surprise appearance at Atlanta's "81" Theatre. Bessie was de­lighted to see him, but whatever endearing qualities she found in him were lost on the rest of the troupe. At first, he was more or less a fish out of water, a hanger-on, but the income generated by Bessie's show made him put away many of the prejudices he harbored against entertainers and heighten somewhat the low tolerance he had for their free-spirited lifestyle. He even began to identify himself as the show's manager, a role which Bessie's brother, Clarence, and a nephew, T.J. Hill, actually filled. "Bessie let Jack think he was managing the show," recalled Ruby, who herself had come aboard as a chorine, "but it was really a joke. He used to come to rehearsals and fine the girls if their legs didn't go up high enough, or if they missed a step—can you imagine? Later on, he started to gamble with the kids, just so he could win back some of the money Bessie paid them. She let him get away with all that, but it got so that the whole show hated Jack." On at least two occasions, Jack actually stepped in and—by sheer intimidation and stubbornness, not to mention a bit of greed—secured for Bessie a higher fee than had been offered, but he more often made a fool of himself. "Jack couldn't even manage himself," said Maud Smith, Clarence's wife. "He would always have signs saying 'Jack Gee presents Bessie Smith,' and he would call himself a manager, but he couldn't even sell a ticket. He could count money, and he could ask for money, but that's about it."
      In a singular act of generosity, Jack had pawned his night watchman's uniform and pocket watch to buy Bessie a suitably fashionable dress for her Columbia audition, but now it was Bessie's turn to give. "She bought him everything he had on," said Ruby. "Expensive suits, a gold watch, even a Cadillac—and she was always giving him money, so you better believe it, he got that dress back many times over. It wasn't much of a dress, anyway, because it was cheap, and Jack had no taste."
      Bessie lavished gifts on Jack, and she bought herself expensive costumes and fur coats, but she continued to live rather modestly. The Gee's took an apartment in Philadelphia, a place to stop between tours. "There was noth­ing special about it," Ruby recalled, "no fancy furniture or anything like that, just big easy chairs, a sofa, and lamps and tables with pictures and statues and things—Bessie never went in for no fancy stuff around the house, even when she made all that money, because she just wasn't there that much."
      As 1923 drew to a close, Bessie's professional life started to settle into a routine that had her touring extensively, performing for the first time in such places as Detroit and Cleveland, and regularly popping back to New York to make records. Her Columbia contract called for a minimum of 12 sides annually, but that obligation was already fulfilled by mid-June. The blues craze was still raging, but Bessie and her contemporaries sometimes left their 12-bar tales of woe to dip into Tin Pan Alley's less soulful fare. Eleven days after making the duets with Clara Smith, Bessie recorded a couple of non-blues: "Whoa, Tillie, Take Your Time," and "My Sweetie Went Away." The former is a double-entendre vaudeville number, the latter a pop hit of the day; then, on the following day, she came down to earth with a glorious delivery of "Any Woman's Blues," a tune which Ida Cox had already recorded with its com­poser, pianist Lovie Austin. Bessie's version is a study in perfect timing and restraint, the kind of laid-back ap­proach that most New Yorkers found downright somnifer­ous. Band leader Sam Wooding was only exaggerating a little bit when he claimed to have visited the rest room at Small's Paradise without missing a single line of a Bessie Smith song. The accompanist is again Fletcher Hender­son, but Columbia's log reveals an intriguing bit of infor­mation: there were three takes of "Any Woman's Blues," and the first two—which remain unissued and, in fact, lost —also featured 19-year-old Coleman Hawkins.
      Recording alternate takes was a matter of routine and not necessarily an indication of flawed performance. Often, there were equipment failures: a lathe slowed down by cold weather, or a dull batch of wax. The waxy discs from which metal masters were molded could only be played back once, then they had to be scraped clean for reuse; thus there was no way to tell if a recording was satisfactory until it had been mastered and a test pressing made. For this reason, it behooved one to make alternates. The handful of Bessie's alternate takes that did survive tell us that she pretty much locked in her performances—if there is a noticeable difference between takes, it is in the instrumental accompaniments. Collectors, of course, want to find every scrap of sound, but the "Any Woman's Blues" rejects are particularly sought-after because of Hawkins' presence. A few months later, when Bessie made her first electrically recorded sides, Hawkins was again on hand, and this time the sides were released, but there is barely a hint of his presence.
      Reed player Don Redman, who would become one of Harlem's most popular band leaders in the following decade, frequently teamed up with Fletcher Henderson to accompany Bessie on records. In this set, we hear his clarinet on "Chicago Bound Blues," "Mistreating Daddy," "Haunted House Blues," and "Eavesdropper's Blues," four sides that are typical of Bessie's early output, but don't do his talent justice. The following year, there would be dramatic improvement in Bessie's accompaniments and, for that matter, in recording technology.
      Bessie was paid a higher fee for recording than most artists, including many white performers, but it was still a paltry sum of $200 per usable side, and there were no royalties. Records, however, provided an indirect income. Today, top artists can realize vast sums of money from sales of their recordings, relying on television and radio exposure for promotion. In Bessie's day, television was still somebody's futuristic fantasy, and radio was a totally new medium that had yet to discover records as broadcast material. This made phonograph records the most powerful promotional tool. Every major city now had its "race re­cords" shops, and if yours didn't, or you lived in a rural area, you simply ordered the latest Bessie sides by mail. Recordings and glowing write-ups in such black weekly newspapers as the Chicago Defender, Baltimore Afro-American, and Pittsburgh Courier paved the way for Bessie as she toured.
      Bessie made several live radio appearances. Unfortunately, stations had no means of recording such perform­ances in those days, so we must rely on newspaper reviews to tell us how she sounded. The Defenders Atlanta correspondent caught a broadcast made during a 1923 booking at the Beale Street Palace, in Memphis: "The spirit of the Old South came up from Beale Street at 11 o'clock last night to give the world a concert of Negro folk songs that will be remembered by WMC as long as a midnight frolic is broadcast from the roof of the Commercial Appeal. Bessie Smith, known from coast to coast as a singer of blues that are really blue, gave the air some currents that it will not forget as long as a cloud is left in the sky, and Memphis has its Beale Street.
      "The star of the frolic greeted the atmosphere with T'ain't Nobody's Business but My Own,' which she gave with unction and a rich Negro accent. Accompanied by Irvin Johns, her pianist, she followed with 'Beale Street Mama.' Singers have come and gone with that number, but it remained for Bessie to sing it before its possibilities were fathomed.
      "Perhaps the greatest hit Bessie registered last night for WMC was 'Outside Of That He's All Right With Me.' She repeated the number upon the request of a large number, who tele­phoned to the studio and wired from the Memphis territory ..While the orchestra built up an excellent background for the enter­tainment, Bessie carried the evening with her 'blues.'" It is a measure of Bessie's popularity that she was car­ried by WMC, the radio station of a white newspaper, the Memphis Commercial Appeal.
      As she rang in the new year, Bessie had every reason to celebrate. Her marriage was still a happy one, Columbia couldn't record enough of her, and it was clear that the magic which so strongly appealed to her followers in Atlanta, Birmingham, and Memphis worked equally well on audiences in Chicago, Detroit, and Cleveland.

Don Wilkerson, tenor sax - Blue Note album liner notes

PREACH BROTHER!

BLUE NOTE has consistently led the field in presenting new jazz talent to lovers of the idiom. Its continual search for fresh jazz faces and creative innovations has reaped swinging harvests. Blue Note 4107 introduces a new dynamic tenor sax virtuoso in Don Wilkerson. Though a new personality, he is truly concept-wise in the ways of the ever-changing jazz scene.

Born in 1932 in the sleepy town of Moreauville, Louisiana, Don Wilkerson received early musical education at home. His educational itinerary, musical and formal, included brief high school stays at Shreveport, Louisiana and Houston, Texas. It was at Houston's Jack Yates High that Don began playing alto sax in a beginners band. He made his professional debut for a $3.00 gross in Dayton, Texas. In 1948, however, he earned a chair with Amos Milburn, then an up-and-coming pianist and band leader. Later, on the coast, he alternated between the bands of Milburn and Charles Brown (of Three Blazers fame) and recorded with both. It was during this 1948-'49 period in Los Angeles that Don received his first jazz exposure by jamming with fast company such as Dexter Gordon, Wardell Gray and Sonny Clark. Don left the West to return home to Houston.

Ray Charles had organized a band in the summer of 1954. By October of that year Don joined the band that was destined for greatness. Ray Charles's classics such as "I Got A Woman," "Come Back Baby," "This Little Girl Of Mine" and "Hallelujah," etc. feature Wilkerson tenor solos that are recognizable by all Charlesian devotees. Don Wilkerson's horn influences lie in the realms of both tenor and alto. He lists such tenormen as Jacquet, Cobb, Ammons, Gonsalves and Rollins; Parker and Hodges for alto inspiration. Special mention, however, is reserved for Sonny Stilt and Ike Quebec. Stitt is recognized by all as a great encourager. Don can attest to this. And it was Ike Quebec who brought this talent to the attention of Blue Note.

The listener will undoubtedly acquiesce to the fact that Preach Brother, Blue Note 4107, features six virile portraits of "soul." Although all of the featured tunes are Wilkerson originals, the general feeling of Ray Charles acts as an influential catalyst. Jazz-wise, the listener will react favorably to the expressive talents of Don on tenor; Grant Green on guitar, Sonny Clark on piano, Butch Warren on bass and Billy Higgins on drums. This session is distinctly a "shouter" affair with down-home overtones. This should not prevent urbane cries of "OOWHEE!" from more sophisticated jazz aficionados, whether in a mass wild chant or individually.

"Jeanie-Weenie" - This brisk shuffler opens the session with Don's tenor vividly jumping for joy in the first chorus. This opus features good jazz guitar with bluesy connotations flourishingly displayed by Grant Green. Fluid Wilkerson tenor sounds permeate throughout.

"Homesick Blues" - reminds this writer vividly of "Big Leg Woman," an anatomical survey in the form of an old blues classic. Don manages adequately to affect an alto sound in "Homesick." This lush blues also features expressively, in solo, excellent piano and guitar by Sonny Clark and Grant Green, respectively. The insistence of Billy Higgins's drums pulsates throughout.

"Dem Tambourines" - A shouter enmeshed in what could be termed as Afro-Creole. Billy Higgins's drums parallel the tambourines, making this basically a rhythmical jazz "troika." The Wilkerson tenor concocts an uninhibited flow of ideas throughout...Amensville!

"Camp Meetin"' - A veritable "wailer" that compounds solos between Don and Grant Green. Grant employs no boppish cliches as he displays Charlie Christian-like ideas. With all jazz systems in "go," the listener will agree that these are no lazy lads.

"The Eldorado Shuffle" - Don opens this stanza creatively with a tastily contrived tenor solo. Green's guitar seconds this funky motion. Sonny Clark comes in for a short, uncomplicated stay but makes his presence felt.

"Pigeon Peas" - This palatable jazz delicacy shows Don's preoccupation with the Arnett Cobb influence. This choice stomp waxes more in the modern idiom, especially in Sonny Clark's piano. Butch Warren's bass along with Billy Higgins's drums gives this opus great depth. Don's tenor leads this stanza home to its delightful conclusion.
We feel the listener in his pursuit in the field of "digsmanship" will embrace the creative influence of Don Wilkerson.
— by DUDLEY WILLIAMS


ELDER DON

This is Don Wilkerson's second LP for Blue Note. His first, Preach Brother! (4107) was in a more overt rhythm-and-blues groove than the present collection, and contained something of a hit in a piece with the self-explanatory title, "Camp Meetin' ."

On the jacket notes to that album, it was pointed out that Wilkerson played most of the tenor solos in the Ray Charles band of 1954, the band that recorded the first great Charles hits such as "Hallelujah, I Love Her So" and "I Got A Woman." Wilkerson was to that band what another Texas tenorman, David "Fathead" Newman is to the present one. I think it is significant that Wilkerson had so much experience, and because of it, it is more than coincidental that Blue Note should be the company to record him.

Charles's overwhelming success as a singer has fairly effectively obscured the fact that for years he led one of the best small jazz bands in the business, a sort of successor to Louis Jordan's Tympani Five. How deeply this stylistic tradition has affected contemporary jazz is indicated when one remembers that Sonny Rollins has called Jordan his first influence, and that Art Blakey has called the Charles group his favorite band. The Charles instrumental are so similar in intent to what Blakey and Horace Silver have been doing that it seems natural that Wilkerson's music, in much the same vein, would appeal to the Blue Note people.

To continue the parallel for a moment, the main difference between the music of Jordan-Charles and that of Blakey-Silver is that the former two have spent much of their time playing music for dancing. Therefore, their music is often of a functional character, while the Messengers and Silver play what could more accurately be called art music, for listening only. It is this functional quality that is happily present in Wilkerson's work. He has listed as tenor influences such men as Illinois Jacquet, Arnett Cobb, Gene Ammons, Paul Gonsalves, Sonny Rollins, Sonny Stitt and Ike Quebec. Significantly, I think, all except Rollins have spent a good part of their professional lives playing for dancing; and certainly, Rollins has kept the quality of dance in his work more than all but a very few major jazzmen. I hear the sound of Cobb in Wilkerson more than that of anyone else, but it may be only the famous "cry" that seems indigenous to the work of Texas tenormen. And it might not be irrelevant to mention that the first great Basie band, one of the greatest of dance bands, was largely staffed with men from that Southwest tradition.

The most recent manifestation of the jazz-dance combo has been the countless small groups which feature tenor and/or guitar with organ and drums. One of the most recent musicians of importance to emerge from the workshop of those groups has been the guitarist Grant Green, and it is entirely fitting that he should have a major role to play on this set. He has several successful Blue Note LPs to his credit, and my own more extensive comments on his playing can be found on the back of Sunday Mornin' (4099). The pianist Johnny Acea is also admirably suited to this company. Originally a trumpeter, he worked in the band of the great Texas pianist Sammy Price. Much of his recent work has been with Illinois Jacquet, and he has been Dinah Washington's accompanist. It is significant that on the LP that signalled Ray Charles's entrance into popular music, The Genius Of Ray Charles, the most overt blues performance, 'Two Years Of Torture," was arranged by Acea. Bassist Lloyd Trotman's experience includes time spent with such disparate people as Eddie Heywood, Hazel Scott, Duke Ellington, Pete Brown, Wilbur De Paris, Boyd Raeburn and Johnny Hodges. And finally, there is drummer Willie Bobo, most widely known for his part in the current popularity of Afro-jazz.

The Texas influence on Wilkerson is evident in his choice of material. The opener, Wilkerson's own "Senorita Eula," is a blues with Spanish (or Mexican) overtones. Wilkerson's preaching solo more than justifies the album's title, Elder Don, but as impressive as its emotional quality are the strong order and logic he brings to his ideas. Also interesting is the economical way he brings strong support to Green's single-line solo. Green, the only holdover from Wilkerson's previous LP, shows a great affinity with the leader's approach

Indirectly, perhaps Ray Charles can also be credited with the inclusion in this album of Bob Wills's "San Antonio Rose." Just as he raised so-called "rock 'n' roll" to the level of art, Charles has recently pointed out to jazzmen and pop artists alike the possibilities inherent in country-and-western music. "Rose" is one of the best of the song's, a classic in its field, and Wilkerson gives it an unusual and appropriate performance. The Cuban overtones in the statement of the tune are not dropped from the solos, as many groups would do, but continue through Wilkerson's and Green's choruses to reach a peak in Johnny Acea's piano solo, which would be perfectly in place in a Cuban band. The result is a performance which combines country music, Cuban music and jazz into a unique, exciting whole.

Three other Wilkerson originals, "Scrappy," "Lone Star Shuffle" and "Drawin' A Tip,"
account for half the LP. The first is a "rhythm" number, played with fast intensity. The second, a shuffle blues, as its title implies, is typical of the power and excitement which often erupts on the bandstands of local clubs late at night, when the musicians are in good form and the audience reception has been responsible for raising the temperature of the room. The third could loosely be described as a medium jump number, also a club standby.
The final number, "Poor Butterfly," is a ballad. Much space has been devoted to dance music in these remarks, but Wilkerson's performance here certainly necessitates further comment. Much dancing is slow dancing, of course, and the rare jazzman who can sustain the dancing feel at a slow tempo while still creating meaningful music is a valuable man to have around. Many young musicians can create nothing but funeral music at this tempo, but Wilkerson manages to be light and charming, while still properly reflective.

Taken together, these six pieces by tenor saxophonist Don Wilkerson provide a fascinating
example of the fact that while many of today's jazzmen have left behind the dance origins
of their music, others have retained those origins and use them as a basis to make highly
direct and satisfyinq music.
— by JOE GOLDBERG


SHOUTIN'

SHOUTIN' is Don Wilkerson's third celebration of the blues heritage for this label. (His previous Blue Note albums are Preach Brother!, BLP 4107 and Elder Don, BLP 4121.)

Wilkerson plays a very basic style of jazz, a genre that has gone largely untouched by post-Bop advances (at least not by many beyond those of Horace Silver and the early Sonny Rollins) and which is informed almost exclusively - technically and inspirationally - by the essential sources, gospel and the blues. The scope and breadth of its expression is restricted pretty much to the experiences and emotions which these sources are about. On this basis, and by the standards of 1963, it is probably valid to call Wilkerson's jazz "primitive." But this is not meant to imply a derogation of either the music or the man who is making it, rather it is intended to define both in their relationship to other contemporary jazz forms and artists.

Wilkerson's music is no less contemporary than, say, Ornette Coleman's or Cecil Taylor's, for it too would express a contemporary reality; in Wilkerson's instance the reality of Harlem - most immediately, for him, East Texas Harlem and New York, Chicago or San Francisco Harlem as well. If the Colemans and Taylors have somehow managed to transcend their origins, escape the trappings of the ghetto, go on to discover other realities, and learn how their origins can nourish rather than confine their art, the Wilkersons work within the limitations of what is accessible to them, the traditions and sources they are permitted to claim. But compelling music can be made within these boundaries as the album at hand will witness, for Wilkerson and his associates are into the music. Their work has fire and commitment and these finally are all that matter because it is these energies which move and touch.
Many jazz musicians will describe that prerequisite quality and dimension of "soul" as the badge of the hardships that are endured in the struggle to merely survive. But soul, when it is genuinely present, is more than that. The very act of making music is, in itself, not only a means of coming to terms with the circumstances of the environment, but also a way of transcending the environment. Soul comes from the victories that one may win over the environment, which is to say the ability to make use of one's creative capacities. It is about feeling good too, and the best of our jazzmen, the most soulful of them, have arrived at this.

Obviously Wilkerson has. Much jazz of this genre is blunted by anger. But Wilkerson's music would seem to be more about joy than anger. "Sweet Cake" is the work of a New Orleans musician and friend of Wilkerson named Edward Frank. But "Movin' Out," "Cookin' With Clarence," "Happy Johnny" (which has undertones of Miles Davis's "Milestones") are all Wilkerson's lines; all of them simple, rhythmically alive and infectious. "Blues For J," also by Wilkerson, is an impassioned communication of the basic statement. How sophisticated Wilkerson and his colleagues are as regards the kind of jazz they choose to play, is perhaps most stirringly demonstrated on this track.

Rhythm is the key virtue of Wilkerson's talent. As an instrumentalist he is not in possession of the big, booming sound of many of his similarly persuaded colleagues, but his solos have great movement and lifting rhythmic charge. "Happy Johnny" and, to an even greater extent, "Cookin' With Clarence," on which the entire group excels (Grant Green and John Patton contribute electric solos), are exemplary of this, Wilkerson is also able to sustain a ballad tempo (on this album it is "Easy Living") without the price of melodic paralysis. Patton's accompaniment on this number is especially lovely.

Wilkerson came to this series of Blue Note recordings with a background firmly entrenched in the idiom, though he has not gone entirely untouched by more advanced jazz players. He was born in Moreauville, Louisiana in 1932 and grew up in Shreveport, Louisiana and Houston. His first jobs were in those areas and later he traveled to Southern California where he worked and recorded with R&B bands, notably those of Amos Milburn and Charles Brown. During his time on the coast he also got to play with such jazz musicians as Sonny Clark, Dexter Gordon and Wardell Gray. In 1954 Wilkerson joined a band newly organized by Ray Charles and he is the featured tenor soloist on many of Charles's most popular recordings; "I Got A Woman/' 'This Little Girl Of Mine/' "Come Back Baby," "Hallelujah," "\ Love Her So," etc.

The tenor saxophonists whom Wilkerson acknowledges to have made the strongest impressions upon him have been Sonny Stiff, Ike Quebec, Illinois Jacquet, Arnett Cobb, Gene Ammons, Paul Gonsalves and Sonny Rollins. These are exceptional players, at least one is more than that, but it is not unlikely that Wilkerson, in the not too distant future, will achieve a similar stature.

The accompanying players on this set; Green, guitar; Patton, organ and Ben Dixon, drums, are outstanding exponents of the idiom in their own right. Two of them, Green and Patton, have their own series of Blue Note albums, and Dixon is generally considered .to be one of the most talented of the newer guitar players — probably only Kenny Burrell challenges his new and lofty eminence on the New York scene. Listen particularly to his fascinating work on "Cookin' With Clarence" and "Happy Johnny." Patton can claim an original ear and, though he too can shout, a uniquely gifted sense of the more subtle expressive possibilities of the organ. His comping on all the numbers in this set is brilliantly alive.

"Alive" is a word that could be accurately applied to what happens on the entire album. The conditions out of which these musicians have come are hardly conducive to anything but the opposite of that word, but Wilkerson and the others have discovered in their music where the life is.
— by ROBERT LEVIN

a Toast

Always remember to forget
the friends that proved untrue,
but never forget to remember
those that have stuck by you.

May your glass be ever full,
may the roof over your head be always strong,
and may you be in heaven
half an hour before the devil knows you're dead.

$2,083,333 million dollars

is the amount the US government currently spends every minute in Iraq.

Sarah Vaughan - Young Sassy

by Joop Visser

Gifted with a wide range, Sarah Vaughan had the ability to sing tunefully and expressively from the deepest contralto growls to sparkling high notes. She combined this gift with a jazz musician's ear, command of the harmonic structure of songs, powers of invention and above all the great joy she had in her voice and the ability and daring to do with that voice pretty much anything she chose.

These combined gifts and talents made the shy, defensive, bucktoothed slip of a girl into one of the superstars of the 20th century in a career that lasted more than 40 years.

Sarah Lois Vaughan was born in Newark, New Jersey on March 27,1924, the only child of Asbury "Jake" and Ada Vaughan, who had migrated from Virginia to Newark during World War 1. Jake was a carpenter whose hobby was playing guitar and singing Negro folk tunes. Sarah s mother, Ada, worked as a laundress and sang spirituals and hymns in the choir of the First Mount Zion Baptist church, a humble church with a poor congregation.

By the age of seven, Sarah started piano lessons with Josephine King, a church member. At the age of twelve Sarah played organ and sang in the choir of the First Mount Zion Baptist church. News spread fast in the Newark Baptist community that the only child of the Vaughan family was very talented. Maude Crews, who worked as choirmaster and principal organist of the First Mount Zion Baptist church, was one of the first to recognize Sarah's talent and Newark's Little Jimmy Scott, the jazz singer who at this moment is enjoying some long overdue recognition of his talent, heard that "Sarah was a soulful singer", he remembered the gossip that Sarah could become another Marion Anderson, many years after Sarah became a famous singer.

The experience of the church left an influence on Sarah s work, she had an affinity with gospel music, and when she desired to inflect her work with its colorations she was very good at it. On the other hand Sarah never demonstrated great affinity with that other idiom of black vocal expression, the blues. As far back as 1947, in a Leonard Feather Blindfold Test for Metronome magazine, she listened to Bessie Smiths " Young Woman Blues" and failed to recognize the singer and stated, "I have absolutely no feeling for this".

During her early teens Sarah attended her neighborhood high school, East Side High School but soon transferred to Arts High, the high school for Newark's gifted students. It was during this period that Sarah began to wander from the religious direction by playing Ella Fitzgerald's "Rock It For Me" and sentimental ballads like "Danny Boy" and "The Bluebird Of Happiness", which she had learned from the radio, on the family's upright piano.

On the Victrola in the Vaughan's apartment Sarah listened to the few records Ada could afford to buy her daughter; Count Basie, Erskine Hawkins, The Savoy Sultans and Coleman Hawkins' "Body And Soul", Sarah's love for the popular music of the day soon began to shape her social life, despite her parent's unease about their daughter's changing social pattern.

Sarah and her school friends went to the local YMCA where they learned the Lindy Hop. They also liked to go to the nearby skating rink, where the bands of Lionel Hampton and Buddy Johnson played. Sarah s favorite places were the Laurel Garden which featured big bands and Newark's famous Adams Theatre, where Sarah heard the bands of Erskine Hawkins and Earl Hines with Billy Eckstine, Sarah would occasionally sit in and sing with local groups playing in the neighborhood.

In a downtown record shop in Newark, and in places like the Nest Club and the pool room on Montgomery Street, Sarah started to hang out and talk about music with like-minded kids and young Newark musicians like singer Babs Gonzales, trumpeters Dave Burns and Hal Mitchell, and pianists, Teddy and June Cole, the brothers of drummer Cozy Cole.

Sarah dropped out of high school in her junior year, to Sarah, it did not make any sense to go to school when she could learn the latest songs by day in the record store and play piano in the evening, which she began doing in her mid-teens at places like the USO near Newark Airport, soon followed by appearances at the Piccadilly Club where a fifteen year old Sarah made an impression on the night people, singing and playing. When the club owner wanted to hire Sarah, he approached Ada Vaughan, who was both proud of the owner’s compliment to Sarah and shocked to learn about the life-style of her daughter. Sarah’s parents reluctantly overlooked her transgressions, as she kept up her church work devotedly. Sarah felt that both the church and the club world revolved around the music and she felt no conflict at all traveling between the two places.

During the summer of 1942, Sarah and her Church choir friend Doris Robinson set out from Newark's Pennsylvania Railroad Station to Manhattan, from where they took the subway Harlem. Doris Robinson had entered the famous amateur contest at the Apollo Theatre, that night, where she sang "The Bluebird Of Happiness", accompanied by Sarah on piano. Doris won second prize - ten dollars, which split fifty fifty with Sarah.

After encouragement from trumpeter Jabbo Smith, it did not take long for Sarah to decide that she wanted to return to the Apollo stage and enter the amateur contest by herself. One night in October 1942 Sarah, accompanied by a group of friends, who paid her fare, set off for the Apollo Theatre. She arrived at the theatre so late that night, that Ralph Cooper, Apollo's master of ceremonies did not let her sing. Cooper recalls how flustered she was - she could barely tell him what she wanted to do. Seeing how crestfallen she felt when it appeared that he wasn't going to let on stage, Cooper changed his mind and gave Sarah a chance.

Cooper recalls in his book "Amateur night at the Apollo", that he felt protective towards Sarah. She looked small and vulnerable and he knew how critical and unforgiving the Apollo audience was when it didn't like a performance. He thought "the roar of the crowd would knock her off her feet".

Sarah sang "Body And Soul" and the audience succumbed to her bravura interpretation of the song that Coleman Hawkins and Billie Holiday had already made famous. Cooper commented, "I was so impressed by her in-depth soul and her ability to vocalize changes around the melody...Sarah Vaughan was a superstar in the making...she jumped octaves like she owned them". Sarah won first prize - ten dollars, plus the promise of a weeks engagement at the Apollo sometime in the near future. Her career was born.

Sarah decided to make singing her business and anxiously awaited the phone call that would summon her for her week's stint at the Apollo.

In the early spring of 1943, the call came to open for Ella Fitzgerald, who headlined the show that week. Billy Eckstine, then featured vocalist with Earl Hines' band, lived on 125th Street at the time and decided to catch Ella and the rest of the show. Eckstine could not believe his ears when hearing Sarah, "How lovely her voice was, it was just something different. Something you hadn't heard before", he later explained. Eckstine quickly told Earl Hines that here was the ideal female singer for the band. The information may not have clicked with Hines right away. He later claimed in Stanley Dance's book "The World of Earl Hines", that he and a friend, trumpeter June Clark, and a valet, discovered Sarah on their own. Hines stated that he and June Clark had gone to the Apollo to hear Ella, after a day of hard drinking. Hearing Sarah sing, Hines reminisced, "Is that girl singing, or am I drunk or what?". Ralph Cooper wrote in his book, "Earl Hines was so amazed when he heard her. It took three weeks to get his mouth closed". Hines immediately decided to replace his girl singer, Madeline Green, with Sarah.

Billy Eckstine later recalled the day Sarah tried out for Hines, "Sass took the mike they had in this little recording studio, and started singing - you could see the guys stop their packing to stare at each other. By the time she had finished, all of them were around the piano - looking at the homely girl who was singing like this, just wailing. When Earl saw the reaction of the band she was in".

Hines hired Sarah not only as a singer but also as second pianist. He was delighted to find out that Sarah was a fine piano player, he could now list Sarah as a musician, a member of the musicians union, and avoid any pressure from the American Guild of Variety Artists, to which performers who didn't play instruments belonged.

Sarah was instructed to play piano "second piano" for Hines, sitting at a second piano, embellishing Earl's work and enhancing his image. Sarah sang duets with Billy Eckstine and had a vocal solo spot towards the end of each show. Hines played piano for Sarah and Billy.

Sarah presented a totally different image than the sophisticated Madeline Green, her predecessor. The members of the Hines band initially thought that Earl had lost his mind by hiring this, skinny, bucktoothed and shy girl. After hearing Sarah, they became as delighted as Earl and Billy. Sarah was behaving like them, nothing shocked or alarmed her. She had heard all the cursing and seen all the hustling in Newark. She did not like to be treated with kid gloves, when the musicians discovered that Sarah could swear as loudly as any of them, they started to call her "sailor". Dizzy Gillespie, one of the young revolutionaries in Hines' band at the time, summed her up as follows. "Ella always played the role of a lady.........Sarah Vaughan acted just as one of the boys. She used the same language on the bandstand I used with the guys".

The Earl Hines band at the time, April 1943, was home to some of the most adventurous young musicians in jazz. Among them Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, trombonist Benny Green and drummer Shadow Wilson. Jazz historian Gunther Schuller recalled about Hines' band at the time, "They were playing all the flatted fifths and all the modern harmonies and substitutions and Dizzy Gillespie runs the trumpet section work...., what was so exciting about the Hines band was that they were playing harmonies and complex rhythms and textures that I already knew from classical music".

The Hines band was the perfect setting for someone with Sarah s evident musicianship and questing mind. She now learned how to polish her singing style from some of the best swing musicians and the adventurous young Turks of bebop, especially the. horn players.

Sarah would later reflect, "I thought Diz and Bird were the end. I still do. At the time I was singing more off-key than on. I think their playing influenced my singing. Horns always influenced me more than voices. All of them - Bird, Diz, Prez, Tatum, JJ, Benny Green, Thad Jones - listening to them and others like them listening to them and others like them listening to good jazz, inspired me".

Dizzy in turn returned the compliment by saying, “Sarah can sign notes, that other people can’t even hear”. Life with the Hines band was a thrill for Sarah. She loved and lived the band musician’s life to the full. She was paid fourteen dollars for every night that the band worked, usually three or four nights a week. She was always ready to join the men in the pranks and established herself as a trouper and champion at staying up all night to listen to music, talk, eat, smoke and drink. Some of her features with the Hines band were “Sweet And Lovely”, “Once In A While”, “He’s Funny That Way” and “East Pf The Sun”. Unfortunately, there are no recordings of Sarah with the Hines band, as commercial recording did not take place during her stay with the band due to the first American Federation of Musicians’ recording ban.

The Hines period also cemented the life-long friendship between Sarah and Billy Eckstine. They became lovers, but for one reason or another their ways separated, nevertheless there remained a strong connection between them for the rest of their lives. Eckstine taught her a lot about choosing repertoire, microphone techniques, phrasing and presentation in front of an audience. Sarah blossomed in his presence; he made her laugh and blush. Sarah, in turn forever inspired him with her style and versatility.

She learned fast during her days with Hines. Sarah immediately become aware that Charlie Parker was one of the musicians in the band with a heroin habit. The Hines band members state that Sarah never had anything to do with heroin, but she undoubtedly smoked marijuana with Bird and some of the other men on the road. Marijuana and other refreshments came with the territory. Eventually, although most probably not while with Hines band, Sarah discovered cocaine, a taste for which stayed with her for the rest of her life. She was a true
child of bebop.

I'LL WAIT AND PRAY

Billy Eckstine gained national prominence during his stay as principal vocalist with the Earl Hines band from 1939 until the spring of 1944. He provided his employer with massive hits like "Jelly Jelly" and "Stormy Monday Blues" and was celebrated as a singer of romantic ballads like "Skylark" and Tm Falling For You". "B" was a hunky, light skinned baritone with a voice that eased gently between blues and bedroom.

By the end of 1943, the young progressive musicians in the Hines band began to feel restricted in the pianists musical environment. They wanted to present the new bebop music in front of audiences. Dizzy Gillespie apparently urged Eckstine to form a band of his own, as B already had acquired a substantial following during his days with Hines. In the spring of 1944, Eckstine left Hines' band and embarked on a solo career, billing himself as Billy X-Tine, but under the sway of the new music he soon formed his own band. With Dizzy Gillespie as musical director and Charlie Parker as the kingpin of the reeds, this was not just another band. The various line-ups of Billy Eckstine's Orchestra included a collection of talent that was going to rule the roost in the world of jazz in the years ahead.

Trombonist/arranger Gerald Valentine and tenorist/arranger Budd Johnson, whom B had worked with in earlier years with Hines joined the new band as well, as did trumpeter Shorty McConnell and guitarist Connie Wainwright. Miles Davis, Fats Navarro, Kenny Dorham, Dexter Gordon, Wardell Gray, Gene Ammos, Sonny Stitt, Leo Parker, John Malachi and Art Blakey were some of the bright lights, who helped Eckstine great music and lose money during the mid 1940s.

After Eckstine's departure from Hines' band, Sarah stayed behind functioning as the bands' only singer for a short time, until Eckstine invited her to join his band in the spring of 1944. Sarah accepted B's invitation, and would later regard her days with B's band as an idyllic time for her musical development. With the Eckstine band, Sarah was once more at home with her friends, a band of ragtag bebop revolutionaries, for the most part.

Sarah recalled that the members of Eckstine's band used to discipline her if they did not like something she was doing musically. Sarah had a tendency towards flamboyancy, and the guys tried to tone her down. "I'm telling you, they used to beat me to death if I got out of line. I mean literally..". As for the musical challenge she said, "You had better sing within whatever chords they were playing, you had to know a little about music, or have a hell of an ear to stand in front of that band. I loved it, loved it!". John Malachi, the pianist in Eckstine's band and a later accompanist for Sarah in 1954, gave her the nickname "Sassy". Sarah liked that playful description of her fresh, tough, chin-up facade so much that she allowed everyone to call her "Sassy" or "Sass".

Sarah's recording opportunities with the Eckstine band were clearly limited, after all the band was designed as a support for Eckstine. On December 5,1944 Sarah made her recording debut when she sang "I'll Wait And Pray" backed by Billy Eckstine and his Orchestra for the DeLuxe label. Arranged and written by Gerald Valentine, "I'll Wait And Pray" a most assured performance by the 20 year old singer, sold well enough nationally to bring Sarah some notoriety, especially in the black community and amongst musicians.

On the last day of 1944, Sarah made her first recordings under her own name. Leonard Feather, an early devotee to Sarah's vocal art, had been hawking around various record companies with a demo that Sarah had cut on Dizzy Gillespie's "Night In Tunisia", then called "Interlude". Finally Donald Gabor at Continental Records agreed to bankroll a session. As usual independent labels at the time, the session was to be a low budget affair. Feather received $12.50 per side as pianist and arranger, while Sarah received twenty dollars for each of the four songs.

"Singing Off", a Feather composition with an unusual melody and words by Jessyca Russell, is sung effortlessly by Sarah and benefits from a fine tenor solo by Georgie Auld. "Interlude" represents the first recorded version of Dizzy Gillespie’s classic "Night In Tunisia". Dizzy took over piano duties from Leonard Feather here, as Feather had trouble reading the piano part. Sarah is flawless while Diz bops beautifully with a typically vivid break. “East Of The Sun” is classic Sarah, displaying her uncanny musicality, while Feather’s “No Smoke Blues”, lamenting the cigarette shortage of the period, is the weakest rack of the session. Both tunes contain cracking trumpet solos by Gillespie.

“Don’t Blame Me” is taken from a AFRS “Jubilee” broadcast of a performance by the Eckstine Orchestra at the Club Plantation in Watts, Los Angeles in February/March 1945. Sarah gives us a superb rendition of the Dorothy Fields/Jimmy McHugh standard, sensitively backed by the trumpet section in which Fats Navarro comes through loud and clear. The arrangement is by Tadd Dameron.

After a year with the Eckstine band, Sarah left the organization, with Eckstine s blessing, to pursue a solo career. Her training among some of the most brilliant musicians of the era had come to an end and her recordings started to create a following for her among black and white fans. Significantly she had also gained the adoration of fellow musicians in awe of her musicianship. B did not replace Sarah in his band and Sarah would never seek a steady job with another band after her Eckstine stint.

She now tried to establish herself as a star in her own right. She worked as a singer, singing and playing piano in Fifty Second Street clubs like the Three Deuces, the Famous Door, the Onyx and the Downbeat.

Dizzy Gillespie, who had left the Eckstine band a little before Sarah, recorded his third date for the small Guild label on May 11,1945. Sarah was invited to participate on this date. She sang her classic version of Ram Ramirez' "Lover Man" sensitively backed by Bird, Diz, pianist Al Haig, bassist Curley Russell and drummer Sid Catlett.

Sarahs first two 78's for Continental had done well enough for Donald Gabor to authorize Leonard Feather to line up another date with her. For the May 25,1945 session Feather lined up a formidable frontline of Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker and Woody Herman's tenor, star Flip Phillips, backed by a strong rhythm section of guitarist Bill De Arango, bassist Curley Russell and drummer Max Roach. Pianist Nat Jaffe had some difficulty with the part Tadd Dameron had written on "I'd Rather Have A Memory Than A Dream", another Feather/Russell) collaboration. Dameron takes over on piano here.

According to Feather, this session began disastrously, when Charlie Parker casually arrived an hour late with an apology but no explanation for his late appearance. Due to this, there was only time for three songs, instead of the planned four. Peggy Lees "What More Can A Woman Do" demonstrates Sarah's superb ballad mastery, but "Mean To Me" is the crowning achievement of this date, in which Sarah's great vocal is set alight by Bird s introduction and solo.

Around the time of her second Continental date Sarah guested once more, this time on a Tony Scott session for the Gotham label. Dizzy Gillespie, labeled as B.Bopstein, was on board again making up a strong frontline with clarinetist Scott, trombonist Trummy Young and tenorist Ben Webster. This was also the first session on which that superb accompanist, pianist Jimmy Jones, appears with Sarah. He would accompany Sarah for long periods during the fifties. Bassist Gene Ramey and drummer Eddie Nicholson rounded out the rhythm section. Sarah's delivery of the gorgeous Duke Ellington ballad "All To Soon" is masterful.

During the winter of 1945/46, Sarah worked for two months with the John Kirby Sextet at New York's Copacabana night club. She waxed four titles with this urbane little group for the Crown label on January 9,1946. Backed by sophisticated musicians like pianist Billy Kyle, altoist Russell Procope and clarinettist Buster Bailey, Sarah renders superb versions of standards like "You Go To My Head" and "It Might As Well Be Spring" a song she would revisit four years later with Miles Davis for the Columbia label.

Tadd Dameron's seldom heard "We're Through" is a rare Sarah Vaughan recording for the H.R.S. label from March 1946. Sarah is backed here by a group led by trombonist Dicky Wells. The trumpeter in this group was George Treadwell. Treadwell had been an early habitué of Minton's Playhouse, the cradle of bebop, without ever making the transition to modernity. He was a good looking well built man, who had known Sarah from the time she won the Apollo amateur contest. During an extended engagement at New York's Cafe Society Downtown, in the spring of 1946, Sarah was backed by drummer J.C. Heard's band which included Treadwell. He was fascinated by Sarah's voice, encouraging her to trust her instinct and noted later that he fell in love with her singing, a little bit later with the woman herself. Sarah and George Treadwell married in September 1946, after which Treadwell became Sarah's svengali, devoting himself successfully to building her career and turning Sarah into the diva, that she would become a little later.

In October 1945, violinist Stuff Smith invited Sarah to sing on his recording date for Albert Marx's Musicraft label. Stuff told Marx that he had written a song that he wanted him to hear and that he had the girl to sing it for him. As Sarah demonstrated the tune (it was "Time And Again"), Marx listened almost unbelievingly. "I kept telling myself", he recalls, "That she just could not be that good. I told Stuff I would like to record the song with this young lady singing it. He informed me that that would cost $10 extra".

Marx proposed a three year contract with royalties to Sarah at the Stuff Smith session, ironically Stuff did not get a contract. At the same time Marx's friend, publisher Howard Richmond, approached him about a new discovery whom he described as "the greatest singer in the world". Marx told him that he was too late, since a singer filling that description was just about to sign with Musicraft. It turned out they were both talking about Sarah.

On April 30,1946 Sarah recorded "A Hundred Years From Today" backed by the fine big band of Georgie Auld. The arrangement is by Tadd Dameron, who aside of arranging for Billy Eckstine also contributed to the Georgie Auld book from 1944 to 1946. Dameron s subsequent writing for Sarah grew out of this arrangement he wrote for her to sing on this Auld date. The arrangement remained dear to the highly critical Dameron. He once said "I liked it pretty well for that day and age, and it still sounds good today".

On May 9,1946, Sassy made her first recording as a leader for Musicraft. Sarah was still enjoying her extended engagement at Cafe Society Downtown at the time, where owner Barney Josephson paid her 90 dollars a week to sing at intermissions. The May 9th, 1946 session was an ambitious affair, Sarah was backed by an All Star band consisting of the legendary trumpeter Freddie Webster, altoist Leroy Harris, Hank Ross on bass clarinet, Leo Parker, an ex-colleague from the Eckstine band on baritone sax, pianist Bud Powell, bassist Ted Sturgis and
bebop's premier drummer Kenny Clarke, plus a string section. Tadd Dameron wrote the arrangements to the four recorded songs. He also composed "If You Could See Me Now", inspired by the coda of Dizzy Gillespie's solo on "Groovin' High". This is one of the most beautiful of jazz ballads and Sarah's Musicraft version is the definitive performance of it, with Freddie Webster's poignant trumpet introduction. Sarah also sings "My Kinda Love", "I Could Make You Love Me, If You Let Me" and the jaunty but relatively conventional "You're Not The Kind" which very well demonstrates Sarah's ability to hear changes in her upward modulations at the end of each song. She would record "You're Not The Kind" again on her classic 1954 Emarcy session with Clifford Brown and Paul Quinichette. The superb performances of this 5th May 1946 session are now established; jazz classics.

Sassy was once more featured with the George Auld band on the June 14, 1946 Musicraft session. “You’re Blasé” has a chart by the then 20 year old tenorist/arranger Al Cohn.

On of Sarah’s most rewarding sessions for the Musicraft label took place on July 18, 1946. This was the first occasion on which George Treadwell made his presence felt as leader of Sassy’s backing group, that featured such luminaries as Big Nick Nichols on tenor sax, bassist Al McKibbon and Sarah’s favorite accompanist Jimmy Jones on piano. George and Ira Gershwin’s “I’ve Got A Crush On You” kicked off this memorable date.

TENDERLY

I'm Through With Love" Matty Malneck and Gus Kahn s ballad, that was introduced in 1931 by Mildred Bailey, shows striking maturity in Sassy s straightforward chorus and a half plus tag treatment. Burton Lane and Harold Adamson's "Everything I Have Is Yours" is another demonstration of how Sarah was able to rise above her surroundings, ruling majestically above the somewhat quaint arrangement. "Body And Soul", Sarah s crisp recording of the Johnny Green classic with which she won the amateur contest at the Apollo is a masterpiece. The second part of the song represents an early example of Sarah’s instrument like variations, a style that she would develop to the highest standards in later years.

Teddy Wilson, who so expertly accompanied Billie Holiday during the 1930’s, is in charge on Sarah’s next two Musicraft sessions. An octet that features trumpeter Buck Clayton, alto saxophonist Scoville Browne, tenorist Don Byas, baritone saxophonist George James plus Wilson on piano, Remo Palmieri on guitar, Billy Taylor on bass and drummer J. C. Heard provides backing to Sarah’s ultra hip harmonies on "Penthouse Serenade" and "Don't Worry 'Bout Me" November 19,1946.

Teddy Wilson underlines his ability to accompany a singer as few other pianists can on the two quartet sides of November 19,1946. "Time After Time" and "September Song" also benefit from some breathy Charlie Ventura tenor sax. When Sarah recorded her next Musicraft session, on July 2,1947, George Treadwell was everywhere.

The couple had married on September 16, 1946. Their relationship had been the source of a certain amount of gossip. Pianist Cliff Smalls heard some musicians say that Treadwell was stupid to give up his horn to take care of Sassy. Other musicians had a different impression, they thought that Treadwell latched onto Sarah because he was a hustler, not because he loved and admired her. Arranger Gil Fuller, the other hand, knew George Treadwell rather well and thought that George was the ideal man for Sarah; he was street smart and loved the girl and her talent.

Sarah was undoubtedly ambitious, but she lacked George Treadwell's focus and business acumen. "I sing, I just sing", she was fond of telling people. And when she wasn't singing, she could hang out longer and harder than most people. Treadwell's emphasis on promotion, both of Sassy and himself, irritated people, including Sassy. She tired of the way he was always correcting her grammar and telling her who to speak to and who to avoid. As time went by, Treadwell would try to direct every aspect of Sarah s personal life, yet when he and Sarah started out together, everything was smooth. Never before had anyone paid so much attention to her, it was exciting for Sarah to have George Treadwell as an ally.

George Treadwell and his Orchestra backed Sarah on her July 2, 1947 session. The band was a classic big band, 5 trumpets, 3 trombones, 5 saxes and rhythm, with notable musicians like trumpeter Emmett Berry, and ex-Billy Eckstine colleague Budd Johnson on tenor sax in its ranks. The rhythm section was top-notch, Sarah's favorite pianist Jimmy Jones, bassist Al McKibbon and drummer J.C. Heard.

All four songs on this date were ballads with Sarah in magnificent voice. "Tenderly" was the most memorable song of this date. It was composed by the late Walter Gross, then musical director for Albert Marx at Musicraft. This is the very first recorded version of this wonderful ballad which has since become a jazz standard. The song is first introduced as a waltz (rare in those days for a jazz-singer), before converting to 4/4. "Tenderly" became Sarah's first notable hit. It rose to its peak position of 27 on the hit parade during the week of November 15, 1947

Sarah now registered for the first time in the Down Beat poll, where she won the award as the most popular female vocalist of 1947, while she also won the Esquire New Star Award for 1947.

The October 10, 1947 session for Musicraft saw the beginning of a gradual shift away from pure jazz singnig to a style that appealed to a broader public. Backed by Ted Dale’s Orchestra, a large anonymouse orchestra with strings, Sarah shows her ability to transcend the world of pop and jazz material. It has oftern been said that she could well have become an opera singer; seldom, if ever was the potential more gloriously demonstrated than on “The Lord’s Prayer”.

In one song it shows off, the richness of her contralto range, the sweetness of her soprano and the spiritual power of her elemental sound. Marion Anderson sent Sassy a message of congratulations after heading Sarah’s version of what up until now was Marion’s song. In Down Beat’s “My best on wax” column of 1950, Sarah, who by then was already recording for Columbia stated, “The Lord’s Prayer” is both my favorite of the records I’ve made and the one I consider my best. It’s the only records of mine I ever play. I’d always wanted to record it, but I thought I had no business doing it. Marion Anderson had recorded "The Lord's Prayer" you know". The spiritual "Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child" was a worthy "B" side for "The Lords Prayer". Sarah rounded off this recording date in a more secular vein with two superb ballad performances of Vernon Duke's "I Can't Get Started" and Alex Wilder's "Trouble Is A Man".

With a second recording ban looming at the end of 1947, Musicraft now doubled its efforts to get as much material by Sarah in the can as possible to cover for the lack of recording opportunities in 1948. The November 8, 1947 date was a very productive one, on which Sarah delivered no less than nine sides. Backed again by Ted Dale and his Orchestra. The occasional clarinet passages are played by ex Gene Krupa ace member Sam Musiker, while pianist Nick Tagg, guitarists Tony Mottola, and Al Casey bassist Mark Shopnick and drummer Cozy Cole plus unknown French horn, harp and strings made up the Ted Dale Orchestra. Highlights of this marathon session are Gus Kahn and Walter Donaldson's "Love Me Or Leave Me", a reprise of her very first recording, Jerry Valentine's “I’ll Wait And Pray" and Phil Moore's charming "I Feel So Smoochie".

IT'S MAGIC

Buddy De Sylva, Lew Brown and Ray Henderson's obscure "Blue Grass" seems to have
been recorded at the end of the extended studio date of November 8,1947.

The pre-recording ban panic became obvious when Sarah recorded two Musicraft sessions in three days during October 1947. On a December 27 session, Sarah was accompanied by Richard Maltby's string Orchestra, a lush backing that also included flute, harp and rhythm. Sarah majestically delivers Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn's "It's You Or No One", but it was the other song recorded at this date that would become Sarah's biggest hit on the Musicraft label. "It's Magic" was written by Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn for Doris Day's movie debut "Romance On The High Seas". "It's Magic", entered the best sellers chart on August 14,1948 where it peaked at number 11 in an eleven week stay on the hit parade.

Two days later Sarah entered the studios again. This time she was backed by a quartet featuring her regular pianist Jimmy Jones, guitarist John Collins, bassist. Al McKibbon and drummer Kenny Clarke. This is probably the reason that she sounds at her most relaxed on this occasion. "What A Difference A Day Makes" a song of Spanish origin originally known as "CuandoVuelva ATu Lado" and a massive hit later on for Dinah Washington as well as Esther Phillips, is typical of Sassy s melodic, harmonic and tonal values during this period, note her last note, an F in the key of E Flat - not many singers took those kind of chances in 1947.

Richard Lewine and Arnold Howitt wrote "Gentleman Friend" for a long forgotten 1948 revue. This rarely performed song has the sort of harmonic pattern and melody line that has always been right for Sarah. Bud Green and Michael Edwards' "Once In A While" had been established as a hit song for Tommy Dorsey, Horace Heidt and Louis Armstrong ten years before Sassy recorded her lovely, bop tinged version for Musicraft. Dorothy Parker and Jack King wrote "How Am I To Know" in 1929, while Ava Gardner revived the tune in the forgettable comedy "Pandora And The Flying Dutchman" in 1950. Sassy finishes this lovely session with her rather straightforward version, superbly backed by Jimmy Jones and his swinging rhythm section.

Eden Ahbez' "Nature Boy" caused a sensation in 1948. Nat King Cole scored a million seller with the song in May 1948. Frank Sinatra and Dick Haymes also had hits with the song in the same year. Sarah recorded "Nature Boy" on April 8, 1948. During the recording ban Sarah and several other singers were able to record with vocal backgrounds instead of union musicians. Sassy recorded this haunting tune backed by the Earl Rogers Choir and also had a top ten hit with it, it peaked at number 9 on the hit parade in July of 1948. Paul Madeira and Jimmy Dorsey's "I'm Glad There's You" once more backed by the Earl Rogers Choir was the "B" side of "Nature Boy" and, ironically, a superior vocal performance of a song that would remain part of her repertoire for the rest of her life.

During 1948, George Treadwell arranged for Sarah to sign with Tim and Moe Gale's booking agency, where Tim Gale acted as Sassy s personal agent. Tim Gale soon organized a nationwide tour for Sarah, who together with George Treadwell and Jimmy Jones set out in a well-worn car to tour the country in 1948. She appeared at the Blue Angel in New York, the Rhumboogie and the Sherman in Chicago, the Bocage in Hollywood and Ciro s and the Casbah in Los Angeles. Sarah won both the Down Beat and Metronome polls in 1948, while Orchestra World, a magazine that focused on the big bands and Billboard also picked her as number one vocalist.

Metronome magazine was especially lyrical in their praise of Sarah who was named "Influence of the year" stating, "Her bent notes and her twisting of musical phrases have been the envy of and basis for the styles of a good many singers...many of them were mimicking her every vocal stand and prance; not since Billie Holiday has a singer hit other singers so hard".

Sassy s new vocal style did not impress everybody though. Dale Harrison of the Chicago Sun disliked her singing and misspelled her name when he wrote, "Vaughn's tempo drags unconsciously, the boys in the rhythm section have to yawn between every beat, and her wandering around notes, which I assume is what the disc jockeys would call "style", struck me as annoying and amateurish".

Time magazine published an article in its December 20, 1948 issue, stating that Sarah Vaughan sang "in a style like a kazoo". When George Hoefer in his capacity as editor of Down Beat wrote a letter of protest to Time, they replied to Hoefer as follows, "The editors have read your comments on Time's reporting of jazz, and in particular Be-Bop, with interest. Some explanation is in order on our saying that Sarah Vaughan s voice sounded like a kazoo. One of the things about her singing which most struck our reviewer is her ability to sing half and quarter tones with astounding accuracy. The best method of describing this accomplishment seemed to be to compare her singing with some musical instrument, especially since be-boppers use voice as another instrument. One of the few pieces which can reproduce this variety in tone is the kazoo, so that the similie was meant neither unkindly nor inaccurately".

Despite controversy over her style and how to describe it, by the end of the 1940s, Sassy had a very busy working schedule and only six to eight weeks of the year to rest in.

By September 1948, Musicraft was facing bankruptcy. In court the company claimed that Sarah had not honored her contract. Treadwell counterclaimed that the company was not paying Sarah all the royalties she was due.

Treadwell hired Andrew J. Feinman, an attorney who specialised in the music industry, who helped break her contract with Musicraft. On January 29,1949, the trade papers reported that Musicraft contemplated releasing Sarah of her contract if, "the singer waived all claims to money owed to her" and "any claims to her Musicraft masters, both those released and those in the bin, and for the chirp to cut two more sides for the label at her or Columbia's expense".

Anticipating the dissolution of her Musicraft contract, Sassy had jumped labels to Columbia. On January 20, 1949 she recorded "Bianca", "As You Desire Me" and "Black Coffee" and on January 25 "While You Were Gone". When the lawsuits were settled, Columbia Records were free to release the recordings she had already made. Sassy s first Columbia session was done with arranger and conductor Joe Lippman. She now presented herself as a pop singer, singing popular ballads in a straight-forward style moving effortlessly between her soprano and contralto registers. "Black Coffee", a song that was something of an art song at the time, commenting on the comparatively helpless condition of women in the pre-lib era, was an immediate success. It reached the 13th place on the hit parade in June 1949. Allie Wrubel's" As You Desire Me", first put on the map by Russ Columbo in 1932 was a worthy B-side of "Black Coffee". Cole Porters rarely performed "Bianca" rounded off Sarah's first session for Columbia records. Tenor saxophonist Lucky Thompson composed "While You Were Gone", which one might call a musician's tune, an amalgamation of "I'll Remember April" and "Louise", typical of the era.

An unknown studio orchestra backed Sassy on her May 6,1949 session. Haven Gillespie and Beasley Smiths "That Lucky Old Sun" was one of the great hits of 1949. Frankie Laine, Vaughan Monroe, Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong and Bob Houston all enjoyed hits with the tune that year, as Sassy who scored a respectable 14th place on the hit parade in September of that year.

Joe Lippman and his Orchestra were once more on board for Sarah's July 7, 1949 session. The studio orchestra included some name jazz and swing musicians in its ranks such as altoist Hymie Schertzer, bassist Jack Lesberg and above all pianist Jimmy Jones. "Make Believe (You Are Glad When You're Sorry)", was the commercial winner from this session charting at number 20 in Qctober 1949. John Klenner and Sam Lewis’ “Just Friends” however provides one of Sarah's best moments of this neglected period.

Hugh Winterhalter arranged and conducted the band on Bobby Troup's "Lonely Girl". No strings this time and a little more pep and punch thanks to the presence of musicians of the calibre of Billy Butterfield, Jimmy Maxwell, Will Bradley and a swinging rhythm section with Jimmy Jones, Tony Mottola, Bob Haggart and Terry Snyder.

Three days later the same band backed Sassy once more, Gus Arnheim, Abe Lyman and Arthur Freed's good old "I Cried For You" turned into one of Sarah's classic performances, illustrating Sassy s application of the precepts of bebop into her singing, and showing a flexibility that rivals that of the better horn players.

YOU'RE MINE YOU

Sarah returned to Cafe Society Downtown at the end of 1949. The difference was that she now received $2250 plus a percentage a week as opposed to the $200 a week when George Treadwell booked her into the same club in 1947.

It is interesting to read John S. Wilsons review in Down Beat's February 10,1950 issue of Sarah's Cafe Society stint, confirming George Treadwell's transformation of his protégée. "Although she has won Down Beat's poll for the last three years as the top girl singer, not with a band, it was 1949 which saw Sarah develop into a finished entertainer who was really worth the large wads of cash being tossed at her. Just a year ago when she played at the Clique in New York, Sarah was an interesting singer with a lot of distressing characteristics. She lacked presence, she was overdoing her stylistic gesturing and facial expressions as well as her vocal calisthenics, and she looked - to put it bluntly - somewhat in the neighborhood of a mess. The changes that have been wrought on her in one year's time are little short of a miracle, she was dressed tastefully; her hair and makeup had been worked out to give her a pleasantly glamorous touch, and she handled herself on the floor extremely well. She was in command of the situation at all times, and there were no jarring notes to detract attention from her superb voice or the individual way in which she uses it. It was in this last year that she achieved the polish which transformed her from a relatively exoterically appreciated singer into a showman who can hold her own with those select few who roost up on the top rung. This very process of acquiring this polish has made her a better singer, one who gives the impression of having complete confidence in her abilities, who knows what she can do and does it without straining, with complete ease and wonderfully well".

Another triumph for Sassy was her performance at Philadelphia's Robin Hood Dell in mid 1949. Billed as "100 Men and a girl" Sarah starred in a concert with both the Duke Ellington band and the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra; Sassy was the girl. George and Sarah now had earned enough money to buy a three-story house at 21 Avon Avenue in Newark. Treadwell renovated the first two floors for an apartment for Sarah's parents and also designed and built a nice apartment for Sarah and himself on the top floor. Sarah loved the place and showed it off by inviting her friends to see it.

On December 21, 1949 Sarah entered the Columbia studios, backed once more by a studio band under the baton of Joe Lippman. The band on this date included jazz stalwarts like trumpeters Billy Butterfield and Taft Jordan, saxophonist Toots Mondello, Hymie Schertzer and George Kelly and a rhythm section consisting of Jimmy Jones, Kenton bassist Eddie Safranski, guitarist Al Caiola and drummer Cozy Cole.

"You're Mine You", the gorgeous tune by Johnny Green and Edward Heyman, was arranged by Tadd Dameron and the highlight of this session. "I'm Crazy To Love You", "Summertime" and "The Nearness Of You" from the same session were arranged by Joe Lippman. "I'm Crazy To Love You" was a small hit for Sarah in June 1950.

The next day Sassy reunited with Billy Eckstine to record four tracks that were originally released on the MGM label, on which Eckstine scored his biggest hits in this period. These light hearted tracks cannot be compared with the hot and boppish music both Sassy and B had made a few years earlier. Yet they included some lovely moments, the lush sounds were obviously aimed at an audience of which few might have been familiar with the sounds they recorded for the De Luxe label.

Norman Leyden arranged and conducted on Sassy s next two songs, recorded on May 4,1950. Leyden had been an arranger for the Glenn Miller Air Force Band during World War 2 and later chief arranger for the post-war Miller band led by Tex Beneke. "Our Very Own" and "Don't Be Afraid" are dated songs aimed at the pop market, only worth listening to for the superb quality of Sassy's voice.

The next session Sarah recorded for Columbia took place on May 18 and 19,1950. The backing band was labeled as George Treadwell and his All-Stars. All-Stars they certainly were, especially as George Treadwell is not playing on this date, the only real jazz date Sarah recorded during her four years on the Columbia label. Trumpeter Miles Davis, tenor saxophonist Budd Johnson and trombonist Benny Green were old friends from the Earl Hines - Billy Eckstine era of Sassy's career. Clarinetist Tony Scott, pianist Jimmy Jones, guitarist Freddie Green, bassist Billy Taylor and drummer J.C. Heard complete the octet that backs Sassy on "Ain't Misbehavin'", "Goodnight My Love" and "Can't Get Out Of This Mood". On "It Might As Well Be Spring" we hear Miles Davis, Tony Scott, Jimmy Jones, Billy Taylor and J.C. Heard. In his autobiography "Miles", Miles Davis acknowledges his pleasure with his playing on this track. The full octet is back for "Mean To Me", "Come Rain Or Come Shine", "Nice Work If You Can Get It" and "East Of The Sun", except that Mundell Lowe replaces Freddie Green on guitar. Sarah is completely at ease and is obviously enjoying herself with this select group of jazz players, who backed her on this lovely session.

Norman Leyden and his Orchestra once more backed Sassy on two more songs recorded on July 20, 1950. “I Love The Guy” and “Thinking Of You” was a very successful record for Sarah, it bought her her first double header hit. “I Love The Guy” reached the top 10 in September 1950 and the B-side “Thinking Of You” reached 16th spot on the hit parade two months later. The pianist in Norman Leyden’s studio orchestra on this occasion was Bed Powell, who is virtually inaudible.

The same band as on the July 20 session, with some minor variations, backed Sassy on September 5, 1950, but this time under the direction of hoboist and Columbia Records’ A and R chief at the time, Mitch Miller. Sarah turned in a lively version of Juan Tizol’s swinger “Perdido” on this date. “Whippa-Whippa-Woo” served as a B-side to “Perdido”, recorded two days later once more under Mitch Miller’s direction. This is another forgettable side.

Norman Leyden was leading the studio orchestra and arranged the two titles Sarah recorded on December 6, 1950. Frank Loesser’s “I’ll Know” is beautifully sung, while “De Gas Pipe, She Leakin’ Joe”, is a forgettable novelty with an exotic flavor.

It is at this point in Sarah’s career that our survey of her early years ends. The 1950s would see her continue to make a large amount of romantic hit records which gradually brought her a large middle of the road audience. In 1954 Sarah switched from Columbia to Mercury/Emarcy Records. On these labels she carefully crafted a multi-directional recording career. Her popular recordings appeared on the Mercury label while on Emarcy. Mercury's jazz line, she released her jazz oriented product including the classic "Swingin' Easy'' album, backed by a trio of John Malachi, bassist Joe Benjamin and drummer Roy Haynes. In 1960 Sarah switched to Morris Levy's Roulette label followed by associations with Mercury, again, and Mainstream. Norman Granz s Pablo label presented Sarah's late successes like the fine "Crazy And Mixed Up" and "Copacabana" albums.

One of the greatest voices of the 20th century was silenced on the evening of Tuesday, April 7, 1990, when Sarah succumbed to advanced lung cancer.


References
Joel Whitburn - Pop Memories 1890 - 1954
Leslie Gourse - Sassy, the life of Sarah Vaughan

If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride

If turnips were watches, I would wear one by my side.
And if "ifs" and "ands"
Were pots and pans,
There'd be no work for tinkers!

If wishing could make things happen, then even the most destitute people would have everything they wanted.