Musical Notes

“You Told Me To Go”
The Knickerbockers
(Columbia 482-D mx 141140)                   October 16, 1925

“Don’t Wait Too Long”
Eddie Elkings And His Orchestra
(Columbia 482-D mx 14114)                    October 7, 1925

From the Edward Mitchell collection, here is what I think is a fun record – particularly the “You Told Me To Go” side, which is reflective of the mid-1920s Charleston craze that was at its height when this record was made.

For anyone needing recordings that exemplify the 1920s decade’s “Roaring ’20s” spirit, this version of “You Told Me To Go” is definitely one to add to the list.

“The Knickerbockers” was one of many recording pseudonyms for Columbia’s in-house band led by Ben Selvin.

Interestingly enough, the Knickerbocker name had previously been used on Columbia records in 1921 and 1922 for certain recordings by Eddie Elkin’s Orchestra, who perform on the flip side of this record.  Those recordings were issued as “The Knickerbocker Orchestra (under the direction of Eddie Elkins). ”

When those 1920 – 1921 recordings were made, Elkins’s band regularly appeared at the Knickerbocker Grill at Times Square, located in the basement of the former Knickerbocker Hotel. The 1906 Beaux-Arts-style hotel closed in 1920 and was converted into an office building. But the hotel’s basement grill, a popular night spot, remained open despite a few attempts to close it for alleged violation of Prohibition laws. (The building was converted back into a luxury hotel in 2015.)

Elkins was a classically trained violinist, and most of his band members during the period it performed at the Knickerbocker Grill had previously worked as musicians for the Los Angeles Symphony Orchestra.   Some of his Columbia recordings while his band was at the Knickerbocker were issued as The Knickerbocker Orchestra and others as Eddie Elkin’s Orchestra.

“Don’t Wait Too Long” comes from Elkin’s second-to-last recording session with Columbia.  His final recording session was held later that same month.

Elkins and his band appeared in several musical short feature films, one in 1929 for Paramount, which starred Eddie Cantor, and four more for Pathe in 1930, one of which starred a not-yet-famous Ginger Rogers.

Elkins’ only other recording session after leaving Columbia in 1925 occurred in 1934, and produced four sides, all of which were issued on the Perfect label.

I do not know what, if any, connection to Elkins or the Knickerbocker Grill Columbia personnel had in mind when they came up with The Knickerbockers as one of the pseudonyms for its in-house band. It was used on many issues into the early 1930s.   The term Knickerbocker had long been associated with New York City,  so its use might have been entirely coincidental.

“The Cat’s Whiskers”
Savoy Havana Band;  Ramon Newton, vocal
(Columbia 3340 mx A 350)                            October 17, 1923

“Panamericana”
Savoy Havana Band
(Columbia 3340 mx A 349)                           October 17, 1923

From the Edward Mitchell collection, here is a 1923 record by the Savoy Havana Band. The band was famous in Britain during the 1920s and took its name from London’s Savoy Hotel, where it was the hotel’s house band from 1921 to 1927.

“The Cat’s Whiskers” was also recorded in the USA by the Benson Orchestra of Chicago on Victor and by the Jazz-O-Harmonists on Edison.  But neither of those two American recordings included a vocal, which is provided on the recording here by Ramon Newton. In addition to being a vocalist, Cyril Ramon Newton was a violinist and composer and led his own band.  In the late 1920s, he made several vocal recordings for the Broadcast label, for which he was given solo credit.

What caught my eye about this particular record was the foxtrot version of “Panamericana” on the flip side. I have always enjoyed this Victor Herbert composition, which is usually performed by a concert orchestra, not a dance band.

The song was written for and was the official theme of the Pan-American Exposition, the 1901 World’s Fair, held in Buffalo, New York.  Sadly, the fair is best remembered as the site of the assassination of U.S. President William McKinley, to whom Herbert had dedicated the song.

Victor Herbert described the song as:

“…a morceau characteristique of the more popular order. The first part is supposed to be ‘Indian,’ the second part ‘ragtime’ (modern America), and the third ‘Cuban’ or of Spanish character.”

I don’t know why the Savoy Havana Band decided to revive a song that was already a couple of decades old with a dance-tempo arrangement but, at the time, Victor Herbert was still alive (he died the following year) and was still widely known.

I discovered the song when I came across a copy of a 1984 LP Victor Herbert: Sovenir by the Eastman-Dryden Orchestra, directed by Donald Hunsberger.  I thoroughly enjoyed the entire LP, but my favorite selection was, by far, “Panamericana” and I loved the way they performed it.  Happily, a copy of that recording has been made available on YouTube at this link.

If you enjoyed the Savoy Havana Band version, definitely check out the YouTube link.  Not only is it without the limitations of 1923’s pre-microphone recording technology,  the arrangement is likely similar to that heard by those attending the 1901 World Fair.

“Just A Sweetheart”
The Black Pirates; Frank Wells, vocal
(Broadway 1218-A mx 20870)                      circa October 1928

“Some Of These Days”
The Black Pirates; Diana Dell, vocal
(Broadway 1218-B mx 20822)                    circa August 1928

Here’s a hard-to-find record from the Edward Mitchell collection that I thought was interesting despite the sub-par homegrown electrical recording system used by the company that made it.

Broadway was a low-priced label whose largest retailer was the Mongomery Ward mail-order company, which, by this time, was also rapidly opening retail stores throughout the USA.  The label had multiple owners during its existence from the early 1920s to mid-1930s.

When this record was made, Broadway was owned by the New York Recording Laboratories, based not in New York but in Port Washington, Wisconsin, and owned by the Wisconsin Chair Company, which also manufactured Paramount records.

Most recordings on Broadway also appear on other labels. Many of its recordings during this period were leased from the manufacturer of the Banner and Regal labels.  But, others, such as the two on this record, were made for an issued by Paramount.

Paramount was an important label because it recorded many obscure and famous jazz and blues artists. However, the fidelity of its recordings was usually below that of other labels, which continued to be true after it switched to electrical recording.  Like Paramount, issues on Broadway that were pressed in-house were made of poor-quality materials that tended to make them noisy and wear out quickly.

Though the recording pseudonym The Black Pirates suggests (perhaps intentionally) that it might be an all-black band,  it was, in fact, a Chicago-based studio ensemble of white musicians led by Bill Haid, who was also the banjo player with the Coon-Sanders Nighthawks Orchestra.

Diana Dell and Frank Wells, who provide the vocals on these sides, were apparently the performers’ real names and not recording pseudonyms.  However, I was not able to quickly locate any information about either of them beyond references to these and other 1928 recordings they made for Paramount.

What I enjoy most about this record is the peppy arrangement of “Just A Sweetheart” immediately following Frank Wells’ vocal featuring Harry Reser/Clicquot Club Eskimos style banjo playing by Bill Haid and a brief whistling passage.

Despite the less-than-optimal recording equipment/audio engineering, I think the performances on these recordings are excellent.   Too bad they couldn’t have been recorded by Columbia or OKeh whose late 1920s recordings were on the opposite end of the quality spectrum.

“Too Busy”
Benny Meroff And His Orchestra; Dick Robertson, Ed Smalle, vocal
(OKeh 41079 mx 400820)                              June 25, 1927

“Darling”
Sam Lanin & His Famous Players;  Ed Smalle, vocal
(OKeh 41079 mx 400821)                              June 25, 1927

Both sides of this record from the Edward Mitchell collection feature Sam Lanin and His Famous Players.  However, the “Too Busy” side is credited as Benny Meroff And His Orchestra.

Benny Meroff was an actual bandleader who recorded with OKeh during this period and was not one of the many made-up pseudonyms that record labels commonly used during the 1920s and 1930s to mask the identity of the artists performing.

Why would OKeh have credited one of Sam Lanin’s recordings to another of its recording artists?

Here is some speculation on my part – and I stress that speculation is all it is.

Benny Meroff’s band was physically present for two recording sessions with OKeh, both of which were part of field trips OKeh made with its mobile recording equipment to Chicago.  The first occurred on May 14, 1927, and the last on December 9, 1927.

Between those two recording sessions, OKeh made two additional field trips to Chicago: June 7 – 24 and September 1 – 6.

During Meroff’s May 14 recording session in Chicago, his band recorded two songs, one of which, “That’s Dolly,” was not issued.

The record here of “Too Busy” by Sam Lanin’s band, but credited to Meroff, was made in OKeh’s New York City studio on June 25, the day after the company’s June field trip to Chicago ended.

Three days earlier in New York, on June 23,  Justin Ring’s Orchestra recorded “That’s Dolly.”   When that recording was issued, it was also credited to Benny Meroff and appeared on the flip side of the recording of “There’s A Trick In Pickin’ A Chick-Chick-Chicken” that the actual Meroff band made in its May 14 Chicago session.

Presumably, concern with the band’s June 23 take of “That’s Dolly” prevented it from being issued.  Was the band scheduled to record another take of it during OKeh’s return trip to Chicago in June and perhaps to record “Too Busy” as well?  If so, were there circumstances that prevented the band from attending?  Or perhaps the band did arrive at its appointed time and could not record due to either equipment issues or recording sessions scheduled earlier in the day going long?

Under either circumstance, I can see OKeh having other bands record the selections on behalf of Meroff so that they could be brought to market under Merhoff’s name.

There were other instances in 1927 where OKeh issued sides recorded by other bands but issued them under Merhoff’s name.

Both sides of OKeh 40912, “Just An Hour Of Love” and “I’m Wonderin’ Who,” were credited as Benny Meroff And His Orchestra but were, in fact,  recorded by Frankie Trumbaur’s band on September 30, 1927.   That date happens to be at the end of the same month that OKeh made its September 1 – 6 field trip to Chicago.

Was the original plan for Meroff to record the two songs during OKeh’s September visit to Chicago and, for some reason, was unable to?

Here, too, I can see reasons why OKeh would have still wanted the songs to be issued under Merhoff’s name.

Finally, there was another instance of two Sam Lanin recordings being issued under Merhoff’s name: “Lonely Melody,” recorded on November 29, 1927, and “When You’re With Somebody Else,” recorded on December 5, 1927.

Both were recorded slightly before or during another OKeh field trip to Chicago from December 2 – 19, where Meroff recorded “Smiling Skies” and “Me And The Man In The Moon on December 15, which were issued on OKeh 41171.

Were there plans for Meroff to record two additional sides during the December Chicago recording session that fell through?

Again, I can see why OKeh would have wanted to bring the originally planned number of Merhoff records to market, even if it meant using substitute recordings.

One reason OKeh made field trips across the country was because many local bands, while not well-known nationally, had strong regional followings, particularly if they broadcast over radio stations with strong signals that could be picked up across multiple states.

OKeh would certainly not have wanted to miss out on potential sales such an artist would generate – especially if they were highly anticipated by local OKeh retailers, whom the company had every motive to keep happy.

It is also conceivable that Merhoff’s contract with OKeh required them to issue a certain number of recordings under his name.

Regardless, both are nice, enjoyable recordings.

“Any Way The Wind Blows”
Waring’s Pennsylvanians
(Victor 19422-B)                               August 12, 1924

“Dreary Weather”
Waring’s Pennsylvanians; Tom Waring, vocal
(Victor 19422-A)                               August 12, 1924

From the Edward Mitchell collection, here are two somewhat unusual but fun recordings by Waring’s Pennsylvanians.

The arrangements on both recordings are loaded with various musical gimmicks and even some sound effects.  Among them, you will hear a few “doo wacka doo” passages on both recordings – a big fad during this period that quickly faded away once the novelty soon wore off and came to be regarded as cliched and, to some, even corny.

The arrangement for “Any Way The Wind Blows” is quite jazzy, as are the closing passages of “Dreary Weather.”

Waring’s Pennsylvanians was formed in 1918 by Fred and Tom Waring and a few University of Pennsylvania students. The band played up its college background and was popular on college campuses. The year after these recordings were made, the band had its first hit recording, “Collegiate.” The 1920s-era stereotype of partying, raccoon coat-wearing undergrads carrying hip flasks of bootleg beverages was something the band leaned into and helped perpetuate.

These recordings were made several months before Victor began recording with microphones in the spring of 1925.  The band’s style evolved as the 1920s progressed; in my opinion, their recordings from the late 1920s and early 1930s are the best.

As a musical group, Waring’s Pennsylvanians existed into the 1980s, though in very different form.

Between 1932 and 1942 the band refused to make records.  At the time, playing records over the radio was a legal gray area and record companies began putting statements on their labels expressly prohibiting it.  Nevertheless, certain smaller, non-network affiliated stations would play records by the more popular bands over the air – sometimes with misleading announcements attempting to convince the audience they were hearing a live broadcast.

Waring’s network radio broadcasts enjoyed large audiences and were a much bigger source of revenue for the band than records, sales of which were at all-time lows during the early Depression.  Waring felt that such fake broadcasts using his records were unfair competition and diverted audiences away from his broadcasts. Therefore, he decided to deprive such stations of future recordings by simply not making any.

By the time Waring’s Pennsylvanians resumed recording in 1942, the group was no longer a dance band and had adopted a glee club/choral format, which it maintained until Fred Waring died in 1984.  Unless one happens to be a fan of choral music, the Waring’s Pennsylvanians records one often finds from the 1940s and the LP era will be of little interest to fans of the group’s Jazz Age recordings.

A bit of trivia:  Fred Waring was also the inventor of the Waring Blender – a product which is still being made.

“Foolin’ Time”
Leo Reisman And His Orchestra; Lew Conrad, vocal
(Columbia 1416 D mx 145983)                 April 9, 1928

“When The Moon Comes Peeping Thru”
Leo Reisman And His Orchestra; Don Howard, vocal
(Columbia 1416 D mx 144017)               April 10, 1927

From the Edward Mitchell collection are two recordings by Leo Reisman and His Orchestra made almost a year to the day apart but issued on the same record.

I don’t know why Columbia held on to “When The Moon Comes Peeping Thru” for an entire year before deciding to issue it with “Foolin’ Time,” despite multiple other recording sessions with the Reisman band taking place during that period.

While Reisman and his band made many excellent recordings for Victor between 1929 and 1933, I have always been particularly fond of the electrically recorded sides the band previously made for Columbia.  While the band was the same, its style and sound were quite different during their Columbia years, and I find many of those recordings to be quite charming.

Coming across this record in Eddie’s collection made me recall a conversation with Eddie in which the subject of Leo Reisman came up—and it turned out that he, too, had always felt the same way about Reisman’s Columbia recordings compared to later Victor recordings.

I speculate that the change in styles with the switch of recording affiliations was possibly due to both occurring at approximately the same time the band moved from Reisman’s hometown of Boston to New York City, where it opened and became the resident band of the exclusive and upscale Central Park Casino nightclub.   Perhaps the change was due to New York’s high society crowd having somewhat different musical tastes than Boston’s.

Before the 1929 move to New York, the band regularly performed at the Egyptian Room of Boston’s Hotel Brunswick on Copley Square. Reisman’s band was so popular that he operated multiple satellite bands in the city, including one at the nearby Hotel Lenox.  During this period, both hotels had common ownership.

(As an aside, Hotel Brunswick, built in 1874, was one of Boston’s most prestigious hotels in the 1870s-1890s and remained fashionable into the 1930s.  When the hotel was demolished in 1957, this haunting and almost certainly staged photograph was taken of four elderly people drinking tea and taking in one last musical performance amidst the rubble surrounding the hotel’s tea room.)

The vocal on “Foolin’ Time” is provided by violinist Lew Conrad, who I think was an excellent vocalist and deserves to be better remembered.   He made records with the Reisman band until June 1930.

After leaving Reisman’s band, Conrad formed his own band, Lew Conrad & His Musketeers, and, at some point before March 1932, was appointed Music Director of Boston’s Hotel Statler, one of a chain of prominent hotels founded by Ellsworth M. Statler, who died in 1928.  Conrad named his band after three fans from the University of Chicago who listened to his radio broadcasts and sent fan letters signed “Conrad’s Three Musketeers.”  The band recorded four sides for Victor in May 1932.

While looking up background information for this posting, I stumbled across mention of Lew Conrrad’s possible involvement in events leading up to the mysterious death and perhaps murder of a young socialite and heiress of the Statler Hotels fortune.  The circumstances of her death made national headlines at the time and, to this day, remains unsolved.

In a 2010 book Death of a Pinehurst Princess: The 1935 Elva Statler Davidson Mystery, author Steve Bouser presents circumstantial evidence that, between the time he became Music Director of the Boston Statler and the end of 1934, Conrad had been in a romantic relationship with Elva Idesta Statler, the wealthy socialite adopted daughter and heiress of the late Ellsworth M Statler who had founded the hotel.

On February 27, 1935, Elva’s partially clothed body was found in the garage of her home in the affluent resort town of Pinehurst, North Carolina, after arguing the evening before with her husband of two months, Henry Bradley Davidson Jr.  Shortly before her death, she had traveled to Boston from Pinehurst to change her will naming her husband, whose family had lost its fortune, as the recipient of her estate.

Whether her death was suicide, an accident, or murder has yet to be solved.  Her husband was suspected of murdering her, but charges were never filed.

In a 1936 deposition, attorney Bart Leach testified that, before Elva Statler’s marriage, he had been employed by her “to handle legal angles growing out of a love affair between her and a Bostonian named Conrad, described by counsel as an orchestra member or a band leader.”

The same month as Elva Statler’s death, Lew Conrad filed bankruptcy, listing $8,000 in debts (about $182,400 in 2024 dollars).

Bowser speculates as to whether Lew Conrad might have been after Elva’s money, whether the “legal angels” might have been Conrad receiving a loan from her that he could not repay, or perhaps a financially desperate Conrad making an attempt at blackmail.

Bowser concludes that if her death was thought to be murder and had there been knowledge of a romantic relationship, then “given the timing, if nothing else, police at the time certainly would have considered [Conrad] a ‘person of interest.'”

After his bankruptcy, Conrad continued to lead bands in the Boston area until at least the early 1940s.

“If I Had A Talking Picture Of You”
Earl Burtnett And His Los Angeles Biltmore Hotel Orchestra
(Brunswick 4501)                                                 August 9, 1929

“Sunnyside Up”
Earl Burtnett And His Los Angeles Biltmore Hotel Orchestra
(Brunswick 4501)                                                 August 9, 1929

From the Edward Mitchell collection, here are two recordings of songs from the very successful 1929 musical film Sunny Side Up. It was one of the early big-budget movie musicals and came out when not all theaters had converted to showing the new talking pictures.

Note that on the label image above,  Brunswick misspelled the name of the film in both its listing of the film credit and its title song as “Sunnyside Up.”   I have preserved that misspelling here and on the title/artist information displayed when it plays on Radio Dismuke to accurately reflect what is on the record’s label.

Both of the songs here were popular and widely recorded.

Some might recognize the song “Sunny Side Up” from the recording made by Johnny Hamp and His Kentucky Serenaders played during the closing credits of the classic 1973 film Paper Moon, the story of which was set in Depression-era Kansas and Missouri.  The lyrics on this version are different from those on Johnny Hamp’s and most other recordings of the song.

The lyrics on “If I Had A Talking Picture of You” are enjoyable in that they are topical to a period when sound films were the latest technology that people marveled over.

Other highly successful songs from the film, which you can hear multiple versions of in Radio Dismuke’s playlist, are “Turn On The Heat” and “I’m A Dreamer, Aren’t We All.”

I could not find any information on who provided the uncredited vocals on these recordings.  Paul Gibbons was one of the vocalists with Earl Burnett’s band during this period, and, after listening to a few other Burnett recordings where Gibbons provided the vocal,  I suspect he was probably the vocalist on these as well.  But my ears aren’t the best at making such comparisons, and I am reluctant to state definitively that it was, indeed, Gibbons.

“Love Bird”
“Selvin’s Dance Orchestra”
(Aeolian-Vocalion-B 14155)                                  Circa January-February 1921

Popular music styles and trends evolved at an amazingly rapid pace during the early decades of the 20th century. The late 1910s and early 1920s were a transition period between the ragtime era and the Jazz Age.

When the ballroom dance craze that would endure and dominate popular music in the West into the early 1940s burst upon the scene in the early 1910s, ragtime was the dominant inspiration behind the new dance music, which was then primarily performed by large military-style bands.

By 1917, the first jazz recordings were issued, and very early dance bands were starting to emerge.  They were smaller than the old military bands and used a different range of instruments to provide a lighter, less formal sound.

Increasingly, the arrangements used by these dance bands drew their inspiration from the new jazz music – so much so that, in the 1920s, it became common for people to refer to all dance bands as “jazz bands.” While not accurate, there was an element of truth in that almost all jazz musicians and even the jazziest bands of the period earned their living primarily by performing before live audiences who expected to be able to get up and dance to the music.

Here’s an early 1921 dance band recording from the Edward Mitchell collection that I think is rather charming.

Compared to other dance band recordings of the period, its arrangement is conservative and there is a particularly noticeable holdover from the ragtime era.  Observe that the recording essentially consists of the same musical passages being repeated until it is time for the record to end. Unlike many ragtime-era dance recordings by groups such as the Victor Military Band and Prince’s Orchestra, it does provide a different orchestration each time the music repeats – but it never strays very far.

By this time, dance band arrangements were already evolving to become more varied, creative, and willing to stray from the standard stock rendition issued by the music publishing houses. Arrangements would also begin to feature more solo passages, and bandleaders would allow their top musicians the freedom to improvise on such solo passages.

By the time the microphones started being used on the first electric recordings four and a half years later, the Charleston craze was underway, and arrangements like the one heard on this recording were already considered out-of-date. By the start of the 1930s decade, they were considered to be hopelessly old-fashioned.

Though these early dance band recordings quickly fell out of favor and are often overlooked even by many 78 rpm collectors, a lot of really nice records were made during this period, especially if one is willing to listen to the recordings on their own terms and not through the lens of where recording technology and music eventually evolved by the end of the decade.

What I like about the dance bands of the early 1920s is that many of their recordings – including this one to a degree – had a certain unique sound that lasted only for a brief period and that I can only describe as charming and/or haunting.

“Love Bird” was composed by bandleader Ted Fio Rito and Mary Earl, a pen name for male composer Robert A. King. The song was successful, and almost every record label at the time issued at least one version.

Ben Selvin holds the world’s record as the most prolific recording artist, having recorded over 9,000 sides between 1919 and 1934 (some estimate the number is closer to 20,000), both under his own name and under a staggering array of pseudonyms.

One cannot tell by looking at the label image, but the playing surface on Vocalion records during this period was reddish-brown due to dyes mixed into the shellac. The Aeolian Company, which manufactured Vocalion phonographs and records, billed them as “Vocalion Red Records.” The company’s promotions from that period often featured the slogan “Red Records Are Best.”

“At Sundown”
Jay’s Chelsea Orchestra; Vaughn DeLeath, vocal
(Vocalion A-15554)                                              April 21, 1927

“My Idea of Heaven”
Jay’s Chelsea Orchestra; Vaughn DeLeath, vocal
(Vocalion B-15554)                                              April 21, 1927

From the Edward Mitchell collection, here are two upbeat, happy recordings by the Harry Reser Orchestra, issued under the recording pseudonym of Jay’s Chelsea Orchestra.

Resers’s band made hundreds of recordings under its own name and a wide array of pseudonyms throughout the 1920s and early 1930s.

Some immediately stand out as having been made by Reser with their Tom Stacks vocals and Reser’s trademark banjo solos.  Here is a link to a recent posting that features a recording with the unmistakable Reser sound.

But many recordings that his band made under a pseudonym, particularly on low-priced “dime store” labels, feature more or less standard dance band arrangements, and the only way most would know that they were by Reser’s band would be by looking the recording up in a discography.

These are good examples of such recordings.  Vocalion was founded by the Aeolian Company, a major manufacturer of pianos and organs.  Aeolian sold Vocalion to Brunswick in 1924, which converted it into a lower-priced subsidiary label.   Sometimes, recordings by big-name groups, such as Ben Bernie And His Hotel Roosevelt Orchestra, that were issued on Brunswick were reissued on Vocalion under pseudonyms such as Al Goering’s Collegians.  In other instances, such as this record, recordings were made specifically for release on Vocalion.

Other examples of more generic recordings that Reser made for Brunswick were issued under the pseudonyms of the Park Lane Orchestra and the Clevelanders.  Many of these are wonderful in their own right – but one would not be able to identify them as being by Reser’s band simply by listening to them.

The Harry Reser band made another recording of “At Sundown” in the band’s trademark style for Columbia as the Clicquot Club Eskimos, named after an early network radio program the band starred in.   You can hear that recording on YouTube at this link.  Not only does it provide a great example of the Reser band at what I consider to be their best and a vocal by Tom Stacks, who sang on most such Reser recordings, it also demonstrates the superiority of the sound and fidelity of Columbia’s electrical recording process over Brunswick’s during this period.

I have a copy of the Clicquot Club Eskimo’s recording of “At Sundown” and was surprised to realize that I have never added it to Radio Dismuke’s playlist – an omission I plan to correct as soon as I can locate the record.

The uncredited vocal on both of these recordings is by Vaughn DeLeath, whose voice was very well-known in the 1920s through radio broadcasts, and on the over 300 sides she recorded for Edison, Columbia, Brunswick, OKeh, and Victor.   She was the very first female vocalist to broadcast on an ongoing basis, starting in 1920 at Lee DeForest’s experimental station 2XG, before the first commercial radio broadcasting license was issued to KDKA in November of that year.

Some credit Vaughn DeLeath as the originator of “crooning,” the soft, intimate singing style that soon became standard for popular music vocals and made possible by the advent of the microphone, first for radio broadcasting and then for recordings.  She was also the first female vocalist to perform on television through experimental broadcasts made during the late 1920s.

The “At Sundown” side of this record has some surface damage. Fortunately, most of its impact was at frequencies much higher than the music and could be removed.  At frequencies closer to the music, I was able to minimize the volume of the defects, which shouldn’t be particularly noticeable on most speakers.  But, on other speakers and for those who have artificially boosted the treble on their playback devices, they might be more noticeable.

“Mountain City Blues”
Clarence Williams’ Orch
(OKeh 8592 mx 400819)                                   June 23, 1928

“Lazy Mama”
Clarence Williams’ Orch
(OKeh 8592 mx 400818)                                   June 23, 1928

From the Edward Mitchell collection, here are two enjoyable, jazzy recordings by the multi-talented Clarence Williams.

Clarence Williams was an important figure in the Harlem Renaissance music scene as a bandleader, pianist, composer, and music publisher.

Williams not only made records for OKeh, he was the label’s music director for its 8000 catalog series of so-called “race records,” of which this one is an example.  OKeh was the first label to issue such records, made by black artists and marketed primarily to black record buyers.  In doing so, they discovered that black audiences had buying power and would eagerly buy records that reflected their musical tastes and interests, for which there had been an enormous pent-up demand that had been ignored by the record industry.  Other labels quickly followed and introduced their own catalogs of such records.

As music director for OKeh, Williams supervised recording sessions for the series and recruited its roster of various jazz, blues, and gospel artists, including Louis Armstrong, King Oliver, Victoria Spivey, Lonnie Johnson, and others.

Clarence William’s wife was singer and actress Eva Taylor. Their grandson, Clarence Williams III, was an actor best known for his role as Linc Hayes in the late 1960s – early 1970s television series The Mod Squad.