“I Get A Kick Out Of You”
Paul Whiteman And His Orchestra; Ramona, vocal
(Victor 24769-B) October 26, 1934
“You’re The Top”
Paul Whiteman And His Orchestra; Johnny Hauser, Peggy Healy, vocal
(Victor 24769-A) October 26, 1934
Here are 1934 versions by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra of two songs from the musical production Anything Goes, which are still performed and well-known.
Anything Goes made its Broadway debut on November 21, 1934, and closed just under a year later after 420 performances. Since that time, it has enjoyed many revivals and countless local and regional performances. Cole Porter wrote both the music and the lyrics.
When Paramount Pictures made a film version of the musical in 1936, one of the lines in the song “I Get A Kick Out Of You,” “Some get a kick from cocaine...” was regarded as too scandalous for the censors of the era’s strict Motion Picture Code and was thus changed in the film to “Some like the perfume from Spain….“
These recordings by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra were made about a month before the show’s Broadway debut and this was one of the top-selling records of the song.
Radio Dismuke’s playlist features a few other versions of both songs. Among them are recordings issued on a 1934 Bluebird 78 rpm record by George Hall and his Hotel Taft Orchestra with vocals by Loretta Lee and Sonny Schuyler that I personally consider to be the best recordings of both songs.
“Just A Little Drink”
Golden Gate Orchestra; Arthur Hall, vocal
Perfect 14416 mx 105964-3) April 13, 1925
“You’re In Wrong With The Right Baby”
Five Birmingham Babies
(Perfect 14416-B mx 105966-1) April 14, 1925
Here is a jazzy orange shellac Perfect record from the Edward Mitchell collection that hit record dealer shelves in June 1925.
Both of these pre-microphone era recordings are performed by members of the California Ramblers, an important 1920s jazz band that recorded hundreds of sides under numerous pseudonyms for most of the American record labels of that decade.
The Golden Gate Orchestra was one of the band’s most frequently used recording pseudonyms. The Five Birmingham Babies was a pseudonym used by Pathe and its budget-priced subsidiary label Perfect for a smaller ensemble of California Ramblers musicians.
Among the sidemen performing on “Just A Little Drink” are future bandleaders Adrian Rollini, Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, and Red Nichols. Adrian Rollini and Red Nichols returned to the recording studio the following day to perform on “You’re In Wrong With The Right Baby.”
This recording of “Just A Little Drink” was also issued on Pathe 036235 under the pseudonym of the Palace Garden Orchestra and on Pathe 10899 as Max Terr And His Orchestra.
“You’re In Wrong With The Right Baby” also appeared on Pathe 036235 and was credited as the Five Birmingham Babies. The issue of “Just A Little Drink” on Pathe 10899 was paired with a different song.
I think the recording of “Wang Wang Blues” is especially interesting. The song dates back to 1920, and its first recording by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra was a big seller. It was co-composed by three members of the Paul Whiteman band, Henry Busse, Gussie Mueller, and Theron E. “Buster” Johnson. The song’s lyrics were written by Leo Wood.
This will be the fourth version of “Wang Wang Blues” to be added to Radio Dismuke’s playlist. The others include a 1928 Hawaiian guitar version by the Sam Ku West Harmony Boys and a 1934 recording by Henry Busse’s Orchestra.
You will also hear on the station a never-issued recording of the song made a few months after Fletcher Henderson’s on October 2 by Mal Hallett and His Orchestra for Edison. The intention was for the recording to be issued on Edison’s new “needle type” line of conventional 78 rpm records (as opposed to Edison’s thick, vertical grooved Diamond Discs, which had lost most of their market share). But, before the month ended, Edison closed down his record and phonograph business and never issued the recording.
Mal Hallett’s band recorded multiple takes of the song, one of which was issued a few years ago on a Jazz Oracle CD. The version heard on Radio Dismuke is from an extremely rare test pressing donated to Early 1900s Music Preservation of a different take than the one that was issued on the Jazz Oracle CD.
We do know that another test pressing of the take we have exists at the Edison National Historic Park. But we do not know if any other copies exist besides the one that was donated to us. It is undoubtedly the rarest recording in Radio Dismuke’s playlist, and I am not aware of any other place where one can hear that particular take.
In my opinion, the Mal Hallett version of “Wang Wang Blues” is not only the rarest but also the best. But that does not take away from the fact that this version by Fletcher Henderson is simply outstanding. I am very excited about adding it to Radio Dismuke’s playlist.
During the opening four seconds of “Blazin'” one can hear what sounds to me like electrical hum. While cleaning up the recording, I was concerned that it might have somehow been added by an issue with my transfer equipment. But when I placed the record back on the turntable to confirm, it was clear that the sound is inherent in the record.
It occurs to me that it might be electrical hum introduced by an issue with Columbia’s recording equipment. Or perhaps it was generated by a musical instrument I cannot identify.
It would be very easy to edit out that hum-like sound without impacting the rest of the audio during those four seconds. But, even if I knew for certain it was an error with Columbia’s equipment, I would still leave it in as such a defect would be part of the recording’s history.
The New York production ran from January 31 through April 28, 1928, at the Royale and Casino Theaters. These recordings were made when the show was still in out-of-town tryouts. It initially opened in January 1927 under the name Green Fruit. By April, the show had gone back into rehearsal with a new cast except for the show’s star, Mitzi Hajos, and was given a new name, Chibi, which was changed again to The Madcap by the time it opened up at Poli’s Theatre in Washington DC on April 19.
This record was released to Victor dealer’s stores in September 1927.
Nat Shilkret was the music director for Victor’s in-house studio orchestra. Johnny Marvin was an early crooner famous for accompanying himself on the ukulele during the 1920s ukulele craze.
“South Sea Rose” is the title song from the 1929 comedy film South Sea Rose, an early all-sound film of which no known copies have survived. This recording will be the second version of the song in Radio Dismuke’s playlist – the other is by the A&P Gypsies, from another record in Eddie Mitchell’s collection that he let me make a transfer of for the station a few years ago.
“What Do I Care” comes from the 1929 musical stage production Harry Carroll’s Revue at the Music Box Theater in Hollywood, California. Harry Carroll was the composer for several Broadway productions and for his own musical revues that appeared on the vaudeville circuits throughout the 1920s.
For his 1929 revue, Carroll secured a long-term lease of the Music Box Theater and renamed it Harry Carroll’s Music Box Theatre – apparently with the intent of staging productions there on an ongoing basis. An advertisement for the production boasted an “all-star cast of 70,” including “40 wonderful girls.”
Carroll’s venture was not successful. The show closed after five weeks, and Carroll was forced to sell his beach house in Santa Monica to pay for the production’s debts.
“What Do I Care” was more successful than the show that originated it. In the months after the production closed, several artists recorded it. Carroll, Jesse Greer, and Raymond Klages shared the song’s composer credits.
This recording will be the second version of “What Do I Care” in Radio Dismuke’s playlist – the other being by Adrian Schubert’s Orchestra, issued under the pseudonym of the Imperial Dance Orchestra.
Hollywood’s Music Box Theatre still stands and is now called the Henry Fonda Theatre. At some point, its facade was “modernized”/uglified and either replaced or covered with metal paneling that looks similar to the side of a shipping container. However, its interior still has many of its 1920s-era details.
First (though probably not most important!), the discrepancy between the band’s name on one side of the record versus the other rests with someone at Brunswick and not me (I make enough typos to be eager to point out when they are not mine!). I will speculate on why such a discrepancy might have occurred later in the posting.
Abe Lyman led one of the more nationally famous West Coast bands and was among Brunswick’s top-selling artists in the 1920s and early 1930s. For much of the 1920s, it was the house band at the legendary Cocoanut Grove nightclub at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles.
These and all of Lyman’s 1928 recordings were made in his hometown of Chicago, where the band provided the music for that city’s very successful stage production of Good News, which ran from February through November. During that period, the band also recorded a few songs from the production, including a 12-inch two-part medley record. Lyman and the band also appeared in the 1930 film version of Good News.
During the same recording sessions that produced the sides here, the band also recorded an instrumental version of each song for release in the German and possibly other foreign language markets.
Lyman’s band made records from 1923 to 1942. Musical styles evolved at an extremely rapid pace during that period, and bands had to change along with them to remain popular. Thus, Abe Lyman’s records from one period will have a very different sound than those of another. But my experience is that, regardless of the era, most of them are worth looking into.
As for the discrepancy in the band’s name on the opposite sides of this record, at some point around the time these recordings were made, there was a transition of the band’s name (whether the name the band itself went by or merely how it was listed on its Brunswick recordings, I am not sure) from “Abe Lyman and His California Orchestra” to “Abe Lyman’s California Orchestra. ”
Looking at the labels of various issues, recordings from the same November 26, 1928 recording session as “Won’t You Tell Me Hon” were issued under both names.
“Give Your Little Baby Lots of Lovin'” was the only song the band recorded in its December 22, 1928 recording session.
Most recordings from the band’s early 1929 sessions seem to have been issued under “Abe Lyman’s California Orchestra.” However, I found one example still listed as “Abe Lyman And His California Orchestra.”
It occurs to me that it is possible that when later pressings of the band’s previous recordings were made, the name on the label was updated, which would explain why recordings from the same session might appear under both. But seeing such a discrepancy on opposite sides of the same disc is a bit unusual.
The Georgians were the first “band within a band,” something that became common with the more famous bands during the swing era of the late 1930s and early 1940s (for example, Paul Whiteman and His Swing Wing, Tommy Dorsey and His Clambake Seven, Artie Shaw and His Gramercy Five, etc.).
“Snakes Hips” was composed by Spencer Williams, who wrote several compositions that continue to be performed by various jazz groups.
The Georgians were the first to record the song, though the Original Memphis Five made a recording for Brunswick three days later, issued under the pseudonym The Cotton Pickers, and a recording for Victor eight days later, issued under their own name.
I’ve seen mention online that “Snakes Hips” refers to belly dancing, but I could not find further information to confirm the accuracy of that.
However, the song came out in an era when there was a fascination in the West with ancient and/or traditional cultures perceived as “exotic,” which had a big influence on everything from architecture to fashion and on music in the form of popular “Oriental foxtrot” compositions.
A few months before this recording, the excavation of the tomb of ancient Egyptian pharaoh Tutankhamun made international headlines and sparked a widespread interest in ancient Egyptian aesthetics, which soon spread through popular culture. The pseudo-Egyptianesque theme of the song and this recording are both consistent with that trend.
“Farewell Blues,” a 1922 composition byPaul Mares, Leon Roppolo, and Elmer Schoebel, was recorded by dozens of groups in the 1920s and 1930s and continues to be performed.
Several other bands in Germany also made recordings of the song, a few of which you can hear by doing a YouTube search for the song’s title. All are very nice, but I think this Paul Godwin/Paul Dorn version is, by far, the best. Paul Dorn’s vocal has a poignant quality that makes the already haunting melody even more so.
As much as I enjoy and am a huge fan of German popular music and dance bands from this era, I do not speak the language. This is one of those instances where, on the one hand, I am curious to hear a translation of the lyrics but, on the other, am reluctant to do so out of fear that they might end up being utterly banal and trite and thus break the mood that Dorn’s rendition of them seems to convey.
The IMDB page for the film’s 1934 American remake indicates that its soundtrack featured a song, “No One Worries, No One Cares,” composed by Allan Gray with English lyrics by Harry Tobias. I have not been able to find any clips from that film to determine whether its tune is the same as “Niemand fragt uns.” Nor can I find mention of any American recordings having been made of a song by that title.
One year and fifteen days after this recording was made, Adolf Hitler became chancellor of Germany, an event that would significantly alter the trajectory of the lives of all of the principals associated with the song and the recording.
Within months, it became impossible for Allan Gray, Walter Reisch, and Paul Godwin to work in Germany, forcing them to flee the country.
Walter Reisch successfully resumed his career as a film writer in Hollywood, first at MGM and later at 20th Century Fox. Allan Gray spent the war years as a composer for the British film industry and became a British citizen in 1947.
Paul Godwin was able to resume his career in the Netherlands until that country came under German occupation in 1940. Early in the occupation, he performed in concerts at the Hollandsche Schouwburg (Dutch Theater) in Amsterdam’s Jewish Quarter until the theater was converted into a deportation center where Jews were detained for transit to the concentration camps where most would perish.
Because Paul Godwin’s wife was considered to be an “Aryan,” he was able to avoid being sent to the concentration camps, though he was subjected to forced labor. Godwin lost three brothers and a sister who were murdered in the gas chambers. After the war he became a Dutch citizen and worked performing classical music for the Dutch Broadcasting Corporation.
Paul Dorn was not Jewish and was thus not restricted from continuing to work in Germany. As a studio vocalist for most of the major German record labels, Dorn performed on hundreds of recordings by various dance bands throughout the 1930s, in most cases without any label credit, as was common practice at the time. Within a few months of the outbreak of World War II, Dorn was drafted into the Wehrmacht.
While on leave in Berlin in June 1942, he made his last recordings with Belgian bandleader Fud Candrix, who formed a band in Berlin after his country came under occupation. This would also be the last time Dorn would see his family as he was subsequently sent to the Eastern front.
Based on a letter a Polish priest sent to his widow after the war, Paul Dorn is believed to have died near Danzig sometime around March 29, 1945. His family was never able to learn of his place of burial.
“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.
“…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.
