Christiern

CAREY

Definitely not.

You forget one thing. Riverside existed only in the tape era. Tape introduced the capability to make physical edits. Quite often a performance was good, but the intro (or some other segment) was flawed. In such cases the flawed part was re-performed; in other cases, parts of two or more complete takes were combined to make a satisfactory whole. Some producers gave these "partials"(inserts) a separate take number, others tagged them as intros, codas, or whatever. In other words, what you hear on a release might be the result of a combination of takes--not so in the 78 rpm era. The following scan is an excerpt from editing notes made by George Avakian during preparation of the Louis Armstrong live in Milan album. I hope it comes out in a readable form and that it will demonstrate what I am talking about:

Not quite. Through most of the 78 rpm era, acetates were not used. Recording alternate takes was, in a sense, done in order to have a "safety." In other words, some alternate takes were gratuitous, and the main reason for this approach was that--as I said--one could not listen to an original wax-like disc without destroying it--thus it was not until a test pressing was made that one actually heard an releasable result. Acetate discs changed that, and they replaced the old 3 to 5-minute discs until magnetic tape became the standard. The reason you hear studio talk and take announcements is simply that the disc's capacity allowed it, and the performance could be lifted from the acetate disc for mastering. BTW, acetate discs are normally aluminum-based, but the war effort saw aluminum replaced by glass, so the wartime discs were quite breakable. To show you the frugality war restrictions called for, I found a Billie Holiday session on a disc that had, on the other side, Ed Murrow reporting from London. . Yes, and I gather that "mouldy" translates into off-mike. The acetates I worked with were recorded at 33 1/3 rpm It would not surprise me if there still are some acetates lying around, undiscovered.

This is a Lil Armstrong Riverside session that took place at The Birdhouse, Chicago, September 7, 1961. The clarinetists (front) are Franz Jackson (left) and Darnell Howard (right). Next to them are Al Wynn (trombone, on left) and Eddie Smith (trumpet, on right). The trumpeter on the left is Leroi Nabors and the trombonist on the right is Preston Jackson. The trumpeter in the middle is Bill Martin. That's Booker Washington on drums, Pops Foster on bass, Lil on piano, and yours truly seated on the left, with a stopwatch at the ready. It was a strange combination of musicians. I had intended to do two separate sessions with two different front lines, but my engineers were late and slow, so--with little time left before Oscar Peterson was to take over the bandstand--I found it most expedient to simply put them all together.

Another unpublished photo. That's Charlie Shavers on the right (in front) and I believe the lady is Beryl Booker, seated next to ARt Tatum. Anyone recognize the rest? I was given this picture by Elmer Snowden, who got it from Beryl.

Louis posed for this photo in NYC and sent it to Lil. The inscription reads: To my Dear wife, whom I'll love until I die. From Hubby Louis Armstrong 9/23/29

Marian Anderson and Alberta Hunter in London, in 1928. The man holding the baby was a correspondent for the Chicago Defender.

All you need is a case of... ...and some great jazz moosick! Happy Birthday! MOOSE ..sorry, wrong moose! We all know who the real one is.

It was called Luckey's Rendezvous and located at 773 St. Nicholas Avenue. This place, which could house about 200 people, was originally home of the Fujiyama Dance Studio, then--in the early 1930s--it became the Poosepahtuck Club and featured singer Monette Moore (1934-1935), with Joe Jordan as the house pianist. Somewhere around 1940, it was bought by Luckeyeth Roberts, who had done quite well financially in the society band field. Under Roberts' ownership, it was a place to which one could go and hear Claudia McNeil (remember her in Raisin in the Sun?) and, of course, Roberts himself. It was also a place that attracted the likes of Don Lambert, Art Tatum and Marlowe Morris.

It was "All of Me," from a March 21, 1941 session with Eddie Heywood and His Orchestra (Shad Collins, tp; Leslie Jonakins and Eddie Barefield, as; Lester Young, ts; Heywood, p; John Collins, gt; Ted Sturgis, bs; Kenny Clarke, dm. The matrix number for that selection is 29990, and the take that was originally issued bears the designation -1, but the longer performance was, in fact the first take. It appears in discographies as take 2, but things are often not what they see to be. I don't recall which album I put it on, but I'll check my LP shelves.

As has been pointed out, some producers give a new take number to every scrap--false starts, incomplete takes, etc. In such cases, it is possible to reach take 36 without, in fact, having much usable material. In the case of Miles Davis at Columbia, I never understood how Teo figured it out and came up with something that sounded seamless. I recall seeing him with Miles session tape piled high, getting ready to sort it out into something coherent. I really can't see how these bits and pieces could have been assigned take numbers. Some producers did not give takes consecutive numbers, so what eventually was released as the first take might have been the seventh. This was common practice at Columbia during the period of transition from 78 rpms to LPs. The practice of recording directly onto wax-like discs gave way to the use of 16" acetate discs that could hold several takes. Before that, the 78 rpm discs could only be played back once in the studio to check the balance. Having been played, were useless for mastering, so any balance problems were corrected, the disc was recycled and the session proceeded. Thus false starts were automatically discarded in the early days. I guess some producers may have re-used tape, but I never saw that happen, not at Riverside nor at Prestige. We hear a lot about tape vaults, and it is easy to imagine some kind of steel room with a combination lock, but the fact is that master tapes often were handled very casually. Columbia stored (and probably still does) its tapes at Iron Mountain, a actual mountain storage that also houses important corporate documents for banks, insurance companies, etc. At Riverside, we simply had a large closet with shelves of numbered tape boxes and an air conditioner that kept the temperature right. While I don't recall master tapes being thrown away, I seem to remember that we reused our safeties. I also recall that we physically cut out of the original tape the selections used, and assembled them for the master tape. This left reels of tape containing everything but that which had been released. Remember, I am talking about methods I observed and used prior to the introduction of digital recording. Today there is no problem making exact copies, but an acoustic dub was always a degenerating process. BTW, except for very rare instances, studio talk and extraneous activity was not preserved until acetates came into use. I recall finding a perfectly good, yet previously unissued Billie Holiday selection on an acetate--it turned out that it was not issued because it exceeded the time limit of a 78 rpm disc (Lester Young played one chorus too many). I included it on a reissue album.

In the Scandinavian countries we exchange and open gifts on Christmas Eve, after a sumptuous and--for kids--all too lengthy dinner. Christmas Day is for visiting relatives and having a lunch that centers around left-overs, such as goose from the night before. For all I know, they may eat Christmas peanut butter sandwiches these days, but I rather suspect that today's Christmas dinner is a healthier version of what used to be (Danes tended to eat far too much fat and butter, and very little green). When I was a kid, the typical, traditional Danish Christmas dinner started with a rice pudding-like dish. One serving (supposedly random, but always rigged when kids are involved) contained an almond, the recipient of which got a special almond gift. The main course was sometimes a roasted rack of pork, but more commonly a goose stuffed with apples and prunes. In either case, it came with red cabbage and small, caramel-coated potatoes (turned in sugar and butter), as well as rich brown gravy, made with heavy cream and good wine. There was also red-currant jelly on the side. The dessert could be anything from ice cream to something fruity, but rarely if ever was it cake. After dinner, one retires to the living room where coffee and cognac are served along with an assortment of Christmas cookies and chocolates. Then one circles the tree, holding hands, and walks around it while singing Christmas songs. This is often a chore for kids, who are eager to get to the gifts. That ritual follows. We don't hang Christmas stockings anywhere--Santa comes through the window at night and puts little gifts in slippers that have been placed on the sill for his convenience. In Iceland, where I also grew up, the routine is very similar, but the traditional dinner consists of smoked lamb served with boiled potatoes and green peas in a creamy white sauce.

Do you know what year she went from Connie, to Connee?? ...her disability also forced her to change her name from Connie due to slight paralysis in her wrist and hand which made repeatedly dotting the ''i'' in her name while signing autographs painful. Don't know when (yet), but this is one reason given for why. Anyway, back to thread subject...here's a never published photo of Lil Armstrong with first husband, Johnny, in her car 1920.

...and here's one of the paradiddles Wettling printed:

From Down Beat November 15, 1944 A little something for DEEP...

A nice group photo from the Nov. 15, 1944 issue of down beat

This October 15, 1944 cover might please Boswell fan berigan:

I came across barely hanging together issues of Down Beat--sneeze and they are gone forever. So I have started scanning them and thought I'd post some. If there looks to be an item that you would like to see enlarged, let me know, and I'll try. This is the top half of the front page, July 15, 1940:

Harrison Smith was an old-time hustler who dressed impeccably, although he had somewhat of a retro look. He was not easily dismissed, and he seemed forever to be in pursuit of easy money. When he threatened to sue me for using Sam Wooding's name, Sam laughed and volunteered to be my star witness! Harrison did, however have some success, as when he told RCA that their Jelly Roll Morton recordings belonged to him (or some of them, at least). His attorney for that case was Flo Kennedy, another hustler, but an often lovable, long-time friend of mine. She handled the Billie Holiday and Charlie Parker estates, and could be quite intimidating--it worked on the RCA people, but I'm not so sure that she and Harrison had a valid case.

According to the late Harrison Smith: So I was trying to set up this band for Jelly, and one of the boys in the band, the drummer, was pushing everybody around. He was a cut-up, you know, Jelly grabbed him and said, "You think you're togh, don't you? Who'd you ever kill?" The guy said, "Jim Europe." And he really was the guy who had killed band leader Jim Europe in his dressing room in Boston in 1919! Jelly said, "My, my, my!" And to me he said, "I don't want to be around that guy." Herbert Wright, I believe his name was, and I didn't want any part of him either. BTW Harrison Smith was quite a character. He claimed to own the name "Eugene Sedric" and threatened to sue me for using it on an album. It was a Dick Wellstood session I produced, and Gene was one of the musicians!

We didn't lose any threads in the attack. Glad to hear that. In that case, I'm sorry to have re-posted old material.

Ads in April 23, 1964 issue of Village Voice. Notice those prices and what you get to hear for a pittance...

Here's an old Ma Rainey handout...

Here's a dapper Duke in Los Angeles, 1931...