Len Digs Through Dust: ‘How do you smuggle a genius guitarist with a purple shirt?’

Two master clarinettists commanded the big band scene during the Swing Era. The first was Benny Goodman who’d been anointed ‘King Of Swing’ at the height of his fame by Time magazine in 1937. The second was Artie Shaw (see last week’s ‘Digging Through Dust #14’). It may come as a surprise to learn that the two were hardly bosom buddies and, according to irreplaceable jazz guru, Dan Morgenstern, their rivalry persisted their graves. But having only last week lodged upwards of a thousand words about Shaw’s magnificent recording of Hoagy Carmichael’s ‘Star Dust’, fairness demands that we explore Goodman’s version as well.

I reckon it’s time for me to fess up and admit that I’ve always preferred Goodman’s small groups to his big bands, particularly the magnificent series of Sextet recordings on the U.S. Columbia label. Yes, of course, Goodman’s precision big band was voted No. 1 in America. And, yes, there are some exciting big band tracks (but please explain why TV drama and documentary soundtracks never reach beyond ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’ to signify the Swing Era and the Thirties?). But I’ve always regarded the Sextets as his greatest legacy: giants at play, bursting with wit, joy and the essence of jazz. And that’s why I’ve chosen his groundbreaking Sextet recording of ‘Star Dust ’recorded on 2^nd October, 1939 rather than his big band version. And because it contains an epic contribution from Charlie Christian.

Christian’s inclusion in the Sextet owes much to family relationships. Goodman’s brother-in-law is John Hammond who, although a member of the multi-zillionaire Vanderbilt family, is also a radical social-reformer and ubiquitous man-about-jazz. In the hallowed tradition of most brothers-in-law, opinionated Hammond is liberal with the advice he dispenses to opinionated Goodman. But the difference between Hammond and anyone else’s brother-in-law is that his musical judgement is rooted in deep, serious knowhow, his having produced Bessie Smith recording sessions and discovered Billie Holiday and Count Basie (and, later, Aretha Franklin and Bruce Springsteen).

Hammond’s sensitive radar picks up every titbit in the jazzosphere and he’s intrigued hearing enthusiastic praise from pianist Mary Lou Williams regarding a mythical musician who plays the hell out of an amplified guitar in distant Oklahoma City. In autumn 1939, Hammond, en route to Los Angeles to produce a Goodman Quintet recording session, reaches Chicago and decides he should take a detour to Oklahoma City to check Ms Williams’ report. The single-prop aircraft journey lasts fifteen hours with nine stops and, on arrival at the Ritz Café, Oklahoma City, he meets the 23-year-old Charlie Christian, whom he describes as “a tall young man, thin, dark and wearing a purple shirt and bright yellow shoes”. When Christian starts playing, “lights flash. Rockets go off. He was great. He was unique”. Hammond is blown away.

In his excitement, he calls Goodman in California to tell him the news. Bits of this dialogue are drawn from his autobiography.

Hammond:Benny? Hi.

Goodman: Terrible line. Who’s calling?

Hammond: It’s me, John.

Goodman: John? Where the heck are you?

Hammond: Oklahoma City.

Goodman: Oklahoma City? Are you kidding? Why?

Hammond: I’ve just heard the greatest guitar player since Eddie Lang. He plays electric guitar….

Goodman: Electric guitar? Who the hell wants to hear an electric guitar player?

Hammond: I don’t know, but you won’t believe him until you hear him. You’ve got to hire him. Your sponsor’s contingency budget will pay for his flight to Los Angeles.

Goodman: John, have you lost your mind? I need a rube kid from the sticks playing a meshuggener electric instrument like a hole in the head.

Hammond: But Benny, listen here, you don’t want to miss…

(SFX: click…brrrr)

Hammond is now double-determined to counter Goodman’s sheer pig-headedness. He packs Christian onto a flight for L.A. and, together with guitar and amplifier, purple shirt and yellow shoes, smuggles him into a live Goodman performance.

Goodman is furious and fully ballistic. Intent on embarrassing the newcomer, he calls the band to play ‘Rose Room’, guessing that the purple-shirted yokel wouldn’t know the tune.

But Goodman’s spiteful ruse falls flat. Hammond recalls that although Christian had never played ‘Rose Room’ before, not only does he nail it, but he also audaciously unleashes a string of “twenty-five choruses…each more inventive than the last”, phrasing like a saxophone, avoiding stale licks and cliches, scattering new thoughts and original harmonic ideas, swapping fresh riffs with Lionel Hampton and even pushing Goodman to new heights. After forty-five minutes of ‘Rose Room’, the audience response is riotous. This time, Goodman is blown away, hires Christian on the spot and the Quintet becomes a Sextet.

Goodman’s notorious bandstand discipline and irritating selfishness frequently score a bad press, but he can never be sufficiently over-praised as the bandleader who confronts bigotry and fractures the colour bar in jazz (no doubt encouraged by activist Hammond) by hiring first, the elegant pianist, Teddy Wilson and second, the ebullient Lionel Hampton. Although both only appear with the small groups, Goodman’s later hirings, Cootie Williams and Charlie Christian are both featured as star soloists with the big band. Goodman’s courageous efforts to integrate talent are years ahead of any similar moves by U.S. organised sport and the Armed Forces (incidentally, the second big band leader to hire Black talent is Goodman’s sworn life rival, clarinettist Artie Shaw).

This Sextet recording is virtually an exhibition piece for Charlie Christian’s own variation on ‘Star Dust’. Rather than a spontaneous outpouring improvised in the moment, his solo is a polished composition based on ideas formulated, crafted, tested and refined in practice and countless sessions, ready to go before entering the studio.

So, on October 2, 1939, three white musicians, Goodman on clarinet, Artie Bernstein on bass and Nick Fatool on drums, join three Black musicians, Lionel Hampton on vibraphone, Fletcher Henderson on piano and Christian on electric guitar in New York’s Columbia studio.

Goodman kicks off by stating half a chorus of the melody in full cream tone over a medium but emphatic tempo and leaving Hampton to finish the rest of the melody in laid-back style. From then on, it’s Christian’s show. While I never use the adjective ‘perfect’ to describe anything or anybody, his solo comes close. And even though he doesn’t allude to the melody until his chorus ends, the soaring qualities of ‘Star Dust’ are always present.

Christian’s entry is quiet but authoritative. He strums a series of plump, sumptuous chords until interrupting the flow with an unexpected quote from Tony Jackson’s 1916 song ‘Pretty Baby’. Supported by Bernstein’s bass, he contrasts single string legato phrases with even juicier chords, moving into the final fragment of the melody while the rest of the Sextet rejoins to complete the performance.

Afterwords: By the time Charlie Christian joined the Goodman Organisation, his health was in a bad way, not further helped by late nights and carousing in Harlem which led to his death aged only 25 from tuberculosis on March 2^nd, 1942. In a brief, but brilliant, career, his genius shone and left an indelible influence on later generations of guitarists

The October Sextet session also left a permanent impression on Lionel Hampton who later led a successful big band. ‘Star Dust’ was a featured song at nearly all his concerts and, as a tribute to a fellow member of the Sextet, he always interpolated Christian’s ‘Pretty Baby’ tag, a touching memory of an unforgettable performance.