Incidents occur and myths multiply. Some time ago, while reviewing the highly rewarding Don Byas Mosaic collection, I mentioned a memorable session when a high-powered group was booked to accompany a low-powered blues singer that, over the decades, has grown into a notorious jazz legend. And while some jazz legends might stray away from the truth, this one is audibly real, evidence captured on wax.
In common with too many jazz legends, this one involves drugs and, in this specific case, the prescription medication amphetamine a.k.a.: speed, bennies, glass, crystal, crank, pep pills, uppers), a stimulant that speeds up the central nervous system, often applied to treat obesity. And allow me to post a warning: amphetamine can cause addiction if misused However, in New York in 1945, a branded form of amphetamine was available over any drugstore counter, Benzedrine Inhalers, handily packaged in light aluminium (for U.S. readers: ‘aluminum’) bullet-like cases, a quick sniff designed to deliver a quick lift.
And New York in 1945 is where the legendary incident happens on a wintry day, heavy with ice. Teddy Reig, the mountainous record producer swathed in his permanent cumulus of weed fumes, has arranged a blues session for Continental Records, a small independent label, on 4th January. Apparently, the smoky cloud has scant effect on Reig’s talent-spotting because, as a pioneering bop aficionado, he has assembled an impressive squad of New York’s finest including two of bebop’s leading fathers under the leadership of short-lived pianist Clyde Hart. We find trombonist Trummy Young, tenor saxophonist Don Byas, guitarist Mike Bryan, bassist Al Hall, drummer Specs Powell, altoist Charlie Parker and trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie, ready to accompany blues singer Henry ‘Rubberlegs’ Williams. Williams, a drag artist and less-than-averagely talented vocalist (he’s earned his ‘Rubberlegs’ nickname as a novelty dancer), hardly deserving of the stellar ensemble cherry-picked by Reig.
On arrival at the studio, Parker, no stranger to chemical stimulants and no doubt in desperate need of stimulation, reaches for a Benzedrine inhaler, wrenches open the thin aluminium casing and extracts the contents, a solid plug of cottonwool drenched in amphetamine which he dunks into his cup of coffee. But, owing to some forgotten distraction or confusion, Williams grabs Parker’s coffee cup and drains the contents. Perhaps, at this point, I should explain that ‘Rubberlegs’ is a comparative rarity in the world of 1940s Manhattan jazz musicians. He’s a drug virgin. In fact, he neither drinks nor smokes and, reportedly, has never even swallowed an aspirin.
Within minutes, Williams’ Benzedrine-enhanced renditions speedily approach an unhinged state. His irritation is super-charged and at least one participant recalls that, at a critical point in between takes, the befuddled Williams threatens Gillespie with violence if he “played any of the crazy notes” behind him (a warning totally disregarded by the trumpeter, whom, it should never be forgotten, bears the nickname ‘Dizzy’ for multiple reasons). So, on ‘What’s The Matter Now?’:
… as well as ‘4F Blues’ (LISTEN) and ‘That’s The Blues’, (LISTEN) we get transcendental early Parker, mischievous Gillespie, top form Byas, vintage Young and a series of vocal performances staggering beyond surreal.
And so the Continental session entered jazz folklore. But here’s my big question: did the incident exert any influence the next track, released in 1946?
Pianist and singer Harry “The Hipster” Gibson (born Harry Raab) followed the example of clarinettist Mezz Mezzrow, two Jewish New Yorkers who, so seriously smitten by jazz and full immersion in Harlem life, adopted Black identities complete with Black customs and slang. Gibson was an ardent fan of boogie-woogie and, as well as a popular rent-party pianist, was also well-received playing piano with various Harlem hot bands.
In January 1946, in a move that might (Or might not) have alluded to the Continental session, Gibson released a single with a title brimming with chutzpah: ‘Who Put the Benzedrine in Mrs. Murphy’s Ovaltine?’
To replicate the response, try conjuring the vision of (a) a feral cat and (b) a bunch of pigeons. In a communal fit of righteous indignation, nearly all U.S. radio stations banned the disc from airplay and, one month after the record’s release, Benzedrine was declared an illegal drug:
Which brings me to my next big question: is anyone out there prepared to record ‘Tylenol Blues’?
One Response
As you say, Len, some snatches of great Parker playing, and some borderline dodgy vocals – that star-studded combo must have been trying to shake off New Years hangovers, blues (or worse) on 4 Jan ’45 – and mischievous Harry the Hipster (nice piano) – we might not have known about these recordings if you hadn’t blown the dust off them! Thank you. Back to the Vick inhaler (not Harold)!