Posted by
Patrick "Sarge" Murray on Friday, May 29, 2009 3:00:00 PM
An important centennial anniversary for one of the most influential musicians in 20th Century American Popular Music is fast upon us. Within the worlds of popular and classical music, his talent was regarded as among the greatest of all time. As a bandleader, he was likewise in the highest echelon. He was even a pioneer in racial integration of music groups. But most importantly, he was responsible for ushering in arguably the most important musical revolution of all time, and it came when he was least suspecting it; in so doing, he became known as the “King of Swing.” This important musician was none other than Benny Goodman, born 100 years ago today (May 30).
Many bandleaders and musicians have left their indelible mark on big band/swing music, but only a few have achieved what would merit being put into the “Big Four” of big band. At the center of the genre, and arguably the most important of the “Big Four” would be Benny Goodman. He, along with Tommy Dorsey, Artie Shaw, and Glenn Miller, were the titans of the era, largely due to the fact that they were the most effective business managers, (along with having the lion’s share of talent on their parts and on the part of their sidemen) which translated into the highest level of commercial success within the genre – a de facto top-ranking as far as the vast majority of fans past and present are concerned. But more importantly, another standard with which to measure said titans would be their demanding standards for performance, not only from themselves, but also from their players. These standards have manifest themselves in many quality records, which in turn translated into the aforementioned commercial success. Unlike some successful bandleaders who came onto the scene either during the growth or maturity phases of the era, Goodman’s stretch of commercial success practically spanned the entire era itself.
Born Benjamin David Goodman in Chicago on May 23, 1909, he was the youngest of 12 children, the son of a poor immigrant tailor, David, who fled his native Russia to escape the growing anti-Semitism in that country. “The Patriarch of the Clarinet,” as he was also known, was first introduced to such an instrument when he received one as a young boy at a local synagogue. Later, he received two years of classical training from renowned clarinetist Franz Schoepp.
Like many other future legends in Big Band, he got his big start with Ben Pollack’s band, beginning in 1926, making his first record the next year at age eighteen. He left Pollack’s band in 1929, moved to New York City, and became a studio musician. Already enjoying a good reputation among the jazz community by the early 1930s, with the help of his friend and agent, John Hammond, he put together a band of all-star musicians and cut some jazz sides in 1933 and ’34 on Columbia Records. Two tracks of note during this period were recorded in December of 1933: a young Billie Holiday made her vocal recording debut on the records “Your Mother’s Son-in-Law” and “Riffin’ the Scotch.”
Goodman would record those same tracks in instrumental form the following year with the same band, this time under the surname of “Bill Dodge and His All-Stars.” The line-up included such legends as Bunny Berigan, Jack Teagarden, and a host of others. Also in 1934, already with a more permanent band, he secured a spot on the popular NBC radio program “Let’s Dance,” which featured three different bands and different styles of music (Xavier Cugat’s band provided the Latin music, Kel Murray’s band the mainstream vanilla music, and Goodman’s band capped things off with the swing!). What tied all three bands together was not just that they played on the same show, but each opened up their respective segments with the same theme song, “Let’s Dance,” all arranged in different ways, naturally. This show would leave a lasting influence on Benny’s band, as he would adopt this tune as his band’s own theme song (he and his band would finally record a studio version in Oct., 1939), opening almost all future gigs with it, as numerous CBS and NBC radio airchecks have since attested. Because Goodman needed new arrangements for each show, however, he brought in Fletcher Henderson, who himself once led a popular all-black jazz band, to arrange popular songs. He even hired Henderson’s former players to teach his players how to play in their “gutsy” style.
The truly pivotal year, though, came in 1935. In May of that year, a musician strike forced the cancellation of the Let’s Dance show, and with nothing else to do, Goodman and his band decided to tour across the country that summer. Most of the tour swayed between having mediocre results and outright disaster. Some dancehall proprietors charged their patrons by the dance, which put pressure on the band to shorten their songs, thus cutting out many musicians’ solos. One particular low point of the tour came in Denver when the crowd demanded their money back. By the time they reached the West Coast in August, the band was broke, disillusioned, and ready to quit. Then one gig turned it all around. The band was booked to perform at the Palomar Ballroom in Los Angeles for three weeks, starting on Aug. 21, 1935. The location was a serendipitous spot for a big turnaround, as the ballroom could accommodate 4,000 couples. Initially wanting to play it safe, the band started out playing some recently-purchased stock arrangements, i.e., the soft stuff.
Not surprisingly, given the tepid music the band was playing, the crowd’s reaction was the same. At one breaking point, Goodman’s legendary drummer Gene Krupa, a fellow Chicagoan and arguably the greatest drummer of all time himself, said to his boss: “Benny, if we’re gonna die, let’s die playing our own thing.” Indeed: Benny’s whole “brand” was playing their own gutsy style of swing. Benny concurred with Krupa, and motioned to break out Fletcher Henderson’s arrangement of the Jelly Roll Morton tune “King Porter Stomp.” The band recorded the studio version on July 1, 1935, and paired with “Sometimes I’m Happy,” (RCA Victor 78 25090), both featuring strong trumpet solos by Bunny Berigan, arguably the greatest jazz trumpeter ever to play.
What Goodman initially failed to consider at their first night at the Palomar was the scheduling quirks of the Let’s Dance show. NBC broadcasted it nationally from New York, but the show started so late, most listeners in the Eastern Time Zone were unable to hear the broadcasts, but it was prime time for the West Coast audience. Benny had a loyal crowd hungry for his swing at this venue, and he didn’t know it until he, along with the rest of the band, decided to play the music like they felt it, so to speak. Their rendition of King Porter Stomp created a sensation among the fans, and the band became an overnight success. “Jitterbuggers” captured the floor, and other adoring fans crowded the bandstand to get a close look at the band, hollering for more swing. Within days of that fateful night, newspapers around the country were heralding the sensation created by Benny Goodman at the Palomar. From the brink of failure came national success; the Swing Era had finally begun, and it Benny became the genre’s front-runner.
Following the engagement at the Palomar, Benny’s band did several one-nighters before being booked to play at the Congress Hotel in Chicago. Goodman was already tabbed “The King of Swing” by the press and fans, and even though the booking was to last three weeks, the band stayed there for eight months!
To be sure, Benny and his band had plenty other records that same year to signify that the Swing Era was officially under way, both before and after the pivotal events at the Palomar. Many historians look back to April of that year, with records such as “Hunkadola,” “I’m Livin’ in a Great Big Way” (featuring a young Buddy Clark on the vocals) and the Johnny Mercer tune “Dixieland Band”, one of the first tunes that introduces fans to the vocals of Helen Ward, Goodman’s primary female vocalist for two full years. All three of these records set the highly energetic tone that characterizes most of Goodman’s other records of 1935, including King Porter Stomp. Fans of arcane Christmas songs relish Goodman’s band’s version of “Jingle Bells,” which also features a sublime Bunny Berigan trumpet solo. Fans looking for a tune that typifies the popular “businessman’s bounce” tempo of the era would enjoy “You’re a Heavenly Thing,” and “Japanese Sandman,” both of which illustrate Fletcher Henderson’s style of playing off sharp, biting brass against rolling reeds. Just for good measure, the band’s versatility is demonstrated in the blissful Art Deco imagery-inspiring ballad “Restless.” For those who doubt that Benny Goodman’s was music the gutsiest of the era, Goodman properly set that important tone that same year with “Get Rhythm in Your Feet (And Music in Your Soul),” also graced with a brief Berigan trumpet solo.
Goodman’s gutsiness was the prime reason why he was the King of Swing, but it was by no means the only reason. Granted, the formula that Goodman followed could perhaps be simplified to the point of white musicians playing black-inspired arrangements (think of Sam Phillips’ comments on Elvis as a white boy singing like a black man, and making him a million bucks in so doing) – such an oversimplification would nonetheless partly explain the “gutsy” factor. But behind the strong playing styles were highly talented musicians. Not only was Goodman a good business manager, he lead a virtual all-star cast of talent (his “Bill Dodge” band of 1934 might have been temporary, but it set the precedent for his selectiveness of the right kind of talent. From 1935 to 1939, his trumpet section alone read like an all-time greatest team, with Bunny Berigan, Pee Wee Erwin, Chris Griffin, Ziggy Elman, and even Harry James, who joined the band in 1937 before starting his own prominent band in early 1939. Goodman started in 1935 with Frankie Froeba at the piano, but later replaced him with the even more-talented Jess Stacey, who would remain with Goodman for the rest of the decade. Gene Krupa’s credentials at the drums have already been mentioned, but it underscores an important point: in any business, be it music, sports, or even accounting, the best-performing teams are not necessarily entirely composed of all-stars from top to bottom, but a healthy mix of all-stars and other solid, slightly niche-talent that is very well suited for specific roles. The rest of Goodman’s roster during its heyday of the latter part of the 1930s reads off the same way, with Red Ballard and Murray McEachern on trombones, Benny’s own brother, Harry, on bass, Allen Reuss on rhythm guitar, and who could forget the saxophone line-up of Vido Musso & Art Rollini on tenor, coupled with Hymie Schertzer and Toots Mondello on alto? Even Goodman’s chief rival, Tommy Dorsey, would have clamored for such a line-up, and indeed, he would later incorporate certain members into his own band, either on a temporary (Bunny Berigan) or permanent (Ziggy Elman) basis. Not to be outdone, Goodman would sometimes respond in kind, buying off some of Dorsey’s talent. When Gene Krupa left Goodman’s band to start his own in 1938, Goodman brought over Davey Tough from Dorsey to fill in the vacated drum chair. That same year, Goodman also snatched away Babe Russin, Dorsey’s star tenor sax player who capped off the legendary TD recording of Irving Berlin’s “Marie” (Jan. 29, 1937) with a memorable solo, just eight or ten bars removed from one of Berigan’s greatest trumpet solos ever put to acetate.
If unparalleled energy sets the tone for Benny Goodman’s 1935 records, gutsiness sets the tone for what he and his band recorded in 1936. January 24, 1936 was a particularly fecund recording date, for it included “Stompin’ at the Savoy,” “Goody Goody,” “It’s Been So Long,” and “Swingtime in the Rockies.” Other key tunes from that year include “Christopher Columbus,” whose main riff reappeared in a more important record the following year. “Sing Me a Swing Song” essentially picks up where “Get Rhythm in Your Feet” left off, including a Helen Ward vocal, albeit minus Berigan’s trumpet talent. Also worth noting are records such as “Remember” and Fletcher Henderson’s arrangement of Hoagy Carmichael’s “Stardust.” Since Hoagy first recorded his own song in 1927, 1,600 different artist have rendered their own interpretation of this precious song. As the Swing Era progressed, it became de riguer for each band to record their own version of that song, and each band predictably had their own “take” on the song. Goodman’s take, with the help of Henderson, was very much that of the “businessman’s bounce” tempo, in stark contrast to Tommy Dorsey’s and Artie Shaw’s balladeering approaches.
But the 1936 tour de force work of Goodman did not stop there. Helen Ward did some of her most poignant work with the band on “Glory of Love,” “These Foolish Things Remind Me of You” and “You Turned the Tables on Me.” One of the last songs she sang with the band was “Gee, But You’re Swell.” She left the band in October of that year to marry a Texas oil millionaire, but her singing legacy was already firmly in place by then. The instrumentals from the later part of that year do not disappoint, either. Henderson’s arrangement W.C. Handy’s “St. Louis Blues” sets the bar for other bands to meet with that blues standard, but an even more important Henderson arrangement is “Down South Camp Meeting.” Incidentally, both tunes were featured in the Martin Scorsese film “The Aviator”. Yet it could be argued that Goodman saved the best for last in ’36. The Nov. 5, 1936 session produced one of the ‘swingingest’ records of all time, and then turned around with one of the most wonderful big band ballads ever recorded. Offering proof positive that Fletcher Henderson did not have a monopoly on hard-core swing is Jimmy Mundy’s arrangement of “Bugle Call Rag” (which can also be heard in the movie “The Aviator”). One other notable record of that date, though, was “Goodnight My Love.” Helen Ward had already left the band, so to fill in the female vocal gap, Goodman borrowed a young Ella Fitzgerald from Chick Webb’s band to temporarily fill in the void. While “Goodnight My Love” is one of the perfect songs to cap off a date with your significant other, the other records she cut with the band – “Did You Mean It” and “Take Another Guess” – are worth bending the ear as well.
Goodman’s prolific recording that year mirrored his constantly busy tour & concert schedule. He started off the year with a busy recording slate, and ended the year in a similarly hectic pace, but his exacting, demanding standards continued to shine through with quality records. His main vocalist position continued to be in flux, with different vocalists taking turns until Benny could find someone to measure up to his standards. Margaret McCrae took a few turns in front of the microphone (hear “This Year’s Kisses” for reference), though one notable record cut on Dec. 30, 1936 was “He Ain’t Got Rhythm” (another Irving Berlin song) sung by Jimmy Rushing, “Mr. Five-By-Five” himself!
The band made some slight transitions in 1937, not the least of which was a new presence in the female vocals department. Goodman finally found a more-than-suitable replacement for Helen Ward in a young Martha Tilton, whose voice added new dimensions to the band’s records. Initially, most of her work was in the form of ballads (“You Took the Words Right Out of My Heart”), though occasionally she did semi-swing tempos such as Johnny Mercer’s “Bob White” and “Let That Be A Lesson to You.”
Much of Goodman’s music overall seems much smoother to the ear, compared with the overall hard-charging tones from the previous year. That said, the swing fans would not be disappointed with certain offerings such as “Roll ‘Em,” whose melodic structures, one could argue, gave rise to ancestral rock ‘n’ roll DNA. Another milestone recording was cut on Nov. 12, 1937: it’s businessman’s bounce tempo only partially concealed the tune’s true swing intentions, that being “Loch Lomond.” Keep your ear open for a brief yet stupendous Harry James trumpet solo.
Yet the most important song for Goodman out of that year was also one that would define his career, and indeed, his musical legacy: “Sing, Sing, Sing (With a Swing),” recorded on July 6, 1937 in Hollywood, Calif. – one day before they cut “Roll ‘Em,” interestingly enough. The song may have been written by Louis Prima (yes, as in the voice of King Louie in Disney’s “The Jungle Book!”), but it was defined for all eternity by Goodman. At eight minutes and 40-some seconds, it takes up both sides of a 78-RPM record disc (the 12-inch kind, not the standard 10-inch one!), but the opening bars from the saxes in the low registers, punctuated by fluttering trumpets, will hook any listener who has anything resembling a pulse.
The Goodman machine continued to hum along in 1938; in fact, some historians have argued that the band truly began to hit its proverbial stride that year. One might argue their point of rectitude in that the band seemed to have perfected that ‘lilting reed’ effect in the sound of the woodwind section, if nothing else. But to ignore the records of this year is to ignore a crucial part of Goodman’s body of work, for he cut some important tracks this year as well. On Feb. 16, 1938, for example, he and his band cut “Don’t Be That Way” and their own version of Count Basie’s “One O’Clock Jump.” A number of Goodman’s 1938 offerings create their own unique listening sensations. Some examples of interesting, oddly addicting records include “Lullaby in Rhythm,” and Goodman’s rendition of the old standard “Sweet Sue – Just You” (the big band version, not to be confused with his quartet version from 1936). Another fine record is Goodman’s adaptation of “Make Believe” from the Jerome Kern musical “Showboat.” Martha Tilton proved she could still crank out ballads (e.g., “Don’t Wake Up My Heart”) then turn right around the swing with “Feelin’ High and Happy.” The whole band gets a piece of the vocal action with “Flat Foot Floogie.” A personal favorite ditty from that year is “You’re a Sweet Little Headache,” which also features Tilton’s vocals. That very song was briefly played during the Venice apartment scene of the film “Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade."
But however sublime the records were in 1938, Goodman logged another milestone achievement, not only for his career, but for his whole genre, by headlining a concert at Carnegie Hall on Jan. 16. It was the first time that a non-classical music act would play at that historic venue. It would also be one of the few concerts where the band did not start things off with “Let’s Dance.” Rather, they began the concert with “Don’t Be That Way” instead. The concert was meant to be concluded with “Sing, Sing, Sing.” This particular live performance lasted for over 12 minutes (it was captured for posterity by a single microphone hanging over the stage and wired directly to CBS’ studios), and includes a rather lengthy, somewhat rambling piano solo by Jess Stacy, and Goodman’s clarinet solo towards the end is radically different from the studio version. Very much to the credit of Goodman and his band, after concluding this tour-de-force rendition of the tune, instead of basking in the applause of such an historic performance, they wasted little time in giving the crowd a ‘bonus,’ so to speak, with playing “Big John Special.”
More to the point, one cannot overlook Goodman’s live performances when surveying his cumulative body of work. For those fortunate enough to find some of his live Camel Caravan radio broadcasts on CD (he did most of them in 1938 and 1939), they add an extra dimension to his studio recordings, and in most instances, the live version becomes preferable to the studio version. Moreover, on scant occasions, the live rendition is indeed the only rendition. Glenn Miller is thought to own the song “In the Mood,” but Goodman’s rendition on a radio show from Nov., 1939 gives the swing fan reason to re-evaluate who owns what! Speaking of re-evaluation, check out Goodman’s live ‘take’ on Miller’s “Moonlight Serenade!” That tune requires an entire paradigm shift of how to approach the song, proving that an established ballad can indeed ‘bounce!”
Be that as it may, Goodman’s performances from 1939, both in-studio and on the air, are solid all the way around. Martha Tilton’s swan song with the band was recorded on Feb. 1, 1939: “And the Angels Sing.” It retroactively sets the tone for all the other records she cut with Goodman. The record would also end up being one of the swan songs for RCA Victor. John Hammond, Goodman’s long-time friend, persuaded him to switch to the Columbia label later that year, and the switch signaled changes in musical tone as well. Martha Tilton left the band shortly after recording “And the Angels Sing.” The ladies working for Goodman in the female vocals department for the remainder of the year would be Louise Tobin, followed by the veteran Mildred Bailey. For a good example of Tobin’s work with the Goodman’s band, look to their rendition of Rodgers’ & Hart’s “I Didn’t Know What Time It Was.” A good example of Mildred Bailey’s work with the band is “Scatter-Brain,” as well as Johnny Mercer’s “I Thought About You.”
But what one might be apt to initially overlook from the perspective of studio recordings from 1939, one quickly takes notice of their live performances on the Camel Caravan radio shows. Goodman positively sizzles with live renditions of “Pic-a-Rib,” “Jumpin’ At The Woodside,” and Fats Waller’s “Stealin’ Apples.” But those Camel Caravan shows yield myriads of other fine gems as well, such as a live instrumental of “Scatter-Brain” (1939), “Lambeth Walk” and “You Go To My Head,” both with Martha Tilton (Sept. 6, 1938 – look them up on iTunes!), “Back Home In Indiana” and Hoagy Carmichael’s “Blue Orchids” (1939), Louis Armstrong providing guest vocals on “Ain’t Misbehavin’” (1939), “Chicago” (1938), and many, many more. Bottom line: any big band fan’s music collection is incomplete without some tracks from Goodman’s Camel Caravan shows.
As expansive as Goodman’s body of work is in just four years – not counting the many records he cut during the following decade – that still does not cover the entirely scope of his recording and performance output. Another key dimension of Goodman is his work output from his small groups; his trio, which later became his quartet, and ultimately his sextet. He introduced the trio in 1935; the group was composed of Goodman on the clarinet, Krupa on drums, and Teddy Wilson on piano (keeping Jess Stacey on piano the big band). What was revolutionary from a social aspect was that Teddy Wilson was black. The trio’s live debut that year was the first time a racially integrated band performed live. Goodman’s small group, and its integration, was augmented the further year when Benny decided to add a new dimension to the trio by bringing in Louisville native Lionel Hampton on the vibraphone, thus turning it into the Benny Goodman Quartet. The Quartet became the Sextet in 1939 by adding bass and Charlie Christian on electric guitar (specifically, the Gibson model ES-150).
For perhaps the finest example of the Trio’s work, listen to “Body and Soul” (1935). The Quartet has numerous fine tunes to its credit. Both “Avalon” and the timeless Hudson-DeLange tune “Moonglow” were prominently featured in the recent film “The Aviator,” though for those seeking to ‘turn up the heat,’ so to speak, look for a live rendition of the old minstrel tune “Shine,” (for the best one, find the Sept. 6, 1938 performance on iTunes: trust me, it’s there!) or, better yet, if you can grab a copy of the 1937 film “Hollywood Hotel,” you can witness the Quartet perform their only known rendition of “I’ve Got a Heartful of Music.” The Sextet tunes have a quality all their own. Much of their recordings, most notably “Flying Home,” but also “Shivers,” “AC/DC Current” and “South of the Border,” while recorded an performed in 1939, are a good 10-15 years ahead of their time.
Naturally, it is not as if Goodman fell off the face of the Earth after 1939. Far from it: he would continue to enjoy much recording success with noted vocalists Helen Forrest (think: “Yours Is My Heart Alone” from 1940) and Peggy Lee (think: “Why Don’t You Do Right” from 1942) and continue to wow the fans wherever he performed. But as the early ‘40s progressed, guys like Glenn Miller continued to gain in notoriety while Goodman did his best to maintain market share. Although he and his band remained a force to be reckoned with during a half-decade dominated by the Second World War, his true heyday was the latter half of the Thirties.
As noted earlier, Goodman was the “King of Swing,” and arguably the best of the best when it came to the “Big Four.” Each of the Big Four of Big Band stood out in their own way. Miller and Dorsey, on one hand, saw music as one big business and to the musical purists, ‘sold out’ more so than anyone else. Artie Shaw, meanwhile, took the most cerebral approach to the music compared with the other elite members, but his psychological makeup was such that he would frequently burn out on the business. Goodman’s place in the upper echelon of Swing is unique in that he was a shrewd businessman, and at the same time, the most absorbed in his own music. Many friends and colleagues in the business where therefore understandably surprised when he finally got married in 1942 (to Alice Hammond, sister of friend/agent John). They all pegged him to be the eternal bachelor; who, after all, could compete with his all-consuming interest in music?
What Benny Goodman achieved both with this playing and with his leadership of his highly capable players in his band was bringing Swing music out of the backroom haunts along the Mississippi waterfront and Harlem dives into the mainstream popular culture of America. His gutsy style of playing gave Swing fans all across the fruited plain a beacon to look to for great, hard swing, played in such a way that it paradoxically did not alienate the mainstream wing of that genre’s audience. His personal drive, demanding managerial style, and solid players line-up all came together to produce something near-magical at a time when America needed such an uplifting power the most, given that there was the Depression going on. His gigantic footprint on Big Band, and his correspondingly strong contribution to American popular culture in general, was thankfully rewarded through strong financial gains.
This sort of evaluation started to take place as early as 1946, when Big Band was becoming old news, being replaced by the vocalists who made their very names with the bands. It was on that occasion that noted Big Band historian George T. Simon offered his own retrospective analysis:
“Swing can thank Benny Goodman, and Benny Goodman can thank Swing. Swing can thank Benny Goodman for making possible its acceptance in a world which, before the advent of the King’s reign, thought that the best swing hung between two trees in a backyard and that a beat was reserved exclusively for cops and reporters. Benny Goodman can thank Swing for making possible his attaining a huge house, a swimming pool, a tennis court, a wife, two daughters, a slew of managers and the security that allies itself with a million cabbage leaves, all autographed either by Vinson or Morgenthau.”
In the following decades, Benny was still a household name among the adults, and the musical world still looked to him to be one of jazz music’s chief ambassadors. In the winter of 1956-’57, he toured the Far East: the trip was highlighted by a jam session in the Royal Palace at Bangkok, where the King of Thailand played alongside the King of Swing. Goodman also took a band on tours of Europe in the late ‘50s, such as going to the Brussels Fair in Belgium, and to Basel, Switzerland, in 1959. Another memorable tour took place in 1962, this time in Russia, at the height of the Cold War.
While Artie Shaw might have sniffed that “musically, (Benny’s) vocabulary was very limited,” he probably overlooked the fact that Goodman was equally skilled at playing classical music as he was at playing jazz, as his brilliant performance of Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto (K. 622) from 1956 clearly attests. But even with an allegedly limited musical vocabulary jazz-wise, so what? If you’re better at one thing than anybody else, something that the marketplace embraces, from a business standpoint, that individual would be in good financial standing (one cannot be all things to all people, after all!).
Those who read my lengthy tribute to Artie Shaw in the wake of his passing on Dec. 30, 2004 are no doubt familiar with these words when I point out that for those who wring their hands – understandably – about the presence of excessive smut and dirty lyrics in much of today’s popular music, Goodman’s music reminds us that the standard for American popular music was once such that it stimulated the senses prone to excitement while at the same time avoided dumbing down oneself to a lower culture.
In that spirit, Goodman’s music is a mammoth, critical piece to a large puzzle of American popular music that continues to encourage the world at large to ‘Get Happy,’ as well as to aspire to a higher culture. This Centennial Anniversary of Benny Goodman’s birth therefore reminds us of our need for gratitude for such a musical/cultural legacy. Benny Goodman’s musical talent, combined with his intense drive and ambition, has left this one major lasting effect: we’re culturally happier and richer from his work, “And The Angels [therefore] Sing!”
Postscript: The vast majority all the aforementioned tunes in this piece are available on iTunes, with a few exceptions from 1938, oddly enough (no luck? Try this example or this rare disc). Some recommended CDs are The Centennial Collection, as well as The Birth of Swing, a CD set no jazz fan should be without! As already mentioned, the Camel Caravan radio performances are worth their weight in gold, and the CD set On the Air 1937-1938 has a nice collection of live gems from other radio shows. That having been said, any reputable online CD store will have plenty other fine Benny Goodman CDs to choose from as well, though again, this assumes one chooses not to go the iTunes route in the first place!