Podcast appearances and mentions of Jerome Kern

This is the third and final segment of my conversation with Michael Owen, author of the recent book,  Ira Gershwin — A Life in Words. On this episode, Michael and I focus on the period of Ira Gershwin's career following the death of his brother George, during which he had success on Broadway and in Hollywood with composers such as Kurt Weill, Jerome Kern, Arthur Schwartz, and Harold Arlen, and shows and movies such as Lady In the Dark, The Barkleys Of Broadway, and A Star Is Born, If you missed the first two parts in this series, you may want to catch up with those before listening to this one. Become A PATRON of Broadway Nation! This episode is made possible in part through the generous support of our Patron Club Members, such as Cheryl Hodges Seldon. If you are a fan of Broadway Nation, I invite you to become a PATRON! For as little as $7.00 a month, you can receive exclusive access to never-before-heard, unedited versions of many of the discussions that I have with my guests — in fact, I often record nearly twice as much conversation as ends up in the edited versions. And you will also have access to additional in-depth conversations with my frequent co-host Albert Evans that have not been featured on the podcast. And all patrons receive special “on-air” shout-outs and acknowledgement of your vital support of this podcast. And If you are very enthusiastic about Broadway Nation there are additional PATRON levels that come with even more benefits. If you would like to support the work of Broadway Nation and receive these exclusive member benefits, please just click on this link: ⁠⁠https://broadwaynationpodcast.supercast.tech/⁠⁠ Thank you in advance for your support! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

durée : 00:59:02 - "They didn't believe Me" (Jerome Kern / Herbert Reynolds) (1914) - par : Laurent Valero - "Crée en 1914 pour le musical The Girl from Utah, un spectacle venu d'Angleterre pour lequel Kern et son parolier Herbert Reynolds feront 5 rajouts, dont cette chanson. Le premier grand succès de Jerome Kern pour la scène, titre associé dans l'imaginaire à la première guerre mondiale" Laurent Valero

durée : 00:59:02 - "They didn't believe Me" (Jerome Kern / Herbert Reynolds) (1914) - par : Laurent Valero - "Crée en 1914 pour le musical The Girl from Utah, un spectacle venu d'Angleterre pour lequel Kern et son parolier Herbert Reynolds feront 5 rajouts, dont cette chanson. Le premier grand succès de Jerome Kern pour la scène, titre associé dans l'imaginaire à la première guerre mondiale" Laurent Valero

Paul Harvey - Jerome Kern

Time Out es un disco de 1959 (originalmente catalogado como CS 8192) del Dave Brubeck Quartet. Es caracterizado por piezas compuestas en compases musicales inusuales en el jazz contemporáneo al disco, incluyendo vals y vals de doble tiempo, como también compases de 9/8 y de 5/4, este último en una de las obras más famosas del grupo, Take Five, la cual fue compuesta por Paul Desmond. Aunque el disco fue concebido como un experimento (supuestamente el presidente de la productora Columbia Records, Goddard Lieberson, tomaba un riesgo al lanzarlo) y recogió críticas negativas luego de su lanzamiento, se transformó en uno de los más famosos y mejor vendidos discos de jazz de la historia, y su sencillo Take Five se convirtió en un estándar del género musical. Time Out Artículo Discusión Leer Editar Ver historial Herramientas Apariencia ocultar Texto Pequeño Estándar Grande Anchura Estándar Ancho Color (beta) Automático Claro Oscuro Time Out Álbum de Dave Brubeck Quartet Publicación 1959 Género(s) West Coast jazz Duración 38:21 Discográfica Columbia Records Productor(es) Teo Macero [editar datos en Wikidata] Time Out es un disco de 1959 (originalmente catalogado como CS 8192) del Dave Brubeck Quartet. Es caracterizado por piezas compuestas en compases musicales inusuales en el jazz contemporáneo al disco, incluyendo vals y vals de doble tiempo, como también compases de 9/8 y de 5/4, este último en una de las obras más famosas del grupo, Take Five, la cual fue compuesta por Paul Desmond. Aunque el disco fue concebido como un experimento (supuestamente el presidente de la productora Columbia Records, Goddard Lieberson, tomaba un riesgo al lanzarlo) y recogió críticas negativas luego de su lanzamiento, se transformó en uno de los más famosos y mejor vendidos discos de jazz de la historia, y su sencillo Take Five se convirtió en un estándar del género musical. Producción A pesar de que la temática y el propio título de Time Out giran en torno a lo poco frecuente que son los compases en las cuales están compuestos los temas, la cuestión puede ser analizada con más detenimiento. "Blue Rondo à la Turk" comienza con un compás de 9/8 (mismo ritmo de la danza turca zeybek, equivalente a la griega zeibekiko), pero con la poco tradicional subdivisión de 2+2+2+3 (el patrón normal para el 9/8 es 3+3+3), y los solos de saxo y piano están en 4/4. "Blue Rondo à la Turk" no está basada en "Rondo alla Turca", de la Sonata para piano nº 11 de Mozart, sino en un ritmo turco que Brubeck había escuchado.1​ "Strange Meadow Lark" comienza con un solo de piano sin una métrica definida, para luego asentarse en un ritmo corriente de 4/4 cuando se incorpora el resto de los instrumentos. "Take Five" se mantiene en 5/4 de comienzo a fin, excepto en el solo de batería. "Three to Get Ready" se inicia en ritmo de vals y luego alterna entre dos ritmos, el 3/4 (propio del vals) y dos de 4/4. "Kathy's Waltz" comienza en 4/4 y más adelante cambia a un vals doble, para luego fusionar ambos ritmos. "Everybody's Jumpin'" se desarrolla principalmente en un 6/4 flexible, mientas que "Pick Up Sticks" se afirma en un claro y regular 6/4. Emeki además de contar con una excelente producción, resulta ser un ejercicio de pura espontaneidad y frescura. Un disco sincero, sin más artificio que la recreación del instante en clave de pura elegancia jazz. Un trabajo que gira en torno a la búsqueda de identidad propia. Sutil, parte de sólidas premisas y nos propone el encuentro con ese momento irrepetible a través de la improvisación. Composiciones como Whisper not del saxofonista, compositor y arreglista norteamericano Benny Golson o Blue in Green, una composición original de Bill Evans y Miles Davis que aparecería en el aclamado disco Kind of Blue de este último, dotan al trabajo de una impronta poco frecuentes. La banda transita suavemente por los dinámicos e improvisados pasajes de In love in vain, una composición original de Jerome Kern para deleitarnos con la deliciosa adaptación de Over the rainbow. Rafa Aceves escribe Marian como homenaje a su hermana, una composición que pone de manifiesto, tanto la sensibilidad como el talento compositivo de su autor. La banda recrea la figura del pianista norteamericano Herbie Hancock en Dolphin dance, obsequiándonos nuevamente con la delicadeza siempre muy presente a lo largo de este trabajo en Never let me go, del compositor Jay Livingston para finalizar con la recreación de la canción popular La Tarara, recuperada y adaptada en su momento por el poeta y dramaturgo Federico García Lorca. Emeki está escrito con ese lenguaje aún por descubrir, imprevisible y sutil. Ese lenguaje delicado y sin palabras donde subyace entre millones de probabilidades, la opción precisa. Ese instante concreto y no otro. Una nota que fugazmente nos desvela la verdadera esencia de un artista en busca de lo extraordinario, en busca de lo que es.

My guest again this week is Christopher S. Connelly, author of the fascinating new book HELEN MORGAN — THE ORIGINAL TORCH SINGER AND ZIEGFELD'S LAST STAR.  The topics discussed in this episode include: Morgan's follow up to Show Boat, the 1929 hit musical Sweet Adeline — a star vehicle created especially for her by Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein II. The 1932 revival of Show Boat and subsequent tour. Morgan's career as a nightclub hostess and entertainer at a series of night spots named for her including Chez Morgan, Helen Morgan's Summer House, and The House of Morgan. The Ziegfeld Follies of 1931. And Helen Morgan as a Gay Icon and the "Pansy Craze" stars who imitated her. Christopher S. Connelly is a film and theater historian. His work has appeared in Etcetera magazine and the Kino Lorber DVD release of Mamoulian's Applause. He is also an actor, Roman Catholic cantor, and chorister for the Atlanta Opera. When he is not writing or performing, he works IT for the Georgia Institute of Technology. Become A PATRON of Broadway Nation! This episode is made possible in part through the generous support of longtime Patron Club Member Ann Welsh. If you are a fan of Broadway Nation, I invite you to become a PATRON! For as little as $7.00 a month you can receive exclusive access to never-before-heard, unedited versions of many of the discussion that I have with my guests — in fact I often record nearly twice as much conversation as ends up in the edited versions. And you will also have access to additional in-depth conversations with my frequent co-host Albert Evans that have not been featured on the podcast. And all patrons receive special “on-air” shout-outs and acknowledgement of your vital support of this podcast. And If you are very enthusiastic about Broadway Nation there are additional PATRON levels that come with even more benefits. If you would like to support the work of Broadway Nation and receive these exclusive member benefits, please just click on this link: https://broadwaynationpodcast.supercast.tech/ Thank you in advance for your support! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Colm Gavin has always been hugely inspired by the great American Songbook – particularly: Jerome Kern, Harold Arlen, Hoagy Carmichael and their brilliant love ballads. Lyrically, Colm wanted this to be playful and honest. “While I'm someone of simple means, goes wild for the finer things, a Paris balcony with a view, I'm more an …

durée : 00:23:19 - « Show Boat » de Jerome Kern et Oscar Hammerstein. Toronto Production 1993. - Show Boat est une comédie musicale américaine créée à Broadway en 1927, dont la musique a été composée par Jerome Kern, le livret et les paroles ont été écrits par Oscar Hammerstein II

durée : 00:33:02 - Les Nuits de France Culture - par : Albane Penaranda - Archive incontournable pour les passionnés de Broadway, "La chanson de Broadway : Jerome Kern", diffusée en octobre 1991, nous plonge dans l'univers de ce compositeur légendaire. Découvrez son influence majeure sur la comédie musicale américaine à travers des chefs-d'œuvre comme 'Show Boat'. - réalisation : Virginie Mourthé - invités : Nancy Haikin Chanteuse, compositrice et scénariste de comédie musicale américaine; Stephanie Crawford Chanteuse de jazz américaine; René Urtreger Pianiste de jazz

Diese Sendung hat Andreas Pasternack zusammengestellt. Das LIVE- Anspiel ist diesmal: „Smoke gets in your Eyes” – 1933 ursprünglich für das Musical „Roberta“ von Jerome Kern komponiert. Folgende Titel sind zu hören: 1. Call me irresponsible – Bobby Darin 2:05 2. Taking a Chance on Love – Wynton Marsalis 3:50 3. Jumpin' at the Woodside – Count basie & his Orchestra 3:08 4. It's the most wonderful Time of the year – Harry Connick Jr. 3:25 5. You took Advantage of me – Linda Ronstadt 2:24 6. Smoke gets in your Eyes – Clifford Brown 3:15 7. Mack the Knife – Frank Sinatra & Jimmy Buffett 4:27 8. All of me – Oscar Peterson Trio 3:26 9. Santa Claus is comin' to Town – Michael Bublè 2:49 10. What Child is this – Vince Guaraldi Trio 2:20 Bei Titelwünsche und Anregungen schreiben Sie gern an: jazztime.mv@ndr.de Keep Swingin' !!!

This is truly an interesting find in my dad's collection. We know by now my dad's love for the Dixieland style of music. So it's not surprising I found this record in the stacks. But what was surprising is that this recording was made by seven musicians that had never played together before. You most certainly can't tell. And they're not exactly household names.  So, get ready to hear what it must have sounded like rollin' down the Mississippi River in the late 19th and early 20th century in Volume 195: Delta Dixieland. More information about this album, see the Discogs webpage for it.  Credits and copyrights Delta Kings – Down The River With The Delta Kings Label: Down South Records – DS 201 Format: Vinyl, LP Released: 1958 Genre: Jazz, Blues Style: Dixieland We will hear 6 of the 10 songs on this album. Ole Man River written by Jerome Kern, Oscar Hammerstein II Beautiful Ohio written by Ballard MacDonald, Robert King First released in 1919 'Way Down Upon The Swanee River Old Folks at Home written by Stephen Foster Waitin' For The Robert E. Lee written by L. Wolfe Gilbert, Lewis F. Muir  Up That Lazy River by Hoagy Carmichael and Sidney Arodin Down By The Riverside (I Ain't Goin' to Study War No More) A traditional song first recorded in 1920 I do not own the rights to this music. ASCAP, BMI licenses provided by third-party platforms for music that is not under Public Domain.

Come experience the multi-faceted experience of Angel Island in its first-ever concert series.  From within the detention barracks at the Immigration Station, we'll be exploring music and stories of the many communities who have connections to the island and its history. A beautiful day on the island, a richness of history, an exploration of the darkness and also the hope that the island represented. September 14, 2024 @ 11:30AM & 2:00PM Kaddish: Featuring Music By Derek David If you'll be in the San Francisco Bay area, we'd love to invite you to join us! Take the ferry from Tiburon or San Francisco. Then bike, walk, or tram to the immigration station. Be sure to reserve your seat at delquartet.com/island. *** THE CONCERT We've combined music by Derek David  - his Quartet # 4 "Kaddish" and his own performances of Yiddish folk songs with short selections that give a wide view of Jewish-American music, from the Broadway standards of Jerome Kern to Ljova to Bay Area's own Gabriela Lena Frank. The concert contains a spectrum of emotions: fun Yiddish songs, the Broadway song tradition, and Derek's personal reflecting on mourning.  “Kaddish” explores mourning through two Jewish folk melodies sourced from the Ruth Rubin Legacy Archives, indirectly reflecting on death, dying, and romance. In a previous Del Sol concert with Derek , the audience - young and old - found a fresh viewpoint on Jewish-American experience, energized around Derek's intensely personal music. Suddenly, Yiddish seemed vital, complex, vibrant, funny and sad - not a dying language at all. THE HISTORY Approximately 8,000 Jews and Russians passed through Angel Island between 1910 and 1940.. According to the Angel Island Immigration Center's Immigrant Voices Project, “historians have explored the long and often unjust treatment of Japanese and Chinese on Angel Island, much less is known about the thousands of Russians, Eastern Europeans and Jews who came to the U.S. via Asia.” Two distinct waves included: = Large numbers of Russian, Polish, and Lithuanian Jews began arriving at Angel Island in 1915. They were mainly men who had left their homes to escape the turmoil of war and military duty. =At least 500 Jewish refugees made it to San Francisco and Yokohama in 1939 and 1940 to escape Nazi regimes.

El pianista neoyorquino Bill Charlap se presentó en la XXVI edición del Festival de Jazz de San Javier acompañado por la contrabajista Noriko Ueda y el baterista Carl Allen. El trío abrió su concierto del pasado 3 de julio con 'I’ll remember April'/'On a clear day', de Don Raye/Gene de Paul y Burton Lane y Alan Jay Lerner, y tocó clásicos como ' In your own sweet way', de Dave Brubeck, 'I can´t get started', de Vernon Duke y Yip Harburg', 'Not a care in the world', de Duke y John LaTouche, 'Spring can really hang you up the most', de Tommy Flanagan y Fran Landesman, 'Yesterdays', de Jerome Kern y Otto Harbach, 'Body and soul', de Johnny Green, Edward Heyman, Frank Eyton y Robert Sour, y 'Caravan' y 'Prelude to a kiss' de Duke Ellington.Escuchar audio

Few pop singers captured the Broadway songbook as well as Margaret Whiting; here's to her 100th with show tunes by Johnny Mercer, Jerome Kern, Rodgers and Hart and many more.

My guest again this week is author Andrew Erdman, whose captivating new book is Beautiful—The Story of Julian Eltinge, America's Greatest Female Impersonator. In this episode, Andrew continues the story of Julian Eltinge's rise to the absolute highest realms of show business — and we especially focus on three musicals that were created especially for him by top Broadway talents such as Otto Harbach, Jerome Kern, and Irving Berlin: That Fascinating Widow (1911), The Crinoline Girl (1914), and Cousin Lucy (1915). Along the way, you will have a chance to hear some of the songs that they created for Eltinge, as performed by a friend of the pod David Sabella (aka Amanda Reckonwith) including “Those Come Hither Eyes” – from the musical Cousin Lucy (lyrics by Schuler Green; music by Jerome Kern), and "Don't Take Your Beau to the Seashore," (music by Irving Berlin; lyrics by E. Ray Goetz). If you missed the first episode in this series, you may want to catch up with that before listening to this one. Author Andrew Erdman has immersed himself in this remarkable era of show biz history; his previous book was the equally fascinating Queen of Vaudeville: The Story of Eva Tanquay Become a PATRON of Broadway Nation! This podcast is made possible in part by the generous support of our Patron Club Members, including our newest member Alan Teasley. For just $7.00 a month, you will receive exclusive access to never-before-heard, unedited versions of many of the discussions that I have with my guests — in fact I often record nearly twice as much conversation as ends up in the edited versions. You will also have access to additional in-depth conversations with my frequent co-host Albert Evans that have not been featured on the podcast. All patrons receive special “on-air” shout-outs and acknowledgment of your vital support of this podcast. And if you are very enthusiastic about Broadway Nation there are additional PATRON levels that come with even more benefits. If you would like to support the work of Broadway Nation and receive these exclusive member benefits, please just click on this link: https://broadwaynationpodcast.supercast.tech/ Thank you in advance for your support! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Film noir aficionados and classic film lovers alike are in for a treat with our latest episode of "The Extras." Join us as George Feltenstein, a true cinema historian, shares his deep knowledge about Warner Archive's June Blu-ray releases. We start off with a gripping discussion on the film noir gem "Act of Violence," exploring its compelling narrative, Fred Zinnemann's expert direction, and the standout performances from Van Heflin, Robert Ryan, and Janet Leigh.Switching gears, we highlight Alfred Hitchcock's rare foray into comedy with "Mr. and Mrs. Smith," starring the brilliant Carole Lombard and Robert Montgomery. Discover the delightful chemistry between the leads and Hitchcock's unique touch on the screwball genre. Next, we celebrate the musical legacy of Ida Lupino with a deep dive into the 1947 film "The Man I Love." Uncover the fascinating story behind the film's original cut and the restoration of its missing six minutes of footage, including the song "Bill" by Jerome Kern, Oscar Hammerstein II, and P.G. Wodehouse. We end with a review of the melodrama "The Shining Hour" (1938) from acclaimed director Frank Borzage and showcasing standout performances by Joan Crawford, Margaret Sullavan, and Fay Bainter.We provide a full review of each film, a detailed explanation of the HD restoration, and background all of the included extras.Purchase links:THE MAN I LOVE (1947)MR. & MRS. SMITH  (1941)ACT OF VIOLENCE (1948)THE SHINING HOUR (1938) The Extras Facebook pageThe Extras Twitter Warner Archive & Warner Bros Catalog GroupOtaku Media produces podcasts, behind-the-scenes extras, and media that connect creatives with their fans and businesses with their consumers. Contact us today to see how we can work together to achieve your goals. www.otakumedia.tv

Send us a Text Message.Grammy award winning pianist Bill Charlap has performed with many of the leading artists of our time including Phil Woods, Tony Bennett, Gerry Mulligan, Wynton Marsalis, Freddy Cole and Houston Person. Born in New York City, Charlap began playing the piano at age three. His father was Broadway composer Moose Charlap, whose credits include Peter Pan, and his mother is singer Sandy Stewart, who toured with Benny Goodman, and was a regular on the Perry Como show. She earned a 1963 Grammy nomination for her recording of “My Coloring Book." In 2005, Charlap and Stewart released the acclaimed CD, Love Is Here To Stay (Blue Note).In 1997, Charlap formed his trio with bassist Peter Washington and drummer Kenny Washington, now recognized as one of the leading groups in jazz. In 2000, he was signed to Blue Note Records and received two Grammy Award nominations, for Somewhere: The Songs of Leonard Bernstein and The Bill Charlap Trio: Live at the Village Vanguard. He is known for his interpretations of American popular song.. Time magazine wrote, “Bill Charlap approaches a song the way a lover approaches his beloved…no matter how imaginative or surprising his take on a song is, he invariably zeroes in on its essence.” In 2016, Tony Bennett & Bill Charlap: The Silver Lining, The Songs of Jerome Kern, was awarded a Grammy for Best Traditional Pop Album. In April, the Bill Charlap Trio released, Notes from New York, their debut recording for the Impulse label. Alan Morrison's five-star review in Down Beat stated that the new recording is "a masterclass in class." In 2019, Charlap will be celebrating his 15th year as Artistic Director of New York City's Jazz in July Festival at 92Y. He has produced concerts for Jazz at Lincoln Center, New Jersey Performing Arts Center, Chicago Symphony Center and the Hollywood Bowl. Charlap is married to renowned jazz pianist and composer Renee Rosnes, and the two artists often collaborate in a duo piano setting. In 2010 Charlap and Rosnes released Double Portrait (Blue Note). Bill Charlap is currently the Director of Jazz Studies at William Paterson University in Wayne, New Jersey. https://www.billcharlap.com/ This Summer, Edna Golandsky, renowned pedagogue and leading expert on the Taubman Approach will release her first book with Amplify Publishing Group. Entitled ‘The Taubman Approach To Piano Technique: A Comprehensive Guide To Overcome Physical Limitations and Unlock Your Full Pianistic Potential.' Visit: www.ednagolandsky.com to learn more.The Golandsky Institute's mission is to provide cutting-edge instruction to pianists based on the groundbreaking work of Dorothy Taubman. This knowledge can help them overcome technical and musical challenges, cure and prevent playing-related injuries, and lead them to achieve their highest level of artistic excellence.Please visit our website at: www.golandskyinstitute.org.

As Season Six draws to a close, Kirk opens up the Strong Songs mailbag to answer a bunch of listener questions on topics ranging from Diablo's use of lydian to what he means when he talks about "transcribing."REFERENCED/DISCUSSED:"Tristram" by Matt Uelman from Diablo, 1997"Blast Inc. (feat. Jorgen Munkeby)" by Haunted Shores from Viscera, 2015"One Down, One Up" by John Coltrane from New Thing at Newport, 1965"Heart of Glass" by Debbie Harry and Chris Stein as recorded by Miley Cyrus in 2020"Respect" by Otis Redding recorded by Aretha Franklin, 1967"All The Things You Are" by Jerome Kern, lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II, 1939, and also recorded by the Brad Mehldau Trio in 1999"Reminiscing" by Little River Band from Sleeper Catcher, 1978"Flute Loop" by The Beastie Boys from Ill Communication, 1994"Flute Thing" by The Blues Project from Projections, 1966"Dream is Collapsing" and "Dream Within a Dream" by Hans Zimmer from Inception, 2010"Concerto for Flute & Orchestra No. 1 in G Major, I. 313: I. Allegro Maestoso," feat. Sir James Galway"Kid Charlemagne" by Steely Dan feat. Larry Carlton from The Royal Scam, 1976"St. Thomas" by Sonny Rollins from Saxophone Colossus, 1956"Supercell" by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard from PetroDragonic Apocalypse; or, Dawn of Eternal Night: An Annihilation of Planet Earth and the Beginning of Merciless Damnation , 2023"Morph" by twenty one pilots from Trench, 2018"Summertime" by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince from Homebase, 1991"Summer Love" by Kool and the Gang from Light of Worlds, 1974"Nuthin' but a 'G' Thang' by Dr. Dre feat. Snoop Dogg from The Chronic, 1992Doctor Mix explains how to get the "Summer Madness" sound on an ARP 2600"Ironside" by Quincy Jones as featured in the Kill Bill soundtrack, 2003"Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 47: IV. Allegro non troppo" by Dimitri Shostakovich as recorded by the Berlin Philharmonic, 1987"Time" by Pink Floyd from The Dark Side of the Moon, 1973"Shit Talk" by Sufjan Stevens from Javelin, 2023OUTRO SOLOIST: Evan IllouzEvan is a clinical psychologist in Brooklyn, NY, who's been playing since he was in high school, about 20 years ago. ----LINKS-----SUPPORT STRONG SONGS!Paypal | Patreon.com/StrongsongsMERCH STOREstore.strongsongspodcast.comSOCIAL MEDIAIG: @Kirk_Hamilton | Threads: @Kirk_HamiltonNEWSLETTERnewsletter.kirkhamilton.comJOIN THE DISCORDhttps://discord.gg/GCvKqAM8SmSTRONG SONGS PLAYLISTSSpotify | Apple Music | YouTube MusicSHOW ARTTom Deja, Bossman Graphics--------------------MAY 2024 WHOLE-NOTE PATRONSRobyn MetcalfeBrian TempletCesarBob TuckerCorpus FriskyBen BarronCatherine WarnerDamon WhiteKaya WoodallJay SwartzMiriam JoySEAN D WINNIERushDaniel Hannon-BarryChristopher MillerJamie WhiteChristopher McConnellDavid MascettiJoe LaskaKen HirshJezMelanie AndrichJenness GardnerPaul DelaneyDave SharpeSami SamhuriJeremy DawsonAccessViolationAndre BremerDave FloreyMAY 2024 HALF-NOTE PATRONSDanielle KrizMichael YorkClint McElroyMordok's Vape PenInmar GivoniMichael SingerMerv AdrianJoe GalloLauren KnottsDave KolasHenry MindlinMonica St. AngeloStephen WolkwitzSuzanneRand LeShayMaxeric spMatthew JonesThomasAnthony MentzJames McMurryEthan LaserBrian Johan PeterChris RemoMatt SchoenthalAaron WilsonDent EarlCarlos LernerMisty HaisfieldAbraham BenrubiChris KotarbaCallum WebbLynda MacNeilDick MorganBen SteinSusan GreenGrettir AsmundarsonSean MurphyAlan BroughRandal VegterGo Birds!Robert Granatdave malloyNick GallowayHeather Jjohn halpinPeter HardingDavidJohn BaumanMartín SalíasStu BakerSteve MartinoDr Arthur A GrayCarolinaGary PierceMatt BaxterLuigi BocciaE Margaret WartonCharles McGeeCatherine ClauseEthan BaumanKenIsWearingAHatJordan BlockAaron WadeJeff UlmDavid FutterJamieDeebsPortland Eye CareCarrie SchneiderRichard SneddonDoreen CarlsonDavid McDarbyWendy GilchristElliot RosenLisa TurnerPaul WayperBruno GaetaKenneth JungAdam StofskyZak RemerRishi SahayJeffrey BeanJason ReitmanAilie FraserRob TsukNATALIE MISTILISJosh SingerAmy Lynn ThornsenAdam WKelli BrockingtonVictoria Yumino caposselaSteve PaquinDavid JoskeBernard KhooRobert HeuerDavid NoahGeraldine ButlerMadeleine MaderJason PrattAbbie BergDoug BelewDermot CrowleyAchint SrivastavaRyan RairighMichael BermanLinda DuffyBonnie PrinsenLiz SegerEoin de BurcaKevin PotterM Shane BordersDallas HockleyJason GerryNell MorseNathan GouwensLauren ReayEric PrestemonCookies250Damian BradyAngela LivingstoneDiane HughesMichael CasnerLowell MeyerStephen TsoneffJoshua HillGeoff GoldenPascal RuegerRandy SouzaClare HolbertonDiane TurnerTom ColemanDhu WikMel DEric HelmJonathan DanielsMichael FlahertyCaro Fieldmichael bochnerNaomi WatsonDavid CushmanAlexanderChris KGavin DoigSam FennTanner MortonAJ SchusterJennifer BushDavid StroudBrad CallahanAmanda FurlottiAndrew BakerAndrew FairL.B. MorseBill ThorntonBrian AmoebasBrett DouvilleJeffrey OlsonMatt BetzelNate from KalamazooMelanie StiversRichard TollerAlexander PolsonEarl LozadaJustin McElroyArjun SharmaJames JohnsonKevin MorrellColin Hodo

Heartland's Tim Benson is joined by Laurie Winer, founding editor of the Los Angeles Review of Books, to discuss her new book, Oscar Hammerstein II and the Invention of the Musical. They chat about why Winer believes Hammerstein more than anyone else invented the musical. They also discuss his relationship with collaborators Jerome Kern and Richard Rodgers and how Hammerstein's optimistic humor, openness to strangers, and rejection of bitterness contributed to a vision that orchestrated a collective reimagining of America. Get the book here: https://yalebooks.yale.edu/book/9780300223798/oscar-hammerstein-ii-and-the-invention-of-the-musical/Show Notes: Los Angeles Review of Books: Tim Riley – “A Poet of the Anticipation of Joy: On Laurie Winer's ‘Oscar Hammerstein II and the Invention of the Musical'”https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/a-poet-of-the-anticipation-of-joy-on-laurie-winers-oscar-hammerstein-ii-and-the-invention-of-the-musical/New York Times: Brad Leithauser – “A Cockeyed Optimist: Oscar Hammerstein Was No Stephen Sondheim”https://www.nytimes.com/2023/02/08/books/review/oscar-hammerstein-ii-and-the-invention-of-the-musical-laurie-winer.html

Heartland's Tim Benson is joined by Laurie Winer, founding editor of the Los Angeles Review of Books, to discuss her new book, Oscar Hammerstein II and the Invention of the Musical. They chat about why Winer believes Hammerstein more than anyone else invented the musical. They also discuss his relationship with collaborators Jerome Kern and Richard Rodgers and how Hammerstein's optimistic humor, openness to strangers, and rejection of bitterness contributed to a vision that orchestrated a collective reimagining of America. Get the book here: https://yalebooks.yale.edu/book/9780300223798/oscar-hammerstein-ii-and-the-invention-of-the-musical/Show Notes: Los Angeles Review of Books: Tim Riley – “A Poet of the Anticipation of Joy: On Laurie Winer's ‘Oscar Hammerstein II and the Invention of the Musical'”https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/a-poet-of-the-anticipation-of-joy-on-laurie-winers-oscar-hammerstein-ii-and-the-invention-of-the-musical/New York Times: Brad Leithauser – “A Cockeyed Optimist: Oscar Hammerstein Was No Stephen Sondheim”https://www.nytimes.com/2023/02/08/books/review/oscar-hammerstein-ii-and-the-invention-of-the-musical-laurie-winer.html

This Saturday's "Saturday Matinee" on Vintage Classic Radio begins with the "Family Doctor" episode titled "False Witness," originally broadcasted in 1932. In this gripping episode, Dr. Grant Adams, affectionately known as the family doctor in the small town of Cedarton, finds himself embroiled in a tense situation when he must navigate the murky waters of local gossip and a wrongful accusation that threatens the harmony of the community. The cast features the calming presence of Grant Adams as the Family Doctor, showcasing his wisdom and dedication to truth and justice amidst the small-town dynamics. Following the contemplative drama, we lighten the mood with the "Abbott and Costello Show," presenting the hilariously chaotic episode "The Missing Script," which first aired on March 9, 1944. In this episode, comedy duo Bud Abbott and Lou Costello are in a frenzy over a missing script right before their broadcast, leading to a series of slapstick misadventures and misunderstandings. The episode is made even more memorable by the guest appearances of Blondie and Dagwood, adding a delightful crossover flair. The cast is headlined by Bud Abbott as himself, Lou Costello as himself, with Penny Singleton as Blondie, and Arthur Lake as Dagwood, among others, providing a rollercoaster of laughter and timeless comedy. The finale of our matinee is the "Railroad Hour" featuring the musical "Sally," originally aired on December 13, 1948. This enchanting episode takes listeners on a melodious journey with songs by Jerome Kern, telling the story of Sally, a dishwasher who dreams of a better life and finds herself masquerading as a famous Russian ballerina. The show is a splendid mix of comedy, romance, and heartwarming melodies. The cast showcases the talents of Gordon MacRae in the lead role, with support from a talented ensemble that brings this charming musical to life. Together, these episodes from "Family Doctor," "Abbott and Costello Show," and "Railroad Hour" offer a diverse palette of entertainment, from the thoughtful dilemmas of small-town life and uproarious comedy to the dreamy tunes of Broadway, ensuring a captivating afternoon for all listeners of Vintage Classic Radio.

Irving Berlin, Dorothy Fields, George and Ira Gershwin, Jerome Kern, Johnny Mercer, Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hammerstein. These, along with many others, are the sorts of songwriters we associate with the Great American Songbook, the amorphous canon of important 20th-century pop songs, jazz standards, and show tunes from Broadway, Tin Pan Alley, and movie musicals. But there's another important detail here. The songs we think of as the Songbook are from, more specifically, the 1920s through the 1950s. With some simple arithmetic, you can see that they're, uh, getting on in years — which might (must?) mean that their devotees are, too. The Nose is off this week. In its place this hour, a look at and a listen to — and some concern for the future of — the Great American Songbook. GUESTS: Joelle Lurie: Vocalist, songwriter, voiceover artist, and bandleader Steve Metcalf: Founder and director of the Garmany concert series at the University of Hartford's Hartt School The Colin McEnroe Show is available as a podcast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts, Amazon Music, TuneIn, Listen Notes, or wherever you get your podcasts. Subscribe and never miss an episode! Subscribe to The Noseletter, an email compendium of merriment, secrets, and ancient wisdom brought to you by The Colin McEnroe Show. Join the conversation on Facebook and Twitter. Colin McEnroe and Eugene Amatruda contributed to this show, which originally aired September 1, 2023.Support the show: http://www.wnpr.org/donateSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

The Mario Lanza Show first song "The World is Mine Tonight" July 22, 1951 CBS The Mario Lanza Show "Tribute to Jerome Kern" July 29, 1951 CBS

durée : 00:58:19 - "The last time I saw Paris" (Jerome Kern) (1940) - par : Laurent Valero - "Jerome Kern musicien phare de l'âge d'or de Broadway, avec son succès Show Boat, qui triompha en 1927. Bien que n'ayant pas été écrite à cette occasion, on entend cette chanson pour la première fois dans le film qui rend hommage au Paris occupé, Lady Be Good de Norman McLeod en 1940" Laurent Valero

durée : 00:58:19 - "The last time I saw Paris" (Jerome Kern) (1940) - par : Laurent Valero - "Jerome Kern musicien phare de l'âge d'or de Broadway, avec son succès Show Boat, qui triompha en 1927. Bien que n'ayant pas été écrite à cette occasion, on entend cette chanson pour la première fois dans le film qui rend hommage au Paris occupé, Lady Be Good de Norman McLeod en 1940" Laurent Valero

durée : 00:25:18 - Jerome Kern, "Show Boat" - par : Anne-Charlotte Rémond - Comme la plupart des spectacles montés à Broadway, celui qui passe au Ziegfeld Theatre le 27 décembre 1927 a déjà passé l'épreuve du public, il a tourné dans diverses villes pour être rodé avant d'affronter la critique new yorkaise. Mais l'impresario n'imagine pas le succès à venir de Show Boat... - réalisé par : Philippe Petit

Canciones del gran repertorio popular estadounidense (Rodgers y Hart, Irving Berlin, Harold Arlen, Jerome Kern...) en versiones brasileñas de Carlos Rennó grabadas por Gal Costa ('Meu romance'), Maria Rita ('Encantada'), Moreno Veloso ('Tão fundo é o mar'), Erasmo Carlos ('Verão'), Emilio Santiago ('Estava escrito nas estrelas'), Paula Morelenbaum ('Nego'), João Bosco ('Sábio rio'), Seu Jorge ('Fruta estranha'), Elba Ramalho, Dominguinhos & João Donato ('Tenho um xodó por ti'), Ná Ozzetti 6 Simoninha ('Queria estar amando alguém'), Luciana Souza ('O homem que partiu') y Zelia Duncan ('Mais além do arco iris').Escuchar audio

Judy Garland Podcast 1945-12-09 Jerome Kern Memorial with Judy Garland (Mindi)

Welcome to another enchanting episode of Saturday Matinee on Vintage Classic Radio! Get ready to journey back in time and immerse yourself in the golden age of radio entertainment. In today's lineup, we have three captivating shows that will transport you to a bygone era filled with laughter, romance, and musical delights. So, grab your popcorn and settle in for a delightful afternoon of radio magic. "Bringing Up Baby" - Colgate's Theatre of Romance - July 24th, 1945 In this timeless tale of love and unexpected connections, "Bringing Up Baby" follows the lives of Robert Lawrence, a reserved and successful businessman, and Margaret Davis, an adventurous and free-spirited woman. Their paths cross under unusual circumstances, involving a lost pet and a series of comedic misunderstandings. As they navigate the challenges of their differences, a heartwarming romance blossoms amidst the chaos. "Lou Inherits Eight Hundred Thousand Dollars" - The Abbott and Costello Show - January 21st, 1948 Join the hilarious antics of the legendary comedy duo Bud Abbott and Lou Costello in this uproarious episode. When Lou receives an unexpected inheritance of eight hundred thousand dollars, he envisions a life of luxury and excitement. However, a series of misadventures and misunderstandings turn his dreams into a sidesplitting nightmare. With Bud's exasperated guidance, Lou's attempts to manage his newfound fortune lead to uproarious laughter. "The Cat and the Fiddle" - The Railroad Hour - October 18th, 1948 Immerse yourself in the enchanting world of musical theater with "The Cat and the Fiddle." This delightful production features the timeless songs of Jerome Kern woven into a romantic storyline. Follow the journey of a struggling composer, Victor Florescu, and his chance encounter with a talented singer, Shirley Sheridan. Set in the backdrop of Paris, their artistic passions and budding romance intertwine as they collaborate on creating the perfect melody of love. Thank you for tuning in to this episode of Saturday Matinee on Vintage Classic Radio. We hope you enjoy this journey into the past, rediscovering the charm and charisma of these timeless shows. Stay tuned for more captivating broadcasts and relive the magic of vintage radio entertainment. Until next time!

In this episode, editor and writer Rob Weinert-Kendt discusses the work of the German-born American composer Kurt Weill from The Threepenny Opera to Lost in the Stars. We also talk about the song "In Dahomey" from Oscar Hammerstein II and Jerome Kern's 1927 musical Show Boat. You can write to scenetosong@gmail.com with a comment or question about an episode or about musical theater, or if you'd like to be a podcast guest. Follow on Instagram at @ScenetoSong, on X/Twitter at @SceneSong, and on Facebook at “Scene to Song with Shoshana Greenberg Podcast.” And be sure to sign up for the new monthly e-newsletter at scenetosong.substack.com. Contribute to the Patreon. The theme music is by Julia Meinwald. Music played in this episode: "Alabama Song" from Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny "The Ballad of Mack the Knife" from The Threepenny Opera "Lied der Fennimore (I Am a Poor Relative)" from The Silverlake, A Winter's Tale "September Song" from Knickerbocker Holiday "Green Up Time" from Love Life "Lonely House" from Street Scene "Hills of Ixopo" from Lost in the Stars "In Dahomey" from Show Boat

Irving Berlin, Dorothy Fields, George and Ira Gershwin, Jerome Kern, Johnny Mercer, Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hammerstein. These, along with many others, are the sorts of songwriters we associate with the Great American Songbook, the amorphous canon of important 20th century pop songs, jazz standards, and show tunes from Broadway, Tin Pan Alley, and movie musicals. But there's another important detail here. The songs we think of as the Songbook are from, more specifically, the 1920s through the 1950s. With some simple arithmetic, you can see that they're, uh, getting on in years — which might (must?) mean that their devotees are, too. The Nose is off. In its place this hour, a look at and a listen to — and some concern for the future of — the Great American Songbook. GUESTS: Joelle Lurie: Vocalist, songwriter, voiceover artist, and bandleader Steve Metcalf: Founder and director of the Garmany concert series at the University of Hartford's Hartt School The Colin McEnroe Show is available as a podcast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts, Amazon Music, TuneIn, Listen Notes, or wherever you get your podcasts. Subscribe and never miss an episode! Subscribe to The Noseletter, an email compendium of merriment, secrets, and ancient wisdom brought to you by The Colin McEnroe Show. Join the conversation on Facebook and Twitter. Colin McEnroe and Eugene Amatruda contributed to this show.Support the show: http://www.wnpr.org/donateSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Guest hosted by Jeff Lunden, this is the conclusion of a three-part program paying tribute to iconic lyricist Ira Gershwin known for his collaborations with his brother George, Jerome Kern and Harold Arlen, to name a few, and his numerous Broadway shows including FUNNY FACE, GIRL CRAZY, PORGY AND BESS and OF THEE I SING. This tribute includes an archival interview from 1969 with the lyricist discussing his successful career alongside his composer brother, George. Additionally, this episode includes rare recordings of Ira Gershwin singing his own songs and features music from DAMSEL IN DISTRESS, SHALL WE DANCE, OF THEE I SING, FUNNY FACE and THE GOLDWYN FOLLIES.   Featured archival acetate recordings: “HI-H0,” “WHO CARES?” “STIFF UPPER LIP,” “THE BABBIT AND THE BROMIDE,” plus bonus modern recordings of “I GOT RHYTHM,” and “LOVE IS HERE TO STAY.”   Originally produced and broadcast in 1983. For more information go to AnythingGoesPL.com or BPN.FM/Anything Goes. Theme music arranged by Bruce Coughlin. Associate producer Jeff Lunden. Anything Goes – Backstage with Broadway's Best – is produced and hosted by Paul Lazarus. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Guest hosted by Jeff Lunden, this is the second of a three-part program paying tribute to iconic lyricist Ira Gershwin known for his collaborations with his brother George, Jerome Kern and Harold Arlen, to name a few, and his numerous Broadway shows including FUNNY FACE, GIRL CRAZY, PORGY AND BESS and OF THEE I SING. This episode features the second half of a tribute to Gershwin as star-studded guests share personal anecdotes and perform Ira's songs including Tony Bennett, Betty Comden, Adolph Green, Arthur Schwartz, Ginger Rogers, Judy Garland (via a movie clip), Tommy Tune and Twiggy.          Featured songs: “THEY ALL LAUGHED,” “LADY BE GOOD,” “WHO CARES?” “EMBRACEABLE YOU,” “BUT NOT FOR ME,” “THE MAN THAT GOT AWAY,” “LETS CALL THE WHOLE THING OFF,” and “LOVE IS HERE TO STAY.”   Originally produced and broadcast in 1983. For more information go to AnythingGoesPL.com or BPN.FM/Anything Goes. Theme music arranged by Bruce Coughlin. Associate producer Jeff Lunden. Anything Goes – Backstage with Broadway's Best – is produced and hosted by Paul Lazarus. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Episode 276, Ella Fitzgerald, features 17 songs from her ground-breaking Great American Songbook albums of the 1950s, with music written by Jerome Kern, Harold Arlen, Rodgers and Hart, George and Ira Gershwin, Cole Porter, Irving... Read More The post Episode 276, Ella Fitzgerald appeared first on Sam Waldron.

Guest hosted by Jeff Lunden, this is the first of a three-part program paying tribute to iconic lyricist Ira Gershwin known for his collaborations with his brother George, Jerome Kern and Harold Arlen, to name a few, and his numerous Broadway shows including FUNNY FACE, GIRL CRAZY, PORGY AND BESS and OF THEE I SING. This episode features a tribute to Gershwin as star-studded guests share personal anecdotes and perform his songs including Hal David, Margaret Whiting, Cab Calloway, Jonathan Sprague, Priscilla Baskerville, and Bruton Lane.   Featured songs: “MY SHIP,” “SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME,” “IT AIN'T NECESSARILY SO,” “BESS, YOU IS MY WOMAN NOW,” “OF THEE I SING,” and “PUT ME TO THE TEST.”   Originally produced and broadcast in 1983. For more information go to AnythingGoesPL.com or BPN.FM/Anything Goes. Theme music arranged by Bruce Coughlin. Associate producer Jeff Lunden. Anything Goes – Backstage with Broadway's Best – is produced and hosted by Paul Lazarus. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

84 años de presencia ininterrumpida en los salones bailables de la nación respaldan una sonoridad inconfundible. Los integrantes de la veterana Orquesta Aragón triunfaron en la capital de la república, sirviendo de ejemplo a otras tantas generaciones de músicos populares que, hasta el sol de hoy, continúan repitiendo ese eterno ciclo de superación. Casi a término el sello tímbrico que los haría imprescindibles, entre las formaciones de su tipo llegaron a la Habana, dejando atrás el terruño cienfueguero, en 1954. Fundamentales resultaron entonces las presentaciones en directo, tanto en la radio y la televisión, así como las numerosas grabaciones que comenzaron a efectuar para la etiqueta norteamericana RCA Victor. La Orquesta Aragón, bajo la dirección de Rafaelito Lay, sin importar años ni contratiempos, sigue honrando la memoria de todos y cada uno de los músicos que la integraron en sus diversas etapas, contribuyendo con su labor a la difusión de lo mejor de nuestro patrimonio rítmico y autoral. El histórico empaste vocal de Pepe Olmo, Felo Bacallao y Rafael Lay (padre) identificó durante décadas el sonido "Aragón". A mediados de los años 60, grabada por la etiqueta EGREM, asimilaban el pa'cá de Juanito Márquez y el mozambique de Pello el Afrokán, ritmos de gran aceptación popular. Y la antológica señal de la CMQ RadioCentro del año 1951 nos permite acercarnos al "crooner" o cancionero, figura que comenzó a hacerse bien popular en la franja de los años 30 a los 40. Buen recuerdo para el tenor Miguel Ángel Ortiz, quien a pesar de dejar una discreta discografía participó activamente en las emisiones en directo de importantes radioemisoras como RHC Cadena Azul y CMQ durante los años 40, 50 y comienzos de los 60. Tres piezas para la memoria en su estilo. El clásico norteamericano de 1933: "Smoke gets in your eyes" original de Jerome Kern; "Aunque te vayas" bolero del compositor cubano Faustino Miró; y del mexicano Gabriel Ruiz: "Tú dónde estás". Más de cien años nos separan de aquel 10 de octubre de 1922 cuando las antenas de la PWX de la Cuban Telephone Company inauguraban con carácter oficial la era radiofónica en la Isla. Desde el primer día la música en directo demostró su marcada importancia para sostener las futuras programaciones. Boricua de nacimiento pero cubano de corazón así recordamos al controvertido cantante Daniel Santos quien fuera presencia habitual entre los cubanos desde 1946 hasta 1960. Con el respaldo del conjunto Sonora Matancera regresa con algo del repertorio que interpretaba en directo allá por 1949. Fragmentos del estelar Show Cascabeles Candado. En los variados elencos artístico-musicales que. con el auge de la radio cubana articularon las diferentes emisoras para reforzar sus programaciones, comenzaron a sobresalir las formaciones femeninas, en especial los dúos y tríos completados por hermanas. En el programa de hoy, vinculadas a aquellas fabulosas transmisiones en directo, recordaremos en primer término a las hermanas Aguilera quienes alguna vez se presentaron en CMQ RadioCentro con el respaldo del conjunto del compositor santiaguero Ñico Saquito. Muy poco sabemos de estas formidables artistas que, por suerte, dejaron su huella en el éter radiofónico. Casi despidiéndonos, como homenaje a estas valiosas formaciones femeninas retomaremos -en dos tiempos- a las Hermanas Márquez. Cusa, Trini y Nerza Márquez participaron activamente en espacios estelares como el "Gran Show de la Mañana" de la CMQ RadioCentro entre 1948 y 1949. En 1951 decidieron radicar en los Estados Unidos. Medio siglo después, a la altura del nuevo milenio, y gracias al empeño de Paquito de Rivera y el productor español José Luis Rupérez, las entusiastas y ochentonas Trini y Nerza sorprendieron a un público, siempre ávido de música popular cubana, con un inesperado regreso. A pesar del tiempo el añejo sabor de sones, guarachas, montunos y boleros, volvía a encender las voces de las eternas Hermanas Márquez.

Episode 165 of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at “Dark Stat” and the career of the Grateful Dead. This is a long one, even longer than the previous episode, but don't worry, that won't be the norm. There's a reason these two were much longer than average. Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a twenty-minute bonus episode available, on "Codine" by the Charlatans. Errata I mispronounce Brent Mydland's name as Myland a couple of times, and in the introduction I say "Touch of Grey" came out in 1988 -- I later, correctly, say 1987. (I seem to have had a real problem with dates in the intro -- I also originally talked about "Blue Suede Shoes" being in 1954 before fixing it in the edit to be 1956) Resources No Mixcloud this week, as there are too many songs by the Grateful Dead, and Grayfolded runs to two hours. I referred to a lot of books for this episode, partly because almost everything about the Grateful Dead is written from a fannish perspective that already assumes background knowledge, rather than to provide that background knowledge. Of the various books I used, Dennis McNally's biography of the band and This Is All a Dream We Dreamed: An Oral History of the Grateful Dead by Blair Jackson and David Gans are probably most useful for the casually interested. Other books on the Dead I used included McNally's Jerry on Jerry, a collection of interviews with Garcia; Deal, Bill Kreutzmann's autobiography; The Grateful Dead FAQ by Tony Sclafani; So Many Roads by David Browne; Deadology by Howard F. Weiner; Fare Thee Well by Joel Selvin and Pamela Turley; and Skeleton Key: A Dictionary for Deadheads by David Shenk and Steve Silberman. Tom Wolfe's The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test is the classic account of the Pranksters, though not always reliable. I reference Slaughterhouse Five a lot. As well as the novel itself, which everyone should read, I also read this rather excellent graphic novel adaptation, and The Writer's Crusade, a book about the writing of the novel. I also reference Ted Sturgeon's More Than Human. For background on the scene around Astounding Science Fiction which included Sturgeon, John W. Campbell, L. Ron Hubbard, and many other science fiction writers, I recommend Alec Nevala-Lee's Astounding. 1,000 True Fans can be read online, as can the essay on the Californian ideology, and John Perry Barlow's "Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace". The best collection of Grateful Dead material is the box set The Golden Road, which contains all the albums released in Pigpen's lifetime along with a lot of bonus material, but which appears currently out of print. Live/Dead contains both the live version of "Dark Star" which made it well known and, as a CD bonus track, the original single version. And archive.org has more live recordings of the group than you can possibly ever listen to. Grayfolded can be bought from John Oswald's Bandcamp Patreon This podcast is brought to you by the generosity of my backers on Patreon. Why not join them? Transcript [Excerpt: Tuning from "Grayfolded", under the warnings Before we begin -- as we're tuning up, as it were, I should mention that this episode contains discussions of alcoholism, drug addiction, racism, nonconsensual drugging of other people, and deaths from drug abuse, suicide, and car accidents. As always, I try to deal with these subjects as carefully as possible, but if you find any of those things upsetting you may wish to read the transcript rather than listen to this episode, or skip it altogether. Also, I should note that the members of the Grateful Dead were much freer with their use of swearing in interviews than any other band we've covered so far, and that makes using quotes from them rather more difficult than with other bands, given the limitations of the rules imposed to stop the podcast being marked as adult. If I quote anything with a word I can't use here, I'll give a brief pause in the audio, and in the transcript I'll have the word in square brackets. [tuning ends] All this happened, more or less. In 1910, T. S. Eliot started work on "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", which at the time was deemed barely poetry, with one reviewer imagining Eliot saying "I'll just put down the first thing that comes into my head, and call it 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.'" It is now considered one of the great classics of modernist literature. In 1969, Kurt Vonnegut wrote "Slaughterhouse-Five, or, The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death", a book in which the protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, comes unstuck in time, and starts living a nonlinear life, hopping around between times reliving his experiences in the Second World War, and future experiences up to 1976 after being kidnapped by beings from the planet Tralfamadore. Or perhaps he has flashbacks and hallucinations after having a breakdown from PTSD. It is now considered one of the great classics of modernist literature or of science fiction, depending on how you look at it. In 1953, Theodore Sturgeon wrote More Than Human. It is now considered one of the great classics of science fiction. In 1950, L. Ron Hubbard wrote Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health. It is now considered either a bad piece of science fiction or one of the great revelatory works of religious history, depending on how you look at it. In 1994, 1995, and 1996 the composer John Oswald released, first as two individual CDs and then as a double-CD, an album called Grayfolded, which the composer says in the liner notes he thinks of as existing in Tralfamadorian time. The Tralfamadorians in Vonnegut's novels don't see time as a linear thing with a beginning and end, but as a continuum that they can move between at will. When someone dies, they just think that at this particular point in time they're not doing so good, but at other points in time they're fine, so why focus on the bad time? In the book, when told of someone dying, the Tralfamadorians just say "so it goes". In between the first CD's release and the release of the double-CD version, Jerry Garcia died. From August 1942 through August 1995, Jerry Garcia was alive. So it goes. Shall we go, you and I? [Excerpt: The Grateful Dead, "Dark Star (Omni 3/30/94)"] "One principle has become clear. Since motives are so frequently found in combination, it is essential that the complex types be analyzed and arranged, with an eye kept single nevertheless to the master-theme under discussion. Collectors, both primary and subsidiary, have done such valiant service that the treasures at our command are amply sufficient for such studies, so extensive, indeed, that the task of going through them thoroughly has become too great for the unassisted student. It cannot be too strongly urged that a single theme in its various types and compounds must be made predominant in any useful comparative study. This is true when the sources and analogues of any literary work are treated; it is even truer when the bare motive is discussed. The Grateful Dead furnishes an apt illustration of the necessity of such handling. It appears in a variety of different combinations, almost never alone. Indeed, it is so widespread a tale, and its combinations are so various, that there is the utmost difficulty in determining just what may properly be regarded the original kernel of it, the simple theme to which other motives were joined. Various opinions, as we shall see, have been held with reference to this matter, most of them justified perhaps by the materials in the hands of the scholars holding them, but none quite adequate in view of later evidence." That's a quote from The Grateful Dead: The History of a Folk Story, by Gordon Hall Gerould, published in 1908. Kurt Vonnegut's novel Slaughterhouse-Five opens with a chapter about the process of writing the novel itself, and how difficult it was. He says "I would hate to tell you what this lousy little book cost me in money and anxiety and time. When I got home from the Second World War twenty-three years ago, I thought it would be easy for me to write about the destruction of Dresden, since all I would have to do would be to report what I had seen. And I thought, too, that it would be a masterpiece or at least make me a lot of money, since the subject was so big." This is an episode several of my listeners have been looking forward to, but it's one I've been dreading writing, because this is an episode -- I think the only one in the series -- where the format of the podcast simply *will not* work. Were the Grateful Dead not such an important band, I would skip this episode altogether, but they're a band that simply can't be ignored, and that's a real problem here. Because my intent, always, with this podcast, is to present the recordings of the artists in question, put them in context, and explain why they were important, what their music meant to its listeners. To put, as far as is possible, the positive case for why the music mattered *in the context of its time*. Not why it matters now, or why it matters to me, but why it matters *in its historical context*. Whether I like the music or not isn't the point. Whether it stands up now isn't the point. I play the music, explain what it was they were doing, why they were doing it, what people saw in it. If I do my job well, you come away listening to "Blue Suede Shoes" the way people heard it in 1956, or "Good Vibrations" the way people heard it in 1966, and understanding why people were so impressed by those records. That is simply *not possible* for the Grateful Dead. I can present a case for them as musicians, and hope to do so. I can explain the appeal as best I understand it, and talk about things I like in their music, and things I've noticed. But what I can't do is present their recordings the way they were received in the sixties and explain why they were popular. Because every other act I have covered or will cover in this podcast has been a *recording* act, and their success was based on records. They may also have been exceptional live performers, but James Brown or Ike and Tina Turner are remembered for great *records*, like "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag" or "River Deep, Mountain High". Their great moments were captured on vinyl, to be listened back to, and susceptible of analysis. That is not the case for the Grateful Dead, and what is worse *they explicitly said, publicly, on multiple occasions* that it is not possible for me to understand their art, and thus that it is not possible for me to explain it. The Grateful Dead did make studio records, some of them very good. But they always said, consistently, over a thirty year period, that their records didn't capture what they did, and that the only way -- the *only* way, they were very clear about this -- that one could actually understand and appreciate their music, was to see them live, and furthermore to see them live while on psychedelic drugs. [Excerpt: Grateful Dead crowd noise] I never saw the Grateful Dead live -- their last UK performance was a couple of years before I went to my first ever gig -- and I have never taken a psychedelic substance. So by the Grateful Dead's own criteria, it is literally impossible for me to understand or explain their music the way that it should be understood or explained. In a way I'm in a similar position to the one I was in with La Monte Young in the last episode, whose music it's mostly impossible to experience without being in his presence. This is one reason of several why I placed these two episodes back to back. Of course, there is a difference between Young and the Grateful Dead. The Grateful Dead allowed -- even encouraged -- the recording of their live performances. There are literally thousands of concert recordings in circulation, many of them of professional quality. I have listened to many of those, and I can hear what they were doing. I can tell you what *I* think is interesting about their music, and about their musicianship. And I think I can build up a good case for why they were important, and why they're interesting, and why those recordings are worth listening to. And I can certainly explain the cultural phenomenon that was the Grateful Dead. But just know that while I may have found *a* point, *an* explanation for why the Grateful Dead were important, by the band's own lights and those of their fans, no matter how good a job I do in this episode, I *cannot* get it right. And that is, in itself, enough of a reason for this episode to exist, and for me to try, even harder than I normally do, to get it right *anyway*. Because no matter how well I do my job this episode will stand as an example of why this series is called "*A* History", not *the* history. Because parts of the past are ephemeral. There are things about which it's true to say "You had to be there". I cannot know what it was like to have been an American the day Kennedy was shot, I cannot know what it was like to be alive when a man walked on the Moon. Those are things nobody my age or younger can ever experience. And since August the ninth, 1995, the experience of hearing the Grateful Dead's music the way they wanted it heard has been in that category. And that is by design. Jerry Garcia once said "if you work really hard as an artist, you may be able to build something they can't tear down, you know, after you're gone... What I want to do is I want it here. I want it now, in this lifetime. I want what I enjoy to last as long as I do and not last any longer. You know, I don't want something that ends up being as much a nuisance as it is a work of art, you know?" And there's another difficulty. There are only two points in time where it makes sense to do a podcast episode on the Grateful Dead -- late 1967 and early 1968, when the San Francisco scene they were part of was at its most culturally relevant, and 1988 when they had their only top ten hit and gained their largest audience. I can't realistically leave them out of the story until 1988, so it has to be 1968. But the songs they are most remembered for are those they wrote between 1970 and 1972, and those songs are influenced by artists and events we haven't yet covered in the podcast, who will be getting their own episodes in the future. I can't explain those things in this episode, because they need whole episodes of their own. I can't not explain them without leaving out important context for the Grateful Dead. So the best I can do is treat the story I'm telling as if it were in Tralfamadorian time. All of it's happening all at once, and some of it is happening in different episodes that haven't been recorded yet. The podcast as a whole travels linearly from 1938 through to 1999, but this episode is happening in 1968 and 1972 and 1988 and 1995 and other times, all at once. Sometimes I'll talk about things as if you're already familiar with them, but they haven't happened yet in the story. Feel free to come unstuck in time and revisit this time after episode 167, and 172, and 176, and 192, and experience it again. So this has to be an experimental episode. It may well be an experiment that you think fails. If so, the next episode is likely to be far more to your taste, and much shorter than this or the last episode, two episodes that between them have to create a scaffolding on which will hang much of the rest of this podcast's narrative. I've finished my Grateful Dead script now. The next one I write is going to be fun: [Excerpt: Grateful Dead, "Dark Star"] Infrastructure means everything. How we get from place to place, how we transport goods, information, and ourselves, makes a big difference in how society is structured, and in the music we hear. For many centuries, the prime means of long-distance transport was by water -- sailing ships on the ocean, canal boats and steamboats for inland navigation -- and so folk songs talked about the ship as both means of escape, means of making a living, and in some senses as a trap. You'd go out to sea for adventure, or to escape your problems, but you'd find that the sea itself brought its own problems. Because of this we have a long, long tradition of sea shanties which are known throughout the world: [Excerpt: A. L. Lloyd, "Off to Sea Once More"] But in the nineteenth century, the railway was invented and, at least as far as travel within a landmass goes, it replaced the steamboat in the popular imaginary. Now the railway was how you got from place to place, and how you moved freight from one place to another. The railway brought freedom, and was an opportunity for outlaws, whether train robbers or a romanticised version of the hobo hopping onto a freight train and making his way to new lands and new opportunity. It was the train that brought soldiers home from wars, and the train that allowed the Great Migration of Black people from the South to the industrial North. There would still be songs about the riverboats, about how ol' man river keeps rolling along and about the big river Johnny Cash sang about, but increasingly they would be songs of the past, not the present. The train quickly replaced the steamboat in the iconography of what we now think of as roots music -- blues, country, folk, and early jazz music. Sometimes this was very literal. Furry Lewis' "Kassie Jones" -- about a legendary train driver who would break the rules to make sure his train made the station on time, but who ended up sacrificing his own life to save his passengers in a train crash -- is based on "Alabamy Bound", which as we heard in the episode on "Stagger Lee", was about steamboats: [Excerpt: Furry Lewis, "Kassie Jones"] In the early episodes of this podcast we heard many, many, songs about the railway. Louis Jordan saying "take me right back to the track, Jack", Rosetta Tharpe singing about how "this train don't carry no gamblers", the trickster freight train driver driving on the "Rock Island Line", the mystery train sixteen coaches long, the train that kept-a-rollin' all night long, the Midnight Special which the prisoners wished would shine its ever-loving light on them, and the train coming past Folsom Prison whose whistle makes Johnny Cash hang his head and cry. But by the 1960s, that kind of song had started to dry up. It would happen on occasion -- "People Get Ready" by the Impressions is the most obvious example of the train metaphor in an important sixties record -- but by the late sixties the train was no longer a symbol of freedom but of the past. In 1969 Harry Nilsson sang about how "Nobody Cares About the Railroads Any More", and in 1968 the Kinks sang about "The Last of the Steam-Powered Trains". When in 1968 Merle Haggard sang about a freight train, it was as a memory, of a child with hopes that ended up thwarted by reality and his own nature: [Excerpt: Merle Haggard, "Mama Tried"] And the reason for this was that there had been another shift, a shift that had started in the forties and accelerated in the late fifties but had taken a little time to ripple through the culture. Now the train had been replaced in the popular imaginary by motorised transport. Instead of hopping on a train without paying, if you had no money in your pocket you'd have to hitch-hike all the way. Freedom now meant individuality. The ultimate in freedom was the biker -- the Hell's Angels who could go anywhere, unburdened by anything -- and instead of goods being moved by freight train, increasingly they were being moved by truck drivers. By the mid-seventies, truck drivers took a central place in American life, and the most romantic way to live life was to live it on the road. On The Road was also the title of a 1957 novel by Jack Kerouac, which was one of the first major signs of this cultural shift in America. Kerouac was writing about events in the late forties and early fifties, but his book was also a precursor of the sixties counterculture. He wrote the book on one continuous sheet of paper, as a stream of consciousness. Kerouac died in 1969 of an internal haemmorage brought on by too much alcohol consumption. So it goes. But the big key to this cultural shift was caused by the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956, a massive infrastructure spending bill that led to the construction of the modern American Interstate Highway system. This accelerated a program that had already started, of building much bigger, safer, faster roads. It also, as anyone who has read Robert Caro's The Power Broker knows, reinforced segregation and white flight. It did this both by making commuting into major cities from the suburbs easier -- thus allowing white people with more money to move further away from the cities and still work there -- and by bulldozing community spaces where Black people lived. More than a million people lost their homes and were forcibly moved, and orders of magnitude more lost their communities' parks and green spaces. And both as a result of deliberate actions and unconscious bigotry, the bulk of those affected were Black people -- who often found themselves, if they weren't forced to move, on one side of a ten-lane highway where the park used to be, with white people on the other side of the highway. The Federal-Aid Highway Act gave even more power to the unaccountable central planners like Robert Moses, the urban planner in New York who managed to become arguably the most powerful man in the city without ever getting elected, partly by slowly compromising away his early progressive ideals in the service of gaining more power. Of course, not every new highway was built through areas where poor Black people lived. Some were planned to go through richer areas for white people, just because you can't completely do away with geographical realities. For example one was planned to be built through part of San Francisco, a rich, white part. But the people who owned properties in that area had enough political power and clout to fight the development, and after nearly a decade of fighting it, the development was called off in late 1966. But over that time, many of the owners of the impressive buildings in the area had moved out, and they had no incentive to improve or maintain their properties while they were under threat of demolition, so many of them were rented out very cheaply. And when the beat community that Kerouac wrote about, many of whom had settled in San Francisco, grew too large and notorious for the area of the city they were in, North Beach, many of them moved to these cheap homes in a previously-exclusive area. The area known as Haight-Ashbury. [Excerpt: The Grateful Dead, "Grayfolded"] Stories all have their starts, even stories told in Tralfamadorian time, although sometimes those starts are shrouded in legend. For example, the story of Scientology's start has been told many times, with different people claiming to have heard L. Ron Hubbard talk about how writing was a mug's game, and if you wanted to make real money, you needed to get followers, start a religion. Either he said this over and over and over again, to many different science fiction writers, or most science fiction writers of his generation were liars. Of course, the definition of a writer is someone who tells lies for money, so who knows? One of the more plausible accounts of him saying that is given by Theodore Sturgeon. Sturgeon's account is more believable than most, because Sturgeon went on to be a supporter of Dianetics, the "new science" that Hubbard turned into his religion, for decades, even while telling the story. The story of the Grateful Dead probably starts as it ends, with Jerry Garcia. There are three things that everyone writing about the Dead says about Garcia's childhood, so we might as well say them here too. The first is that he was named by a music-loving father after Jerome Kern, the songwriter responsible for songs like "Ol' Man River" (though as Oscar Hammerstein's widow liked to point out, "Jerome Kern wrote dum-dum-dum-dum, *my husband* wrote 'Ol' Man River'" -- an important distinction we need to bear in mind when talking about songwriters who write music but not lyrics). The second is that when he was five years old that music-loving father drowned -- and Garcia would always say he had seen his father dying, though some sources claim this was a false memory. So it goes. And the third fact, which for some reason is always told after the second even though it comes before it chronologically, is that when he was four he lost two joints from his right middle finger. Garcia grew up a troubled teen, and in turn caused trouble for other people, but he also developed a few interests that would follow him through his life. He loved the fantastical, especially the fantastical macabre, and became an avid fan of horror and science fiction -- and through his love of old monster films he became enamoured with cinema more generally. Indeed, in 1983 he bought the film rights to Kurt Vonnegut's science fiction novel The Sirens of Titan, the first story in which the Tralfamadorians appear, and wrote a script based on it. He wanted to produce the film himself, with Francis Ford Coppola directing and Bill Murray starring, but most importantly for him he wanted to prevent anyone who didn't care about it from doing it badly. And in that he succeeded. As of 2023 there is no film of The Sirens of Titan. He loved to paint, and would continue that for the rest of his life, with one of his favourite subjects being Boris Karloff as the Frankenstein monster. And when he was eleven or twelve, he heard for the first time a record that was hugely influential to a whole generation of Californian musicians, even though it was a New York record -- "Gee" by the Crows: [Excerpt: The Crows, "Gee"] Garcia would say later "That was an important song. That was the first kind of, like where the voices had that kind of not-trained-singer voices, but tough-guy-on-the-street voice." That record introduced him to R&B, and soon he was listening to Chuck Berry and Bo Diddley, to Ray Charles, and to a record we've not talked about in the podcast but which was one of the great early doo-wop records, "WPLJ" by the Four Deuces: [Excerpt: The Four Deuces, "WPLJ"] Garcia said of that record "That was one of my anthem songs when I was in junior high school and high school and around there. That was one of those songs everybody knew. And that everybody sang. Everybody sang that street-corner favorite." Garcia moved around a lot as a child, and didn't have much time for school by his own account, but one of the few teachers he did respect was an art teacher when he was in North Beach, Walter Hedrick. Hedrick was also one of the earliest of the conceptual artists, and one of the most important figures in the San Francisco arts scene that would become known as the Beat Generation (or the Beatniks, which was originally a disparaging term). Hedrick was a painter and sculptor, but also organised happenings, and he had also been one of the prime movers in starting a series of poetry readings in San Francisco, the first one of which had involved Allen Ginsberg giving the first ever reading of "Howl" -- one of a small number of poems, along with Eliot's "Prufrock" and "The Waste Land" and possibly Pound's Cantos, which can be said to have changed twentieth-century literature. Garcia was fifteen when he got to know Hedrick, in 1957, and by then the Beat scene had already become almost a parody of itself, having become known to the public because of the publication of works like On the Road, and the major artists in the scene were already rejecting the label. By this point tourists were flocking to North Beach to see these beatniks they'd heard about on TV, and Hedrick was actually employed by one cafe to sit in the window wearing a beret, turtleneck, sandals, and beard, and draw and paint, to attract the tourists who flocked by the busload because they could see that there was a "genuine beatnik" in the cafe. Hedrick was, as well as a visual artist, a guitarist and banjo player who played in traditional jazz bands, and he would bring records in to class for his students to listen to, and Garcia particularly remembered him bringing in records by Big Bill Broonzy: [Excerpt: Big Bill Broonzy, "When Things Go Wrong (It Hurts Me Too)"] Garcia was already an avid fan of rock and roll music, but it was being inspired by Hedrick that led him to get his first guitar. Like his contemporary Paul McCartney around the same time, he was initially given the wrong instrument as a birthday present -- in Garcia's case his mother gave him an accordion -- but he soon persuaded her to swap it for an electric guitar he saw in a pawn shop. And like his other contemporary, John Lennon, Garcia initially tuned his instrument incorrectly. He said later "When I started playing the guitar, believe me, I didn't know anybody that played. I mean, I didn't know anybody that played the guitar. Nobody. They weren't around. There were no guitar teachers. You couldn't take lessons. There was nothing like that, you know? When I was a kid and I had my first electric guitar, I had it tuned wrong and learned how to play on it with it tuned wrong for about a year. And I was getting somewhere on it, you know… Finally, I met a guy that knew how to tune it right and showed me three chords, and it was like a revelation. You know what I mean? It was like somebody gave me the key to heaven." He joined a band, the Chords, which mostly played big band music, and his friend Gary Foster taught him some of the rudiments of playing the guitar -- things like how to use a capo to change keys. But he was always a rebellious kid, and soon found himself faced with a choice between joining the military or going to prison. He chose the former, and it was during his time in the Army that a friend, Ron Stevenson, introduced him to the music of Merle Travis, and to Travis-style guitar picking: [Excerpt: Merle Travis, "Nine-Pound Hammer"] Garcia had never encountered playing like that before, but he instantly recognised that Travis, and Chet Atkins who Stevenson also played for him, had been an influence on Scotty Moore. He started to realise that the music he'd listened to as a teenager was influenced by music that went further back. But Stevenson, as well as teaching Garcia some of the rudiments of Travis-picking, also indirectly led to Garcia getting discharged from the Army. Stevenson was not a well man, and became suicidal. Garcia decided it was more important to keep his friend company and make sure he didn't kill himself than it was to turn up for roll call, and as a result he got discharged himself on psychiatric grounds -- according to Garcia he told the Army psychiatrist "I was involved in stuff that was more important to me in the moment than the army was and that was the reason I was late" and the psychiatrist thought it was neurotic of Garcia to have his own set of values separate from that of the Army. After discharge, Garcia did various jobs, including working as a transcriptionist for Lenny Bruce, the comedian who was a huge influence on the counterculture. In one of the various attacks over the years by authoritarians on language, Bruce was repeatedly arrested for obscenity, and in 1961 he was arrested at a jazz club in North Beach. Sixty years ago, the parts of speech that were being criminalised weren't pronouns, but prepositions and verbs: [Excerpt: Lenny Bruce, "To is a Preposition, Come is a Verb"] That piece, indeed, was so controversial that when Frank Zappa quoted part of it in a song in 1968, the record label insisted on the relevant passage being played backwards so people couldn't hear such disgusting filth: [Excerpt: The Mothers of Invention, "Harry You're a Beast"] (Anyone familiar with that song will understand that the censored portion is possibly the least offensive part of the whole thing). Bruce was facing trial, and he needed transcripts of what he had said in his recordings to present in court. Incidentally, there seems to be some confusion over exactly which of Bruce's many obscenity trials Garcia became a transcriptionist for. Dennis McNally says in his biography of the band, published in 2002, that it was the most famous of them, in autumn 1964, but in a later book, Jerry on Jerry, a book of interviews of Garcia edited by McNally, McNally talks about it being when Garcia was nineteen, which would mean it was Bruce's first trial, in 1961. We can put this down to the fact that many of the people involved, not least Garcia, lived in Tralfamadorian time, and were rather hazy on dates, but I'm placing the story here rather than in 1964 because it seems to make more sense that Garcia would be involved in a trial based on an incident in San Francisco than one in New York. Garcia got the job, even though he couldn't type, because by this point he'd spent so long listening to recordings of old folk and country music that he was used to transcribing indecipherable accents, and often, as Garcia would tell it, Bruce would mumble very fast and condense multiple syllables into one. Garcia was particularly impressed by Bruce's ability to improvise but talk in entire paragraphs, and he compared his use of language to bebop. Another thing that was starting to impress Garcia, and which he also compared to bebop, was bluegrass: [Excerpt: Bill Monroe, "Fire on the Mountain"] Bluegrass is a music that is often considered very traditional, because it's based on traditional songs and uses acoustic instruments, but in fact it was a terribly *modern* music, and largely a postwar creation of a single band -- Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys. And Garcia was right when he said it was "white bebop" -- though he did say "The only thing it doesn't have is the harmonic richness of bebop. You know what I mean? That's what it's missing, but it has everything else." Both bebop and bluegrass evolved after the second world war, though they were informed by music from before it, and both prized the ability to improvise, and technical excellence. Both are musics that involved playing *fast*, in an ensemble, and being able to respond quickly to the other musicians. Both musics were also intensely rhythmic, a response to a faster paced, more stressful world. They were both part of the general change in the arts towards immediacy that we looked at in the last episode with the creation first of expressionism and then of pop art. Bluegrass didn't go into the harmonic explorations that modern jazz did, but it was absolutely as modern as anything Charlie Parker was doing, and came from the same impulses. It was tradition and innovation, the past and the future simultaneously. Bill Monroe, Jackson Pollock, Charlie Parker, Jack Kerouac, and Lenny Bruce were all in their own ways responding to the same cultural moment, and it was that which Garcia was responding to. But he didn't become able to play bluegrass until after a tragedy which shaped his life even more than his father's death had. Garcia had been to a party and was in a car with his friends Lee Adams, Paul Speegle, and Alan Trist. Adams was driving at ninety miles an hour when they hit a tight curve and crashed. Garcia, Adams, and Trist were all severely injured but survived. Speegle died. So it goes. This tragedy changed Garcia's attitudes totally. Of all his friends, Speegle was the one who was most serious about his art, and who treated it as something to work on. Garcia had always been someone who fundamentally didn't want to work or take any responsibility for anything. And he remained that way -- except for his music. Speegle's death changed Garcia's attitude to that, totally. If his friend wasn't going to be able to practice his own art any more, Garcia would practice his, in tribute to him. He resolved to become a virtuoso on guitar and banjo. His girlfriend of the time later said “I don't know if you've spent time with someone rehearsing ‘Foggy Mountain Breakdown' on a banjo for eight hours, but Jerry practiced endlessly. He really wanted to excel and be the best. He had tremendous personal ambition in the musical arena, and he wanted to master whatever he set out to explore. Then he would set another sight for himself. And practice another eight hours a day of new licks.” But of course, you can't make ensemble music on your own: [Excerpt: Jerry Garcia and Bob Hunter, "Oh Mary Don't You Weep" (including end)] "Evelyn said, “What is it called when a person needs a … person … when you want to be touched and the … two are like one thing and there isn't anything else at all anywhere?” Alicia, who had read books, thought about it. “Love,” she said at length." That's from More Than Human, by Theodore Sturgeon, a book I'll be quoting a few more times as the story goes on. Robert Hunter, like Garcia, was just out of the military -- in his case, the National Guard -- and he came into Garcia's life just after Paul Speegle had left it. Garcia and Alan Trist met Hunter ten days after the accident, and the three men started hanging out together, Trist and Hunter writing while Garcia played music. Garcia and Hunter both bonded over their shared love for the beats, and for traditional music, and the two formed a duo, Bob and Jerry, which performed together a handful of times. They started playing together, in fact, after Hunter picked up a guitar and started playing a song and halfway through Garcia took it off him and finished the song himself. The two of them learned songs from the Harry Smith Anthology -- Garcia was completely apolitical, and only once voted in his life, for Lyndon Johnson in 1964 to keep Goldwater out, and regretted even doing that, and so he didn't learn any of the more political material people like Pete Seeger, Phil Ochs, and Bob Dylan were doing at the time -- but their duo only lasted a short time because Hunter wasn't an especially good guitarist. Hunter would, though, continue to jam with Garcia and other friends, sometimes playing mandolin, while Garcia played solo gigs and with other musicians as well, playing and moving round the Bay Area and performing with whoever he could: [Excerpt: Jerry Garcia, "Railroad Bill"] "Bleshing, that was Janie's word. She said Baby told it to her. She said it meant everyone all together being something, even if they all did different things. Two arms, two legs, one body, one head, all working together, although a head can't walk and arms can't think. Lone said maybe it was a mixture of “blending” and “meshing,” but I don't think he believed that himself. It was a lot more than that." That's from More Than Human In 1961, Garcia and Hunter met another young musician, but one who was interested in a very different type of music. Phil Lesh was a serious student of modern classical music, a classically-trained violinist and trumpeter whose interest was solidly in the experimental and whose attitude can be summed up by a story that's always told about him meeting his close friend Tom Constanten for the first time. Lesh had been talking with someone about serialism, and Constanten had interrupted, saying "Music stopped being created in 1750 but it started again in 1950". Lesh just stuck out his hand, recognising a kindred spirit. Lesh and Constanten were both students of Luciano Berio, the experimental composer who created compositions for magnetic tape: [Excerpt: Luciano Berio, "Momenti"] Berio had been one of the founders of the Studio di fonologia musicale di Radio Milano, a studio for producing contemporary electronic music where John Cage had worked for a time, and he had also worked with the electronic music pioneer Karlheinz Stockhausen. Lesh would later remember being very impressed when Berio brought a tape into the classroom -- the actual multitrack tape for Stockhausen's revolutionary piece Gesang Der Juenglinge: [Excerpt: Karlheinz Stockhausen, "Gesang Der Juenglinge"] Lesh at first had been distrustful of Garcia -- Garcia was charismatic and had followers, and Lesh never liked people like that. But he was impressed by Garcia's playing, and soon realised that the two men, despite their very different musical interests, had a lot in common. Lesh was interested in the technology of music as well as in performing and composing it, and so when he wasn't studying he helped out by engineering at the university's radio station. Lesh was impressed by Garcia's playing, and suggested to the presenter of the station's folk show, the Midnight Special, that Garcia be a guest. Garcia was so good that he ended up getting an entire solo show to himself, where normally the show would feature multiple acts. Lesh and Constanten soon moved away from the Bay Area to Las Vegas, but both would be back -- in Constanten's case he would form an experimental group in San Francisco with their fellow student Steve Reich, and that group (though not with Constanten performing) would later premiere Terry Riley's In C, a piece influenced by La Monte Young and often considered one of the great masterpieces of minimalist music. By early 1962 Garcia and Hunter had formed a bluegrass band, with Garcia on guitar and banjo and Hunter on mandolin, and a rotating cast of other musicians including Ken Frankel, who played banjo and fiddle. They performed under different names, including the Tub Thumpers, the Hart Valley Drifters, and the Sleepy Valley Hog Stompers, and played a mixture of bluegrass and old-time music -- and were very careful about the distinction: [Excerpt: The Hart Valley Drifters, "Cripple Creek"] In 1993, the Republican political activist John Perry Barlow was invited to talk to the CIA about the possibilities open to them with what was then called the Information Superhighway. He later wrote, in part "They told me they'd brought Steve Jobs in a few weeks before to indoctrinate them in modern information management. And they were delighted when I returned later, bringing with me a platoon of Internet gurus, including Esther Dyson, Mitch Kapor, Tony Rutkowski, and Vint Cerf. They sealed us into an electronically impenetrable room to discuss the radical possibility that a good first step in lifting their blackout would be for the CIA to put up a Web site... We told them that information exchange was a barter system, and that to receive, one must also be willing to share. This was an alien notion to them. They weren't even willing to share information among themselves, much less the world." 1962 brought a new experience for Robert Hunter. Hunter had been recruited into taking part in psychological tests at Stanford University, which in the sixties and seventies was one of the preeminent universities for psychological experiments. As part of this, Hunter was given $140 to attend the VA hospital (where a janitor named Ken Kesey, who had himself taken part in a similar set of experiments a couple of years earlier, worked a day job while he was working on his first novel) for four weeks on the run, and take different psychedelic drugs each time, starting with LSD, so his reactions could be observed. (It was later revealed that these experiments were part of a CIA project called MKUltra, designed to investigate the possibility of using psychedelic drugs for mind control, blackmail, and torture. Hunter was quite lucky in that he was told what was going to happen to him and paid for his time. Other subjects included the unlucky customers of brothels the CIA set up as fronts -- they dosed the customers' drinks and observed them through two-way mirrors. Some of their experimental subjects died by suicide as a result of their experiences. So it goes. ) Hunter was interested in taking LSD after reading Aldous Huxley's writings about psychedelic substances, and he brought his typewriter along to the experiment. During the first test, he wrote a six-page text, a short excerpt from which is now widely quoted, reading in part "Sit back picture yourself swooping up a shell of purple with foam crests of crystal drops soft nigh they fall unto the sea of morning creep-very-softly mist ... and then sort of cascade tinkley-bell-like (must I take you by the hand, ever so slowly type) and then conglomerate suddenly into a peal of silver vibrant uncomprehendingly, blood singingly, joyously resounding bells" Hunter's experience led to everyone in their social circle wanting to try LSD, and soon they'd all come to the same conclusion -- this was something special. But Garcia needed money -- he'd got his girlfriend pregnant, and they'd married (this would be the first of several marriages in Garcia's life, and I won't be covering them all -- at Garcia's funeral, his second wife, Carolyn, said Garcia always called her the love of his life, and his first wife and his early-sixties girlfriend who he proposed to again in the nineties both simultaneously said "He said that to me!"). So he started teaching guitar at a music shop in Palo Alto. Hunter had no time for Garcia's incipient domesticity and thought that his wife was trying to make him live a conventional life, and the two drifted apart somewhat, though they'd still play together occasionally. Through working at the music store, Garcia got to know the manager, Troy Weidenheimer, who had a rock and roll band called the Zodiacs. Garcia joined the band on bass, despite that not being his instrument. He later said "Troy was a lot of fun, but I wasn't good enough a musician then to have been able to deal with it. I was out of my idiom, really, 'cause when I played with Troy I was playing electric bass, you know. I never was a good bass player. Sometimes I was playing in the wrong key and didn't even [fuckin'] know it. I couldn't hear that low, after playing banjo, you know, and going to electric...But Troy taught me the principle of, hey, you know, just stomp your foot and get on it. He was great. A great one for the instant arrangement, you know. And he was also fearless for that thing of get your friends to do it." Garcia's tenure in the Zodiacs didn't last long, nor did this experiment with rock and roll, but two other members of the Zodiacs will be notable later in the story -- the harmonica player, an old friend of Garcia's named Ron McKernan, who would soon gain the nickname Pig Pen after the Peanuts character, and the drummer, Bill Kreutzmann: [Excerpt: The Grateful Dead, "Drums/Space (Skull & Bones version)"] Kreutzmann said of the Zodiacs "Jerry was the hired bass player and I was the hired drummer. I only remember playing that one gig with them, but I was in way over my head. I always did that. I always played things that were really hard and it didn't matter. I just went for it." Garcia and Kreutzmann didn't really get to know each other then, but Garcia did get to know someone else who would soon be very important in his life. Bob Weir was from a very different background than Garcia, though both had the shared experience of long bouts of chronic illness as children. He had grown up in a very wealthy family, and had always been well-liked, but he was what we would now call neurodivergent -- reading books about the band he talks about being dyslexic but clearly has other undiagnosed neurodivergences, which often go along with dyslexia -- and as a result he was deemed to have behavioural problems which led to him getting expelled from pre-school and kicked out of the cub scouts. He was never academically gifted, thanks to his dyslexia, but he was always enthusiastic about music -- to a fault. He learned to play boogie piano but played so loudly and so often his parents sold the piano. He had a trumpet, but the neighbours complained about him playing it outside. Finally he switched to the guitar, an instrument with which it is of course impossible to make too loud a noise. The first song he learned was the Kingston Trio's version of an old sea shanty, "The Wreck of the John B": [Excerpt: The Kingston Trio, "The Wreck of the John B"] He was sent off to a private school in Colorado for teenagers with behavioural issues, and there he met the boy who would become his lifelong friend, John Perry Barlow. Unfortunately the two troublemakers got on with each other *so* well that after their first year they were told that it was too disruptive having both of them at the school, and only one could stay there the next year. Barlow stayed and Weir moved back to the Bay Area. By this point, Weir was getting more interested in folk music that went beyond the commercial folk of the Kingston Trio. As he said later "There was something in there that was ringing my bells. What I had grown up thinking of as hillbilly music, it started to have some depth for me, and I could start to hear the music in it. Suddenly, it wasn't just a bunch of ignorant hillbillies playing what they could. There was some depth and expertise and stuff like that to aspire to.” He moved from school to school but one thing that stayed with him was his love of playing guitar, and he started taking lessons from Troy Weidenheimer, but he got most of his education going to folk clubs and hootenannies. He regularly went to the Tangent, a club where Garcia played, but Garcia's bluegrass banjo playing was far too rigorous for a free spirit like Weir to emulate, and instead he started trying to copy one of the guitarists who was a regular there, Jorma Kaukonnen. On New Year's Eve 1963 Weir was out walking with his friends Bob Matthews and Rich Macauley, and they passed the music shop where Garcia was a teacher, and heard him playing his banjo. They knocked and asked if they could come in -- they all knew Garcia a little, and Bob Matthews was one of his students, having become interested in playing banjo after hearing the theme tune to the Beverly Hillbillies, played by the bluegrass greats Flatt and Scruggs: [Excerpt: Flatt and Scruggs, "The Beverly Hillbillies"] Garcia at first told these kids, several years younger than him, that they couldn't come in -- he was waiting for his students to show up. But Weir said “Jerry, listen, it's seven-thirty on New Year's Eve, and I don't think you're going to be seeing your students tonight.” Garcia realised the wisdom of this, and invited the teenagers in to jam with him. At the time, there was a bit of a renaissance in jug bands, as we talked about back in the episode on the Lovin' Spoonful. This was a form of music that had grown up in the 1920s, and was similar and related to skiffle and coffee-pot bands -- jug bands would tend to have a mixture of portable string instruments like guitars and banjos, harmonicas, and people using improvised instruments, particularly blowing into a jug. The most popular of these bands had been Gus Cannon's Jug Stompers, led by banjo player Gus Cannon and with harmonica player Noah Lewis: [Excerpt: Gus Cannon's Jug Stompers, "Viola Lee Blues"] With the folk revival, Cannon's work had become well-known again. The Rooftop Singers, a Kingston Trio style folk group, had had a hit with his song "Walk Right In" in 1963, and as a result of that success Cannon had even signed a record contract with Stax -- Stax's first album ever, a month before Booker T and the MGs' first album, was in fact the eighty-year-old Cannon playing his banjo and singing his old songs. The rediscovery of Cannon had started a craze for jug bands, and the most popular of the new jug bands was Jim Kweskin's Jug Band, which did a mixture of old songs like "You're a Viper" and more recent material redone in the old style. Weir, Matthews, and Macauley had been to see the Kweskin band the night before, and had been very impressed, especially by their singer Maria D'Amato -- who would later marry her bandmate Geoff Muldaur and take his name -- and her performance of Leiber and Stoller's "I'm a Woman": [Excerpt: Jim Kweskin's Jug Band, "I'm a Woman"] Matthews suggested that they form their own jug band, and Garcia eagerly agreed -- though Matthews found himself rapidly moving from banjo to washboard to kazoo to second kazoo before realising he was surplus to requirements. Robert Hunter was similarly an early member but claimed he "didn't have the embouchure" to play the jug, and was soon also out. He moved to LA and started studying Scientology -- later claiming that he wanted science-fictional magic powers, which L. Ron Hubbard's new religion certainly offered. The group took the name Mother McRee's Uptown Jug Champions -- apparently they varied the spelling every time they played -- and had a rotating membership that at one time or another included about twenty different people, but tended always to have Garcia on banjo, Weir on jug and later guitar, and Garcia's friend Pig Pen on harmonica: [Excerpt: Mother McRee's Uptown Jug Champions, "On the Road Again"] The group played quite regularly in early 1964, but Garcia's first love was still bluegrass, and he was trying to build an audience with his bluegrass band, The Black Mountain Boys. But bluegrass was very unpopular in the Bay Area, where it was simultaneously thought of as unsophisticated -- as "hillbilly music" -- and as elitist, because it required actual instrumental ability, which wasn't in any great supply in the amateur folk scene. But instrumental ability was something Garcia definitely had, as at this point he was still practising eight hours a day, every day, and it shows on the recordings of the Black Mountain Boys: [Excerpt: The Black Mountain Boys, "Rosa Lee McFall"] By the summer, Bob Weir was also working at the music shop, and so Garcia let Weir take over his students while he and the Black Mountain Boys' guitarist Sandy Rothman went on a road trip to see as many bluegrass musicians as they could and to audition for Bill Monroe himself. As it happened, Garcia found himself too shy to audition for Monroe, but Rothman later ended up playing with Monroe's Blue Grass Boys. On his return to the Bay Area, Garcia resumed playing with the Uptown Jug Champions, but Pig Pen started pestering him to do something different. While both men had overlapping tastes in music and a love for the blues, Garcia's tastes had always been towards the country end of the spectrum while Pig Pen's were towards R&B. And while the Uptown Jug Champions were all a bit disdainful of the Beatles at first -- apart from Bob Weir, the youngest of the group, who thought they were interesting -- Pig Pen had become enamoured of another British band who were just starting to make it big: [Excerpt: The Rolling Stones, "Not Fade Away"] 29) Garcia liked the first Rolling Stones album too, and he eventually took Pig Pen's point -- the stuff that the Rolling Stones were doing, covers of Slim Harpo and Buddy Holly, was not a million miles away from the material they were doing as Mother McRee's Uptown Jug Champions. Pig Pen could play a little electric organ, Bob had been fooling around with the electric guitars in the music shop. Why not give it a go? The stuff bands like the Rolling Stones were doing wasn't that different from the electric blues that Pig Pen liked, and they'd all seen A Hard Day's Night -- they could carry on playing with banjos, jugs, and kazoos and have the respect of a handful of folkies, or they could get electric instruments and potentially have screaming girls and millions of dollars, while playing the same songs. This was a convincing argument, especially when Dana Morgan Jr, the son of the owner of the music shop, told them they could have free electric instruments if they let him join on bass. Morgan wasn't that great on bass, but what the hell, free instruments. Pig Pen had the best voice and stage presence, so he became the frontman of the new group, singing most of the leads, though Jerry and Bob would both sing a few songs, and playing harmonica and organ. Weir was on rhythm guitar, and Garcia was the lead guitarist and obvious leader of the group. They just needed a drummer, and handily Bill Kreutzmann, who had played with Garcia and Pig Pen in the Zodiacs, was also now teaching music at the music shop. Not only that, but about three weeks before they decided to go electric, Kreutzmann had seen the Uptown Jug Champions performing and been astonished by Garcia's musicianship and charisma, and said to himself "Man, I'm gonna follow that guy forever!" The new group named themselves the Warlocks, and started rehearsing in earnest. Around this time, Garcia also finally managed to get some of the LSD that his friend Robert Hunter had been so enthusiastic about three years earlier, and it was a life-changing experience for him. In particular, he credited LSD with making him comfortable being a less disciplined player -- as a bluegrass player he'd had to be frighteningly precise, but now he was playing rock and needed to loosen up. A few days after taking LSD for the first time, Garcia also heard some of Bob Dylan's new material, and realised that the folk singer he'd had little time for with his preachy politics was now making electric music that owed a lot more to the Beat culture Garcia considered himself part of: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Subterranean Homesick Blues"] Another person who was hugely affected by hearing that was Phil Lesh, who later said "I couldn't believe that was Bob Dylan on AM radio, with an electric band. It changed my whole consciousness: if something like that could happen, the sky was the limit." Up to that point, Lesh had been focused entirely on his avant-garde music, working with friends like Steve Reich to push music forward, inspired by people like John Cage and La Monte Young, but now he realised there was music of value in the rock world. He'd quickly started going to rock gigs, seeing the Rolling Stones and the Byrds, and then he took acid and went to see his friend Garcia's new electric band play their third ever gig. He was blown away, and very quickly it was decided that Lesh would be the group's new bass player -- though everyone involved tells a different story as to who made the decision and how it came about, and accounts also vary as to whether Dana Morgan took his sacking gracefully and let his erstwhile bandmates keep their instruments, or whether they had to scrounge up some new ones. Lesh had never played bass before, but he was a talented multi-instrumentalist with a deep understanding of music and an ability to compose and improvise, and the repertoire the Warlocks were playing in the early days was mostly three-chord material that doesn't take much rehearsal -- though it was apparently beyond the abilities of poor Dana Morgan, who apparently had to be told note-by-note what to play by Garcia, and learn it by rote. Garcia told Lesh what notes the strings of a bass were tuned to, told him to borrow a guitar and practice, and within two weeks he was on stage with the Warlocks: [Excerpt: The Grateful Dead, “Grayfolded"] In September 1995, just weeks after Jerry Garcia's death, an article was published in Mute magazine identifying a cultural trend that had shaped the nineties, and would as it turned out shape at least the next thirty years. It's titled "The Californian Ideology", though it may be better titled "The Bay Area Ideology", and it identifies a worldview that had grown up in Silicon Valley, based around the ideas of the hippie movement, of right-wing libertarianism, of science fiction authors, and of Marshall McLuhan. It starts "There is an emerging global orthodoxy concerning the relation between society, technology and politics. We have called this orthodoxy `the Californian Ideology' in honour of the state where it originated. By naturalising and giving a technological proof to a libertarian political philosophy, and therefore foreclosing on alternative futures, the Californian Ideologues are able to assert that social and political debates about the future have now become meaningless. The California Ideology is a mix of cybernetics, free market economics, and counter-culture libertarianism and is promulgated by magazines such as WIRED and MONDO 2000 and preached in the books of Stewart Brand, Kevin Kelly and others. The new faith has been embraced by computer nerds, slacker students, 30-something capitalists, hip academics, futurist bureaucrats and even the President of the USA himself. As usual, Europeans have not been slow to copy the latest fashion from America. While a recent EU report recommended adopting the Californian free enterprise model to build the 'infobahn', cutting-edge artists and academics have been championing the 'post-human' philosophy developed by the West Coast's Extropian cult. With no obvious opponents, the global dominance of the Californian ideology appears to be complete." [Excerpt: Grayfolded] The Warlocks' first gig with Phil Lesh on bass was on June the 18th 1965, at a club called Frenchy's with a teenage clientele. Lesh thought his playing had been wooden and it wasn't a good gig, and apparently the management of Frenchy's agreed -- they were meant to play a second night there, but turned up to be told they'd been replaced by a band with an accordion and clarinet. But by September the group had managed to get themselves a residency at a small bar named the In Room, and playing there every night made them cohere. They were at this point playing the kind of sets that bar bands everywhere play to this day, though at the time the songs they were playing, like "Gloria" by Them and "In the Midnight Hour", were the most contemporary of hits. Another song that they introduced into their repertoire was "Do You Believe in Magic" by the Lovin' Spoonful, another band which had grown up out of former jug band musicians. As well as playing their own sets, they were also the house band at The In Room and as such had to back various touring artists who were the headline acts. The first act they had to back up was Cornell Gunter's version of the Coasters. Gunter had brought his own guitarist along as musical director, and for the first show Weir sat in the audience watching the show and learning the parts, staring intently at this musical director's playing. After seeing that, Weir's playing was changed, because he also picked up how the guitarist was guiding the band while playing, the small cues that a musical director will use to steer the musicians in the right direction. Weir started doing these things himself when he was singing lead -- Pig Pen was the frontman but everyone except Bill sang sometimes -- and the group soon found that rather than Garcia being the sole leader, now whoever was the lead singer for the song was the de facto conductor as well. By this point, the Bay Area was getting almost overrun with people forming electric guitar bands, as every major urban area in America was. Some of the bands were even having hits already -- We Five had had a number three hit with "You Were On My Mind", a song which had originally been performed by the folk duo Ian and Sylvia: [Excerpt: We Five, "You Were On My Mind"] Although the band that was most highly regarded on the scene, the Charlatans, was having problems with the various record companies they tried to get signed to, and didn't end up making a record until 1969. If tracks like "Number One" had been released in 1965 when they were recorded, the history of the San Francisco music scene may have taken a very different turn: [Excerpt: The Charlatans, "Number One"] Bands like Jefferson Airplane, the Great Society, and Big Brother and the Holding Company were also forming, and Autumn Records was having a run of success with records by the Beau Brummels, whose records were produced by Autumn's in-house A&R man, Sly Stone: [Excerpt: The Beau Brummels, "Laugh Laugh"] The Warlocks were somewhat cut off from this, playing in a dive bar whose clientele was mostly depressed alcoholics. But the fact that they were playing every night for an audience that didn't care much gave them freedom, and they used that freedom to improvise. Both Lesh and Garcia were big fans of John Coltrane, and they started to take lessons from his style of playing. When the group played "Gloria" or "Midnight Hour" or whatever, they started to extend the songs and give themselves long instrumental passages for soloing. Garcia's playing wasn't influenced *harmonically* by Coltrane -- in fact Garcia was always a rather harmonically simple player. He'd tend to play lead lines either in Mixolydian mode, which is one of the most standard modes in rock, pop, blues, and jazz, or he'd play the notes of the chord that was being played, so if the band were playing a G chord his lead would emphasise the notes G, B, and D. But what he was influenced by was Coltrane's tendency to improvise in long, complex, phrases that made up a single thought -- Coltrane was thinking musically in paragraphs, rather than sentences, and Garcia started to try the same kind of th

PICK YOURSELF UP by Mel Torme (DCC Jazz, 1998)Life is a series of ups and downs - a continuous challenge to renew and reinvent yourself. You can be rolling along, on top of the world, then the next day become lost in a fog of turmoil. I have experienced this several times in my life, most bitterly in recent years. But, I am not alone in this - I believe it is a universally shared phenomenon - and, in this song Mel Torme offers, if not an antidote to disaster, a prescription for practical optimism.Pick Yourself Up was originally written in 1936, by Dorothy Fields and Jerome Kern, to be performed by the inimitable Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in the movie Swing Time. In the number Fred, breezily attempting to seduce dance teacher Ginger, begs for her instruction. This charade of awkwardness, of course, quickly develops into the most delicious demonstration of tandem terpsichore ever filmed. Mel's equally breezy, live, vocal gymnastics, abetted by wizard bassist Jay Leonhart, transforms the song, imbuing it with a deeper meaning. In their hands it becomes a brisk, bracing splash of cold water in the face, saying “Buck up, Boyo - You're not defeated! Try, try again! 

As the BFI launches a major retrospective of the career of Gingers Rogers, Thos talks to film writer, Miles Eady, to discuss this versatile and talented actress who became legendary in the 1930s for working with Busby Berkeley, Fred Astaire, George Gershwin, Dorothy Fields, Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern and many others in the most important musical films of the first musicals golden age, the 1930s.

For Video Edition, Please Click and Subscribe Here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oTCCKhVfMM&t=18s Until recently, The New York Times covered cabaret on a regular basis. It was an important part of their cultural coverage. I am celebrating with some of my favorite cabaret artists! Margo Brown is joining us! Vocalist Margo Brown will celebrate the release of her romantic debut recording, Forever Me with Love, with two live shows in May at Don't Tell Mama in Manhattan. Margo Brown is the 2022 Broadway World Winner for Best Duo Show, You're Nothing Without Me, with Lisa Dellarossa, and a 2018 Broadway World Winner (Best Debut Show) for Margo Sings Mercer. Miss Brown will be accompanied by Music Director Jon Weber on piano and Steve Doyle on Bass. The show is directed by Tanya Moberly. Show dates are May 9th and 10th at 7PM at the legendary theater district cabaret, Don't Tell Mama, which is a CASH ONLY ROOM. There is a music charge of $20 per person and $20 per person minimum (must include two drinks). There is a light food menu available. Reservations should be secured in advance at the following link: tinyurl.com/tbkm53fm Forever Me with Love is a collection of love songs from the Great American Songbook, including works by The Bergmans, The Gershwins, Jerome Kern and more. There are twelve tracks expertly arranged by Phil Hinton and recorded at Phil Hinton Studios in Ft. Lauderdale, FL. The recording is available now on Amazon, iTunes and all streaming platforms as well as directly from Margo Brown at www.margobrownentertainment.com   

The Gershwin brothers -- George and Ira -- were mentioned in one of the songs nominated for the Academy Award in 1942, but the brothers themselves did not earn a nomination. Respected songwriters such as Irving Berlin, Harry Warren, and Jerome Kern were on the docket, and a new talent named Sammy Cahn earned his first invitation to the Academy Awards ceremony. Lots of great music to hear in this episode with host Jeff Commings!

In 1939, Stephen Melkey was killed by a car, after he stepped onto a busy highway, blindfolded, with his hands tied behind his back. Listen, and hear the entire strange story. P.S.: This episode is a little shorter than usual. Sorry! But, we didn't want a month to go by, with nothing released. Support this podcast === HISTORICAL REFERENCES: The Mysterious Death of Stephen Melkey The South Bend Tribune, South Bend, Indiana, Dec. 22, 1939. Puzzling Unsolved Murder: Stephen Melkey, Maneater channel, (YouTube, 2022). Stephen Melkey / The Blindfold Murder, This Is Nuts (Jun. 15, 2022). Police Blotter & Court News Cleveland Plain Dealer, Jan. 24, 1868. === EPISODE RELEASE DATE: 02/23/2023. === GUEST VOICES: The Mysterious Death of Stephen Melkey Narrator – Aphorism Voice - Kit Caren, co-host of Forgotten News Podcast. Police Blotter & Court News Narrator – Madison Standish (Chrisi Talon Sage) of Madison on the Air podcast. Judge – Harry Morgan (deceased). === MISCELLANEOUS: Host Intro – Nina Innsted, host of the Already Gone podcast. Exit Aphorism - Source: Author Unknown. Aphorism Voice - Kit Caren, co-host of Forgotten News Podcast. === MUSIC: Kevin MacLeod of Incompetech.com – Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses / by 3.0. At Rest The Curtain Rises I Knew A Guy. Connie Han: Yesterdays (a variation on melody by Jerome Kern). === All Sound Effects & Short Instrumentals Are From Freesound.org. === HEY! CONTACT US! E-Mail: ForgottenNewsPodcast@gmail.com Our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Forgotten-News-Podcast Kit Caren's Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/people/Kit-Caren/100085459732466 Jessica's Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/HugKissxo Twitter: @NewsForgotten @KitCaren @xoxojessicaxoxo

Amy Hagstrom Miller, with Whole Woman's Health Alliance, tells us about the devastation to abortion access wrought by the Supreme Court's Dobbs decision. We hear jazz singer Tahira Clayton perform freethinking composer Jerome Kern's song "I'm Old Fashioned," and we cover many local, national and international stories about religion and government.

New York Swing was a quartet of some of the most experienced and professional rhythm players in New York in the 1990's . .pianist John Bunch, guitarist Bucky Pizarelli, bassist Jay Leonhard and either Dennis Mackrel or Joe Cocuzzo on drums . . from their albums devoted to the music of Jerome Kern, Cole Porter and Rodgers and Hart. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/john-clark49/support

The number of nominees for the Academy Award for Best Original Song increased from three to six in 1936, and host Jeff Commings presents all of them in this episode. We'll hear a song from Cole Porter, who brought his popular talents from Broadway to Hollywood for a musical starring Jimmy Stewart, and another hit from Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields, who finally met after creating their nominated song in 1935.

My guest this week is author Laura Frankos whose delightful and entertaining new novel is titled Broadway Revival — What If Gershwin Had Lived? Although this is the first work of fiction that I have featured on this podcast, as you will hear, Broadway Revival is filled with fascinating and meticulously researched Broadway history. One of the greatest joys of this book is that it provides all of us the opportunity to go back in time and experience legendary Broadway musicals of the 1930s, 40s, & 50s — at least vicariously — through the eyes of the story's protagonist David Greenbaum.  Other central characters include George Gershwin, Cole Porter, Vincent Youmans, Jerome Kern, Kurt Weil, Richard Rodgers & Larry Hart. In fact, an alternate subtitle for the book could have been, “The Time Travelers Boyfriend — Larry Hart”! Laura Frankos is also the author of the The Broadway Musical Quiz Book, the mystery novel St. Oswald's Niche, numerous stories which have appeared in fantasy, mystery, and science fiction magazines, and she also contributed a chapter to the recent book 50 Key Stage Musicals. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

December 8, 1914. Crowds pour into the New Amsterdam Theater to see the opening night of a new show, “Watch Your Step.” It's the first full-length revue written by the popular young songwriter, Irving Berlin. His songs show off Berlin's signature wit and simplicity, but also his musical sophistication. As his fellow composer, Jerome Kern, would later put it: "Berlin has no place in American music—he is American music.” Who was Irving Berlin? And how did he utterly transform American songwriting?Thanks to our guests: James Kaplan, author of Irving Berlin: New York Genius; Laurence Maslon, arts professor at NYU's Tisch School of the Arts and host of the radio show "Broadway to Main Street" on WLIW; and Katherine Barrett Swett, English teacher, poet, and granddaughter of Irving Berlin and Ellin Mackay. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Synopsis Today's date marks the anniversary of the first performance of Jerome Kern's Show Boat, produced in 1927 at the National Theater in Washington, D.C. by Florenz Ziegfeld. Show Boat's book and lyrics were by Oscar Hammerstein II, adapted from Edna Ferber's novel, which had been published only the year before. It was a most unusual story for a musical, and dealt frankly with alcoholism and interracial marriage. Mixing tragic and comic elements was something simply unheard of in American musical theater of that time. Ziegfeld's secretary recalled that before the Washington premiere, he fretted that audiences would be disappointed that the girls on stage were wearing much too much clothing for a typical Ziegfeld show. There was little or no applause following the November 15th premiere, and Ziegfeld assumed that “Show Boat” was a flop. But the Washington audiences were simply too stunned to react. When Ziegfeld's secretary told his boss that there were long lines waiting to buy tickets for subsequent performances, at first Ziegfeld didn't believe it. But by the time Show Boat opened on Broadway the following month, even the Great Ziegfeld knew he had a hit on his hands—and one based on great music and a powerful book, with nary a scantily-glad show girl in sight! Music Played in Today's Program Jerome Kern (1885-1945) selections from Showboat Royal Liverpool Philharmonic; Carl Davis, cond. EMI 4573

SHOWS: Merrily We Roll Along, She Loves Me, Curtains David Loud occupies a unique place in Broadway history: in addition to his distinguished body of work as a music director and vocal arranger, he has also originated three roles as an actor. He most recently served as Music Director for the Broadway premiere of The Visit, starring Chita Rivera and Roger Rees. Other credits include the original Broadway productions of The Scottsboro Boys, Sondheim on Sondheim, Curtains, Ragtime, A Class Act, Steel Pier, and revivals of Porgy and Bess, She Loves Me, Company, and Sweeney Todd. He originated the role of Manny in Terrence McNally's Master Class (starring Zoe Caldwell), played Sasha (the conductor) in Curtains, and made his Broadway debut in Harold Prince's original 1981 production of Stephen Sondheim's Merrily We Roll Along. Off-Broadway, David created the vocal and dance arrangements for Kander & Ebb's And the World Goes ‘Round. He has created arrangements for Marin Mazzie, Jason Danieley, Audra MacDonald, Victoria Clark, Paulo Szot, Liz Callaway, Betty Buckley, and Barbara Cook. He conducted the incidental music for Mike Nichols's revival of Death of a Salesman and collaborated with Wynton Marsalis and John Doyle on A Bed and a Chair, a jazz interpretation of Sondheim's music. Other recent projects include The Land Where the Good Songs Go, a concert of Jerome Kern songs at Merkin Concert Hall; First You Dream, a concert of Kander & Ebb songs that was broadcast on PBS; and three programs in the 92nd Street Y's Lyrics and Lyricists series: On A Clear Day: The Musical Vision of Burton Lane, Taking a Chance on Love: The Music of Vernon Duke, and A Good Thing Going: The Stephen Sondheim and Harold Prince Collaboration. He is a graduate of Yale University and has been on the faculty of the Yale School of Drama and Fordham University. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Episode 149 of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at “Respect", and the journey of Aretha Franklin from teenage gospel singer to the Queen of Soul. Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a fifteen-minute bonus episode available, on "I'm Just a Mops" by the Mops. Tilt Araiza has assisted invaluably by doing a first-pass edit, and will hopefully be doing so from now on. Check out Tilt's irregular podcasts at http://www.podnose.com/jaffa-cakes-for-proust and http://sitcomclub.com/ Also, people may be interested in a Facebook discussion group for the podcast, run by a friend of mine (I'm not on FB myself) which can be found at https://www.facebook.com/groups/293630102611672/ Errata I say "Rock-a-Bye Your Baby to a Dixie Melody" instead of "Rock-a-Bye Your Baby With a Dixie Melody". Also I say Spooner Oldham co-wrote "Do Right Woman". I meant Chips Moman. Resources No Mixcloud this week, as there are too many songs by Aretha Franklin. My main biographical source for Aretha Franklin is Respect: The Life of Aretha Franklin by David Ritz, and this is where most of the quotes from musicians come from. I also relied heavily on I Never Loved a Man the Way I Loved You by Matt Dobkin. Information on C.L. Franklin came from Singing in a Strange Land: C. L. Franklin, the Black Church, and the Transformation of America by Nick Salvatore. Rick Hall's The Man From Muscle Shoals: My Journey from Shame to Fame contains his side of the story. Country Soul by Charles L Hughes is a great overview of the soul music made in Muscle Shoals, Memphis, and Nashville in the sixties. Peter Guralnick's Sweet Soul Music: Rhythm And Blues And The Southern Dream Of Freedom is possibly less essential, but still definitely worth reading. And the I Never Loved a Man album is available in this five-album box set for a ludicrously cheap price. But it's actually worth getting this nineteen-CD set with her first sixteen Atlantic albums and a couple of bonus discs of demos and outtakes. There's barely a duff track in the whole nineteen discs. Patreon This podcast is brought to you by the generosity of my backers on Patreon. Why not join them? Transcript Before I start this episode,  I have to say that there are some things people may want to be aware of before listening to this. This episode has to deal, at least in passing, with subjects including child sexual abuse, intimate partner abuse, racism, and misogyny. I will of course try to deal with those subjects as tactfully as possible, but those of you who may be upset by those topics may want to check the episode transcript before or instead of listening. Those of you who leave comments or send me messages saying "why can't you just talk about the music instead of all this woke virtue-signalling?" may also want to skip this episode. You can go ahead and skip all the future ones as well, I won't mind. And one more thing to say before I get into the meat of the episode -- this episode puts me in a more difficult position than most other episodes of the podcast have. When I've talked about awful things that have happened in the course of this podcast previously, I have either been talking about perpetrators -- people like Phil Spector or Jerry Lee Lewis who did truly reprehensible things -- or about victims who have talked very publicly about the abuse they've suffered, people like Ronnie Spector or Tina Turner, who said very clearly "this is what happened to me and I want it on the public record". In the case of Aretha Franklin, she has been portrayed as a victim *by others*, and there are things that have been said about her life and her relationships which suggest that she suffered in some very terrible ways. But she herself apparently never saw herself as a victim, and didn't want some aspects of her private life talking about. At the start of David Ritz's biography of her, which is one of my main sources here, he recounts a conversation he had with her: "When I mentioned the possibility of my writing an independent biography, she said, “As long as I can approve it before it's published.” “Then it wouldn't be independent,” I said. “Why should it be independent?” “So I can tell the story from my point of view.” “But it's not your story, it's mine.” “You're an important historical figure, Aretha. Others will inevitably come along to tell your story. That's the blessing and burden of being a public figure.” “More burden than blessing,” she said." Now, Aretha Franklin is sadly dead, but I think that she still deserves the basic respect of being allowed privacy. So I will talk here about public matters, things she acknowledged in her own autobiography, and things that she and the people around her did in public situations like recording studios and concert venues. But there are aspects to the story of Aretha Franklin as that story is commonly told, which may well be true, but are of mostly prurient interest, don't add much to the story of how the music came to be made, and which she herself didn't want people talking about. So there will be things people might expect me to talk about in this episode, incidents where people in her life, usually men, treated her badly, that I'm going to leave out. That information is out there if people want to look for it, but I don't see myself as under any obligation to share it. That's not me making excuses for people who did inexcusable things, that's me showing some respect to one of the towering artistic figures of the latter half of the twentieth century. Because, of course, respect is what this is all about: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Respect"] One name that's come up a few times in this podcast, but who we haven't really talked about that much, is Bobby "Blue" Bland. We mentioned him as the single biggest influence on the style of Van Morrison, but Bland was an important figure in the Memphis music scene of the early fifties, which we talked about in several early episodes. He was one of the Beale Streeters, the loose aggregation of musicians that also included B.B. King and Johnny Ace, he worked with Ike Turner, and was one of the key links between blues and soul in the fifties and early sixties, with records like "Turn on Your Love Light": [Excerpt: Bobby "Blue" Bland, "Turn on Your Love Light"] But while Bland was influenced by many musicians we've talked about, his biggest influence wasn't a singer at all. It was a preacher he saw give a sermon in the early 1940s. As he said decades later: "Wasn't his words that got me—I couldn't tell you what he talked on that day, couldn't tell you what any of it meant, but it was the way he talked. He talked like he was singing. He talked music. The thing that really got me, though, was this squall-like sound he made to emphasize a certain word. He'd catch the word in his mouth, let it roll around and squeeze it with his tongue. When it popped on out, it exploded, and the ladies started waving and shouting. I liked all that. I started popping and shouting too. That next week I asked Mama when we were going back to Memphis to church. “‘Since when you so keen on church?' Mama asked. “‘I like that preacher,' I said. “‘Reverend Franklin?' she asked. “‘Well, if he's the one who sings when he preaches, that's the one I like.'" Bland was impressed by C.L. Franklin, and so were other Memphis musicians. Long after Franklin had moved to Detroit, they remembered him, and Bland and B.B. King would go to Franklin's church to see him preach whenever they were in the city. And Bland studied Franklin's records. He said later "I liked whatever was on the radio, especially those first things Nat Cole did with his trio. Naturally I liked the blues singers like Roy Brown, the jump singers like Louis Jordan, and the ballad singers like Billy Eckstine, but, brother, the man who really shaped me was Reverend Franklin." Bland would study Franklin's records, and would take the style that Franklin used in recorded sermons like "The Eagle Stirreth Her Nest": [Excerpt: C.L. Franklin, "The Eagle Stirreth Her Nest"] And you can definitely hear that preaching style on records like Bland's "I Pity the Fool": [Excerpt: Bobby "Blue" Bland, "I Pity the Fool"] But of course, that wasn't the only influence the Reverend C.L. Franklin had on the course of soul music. C.L. Franklin had grown up poor, on a Mississippi farm, and had not even finished grade school because he was needed to work behind the mule, ploughing the farm for his stepfather. But he had a fierce intelligence and became an autodidact, travelling regularly to the nearest library, thirty miles away, on a horse-drawn wagon, and reading everything he could get his hands on. At the age of sixteen he received what he believed to be a message from God, and decided to become an itinerant preacher. He would travel between many small country churches and build up audiences there -- and he would also study everyone else preaching there, analysing their sermons, seeing if he could anticipate their line of argument and get ahead of them, figuring out the structure. But unlike many people in the conservative Black Baptist churches of the time, he never saw the spiritual and secular worlds as incompatible. He saw blues music and Black church sermons as both being part of the same thing -- a Black culture and folklore that was worthy of respect in both its spiritual and secular aspects. He soon built up a small circuit of local churches where he would preach occasionally, but wasn't the main pastor at any of them. He got married aged twenty, though that marriage didn't last, and he seems to have been ambitious for a greater respectability. When that marriage failed, in June 1936, he married Barbara Siggers, a very intelligent, cultured, young single mother who had attended Booker T Washington High School, the best Black school in Memphis, and he adopted her son Vaughn. While he was mostly still doing churches in Mississippi, he took on one in Memphis as well, in an extremely poor area, but it gave him a foot in the door to the biggest Black city in the US. Barbara would later be called "one of the really great gospel singers" by no less than Mahalia Jackson. We don't have any recordings of Barbara singing, but Mahalia Jackson certainly knew what she was talking about when it came to great gospel singers: [Excerpt: Mahalia Jackson, "Precious Lord, Take My Hand"] Rev. Franklin was hugely personally ambitious, and he also wanted to get out of rural Mississippi, where the Klan were very active at this time, especially after his daughter Erma was born in 1938. They moved to Memphis in 1939, where he got a full-time position at New Salem Baptist Church, where for the first time he was able to earn a steady living from just one church and not have to tour round multiple churches. He soon became so popular that if you wanted to get a seat for the service at noon, you had to turn up for the 8AM Sunday School or you'd be forced to stand. He also enrolled for college courses at LeMoyne College. He didn't get a degree, but spent three years as a part-time student studying theology, literature, and sociology, and soon developed a liberal theology that was very different from the conservative fundamentalism he'd grown up in, though still very much part of the Baptist church. Where he'd grown up with a literalism that said the Bible was literally true, he started to accept things like evolution, and to see much of the Bible as metaphor. Now, we talked in the last episode about how impossible it is to get an accurate picture of the lives of religious leaders, because their life stories are told by those who admire them, and that's very much the case for C.L. Franklin. Franklin was a man who had many, many, admirable qualities -- he was fiercely intelligent, well-read, a superb public speaker, a man who was by all accounts genuinely compassionate towards those in need, and he became one of the leaders of the civil rights movement and inspired tens of thousands, maybe even millions, of people, directly and indirectly, to change the world for the better. He also raised several children who loved and admired him and were protective of his memory. And as such, there is an inevitable bias in the sources on Franklin's life. And so there's a tendency to soften the very worst things he did, some of which were very, very bad. For example in Nick Salvatore's biography of him, he talks about Franklin, in 1940, fathering a daughter with someone who is described as "a teenager" and "quite young". No details of her age other than that are given, and a few paragraphs later the age of a girl who was then sixteen *is* given, talking about having known the girl in question, and so the impression is given that the girl he impregnated was also probably in her late teens. Which would still be bad, but a man in his early twenties fathering a child with a girl in her late teens is something that can perhaps be forgiven as being a different time. But while the girl in question may have been a teenager when she gave birth, she was *twelve years old* when she became pregnant, by C.L. Franklin, the pastor of her church, who was in a position of power over her in multiple ways. Twelve years old. And this is not the only awful thing that Franklin did -- he was also known to regularly beat up women he was having affairs with, in public. I mention this now because everything else I say about him in this episode is filtered through sources who saw these things as forgivable character flaws in an otherwise admirable human being, and I can't correct for those biases because I don't know the truth. So it's going to sound like he was a truly great man. But bear those facts in mind. Barbara stayed with Franklin for the present, after discovering what he had done, but their marriage was a difficult one, and they split up and reconciled a handful of times. They had three more children together -- Cecil, Aretha, and Carolyn -- and remained together as Franklin moved on first to a church in Buffalo, New York, and then to New Bethel Church, in Detroit, on Hastings Street, a street which was the centre of Black nightlife in the city, as immortalised in John Lee Hooker's "Boogie Chillun": [Excerpt: John Lee Hooker, "Boogie Chillen"] Before moving to Detroit, Franklin had already started to get more political, as his congregation in Buffalo had largely been union members, and being free from the worst excesses of segregation allowed him to talk more openly about civil rights, but that only accelerated when he moved to Detroit, which had been torn apart just a couple of years earlier by police violence against Black protestors. Franklin had started building a reputation when in Memphis using radio broadcasts, and by the time he moved to Detroit he was able to command a very high salary, and not only that, his family were given a mansion by the church, in a rich part of town far away from most of his congregation. Smokey Robinson, who was Cecil Franklin's best friend and a frequent visitor to the mansion through most of his childhood, described it later, saying "Once inside, I'm awestruck -- oil paintings, velvet tapestries, silk curtains, mahogany cabinets filled with ornate objects of silver and gold. Man, I've never seen nothing like that before!" He made a lot of money, but he also increased church attendance so much that he earned that money. He had already been broadcasting on the radio, but when he started his Sunday night broadcasts in Detroit, he came up with a trick of having his sermons run long, so the show would end before the climax. People listening decided that they would have to start turning up in person to hear the end of the sermons, and soon he became so popular that the church would be so full that crowds would have to form on the street outside to listen. Other churches rescheduled their services so they wouldn't clash with Franklin's, and most of the other Black Baptist ministers in the city would go along to watch him preach. In 1948 though, a couple of years after moving to Detroit, Barbara finally left her husband. She took Vaughn with her and moved back to Buffalo, leaving the four biological children she'd had with C.L. with their father.  But it's important to note that she didn't leave her children -- they would visit her on a regular basis, and stay with her over school holidays. Aretha later said "Despite the fact that it has been written innumerable times, it is an absolute lie that my mother abandoned us. In no way, shape, form, or fashion did our mother desert us." Barbara's place in the home was filled by many women -- C.L. Franklin's mother moved up from Mississippi to help him take care of the children, the ladies from the church would often help out, and even stars like Mahalia Jackson would turn up and cook meals for the children. There were also the women with whom Franklin carried on affairs, including Anna Gordy, Ruth Brown, and Dinah Washington, the most important female jazz and blues singer of the fifties, who had major R&B hits with records like her version of "Cold Cold Heart": [Excerpt: Dinah Washington, "Cold Cold Heart"] Although my own favourite record of hers is "Big Long Slidin' Thing", which she made with arranger Quincy Jones: [Excerpt: Dinah Washington, "Big Long Slidin' Thing"] It's about a trombone. Get your minds out of the gutter. Washington was one of the biggest vocal influences on young Aretha, but the single biggest influence was Clara Ward, another of C.L. Franklin's many girlfriends. Ward was the longest-lasting of these, and there seems to have been a lot of hope on both her part and Aretha's that she and Rev. Franklin would marry, though Franklin always made it very clear that monogamy wouldn't suit him. Ward was one of the three major female gospel singers of the middle part of the century, and possibly even more technically impressive as a vocalist than the other two, Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Mahalia Jackson. Where Jackson was an austere performer, who refused to perform in secular contexts at all for most of her life, and took herself and her music very seriously, and Tharpe was a raunchier, funnier, more down-to-earth performer who was happy to play for blues audiences and even to play secular music on occasion, Ward was a *glamorous* performer, who wore sequined dresses and piled her hair high on her head. Ward had become a singer in 1931 when her mother had what she later talked about as a religious epiphany, and decided she wasn't going to be a labourer any more, she was going to devote her life to gospel music. Ward's mother had formed a vocal group with her two daughters, and Clara quickly became the star and her mother's meal ticket -- and her mother was very possessive of that ticket, to the extent that Ward, who was a bisexual woman who mostly preferred men, had more relationships with women, because her mother wouldn't let her be alone with the men she was attracted to. But Ward did manage to keep a relationship going with C.L. Franklin, and Aretha Franklin talked about the moment she decided to become a singer, when she saw Ward singing "Peace in the Valley" at a funeral: [Excerpt: Clara Ward, "Peace in the Valley"] As well as looking towards Ward as a vocal influence, Aretha was also influenced by her as a person -- she became a mother figure to Aretha, who would talk later about watching Ward eat, and noting her taking little delicate bites, and getting an idea of what it meant to be ladylike from her. After Ward's death in 1973, a notebook was found in which she had written her opinions of other singers. For Aretha she wrote “My baby Aretha, she doesn't know how good she is. Doubts self. Some day—to the moon. I love that girl.” Ward's influence became especially important to Aretha and her siblings after their mother died of a heart attack a few years after leaving her husband, when Aretha was ten, and Aretha, already a very introverted child, became even more so. Everyone who knew Aretha said that her later diva-ish reputation came out of a deep sense of insecurity and introversion -- that she was a desperately private, closed-off, person who would rarely express her emotions at all, and who would look away from you rather than make eye contact. The only time she let herself express emotions was when she performed music. And music was hugely important in the Franklin household. Most preachers in the Black church at that time were a bit dismissive of gospel music, because they thought the music took away from their prestige -- they saw it as a necessary evil, and resented it taking up space when their congregations could have been listening to them. But Rev. Franklin was himself a rather good singer, and even made a few gospel records himself in 1950, recording for Joe Von Battle, who owned a record shop on Hastings Street and also put out records by blues singers: [Excerpt: C.L. Franklin, "I Am Climbing Higher Mountains" ] The church's musical director was James Cleveland, one of the most important gospel artists of the fifties and sixties, who sang with groups like the Caravans: [Excerpt: The Caravans, "What Kind of Man is This?" ] Cleveland, who had started out in the choir run by Thomas Dorsey, the writer of “Take My Hand Precious Lord” and “Peace in the Valley”, moved in with the Franklin family for a while, and he gave the girls tips on playing the piano -- much later he would play piano on Aretha's album Amazing Grace, and she said of him “He showed me some real nice chords, and I liked his deep, deep sound”. Other than Clara Ward, he was probably the single biggest musical influence on Aretha. And all the touring gospel musicians would make appearances at New Bethel Church, not least of them Sam Cooke, who first appeared there with the Highway QCs and would continue to do so after joining the Soul Stirrers: [Excerpt: The Soul Stirrers, "Touch the Hem of his Garment"] Young Aretha and her older sister Erma both had massive crushes on Cooke, and there were rumours that he had an affair with one or both of them when they were in their teens, though both denied it. Aretha later said "When I first saw him, all I could do was sigh... Sam was love on first hearing, love at first sight." But it wasn't just gospel music that filled the house. One of the major ways that C.L. Franklin's liberalism showed was in his love of secular music, especially jazz and blues, which he regarded as just as important in Black cultural life as gospel music. We already talked about Dinah Washington being a regular visitor to the house, but every major Black entertainer would visit the Franklin residence when they were in Detroit. Both Aretha and Cecil Franklin vividly remembered visits from Art Tatum, who would sit at the piano and play for the family and their guests: [Excerpt: Art Tatum, "Tiger Rag"] Tatum was such a spectacular pianist that there's now a musicological term, the tatum, named after him, for the smallest possible discernible rhythmic interval between two notes. Young Aretha was thrilled by his technique, and by that of Oscar Peterson, who also regularly came to the Franklin home, sometimes along with Ella Fitzgerald. Nat "King" Cole was another regular visitor. The Franklin children all absorbed the music these people -- the most important musicians of the time -- were playing in their home, and young Aretha in particular became an astonishing singer and also an accomplished pianist. Smokey Robinson later said: “The other thing that knocked us out about Aretha was her piano playing. There was a grand piano in the Franklin living room, and we all liked to mess around. We'd pick out little melodies with one finger. But when Aretha sat down, even as a seven-year-old, she started playing chords—big chords. Later I'd recognize them as complex church chords, the kind used to accompany the preacher and the solo singer. At the time, though, all I could do was view Aretha as a wonder child. Mind you, this was Detroit, where musical talent ran strong and free. Everyone was singing and harmonizing; everyone was playing piano and guitar. Aretha came out of this world, but she also came out of another far-off magical world none of us really understood. She came from a distant musical planet where children are born with their gifts fully formed.” C.L. Franklin became more involved in the music business still when Joe Von Battle started releasing records of his sermons, which had become steadily more politically aware: [Excerpt: C.L. Franklin, "Dry Bones in the Valley"] Franklin was not a Marxist -- he was a liberal, but like many liberals was willing to stand with Marxists where they had shared interests, even when it was dangerous. For example in 1954, at the height of McCarthyism, he had James and Grace Lee Boggs, two Marxist revolutionaries, come to the pulpit and talk about their support for the anti-colonial revolution in Kenya, and they sold four hundred copies of their pamphlet after their talk, because he saw that the struggle of Black Africans to get out from white colonial rule was the same struggle as that of Black Americans. And Franklin's powerful sermons started getting broadcast on the radio in areas further out from Detroit, as Chess Records picked up the distribution for them and people started playing the records on other stations. People like future Congressman John Lewis and the Reverend Jesse Jackson would later talk about listening to C.L. Franklin's records on the radio and being inspired -- a whole generation of Black Civil Rights leaders took their cues from him, and as the 1950s and 60s went on he became closer and closer to Martin Luther King in particular. But C.L. Franklin was always as much an ambitious showman as an activist, and he started putting together gospel tours, consisting mostly of music but with himself giving a sermon as the headline act. And he became very, very wealthy from these tours. On one trip in the south, his car broke down, and he couldn't find a mechanic willing to work on it. A group of white men started mocking him with racist terms, trying to provoke him, as he was dressed well and driving a nice car (albeit one that had broken down). Rather than arguing with them, he walked to a car dealership, and bought a new car with the cash that he had on him. By 1956 he was getting around $4000 per appearance, roughly equivalent to $43,000 today, and he was making a *lot* of appearances. He also sold half a million records that year. Various gospel singers, including the Clara Ward Singers, would perform on the tours he organised, and one of those performers was Franklin's middle daughter Aretha. Aretha had become pregnant when she was twelve, and after giving birth to the child she dropped out of school, but her grandmother did most of the child-rearing for her, while she accompanied her father on tour. Aretha's first recordings, made when she was just fourteen, show what an astonishing talent she already was at that young age. She would grow as an artist, of course, as she aged and gained experience, but those early gospel records already show an astounding maturity and ability. It's jaw-dropping to listen to these records of a fourteen-year-old, and immediately recognise them as a fully-formed Aretha Franklin. [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "There is a Fountain Filled With Blood"] Smokey Robinson's assessment that she was born with her gifts fully formed doesn't seem like an exaggeration when you hear that. For the latter half of the fifties, Aretha toured with her father, performing on the gospel circuit and becoming known there. But the Franklin sisters were starting to get ideas about moving into secular music. This was largely because their family friend Sam Cooke had done just that, with "You Send Me": [Excerpt: Sam Cooke, "You Send Me"] Aretha and Erma still worshipped Cooke, and Aretha would later talk about getting dressed up just to watch Cooke appear on the TV. Their brother Cecil later said "I remember the night Sam came to sing at the Flame Show Bar in Detroit. Erma and Ree said they weren't going because they were so heartbroken that Sam had recently married. I didn't believe them. And I knew I was right when they started getting dressed about noon for the nine o'clock show. Because they were underage, they put on a ton of makeup to look older. It didn't matter 'cause Berry Gordy's sisters, Anna and Gwen, worked the photo concession down there, taking pictures of the party people. Anna was tight with Daddy and was sure to let my sisters in. She did, and they came home with stars in their eyes.” Moving from gospel to secular music still had a stigma against it in the gospel world, but Rev. Franklin had never seen secular music as sinful, and he encouraged his daughters in their ambitions. Erma was the first to go secular, forming a girl group, the Cleo-Patrettes, at the suggestion of the Four Tops, who were family friends, and recording a single for Joe Von Battle's J-V-B label, "No Other Love": [Excerpt: The Cleo-Patrettes, "No Other Love"] But the group didn't go any further, as Rev. Franklin insisted that his eldest daughter had to finish school and go to university before she could become a professional singer. Erma missed other opportunities for different reasons, though -- Berry Gordy, at this time still a jobbing songwriter, offered her a song he'd written with his sister and Roquel Davis, but Erma thought of herself as a jazz singer and didn't want to do R&B, and so "All I Could Do Was Cry" was given to Etta James instead, who had a top forty pop hit with it: [Excerpt: Etta James, "All I Could Do Was Cry"] While Erma's move into secular music was slowed by her father wanting her to have an education, there was no such pressure on Aretha, as she had already dropped out. But Aretha had a different problem -- she was very insecure, and said that church audiences "weren't critics, but worshippers", but she was worried that nightclub audiences in particular were just the kind of people who would just be looking for flaws, rather than wanting to support the performer as church audiences did. But eventually she got up the nerve to make the move. There was the possibility of her getting signed to Motown -- her brother was still best friends with Smokey Robinson, while the Gordy family were close to her father -- but Rev. Franklin had his eye on bigger things. He wanted her to be signed to Columbia, which in 1960 was the most prestigious of all the major labels. As Aretha's brother Cecil later said "He wanted Ree on Columbia, the label that recorded Mahalia Jackson, Duke Ellington, Johnny Mathis, Tony Bennett, Percy Faith, and Doris Day. Daddy said that Columbia was the biggest and best record company in the world. Leonard Bernstein recorded for Columbia." They went out to New York to see Phil Moore, a legendary vocal coach and arranger who had helped make Lena Horne and Dorothy Dandridge into stars, but Moore actually refused to take her on as a client, saying "She does not require my services. Her style has already been developed. Her style is in place. It is a unique style that, in my professional opinion, requires no alteration. It simply requires the right material. Her stage presentation is not of immediate concern. All that will come later. The immediate concern is the material that will suit her best. And the reason that concern will not be easily addressed is because I can't imagine any material that will not suit her." That last would become a problem for the next few years, but the immediate issue was to get someone at Columbia to listen to her, and Moore could help with that -- he was friends with John Hammond. Hammond is a name that's come up several times in the podcast already -- we mentioned him in the very earliest episodes, and also in episode ninety-eight, where we looked at his signing of Bob Dylan. But Hammond was a legend in the music business. He had produced sessions for Bessie Smith, had discovered Count Basie and Billie Holiday, had convinced Benny Goodman to hire Charlie Christian and Lionel Hampton, had signed Pete Seeger and the Weavers to Columbia, had organised the Spirituals to Swing concerts which we talked about in the first few episodes of this podcast, and was about to put out the first album of Robert Johnson's recordings. Of all the executives at Columbia, he was the one who had the greatest eye for talent, and the greatest understanding of Black musical culture. Moore suggested that the Franklins get Major Holley to produce a demo recording that he could get Hammond to listen to. Major Holley was a family friend, and a jazz bassist who had played with Oscar Peterson and Coleman Hawkins among others, and he put together a set of songs for Aretha that would emphasise the jazz side of her abilities, pitching her as a Dinah Washington style bluesy jazz singer. The highlight of the demo was a version of "Today I Sing the Blues", a song that had originally been recorded by Helen Humes, the singer who we last heard of recording “Be Baba Leba” with Bill Doggett: [Excerpt: Helen Humes, "Today I Sing the Blues"] That original version had been produced by Hammond, but the song had also recently been covered by Aretha's idol, Sam Cooke: [Excerpt: Sam Cooke, "Today I Sing the Blues"] Hammond was hugely impressed by the demo, and signed Aretha straight away, and got to work producing her first album. But he and Rev. Franklin had different ideas about what Aretha should do. Hammond wanted to make a fairly raw-sounding bluesy jazz album, the kind of recording he had produced with Bessie Smith or Billie Holiday, but Rev. Franklin wanted his daughter to make music that would cross over to the white pop market -- he was aiming for the same kind of audience that Nat "King" Cole or Harry Belafonte had, and he wanted her recording standards like "Over the Rainbow". This showed a lack of understanding on Rev. Franklin's part of how such crossovers actually worked at this point. As Etta James later said, "If you wanna have Black hits, you gotta understand the Black streets, you gotta work those streets and work those DJs to get airplay on Black stations... Or looking at it another way, in those days you had to get the Black audience to love the hell outta you and then hope the love would cross over to the white side. Columbia didn't know nothing 'bout crossing over.” But Hammond knew they had to make a record quickly, because Sam Cooke had been working on RCA Records, trying to get them to sign Aretha, and Rev. Franklin wanted an album out so they could start booking club dates for her, and was saying that if they didn't get one done quickly he'd take up that offer, and so they came up with a compromise set of songs which satisfied nobody, but did produce two R&B top ten hits, "Won't Be Long" and Aretha's version of "Today I Sing the Blues": [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Today I Sing the Blues"] This is not to say that Aretha herself saw this as a compromise -- she later said "I have never compromised my material. Even then, I knew a good song from a bad one. And if Hammond, one of the legends of the business, didn't know how to produce a record, who does? No, the fault was with promotion." And this is something important to bear in mind as we talk about her Columbia records. Many, *many* people have presented those records as Aretha being told what to do by producers who didn't understand her art and were making her record songs that didn't fit her style. That's not what's happening with the Columbia records. Everyone actually involved said that Aretha was very involved in the choices made -- and there are some genuinely great tracks on those albums. The problem is that they're *unfocused*. Aretha was only eighteen when she signed to the label, and she loved all sorts of music -- blues, jazz, soul, standards, gospel, middle-of-the-road pop music -- and wanted to sing all those kinds of music. And she *could* sing all those kinds of music, and sing them well. But it meant the records weren't coherent. You didn't know what you were getting, and there was no artistic personality that dominated them, it was just what Aretha felt like recording. Around this time, Aretha started to think that maybe her father didn't know what he was talking about when it came to popular music success, even though she idolised him in most areas, and she turned to another figure, who would soon become both her husband and manager. Ted White. Her sister Erma, who was at that time touring with Lloyd Price, had introduced them, but in fact Aretha had first seen White years earlier, in her own house -- he had been Dinah Washington's boyfriend in the fifties, and her first sight of him had been carrying a drunk Washington out of the house after a party. In interviews with David Ritz, who wrote biographies of many major soul stars including both Aretha Franklin and Etta James, James had a lot to say about White, saying “Ted White was famous even before he got with Aretha. My boyfriend at the time, Harvey Fuqua, used to talk about him. Ted was supposed to be the slickest pimp in Detroit. When I learned that Aretha married him, I wasn't surprised. A lot of the big-time singers who we idolized as girls—like Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughan—had pimps for boyfriends and managers. That was standard operating procedure. My own mother had made a living turning tricks. When we were getting started, that way of life was part of the music business. It was in our genes. Part of the lure of pimps was that they got us paid." She compared White to Ike Turner, saying "Ike made Tina, no doubt about it. He developed her talent. He showed her what it meant to be a performer. He got her famous. Of course, Ted White was not a performer, but he was savvy about the world. When Harvey Fuqua introduced me to him—this was the fifties, before he was with Aretha—I saw him as a super-hip extra-smooth cat. I liked him. He knew music. He knew songwriters who were writing hit songs. He had manners. Later, when I ran into him and Aretha—this was the sixties—I saw that she wasn't as shy as she used to be." White was a pimp, but he was also someone with music business experience -- he owned an unsuccessful publishing company, and also ran a chain of jukeboxes. He was also thirty, while Aretha was only eighteen. But White didn't like the people in Aretha's life at the time -- he didn't get on well with her father, and he also clashed with John Hammond. And Aretha was also annoyed at Hammond, because her sister Erma had signed to Epic, a Columbia subsidiary, and was releasing her own singles: [Excerpt: Erma Franklin, "Hello Again"] Aretha was certain that Hammond had signed Erma, even though Hammond had nothing to do with Epic Records, and Erma had actually been recommended by Lloyd Price. And Aretha, while for much of her career she would support her sister, was also terrified that her sister might have a big hit before her and leave Aretha in her shadow. Hammond was still the credited producer on Aretha's second album, The Electrifying Aretha Franklin, but his lack of say in the sessions can be shown in the choice of lead-off single. "Rock-a-Bye Your Baby With a Dixie Melody" was originally recorded by Al Jolson in 1918: [Excerpt: Al Jolson, "Rock-a-Bye Your Baby With a Dixie Melody"] Rev. Franklin pushed for the song, as he was a fan of Jolson -- Jolson, oddly, had a large Black fanbase, despite his having been a blackface performer, because he had *also* been a strong advocate of Black musicians like Cab Calloway, and the level of racism in the media of the twenties through forties was so astonishingly high that even a blackface performer could seem comparatively OK. Aretha's performance was good, but it was hardly the kind of thing that audiences were clamouring for in 1961: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Rock-a-Bye Your Baby With a Dixie Melody"] That single came out the month after _Down Beat_ magazine gave Aretha the "new-star female vocalist award", and it oddly made the pop top forty, her first record to do so, and the B-side made the R&B top ten, but for the next few years both chart success and critical acclaim eluded her. None of her next nine singles would make higher than number eighty-six on the Hot One Hundred, and none would make the R&B charts at all. After that transitional second album, she was paired with producer Bob Mersey, who was precisely the kind of white pop producer that one would expect for someone who hoped for crossover success. Mersey was the producer for many of Columbia's biggest stars at the time -- people like Barbra Streisand, Andy Williams, Julie Andrews, Patti Page, and Mel Tormé -- and it was that kind of audience that Aretha wanted to go for at this point. To give an example of the kind of thing that Mersey was doing, just the month before he started work on his first collaboration with Aretha, _The Tender, the Moving, the Swinging Aretha Franklin_, his production of Andy Williams singing "Moon River" was released: [Excerpt: Andy Williams, "Moon River"] This was the kind of audience Aretha was going for when it came to record sales – the person she compared herself to most frequently at this point was Barbra Streisand – though in live performances she was playing with a small jazz group in jazz venues, and going for the same kind of jazz-soul crossover audience as Dinah Washington or Ray Charles. The strategy seems to have been to get something like the success of her idol Sam Cooke, who could play to soul audiences but also play the Copacabana, but the problem was that Cooke had built an audience before doing that -- she hadn't. But even though she hadn't built up an audience, musicians were starting to pay attention. Ted White, who was still in touch with Dinah Washington, later said “Women are very catty. They'll see a girl who's dressed very well and they'll say, Yeah, but look at those shoes, or look at that hairdo. Aretha was the only singer I've ever known that Dinah had no negative comments about. She just stood with her mouth open when she heard Aretha sing.” The great jazz vocalist Carmen McRea went to see Aretha at the Village Vanguard in New York around this time, having heard the comparisons to Dinah Washington, and met her afterwards. She later said "Given how emotionally she sang, I expected her to have a supercharged emotional personality like Dinah. Instead, she was the shyest thing I've ever met. Would hardly look me in the eye. Didn't say more than two words. I mean, this bitch gave bashful a new meaning. Anyway, I didn't give her any advice because she didn't ask for any, but I knew goddamn well that, no matter how good she was—and she was absolutely wonderful—she'd have to make up her mind whether she wanted to be Della Reese, Dinah Washington, or Sarah Vaughan. I also had a feeling she wouldn't have minded being Leslie Uggams or Diahann Carroll. I remember thinking that if she didn't figure out who she was—and quick—she was gonna get lost in the weeds of the music biz." So musicians were listening to Aretha, even if everyone else wasn't. The Tender, the Moving, the Swinging Aretha Franklin, for example, was full of old standards like "Try a Little Tenderness": [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Try a Little Tenderness"] That performance inspired Otis Redding to cut his own version of that song a few years later: [Excerpt: Otis Redding, "Try a Little Tenderness"] And it might also have inspired Aretha's friend and idol Sam Cooke to include the song in his own lounge sets. The Tender, the Moving, the Swinging Aretha Franklin also included Aretha's first original composition, but in general it wasn't a very well-received album. In 1963, the first cracks started to develop in Aretha's relationship with Ted White. According to her siblings, part of the strain was because Aretha's increasing commitment to the civil rights movement was costing her professional opportunities. Her brother Cecil later said "Ted White had complete sway over her when it came to what engagements to accept and what songs to sing. But if Daddy called and said, ‘Ree, I want you to sing for Dr. King,' she'd drop everything and do just that. I don't think Ted had objections to her support of Dr. King's cause, and he realized it would raise her visibility. But I do remember the time that there was a conflict between a big club gig and doing a benefit for Dr. King. Ted said, ‘Take the club gig. We need the money.' But Ree said, ‘Dr. King needs me more.' She defied her husband. Maybe that was the start of their marital trouble. Their thing was always troubled because it was based on each of them using the other. Whatever the case, my sister proved to be a strong soldier in the civil rights fight. That made me proud of her and it kept her relationship with Daddy from collapsing entirely." In part her increasing activism was because of her father's own increase in activity. The benefit that Cecil is talking about there is probably one in Chicago organised by Mahalia Jackson, where Aretha headlined on a bill that also included Jackson, Eartha Kitt, and the comedian Dick Gregory. That was less than a month before her father organised the Detroit Walk to Freedom, a trial run for the more famous March on Washington a few weeks later. The Detroit Walk to Freedom was run by the Detroit Council for Human Rights, which was formed by Rev. Franklin and Rev. Albert Cleage, a much more radical Black nationalist who often differed with Franklin's more moderate integrationist stance. They both worked together to organise the Walk to Freedom, but Franklin's stance predominated, as several white liberal politicians, like the Mayor of Detroit, Jerome Cavanagh, were included in the largely-Black March. It drew crowds of 125,000 people, and Dr. King called it "one of the most wonderful things that has happened in America", and it was the largest civil rights demonstration in American history up to that point. King's speech in Detroit was recorded and released on Motown Records: [Excerpt: Martin Luther King, "Original 'I Have a Dream' Speech”] He later returned to the same ideas in his more famous speech in Washington. During that civil rights spring and summer of 1963, Aretha also recorded what many think of as the best of her Columbia albums, a collection of jazz standards  called Laughing on the Outside, which included songs like "Solitude", "Ol' Man River" and "I Wanna Be Around": [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "I Wanna Be Around"] The opening track, "Skylark", was Etta James' favourite ever Aretha Franklin performance, and is regarded by many as the definitive take on the song: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Skylark"] Etta James later talked about discussing the track with the great jazz singer Sarah Vaughan, one of Aretha's early influences, who had recorded her own version of the song: "Sarah said, ‘Have you heard of this Aretha Franklin girl?' I said, ‘You heard her do “Skylark,” didn't you?' Sarah said, ‘Yes, I did, and I'm never singing that song again.” But while the album got noticed by other musicians, it didn't get much attention from the wider public. Mersey decided that a change in direction was needed, and they needed to get in someone with more of a jazz background to work with Aretha. He brought in pianist and arranger Bobby Scott, who had previously worked with people like Lester Young, and Scott said of their first meeting “My first memory of Aretha is that she wouldn't look at me when I spoke. She withdrew from the encounter in a way that intrigued me. At first I thought she was just shy—and she was—but I also felt her reading me...For all her deference to my experience and her reluctance to speak up, when she did look me in the eye, she did so with a quiet intensity before saying, ‘I like all your ideas, Mr. Scott, but please remember I do want hits.'” They started recording together, but the sides they cut wouldn't be released for a few years. Instead, Aretha and Mersey went in yet another direction. Dinah Washington died suddenly in December 1963, and given that Aretha was already being compared to Washington by almost everyone, and that Washington had been a huge influence on her, as well as having been close to both her father and her husband/manager, it made sense to go into the studio and quickly cut a tribute album, with Aretha singing Washington's hits: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Cold Cold Heart"] Unfortunately, while Washington had been wildly popular, and one of the most important figures in jazz and R&B in the forties and fifties, her style was out of date. The tribute album, titled Unforgettable, came out in February 1964, the same month that Beatlemania hit the US. Dinah Washington was the past, and trying to position Aretha as "the new Dinah Washington" would doom her to obscurity. John Hammond later said "I remember thinking that if Aretha never does another album she will be remembered for this one. No, the problem was timing. Dinah had died, and, outside the black community, interest in her had waned dramatically. Popular music was in a radical and revolutionary moment, and that moment had nothing to do with Dinah Washington, great as she was and will always be.” At this point, Columbia brought in Clyde Otis, an independent producer and songwriter who had worked with artists like Washington and Sarah Vaughan, and indeed had written one of the songs on Unforgettable, but had also worked with people like Brook Benton, who had a much more R&B audience. For example, he'd written "Baby, You Got What It Takes" for Benton and Washington to do as a duet: [Excerpt: Brook Benton and Dinah Washington, "Baby, You Got What it Takes"] In 1962, when he was working at Mercury Records before going independent, Otis had produced thirty-three of the fifty-one singles the label put out that year that had charted. Columbia had decided that they were going to position Aretha firmly in the R&B market, and assigned Otis to do just that. At first, though, Otis had no more luck with getting Aretha to sing R&B than anyone else had. He later said "Aretha, though, couldn't be deterred from her determination to beat Barbra Streisand at Barbra's own game. I kept saying, ‘Ree, you can outsing Streisand any day of the week. That's not the point. The point is to find a hit.' But that summer she just wanted straight-up ballads. She insisted that she do ‘People,' Streisand's smash. Aretha sang the hell out of it, but no one's gonna beat Barbra at her own game." But after several months of this, eventually Aretha and White came round to the idea of making an R&B record. Otis produced an album of contemporary R&B, with covers of music from the more sophisticated end of the soul market, songs like "My Guy", "Every Little Bit Hurts", and "Walk on By", along with a few new originals brought in by Otis. The title track, "Runnin' Out of Fools", became her biggest hit in three years, making number fifty-seven on the pop charts and number thirty on the R&B charts: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Runnin' Out of Fools"] After that album, they recorded another album with Otis producing, a live-in-the-studio jazz album, but again nobody involved could agree on a style for her. By this time it was obvious that she was unhappy with Columbia and would be leaving the label soon, and they wanted to get as much material in the can as they could, so they could continue releasing material after she left. But her working relationship with Otis was deteriorating -- Otis and Ted White did not get on, Aretha and White were having their own problems, and Aretha had started just not showing up for some sessions, with nobody knowing where she was. Columbia passed her on to yet another producer, this time Bob Johnston, who had just had a hit with Patti Page, "Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte": [Excerpt: Patti Page, "Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte"] Johnston was just about to hit an incredible hot streak as a producer. At the same time as his sessions with Aretha, he was also producing Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited, and just after the sessions finished he'd go on to produce Simon & Garfunkel's Sounds of Silence album. In the next few years he would produce a run of classic Dylan albums like Blonde on Blonde, John Wesley Harding, and New Morning, Simon & Garfunkel's follow up Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme, Leonard Cohen's first three albums, and Johnny Cash's comeback with the Live at Folsom Prison album and its follow up At San Quentin. He also produced records for Marty Robbins, Flatt & Scruggs, the Byrds, and Burl Ives during that time period. But you may notice that while that's as great a run of records as any producer was putting out at the time, it has little to do with the kind of music that Aretha Franklin was making then, or would become famous with. Johnston produced a string-heavy session in which Aretha once again tried to sing old standards by people like Oscar Hammerstein and Jerome Kern. She then just didn't turn up for some more sessions, until one final session in August, when she recorded songs like "Swanee" and "You Made Me Love You". For more than a year, she didn't go into a studio. She also missed many gigs and disappeared from her family's life for periods of time. Columbia kept putting out records of things she'd already recorded, but none of them had any success at all. Many of the records she'd made for Columbia had been genuinely great -- there's a popular perception that she was being held back by a record company that forced her to sing material she didn't like, but in fact she *loved* old standards, and jazz tunes, and contemporary pop at least as much as any other kind of music. Truly great musicians tend to have extremely eclectic tastes, and Aretha Franklin was a truly great musician if anyone was. Her Columbia albums are as good as any albums in those genres put out in that time period, and she remained proud of them for the rest of her life. But that very eclecticism had meant that she hadn't established a strong identity as a performer -- everyone who heard her records knew she was a great singer, but nobody knew what "an Aretha Franklin record" really meant -- and she hadn't had a single real hit, which was the thing she wanted more than anything. All that changed when in the early hours of the morning, Jerry Wexler was at FAME Studios in Muscle Shoals recording a Wilson Pickett track -- from the timeline, it was probably the session for "Mustang Sally", which coincidentally was published by Ted White's publishing company, as Sir Mack Rice, the writer, was a neighbour of White and Franklin, and to which Aretha had made an uncredited songwriting contribution: [Excerpt: Wilson Pickett, "Mustang Sally"] Whatever the session, it wasn't going well. Percy Sledge, another Atlantic artist who recorded at Muscle Shoals, had turned up and had started winding Pickett up, telling him he sounded just like James Brown. Pickett *hated* Brown -- it seems like almost every male soul singer of the sixties hated James Brown -- and went to physically attack Sledge. Wexler got between the two men to protect his investments in them -- both were the kind of men who could easily cause some serious damage to anyone they hit -- and Pickett threw him to one side and charged at Sledge. At that moment the phone went, and Wexler yelled at the two of them to calm down so he could talk on the phone. The call was telling him that Aretha Franklin was interested in recording for Atlantic. Rev. Louise Bishop, later a Democratic politician in Pennsylvania, was at this time a broadcaster, presenting a radio gospel programme, and she knew Aretha. She'd been to see her perform, and had been astonished by Aretha's performance of a recent Otis Redding single, "Respect": [Excerpt: Otis Redding, "Respect"] Redding will, by the way, be getting his own episode in a few months' time, which is why I've not covered the making of that record here. Bishop thought that Aretha did the song even better than Redding -- something Bishop hadn't thought possible. When she got talking to Aretha after the show, she discovered that her contract with Columbia was up, and Aretha didn't really know what she was going to do -- maybe she'd start her own label or something. She hadn't been into the studio in more than a year, but she did have some songs she'd been working on. Bishop was good friends with Jerry Wexler, and she knew that he was a big fan of Aretha's, and had been saying for a while that when her contract was up he'd like to sign her. Bishop offered to make the connection, and then went back home and phoned Wexler's wife, waking her up -- it was one in the morning by this point, but Bishop was accustomed to phoning Wexler late at night when it was something important. Wexler's wife then phoned him in Muscle Shoals, and he phoned Bishop back and made the arrangements to meet up. Initially, Wexler wasn't thinking about producing Aretha himself -- this was still the period when he and the Ertegun brothers were thinking of selling Atlantic and getting out of the music business, and so while he signed her to the label he was originally going to hand her over to Jim Stewart at Stax to record, as he had with Sam and Dave. But in a baffling turn of events, Jim Stewart didn't actually want to record her, and so Wexler determined that he had better do it himself. And he didn't want to do it with slick New York musicians -- he wanted to bring out the gospel sound in her voice, and he thought the best way to do that was with musicians from what Charles Hughes refers to as "the country-soul triangle" of Nashville, Memphis, and Muscle Shoals. So he booked a week's worth of sessions at FAME studios, and got in FAME's regular rhythm section, plus a couple of musicians from American Recordings in Memphis -- Chips Moman and Spooner Oldham. Oldham's friend and songwriting partner Dan Penn came along as well -- he wasn't officially part of the session, but he was a fan of Aretha's and wasn't going to miss this. Penn had been the first person that Rick Hall, the owner of FAME, had called when Wexler had booked the studio, because Hall hadn't actually heard of Aretha Franklin up to that point, but didn't want to let Wexler know that. Penn had assured him that Aretha was one of the all-time great talents, and that she just needed the right production to become massive. As Hall put it in his autobiography, "Dan tended in those days to hate anything he didn't write, so I figured if he felt that strongly about her, then she was probably going to be a big star." Charlie Chalmers, a horn player who regularly played with these musicians, was tasked with putting together a horn section. The first song they recorded that day was one that the musicians weren't that impressed with at first. "I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Love You)" was written by a songwriter named Ronnie Shannon, who had driven from Georgia to Detroit hoping to sell his songs to Motown. He'd popped into a barber's shop where Ted White was having his hair cut to ask for directions to Motown, and White had signed him to his own publishing company and got him to write songs for Aretha. On hearing the demo, the musicians thought that the song was mediocre and a bit shapeless: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin "I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Love You) (demo)"] But everyone there was agreed that Aretha herself was spectacular. She didn't speak much to the musicians, just went to the piano and sat down and started playing, and Jerry Wexler later compared her playing to Thelonius Monk (who was indeed one of the jazz musicians who had influenced her). While Spooner Oldham had been booked to play piano, it was quickly decided to switch him to electric piano and organ, leaving the acoustic piano for Aretha to play, and she would play piano on all the sessions Wexler produced for her in future. Although while Wexler is the credited producer (and on this initial session Rick Hall at FAME is a credited co-producer), everyone involved, including Wexler, said that the musicians were taking their cues from Aretha rather than anyone else. She would outline the arrangements at the piano, and everyone else would fit in with what she was doing, coming up with head arrangements directed by her. But Wexler played a vital role in mediating between her and the musicians and engineering staff, all of whom he knew and she didn't. As Rick Hall said "After her brief introduction by Wexler, she said very little to me or anyone else in the studio other than Jerry or her husband for the rest of the day. I don't think Aretha and I ever made eye contact after our introduction, simply because we were both so totally focused on our music and consumed by what we were doing." The musicians started working on "I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Love You)", and at first found it difficult to get the groove, but then Oldham came up with an electric piano lick which everyone involved thought of as the key that unlocked the song for them: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Love You)"] After that, they took a break. Most of them were pleased with the track, though Rick Hall wasn't especially happy. But then Rick Hall wasn't especially happy about anything at that point. He'd always used mono for his recordings until then, but had been basically forced to install at least a two-track system by Tom Dowd, Atlantic's chief engineer, and was resentful of this imposition. During the break, Dan Penn went off to finish a song he and Spooner Oldham had been writing, which he hoped Aretha would record at the session: [Excerpt: Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham, "Do Right Woman, Do Right Man"] They had the basic structure of the song down, but hadn't quite finished the middle eight, and both Jerry Wexler and Aretha Franklin chipped in uncredited lyrical contributions -- Aretha's line was "as long as we're together baby, you'd better show some respect to me". Penn, Oldham, Chips Moman, Roger Hawkins, and Tommy Cogbill started cutting a backing track for the song, with Penn singing lead initially with the idea that Aretha would overdub her vocal. But while they were doing this, things had been going wrong with the other participants. All the FAME and American rhythm section players were white, as were Wexler, Hall, and Dowd, and Wexler had been very aware of this, and of the fact that they were recording in Alabama, where Aretha and her husband might not feel totally safe, so he'd specifically requested that the horn section at least contain some Black musicians. But Charlie Chalmers hadn't been able to get any of the Black musicians he would normally call when putting together a horn section, and had ended up with an all-white horn section as well, including one player, a trumpet player called Ken Laxton, who had a reputation as a good player but had never worked with any of the other musicians there -- he was an outsider in a group of people who regularly worked together and had a pre-existing relationship. As the two outsiders, Laxton and Ted White had, at first, bonded, and indeed had started drinking vodka together, passing a bottle between themselves, in a way that Rick Hall would normally not allow in a session -- at the time, the county the studio was in was still a dry county. But as Wexler said, “A redneck patronizing a Black man is a dangerous camaraderie,” and White and Laxton soon had a major falling out. Everyone involved tells a different story about what it was that caused them to start rowing, though it seems to have been to do with Laxton not showing the proper respect for Aretha, or even actually sexually assaulting her -- Dan Penn later said “I always heard he patted her on the butt or somethin', and what would have been wrong with that anyway?”, which says an awful lot about the attitudes of these white Southern men who thought of themselves as very progressive, and were -- for white Southern men in early 1967. Either way, White got very, very annoyed, and insisted that Laxton get fired from the session, which he was, but that still didn't satisfy White, and he stormed off to the motel, drunk and angry. The rest of them finished cutting a basic track for "Do Right Woman", but nobody was very happy with it. Oldham said later “She liked the song but hadn't had time to practice it or settle into it I remember there was Roger playing the drums and Cogbill playing the bass. And I'm on these little simplistic chords on organ, just holding chords so the song would be understood. And that was sort of where it was left. Dan had to sing the vocal, because she didn't know the song, in the wrong key for him. That's what they left with—Dan singing the wrong-key vocal and this little simplistic organ and a bass and a drum. We had a whole week to do everything—we had plenty of time—so there was no hurry to do anything in particular.” Penn was less optimistic, saying "But as I rem