RHYTHM – The New Vogue

Dominion, Volume 30, Issue 172, 17 April 1937, Page 7 (Supplement)

RHYTHM - The New Vogue

(By

Swing Bass.)

Swing Bass Suggests . . .

“Gold Diggers of 1937.”—Remembering the previous “Gold Diggers,” the songs from the latest production are rather disappointing. The music and lyrics are written by the usually dependable pair, Harry Warren and Al Dubin, anfl by two other writers, Harold Arlen and E. Y. Harburg.

“With Plenty of Money and You” is probably the number you will like best, because the melody is swingy and very easy to fill in.

“Let’s Put Our Heads Together” is my second pick. It is a fairly catchy foxtrot which sounds very much better with a full bass.

“Speaking of the Weather” is full of very "modern” chords and harmonies, and for that reason alone is worth a try-over. Once your ear has grown accustomed to the harmonies the tune sounds rather good. “All’s Fair in Love aud Wai’” .needs plenty of filling in to set it off properly. Al Dubin’s lyric is about the best part of the song. Tbe chorus goes on for 48 bars, which is unusual.

“Bom to Dance.”— ln this show the words and music are by the celebrated Cole Porter, who is justly famous for his “Night and Day,” as well as for other outstanding songs. A good number is

‘Tve Got You Under My Skin,” which is typical of Cole Porter, and is in parts very reminiscent of “Night and Day.” It is well out of the run of popular songs—a little too far, perhaps, to be a best-seller. Unlike most numbers it has no verse, and the chorus is 56 bars in length. “Easy to Love” is the only other music from the show available in Wellington. This conforms more to the usual popular song. Full chords in both bauds help this number along, although you may find a little difficulty with some of them. Both numbers are complete with Spanish guitar symbols. Other songs from “Born to Dance” are, “Love Me, Love Aly Pekinese,” “Rap, Tap on the Wood,” “Hey, Babe, Hey,” “Rolling Home,” and “Swinging the Jinx Away.”

Behind The Mike. Britain’s favourite dance band leaders all have their particular tricks and mannerisms in putting over a broadcast Yet, although they command the biggest listening public the 8.8. C. has, few of the millions who tune in their radios each night have any brain-pic-ture of what is happening behind the microphone. First of all the microphone—most important personage in the studio, to whom even £30,000-a-year band leaders must pay deference. The type of mike mostly used hangs at the end of what looks like a gigantic fishing rod, which can be swivelled up and down, or wound up and down as an angler does his line. Giants of Jazz.

If you have arrived to watch any of the giants of jazz, such as Ambrose, Roy Fox, Jack Payne, Jack Hylton, Harry Roy or Billy Cotton, you will have made your way past crowds of autograph hunters at the door, all begging you to sign. Radio “fans” seldom recognise their idols when they see them in the flesh, so they ask everyone, ! to be certain. Once you are inside the studio, allowed to sit at the back, you may wonder at the seemingly haphazard layout of the band. But it has all been calculated to a fraction. Every one of the big broadcasting bands has been “balanced” for the microphone, and measurements are taken so that every time the musicians will be just that precise distance away from the sensitive microphone, so that all shall blend. Subdued Fox Style. For example, Roy Fox, who plays in subdued style, with strongly-marked but not harsh rhythm pulsating in every beat, places guitarist Ivor Alairants on the other side of the microphone from the rest of the band. As the mikes are sensitive on each side, the guitar’s rhythm can be plainly heard through the music. Roy Fox’s drummer. Alaurice Burman, sits farthest from the microphone, behind the brass section, and clear of the piano and double bass. Ten feet from the microphone, in front of the trumpets and trombones, are the saxophones. Every time they play a solo phrase, the sax team stands. This is not in homage to the composer, but because the mouth of a saxophone is hidden below the music stand, and might be muffled. Each band leader has his own ideas. Charlie Kunz, renowned for his melodious solos, has his own piano near the micorphone. And he will only play a carefully-selected instrument, as his delicate touch is upset by a strange model.

Maurice Winnick, aiming to gain a sweet, voluptuous tone, lines his saxophones almost below the microphone for greater effect. Billy Cotton, more vigorous, brings his brass section nearer. Jack Payne gives his violinists the place of honour.

Lip Signals.

The conductor must not give spoken instructions to his men, so a code of lip-signals has been formed. Roy Fox. for example, holds up a certain number of fingers for instructions as to the number of bars he wants, silently forms the words “One, two,” with his lips, and the band softly begins his signature tune “Whispering,” while he steps up to whisper his announcement to the mike—and so to the listening millions. Maurice Winnick taps twice with his foot, leads off with the third beat of his hands. It all looks so simple, but it has taken months of training to groom a band in that one art—-of starting to a signal in perfect unison, every member hitting tbe note true to a split second.

But in spite of all this care, there’s always fun behind the microphone at a broadcast.

The band enjoys it—but in a different

way from their unseeu audience. Don’t imagine that the studio is a formal occasion. During the most tender passage of a muted trumpet solo you will probably find the trombonist making faces at the pianist, or playing tricks on someone near at hand. Crooners Sit Idle.

Crooners are seldom instrumentalists, and so they sit idle between their songs. Sometimes you will see Denny Dennis foresake a game of patience to whisper a love-song, and Elsie Carisle, Phyliss Robins, Judy Shirley, and little Mary Lee sit industriously knitting or sewing until their turn comes to take the floor.

But there is very serious business behind the careless attitudes. Every member of a dance band is on his or her toes to give of their best during a broadcast.

You realise that when you see a player leave his seat to dash up for a solo at the microphone, and rush back to join the band as soon as that is finished. Because there is a deep carpet, tbe listening public knows nothing of this frantic haste, only hears and appreciates the artistry. The fact that what be imagines as an immaculate figure in evening dress is in reality a perspiring gentleman wearing a thick sweater, or else collariess and in shirt sleeves, makes no difference to what comes out of the loudspeaker. Thoughts On Swing.

Thoughts of a band leader oq swing are described in an article in the American “Saturday Evening Post,” an extract from which has been sent to i“Swing Bass” by a jazz enthusiast who calls himself “Bwa-wahdi-dough.” This is what tbe band leader says:—

“Everybody was talking about swing, but very few knew what it meant. There had been a time when it annoyed him that people insisted on thinking they did know. But uot now any more. He had learned that the most one could hope for was a few sincere appreciated. There were always the members of the band, of course, and once in a long, long while, an outsider. You could easily tell, looking over a crowd of dancers, which ones you were really reaching. The rhythm got all of them —that was fundamental — but it was just one or two couples who usually kept near the bandstand while they danced, straining their ears for the pretty little subtleties of swing music, who really “felt” it. You could see then! respond—with a grin, a jerk of the head, a sudden quick step—to that funny scream on the clarinet, the bubbly gliss on the trombone, the metallic hiss of muted cymbals in a cleverly inserted beat between embellishments of the solo instruments. And when the dance was over and the dancers stood, panting and applauding, on the floor, you caught the eye of one of them, perhaps, and it was like a precious secret between you. The others would never know, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. One either had the gift for appreciation—it seemed as rare, almost, as the gift for creating hot music—or one had not.”