Louis Armstrong’s Black & Blues, on Apple TV+

Decades after his death, this jazz legend returned to the charts when his songs “What a Wonderful World” and “We Have All the Time in the World” were rediscovered. Both the modern conception of the jazz solo and scat singing come from him. For these and many more reasons, nobody is more iconic than Louis Armstrong, not even Elvis Presley or the Beatles. There have been Louis Armstrong documentaries before, but there is always room for another. Happily, director Sacha Jenkins does a nice job telling the jazz legend’s story throughout Louis Armstrong’s Black & Blues, which premieres tomorrow on Apple TV+.

Shrewdly, Black & Blues kicks-off with a performance of Armstrong’s “What Did I Do to Be so Black and Blue,” a hard-luck blues that is widely interpreted as a commentary on the racism Armstrong experienced. Jenkins definitely explores those themes, without over-emphasizing the metaphor, with respects to that particular tune.

The story of Armstrong’s life will be familiar to jazz fans, but Jenkins covers it well, giving viewers a vivid sense of his hardscrabble New Orleans upbringing, his apprenticeship under King Oliver, and his breakout fame in Chicago. Frankly, Black & Blues is surprisingly restrained when addressing Armstrong’s relationship with his longtime manager, Joe Glaser, who has been widely criticized as an exploiter by modern jazz historians.

Arguably, Jenkins’ handling of Armstrong’s good will tours for the State Department and his bitter criticism of Eisenhauer’s handling of the Arkansas school integration riots is more nuanced than that found in the documentary TheJazz Ambassadors, or the nonfiction book, Satchmo Blows Up the World that it was largely drawn from. Unlike previous sources, Jenkins suggests Eisenhauer was waiting for someone prominent to speak out against Faubus barricading schools, for some cover for Federal intervention (something I hadn’t heard suggested before). Armstrong was the only one who did, but he was criticized in the press by fellow celebrities, like Sammy Davis Jr.

Jazz on a Summer’s Day, on BluRay

Louis Armstrong believed he was born on July 4, 1900. Subsequent historical research might suggest otherwise, but why get hung up on mere details? As a true Horatio Alger figure, who revolutionized both instrumental and vocal music, and represented America abroad as the unofficial “Ambassador Satch,” it is a symbolically fitting birthday for Armstrong. He was also a true road warrior, so he did not mind playing on his birthday weekend. Decades later, Armstrong and the other great jazz artists recorded in performance at the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival still sound as refreshing as a cool summer breeze in the BluRay release of Bert Stern’s Jazz on a Summer’s Day, which releases today.

1958 was a busy Fourth of July weekend for Rhode Island. In addition to George Wein’s Newport Jazz Festival, the America’s Cup qualifying heats were running off the coast. Part of Summer’s charm is the way director Bert Stern incorporates not just the races, but all the life and slightly inebriated carousing going on around the festival.

Jimmy Giuffre might not be widely known outside of jazz circles, but his performance of “The Train and the River” was an inspired choice for the opening credits. Breezy and bluesy with a hint of abstractness, it perfectly matches Stern’s images of the ocean and his wavy titles. This was Giuffre’s most accessible combo, a trio of himself on reeds, Bob Brookmeyer on valve trombone and Jim Hall on guitar (visible only when taking a bow at the end of the number). As many times as I have seen this film, this sequence always draws me in again.

In retrospect, it seems weird Thelonious Monk was scheduled so early in the festival. We see him playing to an apparently sparse audience that included an appreciative Gerry Mulligan, who would take the stage later that night. Monk’s unphazed performance of “Blue Monk” and VOA D.J. Willis Conover’s introduction might actually sound familiar, having been sampled years ago in a sneaker commercial.

Festival attendees were indeed fortunate getting a chance to hear future legends in sideman roles, the most unexpected being a young Roswell Rudd, later to become the most important trombonist in the avant-garde, seen in Newport careening around the roads with the Dixieland band Eli’s Chosen Six. We also get a rare opportunity to enjoy working bands that sadly never recorded outside of Stern’s film, like the group co-led by Sonny Stitt and former Kenton guitarist Sal Salvador (stuck with the dreaded “under-appreciated” appellation throughout his career), who blaze through “Loose Walk.”

A young Eric Dolphy also appears in a sideman role with Chico Hamilton’s band. Stern uses the Hamilton group as a touchstone throughout the film, juxtaposing their serious rehearsals with the revelry of the festival. The combination of the exotic sounds of Dolphy’s flute, Nate Gershman’s cello, the arresting dynamics of Hamilton’s drumming, and Stern’s gorgeous color photography is always a knockout punch, for newcomers and longtime fans alike.

Anita O’Day got a lot of attention for her sassy “Tea for Two” and “Sweet Georgia Brown” and Big Maybelle rouses the crowd with “I Ain’t Mad at You.” Of course, Chuck Berry wasn’t a jazz musician, but you would hardly know it from his jamming on “Sweet Little Sixteen,” with old school cats like Jack Teagarden, who would also appear with Armstrong.

Back to School: America’s Musical Journey

Hey parents, it’s September. Have you finished your Fall lesson plans? After years of sneering at home-schooling, the media now thinks you ought to be doing it. Even with Board-of-Ed materials, you’re going to need supplements to keep your kids focused and learning, so we’ll offer a few video suggestions, from time to time. For a very general lesson in American music history, you can safely turn to MacGillivray Freeman, a leading producer of IMAX films for museum patrons. Currently available on Prime, Greg MacGillivray’s America’s Musical Journey ought to keep kids busy for 39-minutes while you take a meeting.

Your host will be Aloe Blacc, but our narrator is the ultimate voice of authority, Morgan Freeman. Blacc is in fact a good choice to be the film’s tour guide, because even though he is a hip hop-R&B-club-crossover, he is deeply steeped in jazz and Latin styles. He says all the right things about Louis Armstrong, who is clearly the central musical figure in Journey. However, it is a bit annoying he keeps choosing to perform “What a Wonderful World,” which was a posthumous hit for Armstrong, instead of a song that would have had more personal significance for the jazz icon, like “Black and Blue.”

It is fun to see Blacc get a walking tour of New Orleans courtesy of Jonathan Batiste, but it would have been nice to hear more from the pianist (who some viewers might recognize from appearances in Treme, Red Hook Summer, and Da Sweet Blood of Jesus). Dr. John gets even less screen-time, but at least we hear one of his licensed tracks.

Blacc follows the jazz story up to Chicago, meeting up with Ramsey Lewis, but seriously, how could MacGillivray cut away from his performance of “The In-Crowd,” which is still one of the coolest jazz tunes ever? In Chicago, Blacc also checks out a flash-mob dance set to his hit song “Wake Me Up,” one of several IMAX-friendly performance numbers. Later, there will be dancers rappelling across a skyscraper and sky-diving Elvis impersonators to keep kids interested.

Oxford ’19: Body and Soul—An American Bridge

His name holds little recognition these days, even among serious jazz listeners, but Johnny Green won five Oscars for his film music and co-wrote several standards, including “I Cover the Waterfront” and “Out of Nowhere.” Yet, his best-known work is even more ubiquitous among jazz musicians’ repertoires. Robert Philipson chronicles the history and legacy of the beloved standard in the mid-length hour-long documentary, Body and Soul: An American Bridge (trailer here), which screens during this year’s Oxford Film Festival.

Green original co-wrote “Body and Soul” with lyricists Edward Heyman and Robert Sour for British musical theater performer Gertrude Lawrence, but it soon became a jazz standard. Naturally, one of the first classic renditions came from Louis Armstrong, who really did everything in jazz first. There was also a historically significant recording by the racially-integrated Benny Goodman Trio, featuring the great Teddy Wilson on piano. However, Coleman Hawkins’ legendary recording of “Body and Soul,” which most jazz historians consider the transitional link between swing and bebop is only mentioned in passing. Frankly, that is beyond bizarre, because we were eagerly anticipating a long discussion of Hawk (it isn’t perfect, but Ken Burns’ Jazz gets this right).

Still, Philipson deserves credit for giving Benny Goodman credit for sticking his neck out to lead his racially integrated trio (which became a quartet when he added Lionel Hampton on vibes). It is fashionable to mock Goodman for his legendary penny-pinching and the withering glare, dubbed “the ray,” he leveled at bandmembers who displeased him, but he took a risk and became an agent of progressive change in this country.

Instead of a bridge between swing and bebop, Philipson positions “Body and Soul” as a bridge between Jewish and African American musicians. He certainly has a strong case to make, but “Body and Soul” is hardly unique in this respect. After all, George Gershwin composed Porgy and Bess and Irving Berlin penned standards like “How Deep is the Ocean.” There are plenty of songs that could represent that sort of connection, but it almost always happens through jazz.

Regardless, any film that discusses Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, and Teddy Wilson at length is totally worth seeing. The best-known musicians Philipson interviews on-camera are probably NEA Jazz Master bassist Richard Davis and Loren Schoenburg, director of the National Jazz Museum in Harlem, who certainly know their stuff, but like it or not, no Marsalises this time around. Recommended for fans of pre-modern (swing, New Orleans) jazz, Body and Soul: An American Bridge screens this Sunday (2/10) as part of the 2019 Oxford Film Festival.

Japan Cuts ’15: Louis Armstrong Obon (short)

Louis Armstrong was New Orleans to his core, but the first place he truly felt at home was Queens, New York. Japanese traditional hot jazz musicians Yoshio and Keiko Toyama therefore visit both during their annual Armstrong pilgrimages. Joel Schlemowitz follows them as they celebrate the spirit of Satchmo in Louis Armstrong Obon, which screens as part of the Experimental Spotlight: Mono No Aware x [+] (Plus) short film program at this year’s Japan Cuts, the Festival of New Japanese Film in New York.

From 1968 to 1973, the Toyamas lived in the Crescent City, becoming mainstays at the storied Preservation Hall. Eventually, they returned to Japan, but they always carried New Orleans jazz in their hearts. In modest detail, they explain how they launched a major Japanese instrument donation initiative after Hurricane Katrina, offering some much desired competition to our friends at the Jazz Foundation of America. However, much to their surprise, they saw grateful New Orleanians reverse the flow of instrument donations in the wake of the 2011 earthquake and Tsunami.

If that does not make you feel all soft and goey about the Toyamas, than bear in mind they also led Japanese fundraising efforts to restore Louis Armstrong’s beloved Queens house and convert it into a world class jazz museum and cultural center. Plus, as musicians, the Toyamas can also get down on what Armstrong called “the gold old good ones,” (Yoshio on trumpet and Keiko on banjo).

Although it screens as part of an experimental film block, Obon is a completely accessible and sweetly touching film. The only aspect falling outside the mainstream is Schlemowitz’s unpolished Super 8mm aesthetic. For a film about jazz, Obon is also a surprisingly quiet film, but that reflects an appropriate level of respect, considering quite a bit of the footage was shot during the Toyamas’ yearly Armstrong grave site visit. Eventually, we do hear Yoshio Toyama cut loose with Vince Giordano and the Nighthawks—and he clearly still has the chops.

Even though Obon is only fourteen minutes long and screens amid some radically different shorts, jazz fans will certainly find it rewarding. There is a long and fruitful history of amazing Japanese musicians, like Eri Yamamoto and Shunzo Ohno, taking American jazz and making it their own, but artists like the Toyamas who embrace its traditional roots are not so well documented.Obon helps tell their stories. It is a moving and meditative tribute the musical couple, as well as the giant who continues to inspire them. Highly recommended, Louis Armstrong Obon screens this Sunday (7/12) at the Japan Society, as part of Japan Cuts’ Experimental Spotlight: Mono No Aware x [+] (Plus)shorts block.

Jazz at Film Forum: Jazz on a Spring Day, with Ellington, Armstrong, Shaw, etc.

Duke Ellington was ahead of his time, envisioning a place for jazz in proper culture, much like what Wynton Marsalis has established at Jazz @ Lincoln Center. He also enjoyed the company of beautiful women. As a result, probably no jazz artist more carefully groomed his public image than Ellington. In retrospect, we might wish many of his colleagues had been as far-sighted. We all know Ellington was a genius in many ways, but the far-reaching significance of his “Duke” persona comes through loud and clear in Jazz on a Spring Day, a collection of vintage jazz short subjects starring the likes of Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Hoagy Carmichael, and Cab Calloway, which screens this Monday as part of a special celebration of jazz at Film Forum.

Ellington’s cultural stature only continues to grow over the years, but filmmaker Fred Waller’s contributions have been largely overlooked by the jazz critical community. However, it is most definitely worth noting three of his films are represented in Film Forum’s Spring Day, including the artistic highpoint, Symphony in Black: a Rhapsody of Negro Life. An early forerunner to Ellington’s Black, Brown, and Beige; Symphony is a suite-like meditation on the struggles and triumphs of pre-Civil Rights era African Americans. Often quite impressionistic, Waller’s film reflects a WPA aesthetic and features vocal contributions from Billie Holiday and solos from Ellington stalwarts Johnny Hodges, Lawrence Brown, Ray Nanton, and Barney Bigard.

Waller also helmed the Ellington short A Bundle of Blues, which is a straightforward performance piece, but it shows the Duke leading the band, with his signature élan. Although Ellington’s band book was already well stocked with originals, the unlikely centerpiece of Bundle is Harold Arlen’s “Stormy Weather.” Still, it is a good vehicle for Ivie Anderson’s voice and provides Waller with the opportunity to experiment with rain-drop swipe effects.

In contrast, Waller’s third selected film, Cab Calloway’s Hi-De-Ho is the sort of low comedy Ellington had the sense to avoid. At least Calloway plays a trickster rather than a minstrel and it concludes with on a slightly surreal note that does not feel very 1930s. However, when it comes to unfortunately dated representations of jazz greats, Aubrey Scotto’s Rhapsody in Black & Blue is the hardest to get one’s head around. When a fed up wife whacks her jazz-listening fool of a husband over the head, he wakes up in a fantastical jazz world of bubbles, where he reigns as king and is serenaded by Armstrong wearing a notorious leopard skin. Still, the tunes are vintage Satchmo and the straight acting appearance of blues vocalist and independent label trailblazer Victoria Spivey as the irate wife lends it further historical notoriety.

Romance is even more problematic in Dudley Murphy’s St. Louis Blues, the only screen appearance of Bessie Smith. Despite some Porgy/Runyonesque trappings, it is one of the darkest films of the program. Poor Smith plays a woman who falls for the wrong rake and keeps letting him take advantage of her time and again. Dramatically, she makes you feel her pain and of course she owns the song. Bizarrely, Mr. W.C. Handy himself gave it a Fred Waring like chorale arrangement, but it cannot bury the power of her voice.

Things get even more tragic in the third Ellington short, Murphy’s Black and Tan Fantasy. Again, Ellington is portrayed as a dashing and artistic sort of fellow, notwithstanding the two embarrassingly clichéd stock characters who attempt to repossess his piano in the opening scene. The show will go on, but the price will be dear when the ailing Fredi Washington literally dances herself to death trying to ensure his successful Cotton Club opening. It is a striking performance that evokes Camille and Eurydice. Probably best known for directing Paul Robeson in The Emperor Jones, Murphy is another filmmaker ripe for a critical re-evaluation.

The simply but aptly titled Hoagy Carmichael is essentially another straight performance film, but viewers can also see how it contributed to his wry, laconic image. Jack Teagarden, then fronting his own big band, was the perfect choice to back Carmichael and trade good-natured barbs with the singer-songwriter. Likewise, a shockingly young and fresh-faced Artie Shaw swings his band, while a narrator explains it to us in Leslie Roush’s Artie Shaw’s Class of Swing, which logically includes “Nightmare,” arguably his greatest hit after “Beguine.”

A bit of a ringer, rumba bandleader Don Aspiazu directs himself in Jazz A La Cuba, another uncluttered performance piece. Technically, Aspiazu never really pulled off the jazz-Latin fusion he aspired to (that would have to wait for Dizzy Gillespie), but his band has a catchy beat that you can dance to.

Sure there is the occasional awkward reflection of the times in which they were produced, but overall the short jazz films screening at Film Forum are a whole lot of fun and they swing like mad. In some cases, they will inspire viewers to rediscover artists like Anderson, Washington, and Teagarden, while reconfirming just how great Ellington, Armstrong, and Shaw truly were. Recommended for fans of short films and classic jazz, the Jazz on a Spring Day shorts screen this coming Monday (6/8) at Film Forum.

Tribeca ’15: Anniversary Screenings

In fourteen years, the Tribeca Film Festival has grown into an impressive institution, with well-respected grant-writing and film distribution arms. Still, the thirteenth anniversary just isn’t a very round number. However, this year’s Tribeca Film Festival will commemorate a number of films reaching milestones ending with fives and zeroes. Best of all, several of these special screening will be free of charge (although advance ticketing is still required in some cases).

You might have missed the anticipation for the 30^th anniversary of Clue the movie, based on the perennially popular board game, which is why Tribeca’s free Drive-In screening is such a public service. Jonathan Lynn’s film was not kindly reviewed at the time, but in retrospect, we can acknowledge it as one of his wittiest works since the Yes, Minister franchise. The spooky old house set is wonderfully detailed and the all-star cast is relentlessly hammy—in a good way. The random uncredited Howard Hesseman sightings also add a dash of surreal humor, but the real star is the deliciously caustic dialogue. Lynn pushes the rapid-fire delivery, as if he broke out Howard Hawks’ old stop-watch. There are actually more films based on board games these days, but Clue remains the best. It screens for free this Thursday (4/16) at the World Financial Plaza.

In 1985, all the love denied Clue was showered on Robert Zemeckis’ Back to the Future, which has become iconic for a reason. The effects were pretty cool for its time, but it had tons of heart. It heralded Michael J. Fox’s apparent arrival as a big time movie star, but despite some successful subsequent releases, Back to the Future 1 remains his cinematic high-water mark. As likable as he and Christopher Lloyd are together, it is impossible to think of the film without hearing Huey Lewis’s Power of Love in your mind’s ear, but that just proves how all the elements truly came together for it. Nostalgically recommended, it screens for free at the BMCC on Saturday (4/25).

Back to the Future presents a very innocent, 1950s version of love, but it is nowhere near as endearing as Disney’s Lady and the Tramp, celebrating its sixtieth anniversary. Arguably, the spaghetti sequence is the first movie moment that suggests to boys and girls kissing scenes might be okay after all. Let’s face it, the film is just adorable, plus it features the sassy vocals of Peggy Lee, performing original songs she co-wrote with Sonny Burke. Parents should take their kids to see it at the Drive-In this Friday (4/17), before Disney cheapens it with another live-action remake.

If you like Peggy Lee (and who the heck doesn’t?), you’re probably okay with Frank Sinatra too. 2015 marks the Sinatra centennial (1915-1998), so Tribeca will celebrate with free screenings of On the Town, Some Came Running, and High Society (trailer here). They are all worth seeing, but the latter is particularly notable. A musical remake of The Philadelphia Story, it co-stars Sinatra in the Jimmy Stewart role, Bing Crosby fearlessly stepping in for Cary Grant, and Grace Kelly in her final film, assuming Katherine Hepburn’s duties. Yes, Philadelphia is the better film, but Society has one thing the other lacks: Louis Armstrong, playing himself.

In fact, Armstrong gets the sort of star treatment he lacked in some of his more problematic early films. He serves as a sort of narrator in the opening and closing segments and performs a flat-out flag-waver, “Now You Has Jazz,” with Crosby. Perhaps the coolest aspect of the number is that each of the All-Stars gets a brief solo, introduced by Crosby. At this time, the line-up consisted of Trummy Young (trombone), Billy Kyle (piano), Arvell Shaw (bass), Barrett Deems (drums), and the New Orleans legend in his own right, Edmond Hall on clarinet (but sadly, no Velma Middleton). Society was also the first full screen musical Cole Porter had written in a number of years. It might not be his most memorable work, but there are flashes of that classic wit, like “have you heard, its in the stars, next July we collide with Mars” in “Well, Did You Evah!” It screens at the Regal Battery Park next Friday (4/24), but you’re going to have to deal with rush tickets at this point.

Perhaps the biggest ticket anniversary will be Monty Python and the Holy Grail celebrating forty years of lunacy. In fact, there will be several decidedly not-free Python screenings at Tribeca, as well as the premiere of the documentary Monty Python: the Meaning of Live chronicling their live performances at London’s O2 Arena, designed to pay-off their lawyers’ fees and Terry Jones’ mortgage (full review to come). The Rifftrax guys will also give the live treatment to Tommy Wiseau’s The Room, which is only marking its twelfth anniversary, but it feels like it has always been with us. Altogether, it is an interesting selection of old favorites programmed (sometimes for free, sometime not, check the website) at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Birth of a Legend: Louis

Louis Armstrong is the quintessential musical Horatio Alger story. Though not born on the 4th of July as he believed, Armstrong undeniably came from mean circumstances. A child of New Orleans’ Storyville red light district, Armstrong received quite an education in life at a tender age. Those early formative years are stylishly dramatized in Dan Priztker’s Louis (trailer here), retro-silent film to be presented Monday the 30th in New York with a live soundtrack accompaniment performed by composer Wynton Marsalis, classical pianist Cecile Licard, and a 10-piece small big band (almost entirely consisting of Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra alumnus).

Though Armstrong’s memoirs largely sanitize his childhood, it is generally accepted that from time to time, his mother engaged in the work Storyville was infamous for. Louis dispenses with euphemisms, taking viewers inside the venerable bordellos of New Orleans (hence the R rating). A worldly tyke, young Armstrong already has a crush on one of the working girls, Grace, a local near-celebrity who has just made her triumphant return to the Crescent City and the world’s oldest profession. Unfortunately, the thoroughly corrupt but politically ambitious Judge Perry also has eyes for Grace in an exploitative Jim Crow kind of way. Ironically, since the six year-old Armstrong is essentially invisible to Perry and his cronies, he finds ample snooping opportunities as he tries to foil the crooked jurist’s plans for Grace.

As one would expect given it carries the Wynton Marsalis seal of approval, Louis definitely gets its jazz correct. Mixing Marsalis originals with the compositions of Jewish-Creole classical composer L.M. Gottschalk, the film-concert experience definitely captures the sound of early Twentieth Century New Orleans. Indeed, Marsalis’ portions of the soundtrack are similar in tone to his music for Ken Burns’ Jack Johnson documentary, Unforgivable Blackness. While clearly inspired by Armstrong, there is also the hint of an Ellington influence, which echoes throughout Marsalis’ music.

Louis might look as good as it sounds thanks to Vilmos Zsigmond, the celebrated Hungarian cinematographer who defected shortly after the 1956 Soviet invasion. Indeed, his use of black-and-white with sepia color tints gives the film a vibrant yet sophisticated look. To his credit, rock musician turned jazz movie director Pritzker also shows an intuitive flair for camera movement, nicely conveying the earthy energy of its setting.

Despite its lack of dialogue (aside from periodic inter-titles) Louis had at least four credited screenwriters, including Pritzker. While their story arc is fairly simple, they add some nice period touches, like appearances from Buddy Bolden, the never-recorded cornetist considered the original jazz musician. The film also cleverly shoehorns real incidents in Armstrong’s life, including the circumstances that sent him to the so-called Colored Waifs’ Home, where he providentially joined the marching band, ultimately setting in motion a career as the most significant and influential musician in American history.

Bearing a strong likeness to the young Armstrong, charismatic Anthony Coleman also hints at the familiar Satchmo mannerisms fairly well, without descending into caricature. Deliberately resembling Chaplin (albeit in his later years) Jackie Earle Haley is strangely effective as Judge Perry, mixing in some surprising pathos with his physical comedy and scenery chewing villainy.

Louis is one of the better jazz films produced in recent years that will surely be even more rewarding with the live in-theater soundtrack performance. Though Marsalis might be controversial in some jazz circles for his perceived aesthetic conservatism, he is an energizing soloist with a charming stage presence and a golden trumpet tone. It’s a great band too. Known for excelling on gutbucket blues, trombonist Wycliffe “Pinecone” Gordon should have a particularly strong affinity for the material, having composed his own soundtracks for silent films. Affectionately recommended, the Louis tour starts Wednesday August 25th in Chicago, reaching New York’s Apollo Theater Monday (8/30).

Faded Glory: Cabin in the Sky

Even if you have heard Duke Ellington’s band play “Things Ain’t What They Used to Be” thousands of times before, you are still likely to feel a jolt of energy when they launch into it in Vincente Minnelli’s Cabin in the Sky. Though his appearances in the classic MGM musical are brief, Ellington made the most of them. Simply being in such a high-profile studio project was a significant milestone at the time. From the 1920’s through the early 1940’s, nearly every film intended for an African-American audience was produced independently by entrepreneurial filmmakers like Oscar Micheaux. That makes Cabin in the Sky (trailer here) one of the few studio ringers in the Lincoln Center Film Society’s current retrospective series, Faded Glory: Oscar Micheaux and Black Pre-War Cinema.

Even though Cabin is the screen adaptation of the Harold Arlen-Vernon Duke Broadway musical, it is a film jazz enthusiasts ought to see for the cast alone, including Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Ethel Waters, and Lena Horne, in her first substantive screen role. It tells a Heaven Can Wait story of Little Joe, a small-time gambler who suffers an untimely demise, but is granted a six month reprieve to straighten-up and avoid spending eternity in a very hot climate. He might be tempted by the fast life, but his wife Petunia, played by Waters, is a truly devout woman. However, the forces of darkness, led by Lucifer, Jr., are not about to relinquish their claim so easily, calling in their secret weapon, the temptress Georgia Brown, played by the perfectly cast Lena Horne.

Even though Cabin was considered progressive at the time for its portrayal of serious, sympathetic African-American characters, many contemporary commentators take umbrage at its persistent racial stereotypes. While that is certainly fair to an extent, there remains much of enduring value in Cabin. In addition to some stirring music, the Christian themes are presented in a respectful, legitimately heartfelt manner. (In a case of life imitating art, Waters would perform extensively with Billy Graham’s ministry late in her career.)

Although some of the arrangements in Cabin are overly sweetened with strings, Ellington’s band swings hard. Featuring stalwarts like Ben Webster, Johnny Hodges, Ray Nance, Lawrence Brown, and Sonny Greer, they tear through “Things” and “Going Up.” Waters also gives near definitive performances of the standards “Happiness is a Thing Called Joe” and “Taking a Chance on Love.” However, we only hear a brief solo from Armstrong, as he revels with Lucifer, Jr.’s minions.

Frustratingly, Cabin is nearly as famous for what was left on the editing room floor as what was released on-screen. For years we were denied Horne’s “Ain’t It the Truth,” because the sight of her singing in a bathtub was considered too risqué. An Armstrong instrumental take of the same song was also excised, editing out what in retrospect would seem to be the most commercial scenes of the film.

Cabin very clearly illustrates how differently the two jazz greats managed their images. While Ellington’s band plays at a nightclub associated with sin and vice, Ellington himself is as dapper and sophisticated as always. Instead of mugging for the camera, he swings the band, period. Armstrong however, is stuck wearing devil horns in a supporting comedic role.

Granted, Cabin is in many ways imperfect and dated, but it is also a film of enormous historical significance. It also features some of the most entertaining numbers in the MGM musical catalog. It screens at the Walter Reade Theater on Monday (2/16) and Wednesday (2/18).

Jazz on the Fourth of July

Louis Armstrong believed he was born on July 4, 1900. Subsequent historical research might suggest otherwise, but why get hung up on mere details? A true Horatio Alger figure, who revolutionized both instrumental and vocal music, and represented America abroad as the unofficial “Ambassador Satch,” it is a symbolically fitting birthday for Armstrong, so I always listen to his music over the holiday. This Fourth of July you can see him on the big screen when the Lincoln Center’s Walter Reade screens Bert Stern’s celebrated documentary Jazz on a Summer’s Day.

1958 was a busy Fourth of July weekend for Rhode Island. In addition to George Wein’s Newport Jazz Festival, America’s Cup qualifying heats were running off the coast. Part of Summer’s charm is the way director Bert Stern incorporates not just the races, but all the life and carousing going on around the festival.

Jimmy Giuffre might not be widely known outside of jazz circles, but his performance of “The Train and the River” was an inspired choice for the opening credits. Breezy and bluesy with a hint of abstractness, it perfectly matches Stern’s images of the ocean and his wavy titles. This was Giuffre’s most accessible combo, a trio of himself on reeds, Bob Brookmeyer on valve trombone and Jim Hall on guitar (visible only when taking a bow at the end of the number). As many times as I have seen this film, this sequence always draws me in again.

In retrospect, it seems weird Thelonious Monk was scheduled so early in the festival. We see him playing to a sparse audience that included an appreciative Gerry Mulligan, who would take the stage later that night. Monk’s performance of “Blue Monk” and VOA D.J. Willis Conover’s introduction might actually sound familiar, having been sampled in a sneaker commercial.

Festival attendees were indeed fortunate getting a chance to hear future legends in sideman roles, most famously including a young Roswell Rudd, later to become the most important trombonist in the avant-garde, seen in Newport careening around the roads with the Dixieland band Eli’s Chosen Six. We also hear working bands that sadly never recorded outside of Stern’s film, like the group co-led by Sonny Stitt and former Kenton guitarist Sal Salvador, stuck with the dreaded “under-appreciated” appellation throughout his career.

A young Eric Dolphy also appears in a sideman role with Chico Hamilton’s band. Stern uses the Hamilton group as a touchstone throughout the film, juxtaposing their serious rehearsals with the revelry of the festival. I often use their performance of “Blue Sands” as an ace-in-the-hole in my jazz survey courses. The combination of the exotic sounds of Dolphy’s flute and Nate Gershman’s cello combined with Stern gorgeous color photography is always a knockout punch.

Of course the biggest star was Louis Armstrong, performing in the film’s penultimate timeslot for a clearly adoring audience. As Armstrong plays and relates anecdotes of hobnobbing with crowned heads of Europe for Conover, the film establishes him as uncrowned American royalty. After Armstrong’s Saturday night set finishes past midnight, Conover gives Mahalia Jackson probably the best stage introduction ever, ending Summer on Sunday morning with a gospel note.

Summer is a classic. For all the times I have watched it for use in a class, I still enjoy it like I’m seeing I for the first time. It is patriotic movie too. After all, it honors America’s only original art form: jazz. It screens four times today at the Walter Reade, with Stern and Wein appearing as honored guests for the 6:00 show. Happy Fourth of July.

Jazz Score: Paris Blues

What is the best pairing in Martin Ritt’s 1961 Paris Blues? Easy: the combination of the music of Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn with the trumpet of Louis Armstrong. The worst pairing? At the risk of heresy charges, it must be said the casting of Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward was a mistake. It screens tonight as part of the MoMA’s Jazz Score series, so you are invited to judge for yourself.

Paris Blues could have been great. It is based on Harold Flender’s book (currently out-of-print), which, though not stylistically remarkable, did address some interesting issues. It centers on Eddie Cook, an African-American alto player (in Flender), who falls for a visiting American tourist. Cook faces two conflicts. He plays traditional New Orleans hot jazz, while many of his colleagues try to push him towards more modern bop-oriented styles. At the same time, his new lover wants him to give up the expat life and join her in America to campaign for civil rights.

Newman and Woodward are on the cover of my old movie tie-in mass market, but you won’t find anyone who looks them inside. According to Krin Gabbard’s Jammin’ at the Margins, Ellington committed to scoring Paris with the understanding that the central romantic relationship would be an inter-racial one between Newman and Diahann Carroll, but by the time cameras rolled, Newman and Woodward were the safe romantic leads.

For jazz audiences, Paris is also problematic for its treatment of the music itself. Newman’s Ram Bowen (a name Boogie Nights could have used) seeks musical validation through recognition for his classical compositions. Paris leaves little doubt as to its musical hierarchy—classical is up and jazz is down.

In effect, the music of Ellington, Strayhorn, and Armstrong is at war with the very film it is in. Which faction wins? Given the lameness of the Newman-Woodward relationship, it is no contest. Early in the film, Louis Armstrong, essentially playing himself in the role of Wild Man Moore, arrives at the train station, received by throngs of Parisians like a conquering hero. As the film closes, the Ellington band starts on a mournful note, but they suddenly rise up in revolt, ending on a defiant high note.

Although Cook’s moldy fig vs. bop conflict is not retained from the novel, Sidney Poitier and Carroll do debate whether Cook should stay in Paris living a relatively comfortable expat life, or return to America to pursue their relationship and progress in the civil rights struggle. Their scenes together are the best written in Paris. Of course, the greatest attraction in Paris is the music the film does not fully appreciate. It screens tonight and Wednesday at MoMA.

Louis Armstrong’s New Orleans

Louis Armstrong’s New Orleans
By Thomas Brothers
W.W. Norton tradepaper
978-393-33001-4

Jazz historians have generally subscribed to the “great man” theory of history, placing prominent innovators like Armstrong and Ellington in the Jazz Pantheon. Their contributions are seen as not just revolutionary, but deliberate and singular to their genius. Thomas Brothers’ Louis Armstrong’s New Orleans takes a different approach, placing more influence on Armstrong’s environment and how it shaped his music.

Brothers’ book is not a biography per se, but rather a cultural examination of the Crescent City during the years Armstrong lived there. There are certainly details of the early formative events of Armstrong’s life, like his first proper musical instruction and organized band experience at the Colored Waif’s Home for Boys. However, Thomas places nearly equal emphasis on the music of rag-pickers and street merchants Armstrong absorbed prior to his time at the Waif’s Home. According to a manuscript passage cut from his memoir unearthed by Brothers, the musician wrote of a rag-picker named Larenzo: “the things he said, pertaining to music, had me spellbound.” (p. 55)

Although much has been made of Armstrong’s childhood circumstances, Brothers seems more inclined to defend his mother, Mary Ann (Mayann) Albert, particularly for exposing him to the influence of the Sanctified Church and instilling a work ethic in him. Brothers quotes her advice to a young Armstrong: “never worry about what the other feller has got. Try and get something your self.” (p. 76)

While Brothers does not really try to diminish Armstrong’s accomplishments, he does look for obscure influences and unrecognized role models. He does make a compelling case for the influence of cornetist Buddy Petit. Brothers argues:

“Both specialized in nicely sculpted improvisations marked by harmonic precision. Both were fast fingerers and skillful in bringing blues touches to any kind of melody. Petit, like Armstrong, had a fertile imagination. ‘He’d stay in the staff and . . . make you dizzy with the variation he’d make,’ said trumpeter Abert Waters.” (p. 267)

Brothers is clearly a passionate authority on not just the music of Louis Armstrong, but the entire cultural milieu of early twentieth century New Orleans. His prose though, can be a bit slow to plow through. While maybe not an essential volume on Armstrong, Brothers’ book provides valuable insight on his lesser known contemporaries, including figures like Petit.

Louis Armstrong: Jazz is Played from the Heart

Louis Armstrong: Jazz is Played from the Heart
By Michael A. Schuman
Enslow Publishers
0-7660-2700-7

As “Ambassador Satch,” Louis Armstrong’s worldwide recognition and popularity reached levels seen only for figures like Muhammad Ali. He is considered the most influential jazz instrumentalist and vocalist, yet was often misunderstood by younger generations during his later years. Those highlights and controversies of Armstrong’s career are economically elucidated for young readers (sixth grade and up) in Michael Schuman’s Louis Armstrong: Jazz is Played from the Heart.

Given Armstrong’s role as an original jazz innovator, it is understandable that the book is weighted more heavily towards Armstrong’s early years in New Orleans and Chicago. Schuman starts with the fateful telegram from King Oliver that would bring Armstrong to Chicago, writing: “Jazz historians say that Armstrong’s life can be divided into two distinct periods: before he received Oliver’s telegram, and after he received the telegram.” (p. 11)

Schuman gives a straight forward factual account of the arc of Armstrong’s life (although Thomas Brothers’ Louis Armstrong’s New Orleans differs in some details of his childhood years, review forthcoming). If there is one deficiency, it is his treatment of Armstrong’s actual music. Schuman does explain Armstrong’s enormous vocal influence, if not actually inventing scatting during a performance of "Heebie Jeebies," as widely reported, than certainly popularizing and perfecting it. Yet there is little discussion of Armstrong’s groundbreaking role shaping the conception of the jazz solo.

On delicate issues, such as Armstrong’s use of “When It’s Sleep Time Down South,” Schuman is reasonably deft at explaining the controversy to young readers. Schuman explains: “To some, the lyrics celebrated the stereotypes white people had of African Americans,” while “To Armstrong, the song was simply the tale of a man like himself who left the South to make good in the North.” (p. 69) Later Schuman also explains the significance of Armstrong’s criticism of the Federal government’s slow response to the attempts to block Arkansas school integration, which for many would dispel their discomfort with the Armstrong of “Sleepy Time.”

It is certainly valuable to have a volume about a man of Armstrong’s stature available to students. However, it should be accompanied in school libraries by Armstrong’s recordings as well. Unless students hear “(What Did I Do to Be So) Black and Blue” and “Potato Head Blues” they will not truly understand or appreciate the Armstrong legacy.