Surprise! I’m stopping by for a visit because I have something to announce — my new e-book! Now you can see what I’ve been doing with myself since I stopped actively blogging a while back. It’s a project I’ve actually been working on for a long time, but I’ve now had the time to finish it and offer it to anyone who might find it interesting.
A couple of things. First, I’m not pretending to be an award-winning writer or anything. After all, any boob can publish an e-book (as I’m now proving). And second, I’ve never tried to sell anything here and I’m not pushing now. (The ads you might have occasionally noticed below the posts are not from me.) It’s priced at the minimum they would allow — 99 cents — and I only get a fraction of that, but if you’d like to buy it, great. If not, no problem.
It is, of course, derived from the 1500 posts that I’ve written over the past nine years, but it’s been edited and distilled down to mostly the nostalgia side of things, rather than the musical. More to the point, it’s filled with my personal memories of a specific time and place — middle America during the latter half of the twentieth century.
You can go to the Amazon listing by clicking on the book cover or HERE. (You can also get a free sample there.)
I’ve given this a lot of thought for some time now, and I’ve finally come to a decision. After nine years and 1500 posts, I’m ready to step back from all this for a while. I can’t say I won’t resurface at some point in the future, but for right now I’m going to call a halt. I’ve always promised that I wouldn’t leave you hanging by just stopping one day without letting you know first, so this is me doing that.
Maintaining a blog hovers somewhere between an enjoyable activity and a chore, and lately the needle keeps pointing closer and closer to the ‘chore’ side of the gauge. And after all, who willingly hangs on to a chore if they don’t have to?
I’m also running dry on ideas. As a sign of my desperation, I was recently thinking about combining one of our regular Special Features with a certain type of slideshow I’ve used in the past. But when I thought about the title — Saluting Silly Songs with a Silly Sign Slideshow — all those S’s reminded me of an especially sibilant snake, and a silly one at that. (Groan. Sorry.)
But let’s get on with it. I’m going on an indefinite hiatus, blog-wise, but I want to assure those folks who like to stop by from time to time, checking favorite posts or adding comments, that I will leave everything in place. And as far as I know, the good people at wordpress will leave it all active and usable for a long time to come. (Always remember, you can use the ‘search’ feature to find just about anything.)
One of the most unappreciated rockabilly artists of the 1950s was Johnny Carroll, a talented and magnetic performer who was in many ways reminiscent of his friend, the much more successful Gene Vincent. In fact, Carroll’s surge of popularity later in his career was partly due to his appreciation for Vincent’s music, along with his own determination. And even though he never enjoyed a major hit, many of his records became favorites for knowledgeable fans world-wide and he ended up in the Rockabilly Hall of Fame.
Born in rural Texas as John Lewis Carrell (later changed to Carroll because of a record label misprint), he began performing on local radio as a child, and by age fifteen was leading his own band. He was still in his teens in the mid-1950s when his growing radio success led to a record contract with Decca. Some of his early records, including “Crazy Crazy Loving” and “Wild Wild Women” were solid, as was “Hot Rock” (his band was named the Hot Rocks). Also, his on-screen performance in an otherwise forgettable teen-rock movie showcased his music — and his moves — but Decca didn’t renew his contract.
Carroll was then at Sun Records in Memphis for a while, bumping into guys like Elvis, Johnny Cash, and Jerry Lee Lewis, but still didn’t find much success in record sales. As the 1950s wound down he moved back to Dallas and signed with a new agent, the same one used by Gene Vincent, who was a little older than Carroll and had already enjoyed a hit record with his classic “Be-Bop-A-Lula.” It would mark a turning point for Carroll, who soon came out with what would be his most successful record, “The Swing,” which had echoes of Vincent’s style (along with some of the same musicians in the studio).
Even though he retained some popularity in Europe, Carroll’s career was pretty much stalled by the 1960s, but he remained friends with Vincent until the latter’s death in 1971. Even more significantly, the loss of his friend inspired him to later generate a new record on a tribute song, which somewhat revitalized Carroll’s career. He was able to find a lot of success in subsequent years by performing the same style of music, and at one point in the late 1970s also recorded a brand new album that he called Texabilly. He was just 57 when he died of liver failure in 1995.
Today’s featured song on the GMC Special Feature known as Fantastic Foursome is another with a strong connection to Fred Astaire. For a guy who always comes to mind first and foremost as a dancer, he had quite an impact in many other ways during his long career. In this case, he not only introduced the song in a memorable movie but also had a #1 hit record with it.
Irving Berlin wrote “Cheek to Cheek” for 1935’s Top Hat, one of Fred and Ginger’s best-known films. The song was nominated for an Academy Award, but lost the Oscar to “Lullaby of Broadway.” However, Astaire’s record of “Cheek To Cheek” climbed to the top of the music charts and stayed at the #1 spot for five weeks, and — in spite of missing out on the Oscar — would eventually land at the #15 spot on the AFI list of most memorable movie songs. And just for good measure, it would also eventually be inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame.
Of course, as the years passed the song was recorded by just about everybody, and some of the best are below. You can listen to each and then — if you like — vote for your favorite in the poll below the video.
Billie Holiday – Eydie & Steve – Frank Sinatra – Vic Damone
A while back I posted a piece about a pair of 1960’s combos with very similar names — Tornados and Tornadoes — but today it’s a different kind of name thing. If you’re at all interested in jazz, you might have run across a great saxophonist who worked with everybody from Ellington to Basie to Lawrence Welk and even led his own band for a while. But the funny thing is that even though most of what you see (including his own record albums) shows his name as Marshall Royal, it was actually Marshal — the extra ‘L’ just got added somewhere along the way.
Marshal Royal was born in Oklahoma, but mostly grew up in Los Angeles after his family moved there during the first World War. Both parents were skilled musicians and his father — Marshal Royal Sr. — was a music teacher and occasional bandleader, so Junior was given a good musical education. (As was his younger brother, Ernie, who would become a professional trumpeter.) By the late 1920s Royal was in his teens and was proficient on piano, violin, guitar, clarinet, and saxophone. He soon began working in nightclub bands and was just sixteen when he caught the eye of the Duke, whose orchestra was even then beginning its rise to fame. Although Ellington just needed him as a violinist for a special film occasion, it was the beginning of a lifelong friendship.
For most of the 1930s, Royal kept busy playing sax – and occasionally clarinet — in the Los Angeles area, mostly as a part of Les Hite’s popular regional band although he also spent some time with Art Tatum. As the decade ended he moved on to a spot with Lionel Hampton’s outfit but a couple of years later World War II came along, and Royal (and Ernie) became a part of one the US Navy’s bands for the duration. In the post-war years he again found plenty of work with bands like Eddie Heywood’s, but the 1950s began a two-decade period that would make his fame — becoming an important part of Count Basie’s big band.
Royal’s clean and clear alto sax sound led the way for the band, but he also took a vital leadership role in the group, becoming its musical director and a mentor to the younger players. It was a long and richly satisfying period, but he also found time to do some other things — his 1960 album with Gordon Jenkins was one of his best. When he finally returned to his home area of Los Angeles in the early 1970s he was ready to wind down a little and diversify. He spent most of his latter years working with a variety of other pros (yes, including Lawrence Welk) although he did lead a band of his own for a while in the 1980s. He continued working occasionally even into the 1990s, and was just a few days short of his 83rd birthday when he died in 1995.
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