Please note: this article dates to Old Time Blues’ first year and does not meet the standard of quality to which more recent postings are held. Thank you for your understanding.
At two o’clock in the morning, Sunday, March 13, 2016, most of us will be setting our clocks forward an hour for the beginning of daylight saving time. The practice first began in Europe in 1916, and the United States followed suit in 1918. There’s always been plenty of debate and debacle as to whether or not we should have it or not. I don’t care one way or the other, I’m just here to play good music, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do!
Victor 22723 was recorded May 26, 1931 at Victor’s Studio 2 in New York City by Maurice Chevalier backed by an orchestra conducted by Leonard Joy. Released as the economy was worsening, it sold 6,551 copies.
Forget about daylight saving time, Maurice Chevalier thinks “There Ought to Be a Moonlight Saving Time”.
There Ought to Be a Moonlight Saving Time, recorded May 26, 1931 by Maurice Chevalier.
On the reverse, Maurice wants your “keesses” “Right Now!”, and how!
Right Now!, recorded May 26, 1931 by Maurice Chevalier.
Leonard W. Joy, director of the High Hatters. From 1930 Victor catalog.
This is not a tremendously remarkable record. It’s not particularly uncommon, and there’s no really fascinating story behind it. What is remarkable is the quality of the music recorded on it. Played by the High Hatters, it is in my opinion one of the best dance band records of the 1920s.
The High Hatters were a Victor studio orchestra directed by Leonard Joy, an employee of Victor, much like Nat Shilkret. Joy directed a great number of bands for the company, including the Southerners, his All String Orchestra, and many uncredited bands backing musicians, but his most notable orchestra was certainly the High Hatters. The High Hatters are quite often cited as one of the finest dance bands of the late 1920s and early 1930s, a period that could arguably be considered as having the greatest dance bands overall. Please note that there were a number of other bands that also used the name “High Hatters”, such as Webster Moore’s High Hatters on the Columbia budget labels or Phil Hughes’ High Hatters on Perfect, but only the instances found on the Victor label are the band heard here, and even then, some from the 1930s were under a different director than Leonard Joy.
Victor 22146 was recorded October 9, 1929 in New York by the High Hatters conducted by Leonard Joy. The versatile Frank Luther sings the vocal on both sides, which feature a pair of DeSylva, Brown, and Henderson songs from the 1929 musical film Sunny Side Up, starring Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell.
I can’t remember exactly where I first heard this superb version of “I’m a Dreamer, Aren’t We All?”, I think it was part of a demonstration of a Victor Credenza Victrola, but I do remember that I was instantly entranced by its excellent arrangement, and you can imagine my pleasure when I turned up a copy of the disc at a store in Round Rock, Texas.
I’m a Dreamer, Aren’t We All?, recorded October 9, 1929 by the High Hatters.
On the reverse, they play “You’ve Got Me Pickin’ the Petals Off of Daisies”, another fine tune from Sunny Side Up, with a really nice banjo solo added to the mix.
You’ve Got Me Pickin’ Petals Off of Daisies, recorded October 9, 1929 by the High Hatters.
A few months ago, I was fortunate enough to uncover several of these single sided early Victor records at one of my regular haunts. Though they’re a little out of the scope of what I usually collect, they certainly are interesting, as they are all well over one hundred years old! Since they only have one side each, I thought it best to post two of them here at a time. These two are a pair of rags composed by Arthur Pryor and played by his military band.
Arthur Pryor, the trombone virtuoso, was one of Victor’s most popular artists around the turn of the century. He rose to prominence during the 1890s as a soloist with John Philip Sousa’s band, and took his first solo at the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago. Pryor left Sousa’s Band in 1902 and soon began his association with the Victor Talking Machine Company. During the 1900s and 1910s, Pryor’s Band was one of the most popular in the United States.
Dating these early records is not my strong suit, but going by the matrix number of B-793, and the apparent take number of 2, this copy Victor 4069 was recorded April 26, 1904, mostly likely in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. This record features Arthur Pryor’s famous composition (though its title would not be so acceptable today), “Coon Band Contest”. This one is, unfortunately, quite noisy, but not too shabby for a nearly 113 year old shellac disc!
Coon Band Contest, recorded April 26, 1904 by Arthur Pryor’s Band.
With the matrix B2818, it appears that Victor 4525 was recorded October 18, 1905, also in Philadelphia. This one features the rag tune “Razzazza Mazzazza”, and plays considerably better than the first disc. It’s pretty fun music, too!
Razzazza Mazzazza, recorded October 18, 1905 by Arthur Pryor’s Band.
Today, I eagerly present to you valued readers a record that stands out particularly in the annals of history (as well as in my collection), one of the unquestionably best of the one-hundred-and-some-odd songs recorded by America’s Blue Yodeler, Mr. Jimmie Rodgers: the very first recording of the classic country song “Mule Skinner Blues”.
An advertisement for Victor 23503 from a 1930 Victor promotional flyer.
Before delving into its history, I must digress to say that this record is something of a “holy grail” to me, it’s one I sought for a long, long time, and no tongue can tell the joy of finally having it in my grasp. I searched for what at least seemed like ages, until a nice copy finally appeared on eBay. I managed to win the auction, and after what seemed like an eternity, this one was delivered, albeit packed woefully inadequately. Thankfully, by what I can only describe as the grace of God, it made it into my possession safely in that thin LP mailer without the slightest damage—and boy is it a thing to behold.
Victor 23503 was recorded on the tenth and eleventh of July, 1930 in Hollywood, California, and released on January 16, 1931, in Victor’s 23500 series for “Old Familiar Tunes”. As designated by the small “o” above Nipper’s nose near the top of the labels, this copy was pressed at the Victor plant in Oakland, California. Several days later, while still in Hollywood, Jimmie recorded with Louis Armstrong, who was appearing at the time at Frank Sebastian’s New Cotton Club in Los Angeles. Jimmie was in exceptionally fine form at these Hollywood sessions, and they turned out to be quite productive, resulting in a total of fourteen sides cut between thirtieth of June and the sixteenth of July—plus the unusual and unreleased test recording of an Amos ‘n’ Andy style comedy sketch with one I.N. Bronson, titled “The Pullman Porters”.
In the latter of the two sessions, after warming up with the railroad ballad “The Mystery of Number Five” (Victor 23518), Jimmie cut the eighth installment in his series of thirteen “Blue Yodel” songs, “Blue Yodel No. 8 (Mule Skinner Blues)”, in only one take (though second and third takes were recorded, the first was released), with those being the only two sides he recorded that day. It was originally slated to be released as the ninth Blue Yodel song, with another being the eighth, but that recording was deemed inferior and held back until after Rodgers’ passing, at which time it was released as “Blue Yodel Number Eleven”.
Rodgers’ opening line, “Good mornin’, captain. Good mornin’, shine,” appeared two years earlier in Tom Dickson’s “Labor Blues” (Okeh 8570), though the rest of the song bears no resemblance to Rodgers’ Blue Yodel, lyrically or melodically. Whether Rodgers picked up the verse from Dickson’s song or elsewhere, I couldn’t say. This recording stands out as one of a relative few that Rodgers made during the later phase of his career to feature self-accompaniment on his own guitar (fewer than half of his recordings feature his own accompaniment, and the bulk of those were made prior to 1930), and his playing is at his finest, with a rare guitar solo midway through. The song was resurrected at the beginning of the next decade by Grand Ole Opry players Bill Monroe and Roy Acuff (separately), which in turn inspired many times subsequent covers. In 1955, Rodgers’ recording—along with a number of his other sides—was overdubbed with Hank Snow’s band and reissued in an effort to keep the music “up-to-date.” While remarkably tastefully executed, the re-do cut down Rodgers’ guitar solo significantly, supposedly because Chet Atkins—who led the band—could not figure it out. In later years, the song has been covered by numerous others in many different genres, such as the Fendermen’s rockabilly version.
In addition to being one of Jimmie’s most enduring songs, this number holds a special place in my heart as the song that introduced me to Jimmie Rodgers, and it has always been one of my favorites—if not my very favorite. I was first familiar with Dolly Parton’s 1970 recording, which was one of my favorites as a boy—when I first heard Jimmie yodeling it, boy, it was a whole other world! Not only did it spark my love for Rodgers’ music, but it was a major factor in starting me down the road of collecting 78 records. I could listen to it a million times and never tire.
Blue Yodel No. 8 (Mule Skinner Blues), recorded July 11, 1930 by Jimmie Rodgers.
On the “B” side, “Jimmie’s Mean Mama Blues”, recorded the previous day, Jimmie is accompanied by an outstandingly hot Hollywood-based five piece jazz band led by pianist Bob Sawyer, who co-wrote the tune with one Walter O’Neal. Another Rodgers classic, this tune was later covered by Bob Wills’ Texas Playboys in 1936, sung by Tommy Duncan. I love how the band stops playing during Jimmie’s first yodel, leaving just him and his guitar. We previously sampled Sawyer’s work with Carlyle Stevenson’s band five years prior to this.
Jimmie’s Mean Mama Blues, recorded July 10, 1930 by Jimmie Rodgers.
Updated with improved audio on June 20, 2017, and on July 10, 2017, May 31, 2019, and April 22. 2025.
Around February 13—the exact day and moment is uncertain—in 1925, the Kentucky spelunker Floyd Collins met his end in what is now called Sand Cave after being trapped there for about fourteen days. In early twentieth century Kentucky, many former farmers, disillusioned from their craft by the poor soil, took to exploring the extensive cave system beneath them, in hopes of creating a prosperous tourist attraction. Having discovered Crystal Cave in 1917, now part of Mammoth National Park, which lay on his family’s property, but attracted few tourists because of its remote location, Collins attempted to find an alternate, more convenient entrance. On January 30, 1925, Collins dug his way through the narrow passageways of Sand Cave, but became pinned there by a rock that had become wedged near his leg. Friends found him the next day, and a rescue effort was mounted. Digging a new tunnel to reach Collins, by the time the his would-be rescuers made it to the chamber where he was located, he was already dead from exposure. The attempted rescue of Floyd Collins created the third largest media sensation between the World Wars (the other two involved Lindbergh), and the first major news event to be covered on the radio. On Collins’ grave reads the epitaph, “Greatest Cave Explorer Ever Known.”
Victor 19779 was recorded September 9, 1925 in New York by Vernon Dalhart, accompanied on guitar by Carson Robison and violin by Lou Raderman. This issue was pulled from the Victor catalog several weeks after it was issued following complaints that Victor was profiting from the USS Shenandoah disaster, “Floyd Collins” was reissued on number 19821 the following month, paired with a different flip-side; apparently no one had a problem with profiting off Floyd Collins’ death.
On what was actually intended as the “B” side of this disc, but served as the “A” on the reissue, Vernon Dalhart sings Rev. Andrew Jenkins famous tribute, “Death of Floyd Collins”.
Death of Floyd Collins, recorded September 9, 1925 by Vernon Dalhart.
The flip-side, “Wreck of the Shenandoah”, refers to another major event that occurred in 1925, the crash of the USS Shenandoah, a US Navy airship (from those amazing science fiction-esque days when the Navy took to the sky). After embarking on a promotional tour of the Midwest, the airship crashed during a storm in Noble County, Ohio on September 3, 1925. Songwriter Maggie Andrews is, in fact, a pseudonymous Carson J. Robison.
Wreck of the Shenandoah, recorded September 9, 1925.
