The 1923 sessions by Joseph “King” Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band stand tall amongst the most important recordings in the history of music; they document significant strides in the evolution of jazz while marking the debut of a young cornetist, Louis Armstrong. Archeophone Records celebrates Oliver’s achievements and Armstrong’s arrival with the box set Centennial. Inside the sturdy slipcase are two LPs offering all 37 sides by the Oliver band and four CDs collecting the Oliver cuts plus 55 additional tracks. Completing the set is an informative 80-page hardback book and a 22” x 33” commemorative poster of the band. Best of all, the music has never sounded better. Centennial is available August 30.
Centennial is an essential purchase for any serious jazz maven for several reasons, but foremost in how it extends the life of these historically crucial recordings into a second century through increased audio clarity that minimizes the limitations of non-electrical recording, a process that was the standard for cutting shellac discs of the time (meaning no microphones were used) but not for long after.
First the Gennett label, followed by Okeh, Columbia, and Paramount in quick succession, had King Oliver’s band set up in front of a large horn, where they played as a master disc was cut. In the producer’s notes for Centennial, it is explained how the Creole Jazz Band’s recordings were subsequently praised for their innovations and diminished due to the poor recording quality, an audio reality that was only magnified by budget labels recurringly just dumping the music into the marketplace with little or no attempt to improve the sound quality.
To be fair, some efforts were made to better the sonics, and notably in this century by Off the Record, a Maryland label that released these 37 sides with improved quality as a 2CD set in 2007. Using the cleanest copies available, that collection was distributed in the US by Archeophone. But the more extensive endeavors by Richard Martin for Centennial are painstaking, beginning with great care in the conversion process before using declicking, decracking, and denoising technology. The results are revelatory.
However, some elaboration is in order. For starters, it’s never not been known that the Creole Jazz Band’s output of 1923 was the largest dose of undiluted jazz unleashed by one band onto the public via records up to that point. Those discs can be heard through a wall and the listener will know it is the byproduct of a hot, swinging aggregation.
To expand, the main attraction isn’t the young and already powerful Armstrong (though he sounds fine if distant in the “mix” by necessity). And although Oliver’s in reliably solid form (it’s a flat fact Centennial wouldn’t exist without him), the elder cornetist’s skills, if more frequently in the foreground as the bandleader, aren’t the primary reason the Creole Jazz Band’s music has endured.
The crucial thing is the inspired, often fiery ensemble play. Oliver and Armstrong do excel throughout, but it’s far from a bunch of scrubs that fill out the band; the instrumentalists for the first Gennett session in April are clarinetist Johnny Dodds, his drummer brother Baby Dodds (playing a scaled down kit for recording purposes), trombonist Honoré Dutrey, banjoist Bill Johnson, and Armstrong’s future wife, pianist Lillian Hardin.
Players do depart the band, occasionally to return; the constants are Oliver (of course) and Armstrong, plus Hardin and Baby Dodds. Notable replacements and additions include Johnny St. Cyr on banjo and in a return session for Gennett in October, the C-melody saxophone of Stump Evans and the bass sax of Charlie Jackson (assumedly, as Jackson plays the instrument during a session for Okeh later in the month).
Over the years, there has been some disparagement of the addition of saxophones as lessening the impact of the core band, but that’s debatable, or at least it overlooks a major point; the presence of Evans and Jackson underscores that Oliver was listening and adapting as he innovated (and note that Oliver had saxophonist David Jones in his band during a visit to San Francisco in 1921).
Oliver’s music was birthed in New Orleans but honed on bandstands in Chicago. With the arrival of Armstrong, who’d gained key experience playing on a Mississippi Riverboat in Fate Marable’s Orchestra, the final piece was in place before they arrived at Gennett Records in Richmond, Indiana. They made those recordings because the music was popular with crowds, and as the leader of a working band, Oliver was constantly listening to his competition. Most assuredly, they were also listening to him.
The booming record industry intensified this dialogue, with these interactions expanded upon in Centennial’s fourth disc. Titled Joe’s Jazz Kingdom, it corrals a selection of jazz recordings from the era, spotlighting canonical bands like Paul Whiteman and His Ambassador Orchestra, the Original Dixieland Jazz Band, Kid Ory’s Sunshine Orchestra, Jelly Roll Morton’s Jazz Band, and Fletcher Henderson Club Alabam Orchestra with Coleman Hawkins on clarinet and tenor saxophone.
Adding to the sequence are bands lesser known but still major such as Johnny Dunn’s Original Jazz Hounds, the Original Memphis Five with trombonist Miff Mole, the Clarence Williams’ Trio featuring soprano saxophonist Sidney Bechet backing vocalist Eva Taylor, Ollie Moore’s Harmony Syncopators, and Thomas Morris’ Past Jazz Masters with pianist Willie “The Lion” Smith and cornetist Bubber Miley (soon to join Duke Ellington) in the group.
There are also a few tantalizing obscurities (Levy’s Trio, the Greenwich Village Orchestra, Ernest Stevens’ Dance Orchestra with a young Red Nichols on cornet) plus the bands of singers Mamie Smith and Ethel Waters cutting instrumental workouts on “Royal Garden Blues” (a Clarence Williams composition directly referencing the Chicago locale where King Oliver’s band held court) and “Frisco Jazz Band Blues,” respectively. These last two titles reinforce the prevalence of blues in the equation, as 14 of the 26 tracks on disc four are titled as blues numbers.
Armstrong was also an avid listener, soaking up a broad range of popular music of the time, from minstrelsy to military bands to proto-country music to comedy records. Vocalists were fundamental to the scheme, with the singers spanning from Bert Williams to the Operatic stylings of Enrico Caruso and Luisa Tetrazzini.
Centennial’s third disc, Louis’ Record Collection, pulls off a few slick tricks. First, it shows how Armstrong expanded the scope of his musical influences through records and was also something of an obsessive collector; frankly, it’s difficult to describe a guy who recorded his collection to reel-to-reel tape and with commentary as anything other than an obsessive collector, and make no mistake, this is a wonderful (and historically valuable) thing.
Second, disc three sets the foundation for Armstrong’s subsequent artistic growth, as Centennial firmly establishes him as the second cornetist in Oliver’s band, where he displayed flashes of his eventual brilliance as a groundbreaking soloist. Alongside his masterful technique, the roots of Armstrong as a vocalist and humorist to come (a full-blown entertainer) are right here on disc three.
Third, the outstanding notes by Ricky Riccardi (Director of Research Collections at the Louis Armstrong House Museum in Corona, Queens, New York and the author of two books on Armstrong) additionally illuminate Armstrong innovations, e.g. how he smoothly and stealthily transmogrified the operatic vocalizing of Amelita Galli-Curci, heard here in “Quartet—Bella figlia dell’ amore (from Rigoletto)” into elements in later jazz recordings; Riccardi specifically cites Johnny Dodds’ 1927 recording of “New Orleans Stomp” and Armstrong’s 1935 recording of “Thanks a Million.”
The notes also describe in detail how, for a brief period, Oliver was able to use Armstrong to his advantage in a two-cornet band by keeping him in check through limited solo space (and room placement while recording), though none of this would have been possible without Armstrong’s respectful affection for Oliver as a man and his near worship of him as a player (even as it was obvious that Oliver’s skills were weakening and Armstrong was ready to creatively explode).
To make clear how underrated the Creole Jazz Band’s material is in comparison to Armstrong’s Hot Fives and Sevens, please consider that The Smithsonian Collection of Classic Jazz includes only one track, “Dipper Mouth Blues” from the band on side one of the box set while making space for five consecutive Fives/Sevens recordings on side two. Now, making more room for Armstrong was a wholly appropriate decision, but the inclusion of only a single cut by Oliver registers as a bit harsh in retrospect, especially as Centennial’s first two discs offer so many high points.
Yes, that means “Dipper Mouth Blues” (with Bill Johnson demanding that Baby Dodds “play that thing”) leading off disc one, but also the peerless ensemble play of “Weather Bird Rag,” “Just Gone,” and “Canal Street Blues,” plus the Hardin spotlight “I’m Going Away to Wear You Off My Mind,” all from the same April Gennett session. Other highlights from that initial date include “Chimes Blues” and “Snake Rag,” the latter also recorded in a no less worthy version as part of the band’s next session for Okeh.
Other standouts include “Alligator Hop,” “Zulus Ball,” and the first version of “Workingman’s Blues” as the saxophones come in with more clarity than ever before, “Chattanooga Stomp” and “New Orleans Stomp” from the first Columbia session, take two of “The Southern Stomps” from the band’s only Paramount date and “Camp Meeting Blues” from the return engagement with Columbia. For a taste of Armstrong at his early best, check “Tears” and “Buddy’s Habit” mid-way through disc two; on the later, Armstrong delivers a strong showing on the slide trumpet (aka the slide whistle).
But really, everything heard on this set is indispensable to an understanding and full appreciation of early jazz. It coheres into exquisite listening (yes, even discs three and four). King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band was simply a powerhouse of inventiveness. In a year of outstanding jazz reissues (but hey, aren’t they all?) Centennial will be hard to top.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A+
