[Portrait of Duke Ellington and Junior Raglin, Howard Theater(?), Washington, D.C., between 1938 and 1948] (LOC) by The Library of Congress on Flickr.
Happy Birthday Edward Kennedy Ellington! 113 years ago yesterday, Duke was born, and the world has not been the same since.

[Portrait of Duke Ellington and Junior Raglin, Howard Theater(?), Washington, D.C., between 1938 and 1948] (LOC) by The Library of Congress on Flickr.

Happy Birthday Edward Kennedy Ellington! 113 years ago yesterday, Duke was born, and the world has not been the same since.

Chick Webb, Artie Shaw, & Duke Ellington
(via Gunslinger)

Chick Webb, Artie Shaw, & Duke Ellington

(via Gunslinger)

Five great tracks about taboo booze from A Blog Supreme:

It’s easy to romanticize or oversimplify the relationship between jazz and Prohibition, but the banning of alcohol and the subsequent rise of speakeasies clearly played a role in the music’s evolution during its early days. Jazz musicians found ample employment opportunities in the numerous new nightclubs, formed friendships with gangsters (who were sometimes their biggest fans and occasionally their foes or protectors), and benefited from vital scenes that flourished in cities rife with corruption. For better or worse, the Prohibition years also stigmatized jazz with a mark of transgression, which for many only enhanced the music’s sense of authenticity and excitement.

It wasn’t just Prohibition that helped spur jazz’s popularity; the 1920s were a period of profound transformation in American life. The nation’s population continued to shift from rural areas to cities, and more and more people embraced the automobile as a new and independent mode of transportation. At the same time, the template for our modern media culture began to form, with phonographs, radio and talking pictures connecting Americans through an increasingly electronic network of sound. Jazz caught the buzz, in more ways than one. With filmmaker Ken Burns’ three-part Prohibition documentary on tap for PBS starting Oct. 2, here are five sides for imbibing the high-and-not-so-dry spirits of the age.

Peggy Lee, Sarah Vaughan, Aretha Franklin, & Roberta Flack sing “Duke Ellington… We Love You Madly”

NPR Song of the Day:

The cool chime of a vibraphone ushers in a slinky, minor-key, chromatic vocal run. High-pitched female vocals, including those of Nikka Costa, chime in: “L.A., giving me the blues again / I ain’t leavin’, I ain’t never comin’ back again.” Then the lead singer enters the scene, his voice lazy and languid. Toggling between tenor and falsetto, he confesses to drinking sake, “rolling black chicks and blondes,” and seeing a sky white with snow in the summer. This is not a straitlaced guy.

The song, with John Bigham on vocals, is “New York to L.A.,” featured on the The Soul of John Black’s new album Good Thang. But the roots of this particular number extend all the way back to the jazz age. You’ll hear a trio of clarinets and a muted trumpet play the same seductive opening riff in Duke Ellington’s classic instrumental, “The Mooche.”

Co-writers Bigham and Christopher Thomas aimed to capture the sass and class of Ellington’s 1920s composition. They also time-travel to a mid-’70s funk club, courtesy of Bigham’s bluesy guitar and a fuzzy Fender Rhodes.

Inspired by a late-night Twitter conversation with @TheSwingDJ over the weekend.


In the middle Thirties, someone at LIFE Magazine thought  of sending a reporter and cameraman to parties, perhaps in an attempt to  offset grim news in Europe and at home, and the phrase “LIFE Goes To A Party” grew familiar — so much so that it became the title of a  riffing original by Harry James, played by Benny Goodman at the 1938  Carnegie Hall concert.  Now, we’d call this  phenomenon ”cross-marketing,” but the music remains.
Sister Rosetta Tharpe, gospel-jazz singer and guitarist, is at the  piano, her white headband gleaming, her back to us.  To her right,  in profile, is Duke, working out something on Rosetta’s guitar.  Behind  Duke and to his right is Johnny Hodges, his face shadowy, his expression  typically stony.  Along the back of the room are people not holding  instruments: Hubbell Young and a woman in black; Young pensive, the  woman more animated.  In front of them, the French guest drains the last  drops from his soda or beer bottle.  In the middle, cornetist Rex  Stewart seems to aim his cornet at the back of Harry Lim’s head; behind  them, Eddie Condon (without guitar) seems to be grinning at something  tenor saxophonist Chu Berry has just played.  The host, Burris Jenkins,  holds his hands up in a telling gesture: is it “Too loud, for God’s  sake”? or perhaps “I surrender, dear”? or even “All of you — get out of  here now!”? To Chu’s right  are two members of the ensemble named by Phyllis Condon — the Summa Cum  Laude orchestra: bassist Clyde Newcombe and trumpeter Max Kaminsky, the  shadows from trombonist J.C. Higginbotham’s horn are traced on Max’s  face.  Bent backwards with the intensity he always brought to playing is  Hot Lips Page; in the middle of the swirling mass of sound is Cozy  Cole.  

(via the always-amazing Jazz Lives)

In the middle Thirties, someone at LIFE Magazine thought of sending a reporter and cameraman to parties, perhaps in an attempt to offset grim news in Europe and at home, and the phrase “LIFE Goes To A Party” grew familiar — so much so that it became the title of a riffing original by Harry James, played by Benny Goodman at the 1938 Carnegie Hall concert.  Now, we’d call this phenomenon ”cross-marketing,” but the music remains.

Sister Rosetta Tharpe, gospel-jazz singer and guitarist, is at the piano, her white headband gleaming, her back to us.  To her right, in profile, is Duke, working out something on Rosetta’s guitar.  Behind Duke and to his right is Johnny Hodges, his face shadowy, his expression typically stony.  Along the back of the room are people not holding instruments: Hubbell Young and a woman in black; Young pensive, the woman more animated.  In front of them, the French guest drains the last drops from his soda or beer bottle.  In the middle, cornetist Rex Stewart seems to aim his cornet at the back of Harry Lim’s head; behind them, Eddie Condon (without guitar) seems to be grinning at something tenor saxophonist Chu Berry has just played.  The host, Burris Jenkins, holds his hands up in a telling gesture: is it “Too loud, for God’s sake”? or perhaps “I surrender, dear”? or even “All of you — get out of here now!”? To Chu’s right are two members of the ensemble named by Phyllis Condon — the Summa Cum Laude orchestra: bassist Clyde Newcombe and trumpeter Max Kaminsky, the shadows from trombonist J.C. Higginbotham’s horn are traced on Max’s face.  Bent backwards with the intensity he always brought to playing is Hot Lips Page; in the middle of the swirling mass of sound is Cozy Cole.  

(via the always-amazing Jazz Lives)