Anwesende: Thomas

Motto: “2012 ist JETZT!”

Das hat heute mit einer Weltuntergangsstimmung begonnen….. aber 2012 geht ja eh die Welt unter! Und das ist HEUTE, wenn wir uns verrechnet hätten!

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Musik von: John Coltrane, Hugh Masekela, mElek Bacsik, Count Basie, Yusef lateef, Dave Brubeck, Pink Turtle, Elder Richard Byrant’s Sanct. Singers, Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis, Chet Baker & Stan Getz

This month TaylorSpearsRecommends brings you an eclectic collection of holiday favorites (and some not so holiday-ish favorites too!). On the list is Kermit Ruffins, Count Basie, Harry Connick, Jr., Jeremy Davenport, Louis Armstrong, Wynton Marsalis, Sting, Sugarland, Carrie Underwood & Los Lonely Boys.

I’ll guide you the right gift for everyone on your list! There’s some great deals out there in November, so don’t delay, start your gift buying today!

My title comes from a 1939 Count Basie Decca record featuring sweet Helen Humes, wondrous Lester Young, odd lyrics, and a difficult arrangement that Jo Jones said that gave the band trouble.  But this post is about the DARK RAPTURE found Sunday nights at the Ear Inn (326 Spring Street, 8-11 PM) when Jon-Erik Kellso and Matt Munisteri (or their friends) co-lead The EarRegulars.  Last night was an extra-special quartet: Jon-Erik and Matt, tenor saxophonist Harry Allen, bassist Neal Miner.  And the Ear is very dark, the jazz often rapturous.  Here are three performances by this intimate, intuitive group. each player visibly and audibly inspiring the others.   

After a trotting Buck Clayton blues, SWINGIN’ AT THE COPPER RAIL, Jon-Erik suggested a song by another trumpet player named Louis, SOMEDAY YOU’LL BE SORRY, at a bouncing tempo:

One of the great virtue of the EarRegulars is their broad and deep repertoire: they know many songs that aren’t SATIN DOLL.  Matt loves to play TISHOMINGO BLUES, and Jon-Erik likes LOUISIANA, AIN’T CHA GLAD? and HAPPY FEET — the latter associated with Bing Crosby and the Rhythm Boys, but recorded most memorably by the 1933 Fletcher Henderson band (the magical group with Henry “Red” Allen, Dicky Wells, Coleman Hawkins, Hilton Jefferson, and Walter Johnson).  It’s one of those songs that, played properly, rocks by itself.  (Incidentally, must I point out that it has nothing to do with a recent animated film about penguins?):

And the last few days in New York (or perhaps the Northeast) have been atypically warm and balmy — so Jon-Erik said, “We really have to play INDIAN SUMMER,” and they did, beautifully:

(I stopped recording at ten minutes — attempting to placate YouTube — so that viewers must imagine a few more notes of the coda.)

Such music makes the darkness shine!

Although I have tried to hear all the recordings Teddy Wilson ever made over more than half a century, the man himself was harder to find.  True, I did hear him in person several times at Newport Jazz Festival concerts in New York City, once at the Highlights in Jazz concert series, at The New School (alongside Claude Hopkins, Dill Jones, and Eubie Blake!), and once at a shopping mall, Roosevelt Field, where, in the winter of 1971, he was one of four or so jazz performers who had hour-long gigs among the shoppers.  (I recall that one other group was Roy Eldridge, an organist whose name I can’t recall, and the recently departed Eddie Locke; another was Joe Farrell, Wilbur Little, and Elvin Jones.  My friend Stu Zimny was there, too, and might have driven the car as well.)  Wilson brought with him the veteran bassist Al Lucas and drummer Gary Mure, son of the guitarist Billy Mure — if I remember correctly.  In his perfformance, Wilson did what had, by that time, become an “act”: his Benny Goodman medley, his Gershwin medley, his Fats Waller medley, his Count Basie medley — glistening but routine.  

I was a terribly earnest jazz-mad college student; one of my most precious records was the 1956 PRES AND TEDDY, reuniting Lester Young, Teddy, Gene Ramey, and Jo Jones.  After the concert was over, I stood by the piano, waiting patiently until some of the fans and hand-shakers had dispersed (perhaps some of them were telling how much they remembered Teddy’s work with the Benny Goodman Trio in 1935).  I shyly came up to Wilson, told him how much I admired his work and how much I loved this recording and would he sign it for me (all in one breath), and he gave me the faintest hint of a polite smile, said, “Thank you very much,” signed his name neatly and handed the record back to me.  And that was it.  

The photograph at the top of the page — with Teddy, Lester, and Jo — comes from that session, I believe. 

In retrospect, Teddy’s reticence makes a good deal of sense.  Playing music for shoppers can’t have been good for the psyche: Wilson logically would want to have collected his fee and gone home.  And he was perfectly polite: I just had the sense that talking to fans was alien, that I had unwittingly attempted to breach his privacy, the door had opened a crack and had closed quickly and decisively. 

I was reminded of this experience today in my small expedition to the New York State Library for the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center. 

As someone whose fact-chasing predates the internet — I like doing research in libraries.  I’ve spent a good deal of my life in the stacks, or in Special Collections, or in handling one-of-a-kind documents (while protective librarians usually come up behind me and hiss that I am NOT to put my elbow on the page). 

Which brngs us back to Teddy Wilson.  Years ago, I found a 10″ lp on the Jolly roger label in a second-hand store (price four dollars) of his solo performances of songs I had never heard before — among them WHEN YOU AND I WERE YOUNG, MAGGIE — which I bought, clutching my treasure until the moment I could put it on the phonograph.  The solos were new to me, and they were splendid, including a version of I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS which had a sweet little descending figure in the bass after the first statement of the title phrase. 

Eventually I learned that these 1938-39 performances were part of a business enterprise called THE TEDDY WILSON SCHOOL FOR PIANISTS.  I don’t think Wilson was terribly ambitious, but he was looking for ways to capitalize on the fame and recognition his work with Goodman and Holiday had brought him in the second half of the Thirties.  And someone (was it Wilson?) suggested that he could set up a correspondence course for the young men and women who wanted to play in the Wilson manner.  Leo Feist and other music publishers had tried to capitalize on this by selling music books of Waller, Tatum, James P., and other pianists’ transcribed solos — how accurate the transcriptions were is always open to dispute.  Wilson’s “school” was different in one crucial aspect: at the end of his Brunswick sessions, he would record one or two solos, which would be pressed as 78 records with the SCHOOL label and sold through the mail, as well as transcriptions of what had been played.  Theoretically, the student could follow along — hearing the record and reading the score — to know exactly what Wilson was doing. 

In his oral history, TEDDY WILSON TALKS JAZZ, Wilson recalled this about the experience (an excerpt I found at www.doctorjazz.co.uk., a thrilling site for anyone interested in piano jazz and jazz arcana of the highest order):

I have done quite a bit of private teaching in my life, too, and the young people I’ve had as pupils have always been between sixteen and twenty years of age. At one time I had my own school in New York, “The Teddy Wilson School for Pianists,” from 1936 to 1939, with three excellent partners, and we turned out some very good students. J. Lawrence Cook was my chief assistant there and he was great on the theoretical side of the jazz piano and shaped the printed courses we had, containing sheet music of my improvisations on popular melodies. They proved very successful in teaching by mail. However, I had to give it up in the end because costs just kept soaring. Advertising and copyright payments were heavy items, especially as the latter were always for very popular songs. The other partners in my school were Eve Ross and Teddy Cassola. Their contribution rounded out the work done by the [sic] Cook and me. My having to be away traveling and performing so much of time led some to believe I only “fronted” the school. Not so. I was completely involved. [TW 110-111]

I have never seen an original SCHOOL 78, although a vinyl issue on one of Jerry Valburn’s collectors’ labels — probably Meritt — collected all the issued and alternate takes from this series, and I have it — a prize!  And later the SCHOOL recordings were issued chronologically on the Classics and Neatwork CDs.  (The Commodore Music Shop was involved in this project as well, so I think that the music was first “officially” reissued on the first Mosaic Commodore box set.

But ever since I’ve had a computer, I’ve been checking Google for the scores themselves.  I am a sub-amateur pianist, but I harbor the hope that if I had a Wilson score in front of me, something placid, not TIGER RAG, then perhaps I could spend a winter working my way through thirty-two bars.  (I have the “Teddy Wilson” music books from the Thirties and Forties, but don’t trust them.)

Nothing emerged in cyberspace until a year or so ago, when I found that the Performing Arts Library (in the Lincoln Center complex) had an entry for the scores.  It seems that an American composer-pianist-arranger named Brainerd Kremer left his papers to the library, and in one of the boxes he had a set of the Wilson School scores. 

I filed this information away in the back of my mind until today, when I found myself with several hours of free time twenty blocks north of Lincoln Center, and set out, a brave researcher in search of the jazz Grail. 

The quest required a series of small perseverances on my part, taking me from one floor of the library to the other.  I hadn’t had a New York Public Library card for nearly fifteen years, so I had to reapply for one (simple and pleasant), had to log onto their system and find my way (reasonably simple), had to explain myself to the reference librarian (easy and quite pleasant) and then take my slip of paper to the third-floor Special Collections print department, hand it in, and wait for my number — 24 — to be displayed on the indicator above.  They were both busy and understaffed, so the ten minutes I had been told it would take turned out to be more like thirty-five, but then 24 was visible and I approached the desk.  The pleasant young woman had nothing in her hands but a piece of paper, always a bad sign, and she politely told me that they could not find what I was asking for, but that I should give them my name, phone, and email, and they would call me in a week if they found it. 

I hope they do, even if I have to buy a pad of music staff paper and start copying (for nothing so simple as photocopying happens without labyrinthine restrictions in most Special Collections) but I’m not optimistic.  Do any of my readers have a copy of the Wilson scores they wouldn’t mind lending me?  Or any good suggestions?  I need to learn how to play I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS as Teddy did.  I know this.  And I would hate to think that the elusive Mr. Wilson had eluded me after death in the library, too.

Moten Swing by Count Basie. I love this track for some odd reason. It’s soothing.

De Frank Sinatra à Bruce Springsteen en passant par Count Basie ou Bon Jovi, pourquoi le New Jersey a-t-il vu naître tant d’artistes de renom ?

L’écrivain Junot Diaz, lauréat du Prix Pulitzer, qui a passé son enfance à Sayresville (localité où ont eu lieu plusieurs concerts Light of day), donne sa réponse dans une passionnante intervention au Bergen University College, recueillie par le Star-Ledger, grand quotidien du New Jersey.

Pour lui, le New Jersey, coincé entre New York et Philadelphie, est la “quintessence de l’autre part“. Il fait partie de ces marges toujours propices à la création artistique.

L’intervention de Junot Diaz est à lire et visionner en cliquant ici.

The American novelist William Maxwell (1908-2000), who wrote searchingly and lovingly about his Illinois childhood, told an interviewer late in life that if people didn’t write down what they remembered, so many beautiful things would vanish forever. 

Maxwell was right, and I am reminded of this now more than ever before.

One of the Beloved’s friends has endured the deaths of her parents, both in their early nineties, in the past year.  I met her parents twice.  They had been political activists in the Thirties; the husband, a writer, had worked with Langston Hughes.  When they heard that I was immersed in the jazz of their era, they — in turn — became happily animated.  They had been to Cafe Society; they had heard Billie Holiday and Fats Waller frequently; they had particularly loved a pianist who played on Fifty-Second Street but couldn’t immediately call his name to mind.  (He was Clarence Profit.)  They had been at the 1941 Count Basie recording session when Paul Robeson tried to sing Richard Wright’s blues in praise of Joe Louis, KING JOE.

Each of these comments seemed to me like a doorway into the miraculous past: people stting in the same room had been there.  They had seen my heroes; they might have magical narratives to share. 

Of course, they no longer remembered any details.  Robeson had had a hard time; the clubs on Fifty-Second Street had been a  great pleasure; they beamed as we exchanged the magic names.  I had come too late.  And they took their stories with them.

I urge my readers to ask questions of the Elders of the Tribe.  The Elders don’t have to be musicians; they can be someone’s aunt, who owned a candy store where Ellington would buy cigarettes.  Or we ourselves can be the Elders, contributing our own memories before they — and we — vanish.  I never saw Clarence Profit, but I did see Bobby Hackett indicating to the band the tempo he wanted for the next number by clicking his tuning slide back and forth in time.  Having written that down, I have hopes that it has a less evanescent existence. 

What do you remember?

One of the best of the many “ghost” bands that have operated through the years would have to be that of Count Basie. Although he died over twenty years ago, the Count Basie Orchestra — or the CBO, as it calls itself (complete with a nifty logo that pictures all the group’s members) — has pretty much been a continuous force in jazz. Under the direction of Bill Hughes in recent years, it has performed with stars like Tony Bennett and has consistently topped jazz polls while winning countless Grammys and other awards.

For the CBO’s newest album, Swinging, Singing, Playing — now out on the Mack Avenue label — Hughes has handed over the baton to Dennis Wilson, who at one time played trombone for the Count. The veteran arranger/conductor also acts as co-producer (along with Al Pryor) on a collection of tunes that is described as a “salute to the jazz masters”.

Three years ago I reviewed a new album featuring the CBO, but it was a very different animal. Ray Sings, Basie Swings was a musical composite that was created by combining some old Ray Charles tapes with modern sessions from the CBO. This time around the orchestra and its many guest stars are all captured in new studio sessions. Guests include instrumentalists like flutist Frank Wess and trumpeter Scotty Barnhart, and a number of talented vocalists too. Those range from the well-established, such as the Manhattan Transfer’s Janis Siegel, to the newer sounds of Nnenna Freelon.

The eleven tracks on the album are mostly vocal standards, reflecting the intent of the album to salute the past, but a few of Wilson’s own newer compositions are included. Among those mostly instrumental, mostly bluesy pieces (in fact, 3 of the 4 have “blues” in the title) are some nice listens. I enjoyed the talented keyboard work of guest artist Geri Allen on “Giant Blues Flag Waver,” and especially appreciated Barnhart’s trumpet on the lush “Dark Morning.”

Among the standards my favorite was probably “Like Young,” a Previn/Webster classic that allows Siegel to strut her stuff, although she’s also good on the soft and mellow “I Have Waited So Long.” Freelon’s efforts were enthusiastic, especially on the lively “Too Close For Comfort,” but a little uneven.

Other guest artists not already mentioned include Jon Hendricks and Jamie Cullum on vocals (with Cullum also providing some keyboard work), along with Curtis Fuller on trombone, Hank Jones on piano, Mark McClean and Butch Miles on drums, and Rufus Reid on bass. All that talent added to what was already a solid, veteran jazz orchestra is a can’t miss proposition for jazz lovers. Recommended.

It was Friday night at Jazz at Chautauqua — September 2009.  The crowd was still working on their late dinners and drinks, chatting with the people they hadn’t seen since last year, when Marty Grosz and his Esteemed Esthetes of Swing (my name, not his) took the stand in the Athenaeum ballroom.  Before he began one of the performances, he took a long time scat-singing the tempo he wanted, and when someone must have looked quizzically at him, he said, earnestly, “It’s the groove.  Gotta find that groove!” which the band did, as the four performances that follow will show.  The distinguished participants: Duke Heitger, Bob Havens, Dan Block, Keith Ingham, Vince Giordano, and Arnie Kinsella.

They began (Marty’s vocal nearly obscured by the crowd chatter) with Bill Robinson’s DOIN’ THE NEW LOW DOWN, resulting in many dancing feet in the audience, although everyone as far as I know remained seated:

Next, an Isham Jones composition, which begins in the best Castillian manner, recalling the Bob Crosby Bobcats, SPAIN:

In memory of Louis Armstrong, J. C. Higginbotham, and Sidney Catlett, Marty suggested I DOUBLE DARE YOU:

Finally, a medium-tempo exploration of one of the oldest of the Old Favorites, BABY WON’T YOU PLEASE COME HOME?

Everything that enlightened jazz listeners could want: hot solos, keen tunes, singing that harks back to Fats and Red McKenzie, a Basie rhythm-section passage, an eloquent bass sax solo, head arrangements and more.  Stirring stuff, no?

Toen ik een tiener was ontdekte ik een concertopname van Frank Sinatra uit de jaren ’60, met het orkest van Count Basie. ‘Live at the Sands’, of zoiets. Prachtige plaat. Dat Count Basie orkest swingt als een trein, en Frankie Boy zingt de pannen van het dak. Ook vertelt hij tijdens dat concert flauwe grappen over Dean Martin en Sammy David Jr die ik niet helemaal begreep, en dat droeg op de een of andere manier bij aan de magie.

Dat ik Frank Sinatra, en die plaat, erg leuk vond, daar durfde ik best voor uit te komen. En als ik de gelegenheid kreeg wilde ik op feestjes weleens een lied van Sinatra opzetten. Of iets van Ella Fitzgerald, dat ging qua stijl in één moeite door. Het is niet dat ik ongevoelig was voor ‘peer pressure’ (in die tijd was het verantwoord om van Depeche Mode, Tears for Fears en dergelijke te houden); ik vond de stijlbreuk die ik propageerde wel ludiek, en stiekum ook erg cool.

Dit werd mij onlangs ook bevestigd door een oude studievriend, maar op een andere manier dan ik mij had voorgesteld. Deze jongen vertelde mij nadat ik hem vijftien jaar niet had gezien: ‘ik had erge bewondering voor je, omdat je zonder schaamte er voor uitkwam dat je van die enorm suffe muziek hield.’ Ahem. Reuzecool natuurlijk, achteraf beschouwd…

 “Jazz music is to be played sweet.  Soft, plenty rhythm.  When you have your plenty rhythm with your plenty swing it becomes beautiful.” 

I was thinking about Jelly Roll Morton’s famous comment while listening to some new compact discs by well-known improvisers.  I would like every improvising musician to commit Morton’s Law to memory, and these codicils as well:

Loud is only good if you also know how to play softly.  Imitate Jo Jones. 

“As fast as you can” is only permitted to those players who can play music at a stately pace — and not just the opening two choruses of a ballad that is then abruptly changed into double-time.  Internalize Ben Webster and Bobby Hackett.

It takes a good deal of courage to be concise.  Are all those notes necessary?  Study Jimmy Rowles.

The spaces between phrases are as important as the phrases themselves.  Consider Count Basie. 

A solo should be more than a string of glittering phrases, or a series of Special Effects.  A beautiful melody, played with the proper emotion, might be more satisfying than the most ornate elaborations on it.  Recall Benny Morton.

If the crowd applauds a performance, do they know why?  And should they have done so?  Ask Henry “Red” Thoreau.

September 17, 1944
St. Petersburg Times

Hot Jazz Music Of Past Is Now Being Recorded

"Dill Pickles Rag" - Click image to see all available merchandise with this design from Vix Gallery!

Taking heed of the “skyrocketing” demand for the old, hot jazz classics and the “inflationary” prices that are being bid for them, is the startling announcement from the Columbia Recording corporation, Bridgeport, that they have scheduled for production this month, ALL of their hot jazz, boogie woogie and “swing” albums—call them what you will—to be made available to record collectors throughout the country!

Columbia’s decision to re-ress all the famous albums in huge quantity was based upon an avalanche of requests from hot jazz publications, reviewers, critics of le jazz hot, record fans and dealers.  For some time now, Columbia has been carrying in their popular catalogue, albums made by almost every famous jazz artist, including Eddie South,* Louis Armstrong,** Earl Hines,*** Duke Ellington, Frank Teschemacher, Bix Beiderbecke,^ Fletcher Henderson, the Dorsey Brothers, Teddy Wilson,^^ Billie Holiday^^ and many others—all of which have been unavailable for the past several years due to manpower shortage and limited production.

With the exception of the new releases, both Popular, OKeh and Masterworks, the Columbia army of pressmen will be doing nothing else during September and part of October, but pressing hot jazz records and albums.

Since the last hot jazz albums were released a few years ago by Columbia (Count Basie’s “Blues by Basie” was recently released two months ago), these items became “gold” in their owners’ hands and attracted bids running as high as $10 to $25 for the single record alone.  Spectacular bidding naturally followed—and an inflation of price for the hot jazz records was the result.  Where a hot jazz album such as the Bix Beiderbecke album might have brought in an approximate $50, the soon-to-be-pressed Columbia album will sell for the regular OPA price for the four records and the album!

*Eddie South and His Alabamians – That’s What I Call Keen – 1928

**Louis Armstrong – Jazz Lips – 1921

***Earl Hines – I Ain’t Got Nobody – 1920?

^Bix Beiderbecke – Chicago Blues – 1925  (see foot note below)

^^Teddy Wilson & His Orchestra + Billie Holiday – “Miss Brown to You” – Date Unknown

I was just informed that the date on the Bix Beiderbecke’s link is wrong, and that this version of Chicago Blues was not recorded by Bix.  (See comments below.)  However, I shall leave the link up, along with this information.  I would also like to add a link, so for those who would like to know more about Bix Beiderbecke, click here. 

The riddle of the Andrews Sisters’ recording contract is still unsolved.  The girls have split professionally, but Decca has a contract binding them individually as well as in the trio form.  Patti Andrews, currently crooning on her own, is a valuable property, but no word from Decca on whether they’ll record her by herself.    (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)

Bette Davis and family were in the path of hurricane Carol as it swept through New England and with trees falling and home threatened, they had to vacate in a hurry.  We don’t have hurricanes in California—just earthquakes.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Life stories of famous singers on LP records probably will be the next disc trend thanks to the fabulous reception Bing’s album—at $27.50 a copy—is getting.  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)

Cecil B. De Mille escorted his daughter, Cecilia, to the premiere, and she goes with him to Egypt September 19 for his new picture, “The Ten Commandments.”  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Claudette Colbert’s eagle-eyeing of the scripts on her TV debut shows is giving the ad lads headaches.  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)

Dana Andrews won an oscar for his radio show, “I Was a Communist for the FBI.”  The American Legion auxiliary presented him with a gold mike for his public service.  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)

Gloria De Haven is peeved at Marilyn Maxwell for being a copy cat, she says.  Both gals divest themselves of their dresses during their nitery acts.  The only excuse for either is the hot weather.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Elaine Stewart is reported in love with this guy and that, but her heart belongs to textile tycoon Bob Evans, who was visiting here recently from New York.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Sam McDaniels, brother of late actress Hattie McDaniels, is hiring lawyers to determine what happened to over $250,000 she made in the movies that was reduced to nothing at the time of her death.  (Jet Magazine, 09-09-1954)

Caught Jack Webb waiting to go on TV.  He said he wasn’t thinking of marriage to Dorothy Towne—”until my divorce is final in November.”  But the way he read the line and looked at Dorothy, he didn’t fool me, let alone Sergeant Friday.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Janet Leigh must have been poured into her white Venetian lace fishskin-tight, high neck gown.  She bought it from her last picture, “Rouge Cop.”  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

My boy, Jerry Lewis, is financing bandleader Buddy Rich, in his solo P.A. tour  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Joe Di Maggio has a definite date in the East for the World Series.  But as of now, the guy going with Marilyn Monroe to New York, for location with her movie, is Roy Kraft in the Twentieth Century-Fox publicity department.  Someone has to keep the New York wolves away.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Not that Johnny Desmond has been guaranteed the starring role in the screen biography of Russ Columbo, the only remaining mystery about the picture is how the drumbeaters are going to explain to the vast army of moviegoers under 45 who Russ Columbo was and why they should be fascinated with his life story.  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)

Katy Jurado wore a matador’s heavily embroidered coat, complete with crucifix, for the flashy premiere of “The Egyptian.”  She bought it in Spain . . . And Bella Darvi, the Babylonian menace in the film, twoed with Brad Dexter, who was married for a short spat to Peggy Lee.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Lester Young, the sax king, is superstitious.  He will not make a recording date on Friday, the 13th, which was the reason he quit Count Basie’s band 16 years ago.  (Jet Magazine, 09-16-1954)

Lillian Gish, who returns to the screen in “Night of the Hunter,” says picture making is not so different from the old days, except then every director wanted to act, and now every actor wants to direct.  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)

Lucky Millinder’s estranged wife, Clara, and Bob Turner, the fabulous merchant seaman who returns from trips with perfumes and silks, are past the hand-holding stage.  (Jet Magazine, 09-16-1954)

Night Club Gossipers:  Actress Louise Beavers appears to be sharing friendly gossip at Hollywood’s Trocadero with an old friend, wealthy ex Ziegfeld Follies girl Mrs. Ethel Weiss (l.) and blues singer Dana Leslie, protege of pianist-composer Eddie Beal.  Trio attended club debut of band leader Louis Jordan.  (Jet Magazine, 09-09-1954)

Nat King Cole may co-star in a spy movie.  In Hollywood, producer Walter Wanger revealed that he is “considering” co-starring famed crooner-pianist Nat (King) Cole in a forthcoming movie opposite either Humphrey Bogart or James Cagney in a spy thriller.  (Jet Magazine, 09-16-1954)

The Rev. E. J. Cole of Chicago will pay his first visit to a night club Oct. 28 when he occupies a table of honor at the Copacabana when his son, Nat King, stars in the floor show.  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)
 

Kissed by night club singer Billy Daniels, Hollywood glamour queen Marlene Dietrich blissfully closes eyes to return buss.  The singer’s torrid rendition of Old Black Magic is actress’ favorite tune.  Billy is currently at Hollywood club.  (Jet Magazine, 09-16-1954)

Pals are urging Martha Raye to take an extensive rest.  Her collapse during the Atlantic City night-club engagement has them worried, and so has her incessant offstage go-go-go.  They feel she’s ebullient enough as a performer, should coast when there isn’t an audience.  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)

Pearl Bailey is training for her big role in “House of Flowers” harder than Marciano is training for Charles.  She’s dropped 22 pounds in three months and expects to shed eight more by opening night.  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)

Shirley Temple can return to pictures any time she wants to.  She received the biggest hand from the bleacher fans.  Her husband, Charlie Black, is handsome enough to be a movie star.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Almost overlooked at the star-studded premiere was Simone Silva, escorted by Chuck McArthur.  “I start my first picture in Hollywood, ‘The Sicilian,’ next month,” she told me.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

“How d’ye like my guy?” Sonja Henie asked.  I did a double take and there was Superman—George Reeves—on her arm.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Imagine Ty Power’s astonishment, not to mention chagrin, when he was asked to grow a beard for his latest picture, “The Untamed,” and the hair on his chinny chin chin came out snow white!  The makeup department took care of nature.  (Pittsburgh Post -Gazette, 09-11-1954)

Yul Brynner left “The King and I” in Denver to return to Colorado for more plastic surgery on the nose he injured last year.  He hopes to rejoin the company in Iowa.  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)

Yul Brynner, after that operation on his nose, phoned to say he looks like a Mongolian Rocky Marciano.  He’ll probably still be wearing the bandages when he opens in “The King and I” in Des Moines this week.  . . . plans for next year, Yul said, “When I finish ‘The Ten Commandments,’ I would like to go back to directing and leave the acting to others.”  (Toledo Blade, Sep. 12, 1954)