My friend Bill Kirchner, a jazz musician, historian, producer, and educator who subscribes to these essays, reminded me that Beatrice “Bee” (sic) Palmer had recorded a vocalese version of “Singin’ the Blues” with Frank Trumbauer in 1929. This was not released at the time, and it stayed in the vaults (“in the can”) until Take 3 was discovered for a Trumbauer CD (The Old Masters 107) in 1997. That take, and a newly found Take 1, were both later issued in the Mosaic boxed set of Beiderbecke and Trumbauer. (Take 2 no longer exists.)
Since it wasn’t released, one might say that it had no impact on the history of vocalese—EXCEPT that it appears that Marion Harris, whose version was indeed released, knew the words of Palmer’s version—which were written by lyricist Ted Koehler (known especially for his work with Harold Arlen). We noticed in Part One that in the fast break, Harris sings about getting a gun to shoot her unfaithful lover. At the same break, around 2:20 in both takes below, Palmer sings, “Guess I’ll get myself a forty-four” (a .44 caliber gun) “and go ‘Boom, Boom, Boom’”! It seems impossible that Koehler and Harris (who wrote her own lyrics) both coincidentally thought of words about shooting the man for the same break in the music—music that gave no hint of any specific story or meaning.
To be clear, Harris’s words are original and the “gun break” is the only thing that the two versions have in common. Still, Harris (1896-1944) and Palmer (1894-1967) were contemporaries, both spent time in Chicago and then N.Y.C., and they performed some of the same repertoire. It’s almost certain that they knew each other, and my guess is that Palmer might have shared Koehler’s lyrics with Harris. (It’s even possible that they met before Palmer recorded it, and that Harris suggested the line about the gun. That “Boom, boom” line comes out of nowhere in Palmer’s version, whereas it is in character with Harris’s lyric.)
Here are the two surviving takes of Palmer performing “Singin’ the Blues.” Both begin with Trumbauer and the other saxes playing a transcription of Frank’s sax solo that opened the original 1927 recording. (This was apparently harmonized by Bill Challis. He said that pianist Lennie Hayton directed the recording date, but the sax parts have Challis’s name.) Then Palmer sings Bix’s solo with the vocalese words. Then she repeats the second half of Bix’s solo for a few measures, but this time wordlessly, scat singing, before going into a big ending. Here’s Take 1:
And here’s Take 3 (remember, there is no surviving Take 2):
Now, there is something noteworthy about Palmer’s recording career: As I noted, this one was never released, and the same was true of another song recorded that day for Columbia—in recording company terms, they were both “rejected.” Three takes were made of each, which means that they really made an effort to get a good performance, but failed. Furthermore, in previous years, six recordings that Palmer made for Victor were all “rejected.”
Can we be honest? I can’t stand the way she sings, and I would bet that was the opinion at Columbia and Victor as well!
Finally, a note about the song itself: As usual, I “over prepared” when researching my essay on vocalese. I listened to every vocal version of that song into the late 1940s. One complication is that there were two songs of the same name (a common situation). The one that Trumbauer and Beiderbecke recorded was written in 1920 by Con Conrad and J. Russell Robinson, with words by Lewis and Young. (Their words do not fit the solos of course—they go with the written melody.) Its full title is “Singin’ the Blues (Till My Daddy Comes Home).” In early 1931, the well-known team of lyricist Dorothy Fields and composer Jimmy McHugh published a song of the same name. So, after early 1931, one must listen to know which song was recorded. Whoever put together this page, for example, has totally confused things by listing performances of both songs as if they were the same. And later, there were songs entitled “Singing the Blues,” with the “g,” including a popular number from 1954.
OK, now we’re ready for my second vocalese essay, coming soon!
All the best,
Lewis
P.S. There is more about Bee Palmer, including the story of how the 1929 recording session came about, at the jazz history site Syncopated Times.
Con Conrad won the first Oscar for Best Original Song ("The Continental" from "The Gay Divorcee").
Yikes! She BEE atrocious!