10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … Happy New Year!

Well, it’s New Year’s Eve Eve. Just two more days, and we’ll all be cursing ourselves for writing 2011 on our checks.

With just a few hours remaining till the ball drops in Times Square, toasts are raised, and midnight smooches are shared, we thought we’d make a present to the Cladrite community of All Star New Years Dancing Party, an hour-long radio program that originally aired on the Armed Forces Radio Service on December 31st, 1945.

The program, which is hosted by Harry James, features performances from across the country and around the world by such legendary big bands as the Count Basie Orchestra in New York City, Freddy Martin‘s outfit performing from Los Angeles’ Cocoanut Grove night club, Woody Herman and His Orchestra in New Jersey, Louis Armstrong and His All-Stars from Club Zanzibar in Manhattan, and many more.

It’s a fine way to welcome in a brand new year.

All-Star New Year’s Eve Dancing Party—12/31/1945 (1 hr., 4 sec.)

Last man standing? Orrin Tucker remembered

It’s remarkable that until just a few days ago, we still had an orchestra leader from the golden age of the big bands among us. Orrin Tucker, whose first big hit was his 1939 recording of a World War I-era hit, “Oh Johnny, Oh Johhny, Oh!” with “Wee” Bonnie Baker on the vocals, passed away on April 9 at age 100, and it could be argued he was the last living bandleader of prominence from those halcyon days.

The Tucker outfit wasn’t a hard-swinging ensemble. His was an old-style dance orchestra, playing music everyone—not just jitterbuggers and lindy hoppers—could cut a rug to. And aside from time spent serving in the Navy during World War II, he remained an active orchestra leader into the 1990s. That’s quite a career.

“There were so many musicians that said, regardless what the public wants, I’ll play the way I want to play,” Mr. Tucker is quoted as saying in the Washington Post’s obit. “I’ve always tried to play the music people are fond of and play it the way they want to hear and the way it is easy to dance to. I made it a point to know what the public liked and did my best to please them.”

Tucker was born on Feb. 17, 1911, in St. Louis, Mo. His childhood was spent in Wheaton, Ill., near Chicago, and he grew up intending to pursue medicine. But he worked as a saxophonist and singer while attending North Central College in Naperville, Ill., and proved successful enough at it that he formed his own orchestra.

Tucker eventually hired, at Louis Armstrong‘s suggestion, singer Evelyn Nelson, whom he renamed “Wee” Bonnie Baker.

The National Association of Music Merchants conducted an interview with Tucker in 2003 as part of their oral history program, and in the following clip, Tucker, still looking handsome and seeming pretty darned sharp at age 92, recalls working with Bonnie Baker. (Our thanks go out to the good folks at NAMM for allowing us to share the clip with the Cladrite Radio clan.)

Sorry, flash is not available. please install the lastest flash player.

And here are three tracks for those not familiar with the sounds of the Tucker Orchestra. “Drifting and Dreaming” was the band’s theme song, “Oh Johnny” was, as mentioned above, the outfit’s first hit, and “You’re the One (for Me)” is just a song we like.

“Drifting and Dreaming” — Orrin Tucker and His Orchestra

“Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh!” — Orrin Tucker and His Orchestra

“Pinch Me” — Orrin Tucker and His Orchestra

The British Bands That Mattered

There are many familiar names among the artists we feature on Cladrite Radio—everyone from Glenn Miller and Louis Armstrong to Billie Holiday, Paul Whiteman, and Nat “King” Cole.

But our greatest pleasure is giving exposure to lesser known artists—bands, singers, and instrumentalists with whom only the true buff is familiar.

Among those less known here in the United States, except among the cognoscenti, are such British band leaders as Ray Noble, Jack Payne, Henry Hall, and Carroll Gibbons, who was American but gained his fame in England. Each of these artists can be heard here on Cladrite Radio, and those interested in learning more about them now can turn to the BBC’s Radio 2.

Air personality Brian Matthew hosts a program called “The Bands The Mattered,” which each week explores the life and career of a pair of orchestra leaders. Payne and Hall were featured in Week 1, but, unfortunately, the BBC only streams each show for a week. But you’ve still got a few days to access the archive of this week’s show, which focuses on Noble and Gibbons.

We only just learned about this program, and we’re not at all happy to have missed the first episode of this season (not to mention all of the episodes of a previous season, too), but we’ll be listening going forward, and we thought you might want to, as well.

Snapshot in Prose: Bing Crosby

What a career Bing Crosby had. Is there anyone in popular culture who got his start in the 1920s who is as well remembered today as Der Bingle?

Perhaps Louis Armstrong.

Many folks 55 years old and younger will recall only the more sedate, older Bing, he of the briarwood pipes, stingy-brimmed fedoras, and cardigan sweaters.

But in his early years, Bing was like Elvis Presley—a white man singing music inspired and influenced by the music of the African-American community.

He also was something of a wild man off-stage, as he is said to have had, in those days, a penchant for going on alcohol-fueled tears.

By the time this profile was published in December 1935, Bing was long since a huge star, having conquered vaudeville, recordings, radio and movies. He had much great success still to come, but it’s interesting to consider this early look back at his rise to stardom.

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In Your Hat, pt. 8

Here’s Chapter 8 of In Your Hat, the 1933 tell-all memoir by Hat Check Girl to the Stars, Renee Carroll, in which she shares tales of by the many celebrities she encountered while working at Sardi’s, among them George Burns and Gracie Allen, Eddie Cantor, George Jessel, Norma Talmadge, George Raft, Wallace Reid, Ginger Rogers, Douglas Fairbanks, and many more.

     A STOOGE, in Broadway parlance, is the assist in the act. If you do an accordion routine and a heckler is paid by you to annoy your act from the box, then you’re probably Phil Baker and your stooge eventually becomes as famous as you are. Witness Sid Silvers of Take a Chance fame.
     Broadway is full of stooges, both in real life and on the stage. It may sound strange to you but the jester in the king’s court from the time of The Erl King (I don’t know why they insist on spelling Oil as Erl) has been brought down the years until now he is labeled “stooge.” His job is to take he hard knocks, furnish the opportunity for the gag to be sprung, and appear the perfect fool.
     When Phil Baker, who pumps a mean accordion, opened in a show in New York and had a stooge in the box doing the regular routine, Al Boasberg, the gagman who writes funny lines for a dozen or more comedians, wired Baker:

LIKED YOUR ACT STOP THE OLD GENT WITH THE ACCORDION WAS GOOD TOO.

     Gracie Allen, of the famous team of Burns and Allen, is the stooge of the act, even though it is she who pulls all the funny lines. Recently she gave George Burns cause to laugh when she came to him with an idea.
     ”Georgie, dear,” Gracie said. “I have an idea.”
     ”Well, let’s forget it,” George answered characteristically, knowing it would bring on the usual headache.
     ”I’ve thought of a line for our act,” she continued.
     ”All right,” gave in George. “What is it?”
     ”I can’t tell you until I’ve gotten a prop.”
     ”What sort of a prop?”
     ”A muff.”
     ”What’s a muff?” George wanted to know.
     ”It’s one of those things women used to carry around so that they could hold hands with themselves.”
     ”All right, Gracie, get yourself a muff and let’s have the gag.”
     She went to the best furrier on the Avenue and ordered a muff made. It has to be matched sables, four skins, exquisitely sewn. The muff cost $250 and she charged it to Geroge Burns, her husband. She brought it to him one day.
     ”Here’s the muff, George.”
     He examined it carefully. He approved.
     ”I got it at a bargain, George.”
     George immediately became suspicious.
     ”How much, Gracie? How much?” he pleaded.
     ”Well—er—two hundred and—er—fifty dollars.”
     George felt around for support.
     ”Two hundred and fifty smackers for that thing? Gracie, you’ll ruin me!”
     ”But it’s a bargain, George, and the furrier let me have it at that price because there are two holes in it!”
     And she held up the muff to show him the holes in which one is supposed to insert one’s hands. Burns was nonplused.
     ”But what about the gag?” he wanted to know. “Is the gag worth $250?”
     ”Why, George,” giggled the she-stooge, “I just did it. You see, I come on with this muff and you ask me how much I paid for it and I say: ‘I got it at a bargain because it had two holes in it.”
     With which Mr. Burns fainted dead away. And that’s how jokes are born in case you’re interested.
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