Videos

Bert and John Firman

“Sweetheart’s Holiday” (1930)

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“Sweetheart’s Holiday.” Music by J. Russel Robinson, words by Irving Kahal. Recorded in Studio A, Hayes, Middlesex on January 24, 1930 by the Rhythmic Eight under the musical direction of John Firman with vocalist Maurice Elwin. Zonophone 5559 mx. Yy-18307-3.

Personnel: John Firman dir. Sylvester Ahola-t / Danny Polo-cl-as-bar / ?E. O. Pogson-cl-as / Johnny Helfer-cl-ts / Bert Read-p / Joe Brannelly-bj / Billy Bell-bb / Rudy Starita-d-vib-x / Maurice Elwin-v

The Rhythmic Eight (v. Maurice Elwin) – “Sweetheart’s Holiday”

“Sweetheart’s Holiday” 1 was composed by J. Russel Robinson (who had been a member of the Original Dixieland Jazz Band and who had written “Singin’ the Blues”), with words by Irving Kahal (who would, the next year, write the words for the hits “You Brought a New Kind of Love to Me” and “By a Waterfall”). The incredibly catchy tune’s lyrics repeatedly reference an upcoming tryst (a “sweetheart’s holiday”) with a “steady” (slang for boyfriend or girlfriend); personified aspects of nature (the moon and the birds, for example) are described as taking part in the preparations for lovers’ rendezvous.

In the peppy Rhythmic Eight version of “Sweetheart’s Holiday,” the individual virtuosity of the players is very much in evidence. Particularly memorable is a segment where Bert Read achieves a ragtime piano sound, accompanied by Rudy Starita on the drums (the cymbals would appear to be rather near the microphone 2). The latter’s playing approximates the sound of tap-dancing feet.

Maurice Elwin’s vocal refrain is upbeat and does credit to the song’s admirable wordplay. It is a comparatively short vocal interlude but memorable, nonetheless. I first heard this song in the Tom Clines version, where Jack Carney provides elegant but somewhat awkward and mannered vocals. Elwin, by comparison, sounds natural and youthfully enthusiastic. The overall effect is perhaps most comparable to Elwin’s vocal chorus in the Rhythm Maniacs version of “She’s My Slip of a Girl” (recorded only a week after “Sweetheart’s Holiday”), where he also engages in a rapid-fire delivery of playful love lyrics.

“Sweetheart’s Holiday” was recorded in the United States in 1929 by Jerry Macy and Ed Smalle, The New Yorkers, Tom Clines and His Music (v. Jack Carney), Tom Gott and His Rose Room Orchestra (v. Scrappy Lambert), Ted Wallace and His Campus Boys (v. Smith Ballew), Walter Cummins, Henry Busse and His Orchestra (v. Richard Barry), Lee Morse, and Charles W. Hamp. It was also sung by Georgie Price in a Vitaphone short, Don’t Get Nervous.

It was recorded in Britain in 1929 by The Savoy Plaza Band (dir. Les. Norman/v. by unknown person) and by Bidgood’s Broadcasters (as Nat Lewis and His Dance Band/v. Tom Barratt).

“Sweetheart’s Holiday” (1929) Sheet Music

Notes:

  1. As the song is known in all other sources, including the sheet music; only the Zonophone label has the plural “Sweethearts’ Holiday.” ↩
  2. As Henry Parsons remarked to me. ↩
George van Dusen

“Yodel-O-Eskimo” (1931)

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“Yodel-O-Eskimo.” Composed by Joe Pearson and Harry Stogden. Recorded c. February 2, 1931 by George van Dusen and Maurice Elwin. Parlophone R-1000 & Regal Zonophone MR-1906 (mx. E-3912-1).

George van Dusen & Maurice Elwin – “Yodel-O-Eskimo” (1931)

When commemorating milestones in Maurice Elwin’s life and afterlife (today is his 127th birthday), I am always faced with a difficult choice. Should I share my thoughts on one of his many sublime dance band recordings? Should I surprise my readers with a lesser-known solo recording? Or should I share something considerably more outré that attests to his good sense of humor and his willingness to record virtually anything as long as it paid? Put that way, the latter choice seems obvious, so I will turn my attention to an instance of Elwin’s propping up a novelty yodeling act with the strength of his excellent singing.

Yodeling is a technique of alternating the voice between the natural and falsetto ranges to produce a warbling effect; it is found around the world, but in European contexts it is most often associated with Swiss cowherds and other such people. Originally a way of calling out to animals, yodeling does not usually involve conventional language, but rather comparatively nonsensical vocalizations. I like to think of it as “Alpine scat.” For Anglophone audiences, yodeling may be generally considered an acquired taste, but it does appear to have been somewhat in vogue in the early 1930s. Perhaps the popularity of Jimmie Rodgers’s cowboy yodeling from the late 1920s onward had opened people’s minds to the art form’s potential.

Thomas Harrington (1905-1992) spent more than half a century sharing his love of Alpine yodeling with the British public, 1 starting his music hall career in 1921 at the age of 16. He always worked under pseudonyms, the most common of which was the one used on “Yodel-O-Eskimo”: George van Dusen, the Great Dutch Yodler. He recorded quite a few records, and there are nine known sides where he is joined by Maurice Elwin, whose singing voice van Dusen acknowledged to be stronger than his own. 2 On this particular record, Elwin does all of the singing, and van Dusen only provides the yodeling. The usual rule seems to have been for van Dusen alone to be acknowledged on the label; only on Parlophone R-1080 is Elwin credited (as John Curtis, his usual Parlophone pseudonym).

van Dusen seems to have populated the record catalogues with various attempts at driving home the universal appeal of yodeling. He recorded “The Yiddisher Yodeller,” “The Yodelling Chinaman,” 3 “The Yodelling Bullfighter” — the list goes on. “Yodel-O-Eskimo” presents us with the story of Ice Pack Joe, an indigenous Arctic person who hears yodeling over the radio and is inspired to imitate it. The concept of the song is ridiculously simple, and there is little attempt at understanding or even stereotyping Northern peoples; the lyrics mostly just reiterate how cold it is where they live. van Dusen even recorded a follow-up to “Yodel-O-Eskimo,” “The Wedding of Eskimo Joe” (without Elwin). The silliness of the underlying concepts for these songs is apparent: van Dusen just wants an excuse to yodel, so he is not bothered by the complexity of an Englishman (Thomas Harrington) pretending to be a Dutchman (George van Dusen) pretending to be an Inuit (Ice Pack Joe) pretending to be a Swiss yodeler.

What makes this record worth having, though, is Maurice Elwin’s wonderfully mock-sincere delivery of the lyrics. The contrast between his careful diction and van Dusen’s awkward vocalizations is simply hilarious. It is hard to imagine Elwin keeping a straight face during the recording; it is easy to imagine him smiling all the way to the bank, though. “Yodel-O-Eskimo” is just one extreme example of how he was admirably willing to lend a hand in the production of music of all genres.

Notes:

  1. Rick Hardy and Arthur Badrock. “George van Dusen: A Life by Rick Hardy; A Discography by Arthur Badrock.” Talking Machine Review 86 (Spring 1994): 2502-2505. ↩
  2. Ibid., 2504 ↩
  3. Apologies for the dated and now offensive exonym; for that matter, I understand that “Eskimo” is now frowned upon, as well. ↩
Arthur Lally

“Peter, Peter” (1929)

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“Peter, Peter.” Music by Rudolf Nelson, words by Friedrich Hollaender (1929). Recorded by the Rhythm Maniacs with vocalist Maurice Elwin on November 28, 1929. Decca F-1608 mx. FMB-719-2.

The Rhythm Maniacs (v. Maurice Elwin) – “Peter, Peter” (1929)

The transfer that I am sharing on the forty-seventh anniversary of Maurice Elwin’s death is a little unusual. The record that it is taken from is unfortunately very worn, but it is rare enough that I thought it worth the trouble to clean the audio up as best I could. What makes “Peter, Peter” so special is that Elwin sings it in German.

This is not the “Peter, Peter” song by Jimmy Campbell, Reg. Connelly, and Harry Woods that Elwin would eventually record with the Savoy Hotel Orpheans in 1933. It is, rather, a 1929 Rhythm Maniacs version of the Rudolf Nelson composition most famously recorded by Marlene Dietrich simply as “Peter” in 1931. The refrain is:

Peter, Peter, komm zu mir zurück!
Peter, Peter, warst mein bestes Stück.
Peter, Peter, ich war so gemein.
Später, später sieht man erst alles ein.

Peter, Peter, come back to me.
Peter, Peter, you were my pride and joy.
Peter, Peter, I was so mean.
Later, only later does one understand everything.

As a graduate of the Royal Academy of Music, Elwin may have learned to sing in any number of languages associated with high culture. “Peter, Peter” does not appear to have been his only German recording, for that matter; my discography lists several that he is supposed to have made with the Rhythm Maniacs in 1929-1930. That said — can my German readers confirm my sense that Elwin flubs the final line?

Arthur Lally

“Tell Me Over Again” (1930)

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“Tell Me Over Again.” Music and words by Jack Strachey. Recorded in London on June 5, 1930 by the Rhythm Maniacs under the musical direction of Arthur Lally with vocalist Maurice Elwin. Decca F-1814 mx. MB-1457-2.

Personnel: Arthur Lally-cl-as-bar dir. probably Norman Payne-Bill Shakespeare-t / Jock Fleming or Ted Heath-tb / Danny Polo-cl-as / Joe Jeanette-cl-ts / Claude Ivy-p / Joe Brannely-bj / Spike Hughes-sb / Bill Harty-d / Rudy Starita-vib-x / Maurice Elwin-v

The Rhythm Maniacs (v. Maurice Elwin) – “Tell Me Over Again” (1930)

Jack Strachey was a successful songwriter who would eventually compose the music for “These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)” (1936). 1 His two titles on Decca F-1814 (“Tell Me Over Again” and “I’ll Be the Same”), however, are rather obscure, and these Rhythm Maniacs recordings are, as far as I can tell, the only evidence that the songs were ever written. I find the scarcity of musical treatments baffling, as both songs are pleasantly atmospheric, but perhaps only Decca musical director Arthur Lally saw the songs’ potential. It is also possible that the Rhythm Maniacs’ musical arrangements are what appeals to me so strongly.

“Tell Me Over Again” is a waltz, a genre of music often deprecated by record collectors hooked on heady foxtrots said to be of “jazz interest.” The “waltz sides” turned out by the best British dance bands, however, can be very elegant; they simply appeal to a different aesthetic. The waltz rhythm of “Tell Me Over Again” contributes the quality of a soothing lullaby, and the Rhythm Maniacs’ pace is noticeably measured.

Maurice Elwin’s gentle vocal highlights the delightfully cryptic refrain, which asks the singer’s interlocutor to “[t]ell me over again” without ever coming out and saying what he wants to hear (presumably “I love you” or something to that effect). Elwin, a high baritone, is given the opportunity to show off his considerable range in this piece. His delivery suggests not just the tone of sincerity that he was famous for, but also considerable tenderness.

Notes:

  1. He is also often listed as a collaborator on “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” (1940), though I have found no contemporary evidence to support that claim. ↩
Bert and John Firman

“Sweet and Lovely” (1931)

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“Sweet and Lovely.” Words and music by Gus Arnheim, Harry Tobias, and Charles N. Daniels (using the pseudonym Jules Lemare; 1931). Recorded in the Kingsway Hall, London c. October 23, 1931 by the Orpheus Dance Band (under the musical direction of John Firman) with vocalist Maurice Elwin. Zonophone 5987 mx. 0Y-1506-2.

Personnel: John Firman dir. Max Goldberg-t / cl-as / cl-as-bar / cl-ts / ?Bert Read-p-cel / pac / Joe Brannelly-bj-g / Billy Bell-bb / Rudy Starita-d-vib-x / Charles W. Saxby-or / Maurice Elwin-v

Orpheus Dance Band (v. Maurice Elwin) – “Sweet and Lovely” (1931)

I have yet to find a version of “Sweet and Lovely” that I do not like. A creation of lyricist Harry Tobias, composer-lyricist Charles N. Daniels, and California-based bandleader Gus Arnheim, 1 the song was surprisingly effective at using its unusual melody to elevate romantic attraction to the spiritual plane. It became Arnheim’s signature tune, but the Orpheus Dance Band’s version with Maurice Elwin stands out as something special.

John Firman’s Zonophone house band used the pseudonym “The Orpheus Dance Band” when it recorded in the Kingsway Hall with Charles W. Saxby on the organ (the name “The Arcadians Dance Orchestra” had been used for that purpose up until 1930). In “Sweet and Lovely,” the organ and Billy Bell’s tuba establish a mellow pulsation for the other instruments to play off of. The effect is decidedly hypnotic; it establishes a sort of dream state for Maurice Elwin’s vocals to emerge from.

On this website I say a lot about Elwin’s precision as a singer and about how funny he can be, but “Sweet and Lovely” gives us an example of his being incredibly tender. He is operating at the higher end of his baritone range, which makes him sound more emotionally vulnerable, and he moves through the vocal chorus just quickly enough to give the impression that he is being carried away — transported — by his own argument. I come away from listening to this recording feeling younger and less jaded, convinced of the higher potential of romantic love.

Some representative American recordings of “Sweet and Lovely” made in 1931 are those by Gus Arnheim and His Cocoanut Grove Orchestra (v. Donald Novis), Ben Selvin (as Phil Hughes and His High Hatters; v. Jack Miller), Bing Crosby (whose version includes the intro that would have been in the sheet music but that was dropped in band arrangements), and Ed Kirkeby (as Bud Leonard; v. Elmer Feldkamp).

Other British dance band recordings were made in 1931 by Roy Fox and His Band (v. Al Bowlly), Dave Frost and His Band (v. Sam Browne), Jerry Hoey and His Band (v. Les Allen and two unknown singers), The Savoy Hotel Orpheans (dir. Howard Jacobs; v. Al Bowlly), Percival Mackey and His Kit-Cat Band (v. Phyllis Robins), Eddie Grossbart and His Café de Paris Band (unknown vocalist — Pathé footage survives of Grossbart’s band performing “Sweet and Lovely” in the Café de Paris itself), Jack Harris and His Grosvenor House Band (v. Harry Bentley), Ambrose and His Orchestra (v. Sam Browne), Jack Payne and His Band, and Jack Hylton and His Orchestra (v. Pat O’Malley, in a 12″ concert arrangement). Jay Wilbur recorded three different versions in November and December 1931: one as Jay Wilbur and His Band (with an unknown vocalist), and two as the Biltmore Players (one with Sam Browne and one with Les Allen).

Notes:

  1. It is possible that Arnheim’s contributions were minimal, but he did have past experience with songwriting. ↩
Bert and John Firman

“How’s Your Uncle?” (1931)

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“How’s Your Uncle?” Lyrics by Dorothy Fields, music by Jimmy McHugh; composed for Shoot the Works (1931). Recorded in the Kingsway Hall, London c. October 23, 1931 by the Orpheus Dance Band under the musical direction of John Firman with vocalist Maurice Elwin. Zonophone 5987.

Personnel: John Firman dir. Max Goldberg-t / cl-as / cl-as-bar / cl-ts / ?Bert Read-p-cel / pac / Joe Brannelly-bj-g / Billy Bell-bb / Rudy Starita-vib-x / Maurice Elwin-v / Charles Saxby-or

Orpheus Dance Band – “How’s Your Uncle?” (1931) (Andy LeMaitre)

“How’s Your Uncle?” is a song deriving from the 1931 American revue Shoot the Works! (a slang expression referring to placing all of one’s money on a single bet). The show had been arranged as a way of providing temporary work for actors unemployed due to the Great Depression. The illustrious contributors to the revue (including “How’s Your Uncle?” songwriters Dorothy Fields and Jimmy McHugh) did not charge royalties for their work; instead, as much money as possible went to the cast.

Now, a revue involves singing, dancing, and sketch comedy, and the individual acts are held together by minimal, flimsy, or even no unifying narrative; the audience, including the reviewers, would not have expected much of a plot. In spite of those low expectations, apparently Shoot the Works! still lacked something important. New Yorker reviewer S. Finney wrote that it “had been put together with string,” and in spite of constant rewriting, it closed after only nine weeks. 1

Fortunately, the failure of a revue does not vitiate its constituent parts, and “How’s Your Uncle?” saw great success with recording artists. The song’s lyrics consist of the sort of small talk (e.g. “How’s your uncle? How’s your auntie?”) that might lead up to a more important question (“And incidentally, baby, how are you?”). The questions about the more pedestrian aspects of life always precede the theme of love:

How's the cooking
And the washing
And the plumbing coming along?
Is the coffee
That you're making
Just as strong as your love for me?

The sing-song tune is catchy and perfectly suited to up-beat dance band arrangements.

The arrangement used by the Zonophone house orchestra, the Orpheus Dance Band, is particularly delightful, especially considering the interplay between the band and the organ played by Charles W. Saxby. There is also a wonderful sense of space in this recording. The echo that can be heard in Zonophone recordings made in Kingsway Hall is the polar opposite of the acoustically dead studios used by Decca in its otherwise excellent early recordings.

Maurice Elwin had been the Zonophone bands’ main vocalist since late 1927, so we should not be surprised to find him singing the refrain in “How’s Your Uncle?” He does seem perfectly suited for this song about the pedestrian sort of banter that people bury their real feelings in. Elwin’s approach to interpreting lyrics is famously understated, so to the extent that the song is a joke, Elwin could be said to be delivering it deadpan. He does alter his tone slightly when alluding to his love for the song’s addressee (and while asking after “the brother [he] could smother”), but for the most part he sounds like any one of us does when beating around the bush. The vocal refrain is subtly comical and contributes to the success of the whole recording.

Some American versions of “How’s Your Uncle” that were recorded while Shoot the Works! was still on stage were those of the Jesse Stafford Orchestra (v. Paul Small), the Troubadours (directed by Nat Shilkret, with vocalist Chick Bullock), and Fred “Sugar” Hall and His Sugar Babies (v. Arthur Fields).

Other British dance bands who recorded “How’s Your Uncle” in 1931 were Nat Star and His Dance Orchestra (v. Cavan O’Connor), Jerry Hoey and His Band (v. Les Allen and unknown person), Ambrose and His Orchestra (v. Sam Browne), the Filmophone House Band (v. Sam Browne), and Bidgood’s Good Boys (v. Tom Barratt).

Notes:

  1. Dan Dietz, The Complete Book of 1930s Broadway Musicals, Washington, DC: Rowman & Littlefield, 2018, 138-140. ↩
Arthur Lally

“Nobody’s Using It Now” (1930)

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“Nobody’s Using It Now.” Words by Clifford Grey, music by Victor Schertzinger. Composed for the film The Love Parade (1929). Recorded in London on March 31, 1930 by the Rhythm Maniacs under the musical direction of Arthur Lally with vocalist Maurice Elwin. Decca F-1716 mx. MB-1136-2.

Personnel: Arthur Lally-cl-as-bar dir. Norman Payne-probably Bill Shakespeare-t / Jock Fleming or Ted Heath-tb / Danny Polo-cl-as / Joe Jeannette-cl-ts / Claude Ivy-p / Joe Brannelly-bj / Spike Hughes-sb / Rudy Starita-d-vib-x / Maurice Elwin-v

The Rhythm Maniacs (v. Maurice Elwin) – “Nobody’s Using It Now” (1930)

“Nobody’s Using It Now” is but one of several memorable numbers from the musical comedy The Love Parade, Ernst Lubitsch’s first sound film. In the movie, Maurice Chevalier plays a military officer in Sylvania, a Ruritanian state located somewhere in Europe. He becomes prince consort to the queen — “a husband, and nothing else” — his nights busy and his days empty. Bereft of self-respect, the boyish, sexy Chevalier sings to the queen’s dog about how he would like a position of greater responsibility, although comically he keeps appealing to his talents in the bedroom as relevant qualifications. “[He’s] just wasting [his] youth,” he complains, “’cause nobody’s using it now.” As is the case with many Broadway and Hollywood tunes, if you take “Nobody’s Using It Now” out of its original context, its lyrics constitute a generic love song — the singer sounds merely lonely, not bored and disrespected like Chevalier.

In the Rhythm Maniacs’ version of “Nobody’s Using It Now,” Maurice Elwin gets a mere 25 seconds to sing the vocal refrain, but it is nonetheless memorable for its boldness. Particularly noteworthy is his ascent into his upper register with “no, no, no, NO!” It puts Elwin’s performance into the same comical territory as Chevalier’s original (the latter goes implausibly low in his intro). Elwin’s quickly delivered vocal at the beginning of the recording sets the fast pace for this up-tempo and loud early Decca recording, whose arrangement is infectiously catchy.

There were many medleys inspired by The Love Parade and Maurice Chevalier’s singing in general, and the Rhythm Maniacs themselves would do a reprise of “Nobody’s Doing it Now” later in 1930 in “Maurice Chevalier — Selection” (v. Fred Douglas). There were other British dance band versions of “Nobody’s Doing It Now” in 1930 by Jack Hylton and His Orchestra (who recorded a full version with Sam Browne on the vocals, and an instrumental excerpt in a medley), Cecil Norman’s Savoy Plaza Band (v. Cavan O’Connor), Bidgood’s Symphonic Dance Band (in a medley with vocals by Patrick Waddington, followed soon after by a full version — under the band name Al Benny’s Broadway Boys — with vocalist Sam Browne), Jack Payne and His BBC Dance Orchestra (who did an instrumental treatment in a medley), Nat Star (v. Tom Barratt), the Midnight Minstrels (dir. Stan Greening; as an instrumental in a medley), the Debroy Somers Band (v. Tom Barratt), and Jack Leon’s band (as an instrumental in a medley).

Percival Mackey

“I Fell for You” (1930)

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“I Fell for You.” Composed by Rowland Leigh (words) and William Walker (music) for Charlot’s Masquerade (1930). Recorded in London on October 4, 1930 by Percival Mackey and His Band with vocalist Maurice Elwin. Columbia CB-145 mx. WA-10736-2.

Personnel: Percival Mackey dir. Jack Jackson-Andy Richardson-t / Ben Oakley-tb / Chester Smith-another?-cl-as / George Smith-ts / Dave Fish-vn / Pat Dodd-p / Bob Martin-bj-g / Jim Bellamy-bb-sb / Bill Harty-d / Maurice Elwin-v

Percival Mackey and His Band (v. Maurice Elwin) – “I Fell for You” (1930)

Percival Mackey’s version of “I Fell for You,” with its Maurice Elwin vocal refrain, starts out in a most impressive, stately fashion, and until we hear the lyric, it does not sound ridiculous in the slightest. Like “Who Cares?” “I Fell for You” comes from André Charlot’s sophisticated, short-lived Charlot’s Masquerade (1930) and has the same lyricist, Rowland Leigh. The song was introduced on stage by actors Constance Carpenter and Patrick Waddington, and we are fortunate to have a record of Waddington himself singing it to the piano accompaniment of Peggy Cochrane and William Walker (the song’s composer). The complete song is very witty, but I think the funniest lyrics have been fully preserved in the arrangement that Percival Mackey uses:

I fell like an apple from an apple tree,
I fell like a Dutchman in the Zuiderzee,
I fell like a Scotsman falls for £sd
On the day I fell for you.

(As an American, I had to think a little bit when I first heard that verse. “Ell-ess-DEE” refers to the symbols for pounds, shillings, and pence, and not the popular hallucinogenic drug, and Scotsmen were once reputed to be thrifty, if not stingy or miserly. Apparently Maurice Elwin, a Scot himself, was being a good sport that day.)

The lyrics continue in that vein, using bathetic similes involving falling, literally or metaphorically, to describe the act of falling in love. Elwin seems to be doing something comparable to telling a joke with a completely straight face; he sounds earnest, as if he does not know in the slightest how silly he sounds. He is all enthusiasm and warmth.

Another British dance band version recorded of “I Fell For You” in 1930 was that of Jack Leon (v. Jack Plant). Ray Noble had recorded an instrumental version of it in a medley of songs from Charlot’s Masquerade.

Arthur Lally

“She’s My Slip of a Girl” (1930)

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“She’s My Slip of a Girl.” Composed by Cyril Watters for the Melody Maker “All British Song Competition” (first prize, 1929). Recorded in Chelsea, London on January 31, 1930 by the Rhythm Maniacs under the musical direction of Arthur Lally with vocalist Maurice Elwin. Decca F-1630 mx. MB-914-2A.

Personnel: Arthur Lally-cl-as-bar / Sylvester Ahola-Dennis Ratcliffe-t / Danny Polo-cl-as / Joe Crossman or Johnny Helfer-cl-ts / Claude Ivy-p / Joe Brannelly-bj / Tiny Stock-bb / Max Bacon-d-vib / Maurice Elwin-v / Lew Stone-a

The Rhythm Maniacs (v. Maurice Elwin) – “She’s My Slip of a Girl” (1930)
(Transfer by Henry Parsons)

“She’s My Slip of a Girl” was the winning entry in the 1929 Melody Maker magazine “All British Song Competition,” whose goal was to identify a foxtrot “considered worthy of holding its own with foreign importations.” 1 The judges included C. B. Cochran, Noel Coward, and Jack Hylton, and there were 500 competitors. The prize was taken by Cyril Watters, a twenty-two year old pianist and musical clerk who would go on to compose over 250 songs and win many more prizes in the coming decades.

“She’s My Slip of a Girl” is inherently catchy, infectious even, with its anapestic patter and rapid-fire rhyme scheme. The singer speaks of his elation (verging on ecstasy) at somehow having been so fortunate as to have a certain slender or otherwise diminutive type of woman in his life. The B part is particularly precious:

Maybe she's not a beauty,
But beauty's only skin deep.
She's the kind of a cutie
Knocks 'em all of a heap.

I know of no other lyrics that express so well the idea of a visceral attraction that transcends conventional standards for good looks.

Of the four British versions recorded of “She’s My Slip of a Girl,” the Rhythm Maniacs’ version is best at realizing the trance-inducing qualities of the tune, which is very repetitive without being in any way boring. As with many early Decca recordings, the sound engineers set the gain very high, and the song is blaringly loud. The result is that it almost pulsates, bringing out the nearly primal appeal of the Lew Stone arrangement.

One of the side effects of the overall volume being so loud is that it creates contrast between the blaring instrumental parts and Maurice Elwin’s vocal. The latter sounds deeply earnest — who would expect otherwise from Elwin? — but he is also enthusiastic, almost impassioned. There is considerable warmth in his voice. At a couple of points the melody goes rather high, and the baritone follows it upwards deftly, allowing himself to sound momentarily more vulnerable, as men sometimes do when they successfully sing above their usual range.

“She’s My Slip of a Girl” encapsulates for me one of the things that I love generally about Elwin: he is a fundamentally calm, mellow singer with a wholesome-sounding voice who found himself working with some of Britain’s hottest bands (I think particularly of the Firman bands along with Lally’s studio orchestras). To a certain extent he introduces a pleasant contrast with his comparatively composed vocal refrains, but at no time does he sound out of place.

To appreciate the brilliance of the Rhythm Maniac’s version of “She’s My Slip of a Girl” requires us to compare the other contemporary interpretations of the song, which happen to be all very good in their own ways. Eddie Hardie and His Night Club Boys recorded a December 1929 version on Piccadilly with a Harry Bentley vocal that is slow and bluesy. The same month, Ray Noble’s New Mayfair Dance Orchestra made a booming but elegant one, also comparatively slow, with touching vocals by Pat O’Malley, who scats gently at the end of the recording. In March 1930, Jack Payne and His BBC Dance Orchestra did a purely instrumental interpretation of the tune that must be at least as fast as the Rhythm Maniacs and whose arrangement is marked by amusing variations on the underlying tune that keep it from seeming overly repetitious. Finally, there is an interesting French version that I think may be a response to the Rhythm Maniacs.

Notes:

  1. Daily Mirror, January 1, 1930, 4, British Newspaper Archive. ↩
Arthur Lally

“Sitting on a Haystack” (1930)

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“Sitting on a Haystack.” Composed by Julian Wright, Carol Bourne, and Harry Castling. Recorded in Chelsea, London on November 13, 1930 by the Savana Players under the musical direction of Arthur Lally, with vocalist Maurice Elwin. Decca F-2057 mx. GB-2268-2.

Personnel: Arthur Lally-cl-as-bar dir. Jack Jackson-Andy Richardson-t / Ben Oakley-tb / Peter Rush-as-vn / Harry Berly-ts-oc-vl / Pat Dodd-p / Jack Hill-bj-g / Spike Hughes-sb / Bill Harty-d

The Savana Players (v. Maurice Elwin) – “Sitting on a Haystack” (1930)

The Savana Players’ version of “Sitting on a Haystack” with Maurice Elwin appears to be the only recording of that song. The original composition may not, therefore, have been a commercial success, but this Decca issue is a comedy gem and a good example of the hot music being produced under Arthur Lally’s supervision in 1930. The song begins with a curious snoring or even snorting sound and a small child crying, “Daddy, daddy!” At this point we hear Lally’s voice snarling, “That’s not your father, child — them’s pigs!” “Oooh!” the child exclaims. The grunting is incorporated into the first bars of the song, establishing its comical, rustic setting.

The tune is introduced first instrumentally. Then comes Maurice Elwin’s vocal refrain, which describes a haystack that once served as a trysting place until a pipe-smoking vagrant accidentally lit it on fire. Elwin sings the lyrics quietly, as if sharing a dirty joke, and one can hear his amusement at the ridiculous scenario.

After Elwin’s part concludes, there is a series of interesting, hot variations on the tune, played with a great deal of pep. In many ways, the pleasure of listening to “Sitting on a Haystack” derives from the contrast between the understated vocals and the more extroverted instrumental music. Elwin contributes to the overall sound of this recording without in any way dominating it; the result is a collaboration that is delightfully silly yet elegant.

Arthur Lally, musical director at Decca