NEW ORLEANS RHYTHM KINGS – 1922-1923 | The Chronogical Classics – 1129 (2000) FLAC (tracks+.cue), lossless

This is some of the best early jazz that you'll ever hear. The overall traditional jazz landscape would be incomplete without these hot little records. Descending upon the Gennett recording studios in August of 1922, the New Orleans Rhythm Kings called themselves the Friars Society Orchestra in honor of Mike Fritzel's Friar's Inn, a Chicago speakeasy that gave them lots of gig work. "Husk O'Hare" was designated as their director. It's worth noting that a gathering of hares is traditionally known as a "husk." If that's not the origin of his name, it is a staggering coincidence. A husk o' hares, get it? Anyway, these rusty old stomps and shimmies are a joy to behold. "Farewell Blues" is as good as it gets. This number and "Tin Roof Blues" really put the Rhythm Kings on the map. "Discontented Blues" turned out to be a nice vehicle for Jack Pettis, who generates one of the very first tenor sax solos to make it onto phonograph records. The saxophone really adds a whole dimension to this ensemble. "Panama" is pretty darned scratchy at the outset; they probably should have found a different copy of the original platter. Up until this track these old Gennett sides sounded pretty good. "Tiger Rag" and "Livery Stable Blues" are similarly disrupted by more surface noise than was heard on vinyl LP issues of this same material. (How puzzling!) With "Oriental," we return to decent remastering, which is not really so much to ask. Just when you think the trouble has passed, "That's A-Plenty" sounds a bit scrofulous. Fortunately, the sound quality improves after this, so the listener is no longer distracted by excessive scratchiness. "Shim-Me-Sha-Wabble" comes across beautifully, Mel Stitzel's piano quite audible through the horns. As any collector of old records can tell you, when there's a lot of surface noise, the piano is among the first instruments to get lost in the scuffle. Artie Matthews' "Weary Blues" rocks nicely, setting an example for later generations to emulate. "Da Da Strain" is a marvel of studied polyphony, a jacked-up conversation between staunch cornet, reefer-head clarinet, and dog trombone. Irresistible! Drop everything and dance around the room to this. Jelly Roll Morton wrote "Wolverine Blues" after spotting what he considered an unusual zoological word on a barbershop in the wilds of Michigan. The Rhythm Kings' version of this song is delightfully solid and relaxed, kicking lightly and wagging its tail. "Maple Leaf Rag" sends perky trills right on up through the scratchy record surface. Jelly Roll Morton actually sat in with this band on July 17 and 18, 1923, breaking the color bar and sounding marvelous behind the horns. "Mr. Jelly Lord" wins awards for "best slow drag," while "London Blues" and "Milenberg Joys" are fundamentally essential recordings that need to be studied carefully and lovingly, for this is one of the taproots of jazz, this bundle of old-fashioned/newfangled dance tunes on scratchy old records. Even if a few of the tracks could have been cleaned up more diligently, it's probably good to hear authentic 78-rpm surface noise so nobody forgets what it sounded like. arwulf arwulf  
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NEW ORLEANS RHYTHM KINGS – 1925-1935 | The Chronogical Classics – 1150 (2000) FLAC (tracks+.cue), lossless

The 1922-1923 recordings of the New Orleans Rhythm Kings are essential listening for anyone trying to piece together the evolution of New Orleans/Chicago-style jazz (see Classics 1129). To be permitted chronological access to everything that subsequently appeared under the banner of the NORK is a ticket to Elysium for all lovers of classic jazz. The first six selections, recorded in New Orleans near the beginning of 1925, reveal a much different band than the ensembles of 1923. Obviously, Jelly Roll Morton isn't directly involved anymore, even if "Golden Leaf Blues" sounds a lot like "Milenberg Joys." Paul Mares and Leon Roppolo retain their position at the center of things, but trombonist George Brunies has been replaced by the dashing Santo Pecora. Each little three-minute performance is solid and warm. Now the action moves up to New York City. A small cluster of originally unissued test pressings from June of 1934 includes a vaudeville version of "Shine" by a quartet calling itself "the Four Bales of Cotton," with scatting, trumpeting, and friendly patter by Wingy Manone. Although "Shine," with its mildly Jim Crow lyrics, always does better as an instrumental, this theatrical singalong approach is somehow fascinating. The same session yielded two hot instrumentals by a reassembled Rhythm Kings with a front line of Manone, either Brunies or Pecora, clarinetist Sidney Arodin, and the tenor saxophone of Eddie Miller. Why these sides were rejected in 1934 is anybody's guess. By September of that year, Decca was taking them more seriously. Brunies and Manone led a six-piece mob through eight outstanding stomps. Arodin's marvelous "San Antonio Shout" is succeeded by one traditional jazz anthem after the next. Their handling of "Jazz Me Blues" is particularly tasty. The session of September 26 was shaped by a deliberate emphasis on material harking back to the Original Dixieland Jazz Band. Back in Chicago on January 26, 1935, Paul Mares led his own version of a reconstituted Rhythm Kings band, referencing the earliest NORK sessions by reviving the Friars Society Orchestra name. The appropriately titled "Reincarnation" is elegantly, majestically blue. "Land of Dreams," "Nagasaki," and "Maple Leaf" swing hard. Pecora is back, along with the mighty Omer Simeon and a tough alto sax player by the name of Boyce Brown. The last band to record under this name in the 1930s had a strong front line in Muggsy Spanier, George Brunies, and Eddie Miller. Two of the numbers are hot Fats Waller spinoffs, while "No Lovers Allowed" is OK and "Since We Fell Out of Love" has notably stupid lyrics, made insufferable by Red McKenzie, who insists on warbling away at each song without mercy. Either you love him or you want to cram a comb down his throat. Whenever the singer runs out of lyrics, Muggsy's cornet shines like the harvest moon. arwulf arwulf  
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