A Collaborative Effort
RCA Record Cutting Lathe 1940
Record-making is a tough deal. A complex and unforgiving proposition that demands total concentration from all participants at all times throughout the process. Especially the records we play on In the Mood.
In the 1930s and much of the 40s, commercial recordings were mastered direct-to-disc, which is the most difficult way to record. Any error, technical or artistic, could cause the take to be scrapped. The only option at the time was to start over from the top. So, on recording day, everybody had to get it right, at the same time, from the artist at the microphone to the engineer at the cutting table.
Just imagine all the things that could possibly go wrong: the singer could be hearing back from that pizza from last night; the trumpeter may have a cold; a microphone might crackle; the gain rider may fail to anticipate a loud note and it over-modulates. And there were a million possible problems with the disc cutter itself. Getting a technically flawless take on disc was something of a minor technical miracle carried out multiple times daily at various locations in New York, New Jersey, L. A., Hollywod, Chicago and elsewhere. That's why I'm always impressed when I note that the famous Big Band recording I'm about to play was Take 1 in the studio. And doubly so when the recording is of a virtuoso performance on the level of Berigan's I Can't Get Started or Harry James' Flight of the Bumble Bee. There are a hundred ways a record cutting lathe can thwart the efforts of even the most attentive technicians. The process was, in fact, a significant fire hazard. The extremely fine shaving of acetate that was planed off the surface of the blank record was highly flammable; many radio stations, for example, had announcers in a booth on the ground floor with the mic wired to a cutting table in a concrete room in the basement with buckets of sand stationed about the room.
And that's before we even get to making actual records. The record-pressing process itself is loud, hot, dangerous and sweaty. Steam is jetting about, and the presses are applying extreme heat and pressure. Toxic chemicals are used in the plating process and chemical baths.
All of it done with no computers, no editing capabilities, and no margin for error. Pretty Impressive. What you hear on the record is exactly what went down in the studio. Until about 1946. If you've ever listened to the Edward R. Murrow collection I can Hear It Now, you were hearing the first obvious example of tape editing on a commercially-released recording.
Since Glenn Miller died in 1944, before the advent of tape recording technology, we know that all his records were done in the studio just as you hear them on the record: perfect from front to back in a flawless take. This was driven home to me when I heard a live radio broadcast by the Miller band wherein they play their new tune, A String of Pearls for the first time in a public performance. And it sounds exactly like the record. Rock solid, total confidence through and through. In those days, you went into the recording studio prepared.
Our tribute to Glenn Miller opens Hour 1 of In the Mood this week, with a seldom-heard Decca recording by Glenn's 1937 band leading off. It's interesting to hear Glenn's arranging style before developing the "Miller Sound." We cover the hits like Star Dust, Serenade in Blue, Moonlight Cocktail, and we may even indulge ourselves with our best copy of the show's namesake. Maybe. Just maybe.
Hour 2 kicks off with a fond listen to the sweet and very danceable band of Dick Jurgens. This was the band that first introduced us to Eddy Howard, but went on after his departure to perhaps its greatest success. Jurgens ruled the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago the way Chick Webb ruled the Savoy. And, like Webb, his music was tailored to the local taste. Midwesterners preferred their music sweet, melodic, smooth, and not too flashy. You know - Lutheran. And Dick Jurgens gave them quality dance music that fit the bill. We'll hear a good representative sampling of this band's original recordings on Columbia and Okeh. I think they came out sounding pretty good...and downright hot in a couple of cases. I'm still looking for a great copy of When You Were Sweet Sixteen.
Additionally, we enjoy some of our perennial favorites from the World's Greatest Record Library this week, with entries from Benny Goodman, Jimmy Dorsey and The Brother, Benny Carter, Count Basie, Gene Krupa, Louis Armstrong and more. Bing will sing one, and we'll hear 78s from Tommy Dorsey, Johnny Guarnieri, the Basin Street Six and others. This one's gonna be a swingin' show with gems common and rare, so plan to join us!
As always, we welcome your input, comments and requests, either here or on our Facebook Page.
Remember to contact a young musician or band student this week and invite them to listen to the show with you. It'll be a great experience for both of you!
Be good to one another this week, and above all,
Keep Swinging!
Scott
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