Friday, 9 October 2015


‘Ye Blews’

Blues means what milk does to a baby.
Blues is what the spirit is to the minister.
We sing the blues because our hearts have been hurt,
our souls have been disturbed.
Alberta Hunter

As waggish musicians are wont to say,
‘You should always have a W. C. Handy’

Whilst jazz was simultaneously emerging in New Orleans and Chicago, like all music at the time, the only way you could hear it was by being there at a live performance, or by taking advantage of the huge, burgeoning printed sheet music industry and playing the popular tunes yourself, at home. Yet towards the end of the 19th century, something exciting happened.
       Emile Berliner (1851–1929) was a German-born American inventor, and alongside all the other attempts at recording sound, such as his own cylindrical machine, which he dubbed ‘the gramophone’ in 1887, (a system already in use via the machines of the equally inventive Thomas Edison), in 1888 he managed to surpass cylinders by using discs. Yet such devices were still, for many, simply fascinating playthings.

However, Berliner persisted and managed to sell his new disc-based technology, albeit at first to toy manufacturers. But in 1895 he succeeded in raising a substantial investment of $25,000, and with this he established the Berliner Gramophone Company. Even as Berliner continued to burn the midnight oil in his workshop, coin-in-the-slot, sound-reproducing machines, perhaps the earliest form of juke box, were becoming a popular attraction in amusement arcades, and as early as 1890 the New York Phonograph Company opened the first recording studio.
Putting music on a disc was one achievement, but trying to stabilise the speed of the turntable was a different challenge.
So Berliner teamed up with Eldridge R. Johnson, an engineer, who designed a clockwork spring-wound motor. In 1901, Berliner[1] and Johnson knew that together, they had something impressive, so they joined forces. The Victor Talking Machine Company was formed.
      By 1902, recordings were being made by performers sitting in a studio, playing into the large horn of a gramophone. The recordings were made onto thick wax discs. By 1902 the immensely popular operatic celebrity, Enrico Caruso, essentially became history’s first recording star as one of the earliest performers to embrace the new technology, ‘cutting’ his first record, Vesti le gubba from Pagliacci. It sold more than a million records.

Soon, the hand-cranked Victrola would be superseded by the invention, by Lee de Forest, of the triode, an electronic amplification device having three active electrodes.
      Against the tragic backdrop of the Great War of 1914-18 (although it must be remembered that the USA did not enter the war until April 1917) African American music making had developed into a variety of vibrant styles. Jazz had taken off in the south and as far north as New York and Chicago, and jazz scenes were developing in places as far apart as Kansas City and Los Angeles. All the accrued cultural heritage of struggle and deprivation experienced through two centuries of slavery, the continuing racism, the immense transcendent outlet of the spiritual and various European influences had all fused together to create a new, improvised and uplifting musical form. Cutting its own swathe through this was yet another means of expression. Unlike the spiritual, this wasn’t religious, but secular. This was the Blues.

Like the word ‘jazz’ there are numerous theories surrounding the origin of ‘blues’ as a musical appellation. Its provenance, when studied closely, is quite surprising. Because of the way we now think of the blues it simply sounds too hip and modern for the word to have a history prior to the birth of jazz. We can confidently sidestep the ‘official’ first musical mention from 1912, in W.C. Handy's Memphis Blues because long before Columbus, in Britain as far back as 1385, the adjective ‘blue’ meant ‘low spirited’[2]. There are other historical examples, one quoted in the Oxford English Dictionary (2nd edition) which tells us of it being in use in 1741 for ‘depression, low spirits.’ 

David Garrick in his 'Blews'
outfit, no doubt ...
In that year, the great 16th century actor, David Garrick, wrote in a letter:
      ‘I am far from being quite well, tho not troubled with ye Blews as I have been’[3].
‘The blues’ is also a diminutive of blue devils, bad little demons associated with despondency, depression and sadness. Blue devils have been with us since 1616, from a poetry collection entitled  Times’ Whistle:
      ‘Alston, whose life hath been accounted evill, And therfore calde by many the blew devill’[4].
If we need any further proof of the provenance, in 1798 George Colman the Younger wrote a one act play, set in France entitled The Blue Devils.
      As a musical style, yes, the term ‘the blues’ has been around since 1912, which inevitably takes us to ‘the Father of The Blues’ William Christopher Handy (1873 –1958). The first publication of blues sheet music was Hart Wand's Dallas Blues in 1912 but the prominence of W. C. Handy dominates the genre’s history.
W. C. Handy
As this story deals with the way in which R&B musicians were frequently the victims of appalling treatment and skulduggery over money and royalties, it is a sad fact that such dubious dealings, although mainly the province of some promoters and managers throughout history, should have coincided with the rise of recorded music, and have continued up to this day. Memphis Blues was Handy's third composition, but his first blues. However, it began life as a political campaign song in support of Edward Hull Crump (1874-1954), who was running for Mayor in Memphis in 1909. It was originally an instrumental entitled Mr. Crump, with a bit of a jive/rap vocal thrown in to help ‘Boss’ Crump, one of the early builders of the modern Democratic Party and eventually one of the South’s most powerful politicians, on his mayoral way. The mayoral campaign kept Handy busy all over town, assembling bands and musicians to give repeated performances of Mr. Crump. The lyric seems simple enough:

      Mr. Crump don't 'low no easy riders here
      Crump don't 'low no easy riders here
      We don't care what Mr. Crump don't 'low
      We gonna bar'l house anyhow
      Mr. Crump can go catch hisself some air.[5]

However, even in 1909, almost five decades after emancipation and the Civil War, there are still West African roots here. West Africans always had what were known as ‘songs of derision’, so although Mr.  Crump is a campaign song, it has all the hallmarks of the Southern black man’s penchant for ‘telling it like it is.’ It pulls no punches, yet at least Crump was a ‘straight’ politician, and by all accounts not like the rabid segregationists of later decades. Others in the Crump Camp were more devious.
Beale Street, Memphis.
In Memphis, Handy had to pay L.Z. Phillips at Bry's Department Store, the representative of the publisher Theron Bennett, (who was also a notable ragtime composer and musician) for the printing of the first sheet music edition, 1,000 copies, of Mr. Crump. Phillips had convinced Handy that he was only printing the music on speculation in the hope it would sell well throughout Memphis. Phillips seemed positive and Bennett, who was visiting Memphis, offered Handy national distribution and exposure, an irresistible deal. Handy, by no means a rich man, was in the shop with Phillips and Bennett when  the initial 1000 copies were delivered. Bennett was still in town a week later when Handy went into Bry’s Department Store to check on sales. Bennett showed him a remaining pile of 1000 copies, suggesting sales were slow. He then suggested that Handy sell him the full copyright to the composition outright. Because of the popularity of the song, this confused Handy, yet what he didn’t know was that the wily publishing duo had actually printed 2,000 copies, and the first 1,000 had indeed sold like wildfire. Still, Handy, thinking he may have written a turkey, agreed to sell his copyright to Theron for a mere $50. In the following weeks, another 10,000 copies, complete with Bennett's imprint, rolled off the presses. Months passed and Bennett sold Handy’s work for a substantial sum to publisher Joe Morris. Adding insult to injury, George Norton, one of Bennett's lyricists, was hired by Morris to add words to the song, a move which Handy considered highly objectionable. 
      Needless to say, but once Theron had bought the copyright, he knew that he’d make a fat profit because there’d be no royalties due to Handy until the copyright ran out. It would be 1937 before Handy could re-claim his highly successful composition, and when he completed his first book on the blues, he had even been refused permission to include the song.[6]
This notorious episode did however convince Handy to form his own successful publishing company, Handy & Pace[7].

      As an early demonstration of the felonious way in which African American performers would be treated by publishers, managers, promoters and record companies, W. C. Handy’s Mr. Crump/Memphis Blues experience is an early milestone of cynical opportunism. It seems poignant that under the revised song’s later title, Memphis Blues, that Handy could pen such a magnanimous verse as:

      ‘Folks I've just been down, down to Memphis town,
      That's where the people smile, smile on you all the while.
      Hospitality, they were good to me.
      I couldn't spend a dime, and had the grandest time’

Of course, there’s always another side to every story. In his book The Country Blues,
Sam Charters
Samuel  Charters writes: ‘Handy later complained bitterly that he was cheated out of the rights to his song, but the man who bought the rights from him was acting in good faith and had as little idea as Handy did the song would become so successful.’[8]
If that’s the case, then Theron Bennett must have been a saint among his peers. As will be seen, the practice of grabbing copyright and composer credits from innocent artists became one of the big bonuses
in being a publisher or a record producer, jobs which were often combined. For example, Lester Melrose, rightly famed for recording many of the greatest country blues artists for RCA and Columbia for their Chicago ‘race music’ subsidiary, bragged that he had recorded 90% of all the black music African Americans were dancing to across the USA. Dedicated though Melrose was to bringing the blues to a wider audience, he only paid artists a recording fee, and made sure that before they left the studio they had fully surrendered the compositional copyright to their songs over to him. Thus, with no artistic, creative or musical skills, Melrose is said to have gained royalty payments for up to 3,000 blues compositions, whilst not writing a note or a word of any.
Lester Melrose
This would appear to be true, as his tax return for 1938 shows him making a staggering $139,000 – a huge income for the time. Melrose was able to retire to a splendid villa in an orange grove in Florida, where he died in comfort in 1979.[9]
      It didn’t take long for the word ‘blues’ to become a popular addition to a song title. A new musical structure had developed. Primarily a vocal form, lyrically, it wasn’t religious, but secular, although it contained echoes of slavery and field hollers through its call-and-response pattern and the syncopated rhythms of work songs and spirituals. Its hallmarks were a repeating harmonic structure with melodic emphasis on the flatted or “blue” third and seventh notes of the scale. Its common form featured a 12-bar phrase using the chords
of the first, fourth, and fifth degrees of the major scale.
With the advent of the gramophone, records began to match the popularity of sheet music. Although a white Broadway star, Marie
Cahill recorded The Dallas Blues in 1917, and the early 1920s saw the first black blues recordings, and women led the charge. Mamie Smith (1883-1946) was the first African American singer to record. 
Mamie Smith
Her 1920 Crazy Blues, written by Perry Bradford, an experienced Minstrel and Vaudeville performer, was to be followed in 1923 by Ma Rainey’s (1886-1939) Boll Weevil Blues. Fine vocalist though she was, in a variety of popular styles, Mamie Smith wasn’t really a blues singer, but Crazy Blues sold 10,000 recordings the first week and 75,000 within a month. Ma Rainey certainly was a blues singer and went on to make over 100 recordings. These early recordings, with their jazz accompanists; would soon earn the title ‘classic blues.’
      By the end of the 1920s the blues, especially due to classic female artists, had become a major element of African American and American popular music. It even had exposure, often due to Handy’s arrangements, to white audiences in theatres and clubs, such as the Cotton Club and numerous Beale Street venues in Memphis through special blues shows organised by the Theatre Owners Bookers Association The record industry began recording blues performers. New labels such as Okeh Records, Paramount Records and the American Record Corporation, all found it worthwhile to record African American music.


[1] Berliner invented many other products, such as an early version of the helicopter, the acoustic tile and a loom which enabled the mass-production of cloth.
[4] Gent, R.C. (Ed.) The Times Whistle: A Naïve Daunce of Seven Satires and other Poems. English Text Society, London 1616.
[5] Avakian, George: Liner notes to Louis Armstrong Plays W.C. Handy, Long Playing Record, Label: Columbia CL 591 Canada, 1954
[8] Charters,  Samuel  - The Country Blues. New York: Rinehart. 1959 Reprinted as The Country Blues: Roots of Jazz by Da Capo Press, with a new introduction by the author 1975
[9] Reich, Howard and Gaines, William: Jelly’s Blues: The Life, Music and Redemption of Jelly Roll Morton Da Capo Press, New York, 2004.

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