The Redpoll is a tiny bird, about 10 cm (5 in) long and weighing around 13 grams (0.46 oz). I have held them in my hands a couple of times when I found them in distress, and it was like holding air. Oddly (to me, anyway), they winter in cold places like Saskatchewan, where the temperature can dip beyond -40C, and spend their summers, their breeding season, in the arctic.
They are always a delight to see - one never knows whether they will show up here or elsewhere.
Lively and enduring, they are Pam and my icons for this Christmas - as well as the coming year.
Legendary (and forgotten) songwriter of "Dyin' Crapshooter's Blues," "Ain't Nobody's Biz-ness If I Do," "Song From A Cottonfield," "One Hour Mama," and many others, finally receives attention.
Porter Grainger is one of the central characters in my book, an exploration into the origins of the song “St. James Infirmary.” My research entailed a deep plunge, and I came to consider Grainger as a force whose contributions to popular music have been so underrated that I wondered if this was more a racial than a musical bias. There was so little interest in him that, until I looked into it, both the dates and places of his birth and death were unknown.
Now, in 2025, we know that Porter Grainger was born in 1891 (seven years, for instance, before George Gershwin) that he died in 1948 (eleven years after George Gershwin). Bits and pieces of his life come into view, but they quickly fade due to lack of interest. One has to be alert in order to catch and document them.
This recognition of Grainger is past due. Many thanks to the folk in Grainger’s birthplace of Bowling Green for bringing deserved attention to this artist who has been an invisible cornerstone in the development of American popular music.
Politics do not define us. Popular Culture is our essential reference. Porter Grainger, even with the myriad mysteries that envelop his biography, remains a subterranean contributor to our sense of continuity, or even community.
Porter Grainger, as so many songwriters before and after him, revealed some of the illusions imposed by the powers of the time.
Here, as an example, is his Song From A Cottonfield, pretty adventurous for a black composer in 1927.
Grainger wrote hundreds of songs. “Dyin’ Crapshooter’s Blues” might be his most famous. It was recoded three times in 1927 (Martha Copeland - with Grainger on piano, Viola McCoy, and Rosa Henderson) and lay dormant until 1940, when McTell made the first of his three recordings. (Until recently it was assumed that Blind Willie McTell wrote the song; while researching the first edition of this book, about fifteen years ago, I uncovered this error.)
You can find the original, 1925, recordings on YouTube. There were three of them that year, no others until Blind Willie McTell. The first featured Martha Copeland.
I had been looking for this sheet music for years. Dare I say, for over a decade?! It escaped me. It was as if it did not exist. I mean, I found evidence that it was locked in the archives of the New York State judicial library, as evidence in a 1930s lawsuit. But it was rare as the Dickens and I could never find the actual thing.
But eventually I did.
I found it on eBay. The starting price was ninety-nine cents (plus postage), and there were two weeks left in the bidding. "Oh dear," I thought, "this is such an important historical document, one that has eluded me for a decade, and I am sure many people will be bidding for this, waiting for the last possible moment before entering a bid. There is no chance that, with my meager resources, I shall be able to actually get my hands on this item." But, as you can see, I did win it.
For ninety-nine cents (plus postage).
What an odd thing!! This was something of considerable historical importance. And I was the only one to enter a bid. Nobody else in the world cared. It was my golden grail. Nobody else cared. There were no other bids. And so I now possess a great historical document at a cost of ninety-nine cents (plus postage).
I must be deluded. I had been pursuing this story, this history of "St. James Infirmary," for a very long time. One of the critical links in the saga of this song appeared for sale, and . . . well . . . it sold for ninety-nine cents.
I shall have to ponder this.
Maybe history depends upon who writes the story.
The year on this music sheet is 1925. It was published by Phil Baxter in Little Rock, Arkansas. My earlier research had informed me that "Harry D. Squires, Inc." was the original publisher of this song, and that Squires was the person who convinced Fess Williams to record it (the first recorded version). So it is likely that Baxter released this edition of the sheet music before finding a bona fide publisher. Also, I had noted that Baxter and Moore neglected to copyright the song (thereby leaving the way open for "Joe Primrose" to take ownership of it). But "International Copyright Secured" is printed on these pages. I had found no evidence of this when I contacted the U.S. copyright offices, so I am not sure what this means.
The 1925 sheet music with lyrics can be found here - the pages should expand when you click on them. I leave it to you to compare this music with the second oldest publication of this song in Carl Sandburg's "American Songbag," published in 1927. Whatever this comparison tells you, it will be clear that neither Phil Baxter nor Carl Moore nor Joe Primrose nor anybody else, wrote "St. James Infirmary."
Well, it seems I'm on a Porter Grainger (or maybe a Bob Dylan) run.
So ... here's the latest.
In March, 1962, about the same time his first album was released, Bob Dylan served as a backup musician, playing harmonica, for an album featuring blues legends Victoria Spivey (b. 1906), Big Joe Williams (b. 1903), Roosevelt Sykes (b. 1906), and Lonnie Johnson (b. 1899). The album was titled Three Kings and a Queen. Young guy, aging legends; Dylan fit right in.
1962 was a busy year for Dylan the session player. He was twenty years old, and had already served as harmonica backup for Harry Belafonte on Belafonte's 1962 release of "Midnight Special."
Harry Belafonte (Dylan, 20 yrs old, on harmonica) "Midnight Special" 1962.
He had also played harp for three songs on Carolyn Hester's self-titled third album. On the one below, Hester's interpretation of Walter Davis' (1911-1963) "Come Back Baby," Dylan's harmonica has a subdued subterranean pulse. But at around 1:50 he holds a note for twenty seconds before modulating. This young man was a creative, well-practiced instrumentalist, sensitive to the nuances of a song, sensitive to how he contributed to the whole.
Carolyn Hester, "Come Back Baby," 1961.
So, back to Porter Grainger.
The back cover of Dylan's New Morning CD features a photograph of him (standing with a guitar) beside Spivey (sitting at a piano). Spivey had often recorded with Porter Grainger accompanying on piano and occasionally backup vocals. They wrote songs together. In 1937 she recorded Porter Grainger's "One Hour Mama."
Victoria Spivey "One Hour Mama" 1937
Written by Grainger, this is a woman talking about sex. Porter Grainger was extraordinary in this way; he had an ability to emulate another's point of view.
I've always heard that haste makes waste So I believe in takin' my time The highest mountain can't be raced It's something you must slowly climb
I want a slow and easy man He needn't ever take the lead 'Cause I work on that long-time plan And I ain't a-lookin' for no speed
Etc.
Grainger did this again and again. He could grasp a female point of view and make it universal (from "Sing Sing Prison Blues," written for Bessie Smith: "Judge, you ain't no woman / And you can't understand"). He could take the perspective of a slave, and make you feel it (from "Song From A Cotton Field:" "All my life I been makin' it / All my life white folks takin' it ' / This ol' heart they jus' breakin' it...") He could communicate pride (with maybe a touch of cynicism) in black engagements in war (1919's "When Our Brown Skin' Soldier Boys Come Home From War" ... can you recall any other WW1 patriotic song with black Americans as the focus?).
He often wrote in a cabaret style popular in the '20s, but he could could take on the blues (music, rhythm, lyric), he could take on spirituals, he could take on popular music.
Porter Grainger has been forgotten.
How do we forget the composer of "Dyin' Crapshooter's Blues" and "Tain't Nobody's Business If I Do?" How do we dismiss almost everything else he wrote? (Until I wrote I Went Down to St. James Infirmary, it was assumed that Blind Willie McTell wrote "Dyin' Crapshooter's Blues.")
2025. Maria Muldaur, possibly first coming to public awareness as a member of the early 1960s Even Dozen Jazz Band, interprets songs as if she was living the lyric - this is a signal of a great singer, as it is of a great actor. Her contributions to the Americana canon are exemplary.
She released an album of Victoria Spivey songs in 2025. The title song is Porter Grainger's "One Hour Mama." Muldaur reaches deeply into formative blues throughout the album, her vocals are evocative, drawing out the nuance of the lyric, and the instrumental underpinnings could not be more sympathetic. It's also a whole lot of fun!
Maria Muldaur "One Hour Mama" 2025
So thank you, Maria Muldaur, from both me and, I am sure, Porter Grainger. (Spivey would have loved this!!)
You can find more selections from Three Kings and the Queen on-line. The LP was originally released on Spivey Records, co-founded by Victoria Spivey and jazz historian Len Kunstadt. Spivey died in 1976, and the label ceased production after Kunstadt's death twenty years later. Occasionally reports emerge that the music has been re-engineered, and the label is about to be revived, but nothing materializes. Used copies can be found via sites like Discogs.
Quite by accident, my research into the long history of the song "St. James Infirmary," has become entangled with copyright.
Essentially, copyright is meant to reward the creator "for a limited time" before returning the creation to the commons, where others can use it for building the future. That is, nothing (songs, sewing machines ...) is created out of nothing - we all depend upon what went before. And we all build upon the past. There is no unique creation. But ...
Corporations want to protect what brings them money. And so, successfully, they have pressured governments to lengthen copyright restrictions.The more lengthy and restrictive the copyright laws become, the more impoverished do we all become as creators, or even just as listeners/viewers/readers ...
This contemporary notion of monetization has become an infectious illness.
Thanks, Rick, for your post!
When I began research into the history of "St. James Infirmary," it was obvious that Porter Grainger would become a major character in the book. It wasn't long before I came to the realization that Grainger is one of the great-but-forgotten songwriters of the early 20th century.
1939 photo of black musicians/composers in Harlem. (Click on the image to enlarge.)
Until I looked into census records, his birth date was unknown. Not because it was hidden, but because interest in him was so low that nobody had bothered to look.
Still, here he is in a 1939 photograph of major black composers/musicians in Harlem. Jelly Roll Martin, Eubie Blake, Kay Parker, Perry Bradford, James P. Johnson ... Porter Grainger (right of photo, beside Claude Hopkins in the white suit).
Death Certificate for Porter Grainger
Gradually he sank out of sight. He remains in the pantheon of the forgotten.
It was long thought that, due to dating of copyright renewals in his name, Grainger died in New York between 1951 and 1955. In fact, he died on October 30, 1948. (A genealogy researcher who goes by the name ladylorax recently unearthed the death certificate on ancestry.com.)
When the certificate was completed, his name was entered as "Porter, Granger" (that is, Granger Porter)—hence the difficulty in finding the record. He was living at 1300 Wylie Avenue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He was brought to the Passavant Hospital at noon, where he remained for twenty minutes (which suggests he was DOA). Cause of death was written as "Pneumonitis, due to dentures lodged in his trachea." In other words, he choked on his dentures. He was 57 years and 9 days old.
This caused me to reflect – in a roundabout way – that musicians are sometimes stimulated to write songs about ... Bob Dylan. Here are three of those songs – two of which ask "What if I was Bob Dylan?"
1. In 2010 the Italian musician, Roberto Tardito, released a song in both Italian ("Se Fossi Dylan") and English ("If I Were Dylan").
Towards the end of "If I Were Dylan" Tardito sings:
I'd have a long story to tell, a hard long story Of money, women, disillusion A secret longing to go far away To walk on distant paths, never trodden before If I were Dylan I'd not speak any more I'd not speak any more
Alas, I could find no computer link (including Spotify) for either the Italian or the English recordings. However, about fifteen years ago I bought an mp3 of the song. Blogger does not permit the loading of audio files. But Substack does, and you can find this rarity by travelling to my Substack version of this post. Click here.
2. In 2010 Cade and the Taliesins released the song "If I Was Bob Dylan" on their album The Spiral. Cade and the Taliesins is, again, close to impossible to find information about (although their album is on Spotify). The band is probably from the U.S. and is brainchild of Cade Johnson. Do they still exist? Who is Cade Johnson?
In the opening of "If I Was Bob Dylan," a love song, Cade sings:
If I was Bob Dylan I would write a new song everyday If I could be your Bob Dylan I would speak to you in metaphors always
3. In 2008 Cat Power released "Song to Bobby" on her album Jukebox. In contrast to the above, I suspect all readers know of Cat Power, who has recently toured with her interpretation of Dylan's 1966 Royal Albert Hall concert.
In the opening of "Song to Bobby," Cat Power sings:
I wanna tell you I've always wanted to tell you But I never had the chance to say What I feel in my heart from the beginning til my dying day
There must be other songs of this ilk. Can you send your favourites?
Tardito answered (thank you Google's translator for this):
"If I were Dylan, I'd have the credit and attention to allow me to experiment, both in the studio and live, that constantly break the mold. Or rather: I am and feel like a free artist, I'm not under the control of a multinational. I don't care in the slightest what people might like or dislike, I don't try to accommodate anyone. I don't make calculations. Today I'm on this path, nothing prevents me from taking another tomorrow. Of course, if I experiment, it's under the eyes of a few; if Dylan or his colleagues do it it's under the eyes of the world."
Sometime in June, 2025 YouTube posted an entry devoted to Dylan's song "Blind Willie McTell," which went unreleased for eight years after it was recorded. The song is referred to as "a masterpiece." I am uncomfortable with the bandying about of that word, but . . . sure. The video is about 50 minutes long, and revelatory for any fan of Dylan's music.
Pam and I encountered this item accidentally. One evening, after supper, we were scanning YouTube options on our TV. The algorithms (I guess it was that) steered us to an entry devoted to the complicated history essential for the evolution of that song.
At one point, early in the video, I turned to Pam and uttered, "That's I Went Down to St. James Infirmary."
Possibly 75% of the research that went into the script of this 50 minute piece came from our book.
This video is a fascinating piece of work, and I recommend it to anyone interested in the development of songs. Interested in old weird Americana. Interested in the junction between songs new and olde. Interested in something both informative and fun.
Calloway was, according to my count, the twenty-second person to record "St. James Infirmary." This was a mere three years after Fess Williams' and the Royal Flush Orchestra's initial release, then titled "Gambler's Blues," in 1927. One year after Louis Armstrong's version (recorded in 1928, released in 1929).
Cab restricted the song to the three verses that Louis Armstrong definitively recorded in 1928 (the 3rd recording of the song). Fess Williams, on the other hand, included eight verses.
As I wrote about in the book I Went Down to St. James Infirmary, other early recordings (for instance, two versions by the Hokum Boys in 1929 (4th & 5th overall)) had a much different lyric, now forgotten - but, still, obviously SJI.
Carl Sandburg's written notation - the first one ever (1927) could only scrape the surface of the many versions that were making the rounds throughout North America with solo blues singers, small and large touring bands, in fancy night clubs and sleazy bars and back porches and living rooms and brothels and street corners and music halls, before the recording studios more or less defined (and restrained) the song into the variations we hear today.
Cab Calloway, performing at Harlem's notorious Cotton Club in the 1930s, used SJI as his theme song. Until, using the same opening and the same melodic structure, he substituted Minnie the Moocher - which was based upon a "traditional" song (also documented in Sandburg's "American Songbag") titled Willie the Weeper.
This is such a small part of the story, and it's pretty recent.
(Btw I have no doubt that Michael Jackson studied Calloway's moves.)
The long history of this song is fascinating.
So, in a nod to recent history, here are two videos of Cab Calloway performing St. James Infirmary. The first is from 1947, from his movie "Hi-Di-Ho," seventeen years after his first recording of the song. (He presents the protagonist as a hopeless failure, rather than the gambler who could afford the extravagant funeral arrangements.) The second is from his 1964 appearance on "The Ed Sullivan Show," preceding The Beatles' third appearance. (You can see both of these on my blog entry from 2021.)
"The New Music of Reginald Foresythe" This was the name of his band. It was also his notion that he could influence the musical atmosphere of jazz.
Reginald Foresythe isn't a name you hear much these days. He was born in 1907, and made a splash in both the U.S. and (his birthplace) Britain in the 1920s and 30s.
He was a talented pianist and accordionist. He's probably best known as leader of a band (piano, clarinet, saxes, bassoon - no trumpets!) called "The New Music of Reginald Foresythe." He certainly saw himself as an innovator. Jazzy, but not jazz. Well, jazzy with an odd, impressionistic, edge.
Popular songs of his carried titles such as "Serenade For A Wealthy Widow," "Berceuse For An Unwanted Child," "Dodging A Divorcee," "Dinner Music For A Bunch Of Hungry Cannibals," "Revolt Of The Yes-Men."
Among these was a piece titled "Deep Forest - A Hymn To Darkness #1." (Which was followed by "Lament For The Congo - A Hymn To Darkness #2.")
For this post, we are more interested in "Deep Forest - A Hymn To Darkness #1."
This was recorded only a couple of years after Louis Armstrong released his iconic version of "St. James Infirmary." The third recording of the song, Armstrong's became the template for future arrangements. And now, a couple of years after that 1929 release, we find a song using the SJI melody as a dominant feature of the piece.
Oh. That Louis Armstrong release, with Armstrong's Savoy Ballroom Five, featured Earl Hines on piano. Hines later recorded "Deep Forest," with its SJI melody, two years later. So did Paul Whiteman and his orchestra, in 1934.
Paul Whiteman was a big deal. He was the most successful popular artist of the 1920s. In that decade alone, 63 of his songs were top 40 hits. 13 of those reached #1. He is one of the biggest selling musicians in all of recorded popular music. He kept "Deep Forest" as an instrumental, disposing of Foresythe's lyrics:
At the call of day I must lay my dreams away Once again with my heavy load I'm ploddin' on the road
Oh night where can you be Please set the darkness free Toilin' all the day in life's deep forest You mean dreams and rest for weary me
SJI was recorded at least two dozen times between 1928 and 1930. But its melody was already being incorporated into new songs. Love and theft.
Reginald Foresythe - Deep Forest - A Hymn To Darkness #1
Inside cover of Denton & Haskins 1930 "St. James Infirmary." Item should enlarge if clicked on.
In this blog entry - and in more detail in I Went Down to St. James Infirmary - I write about a 1930 New York court case where Irving Mills' music company sued the music publisher Denton & Haskins.
Denton and Haskins (D&H) were selling a song, "St. James Infirmary," that Mills Music had been heavily promoting over the previous year. (These were the early days of song recording when sheet music outsold records.) While the song published by D&H had the SJI title, the lyrics were much different. D&H hired Claude Austin to write new music and William J. McKenna to write a new lyric. (D&H also included current lyrics inside the front cover; see first image.) D&H were really pushing this issue. The cover title was St. James Infirmary or The Gambler's Blues also known as St. Joe's Infirmary. These were different titles for more or less the same song. So, they were confident in their assertion that they could market a song with a title that was already in use.
Cover Denton&Haskins SJI
Mills Music argued that Denton & Haskins was taking unfair advantage of their advertising and promotion, and thereby profiting from Mills' investment in the song.
When I looked into this, the chief librarian at the New York Supreme Court kindly sent about 600 pages of testimony and legal argument. On trial and appeal Mills won the case, but when it was referred to the Appeals Court, he lost, and had to pay costs.
I had interpreted the judgements as supportive of Mills' claim, and only when I received an e-mail from a New York lawyer, Bruce R. Kraus, correcting my interpretation, did I realize that I had read the"dissenting opinion" as the court ruling.
Cover Mills Music SJI
Irving Mills did not appear in court, but submitted a signed affidavit. Among other admissions, he agreed that the song did not originate with him, or with Mills Music, or with "Joe Primrose." But since this was not a federal court, those admissions meant little as far as copyright and song ownership. As Kraus pointed out, this lawsuit served warning that Irving Mills and Mills Music were not to be fooled with; to challenge them could become an expensive proposition - Mills Music had deep pockets and were unafraid of confrontation.
Of course, this New York case was not about copyright, which is a federal and not a state matter. But, then again ... in the arguments for Mills Music, Irving was saying that I own this title, I have expended considerable effort, energy, and money in publicizing the song. It is unfair that another company gets to profit from my efforts.
Maybe it was due to this warning - the warning that Mills Music would aggressively challenge legal submissions - that the copyright for St. James Infirmary was never challenged in federal court, and Mills continued to profit from the song for many years.
As Bruce Kraus succinctly explained, "you cannot copyright a title." Copyright law considers titles or phrases to be too short; they contain insufficient creative effort to warrant copyright.
For instance, the Beatles famously recorded "The End" on Abbey Road in 1969. Two years earlier The Doors had recorded a song called "The End" on their 1967 eponymous debut
album. So did Pearl Jam (2009), Kings of Leon (2010), and quite a few others.
How many songs have been titled "I Love You"?
From Bob Dylan's 2015 MusiCares Person of the Year speech: “I learned lyrics and how to write them from listening to folk songs. And I played them, and I met other people that played them back when nobody was doing it. Sang nothing but these folk songs, and they gave me the code for everything that’s fair game, that everything belongs to everyone.” (italics extra)
"Everything belongs to everyone," Dylan said. Utopian. Undeniably true. And that's St. James Infirmary.
After the tragic event on January 1st, 2025, it seemed appropriate to post a couple of performances - each with its distinct flavour - of a song closely related to the city of New Orleans. St. James Infirmary.
Pam and I stayed with friends in NOLA a few years ago. We heard the song played everywhere; in small jazz venues, on street corners, and in food venues such as the Cafe du Monde, all in the French quarter. A grand time was had by all. It was the Jazz Festival. Streets were crowded, everyone was smiling.
First, is an award-winning Canadian band, living on a small island off the west coast, Blue Moon Marquee. Exceptionally talented, their take on St. James Infirmary.
Next, New Orleans legend Trombone Shorty. At the Obama White House.
New Orleans will always rise from turmoils visited upon it - whether storms or terror attacks.
Continuing with contemporary approaches to SJI, here are two Dee Dee Bridgewater interpretations of the song.
Bridgewater does some gender-bending in her version. She recorded this on 2015s remarkable Dee Dee's Feathers.
I have included two of her variations. Like jazz (or the blues) her approach to the song allows her musicians to have space. Space. SJI allows space for improvisation and interpretation, and Dee Dee takes advantage of that.
Debbie Burke recently interviewed me for her blog, "Debbie Burke - jazz author."
She hosts a remarkable site - I recommend checking it out! Her books can be found via amazon, and on her site.
Since she was the interviewer and I was the interviewee, there's not much I can add, except, of course, for the interview itself. So, for those of you interested in following further, here is the link:
Back in September I promised a series of contemporary interpretations of St. James Infirmary. We started with a young Rufus Wainwright. This is the second in that series and you will find two variations this time (plus a delightful interpretation of "Simple Twist of Fate").
First, David Mattson.
David Mattson on guitar
Now living in Largo, Florida, David has lived in all but one of the U.S. states, and a few other countries. He currently uses a Joe Beck alto guitar, made for him by a friend. His interpretation of SJI is a charming reimagining, with the refrain "her left hand brushing back her hair" transforming into a tender conclusion. He would use his rewritten SJI when doing soundchecks, or as an opener for gigs, allowing lots of room for improvisation.
This is a beautiful example of how SJI can be adapted by creative artists; always recognizable, always different.
Raygun Carver
Our second example.
Raygun Carver - a band name for Michael Soiseth - released his first album, "Moon Fields Yawning," in 2020. Raised around Port Angeles, he has an idiosyncratic sound, with refreshing interpretations and beautifully crafted originals. Of the latter, his "Everywhere You Go Is Where You'll Be," suggests that regardless of where we live, regardless of where we move, we remain who we are - changing the place does not change the person. Ahhhh, but maybe, changing the person can change the place?
His take on SJI is invigorating.
And, of course, not only traditional songs are open to interpretation. Raygun Carver's phrasing and timing on Dylan's "Simple Twist of Fate" opens us up for a new listen. (For instance, cue in to Carver's song at about 1:10 - "like a freight train ...")
There are so many interpretations of SJI. So many.
I am planning to post a few recent variations, starting with Rufus Wainwright. This song was recorded in 1998, part of his first album but excluded from it and re-introduced on a 25th anniversary CD.
Rufus creates a link between The Unfortunate Rake and SJI. He mixes them together as a kind of gumbo, combining lyrical touches from SJI and Streets of Laredo. Mostly, though, it's The Unfortunate Rake that he references.
The song starts: "Early one morning at the St. James Infirmary Early one morning in the month of May I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen Wrapped in white linen, and as cold as the clay"
And later: "Call for the doctor, come and heal my body Call for the preacher to heal up my soul For my poor head is aching and my sad heart is breaking I'm a poor, rundown cowboy and hell is my doom"
Aside from the name of the institution (St. James Infirmary rather than St. James Hospital), this is pretty well The Unfortunate Rake - and nothing in this version, or any other version of The Unfortunate Rake, makes me think of SJI - either lyrically or melodically.
He delivers a good song.
This is not surprising: he is always brightly original, sparkling, in both his own compositions and his interpretations.
Tony Bennett in the U.S. Army, 1945. (TonyBennett.com)
Tony Bennett, who died today at 96, made his first recording seventy-seven years ago:
After a distinguished career in the army (and a short-lived demotion for eating in a restaurant with a black friend, after which he was put on gravedigging detail), Tony Bennett recorded his first song. This was "St. James Infirmary," made in 1946. The song was on a V-disc, for American troops, and never released in the U.S. George Tannenbaum explains what V-discs are:
"V-discs were recordings done for American soldiers during World War II. Because there was a musicians strike in the U.S. at the time, V-discs were recorded but they never went on sale in the States. They were only for our overseas troops. Most of the records never came home and the masters of the recordings weren't treated with any special reverence. So for years it was rare to get a hold of a V-Disc recording--especially a rare one."
Bennett became Grandmaster of the Great American Songbook, a superb stylist whose recording history extended from 1952 ("Because of You") to 2021 ("Love for Sale," with Lady Gaga).
We miss you, Tony!
You can listen to the 1946 SJI here:
And here's a more contemporary version, from 1994:
Some of the people involved in the complex and intriguing story of "St. James Infirmary."
MOMENTS BEFORE LAUNCHING INTO A PERFORMANCE of “St. James Infirmary” in 1941, jazz great Jack Teagarden referred to it as “the oldest blues I ever heard.” The first timeIheard the song, sixty years later, it sounded utterly contemporary.
I was alone in my apartment and listening to a new CD, The Finest in Jazz Vocalists. Lou Rawls was singing “St. James Infirmary.” I had been a Rawls fan as a teenager, and paid close attention. Rawls began with a mournful preamble, one that — I found out later — was written by Irving Mills in 1930 and is an infrequent addition to the song:
When will I ever stop moaning?
When will I ever smile?
My baby went away and she left me
She’ll be gone for a long, long while.
I feel so blue, I feel heartbroken
What am I living for?
My baby she went away and she left me
No no no never to come back no more.
The band picked up the tempo and launched into the body of that version of the song (there are many versions):
I went down to St. James Infirmary
I heard my baby groan
I felt so broken-hearted
She used to be my own.
Hearing that melody, I shot out of my chair and shouted into the empty room, “That’s ‘Blind Willie McTell’!” It brought to mind, with a jolt, the Bob Dylan song of that name. It’s not that the Rawls' melody was identical to Dylan's, but there were similarities. For instance, both songs use the same basic chords. Thousands of songs are based on those chords, however, so it was probably in the pulse or the phrasing that the similarities revealed themselves. I have played these two songs to friends, who often hear no resemblance. For me, it was a revelation.
Dylan recorded “Blind Willie McTell” in the spring of 1983 for his Infidels album, released in November of that year. “Blind Willie McTell” did not appear on the record, and neither did several others from those New York sessions ("Foot of Pride," "Someone's Got a Hold of my Heart"). “McTell” emerged on no official Dylan recording (bootlegs were another matter) until 1991, when Columbia released a three-CD set of alternate versions and previously unreleased material called The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1–3. This is where I first heard Dylan’s “Blind Willie McTell.”
“Blind Willie McTell” is a magnificent piece of songcraft in which both the poetry and the music carry us into broad terrain. Dylan accomplishes this not through conventional narrative, but through a series of vignettes, a cascade of images that, coupled with a compelling melody, conveys a landscape of conflict and despair. The chorus summons the musician of the title: “Nobody can sing the blues like Blind Willie McTell.” Asked why he had omitted the song from his album, Dylan said he didn’t think he had recorded it right. The first time he performed the song in concert was August 5, 1997, at Montreal’s Du Maurier Stadium, fourteen years after recording it in the studio.
Standing there, listening to Lou Rawls, I remembered Dylan’s words near the end of “Blind Willie McTell” — “I’m gazing out the window of the St. James Hotel.” Here, in a song melodically reminiscent of “St. James Infirmary,” Dylan seemed to be paying homage. I made up my mind to find out more about “St. James Infirmary.” Little did I know that this was the beginning of a very long journey, eventually leading to I Went Down to St. James Infirmary.
As a music lover (and fellow Canadian), I need to mark Gordon Lightfoot's passing. He died yesterday, May 1, at the age of 84.
"Ring Them Bells"
Most remembrances will mention "In the Early Morning Rain," "If You Could Read My Mind," "Canadian Railroad Trilogy," and so on. He wrote hundreds of songs with nary a bad one among them. I prefer to include a couple of more obscure songs. His cover of Dylan's "Ring Them Bells," and "Black Day in July," a song that was banned in the U.S. due to sensitivity over the 1967 Detroit race riots (from which the city has not recovered).
"Black Day in July"
It is difficult to overestimate Lightfoot's importance to North American folk/popular music.
You're a singular talent, Gordon! Keep on singing!!!