RACIST IRONIES OF FOUR 1940s BLACK MUSIC VIDEOS

In 1974, a book dealing with the treatment accorded to blacks in motion pictures was given the ironic title “Toms, Coons, Mulattos, Mammies and Bucks.” As its young black author, Donald Bogle, saw it, those words effectively summed up the whole story.

Reminders of the past continue to show up. Recently a series of videocassettes have been released, all billed with unconscious humor as “Jazz Classics.” The four videos consist of bits and pieces culled from Soundies (primitive video jukeboxes), Snader Telescriptions and segments from old TV shows or feature films. They date mainly from the 1940s and ‘50s and were shot in what might best be called Inglorious Segrecolor, or Jim Crow Black-and-White.

“LOUIS JORDAN AND FRIENDS.” Jazz Classics JCVC 105. Shot in 1941-45, this comprises three Soundies and a short movie. Jordan, a tremendously popular entertainer who sang and played alto sax, performs in only five of more than a dozen tunes during the 46 minutes, of which “Ration Blues” and “Buzz Me” have stood the time test better than the dismal “Fuzzy Wuzzy” and the stereotypical “Caldonia.”

Much of the footage cuts away from Jordan to show his surrounding bevy of brown-skin beauties or various dancers. This treatment nearly ruins such numbers as Meade Lux Lewis’ boogie-woogie piano solos. Maxine Sullivan fares a little better on “Some of These Days.” Nat King Cole’s “Is You Is or Is You Ain’t My Baby” is a valuable sample of early Cole, singing and playing, but he is obliged to share the vocal with a squealing Ida James.

The rest is zero: corny choreography; antiquated Apollo-style comedy. Some of the dancing is first-rate; the camera work and sound are adequate. The attempt at a story line in the closing Jordan film short is monumentally inane.

Had this been shot with any respect for the integrity of artists like Jordan, Cole and Sullivan, it would be priceless. What little it does leave undamaged rates 2 stars.

“LOUIS ARMSTRONG AND HIS ORCHESTRA.” Jazz Classics JCVC 102. Rarely was the cliche image of the foot-shuffling, chicken-licking, craps-shooting Negro more fully displayed than in some of Armstrong’s early films; Satchmo simply did whatever the boss man wanted--but it is noteworthy that he did change, as this 33-minute collection reveals.

The first of two versions of his theme, “Sleepy Time Down South,” presents his big band in cotton-picking garb in a stereotyped 1942 scene, with Louis singing about “darkies.”

The second version is taken from a 1965 TV show with his six-band combo. The men are dressed in three-piece suits, and the word darkies has given way to folks .

The four band numbers remind us that Armstrong’s ensemble could sound crisp and well-coordinated. Despite the many visual distractions, there are several stretches of unalloyed trumpet beauty and a few glimpses of Armstrong’s superb drummer, Big Sid Catlett. But the offensive lyrics of “Shine” and the triviality of singer Velma Middleton’s participation in “You Rascal You” are as depressing as the lazy, shiftless images of “Sleepy Time.”

The emancipated Armstrong of the TV segment is rich in solo work by Louis, the trombonist and vibraphonist Tyree Glenn, the clarinetist Buster Bailey and the pianist Billy Kyle. There are two numbers without vocals: “Struttin’ With Some Barbecue” and W. C. Handy’s “Ole Miss.” This portion elevates the rating to 3 stars.

“FATS WALLER AND FRIENDS.” Jazz Classics JCVC 107. Here is the unkindest cut of all. Of 11 tunes squeezed into the 29 minutes, only four are by Waller; on none of them does he have an extended piano solo, and even when he is playing, the camera usually is on something else.

Waller was indeed a masterful entertainer whose singing nobody (least of all Waller) took seriously. What a memorable 29 minutes we could have had if all the irrelevancies had been thrown out: the mediocre female singers and dancers, one song by Bob Howard (the poor man’s Fats Waller), even “Cow Cow Boogie” sung by a not-yet-ready Dorothy Dandridge in her teens. Waller’s sidemen have brief solos (Al Casey, guitar; Gene Sedric, sax and clarinet; Bugs Hamilton, trumpet). In one filler item, there is some good blues guitar by Tiny Grimes. The producer evidently was afraid even to show Waller’s light skin; he is obviously wearing dark makeup. 1 1/2 regretful stars.

“CAB CALLOWAY AND HIS ORCHESTRA” Jazz Classic JCVC 103. Except in the earliest number, the 1935 “Jitterbug Party,” Calloway was able to control his settings and limit the racist nonsense. As with Waller, though, the accent is on singing, limiting the band’s role to occasional fleeting solos: the great tenor saxophonist Chu Berry (heard but hardly seen), the trumpeter Shad Collins and, in the three 1950 numbers shot after Calloway had cut down from a big band to a quartet, the trumpeter Jonah Jones. There are two versions of “Minnie the Moocher.”

Calloway had one of the best (and best disciplined) big bands of the late 1930s and early ‘40s, but his voice, personality and showmanship were its raison d’etre; inevitably, they predominate. 2 1/2 stars.