The Jean Goldkette Band by Rex Stewart

© Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

“Only the enthusiast of popular music is likely, these days, to remember the name of Jean Goldkette, and only the few who are familiar with the music of the twenties recognize the importance of his Jean Goldkette Victor Recording Orchestra of 1926–27, the first large swinging dance band. It was this band of which Rex Stewart, who heard it at its first New York opening, wrote, “It was, without any question, the greatest in the world … the original predecessor to any large white dance Orchestra that followed, up to Benny Goodman.” “Even Goodman,” Stewart continued, “did not come close to the tremendous sound of Goldkette….” This is, of course, high praise from one who was himself part of a great musical organization, Fletcher Henderson's, and later of Ellington's. Yet if one listens to their records and assembles the comments made by those who, like Stewart, worked the same clubs and played the same jobs, one tends to agree with latter-day critic Brian Rust, who in speaking of the era called the Goldkette Victor outfit “the greatest band of them all.” It is time, no doubt, that the place of this group and of the organization that Goldkette developed was established in the historical stream of American popular music.”

• Russell B. Nye, Music in the Twenties: The Jean Goldkette Orchestra [1976]

The decade of the 2020’s celebrates the 100th anniversary of many of the significant developments in the history of Jazz.

And sadly, some of the more important developments have been largely forgotten.

As a case in point, the Jean Goldkette Orchestra played a pivotal role in laying the foundation for many aspects of the earliest Jazz big bands and was certainly an influence in bringing these larger orchestras of the Swing Era that began in the 1930s.

This piece by the late cornetist-turned-Jazz-author, Rex Stewart, helps us understand and appreciate the Goldkette Orchestra from the standpoint of someone who was there and heard the band during its heyday, which, unfortunately, is poorly documented on its 1920s recordings.

It’s important to keep in mind that in 1924, a “Jazz Big Band” was a rare thing. Who was going to write the arrangements, let alone who was going to read them? Many, if not most of the Jazz musicians in the 1920s had learned the music by ear and were unschooled in the discipline of reading music. What combination of instruments should be employed? What tempos were best after all this was a time when people actually danced to the music? Indeed, one of the earliest terms used to describe big band Jazz was “Dance Music.” What sort of rhythm should be established?

Many of the answers to these questions can be found in Rex’s reminiscence about - to use the parlance of the times - the Goldkette Outfit.

Another distinguishing characteristic of this piece by Rex is that in our current era in which accusations of cultural appropriation ring loudly in many of the Arts & Letters, it’s refreshing to find someone who honors the fact that Jazz is color blind, and always has been; even as far back as its formative years.

© Copyright ® Da Capo Press, copyright protected; all rights reserved; used with the permission of the publisher.

“MOST PEOPLE seem to have forgotten that the first large white swinging orchestra was Jean Goldkette's. This band hit Roseland Ballroom on Manhattan's Gay White Way in 1927 like a tempestuous, tropical storm.

It opened the first set with a most unorthodox march version of Valencia. And when the sophisticated audience recognized the opening bars of a march tempo, they turned to each other in critical disbelief, only to break out into cheers before the number had finished.

We in the Fletcher Henderson Band were amazed, angry, morose, and bewildered as we sat on the opposite bandstand waiting our turn to go on—and it was a long wait—about forty-five minutes (the customary set was a half-hour)—because everything this band played prompted calls for encores from the crowd. This proved to be a most humiliating experience for us, since, after all, we were supposed to be the world's greatest dance orchestra. And up pops this Johnny-come-lately white band from out in the sticks, cutting us. Of course, we made excuses for ourselves, saying things like, "This wouldn't happen if Don Redman were here to lead the sax section." (Don, our first sax man, had stopped off in West Virginia to visit his folks.) But in our hearts, we knew that this was not really true. The facts were that we simply could not compete with Jean Goldkette's Victor Recording Orchestra.

Their arrangements were too imaginative and their rhythm too strong, what with Steve Brown slapping hell out of that bass fiddle and Frankie Trumbauer's inspiring leadership as he stood in front wailing on his C-melody saxophone. There was also the psychological advantage of having the crowd with them, since they were new faces and blowing like mad.

The first encounter with Goldkette's band should not have come as a surprise to us because we'd been forewarned. Charlie Horvath and Charlie Stanton at the Greystone Ballroom in Detroit had said that we'd get cut when we met the Victor band, but this did not mean a thing to us. They had also complimented Smack's [composer-arranger Fletcher Henderson’s nickname] band on the way we'd broken the house up with our stomping, swinging playing, and we didn't need them to tell us how great we were. We felt that we had a champion outfit, and justifiably so, since according to audiences everywhere we had played on the tour, we were kings of the road. But that engagement at Roseland proved Stanton and Horvath, oh, so right. We learned that Jean Goldkette's orchestra was, without any question, the greatest in the world and the first original white swing band in jazz history.

Before proceeding, let me fill what I feel is a large gap in music history. There's been relatively little mention of Goldkette, which brings to mind the irony contained in a statement attributed to Eddie Condon, who allegedly said something like this about a French critic: "We don't tell Frenchmen how to jump on grapes, so what makes them think they can tell us anything about jazz?"

Such an observation might have been true and valid up to a certain point, but circumstances do alter cases. There is, and was, such an exception in the case of Jean Goldkette, a Frenchman, who not only told us about jazz but also dedicated his life to sponsoring and creating jazz, thereby showing us Americans a lot about the music.

Jean arrived in this country in 1911, when he was twelve. Though born in France, he had been reared in Greece, where he started his training as a classical pianist. Then he continued his studies in Russia. I am told that some relatives in Chicago encouraged him to come here, feeling that this country afforded a greater outlet for his talents. On his arrival, Jean soon found out that those cold breezes that swept into the city off Lake Michigan were mild compared with his reception as a concert pianist. This state of affairs finally led Goldkette into the dance-band business, and here he found his niche, fitting right in with the type of music that was current — waltzes, polkas, schottisches, and, once in a while, a clumsy version of that daring new dance, the foxtrot.

Starting with one of the lesser-known groups, Jean quickly established a reputation and came to the attention of Mr. Big, Edgar Benson, whose orchestras were the toast of Chicago. Goldkette did so well as a sub leader that Benson later sent him to Detroit to head the Benson orchestra there. But this took place quite a while after Jean had found out about the wild wonderful music that could be heard on Chicago's south side. There the atmosphere was highlighted by the symphonic ragtime arrangements of Doc Cook's large orchestra (eighteen men), which played nightly at Paddy Harmon's White City Amusement Park, captivating Chicagoans during those times. On the other end of the musical spectrum, there was King Joe Oliver, Jimmie Noone, Jasper Taylor, and a lot of other talented tooters who were playing it sweet and lowdown all night long, to the delight of Goldkette and other music lovers.

The stimulating feelings that came from this free-style improvisation remained with Jean for the rest of his life and certainly were reflected in his later efforts. Jean tried very hard to play like his south-side heroes, but the style was not for his piano, and he never did become good as a jazz pianist. But he did wind up playing dance music, which he must have done quite creditably, for Benson tapped him for Detroit. The first big job of record that he played, as leader of a Benson unit, was at the elegant Detroit Athletic Club. At first, however, his orchestra attracted no more attention among the hoity-toity audience than the ornate cuspidors. Inexplicably at some later society event, most of the staid dowagers and their equally conservative spouses left the club earlier than usual. Jean, perhaps in desperation, let his hair down, and the band played some toe-tapping dance music. Ears perked up, and the floor quickly became crowded as the younger set got the message. They ate up the ragtime and applauded for more. This acceptance did not go unnoticed by the management, because more and more of the sons and daughters of their wealthy clientele began to frequent the spot.

In those days, the Benson orchestra was ne plus ultra of society dance music. This was the early twenties, just about the time when the new millionaires of the Motor City were avidly going through the motions of acquiring culture.

Civic pride combined with this opulence to produce a hotel of splendor and stature, comparable to New York's and Chicago's finest. It was first called the Book Hotel, later the Book-Cadillac. With the accoutrements first class, it followed that the hotel had to have the best music available. So the management turned to Benson himself in Chicago. Benson, although flattered by the amount of money offered, did not choose to leave his green pastures in the Windy City and proposed his Jean Goldkette group for the engagement. As far as Detroit was concerned, the rest is history. Goldkette came, was heard, and became the name there.

From that start, Goldkette was established, and his groups played both the Book-Cadillac Hotel and the Detroit Athletic Club for years. Jean's fame came to far surpass that of Benson, and he could very well have sat back on his laurels as a mid-western counterpart of Meyer Davis. He had more engagements than he could handle. But this was not the nature of the man. He continued to branch out, possibly because of his love for musicians and his feeling for jazz.

Between 1922 and 1923, an organization of Chinese started building a huge restaurant. For some reason, they were unable to complete it, and it became available for sale. Jean, on learning about the property from banker friends, was able to obtain financing enough to lease the building-and the Graystone Ballroom was born.

Now Goldkette was in a position to do all the things he'd dreamed of doing. With the contracts for providing the music at the Detroit Athletic Club and the Book-Cadillac in his pocket as a backstop, he was in business. Bolstered by his belief in jazz, he felt that the acquisition would do two things — give him an outlet so that he could cater to the tastes of the little people, and he also could now hire those red-hot tooters, most of whom were only names to him. The list of talent is too long to repeat in toto, but there is no question in my mind that some of the greatest names in the business at one time or another worked under Goldkette's banner.

He was a pioneer in the big-band field, and during his life he created several orchestras, built many ballrooms, and operated throughout the Midwest on such a large scale that eventually he became the most important impresario in the area bounded by Buffalo, Chicago, Toronto, and New Orleans. Society vied for his music, and hoi polloi thronged to his ballrooms nightly. No horse show, fete, or upper-crust event really was "in" without the stamp of Goldkette music.

Among the many musical organizations he formed were the Casa Loma Band, the Studebaker Champions, the Orange Blossoms under the direction of Hank Begnini, the Detroit Athletic Club Orchestra under the leadership of Owen Bartlett, and the Book-Cadillac orchestra led by Paul Mertz. Goldkette took over management of many other bands that were in operation already, such as McKinney's Cotton Pickers.

Meanwhile, he had an empire of ballrooms and owned or operated places in Toronto, Indiana, Ohio, Detroit, and several resort spots on the Great Lakes. He'd conceive an idea and then turn over the execution of it to Charlie Horvath, his second in command.

There's quite a story about how Horvath rose to the position of major domo in the Goldkette enterprises. It seems that Jean had known the Horvath family in Europe during the period when their string ensemble was considered one of the foremost on the Continent. When Goldkette went to the Motor City, there was a grand reunion with Papa Horvath, who by that time was in the Detroit Symphony Orchestra.

Charlie and Jean quickly joined forces. Charlie had taken up drums and later held down the percussion spot with the Goldkette band. The close ties developed into the team of Goldkette and Horvath.

There are some who say that Charlie was the brains behind the association. For all I know, this may well be true. When they broke up, Charlie moved on to Cleveland, where he operated his own ballroom. Jean's fortunes went into decline while Horvath prospered.

The Goldkette Victor band was the first and greatest white swing band. There can be no doubt that this is true. The personnel varied from time to time, since Goldkette was a great one for switching musicians around when he felt that a particular talent fit a special situation.

According to Mertz, who played piano in most of Jean's orchestras, he no sooner would get settled at a resort or perhaps at the Book-Cadillac than Jean would telephone, saying, "Paul, get out to Kansas City" or down to the ballroom in Indiana.

No other white orchestra boasted such an array of skilled jazzmen at one time as did Jean Goldkette's. Not even Paul Whiteman (who hired many of Goldkette's former stars after the group disbanded ) was able to bring about such swinging or such esprit de corps, principally because the freewheeling joy of playing with one another had vanished—this, even though Whiteman had the true sparkplugs of the Victor organization with him in Frankie Trumbauer and Bix Beiderbecke. But even they were seldom able to get the Whiteman aggregation off the ground.

Aside from such giants as Tram and Bix, who received accolades that carry over to today, there were many others who, if they were not quite in the same league, certainly were on a par with the best players at that time. I am speaking of fellows like Don Murray, Fud Livingston, Jimmy Dorsey, Danny Polo — the clarinet players. The trombone men were Russ Morgan, Tommy Dorsey, Miff Mole, Bill Rank, Speigan [Spiegel] Wilcox [actually his first name was Newell], and for trumpets, Fuzzy Farrar, Sterling Bose, Red Nichols, Ray Lodwig. There were also violinist Joe Venuti, guitarist Eddie Lang, drummer Chauncey Morehouse, and several more.

One of the great mysteries, as far as I am concerned, is why so little has been written about this most important white swing band.

You can believe me that the Goldkette band was the original predecessor to any large white dance orchestra that followed, up to Benny Goodman. Even Goodman, swinger that he was, did not come close to the tremendous sound of Goldkette or the inventive arrangements of the Goldkette repertoire, not in quality and certainly not in quantity. Of this I am positive, because I was in Fletcher's band when that memorable confrontation took place at Roseland.

Perhaps one reason this organization has never been given the recognition that it should have is that it came along before most of the present-day chroniclers knew beans about the music or the men who made it. Another reason is that when Goldkette had the cream of the crop playing in his bands, recording was in its infancy and reproduction at that time did not project anything like the real performances. So, naturally, the Goldkette recordings did not reflect the verve and consummate artistry of the ensemble.

The Goldkette group began recording in 1924, and the personnel is a bit uncertain but may have included some or all of the following: Fuzzy Farrar, Red Nichols, Paul Van Loan, George Crozier, Don Murray, Joe Venuti, Bill Kreutz, and Charlie Horvath. They made such hits as Eileen, Honest and Truly, Remember, and What's the Use of Dreaming?

Among the personnel in 1926 were Fud Livingston, Eddie Lang, Itzy Riskin, Steve Brown (aside from many of the others from the 1924 dates). Arrangements were by Russ Morgan. This band recorded After I Say I'm Sorry; Dinah; Gimme a Little Kiss, Will ya, Huh?; Lonesome and Sorry, and many other big songs of the day. Beiderbecke and Trumbauer recorded with the band later that year, and in 1927 the Dorsey brothers were added for recordings. The period between 1926 and 1929 was the heyday of the band, because by that time they had a huge writing staff consisting of Paul Mertz, Russ Morgan, Bill Challis, and Joe Glover.

Too, many of the young musicians who had joined Goldkette grew to tremendous stature under his aegis. Venuti was the premier jazz violinist of the day, and his sidekick, Lang, was father of the jazz guitar. (A little-known fact is that Lang was the inspiration for the great gypsy guitarist, Django Reinhardt — or so Django told me.) Then there was Murray, one of the greatest clarinetists who ever lived. Brown brought the art of slapping the bass fiddle direct from New Orleans, where he had heard the Negroes do it.

The artistry of Trumbauer on the C-melody saxophone made a lady of the instrument. By playing it so well, he inspired some players but discouraged many others, who realized that they could never compete with his genius and so gave up the instrument. It subsequently went out of fashion. I am only speculating that Trumbauer was responsible for this, but the fact is that after Tram, little was heard on the horn again.

Perhaps the greatest of all the luminaries was Beiderbecke. I felt very close to him, for we shared the same locker at Roseland (everybody had to double up with lockers), and we would hang out together at the speakeasy in the same building. Many is the time we had our own private session in the band room after Broadway had settled down for the evening. Admiring Bix as I did, it was not difficult for me to attempt to copy his memorable solo on Singing the Blues, especially since the phonograph company for which Fletcher recorded the number wanted my solo as close to the original as possible.

As a matter of fact, there was a lot of copying going on. It was a mutual admiration society, with Fletcher and Goldkette exchanging arrangements, which stood Fletcher's band in good stead later. We carved the Casa Loma Band (a Goldkette outfit) at the Penn Athletic Club in Philadelphia using Goldkette's arrangements!

In my book Bix was a once-in-a-million artist. I doubt if what he played will ever be surpassed on the trumpet. He was one of the all-time giants, and I feel that his gifts remain today as unsullied and strikingly refreshing as when he lived.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Goldkette. Most of what he was is both forgotten and unrecognized. I can only hope that this brief recounting will help to keep his memory alive.”