All language subtitles for JAZZ - 06 - Swing The Velocity of Celebration (1937-1939)

[More than you knowPlaying]

narrator: In 1937,
the great depression,

which had begun to show signs
of lifting, suddenly deepened.

The stock market
collapsed again.

In less than 6 months,

4 million more men
and women lost their jobs.

They called it
the "Roosevelt recession,"

the steepest economic decline
in American history.

Black Americans continued
to suffer most,

and white southerners wielded
such power on capitol hill

that even Franklin Roosevelt
lacked the political will

to support a federal law against
the savagery of lynching.

And there were more worries:

A new war in Europe seemed
just a matter of time,

and the United States
was utterly unprepared.

Jerome: I traveled
with Harry reser and his
cliquot club eskimos

back in 1936 through
the midwest

on a series
of one nighters only,

the whole summer, literally.

And it was very hot
and destructive.

It was just terrible.

And people were poor.
They had no money.

The depression was on.

I turned around to Harry
one time, I said,

"Harry, why do--where do people
get the money to come hear us?"

'Cause we, you know, we had
people come to hear us.

He says, "you know, jer,
they save their pennies
for the weekend

"so they can get
some beer and go out,

"and pay whatever it costs
to go to a dance with their
wives or girlfriends,

"have a ball, forget
about their trouble,

"and after it's all over,
start all over again,

get that money back."

[Oh, lady be gooPlaying]

Narrator: By the late 1930s,

swing was big business...

A national craze that despite
the depression kept on growing.

Americans seemed to have
an insatiable appetite

for more records,
more bands, more music.

The saxophone had emerged
as a central voice in jazz,

and though some worried
that the art of jazz
was being smothered,

big band swing now accounted
for almost 70% of the profits
in the music industry.

Some band leaders were making
more than $15,000 a week.

Benny Goodman, who had
raised himself up from
the slums of Chicago

to become the "king of swing,"

would take his hot sound
to the heart of the musical
establishment

and then find himself struggling
to keep his band together.

Chick webb,
Harlem's "king of swing,"

was also eager to reach
a national audience.

He would take a chance
on an improbable singer,

an "ugly duckling", and for two
years, before tragedy struck,

would achieve all
that he had hoped for.

Billie Holiday would
find a musical soulmate,

travel with two of the best
bands in the country,

and then, in the face
of prejudice even swing
couldn't whitewash,

expressed her pain
and indignation in
one anguished song.

Louis Armstrong, the man
who had started it all,

would continue to transform
the most superficial love songs

into great art, and along
the way find love himself.

By the late 1930s,
swing was big business...

But commerce had sometimes
led to compromise.

The individual expression that
had been at the heart of jazz

was too often kept under wraps.

Musicians grew impatient
playing the same thing

the same way every night,

chafed at not being able
to tell their own stories.

[Jumpin' at the woodside
Playing]

Narrator: But in the middle
of the country,

in the black dance halls
and roadhouses and juke joints

of Texas and Oklahoma,
Kansas and Missouri,

a new kind of music
was being born...

Pulsing, stomping,
suffused with the blues,

and played by men and women
who had honed their skills

in cutting contests that
sometimes went on all night.

The man who would come to
epitomize this new sound

and who would bring it
to the rest of the country--

the man who would help
return swing to its roots--
was count basie.

Murray: The music that he heard
in the midwest was called stomp.

It was a special way that people
in Kansas and Oklahoma and Texas
played the blues.

It was an up-tempo blues
and the vocal was given
as a shout.

So you definitely have
Kansas City 4/4

and the velocity of celebration.

That's basie's music.

W. Marsalis: I would say
swinging is willful
participation

with style and in the groove.

Now, if you don't
want to participate,

I mean, it's not gonna
make you participate.
It's nothing they can do.

I don't want to
participate in it,"

but if you check it out,
if you listen to it,

you listen to what
the musicians are saying,

then it will invite you into it.

It's not telling you stay away,

it's telling you,
"come in, come in."

This is a jam session...

Quite often these great
artists gather and play
ad lib hot music.

It could be called
a midnight symphony.

[Playing Midnight symphony]

Cuscuna: I think
the attraction of the saxophone,

which became the principle
instrument of jazz in
the late thirties,

is that it is like the cello--

very close to the range
of the male voice.

And it is an incredibly
expressive instrument.

[I know that you kno Playing]

Narrator: The saxophone
had been around since the 1840s,

it had been a staple
of marching bands.

But when it fell into
the hands of jazz musicians,

its sound was transformed
and became both exhilarating
and seductive.

The man most responsible
for that transformation
was Coleman Hawkins.

Giddins: He had the most
virile sound I've ever heard
on a tenor saxophone.

It was big and full
without being blustery,

without a lot of wind
or extra vibrato.

Every 8 bars in a solo
would just unfurl like
a perfect ribbon.

But he came along at a time
when the tenor saxophone was
a vaudeville clown's instrument,

and no one had ever made
serious music on it.

Ravel and a few other composers
had attempted to write passages
for the saxophone,

but Hawkins took the tenor
saxophone and he made art on it.

Narrator: Born in
St. Joseph, Missouri,

Coleman Hawkins
had toured the country

playing in tent shows
and small theaters

before bandleader Fletcher
Henderson heard him in 1923

and hired the 18-year-old
on the spot.

He stayed with Henderson's band
for more than a decade,

and inspired by what
Louis Armstrong was
doing on the trumpet,

established the tenor saxophone
as a solo instrument.

"There's nobody plays like me,

and I don't play
like anybody else,"

Coleman Hawkins once said.

And he would prove it
again and again

in cutting contests
all over the country.

One of his nicknames was "bean"

because of the seemingly
inexhaustible stream
of musical ideas

that flowed from his
fertile brain.

W. Marsalis: So he would always
be ready to cut some head.

He would give his card
to clubs and say,

"if somebody comes down to this
club who even thinks they're
playing some music, call me.

"And so I can come down there

and put them through
the Bean test."

[bouncing with beanPlaying]

Narrator: Hawkins was
a loner all his life.

Music took precedence
over everything.

His first wife left him when
he seemed never to come home,

and she took with her
almost all his furniture.

Hawkins did not bother
to replace it.

He didn't plan
to be home much, anyway.

[Back to the lanPlaying]

Man: A tall, intense
young musician arrived
in Oklahoma city

with his heavy white sweater,

blue stocking cap,
and up-and-out thrust
silver saxophone.

He left absolutely no Reed
player unstirred by the wild,

excitingly original flights
of his imagination.

Lester young,
with his battered horn,

upset the entire negro
section of town.

Ralph Ellison.

Narrator: Coleman hawkin's
greatest rival was Lester young.

Born in Mississippi,
raised in New Orleans,

young played saxophone
in his family's tent show band

that traveled
the south and midwest.

He was always shy and sensitive,

and at 18, weary of
his father's frequent beatings

and unwilling to undertake
anher southern tour

after a terrifying encounter
with a white mob, he left home.

[Blue devil bluePlaying]

Narrator: In 1932, Lester young
joined the original blue devils,

one of the many
"territory bands" that
crisscrossed the midwest.

Like Coleman Hawkins,

young quickly
earned a reputation

as someone who delighted
in taking on anyone, anywhere.

Fueled by canned pork-and-beans
washed down with orange soda,

he could play for hours.

[Shoe shine boPlaying]

Young modeled his style
after Frankie trumbauer,

the white saxophone player
whose records he carried
with him everywhere.

Young liked trumbauer's
way of telling "a little
story," he said,

and he admired
his light, airy tone.

The result was that
Lester young's sound

was the opposite
of Coleman Hawkins.

Rowles: He was so different.

In the first place, his sound
was completely different

than the accepted sound
of all the jazz tenor players.

All of a sudden, here comes
a guy that's got a round
sound, almost hollow.

Only, it had...It was gorgeous.

I memorized all of
Lester young's solos.

They helped me learn
how to play.

And if I hadn't done that,

I don't know
what I would have done.

Hendricks: Well Lester young,
I must say, was an angel.

He was soft, sweet, and gentle,

and his music reflected that.

He played the tenor saxophone
like an alto saxophone.

He twisted it so that...

So that the body of
the horn extended outward,

and he held it like this,

and he he had to bend his neck
to accommodate that,

and turn his mouth piece
so he looked like this.

And he played like that.

But the beauty that came out
of that horn is ineffable.

[Lester leaps iPlaying]

Narrator: And it was
not just his music

that caught the attention
of other musicians.

He affected a strange walk
and wore distinctive clothes--

a long black topcoat
and a porkpie hat.

Young had his own
distinctive language, too.

He called other musicians
"lady-this" and "lady-that."

To fail was to "get bruised."

"Can madam burn?"
Meant "can your wife cook?"

He called white people "grays."

And if he sensed a bigot nearby,
he said "I feel a draft."

Rowles, voice-over:
He was arrested one time

by some policeman that looked
just like Bob Crosby...

Lester would walk by you while
you're sitting in a booth,

and as he went by he'd just kind
of brush you with his finger.

"Bob Crosby's in the house."
And keep going.

That meant that
the fuzz was there,

and if you had any marijuana,
you better watch it.

And he was way too slick
for any of those guys.

He could spot
a Bob Crosby anywhere.

And the reason why
he called them Bob Crosby,

sometimes there would
be two in a club,

he'd say "bing is here, too."

Narrator: After two successful
tours in the midwest,

the blue devils decided
to head east.

But in the impoverished
coal towns of Kentucky
and West Virginia,

they ran into trouble.

"The band was getting bruised,

I mean really bruised,"
young remembered,

"playing to audiences
of 3 people."

Nobody could afford
to buy a ticket.

The band broke up.

[Train whistle]

Hoboes showed young
how to steal a ride aboard
a passing freight.

He decided to go where
he knew he would find work,

where musicians were prized
for their individual sound,

where something new
was happening to jazz.

Lester young headed west
for Kansas City.

[Moten's swi Playing]

Early: Just imagine:
It's the thirties,

you're a young black musician,
you've got some talent.

There's this exciting
new music out there that
people are calling swing,

and you know some of the best
people in the world are playing
in Kansas City.

They've got these venues
in Kansas City,

and you can play all night with
the best people in the world.

Of course
you'd want to go there.

I mean, anyone would
want to go there.

It's, it's the place to be.

It's like tombstone
or something.

By the thirties,
everybody migrating there,

it's called the territory.

This is, in some ways,
the drama of the great American
west for African-Americans.

Narrator: Like New Orleans
at the turn of the century,

like Chicago in the twenties,

Kansas City, Missouri
was a wide open town--

and it flourished even in
the depths of the depression.

The boss of Kansas City,

the man who made it
all possible,

was Tom pendergast.

He was a devoted family man
who attended mass each morning

and spent the rest of the day

presiding over
perhaps the most corrupt
and the most profitable

political machine
in the country.

Vice was one of his
biggest profit centers,

and the downtown section
of his city was the wildest
place in america,

filled with nightclubs, bars,
brothels, and gambling dens.

[Roll 'em pe Playing]

"If you want to see some sin,

forget about Paris,"
one reporter wrote,

"go to Kansas City."

♪ Well, this woman's tryin'
to quit me, lord, but I love
her still ♪

♪ she's got eyes like diamonds,
they shine like klondike gold ♪

♪ she's got eyes like diamonds,
they shine like klondike gold ♪

♪ every time she loves me,
she sends my mellow soul ♪

♪ my baby is a jockey,
she's teaching me how to ride ♪

♪ my baby is a jockey,
she's teaching me how to ride ♪

♪ she sat twice in the middle
and daddy bumped side to side ♪

♪ git it, daddy, git it ♪

O'Neil: Everything
was wide open.

The sky was the limit.

Anything you were big enough to
do and could afford, you did it.

You could do it in Kansas City.

Wide open.

Mcshann: Well every night
I would go to different clubs,

you know, finding out the town,

finding out everything
happening in the town.

And it was so much happening,

I was trying to see everything.

I didn't want to miss nothing.

So, you know, I wasn't
doing much sleeping.

Narrator: No one knows exactly
how many clubs flourished in
the 6 block downtown district,

or in the black neighborhoods
that bordered it.

The paseo boulevard room
and cherry blossom
and chocolate bar.

The lone star and elk's rest
and old Kentucky barbecue.

The spinning wheel
and Hawaiian gardens.

Street's blue room
and hell's kitchen.

The hi hat, the hey hey,
and the Reno club.

And every one had jobs
for musicians.

W. Marsalis:
The clubs were open,
people hanging out at night,

a lot of different types of
characters, people drinking,

you had a certain vice and you
know wherever you have vice

you have a lot of different
kinds of people

because all segments love that.

And you just had a lot.

It's like a pressure cooker.

And in the middle of it
you have these musicians.

And they're clean,
and they come to swing.

[627 sto Playing]

Narrator: Kansas City jazz
featured an irresistible
joyous beat,

syncopated conversations between
the Reed and brass sections

that recalled the old
call and response of
the sanctified church...

And an abiding fondness
for the saxophone.

Unlike more commercial swing,

Kansas City jazz was built
upon head arrangements--

musical ideas or riffs
that were rarely written down

but provided the foundation
for Kansas City musicians

to improvise all night long.

W. Marsalis: Now in Kansas City,

they'll start playing
these background riffs,

and they'll use something
like a hat mute,

and they'll wave the hat
back and forth and it'll
be like [plays].

Now to hear a group of men
playing rhythms like that,

duh boo be dun dooo dit
be dedileep Dee da uh

doo Dee Dee doo whee deebee bee
Dee bee Dee bee du uh uh uh.

[Rockin' and swingin Playing]

Narrator: Kansas City musicians
came from everywhere.

Lester young
was from Mississippi.

Hot lips page was from Dallas.

Sweets Edison
from Columbus, Ohio.

Jo Jones from Illinois.

Mary Lou Williams from Georgia.

Jay mcshann
was from muskogie, Oklahoma.

And William James basie
was from red bank, New Jersey.

What they had in common
was the blues.

Giddins: Kansas City becomes
the mecca of the midwest.

Here you've got musicians
with all different kinds
of backgrounds,

all converging in Kansas City.

How are they going to speak
the same language?

Well, there is one language
that they all speak

and that's the twelve-bar blues.

Soon as somebody
sets a tempo and the key,

everybody can get up there
and play within that framework.

They found an infinite number
of ways to make it exciting
and new and original.

Not just night after night,

but number after number
for hours on end.

[Out the windoPlaying]

Narrator: And of all
the Kansas City bands,

none was greater than count
basie and his barons of rhythm.

Davis: Count basie
was the bubble.

The bubble on colored champagne,
that's what he was.

There was such a joy
in the music he expressed.

Such an energy, you know,
such a delight.

And yet there was a kind
of playful boyishness
in what he did, too.

That element of jazz which
expressed the thing that happens

when a bunch of kids would
get together and make
a game for themselves

and just have one hell of a time

without knowing exactly
why or for anybody,

just for the hell of it.

That was count basie.

You know, an exquisite musician,

but man, could he make
the bubbles rise in
your bloodstream.

[John's idePlaying]

Narrator: William James basie
was born in 1904, in New Jersey,

the son of a coachman
and chauffeur.

His mother took in laundry
to pay for his piano lessons,

and almost from the start
he knew he wanted to be
an entertainer.

He dropped out of school and in
1924, moved to Manhattan,

where he learned all he could

from the masters of
the Harlem stride style--

James p. Johnson,
Willie "the lion" Smith,

and his own contemporary,
fats waller,

who gave him organ lessons
in a Harlem theater.

Over the next few years, basie
played every kind of music.

He accompanied silent movies,

played vaudeville,
and toured burlesque theaters
with a novelty band,

which ran out of money
once it reached the new
jazz capital, Kansas City.

Until he got there,
basie remembered,

he'd never paid much
attention to the blues.

But in Kansas City,

he could hear them pouring out
through every door and window.

"Right away," he said,
"I knew that was for me."

[Easy does iPlaying]

By 1935, basie was playing
in small Kansas City bars

like the cherry blossom
and the Reno club.

He slowly began putting together
a 9 piece band of his own

that included Lester young
and several other rising stars.

Basie knew exactly how he wanted
his "barons of rhythm" to sound.

Terry: Well count basie
became very, very, very popular

through the medium of
the notes which he didn't play

more so than the notes
which he did play.

And he developed this habit

through the medium of his
socializing in Kansas City.

The cherry blossom, the little
club that they played in,

was a place maybe the size of
this living room with tables,

gingham tablecloths all around,

and everybody was very
intimately arranged, you know,

so much so that basie's piano
is right next to a table here,

you know, so he
would have friends,

so naturally everybody
in the place is his friend.

So he has a little taste
over here and the rhythm
section is playing,

[imitates rhythm section]

Big 'UN's pulling away
and Jo Jones you hear
the guitarist, 'chum chum,'

so all he has to do
is say, 'splank',

and he goes over here and say,
"yeah baby, you know,

it's good to see you man.
I haven't seen you."

And he has a little taste
over here.

Meanwhile the rhythm section
is still going, he comes back,

[imitates rhythm section]

He goes over here, "yeah, you
know, we was talking about it
before the so and so and so."

And he has a little taste
over here,

so his habits of a social life
kind of contributed

to his sparse indulgence
on the keyboard.

Whatever the reason,

we always say that basie was
a person who taught us all,

beginners and old timers alike,
a very, very important lesson:

And that is the importance
of the utilization of space
and time in jazz.

[One o'clock jumPlaying]

Narrator: The heart of
the basie band would be
its rhythm section--

the greatest rhythm section
in jazz history.

Jo Jones was on drums.

By transferring the beat from
the bass drum to the high hat
and ride cymbals

he brought an unprecedented
drive and energy to the music.

Walter page played bass.

To the men of the band,
he was known as "big 'UN."

Freddie green was on guitar.

He would remain with basie
for 46 years

and never lose the beat--
or take a solo.

And basie himself
was at the piano.

"A band can really swing when
it swings easy," he believed,

"when it can play along
like cutting butter."

Even a single note, count
basie said, can swing.

Narrator: Several times a week,

a local radio station set up
a microphone in the Reno club

and broadcast basie's music
as far east as Chicago.

Late one night, with a few
minutes still to fill before
his show went off the air,

basie was asked by the announcer
for the name of his next number.

It was just a head arrangement

and the name the men
called it, Blue balls,

wouldn't bear repeating
over the air.

Basie looked up
at the clock and said,

"call it One o'clock jump."

it would become his trademark
song, played night after night
for the rest of his life.

Edison: We had no music,

everything was head
arrangements.

All the music that we made
like Every tub, John's idea,

out the window,
And One o'clock jump,

we just made that up.

It was no music to it,
it wasn't written at all.

Jimmy lunceford, Ellington,

dorsey, Benny Goodman,
chick webb--

they all had arrangements.

If you played one chorus, they
had music that you had to read,

in count basie's band, you could
play 5, 6, 7 choruses--

whatever you wanted,
as long as you was swinging.

Narrator: When
the promoter John Hammond

heard the electrifying
sound of the basie band
on his car radio,

he drove all the way from
Chicago to Kansas City

to see them in person.

Hammond had already advanced
the careers of Benny Goodman
and Billie Holiday,

and now he was determined to
make a star out of count basie.

[Love walked iPlaying]

Narrator: One evening while
playing at the cotton club,

Louis Armstrong, the man who had
shown the world how to swing,

met a dancer named
Lucille Wilson and fell in love.

To make extra money
to support her family,

Lucille was selling
cookies backstage.

Armstrong began his courtship
by buying up all of them.

Jacobs: Louis and Lucille
were beautiful.

Now Louis was playing Romeo
and Juliet all his life.

He'd eye Lucille up,
look at her legs and say
she was a thoroughbred,

"look at those ankles.
She looks like a good
little filly."

I mean, he loved everything
about Lucille.

He treated her like
she was a little doll

and he was in love with love,
he was very romantic.

Extremely romantic man.

Narrator: "It seemed to me
Lucille was the ideal girl
for me," Armstrong remembered.

"Good common sense...Not
particular about showy people."

Armstrong dreamed
of marrying her.

But his third wife Alpha showed
no signs of leaving him

so long as he kept bringing
his paycheck home.

Then, Alpha ran off
with the drummer in
the Charlie barnet band.

"Thank god," Armstrong said,

"...if I could only
see him and tell him

"how much I appreciate
what he's done for me

by taking that chick away..."

When he and Lucille
were finally married,

Armstrong began a 6 month
tour of one-nighters.

Lucille didn't complain.

She alone, of all the women
he had known, understood,

Armstrong said,
"that my music comes first."

[Memories of yoPlaying]

♪ Waking skies at sunrise ♪

♪ every sunset, too, babe ♪

♪ seems to be bringing me ♪

♪ memories of you ♪

♪ now, honey, here and there ♪

♪ everywhere ♪

♪ scenes that we once knew ♪

♪ oh, and they all just recall ♪

♪ memories of you, baby ♪

Narrator: He was a big star now

with a lucrative recording
contract with decca,

making hit after unexpected
hit out of pop tunes,

country and western ballads,

spirituals,
and duets with bing Crosby,

the mills brothers,
and Billie Holiday.

Through it all,
he remained himself.

Collier: There's this story
that Lucille told later

of being in Kansas City,
and it was Christmas Eve,

and Louie played the gig
and came back to the hotel
or whatever

and sat and had a drink
and something to eat,

and Lucille had gone out and
bought a little Christmas tree.

They got ready to go to bed,

and Louis said,
"don't turn the lights off."

He said, "I want to just sit
here and look at those lights."

He said, "that's the first
Christmas tree I've ever had."

He was so enamored by that tree

that when they left
the next day,

he made Lucille pack it
and carry it along.

And they carried it along
on the gig, night after night,

until it actually fell apart.

W. Marsalis: Well, swing
is a matter of coordination.

So, when count basie says
he could make one note swing,

what he means is that
the whole preparation

and everything in the rhythm
and the feeling of the note
is coordinated.

Louis Armstrong
is the master of that,

but the count,
you could, just the way
he sat at the piano,

you could just tell,
before he came in,
he was going to swing.

The way he lifted his hand
before he hit the note,

he was swinging all ready.

So bing, when he would hit it,

it was just like if you
see someone with incredible
presence at something.

You know before they even--
just the way they hold
their instrument,

you know, well we're
in forreat tonight.

[Eveninplaying]

Narrator: In the fall of 1936,

John Hammond persuaded
count basie to go to New York.

But Hammond also insisted
that basie add new musicians

to expand the band
from 9 to 12 members.

The result, for a time at least,

was ragged, unwieldy,
under-rehearsed.

Their first appearance
in Manhattan,

at the famous roseland ballroom,
was a disaster.

Humiliated, basie
replaced some of his men

and tightened discipline
among the rest.

He still had with him
the incomparable Lester young...

His great trumpet player
buck Clayton,

and the band's remarkable
singer Jimmy rushing,

whose ever expanding bulk
earned him the nickname
"Mr. Five by five."

He would add the trombonist
dicky Wells,

and the trumpet master
Harry "sweets" Edison.

Count basie spent most
of the next year and a half

on the road, working
to improve his band.

Across depression-ravaged
america, from Albany to Omaha,

from shreveport to
mt. Hope, West Virginia,

he played college dances,
movie theaters, hotel ballrooms,

bringing his blues-drenched
Kansas City sound

to people desperate for
release from their troubles.

♪ Take me darling ♪

♪ let me see the great dawn
that's breaking ♪

♪ I don't care
if I don't wake up ♪

♪ since my gal is gone ♪

W. Marsalis:
As an American, you definitely
can live without jazz.

The only thing you need to live
is water and some food.

The question of art in general
is nonessential to live.

But now the style that
you gonna be living in,

I don't know about that.

You don't need a bed to sleep.

You don't have
to cook food to eat it.

You don't have to have
clothes of a certain style.

You don't have
to speak a certain way.

Most of the things that
you are surrounded by--
you don't need them.

But when you have
these things around you,

it makes you feel good
about living in the world.

And it gives you something
to look forward to,

and it also gives you
a way to connect yourself with
everything that has happened

and the flow of humans
on earth and of civilization.

Jazz music...It's
like real poor people in
the country, on a Sunday,

people would get dressed up and
they wouldn't have any money,

but just that little hat with
the flower on it, you know,

just what that flower
represents a certain thing.

Just a little something to make
you special and make you sweet.

That's jazz music.

[Sailboat in the moonlig Ht
playing]

♪ A sailboat in the moonlight
and you ♪

Narrator: In 1937, hoping to
make his band even better,

count basie hired
Billie Holiday.

It was the break
she was looking for.

She called him "daddy basie."

He called her "William"--
and he understood both her
talent and her temperament.

When the band went on tour,

she drank and cursed and gambled
with the men on the bus as if
she were one of them--

and won so much money shooting
dice that when Christmas came,

she had to lend the losers
cash to buy presents for
their families back home.

"She was like a man," sweets
Edison said, "...Only feminine."

♪ Just give me a sailboat
in the moonlight and you ♪

She had an affair with
guitarist Freddie green,

whom she claimed was the only
man she ever really loved.

But on the road and off, she
was closest with Lester young.

They would be friends most of
their lives but never lovers.

She had met him
at a Harlem jam session

and was instantly drawn
to his acute sensitivity,

his attention to lyrics
as well as melody,

and his light, laid-back sound

that seemed perfectly
to complement her own.

W. Marsalis: Billie Holiday
and Lester young had
a musical kinship.

And they even
nicknamed each other.

He called her "lady day"

and she called him
"the president", which
they shortened to "Prez."

And when you hear the two of
them together on a recording,

it's like they have--
they're in the same orbit.

♪ Some things dear
that I long for are few ♪

♪ just give me a sailboat
in the moonlight and you ♪

B. Marsalis: Billie Holiday
was my girl.

If I had to do anything in my
life, if I could be anything,

I'd want to be a saxophone
player in 1930-whatever
and just play behind her.

I just couldn't imagine
doing anything better.

She was the greatest
jazz singer of them all.

She really was able to
embody what jazz is about.

She didn't have
a great singing voice.

But she still stands out.

What she sang
commanded your attention.

And that, that's
a very special thing.

That's a very special gift.

[Without your lo Playing]

♪ Without your love ♪

♪ I'm like a song
without words ♪

♪ just like a nest
without birds ♪

♪ without your love ♪

Narrator: John Hammond
had brought Billie and Lester
together in the recording studio

for the first of a series
of small group sessions

that would be among the most
memorable in jazz history.

♪ I rode the crest of a wave
with you beside me ♪

♪ now who's to guide me
because I'm lost at sea ♪

♪ without your love ♪

♪ I'm like a plane
without wings ♪

♪ a violin
with no strings ♪

♪ without your love ♪

W. Marsalis:
When you're playing music,

it's hard to really--even
it's hard to explain verbally,

but when you play music,
it's--you enter another world.

It's very abstract
and your sense of hearing

is the thing that you
really--it's heightened.

And you're listening
to another person

and you're trying to absorb
everything about them,

their consciousness,

what they mean when
they're talking to you,

what they're feeling like,

where you think they're
going to go.

And it's rare for people
to really connect, you know.

You think 'cause jazz music
is about communication
and connection

you would have a lot of it, but
you don't have that much of it.

And you don't have it really
on the level for Billie Holiday
and Lester young

because they both have that
same, that same type of burn.

That same type of hurt,
and the same, same joy.

They express it
through their swing.

♪ I rode the crest of a wave
with you beside me ♪

♪ now who's to guide me
because I'm lost at sea ♪

♪ without your love ♪

♪ I'm like a plane
without wings ♪

♪ a violin
with no strings ♪

♪ without your love ♪

Narrator: Jazz history was made
in New York on Sunday, January
16, 1938--and it was made twice.

Benny Goodman was scheduled to
bring his swing band to carnegie
hall for a formal concert.

That night the show
was sold out.

In the audience were classical
musicians and music critics

and concertgoers
in tuxedos and evening gowns.

Collier: In those days,

the idea of bringing a swing
band into carnegie hall
was scandalous.

The players were very
nervous and they thought,

"what are we doing here?"

Harry James peeked out
behind the curtain

and took a look at the this
great throng out there and said,

"I feel like a whore in church."

[Don't be that w Playing]

Narrator: Things did not
get off to a good start.

Schaap, voice-over:
You listen to Benny Goodman
on the first number,

don't be that wa Ycarnegie
hall, January 16, of '38.

They're stiff...
And the band is scared.

And gene krupa,
what he did for Goodman
should always be acknowledged

and he's saying
"this band sounds sad.

"We're going to bomb.
We're in trouble."

And he knows that
he has to do something.

He's not trying
to wake up the crowd.

He's trying to wake up the band.

He's trying to relax them or
scare them beyond their fear.

And he gets to that break
in the arrangement,

he hits every piece
of equipment in his drum kit
as loud as he can

and as many times as he can

in something that
is nearly cacophonous.

It doesn't make any sense except
in the emotional content of--

he's trying to bust
this band's hump.

He went, "come on. Get up
on my back and I'll teach
you how to swing again,

"'cause you guys forgot."

[Applause]

Narrator: "By the end
of that first piece,"

one trumpet-player remembered,
"we were back home."

[Sing, sing, sinPlaying]

During the historic concert,
other jazz musicians,

including count basie
and members of his band,

took part in a jam session.

The finale was Goodman's
most popular tune,

sing, sing, sing,

and the highlight
of the evening.

Young people and older
concertgoers alike

got up and danced
in the aisles of
the staid old hall.

"I think the band
I had at carnegie hall,"
Goodman remembered,

"was the best I ever had."

Narrator: Count basie and his
men had not stayed around for
the end of the concert.

They hurried uptown, instead,
to the savoy ballroom,

one of the places where
swing had been born.

Chick webb and his orchestra
were waiting for them.

As soon as the carnegie hall
concert ended,

some of Benny Goodman's
men raced north, too,

to see whether the new band
from Kansas City

could out-swing the band
that had cut them to ribbons
the year before.

Miller: It was every band's
dream to play the savoy.

Nothing in america compared to
coming to the savoy.

Count basie, when basie came

to Harlem for the first time.

And he walked and saw
lenox Avenue and he saw his name
on the marquee,

this was his ambition,
to play the savoy ballroom,

this was the great count basie.

But we didn't know basie then.

He was the incoming band

swinging the blues

out of Kansas City.

That was the first time

we heard the music come

from that direction.

Narrator: Despite the spinal
disease that left him gasping
in pain after every performance,

chick webb was not about to be
cut by a bunch of newcomers
from out west.

Basie was turning out to be
the greatest swing band that
ever was, and it was.

And so, chick never wanted

to admit that anything

could defeat him, ever.

So he said,
"sure, I'll play basie.
Sure I will.

I'll tell basie what's what."

[Harlem congPlaying]

Woman, voice-over: Throughout
the fight, which never let down
in its intensity,

chick took the aggressive,

with the count playing
along easily

and more musically,
scientifically.

Undismayed by chick's
forceful drum-beating,

the count maintained an attitude
of poise and self-assurance.

He parried chick's
thundering haymakers

with tantalizing
runs and arpeggios,

which teased more and more
force from his adversary.

The Amsterdam news.

narrator: A judge declared webb
the official winner,

but the house remained divided,
and for more than 60 years,

surviving band members would
argue over who had actually
won that evening.

Basie himself was relieved
he hadn't been run out of
the savoy,

"I'm just thankful," he said,

"that we won't have to run up
against those babies anymore."

But whatever the outcome,

he had held his own against
one of the country's best
swing bands.

Basie's hard work
was paying off.

But they hadn't had a home
in a long time.

It's a band from Kansas City,
being from somewhere is fine,

but you got to go somewhere,
you got to settle down.

And then came something
that allowed it all to solidify.

They got a gig
at the famous door at
66 west 52nd street.

The deal was the door
closed for the summer because
air-conditioning wasn't common.

Narrator: Out of his own pocket,

John Hammond agreed to pay to
have the club air conditioned

in exchange for a promise
that basie could play there
all summer long.

Schaap:
And there was several months
sitting down in one place.

They rehearsed
in the afternoons,

they gigged at night,
and it all came together.

It was fun to go to work,

and they made music
that was so magical.

And there's the turning point.

After the summer of '38,

the count basie orchestra
was the swingingest band
in the land.

Sweets would be playing like
that one note.

♪ Doot doot doot Dee doo doo ♪

And they just,
and they'd get the little riff
going in the background,

♪ gee doo lu Dee du lu ♪

And the rhythm section,

♪ do doong doong ding doong
che che che ♪

♪ Joe Jones, jing je jing ♪

You got count basie's,
♪ bloomp bloomp ♪

That's real relaxed,

but everybody just swinging
and grooving.

Then you got the trombones,
♪ oooorm budup doo dit ♪

The trombones--trumpets,
♪ dit dit dit ditooloop ♪

Look at this, and the saxophone,
♪ doooo de doo dit ♪

And then you got
sweets in there,

♪ doo doo dit dit be boo doodle
ee dit dit dit doo doodle eet ♪

I mean, you're swinging.

[Playing Swingin' the blues]

Narrator: All that summer,
basie and his band held forth
at the famous door,

playing for a nationwide
radio hook-up, making records,

offering new yorkers
and the whole world a joyous

and liberating alternative
to commercial swing.

[Playing Goodbye]

narrator: After his triumph
at carnegie hall,

Benny Goodman's band
would never be the same:

Gene krupa would soon leave
to form his own orchestra;

so would Teddy Wilson and
Harry James and Lionel Hampton,

forcing Goodman to rebuild
the most popular band
in america.

Man, voice-over: We were
frankly amazed at the universal
expressions of dislike for Benny

among musicians,
bookers, publishers,

and other band leaders
in New York.

Even Benny's own musicians
couldn't help betraying

a certain discomfiture
and lack of ease with him.

Whether Benny likes it or not,

there is a certain cordiality
demanded in an artist,

a certain friendliness
that he should genuinely feel
towards his associates

whether he likes them or not.

Your friends can
make or break you, Benny,

and in all fairness to yourself,

you should accord them even more
consideration than you did when
you were on the way up!

Down beat.

narrator: Benny Goodman had
fought hard for his success--

and he fought still harder
to keep from losing it.

"Benny wanted perfection,"
the singer Helen ward
remembered,

"and he got it."

Jacobs: Benny Goodman
was a maestro.

When he got on the bandstand,

he meant business.

He could have been a surgeon

everybody had to be

on their toes

there were a lot of tough band
leaders in the swing band era

tough because jobs were scarce

and anybody who had a job with

a good band wanted to keep it.

And they were really martinets,

they were they were all
pretty tough,

but Benny went beyond that.

There was a quality to Benny's
relationships with his musicians
that was almost paranoid.

He seemed to be constantly
worried that they were out
to get him.

Goodman's musicians
found him aloof,

so obsessed with making
music and making his band
still better-known,

that he sometimes couldn't
even remember their names.

Collier: Goodman had a look
that he would give his players
from time to time

which they called "the ray,"

where he would lean forward
and he would stare at you.

And he would stare.

And he would stare.

And you'd go on playing,
and you'd get more and more
nervous thinking,

"what have I done wrong,
what have I done wrong,

what am I doing wrong,
why is he giving me that look?"
And you'd never know.

He turned the "ray"
on the guys in the band.

He didn't know it was the "ray."

But he would simply
turn his eyes on you

and look at you as though,
"are you real?

"Did you really do that?

"You don't rea--

couldn't you have done better?"
And they withered.

His guys were terrified
of the "ray."

All of a sudden,
I notice one night, you know,

that he was give--looking at me.

And I looked back at him,

you know, I'm playing, you know,

and I look back at him and
he's looking at me like that.

So, finally one night,
I just walked up to him
during intermission.

I said, "please,
I don't like that ray thing."

I just had enough.

Because it wasn't any fun
working for this guy.

I'd been having fun.

Music is supposed to be
a pleasure.

And this guy was not,
definitely not a pleasure.

[Grand slaPlaying]

Narrator: As Goodman set about
finding new stars for his band,

he sometimes had more help
than he liked from John Hammond,

the self-appointed arbiter
of jazz talent,

who was always telling
bandleaders who to hire
and who to fire.

Maher: John used to show up
at rehearsals,

and John was
a natural-born scout,

he was always on the lookout.

Wherever John showed up

at rehearsals somebody would,

"oh my god, here comes

the undertaker."

They would know that John,
last night,

somewhere found a guy
that Benny has to get.

He's absolutely the greatest.

He's on bass.

There's nobody like him.

Boom.

And that was the way it was.

Narrator: In 1939,
Mary Lou Williams told Hammond

about a 23 year-old musician
from Oklahoma city who,

she said, could somehow make
music on the electric guitar

in the cool, laid back style
of Lester young.

His name was Charlie Christian,

and he would turn
the amplified guitar into
a major jazz instrument.

Without even hearing Christian
and without asking Goodman,

Hammond arranged
for the young guitarist to board
a train for Hollywood,

where the Goodman sextet
was playing.

[Rose ro Playing]

Narrator: Goodman was furious at
Hammond for putting a stranger
on the stand

and zapped Hammond with the ray.

Goodman then called for
Rose room,

a favorite tune he was sure
Christian wouldn't know

and was surprised when Christian
had no trouble with it.

It was a favorite of his, too.

They played the tune for nearly
three quarters of an hour,

and when the set was over,
Charlie Christian was hired
on the spot.

Goodman was so moved
by the beauty and complexity of
Christian's playing,

that tears sometimes
came to his eyes.

Charlie Christian would bring
a new experimental spirit

and a taste of
the Kansas City sound
to Benny Goodman's music,

and many thought the band
never sounded better.

Goodman's determination
always to play with the best
had paid off once more.

His orchestra would soon
be the number one band in
the country--again.

[Ella Fitzgerald singing
Love and kisses]

♪ love and kisses ♪

♪ never misses ♪

♪ making a heaven for two ♪

♪ with the tender
sweet surrender ♪

♪ coming from someone like you ♪

This column has emitted
toasts and raves about
various unknowns.

Here's number one
for the coming year:

Ella Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald: ♪ no indecision
I know that my vision is clear ♪

Voice-over: Unheralded and
practically unknown right now,
but what a future.

And there's no reason why
she shouldn't be just about
the best in time to come.

George t. Simon,
Metronome.

Fitzgerald:
♪ that's what bliss is ♪

♪ that thing whatever you do ♪

Narrator: Like Billie Holiday,
Ella Jane Fitzgerald had a bleak
and troubled childhood.

Her parents never married.

Her stepfather abused her.

Her mother died when she was 14.

She dropped out of
high school and ran away
from the juvenile home

to which she
was sent for truancy.

For nearly two years,
she was homeless,

living on the streets
of New York,

dancing and singing for tips,

sometimes supporting herself
as a numbers runner

or a lookout for a brothel.

In November of 1934, Fitzgerald
entered an amateur show

at the Apollo theater in Harlem.

She wore second hand clothes
and men's boots

as she stepped into
the spotlight.

She was awkward and nervous;

she knew Apollo audiences
could be brutal.

Fitzgerald:
♪ I'll chase the blues away ♪

♪ I'll laugh and sing all day ♪

♪ I found my lover,
someone who'll be true ♪

♪ the bluebirds in the trees ♪

Narrator:
But when she began to sing,

she brought down the house
and was awarded the first prize.

She was supposed to get
a week's work at the theater,

but the manager of the Apollo
didn't think Ella Fitzgerald
was pretty enough.

She returned to the streets,

entering other amateur shows
when she could,

singing without pay
for local bands.

Meanwhile, chick webb was
looking for a beautiful girl
who could sing,

someone who could at last
bring him the fame he sought

in the bigger world
beyond the savoy.

He sent his vocalist
Charles linton to scour
the city,

and linton brought back
Ella Fitzgerald.

Webb was appalled.

"You're not putting That
On my bandstand," he said.

But linton threatened to quit
if she wasn't given a chance.

Webb finally relented.

Narrator: It was
the best decision he ever made.

[Fitzgerald singing
Sing me a swing song
And let me dance]

narrator: Soon, his orchestra,
with Ella Fitzgerald,

was appearing regularly
on the radio and on the best
bandstands all over the country,

with hit after hit
on the jukebox.

♪ On the ballroom floor ♪

♪ when a body asks a body
what's a swing band for? ♪

♪ Oh, baby, I don't want
you to go soft and mellow ♪

♪ let me warn you in advance ♪

♪ sing me a swing song
and let me dance ♪

♪ oh, baby, I don't want anymore
bright and yellow ♪

♪ you can have your
sweet romance ♪

Narrator:
Fitzgerald's flawless intonation
astonished other musicians,

and her ferocious sense
of swing and girlish voice
delighted the public.

♪ Mr. Trumpet, grab a horn ♪

Narrator:
In 1937, she won the number one
female vocalist poll

in both the country's
leading jazz magazines,

down bea Andd Metronome,
Beating out Billie Holiday.

♪ Old chick webb
is beating it out ♪

♪ makes me feel like
I want to shout ♪

♪ all the boys
are ready to prance ♪

♪ so sing me a swing song
and let me dance ♪

Narrator: At 19,
Ella Fitzgerald was being billed
as "the first lady of swing."

♪ A-tisket, a-tasket ♪

Narrator: In the spring of 1938,
chick webb and Ella Fitzgerald

recorded an old nursery rhyme

and turned it into
a swing anthem.

Fitzgerald: ♪ I dropped it,
I dropped it ♪

♪ yes, on the way I dropped it ♪

♪ a little girlie picked it up
and put it in her pocket ♪

♪ she was truckin'
on down the Avenue ♪

♪ but not a single thing to do ♪

♪ she went a peck, peck,
pecking all around ♪

Narrator: It stayed number one
for 17 weeks.

♪ She took it, she took it ♪

♪ my little yellow basket ♪

Narrator: By Autumn,
they had 3 more tunes on
the charts all at once.

♪ No, no, no, no ♪

Was it green?

♪ No, no, no, no ♪

Was it cerise?

♪ No, no,
just a little yellow basket ♪

♪ a little yellow basket ♪

Narrator: But just as webb
had begun to win the fame
he'd always dreamed of,

his life-long
physical frailty grew worse.

His kidneys weakened,

complicating his struggle
against the spinal tuberculosis

that had plagued him
since childhood.

He collapsed after
several performances

and was finally confined
to a Baltimore hospital.

"Anything happens to me,"
he told a friend,

"take care of Ella."

Chick webb,
the first "king of swing,"
died on June 16, 1939.

He was just 30 years old.

♪ I betcha a nickel ♪

♪ I betcha I'll win ♪

♪ I betcha a nickel
that you will give in ♪

♪ what's the matter, honey,
afraid you'll lose? ♪

♪ Do what you want to
and say what you choose ♪

♪ I still betcha a nickel
that you will be mine ♪

Narrator: Webb's band stayed
together and changed its name

to "Ella Fitzgerald
and her famous orchestra."

She didn't need to be
taken care of.

Fitzgerald recorded one
light-hearted novelty tune
after another--

my wubba Dolly,
Chew, chew, chew,

deedle de dum,
And I found my yellow basket.

♪ I betcha you'll
sign on the dotted line ♪

♪ I don't see no sense
in wasting all this time ♪

♪ 'cause whatever you bet,
you bet it's gonna be mine ♪

Davis: Ella looks at america,
and in spite of poverty,

in spite of pain,
in spite of segregation,

in spite of
the lynching statistics,

Ella sings.

And her soul is full of joy

and you couldn't help
but share in the joy,

the excitement that
she brought to to whatever
it was that she sang.

♪ I don't see no sense
in all this rhythm and rhyme ♪

♪ 'cause whatever you bet,
you bet it's gonna be mine ♪

O'Neil: It was tellin' a story
if you listen to jazz.

And every jazz musician has
a story to tell,

and he tells it.

And this is why to follow jazz,
you've got to really listen.

Because everybody
is tellin' a story.

[Easy livinPlaying]

Schaap: Billie Holiday's life
on the road with the count basie
band was more than awkward.

It probably was horrific in
that she is in sort of like
a double negative.

She's both a woman traveling
with an all-male band,

and she's black,
traveling with a black band
in a segregated society.

There were no amenities

or special things done for her.

She just had to ride
on this blue-goose bus,

just like everybody else and
change and sleep and, you know,

it was a tough setting.

Narrator:
In 1938, Billie Holiday left
the count basie orchestra

for Artie Shaw's band.

Conditions were better,
but life was just as hard.

When the band played the hotel
Lincoln in her adopted home town
of New York,

she was ordered
to use the service elevator

so that guests wouldn't
assume blacks were staying
in the hotel.

When Shaw's band appeared
twice weekly on network radio,

the show's sponsor,
old gold cigarettes,

insisted that only the band's
white singer, Helen forrest,
perform on the air.

Some places even demanded
holiday leave the bandstand
between numbers.

America was not ready for
a black woman in a white band.

Shaw we played down south
and on the way down below
the Mason-Dixon line,

that mystic line, she said,
"you think I should come down?"

I said, "yeah, Billie,

I think it's important
that you do this."

I wasn't thinking
in terms of black/white.

I was thinking it important
that she come and stay with
this band.

Holiday:
♪ when you're in love ♪

♪ and I'm so in love ♪

♪ there's nothing in life
but you ♪

Shaw: And everything was fine,
and they loved her

until one night she sang a tune,
and after the tune was over,

some redneck in front
of the band hollered up,

"have the nigger wench
sing another song."

She, she was a pretty
hot-tempered girl,

and she looked over at him,

and you could see her
flushing under the tan

and calling him a...

So, a little turmoil arose out
there and I was prepared for it,

and I had a couple of cops
in the wings, just in case,

and they hustled her off
into the bus and drove her away.

Narrator: Holiday left
Artie Shaw, too,

telling the press she
would never travel with
a dance band again.

She returned to New York City,

to the small,
intimate clubs she loved.

On December 30, 1938,
cafe society,

a nightclub like no other,

opened its doors
in greenwich village.

In charge was an ex-shoe
salesman named Barney josephson,

who hoped to demonstrate
that new yorkers would come out

to hear jazz presented
"with dignity and respect"

before a genuinely
integrated audience.

Billie Holiday
was on the first bill

and stayed there
for nearly a year.

One day, a young leftist
high-school teacher

named Abel meeropol turned up
at the club.

He had written a poem
and set it to music.

He gave it to holiday.

Would she sing it?

It was about a lynching.

She was nervous at first.

"I was scared people
would hate it," she said.

"And the first time I sang it
I thought it was a mistake."

Holiday: ♪ southern trees
bear a strange fruit ♪

♪ blood on the leaves
and blood at the root ♪

♪ black bodies swinging
in the southern breeze ♪

♪ strange fruit hanging
from the poplar trees ♪

Early: Billie Holiday
sang this song,

it's like an Aria,

a song like that would have been
unthinkable in the twenties,

but the thirties had
brought about a new kind
of political consciousness.

You had more people who were
thinking dramatically about
social protest,

you had a certain
kind of growing militancy in
the African American community.

This is a whole new sensibility
for jazz.

I think Strange fruit
Is really one of those seminal
events in jazz music,

the creation of
this protest song,

because it showed that
black people could, in fact,

create a music, have a
sensibility in their music

which had explicit kind of
politics and explicit sort
of social protest.

♪ Pastoral scene of
the gallant south ♪

♪ the bulging eyes
and the twisted mouth ♪

♪ scent of magnolias
sweet and fresh ♪

Then the sudden smell
of burning flesh ♪

♪ here is a fruit
for the crows to pluck ♪

♪ for the rain to gather,
for the wind to suck ♪

♪ for the sun to rot,
for the tree to drop ♪

♪ here is a strange
and bitter crop ♪

Narrator: "There wasn't
even a patter of applause

when I finished,"
Billie Holiday remembered.

"Then a lone person began
clapping nervously.

Then suddenly,
everyone was clapping."

[Doggin' arounPlaying]

Narrator: On a warm Sunday
afternoon in the spring of 1938,

with the depression
in its 9th cruel year,

24,000 people, black and white,
paid 50 cents each to attend

the first outdoor jazz festival
in history

at a stadium on Randall's island
in New York City.

It was billed as
a "carnival of swing."

As if it were medicine,

Americans were buying 700,000
swing records a month now,

and 24 bands were on hand.

But no band had a bigger impact
on the crowd that afternoon,

none embodied more of
the "velocity of celebration"

that the best swing
had come to represent

than count basie
and his orchestra.

For months they had been turning
out hit after exhilarating hit:

Jumpin' at the woodside,
Boogie woogie,

swingin' at the Daisy chain,
Lady be good,

out the window,
An Doggin' around.

Murray: His band came in 1936,
by 1937 he was a household word,

and his impact on jazz
was universal.

Because what he brought to it
was a rhythmic precision

and a pulse that was,

you know, almost,
it was definitive.

Narrator: Count basie
proved that big band swing
could be popular

without sacrificing
the spontaneity that is
at the heart of jazz.

Narrator: In march of 1939,
Duke Ellington and his orchestra

set sail for Europe
for an extended concert tour.

Even he could not
have foreseen the sort of
impact it would have.

In the United States,
Ellington was often overshadowed
by more commercial bands,

but in Europe,
he reigned supreme.

Crowds met their ship
at le havre with "such adoration
and genuine joy,"

his trumpeter Rex Stewart
remembered, "that for
the first time in my life,

"I had the feeling of being
accepted as an artist,

a gentleman, and a member
of the human race."

Thousands turned out
in Brussels, antwerp, the hague,
utrecht, Amsterdam, Copenhagen,

and Stockholm, where fans filled
Ellington's hotel room

with flowers for
his 40th birthday.

A Paris critic proclaimed that
Ellington's music revealed

"the very secret of the cosmos."

And the French poet
Blaise cendrars pronounced
his music

"not only a new art form
but a new reason for living."

But that same spring,
when the train carrying
Ellington's band

across northern Germany
was delayed at Hamburg,

uniformed soldiers
patrolled the platform,

and his men could not get off
even to stretch their legs.

The Nazis had barred both
black foreigners and jazz--

which they called
"nigger-Jew music."

Man, voice-over: The nigger
has a very pronounced feeling
for rhythm,

and his "art" is perhaps
indigenous but nevertheless
offensive to our sentiments.

Surely, such stuff belongs
among the hottentots.

Ministry of propaganda.

Narrator: As their train
crossed Holland,

the clarinetist
Barney bigard remembered,

"we could see out of
the windows that they were
putting machine-gun posts

in all the haystacks
and in the ditches."

And in Paris, the band played
in a new underground theater,

built to withstand the German
bombs the French were sure would
soon be falling.

Ellington and his band
returned to america in may.

Europe was only
months away from war.

Narrator: In October of 1939,
a month after German troops
invaded Poland,

Coleman Hawkins,
the man who had made the tenor
saxophone a jazz instrument,

went into the studio.

He recorded 4 sides that day,
including the popular tune
Body and soul.

nothing quite like it had
ever been recorded before.

Giddins: Body and so Ulis
one of the supreme masterpieces
among jazz records.

Hawkins comes along with
a recording that consists
of two choruses

in which he never,
except for the first
two measures,

plays any of the melody.

This was a marvelous thing,

a confusing thing

to a lot of people.

I mean, he starts off
ba da boo de boo be bop,

and then he goes off into
his own melodic variation

and he sustains
and continues that variation
for two full choruses,

playing one brilliant melodic
idea after another until
the end of the record.

[Body and so Playing]

Narrator: Body and soul
Was a hit with Americans
of every color

and would help inspire
a generation of young musicians

to take jazz in
a whole new direction.