The eMusic Dozen: National Recording Registry, Pre WWII

Cornetist Nick LaRocca of the Original Dixieland Jazz Band may have been somewhat arrogant — he dubbed his all-white New Orleans ensemble "the creators of jazz," which they were assuredly not. But they were pioneers nevertheless, being the first jazz band to make records, one of the earliest (and best) of which was "Tiger Rag," from 1918, the one honored by the Registry.

The Library of Congress says: "While not the best ensemble of its day, the first recordings of the Original Dixieland Jazz Band initiated a craze for the new art form, jazz."

Recording history is dominated by firsts, and 1920's "Crazy Blues," recorded by Mamie Smith at a date originally intended for Sophie Tucker, certainly deserves its place as the first vocal blues 78. But the record is worth celebrating in and of itself: Smith had a sharp, lithe, powerful delivery, and she sells the song all by herself.

The Library of Congress says: "The recording was a surprise hit, reputedly selling more than 250,000 copies. It revealed to record companies a previously neglected market for records, African-American buyers. Subsequently, thousands of recordings were made of black jazz and blues artists, invigorating the record business and enabling the documentation and preservation of one of the richest eras of musical creativity in the United States."

Sometimes it takes some adjustment to hear early-'20s music the way it was perceived in its time, but that's not a problem with Bessie Smith, even on her first-ever recording — the one that the Registry honored. Supported by Clarence Williams' deliberate piano, "Down Hearted Blues," from 1923, communicates equally powerfully today, Smith conjoining anger ("Feel so disgusted," she sings, completely believably) and yearning in a perfect performance.

The Library of Congress says: "Bessie Smith first recorded in 1923, launching a blues career that would have no parallel during the classic blues era. She recorded more than 150 songs over her 14-year recording career."

"See See Rider Blues," from 1923, which the Registry inducted in 2004, is important not just because of Gertrude "Ma" Rainey's stature as the "mother of the blues," but because its title phrase, one of the hardiest in blues history, which would show up in dozens of subsequent records (sometimes at "C.C. Rider"). The first is still one of the best, though.

The Library of Congress says: "Although others recorded blues songs before Rainey and had begun to refine the genre, her recordings retain the powerful directness and poignancy that made her famous. Rainey made numerous recordings for the Paramount label; this recording is from a session she recorded with Louis Armstrong and Fletcher Henderson."

Maybe you've heard of this guy. New Orleans, cornet player, then trumpet, robust tone, raspy singing and speaking voice, great sense of humor, swung like a mother. He made some great records, too, especially early on. The Registry certainly thought so — they inducted the entire batch of recordings included on this four-CD box.

The Library of Congress says: "Louis Armstrong was jazz's first great soloist, and among American music's most important and influential figures. These sessions, and his solos in particular, set a standard musicians still strive to equal in their beauty and innovation."

"Never Marry a Railroad Man," advised '70s Swedish rockers Shocking Blue, but any country-music fan will tell you to always listen to one, especially if that one is "the Singing Brakeman." Jimmie Rodgers' nickname was no exaggeration — he worked the rails for 14 years before becoming the most influential of all early country singers and probably the most beloved yodeler on record ever. "Blue Yodel (T for Texas)" was at first rejected by RCA Victor's Ralph Peer before making it into his second session for the label, his first alone (the initial recordings had been with a group, the Tenneva Ramblers). It went on to sell a million copies and cement Rodgers' status as "the father of country music," making it a natural for the Registry.

The Library of Congress says: "Rodgers's compositions and recorded performances combined black and white musical forms and popularized American rural music traditions."

Whether you spell it the way its author did, as two words, or simply as one, it's indisputable that Hoagy Carmichael's "Star Dust" is one of the most venerable of American songs: eMusic's catalogue has well over 200 renditions, and ten of them are on this five-hour overview of Carmichael's career as both writer and performer, by Irving Mills and His Hotsy-Totsy Gang, Fletcher Henderson, Louis Armstrong, Jack Jenney, the Chocolate Dandies, Mill's Merry Makers, Isham Jones, and three by Carmichael himself, including the quick-paced 1927 original inducted into the Registry.

The Library of Congress says: "In later, slower interpretations, 'Stardust' became one of the most recorded ballads in jazz and popular repertories. Lyrics were added to the song in 1931."

Cornetist Beiderbecke and saxophonist Trambauer were fast-rising jazzmen in the mid-'20s — Bix with the Wolverines, Frankie in the Benson Orchestra, both with Jean Goldkette and Paul Whiteman. They teamed up for a series of legendary sides on Okeh, in particular 1927's "Singin' the Blues," their Registry pick.

The Library of Congress says: "Together with guitarist Eddie Lang and other members of the ensemble, Trumbauer and Beiderbecke recorded 'Singin' the Blues,' which contains one of Beiderbecke's greatest solos."

In the '60s, Columbia Records ads featured the famous phrase, "Nobody sings Dylan like Dylan." The same could have been applied to Sergei Rachmaninoff in the '20s, when he performed his own work: "Nobody plays Rachmaninoff like Rachmaninoff," especially on the Registry-selected Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, accompanied by the Philadelphia Orchestra, led by Leopold Stokowski, from 1929.

The Library of Congress says: "Rachmaninoff first recorded the complete 2nd piano concerto in 1929. Two of its three movements were released on acoustically recorded discs in 1924."

"Count Basie" has been synonymous for "swing" ever since Basie cut "One O'Clock Jump" in 1937, and in its style to this day the record has been sometimes equaled but seldom surpassed.

The Library of Congress says: "This landmark of the big band Swing Era first came together as a 'head arrangement. ' Head arrangements, worked out in rehearsal and committed to memory rather than written down, gave much freedom to soloists and allowed the musicians to concentrate on the rhythmic drive for which Kansas City jazz and the Basie orchestra is noted. The Basie orchestra, like most Kansas City-style bands, was organized around its rhythm section. The interplay of brass and reeds on the 'One O'Clock Jump' serves as a backdrop for the unfolding solos of the band's extraordinary players, including Lester Young, Herschel Evans and Buck Clayton."

When Benny Goodman played Carnegie Hall on January 16, 1938, he cemented his place as swing's most popular bandleader, ushering in the music's golden era. He also used the performance as a showcase for the style more generally, including members of Count Basie's and Duke Ellington's orchestras, as well as a sit-in performance by the great Lionel Hampton.

The Library of Congress says: "This live concert recording catches clarinetist and band leader Benny Goodman, touted as the 'King of Swing,' at his peak, fronting top performers and appearing before an energetic audience for the debut of jazz at Carnegie Hall. . . . 'Swingtime in the Rockies,' a jam on 'Honeysuckle Rose,' and Goodman’s signature piece, 'Sing, Sing, Sing,' are highlights."

For the Halloween (really October 30), 1938, edition of his Mercury Theater on the Air radio program, Orson Welles decided to stage H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds as a mock-documentary. The drama was effective — too effective. Many listeners believed it and panicked: The New York Times received 875 panicked phone calls, and reported that hundreds of families in New York and Newark fled their homes. And the Associated Press and New York and New Jersey police departments were forced to draft memos emphasizing the program's fictional nature — apparently, the four separate instances of this on the show itself weren't enough.

The Library of Congress says: "The Mercury Theater's finely-crafted radio drama about Martian invaders is one of the best-written and produced works in its genre."