Glenn Miller - The Historic Chesterfield Moonlight Serenade Broadcasts 1940-1942

Back in November of last year, there was an announcement that the Glenn Miller Birthplace Society was preparing a 2 CD set of Miller broadcast recordings. I quickly ordered a copy.

As I stated in a previous post, RCA Victor issued Miller broadcast tracks on two 10” LPs in the early fifties, and then in deluxe editions, albums of 5 LPs that were called Limited Editions (the first Limited Edition included commercial recordings). The sources came from the Miller estate. Miller commissioned the Harry Smith Studios to record his broadcasts off the air so that he could hear them in the comfort of his office; he claimed that he really couldn’t hear the band fully on the stand. These discs were rarely played, and according to liner notes in a 1959 broadcast package, were stacked high in Miller’s office which was finally liquidated after WWII. They were given to RCA Victor to transfer to tape.

The story often reported was that RCA didn’t expect to sell a lot of the first Limited Edition. Large sets were rarely marketed until a few years later. This one was beautifully packaged and sold for $25.00, which was a lot of money back then. It wound up selling out quickly, which delighted both the label and the estate. The Glenn Miller marketing machine went into high gear; a second Limited Edition was issued, and a bio-pic made with Jimmy Stewart as Miller. The music was directed by Henry Mancini, and compensated for the truly terrible movie that resulted, with an absurd script and bad acting. But nobody cared that Jimmy Stewart was not believable as Miller (Miller’s mother reportedly said that Stewart was not as handsome as her son). The movie made Miller’s music more popular than ever. Popular music of the time was changing rapidly to a rhythmic, loud style older audiences didn’t understand. Other bands imitated the Miller sound, and a ghost band was back on the road selling out appearances. RCA issued an additional 3 LP set of broadcasts in 1959, now with horrible echo. A further set of broadcasts came out several years later.

In recent years, Sony, who now owns the old RCA catalog, continued to release newer re-masterings of the Miller commercial recordings, but has not issued more live recordings. These were found on small labels here and in the UK when CDs became popular, and the sound quality was often just okay, but at least they were out for the die-hard fans. And yes, Miller continues to appeal to a core of listeners who either are big band fans or love older songs. Admittedly, that core is smaller than what it was in the mid-1950s and even the 1960s, but three editions of Miller ensembles continue to perform all over the world. The appeal for this music continues.

Which is why it was wonderful that the November announcement appeared. The original discs that were at Miller’s office are now archived in the Glenn Miller Collections at the American Research Center/University of Colorado Boulder. The collection also includes 16” transcription discs made for rebroadcast, and were the main sources for CD 1 of the collection.

We can’t really know and judge a big band from the 1920s through to the 1940s from commercial recordings. They were limited as far as time, and having to practically sight-read a new arrangement often resulted in a performance that was perfunctory to get the job done. Bands often had to cut arrangements for time. More often than not, several songs recorded were never played again (some of those songs were indeed awful), and a live performance of an arrangement recorded just days before already sounded livelier and spirited; live performances weeks later than the original recording were often revelations.

Glenn Miller was a very good musician who was an even better businessman. He observed his audience’s likes and dislikes carefully, and patterned his band’s repertoire and performances based on these observations. His chief vocalists were sold as the girl and boy next door; Marion Hutton and Ray Eberle were charming and they sang well enough. He had a tenor saxophone soloist who also sang named ‘Tex’ Beneke, a really nice down-home guy who played impressive solos, but who is rarely mentioned when tenor saxophone soloists are discussed.

I believe that George Simon is correct when he listed the Tommy Dorsey band as the best all-around big band of the era, but when we listen carefully and are not influenced by all the nostalgia hype, Miller’s band is still in the top echelon of ensembles during that era. His group was packed with excellent musicians, many of whom were busy in the T.V. and recording studios long after Miller’s passing. He had a recognizable signature sound that was always there, but other, often more beautiful ensemble sounds could be heard as the months passed. His band could swing as powerfully as other top swing bands, and his presentations were beautifully paced (his concept of something old-something new-something borrowed-something blue medleys was a brilliant idea; several of them are included in this set). He also hosted several excellent arrangers - Eddie Durham who brought the band fully into the Lunceford-type swing Miller loved, Jerry Gray who was the backbone of the arranging staff, Billy May, a wild man who played great trumpet and wrote often unusual arrangements, and particularly Bill Finegan, one of the most brilliant American composers of the 20th Century, who more than proved his gifts in his writing for Miller, Tommy Dorsey and an early Les Elgart band. His 1952-1957 ensemble with Eddie Sauter was one of the most influential ensembles in history. Many of Finegan’s scores are models in arranged dance music to this day, whether they be ballads such as “A Handful of Stars” or swing excursions such as “Song of the Volga Boatmen.” In the final months of the band’s existence, Miller hired George (The Fox) Williams, previously with Sonny Dunham, who delivered a big hit (“It Must Be Jelly” which is included here) and some beautiful ballad scores.

Miller certainly had his detractors (John Hammond didn’t like the band, but John Hammond didn’t like Peggy Lee, and Jo Stafford said that the Dorsey musicians laughed at the band’s music), but true music lovers had to sit up and take notice of all of this excellent music beautifully played, on the air three times a week for a cigarette company, and live broadcasts from gigs across the country.

The set derives its recordings from the Chesterfield broadcasts, and the producers wisely left in the commercials to remind us that Miller was supported by a big sponsor whose product was ever present during the broadcasts. I only highlight some tracks that are here; there are many more wonderful things that are included.

We begin in January of 1940. Of course, the producers had to include such chestnuts as “In the Mood,” which frankly I’ve heard and played more than enough for three lifetimes, but at least this performance shows how the band continued to keep it exciting. “Tuxedo Junction” is also an excellent performance, and as with “In the Mood” showcases Miller’s understanding of dynamics for dramatic effect. He always kept audiences guessing when he played pieces like this, and they always sounded fresh.

Any new version of “Tiger Rag” is appreciated, arranger Ed Durham at his best. “Moonglow” is a beautiful performance. A highlight of this set is an early performance of Jerry Gray’s arrangement of “Anvil Chorus,” much slower than the version recorded, a full six minutes plus. Another is a performance of “These Things You Left Me,” a very pretty song by Hal Dickinson of the Modernaires. The Mods had just joined the Miller ensemble (they’d previously been with Paul Whiteman’s band), and to be truthful, they are surprisingly under-rehearsed (which they rarely were). Was the arrangement so new that they didn’t have a chance to fully rehearse the number? Had they rehearsed it with the band at all? Was this a last minute substitute? Who knows? Reportedly, Miller and Dickinson had a disagreement and Glenn stopped playing the song (it was published by Benny Goodman’s company Regent Music, and was recorded by Goodman with a Helen Forrest vocal and Ed Sauter arrangement). “Rockin’ Chair” is another reminder that Miller could attract major soloists if he wanted to. It also highlights his kindness in helping his friend Bobby Hackett out of a financial and medical bind. His cornet is priceless, another performance that bootleggers didn’t discover and appears here.

No band gets it right 100% of the time, and one of the all-time big mistakes Miller made was featuring reedman Ernie Caceras as a singer who sang in Spanish. “The Hut-Sut Song” from 1941 would have disappeared if it had not been used in the Warner Bros. cartoon “Horton Hatches the Egg.” The performance included here is embarrassingly bad; I laughed hysterically when I heard it. I admire the producers for including it, however. The set is a true panorama of the many aspects of the Miller music world, and to ignore something that didn’t work out and was quickly abandoned would have done a disservice to him. He was at least willing to try some off-beat things, and for that I give him a lot of credit.

I am particularly happy that CD 2 begins at what I feel is the beginning of the Miller ensemble’s best era, January, 1942 until it disbanded in September when Miller joined the army. The band has settled into a more relaxed groove to my ears, and swings very hard when needed. “American Patrol” was a big hit; it is presented here in a totally different arrangement which is longer and I think far better than the more popular version.

The producers have included the entire last Chesterfield broadcast, which served to introduce Harry James as the bandleader for the sponsor. Even though this broadcast took place in 1942, the set has been programmed so well that it is hard not to feel a little sad that all of this would end shortly after.

The sound? Listen to the YouTube promo and hear it for yourself.

Victor’s New York studio on East 24th Street was a good studio, but it was nowhere near as resonant as Liederkrantz Hall on 59th Street that the Columbia labels used. These broadcasts came primarily from a CBS radio studio in New York with excellent acoustics engineered by some of the best in the country. The balance of the band is impeccable; even broadcasts from out of town as the band toured were excellent.

Chuck Granata, Karl Pearson and Dennis M. Spragg are primarily responsible for this excellent release, and I can happily say that, just like the Benny Goodman Camel Caravan broadcasts, we can get a very accurate aural picture of what this band sounded like as it played all over the country.

It took many months for this set to finally get into the hands of those who ordered it, but was worth the wait. The notes include a beautiful tribute to Bill Finegan, a man I studied with briefly whom I think about every day.

There will be further volumes, and as far as I’m concerned, they will be must-haves.