Louis Armstrong: Satch Plays Fats
(Louis Armstrong, trumpet, vocals; Tommy Young, trombone; Barney Bigard, clarinet; Billy
Kyle, piano; Arvell Shaw, bass; Barrett Deems, drums; Velma Middleton, vocals. Columbia
Legacy CK 64927. George Avakian, prod.; ?, eng. AAD. TT: 78:45)
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 This reissue sets right a great wrong perpetrated in the
early eighties. At that time, Columbia reissued Satch Plays Fats and replaced five
of the nine tracks with alternate takes. This wasn’t, as was widely assumed at the
time, just another example of corporate arrogance – it turns out that Columbia’s
vaults were so disorganized that no one had a clue where the master tapes were.
The current reissue -- labeled
"Centennial Edition" -- not only restores the original tracks, but adds
alternate takes and also includes virtually every cover of a Fats Waller tune that
Armstrong ever committed to tape. As a result, the CD runs a generous 78:45, which is
longer than some CD players will recognize -- the Linn Classik resident on my desk top,
for instance.
One of the biggest problems confronting the
jazz fan unfamiliar with Armstrong is which of his hundreds of albums to buy. His hardest
core fans would have it that, after the late '20s, he’d pretty much stopped
challenging himself and settled into a career of being Louis Armstrong, entertainer. The
problem with this is that it fails to acknowledge that Armstrong’s unique vocal
stylings are equally compelling -- and as revolutionary -- as his astonishing early
instrumental virtuosity.
By anyone’s standard, however, Satch
Plays Fats would make the cut for essential Armstrong (as would Satch’s other
tribute album, Louis Armstrong Plays W.C. Handy). Armstrong’s in great voice
and he turns in some gorgeous and commanding trumpet solos to boot. The band is solid,
especially Barney Bigard and Tommy Young, who engage in some thrilling interplay with
Pops’ horn, as well as adding solid atmospheric flourishes where needed.
The parallels between Armstrong and Waller are
pronounced. Both were instrumental virtuosos of the first water -- Waller was an
extraordinary stride pianist capable of playing astonishingly complex melodic flourishes
over a bassline that most pianists couldn’t duplicate with both hands. But it
was as a vocalist that Waller really captivated the public.
Fats’ vocal range wasn’t great, but
his vocal persona was magic. His was the hip, sardonic voice that every American
wished were his own. He could simultaneously sell a song and send it up -- saying
essentially, "I like it, but I don’t take it too seriously," which allowed
him to be both cynic and romantic.
And once you’ve heard Fats Waller sing a
lyric, just about any other interpretation will sound saccharine by comparison. For this
reason, Armstrong, surely one of the most accomplished singers to ever interpret a lyric,
was wise to steer clear of such signature pieces as "Two Sleepy People,"
"Want Some Seafood, Mama," and "Your Feets Too Big."
Instead he tackles "Honeysuckle
Rose," "Ain’t Misbehavin’," and "Squeeze Me" in
interpretations that stake serious claim to the songs, even as he offers them as tributes.
Armstrong’s fluid lines and totally integrated scatting are nothing like Fats’
readings -- in fact, Pops’ relaxed way with the lyrics stands in stark contrast to
Fats’ compulsive need to comment on the lyrics even as he sings them. Yet it all
works. You can feel Armstrong’s love for the pianist.
And Pops does cover some of the silliness,
too. You’d really have to, if you wanted to portray Fats in all his glory. Here we
have "All that Meat and No Potatoes," a delicious slice of sexual innuendo about
a woman with an overabundance of one secondary sexual characteristic and a glaring lack of
another.
But the true centerpieces of the album are two
of Fats’ more serious songs.
"Blue Turning Grey Over You" gives
Pops room to stretch out and languorously massage the lyric. The song starts with a slow
statement of the theme on trumpet, where Armstrong packs an amazing amount of meaning into
a seemingly straight reading of the melody. In the first verse of the lyric, however,
Armstrong abandons the words and proceeds to scat a beautiful solo -- a pattern that he
repeats with each verse, before offering a powerful trumpet solo that imitates the same
form, a straight recitation of the theme that breaks deliriously into flourishes of joy.
Good as it is, "Blue Turning Grey"
pales in comparison to "Black and Blue (What Did I Do To Be So)." Again the song
begins with a powerful statement of the theme on trumpet in a call and response pattern
with the clarinet, and later, trombone. Then Armstrong sings the verse which seems like a
standard blues until it gets to the line ". . .My only sin is in my skin/ What did I
do to be so black and blue?" The trumpet solo that ensues is like a clarion call to
justice -- unlike the lyrics, which are self-pitying, Pops’ solo is not a question,
it’s martial. It’s a demand.
And it’s a fitting reminder that no
matter how much Louis Armstrong liked to entertain, he was a serious and outspoken
champion of racial equality throughout his lifetime. He never begged, he believed it was
simply his due.
As was this careful restoration of one of his
classic albums. With the Centennial Edition of Satch Plays Fats, Columbia has
restored one of the true treasures in its catalog. I’m sure that this year will see
the release of many more, but don’t miss this one. It’s a stone keeper.
...Wes Phillips
wes@onhifi.com
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