Eddie Lang – Vintage Articles

The following vintage articles, reviews, book excerpts, and ad text were published between 1923 and 1947. These words offer us firsthand accounts of Eddie Lang and the era as told by friends, fans, reviewers (and copywriters), and make for a fascinating and fun read. Not 100% accurate, corrections are noted and addressed accordingly.

Charlie Kerr Orchestra: Conn Instruments ad; The Metronome, June 1923.
"As I Knew Eddie Lang" by Jack Bland, Jazz Record, 1946.
Mound City Blue Blowers: Palace Theatre review; Variety, April 8, 1925.
"As I Was Playing ..." by Harry Francis; Crescendo, November 1972.
Musical Gossip at Linton’s Lunch Room; The Orchestra World, February 1926.
Roger Wolfe Kahn Orchestra: “Kahn Signs Miff Mole”; Billboard, January 9, 1927.
Roger Wolfe Kahn Orchestra: Vaudeville review (Palace Theatre?); Zits, February 16, 1927.
Roger Wolfe Kahn Orchestra: Vaudeville review (Palace Theatre?); Billboard, February 16, 1927.
Roger Wolfe Kahn Orchestra: Vaudeville review (Strand Theatre), unknown paper, March 1927.
“Goldkette and Kahn Orchestras Will Disband”; Scrantonian, Scranton, Pennsylvania, October 2, 1927.
“Hello-Rhythm Fiends!" His own Story, written for Rhythm by EDDIE LANG World's Guitar Ace;
RHYTHM (UK), September, 1932.
Tuneful Topics by Ruby Vallee; Radio Digest, December, 1932, Volume XXIX, No. 5. (excerpt).
Second Movement, Continuing the Autobiography of Spike Hughes, by Spike Hughes (excerpts).
Broadway by Ed Sullivan, New York Daily News, poss. March 27 or 28, 1933.
Mike’s Disc-course, The Melody Maker (UK), May, 1933.
Letter to the editors of Down Beat; Somewhere In Italy by Pvt. Albert M. Webster, Feb. 10, 1944.

June 1923

Radio and Records Spread the Popularity of “Charlie” Kerr’s Fine Orchestra

Philadelphia is the home of this fine orchestra, but its fame and popularity has traveled far beyond the limits of the city of brotherly love. By radio “Charlie” and his players have sent their music to the corners of the continent. And their recently released Edison phonograph records have carried the same alluring music into the home of countless lovers of the dance, and of the kind of music which really makes a dance.

Kerr and his orchestra are regularly engaged at the Café L’Aiglon, the rendezvous of Philadelphia’s elite, where their music is a constant invitation to dance, an invitation of the most compelling kind.

Thousands of radio fans in every part of the country look forward to Tuesday and Saturday evenings, when they can tune in to State W.I.P., Philadelphia, and get the latest in syncopation from “Charlie” and his band. Each program brings a flood of telegrams and letters expressing appreciation.

Needless to say this fine organization is completely equipped with Conn instruments, including the drums used by Mr. Kerr himself, who is a young man of engaging personality. He attributes no small part of this to the success to the beautiful tone, perfect intonation and marvelous ensemble effect of the complete Conn equipment. The personnel of the orchestra includes: Charles Kerr - Leader and Drums; Albert Valante - Violin; Jerry DeMasi - Saxophone; Vincenzo D’Imperio - Saxophone; Leo McConville -Trumpet; Joseph DeLuca - Trombone; Edward Lang - Banjo; Michael Trafficante - Bass; Robert McCracken - Piano.
Source: Conn Instruments ad; The Metronome, June 1923

1924-1925+

AS I KNEW EDDIE LANG by Jack Bland

I first met Eddie Lang in 1924, in Atlantic City. He was playing with the Scranton Sirens-Russ Morgan, Jimmy Dorsey, Alfie Evans, Tommy Dorsey. It was in the summer, we were working the Beaux Arts (note: Cafe Beaux Arts, St. James Place and Boardwalk, Atlantic City, NJ) they were working on New York Avenue in a café (note: Follies Bergere, New York Avenue at Boardwalk, Atlantic City, NJ).

Then in August he joined the Mound City Blue Blowers, and we played the Palace Theatre after a week’s break in Jersey City, the State. He was supposed to meet us backstage at the State at 10a.m. for rehearsal. We waited for an hour, and finally from way up in the balcony we heard a voice: “Hey, are you boys down there?” He had come in through the fire escape.

He used to come from Atlantic City to New York to record. We only made two records (note: three records, six sides) before he joined, “Arkansas Blues,” “Blue,” “Red Hot” and “San.” Trumbauer was on the last two sides; “Red Hot” was his tune. After that, Lang was on every record that we made (those made between December 10, 1924-October 29, 1925).

The Blue Blowers were going big at that time, and we got an offer to play the Piccadilly Hotel in London. We had to get birth certificates to go to England, and Langie didn’t know whether he was born in Philadelphia, Atlantic City or Italy.

On the way over we had a few bucks saved, and we ran into a great dice shooter who proceeded to take everybody’s money, betting he could throw the dice against the wall and throw ten or four.

Finally we reached England. First thing happened when we got off the boat, Lang wanted to go back immediately. The English fog hit him and his hands turned purple and he got scared.

Before we opened at the Piccadilly, an agent put us out at Haggarty’s Empire, out in Limehouse. We played the first number real fast, “Tiger Rag.” Nobody understood or clapped or anything, and the orchestra leader looked at McKenzie, so McKenzie took a spit at the leader and said: “Which way do we go, boys?” and out we went.

We finally got through the first show, and we wanted to cancel the whole thing but the agent said: “All you have to do is play ‘Red Hot Mama’ and they’ll learn it and sing it with you and everything will be O’.K.” So we played “Red Hot Mama” the rest of the week.

Langie and I lived together. We went up to hunt an apartment on Germaine Street (note: Jermyn Street) We asked the price of the apartment and the attendant said: “Seven guineas,” and Langie said: “You wouldn’t by any chance be gettin’ personal?”

He was the swellest guy that ever lived, the best disposition-you couldn’t make him mad. He was about five feet eight and a half inches, curly dark hair-and one of the best card players in the country. He could play any kind of cards. Lang stayed with us for four years (note: 14 months). I’d say he was about 26 (note: 22) when he joined us. We used to unpack and play on a street corner, or any bathroom, if anybody, a friend, wanted to hear us.

He had the best ear of any musician I ever knew. He could go into another room and hit an “A” and come back and play cards for fifteen minutes, and then tune his instrument perfectly. I’ve seen that happen.

When we rode trains Langie would sleep in a lower berth with Dick Slevin. He used to let Dick have that privilege for a buck cheaper, providing he let Dick have a half hour start on him so that Dick could fall asleep before Langie started snoring.

In London, Langie took his guitar to the London Sporting Club and played, and they made him and me charter members. That really meant something, because the Sporting Club was composed of sportsmen who could bet up to a million without putting up the money.

Then, back in this country, I remember that at a theatre date in Minneapolis on a Friday night they had to take the picture off three times because the crowd was clapping so hard, especially for Lang.

Maybe once every month, he’d take some drinks. He didn’t like to drink because he had a bad stomach and was afraid he’d get ulcers.

The Mound City Blue Blowers finally broke up. McKenzie got rich-had a lot of money, and wanted to go to St. Louis. So Langie went with Venuti as a team. I was still with him every day for a while, but then he finally went with Bing Crosby, and he was with him at the end.

He died from an operation on his tonsils. He bled to death. He had one of the biggest funerals ever held in Philadelphia. Joe Venuti was mad because Crosby got to ride in the first car and he had to go in the second. All the guys in the pool hall liked him so much.

He was such a nice guy. I remember sometime after I’d first met him, we were playing pool in a small town for twenty dollars a game. I thought I was such a shark but he could beat me so easily that the last shot he missed purposely so that I’d win-he didn’t want to take my money.

Of all the records he made I like best the ones that he made with Bessie Smith.
Source: "As I Knew Eddie Lang" by Jack Bland, Jazz Record, 1946

March 1925

What Jack Lait in VARIETY said: MOUND CITY BLUES (sic) BLOWERS (4)
Instrumental Jazz
13 Mins.; One (encore)
Palace (Theatre)

These boys, Brunswick record makers, were placed early here, No. 2. But the spot didn’t seem to hurt. They are in for as long as they want to play the best vaudeville has to offer on this showing.

A strange, perhaps unique, quartet, being four youths in white shirts and flannel trousers, seated on ordinary chairs before the drop, playing respectively a comb-and-tissue-paper, a kazoo muted with a common water tumbler, a guitar and a banjo.

They step on lively and make no grimaces or threatening gestures, going right into their stuff, a routine of blues played foursome except for a bit when the guitar player borrows the banjo and strums some difficult stuff on the upper portion, and once when the comb-lipper does some weird moans on a tomato can covered with tissue paper, before which he brandishes a black derby hat. The rest of the time there is ensemble harmony of intoxicating order with unparalleled minors extracted from the two “unethical” instruments. The degree to which the tissued comb can be made to torture the cries of lost souls from seemingly nothing is indescribable.

The melodies are mostly unfamiliar and featuring the low, long slurs, but when the quartet plays “What’ll I Do?” a thoroughly well-known tune, it is with surprising expression and harmony, not to say feeling, and even “soul.”

The work is unassuming in method, with few bids for vaudeville sensationalism outside the effective excellence of the novelty playing itself. No jockeying for bows at the end at all. One encore and off, though the applause would have tempted some acts to steal bows and bows, and at least two more pieces “by popular demand.”

Thus we have here a different, entertaining vaudeville turn with new faces and new work, as fetching as it is novel, and leaving the foremost audience that patronizes vaudeville wanting more.

Good enough for next-to-closing on any bill in America, and probably a draw on disc reputation besides.
Source: Variety, April 8, 1925

April-June 1925+

As I Was Playing … by Harry Francis

Last month I was moved to write in some detail about the great multi- instrumentalist, Adrian Rollini, from having listened to an LP upon which he, Joe Venuti and Eddie Lang were the principal artists, and it would therefore seem natural to now reminisce a little about the greatest of jazz violinists (Venuti), still very much alive and active, and Lang, the pioneer of jazz guitar playing, whose terribly premature death at the age of 29 (30) occurred in 1933 - robbing the music profession of one of its greatest artists.

Venuti, like Lang, was born in 1904 (note: Venuti b.1903, Lang b.1902), and, also like his guitarist colleague, came from good Latin stock. Lang, real name Salvatore Massaro, was born in Philadelphia of a Sicilian (note: southern Italian) immigrant family, whilst Venuti managed to be born in the ship (note: b. Philadelphia) that was transporting his family from Italy to the USA! Another thing in common between the two was that they both played the violin and the guitar, and I recollect that a record was issued in the late 'twenties upon which Venuti played the guitar and Lang the violin (note: there is no such recording), but details, I am afraid, escape my memory. It was, in any case, made more or less as a novelty, but both musicians were nevertheless able to demonstrate that they were equally competent on the other's principal instrument. The recordings included in the LP that started my trend of thought were all made, according to the record sleeve, in 1933, although I recall that two of the tracks were, in fact, recorded in London in 1934.

These two titles, "Hell's Bells And Hallelujah" and "Satan's Holiday", were made when Venuti was in London for a brief season at the Palladium, and on the tracks he was accompanied by the American guitarist Frank Victor (real name Viggiano), as Lang had then been dead for over a year, Arthur Young, one of our finest pianists in the years before World War 2, who, I believe, emigrated to Australia, Don Barrigo, the equally distinguished musician who played tenor saxophone with many of our finest bands, but who, I seem to recall, also left Britain some years ago. On bass was Doug Lees, who came down with one of the earlier "Scottish invasions" of London and is still to be found these days laying down an excellent foundation for the orchestras of many West End musical shows. Doug's solos on the tracks do not do him justice, not because they were not good- they were, in fact, very good - but because of the inability of the recording technicians of those days to capture the sound of the string bass as actually produced in the studio.

At that time I was personally doing quite a lot of recording in the same studios, along with a number of well - known bass players, who played some great solos, but what we heard in the studio never seemed to go on to the wax. The team of Venuti and Lang had, however, first come to the fore in Britain in 1927 when their earlier recordings had reached us, made either as a duo, such as "Wild Cat" and "Stringin' the Blues", as a trio with Arthur Schutt on piano, such as "Goin' Places" and "Doin' Things", or, when the three were joined by Adrian Rollini, as a quartet with "Four String Joe" and "Penn Beach Blues" as examples.

My earliest recollection of Eddie Lang, however, goes back to 1924 (note: April-June 1925), a couple of years before I entered the music profession, when he came to London with the original Mound City Blue Blowers, who appeared in cabaret at the Piccadilly Hotel, and also recorded a couple of titles for the old Brunswick label (note: these recordings have yet to surface). I heard a relay broadcast from the hotel via the old British Broadcasting Company, with the aid of my crystal set, and was knocked for six by hearing, for the first time, jazz performed on the guitar. I cannot now remember all the numbers the group played, but I do recall "Wigwam Blues" and "Tiger Rag". The performance of the latter gave me a completely new impression of the rag, which I had previously only heard performed by the Original Dixieland Jazz Band five years earlier in 1919. Being only eleven then, I had barely been able to grasp everything that was going on.

The Blowers were led by Red McKenzie, who indulged in scat-singing, and "blue blowing", which was the technique of imitating the sound, usually, of the muted trumpet. This was done by transmitting into the bottom of a jug suitable noises produced by the voice. His colleagues were a man called Dick Slevin who, horror of horrors, played the kazoo, Jack Bland, who produced a pleasant sound and excellent rhythm on a muted banjo, and Eddie Lang. The overall effect was to produce the sound of a small jazz band and, there being no amplification of public address systems in those days, the only microphones used were those of the BBC. The live hotel audience listened to an acoustic performance with the same rapt attention that one experiences at a concert of chamber music. The performance was great, even the kazoo being used with good taste, something very rare in my experience. The sophisticated hotel audience went wild with enthusiasm! As did I with my crystal set. McKenzie became a respected jazz performer and, in later years, recorded with both Venuti and Lang as well as with such other giants of jazz as Coleman Hawkins, Muggsy Spanier, Jimmy Dorsey, Glenn Miller and Jack Teagarden, to name but a few.

But, for me, the most lasting aspect of that performance of long ago at the Piccadilly Hotel was the contribution of Eddie Lang. His influence upon jazz guitar playing has been acknowledged by all the great guitarists of the idiom, both living and dead, who have followed in his footsteps. Space will not permit me to pen much here about Joe Venuti and the influence he has had upon violinists over many years. His disciples have confounded certain purist critics, by proving that jazz can be played on the instrument. Venuti was not an exception- only the daddy of them all! When he appeared, along with Barney Kessel and Red Norvo, at the Hammersmith Gaumont and other places in Britain some two or three years ago, he proved himself to be as great a player as ever and literally lifted his audiences from their seats.
Source: "As I Was Playing ..." by Harry Francis, Crescendo, November 1972, pg 8.

January 1926

Musical Gossip at Linton’s Lunch Room

A new lodge was formed downtown in “Little Italy” known as the “Morra Lodge.” The members are as follows: Ralph Magavera, alias “The Cat”; Tony DeLuccia, as the “Poet”; Edie Lange as “GreaseBall”; Vic Di Appolito (sic), as “Handsome”; Fred Valinote, as “Wang”; Joe Masino as “Martin”; Vito Maurize, as “Danny”: Angelo Matera as “Papa’s Boy”; Al Tarasca, as “St. Vitus Dance”; and Chas. Tarasca as “Peter Chewing-Gum.” This lodge meets nightly at Matera’s Café after 1 A.M. The other night the session broke up about 6 A.M. and when “The Cat” went home, his wife greeted him with the dishes and a rolling pin and after giving him a good lacing threw him out and said “Up the alley with the rest of the cats.”
Source: The Orchestra World, February, 1926.

January 1927

Kahn Signs Miff Mole

New York, Jan. 2 (1927)
Roger Wolfe Kahn booked another college prom this week when he signed with the Georgetown University committee to bring his band to Washington on January 29 for the annual Georgetown Junior Prom. On the following night, the 30th, the band will offer a special concert and dance program at the Wardman Park Hotel.

Kahn has signed Miff Mole, trombonist, at present with Ross Gorman, to go with his orchestra next week, succeeding “Chuck” Campbell, his present trombonist. Eddie Lange will also go with Kahn’s Biltmore band as banjoist.
Source: Billboard, January 9, 1927.

February 16, 1927

There was also a dead heat Monday night for the third position when Roger Wolfe Kahn, with his band and the Williams Sisters and Ethel Davis finished neck and neck. Kahn gave only a fair performance Monday night, which didn’t look or sound any better because of the Bernie Cummins band having been here last week. For that is a sweet combination. As we have pointed out before, one of the troubles with the Kahn routine is that it is too mechanical, everything, even his directing, being done in the same tempo, the same volume, the same shading. No high or low lights. The numbers give the impression that the metronome has been started and, as long as the tempo of the machine was maintained, nothing else matters. O.K. for records, yes, or dancing or over the air. But hardly suited to give the best results when number after number is run off for vaudeville audiences. Too much of the same thing. Eddie Lang did a solo Monday night and the Williams Sisters worked hard and cleverly, but even they could not counteract the rubber stamp impression given out by the band. Break up the routine more, make it more varied, and it will be a better outfit and get many times the applause it received Monday night.
Source: Zits, February 16, 1927.

February 1927

Roger Wolfe Kahn and his Orchestra of 13 peppy pieces got a great ovation at the opening and went thru its stuff stimulated by a highly indulgent audience. The millionaire maestro is a conscientious and well-attuned leader, but outside of the Williams Sisters and a violin and guitar duo drafted from the band, there’s nothing in this outfit to burn the wires about. Good substantial jazz music, lacking pep in places where it’s needed most.
Source: Billboard, February 16, 1927.

March 1927

Strand Theatre, New York
Week March 7 (1927)

Roger Wolfe Kahn brought his Peroquet de Paris to this theatre for one week. Delighted audience-most of whom had never seen the entertainment. The Williams Sister, regular entertainers at the Strand, showed to fine advantage and took many encores, especially with their rendition of “I’m Tellin’ the World.” Eddie Lyons (sic) and Joe Vanuti (sic) of Mr. Kahn’s orchestra obliged with some spontaneous melody in syncopation and though we shouldn’t say the word where Roger might hear it-jazz. They play along smoothly, but in reality they follow each other perfectly at every performance, though they never know what note will be struck next. Mr. Kahn played one of his own compositions, “Following You Around,” and the melody is delightful. Then the orchestra’s rendition of Irving Berlin’s “Blue Skies” was better than any I have ever heard.
Source: unknown paper, March 1927.

September 1927

Irving Riskin Joins Gotham Musical Crew
Goldkette and Kahn Orchestras Will Disband

Musical followers here will learn that two of the country’s leading orchestras, namely, the Jean Goldkette Victor Recording crew and the Roger Wolfe Kahn troupe, are to disband. Not that the respective orchestras are lacking patronage or support, but it seems that the high cost of maintaining these organizations has brought about the condition aforementioned.

The Goldkette orchestra, one of Victor’s prize troupes, and who were rated as one of the best organizations in the country, only a week ago securing a special rating with Paul Whiteman as being the best Victor record selling product in the country, are best known here for the reason that Irving Riskin, local pianist, and Fred Farrar, former trumpeter with the Scranton Sirens, were numbered among the personnel of the organization.

Riskin Joins New Band

As a forerunner of the disbandment of the Goldkette orchestra comes the announcement that Irving Riskin, who has been with the Detroit crowd for two years during which time he has been instrumental aiding that troupe in its meteoric rise to the top of the musical ladder, is to join George Hall’s recording orchestra, which holds forth at the Arcadia ballroom, Broadway, New York City. Riskin is to start in on Thursday night of this week and from the information we have he has accepted this offer from a list of eight and has also signed a lucrative contract.

Other Goldkette Men Set

It was an easy task for the Goldkette musicians to catch on with high class orchestras, the reputation of the band being of the finest. Local musical followers who were very much attached to the Detroit troupe will be interested to know that five of the Goldkette men have joined the New Yorker orchestra, who will hold forth at was what was formerly the Paul Whiteman club. They include Frank Traumbauer (sic), saxophone; Bix Beiderbeck (sic), cornet; Don Murray, saxophone; Chauncey Morehouse, drums; William Rank, trombone; Eddie Lang, former Scranton Sirens banjoist and more recently with Roger Wolfe Kahn and Joe Venuti, violinist with the latter crew have also joined the New Yorker orchestra.
Source: Scrantonian, Scranton, Pennsylvania, October 2, 1927.

July-August 1932

"Hello-Rhythm Fiends!"
RHYTHM (UK), September, 1932
His own Story, written for Rhythm by EDDIE LANG World's Guitar Ace

Most people start their musical education at an early age, and I, being no exception, started at the very tender age of one and a half years.

My father was a maker of guitars in the old country, and he made me an instrument that consisted of a cigar-box with a broom handle attached, and strong thread was used for the strings. I really don't know what he called this instrument, but anyway it achieved its purpose, for it succeeded in keeping me quiet, which I am suspicious enough to image was my father's main object.

A few years elapsed and then I began to study the violin and played in the orchestra at the school I went to. Attending this school and also playing violin in the orchestra was a boy who has since become my inseparable pal - Joe Venuti.

After leaving school, my first real job on the violin came when Charlie Kerr signed me up to play with him for four years. Everything went well until banjos came into style, and then Charlie decided he wanted me to play banjo. Having fooled around with a guitar at home, banjo playing was not so hard to me as it might have been, and very soon after, I was specializing in banjo stop choruses. My next job was with the Scranton Sirens, who numbered in its personnel Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey.

The first good break came when I joined the Mound City Blue Blowers. They were an added attraction with Ray Miller's band, and as I had been offered very good money, I did not hesitate about joining them. They wanted me to play banjo, but as they already has a fellow playing banjo, I suggested that I should be allowed to play guitar and so improve the combination. We agreed to try it out, and it was quite successful.

Then came our contracts to go to London, and I would like to mention here that I was very much impressed by the charming manner in which English musicians received us. They were very kind, and showed us all the worth-while places of interest. We played at the Piccadilly Hotel, and also at same very exclusive parties at one of which Prince Henry was a guest. I remember distinctly how amused he was by our novelty orchestra. We also made several records, which sold very well.

On returning to America, Joe Venuti and I had our own band at the Silver Slipper Café, Atlantic City, from which place we went to the Playground Café in New York.

Joe and I joined Roger Wolfe Kahn’s Band, and played with him until he disbanded the outfit.

I have made many records, and amongst these are my own solos, Rachmaninoff’s Prelude, Just a Little Love, a Little Kiss, April Kisses, Lilac Time, Rainbow End, and many others. In case they may be of interest, I have written out a few figures that I use, and these are shown in Examples 1 and 2.

Joe and I also played in vaudeville with Jack Benny and also Frank Fay in and around New York City.

Then we joined Paul Whiteman, who had been trying to get us for some time, but had been unsuccessful on account of a three years contract we had with Roger Wolfe Kahn. However, we were with him at last, and we went out to California to make The King of Jazz, spending ten wonderful months doing so. I had a special part in the picture, and this gave me quite a thrill. After finishing the work, we returned to New York and played vaudeville along with the picture.

In my spare moments I am a fisherman, and in this issue is a photo of Joe and I after a successful fishing trip (the camera can’t lie!).

Well, it’s a fishy story, but they want it for Rhythm, and Rhythm always gets what it wants – hook, line, and sinker! So, greeting to Rhythm readers – in which Joe Venuti joins me.

Eddie Lang (signature).
Source: "Hello-Rhythm Fiends!" by Eddie Lang, RHYTHM (UK), September, 1932.
Note: article contained two photos; Joe Venuti & Eddie Lang (pose with instruments), and Joe Venuti and Eddie Lang (pose on dock with fishing rods) after a successful fishing trip at Miami, Florida.

November 1932

Tuneful Topics by Ruby Vallee

Please. I have no knowledge as to who selected the songs for “The Big Broadcast,” but I rather suspect that Mr. Crosby had something to say about the songs he would sing. At least, PLEASE seems to be the type of number he would be smart enough to select as a song worthy of a reprise in a good spot in the “Big Broadcast.” It is a dandy song, having no particular mission in musical life, and no particular thought in its chorus, except the usual plea on the part of the male lover to reassure him that his is loved as well as loving.

Two gentlemen on the Paramount writing staff, Mr. Ranger and Mr. Robin are the composers. I can picture Leo Robin in his little cell-like room on the Paramount music lot in a building devoted to the arranging and writing of music and songs, which building was erected when Paramount musical features were in their heyday. Robin evidently has something to have been retained by this big corporation so long, and he and Mr. Ranger have done an excellent job in the writing of PLEASE.

The song is well introduced in the picture, with Crosby leaning on a piano, putting on his coat to go out even as he sings the chorus. The nonchalance of his manner takes away any awkwardness that might otherwise have been there as he introduces the song. Eddie Lang, his famous guitarist, who accompanied him to the coast, sits, back to the camera, playing the guitar as only he can play it, and lending the inspiration to Mr. Crosby for the proper rendition of the number. Its reprise at the end of the picture does not hurt any, and I found myself, along with others of the audience, humming it as we left the theatre.

It is a chopped-up thing, going from a high B down to a low B. Quite uniquely, in our recording of it last week on a new Columbia record, our own guitarist was unable to be with us, and Mr. Lang recorded it with us, which probably made me feel very much at home.

Source: Radio Digest, December, 1932, Volume XXIX, No. 5. (excerpt)
Note: Upon auditioning the four Rudy Vallee titles recorded on October 27, 1932 for Columbia (Brother, Can You Spare A Dime; How Deep Is The Ocean?; Please; I’ll Never Have To Dream Again), Lang, if he is in fact present, is buried in the ensemble.

March 1933

Second Movement, Continuing the Autobiography of Spike Hughes, by Spike Hughes

Note: Below you’ll find one of only two real-time accounts of “a day in the life” of Eddie Lang, the other being a recording made moments prior to the start of a Ruth Etting session on December 5, 1932. The events, as written in Second Movement, flow into each other; ca. March, 1933 and Monday, March 6, 1933, the first day of FDR’s Bank Holiday (a proclamation that closed banks for a week in order to ease the crisis in the banking industry. The author, Patrick “Spike” Hughes, a British jazz musician, composer, and music journalist, describes life in New York City, in particular the Seventh Avenue offices of music publisher Irving Mills. In addition, Hughes beautifully crystallizes the Venuti-Lang partnership, and has warm and intelligent comments about Eddie Lang the artist.

For Lang, Monday March 6th was a day of theatre performances in Jersey City, New Jersey with Bing Crosby (and pianist Lennie Hayton) followed by a rehearsal and radio broadcast in the evening with Ruth Etting and the Lennie Hayton Orchestra. (mp2010)

Chapter Twelve, pg. 238; BANK HOLIDAY, N.Y. (ca. March, 1933)

Next door to Al and Kaye was the most mysterious room of all. It was occupied officially by a Mr. Everett Crosby, but it seemed to be used as a general waiting-room by whole regiments of people who were waiting to see nobody-not even Everett Crosby. Mr. Crosby was Bing Crosby’s brother, though this would not have been apparent to the uninformed. Everett was everything that Bing is not: small, dapper, well-dressed. Indeed, the only thing these two Crosby brothers had in common was an interest in horse-racing. Everett, I believe, was employed by Mills’ impresario partner, Tommy Rockwell; and as far as I could see his time was taken up by telephone calls to his bookmaker. Nor did Mr. E. Crosby do his punting alone; he had a steady and, I think, successful turf adviser with him in the office, a guitar-player called Salvatore Massaro, who was famous as the greatest jazz guitarist of his or any other age, under the name of Eddie Lang.

Eddie Lang had even less to do with the Mills-Rockwell concern than Everett Crosby, which was saying something. When he was not broadcasting or recording, Eddie found Everett’s office a cosy (sic) little corner in which to get away from the horrors of professional life. Together they used to study form, ring up the bookmaker, place a bet, study form again and place further bets on two horses never before mentioned in any previous conversation. Strangely enough, Messrs Lang and Crosby appeared to do very well betting off the course. A least, their surfeit of ready money saved me from much embarrassment shortly after the inauguration of Franklin D. Roosevelt in his first term of office as President of the United States.

Chapter Twelve, pg. 242; BANK HOLIDAY, N.Y. (March 6, 1933)

Everett Crosby, for the first time in my experience, was not on the telephone to a bookmaker; nor was Eddie Lang, the only other occupant of the room.

Chapter Twelve, pg. 244; BANK HOLIDAY, N.Y. (ca. March 6, 1933)

My fortuitous visit to Everett Crosby’s office on the first day of President Roosevelt’s Bank Holiday (note: March 6) enabled me to enjoy a state of physical and mental comfort which, after my earlier experiences with my ten dollar bills, had appeared unlikely. Everett Crosby and Eddie Lang, not only had a change for ten dollars; they had change for all three bills, and small change at that-nickels, dimes, quarters and good red cents, which meant that for the next week at least I would be able to get to and from Sullivan Street, buy a paper and cigarettes and make my way to the Round House to eat until the banks reopened.

How it came about that Eddie and Everett should have been almost the only people in all Manhattan with change in their pockets I do not know; I can only think that, like punters anywhere else in the world, they were always changing large money into small in order to have change with which to telephone to see how the betting went just before the “off”, and to call again to find out what had won.

Chapter Twelve, pg. 245; BANK HOLIDAY, N.Y. (ca. March, 1933)

Not long after the Bank Holiday, Eddie Lang died. It was Easter (note: March 26), and he took advantage of a few days’ holiday (note: no holiday, Sunday was a day off, Monday and Tuesday were set aside for recuperating) to go into hospital to have his tonsils removed; he died of a hemorrhage. With Eddie’s death at the age of twenty-nine (note: 30) jazz lost one of its greatest artists; the rich chords of his six-string guitar and his easy sense of rhythm made him unrivalled as an accompanist; as a soloist he had the melodic gift of improvisation which characterized his generation of jazz, and within the limits of jazz he had genius. His death broke up one of the most delightful and original musical partnerships that jazz produced-his partnership with Joe Venuti, a violinist whom Lang had known from childhood. The Venuti-Lang duo was spurned by the die-hards and purists, who insisted that nothing was Real Jazz unless it came from Chicago or New Orleans; to a generation nurtured on the shrieking imbecilities of “Swing” the restraint and tunefulness of these two performers sound hopelessly old-fashioned. Perhaps, strictly speaking, Venuti and Lang did not create Real Jazz, but they took jazz and its conventions as their foundation, and from there on they created music. Together, and with a couple more artists who made up Venuti’s Blue Four, they evolved instrumental sounds which had not been heard before in jazz; their music had charm, invention and a characteristically Italian delight in virtuosity which was never allowed to get out of hand nor exceed the bounds of good taste.

It was said Eddie Lang could not read music; I do not know whether this was true or not (note: not true); it is hardly likely, anyway, that he would have had to read more than a series of chord symbols for even the most complicated arrangements when he played with Paul Whiteman, for instance. But whether he read music or not is immaterial; Eddie Lang understood the guitar, its limitations, its possibilities and its character, and in the small world of jazz he holds the place held in “straight” music by his friend and idol, Andres Segovia.
Source: (excerpts) Second Movement, Continuing the Autobiography of Spike Hughes, By Spike Hughes Museum Press Limited, London. (1951)

late March, 1933

Broadway by Ed Sullivan, New York Daily News, poss. March 27 or 28, 1933
The Melody Lingers On

It was only ten days ago that I heard him strumming his guitar at the Capitol Theatre (note: March 10-16, Capitol Theatre, NYC). He was playing an accompaniment to Bing Crosby’s interpretation of “Night and Day,” and it required all of Crosby’s tricks of delivery to prevent the guitarist from “stealing” the number. And now Eddie Lang, the kid who played the guitar, is dead.

If you ever have heard, on a Spring morning, a bird trilling its harmony, or if you ever have stopped, on a forest path, to listen to the music of a tumbling waterfall, you’ll know the Dawn Patrol’s conception of Eddie Lang’s guitar playing.

Tin Pan Alley, whose life blood is rhythm, ranked young Lang with Dick McDonough and Carl Kress as the three greatest guitar players in the country, and that means the world. A measure of the Philadelphia youngster’s greatness was that he rarely, if ever, played with one band. He accompanied the Boswell’s, and Ruth Etting, and he had gone to the Coast with Bing Crosby (note: Thursday, March 30). In eight days he was to have gone with Crosby to the Coast again. He and Joe Venuti, the violinist, were called in on more band assignments than any other musicians in the country, for they had what it takes.

Eddie Lang’s real tag was Salvatore Massaro. Perhaps he never would have realized his deep feeling for music had it not been for an accident. Hit by a Philadelphia street car when he was a kid, Lang was forced to bed for a year, and with the money his family received, they bought him a violin.

Just how busy he was, just how many offers were awakened by the Italian youngster’s magnificent talent, is best expressed in his preparations for the tonsil operation that ended fatally. He insisted on a Sunday operation, because that was his only off-day. A few days before, he had taken out $15,000 insurance and he joked about it at the hospital.

Tin Pan Alley and the Dawn Patrol won’t soon get over the passing of Eddie Lang. He brought harmony to a street that is forever seeking it, not always successfully.

He Was All-Time, All-Star

No two musicians will name you the same all-star band, but Lang was named on ALL of the all-star bands that were nominated. He and McDonough and Kress were standard quantities in the stringed section.

Just the other dawning, Ted Shapiro, Sophie Tucker’s pianist, and Teddy Powell of Abe Lyman’s band, sat with Joe Moore and myself in Dave’s Blue Room, and arranged one of these all-star lineups.

At the accordions they named the St. Louis boy with Lyman’s band, Frank Papile, and with him they placed Abe Goldman and Frank Carantes. At the violins were Joe Venuti, Lou Raderman and Pilsener. For the trombones, they selected D’Orsay (note: Dorsey), Turner and Teagarden. They didn’t hesitate a minute in naming the guitarists. One was Lang, one was McDonough, and the third was Kress. Joe Tarto was named for the bass.
Source: Broadway by Ed Sullivan, New York Daily News, poss. March 27 or 28, 1933.

May 1933

Mike’s Disc-course
Poor Eddie

Many things seem to have happened in our little world since my last review, and not the least shattering has been the report of the sad death of the one and only Eddie Lang. Just how great a loss to the musical world Lang will be is immeasurable, not because he has left only a couple of hundred records to remember him by, but because we shall never hear the other hundreds which he would have continued to make had he lived.

If it is any consolation to you, however, let me assure you that there are still a great number of Lang recording which have not yet been released in this country.

Ed Lang: “There’ll Be Some Changes Made”, “Church Street Sobbin’ Blues” (Parlophone R 1495)

Parlophone have paid a fitting tribute to the memory of a great artist by making a special release of two of Eddie Lang’s best solo performances, There’ll Be Some Changes Made and Church Street Sobbin’ Blues.

These two titles, which were issued in the States under the somewhat alcoholic pseudonym, Blind Willie Dunn, are representative of Lang at his very best, that best which defies all criticism. I fondly hope that the person who cannot be amazed at the extraordinary control, the beautiful tone and exquisite restraint of this guitar playing is not a reader of these columns.

There’ll Be Some Changes Made is, more than most, a record to be cherished, because it gives a fleeting glimpse of Lang’s ability as a “legitimate” player. (Why, “legitimate”? Is Eddie Lang’s playing of four-in-a-bar to be considered “illegitimate”? Some guitarists’, surely, but not Lang’s).

Just how prodigious Eddie Lang’s technique was is known only to the privileged few who heard him playing in his off moments; for those of us who have not been so fortunate there is still a great deal in his playing at which to marvel.

How many of you have ever paused to think how difficult it must be to make a plucked string instrument sound at all convincing in slow, sustained melodic passages? This Changes record, for instance, is played at a very leisurely tempo, and yet nowhere does the phrasing sound short-winded or stilted.

The characteristic ease of Lang’s guitar playing is also to be found throughout the very charming Church Street Sobbin’ Blues-a casual, haunting affair, full of those wistful cadences (I do not mean cadenzas)which are typical of the Lang-Signorelli-Venuti school of harmony. The whole piece is as delightfully inconsequent as the intermittent church bell which can be heard in the background.

I will warn the “hot-cha” gang at once that these two Lang records are devoid of all tricks and hectic tempo, for they represent the Italian Master playing as his friends heard him play; for his own and their particular amusement.

If we are able to eavesdrop upon this select little gathering, then we must be duly grateful that we are living at a time when Parlophone are able to aid and abet us.

Artistic Souvenir

If you understand Italian you will appreciate the spirit of dolce far niente in these Lang solos which appeals to me personally. If you do not, then I only hope that my modest description of the records will render them none the less attractive, for they are records for moments of reflection upon the genius of a great artist.

Ed Lang and Lonnie Johnson: “A Handful Of Riffs” (Parlophone R 1496)

For those incurables who must have vigour at all costs there is a further explanation of the Italo-Negro act, Eddie Lang and Lonnie Johnson in A Handful of Riffs. You can have great fun trying to sort out which notes are played by which player: as a matter of fact, it is not a difficult task; for Lonnie Johnson plays all the out-of-tune passages and Lang confines himself to a swinging background such as only he among all guitar players could produce. The result is a record with tremendous vitality and a certain naïve charm.

Ed Lang and Lonnie Johnson: “Bullfrog Moan” (Parlophone R 1496)

The backing, Bullfrog Moan, is a rather more desultory piece, with a heap of Langerie which is well worth listening for. Personally, I would be tempted to invest in this record for the sake of the harmonics in the coda, but then I have expensive tastes. Or, if you should not consider harmonics enough, may I tempt you with Eddie Lang’s imitation (instrumental) of a bullfrog?

Anyhow, now that Lang solos and the Lang-Johnson record have been issued, with promise of more to come, I shall expect to hear, as a change from the rather rude mail I have received of late, that the more affluent among my readers have bought a special album and built a special shelf to house their collection of Lang records. They deserve it.
Source: Mike’s Disc-course, The Melody Maker (UK), May, 1933. (Mike=Spike Hughes)

February 1944

Somewhere In Italy
Feb. 10, 1944

Editors of Downbeat;

Being a new subscriber to your great mag, I ran into an interesting incident over here I thought a lot of the “gates” back home would like to hear about. One day when I was on a pass roaming around like I do, I came to a little town situated on top of a hill. As my buddy and I strolled along taking things in a little middle age women walked up to us and said to my surprise in perfect English, “would you boys like a drink of vino (wine).” Well, naturally you can guess our reactions, so off we went to her “casa”. When we got there we were greeted by her family of four girls & about ditto boys. Well to get down to the real surprise. I saw a guitar in the corner so being a guitarist and a long time since I had wrapped my mitts around one, I started to get my fingers limbered up. I was just about in the middle of “Sol o Mio” (note: O Sole Mio) when the lady (whose name was Maddalena) said, “You sound just like my brother Eddie”. I said “who was your brother?” She said “Eddie Lang”. Well you could have (????)* me “flat” with a “sharp”. I thought at first she was kidding, so she brings in a large photo of Eddie himself, also his brothers and sisters, and to prove it further some original records of Eddie & his brothers (“The Mound City Blue Blowers”), also some of Carl Kress & Eddie, “Feeling My Way” (note: Feelin’ My Way), and “Picking My Way” (note: Pickin’ My Way). Well after that I started a quiz show of my own. It seems Maddalena (Eddie’s sister) and her husband went to the states way back when Eddie was a babe, and about eight years ago decided to come back for a visit and old Mussolini wouldn’t let them go back. She has a daughter married to a doctor in Hollywood, also brothers somewhere around NY. Well you can imagine how we got along and every time I got off I would go up to Maddalena’s for some of Eddie’s records and her good wine. Eddie’s sister’s full name is Maddalena Scioli. I can’t give the address but if any of her relatives would care to write me I will see that she gets it. She hasn’t heard from her brothers or daughters since the war so she is pretty worried. I don’t expect you to print all of this, but if you can print some of it I think it would be doing a fine thing to keep the memory of such a grand guitarist alive and as far as I’m concerned anything I can do for Eddie’s family I will be glad to do as I know a lot of followers back in the good old U.S.A. So will close hoping to (????)* some word from Eddie Lang’s relatives so I can relay it to them their sister Maddalena Scioli.

Yours truly,
Pvt. Albert M. Webster #33062073
62, Ord. Br?*, Med. Det. (???)*
A.P.O 464 ??*PM. N.Y.C.
Note: * unable to decipher.