A contingent of the Paul Specht orchestra playing the lounge at the Hotel Alamac in New York, while the full band handled the ballroom, The Georgians were a “band within a band” years before the term first appeared. Record collectors and moldy figs have known and raved about them for decades, but the group remains a secret from even historically open-minded jazz listeners. That’s a shame; they’re missing out on some interesting music and a productive intersection between jazz and pop. Not that those distinctions meant much to the musicians.
The Georgians channeled a variety of influences, from the New Orleans jazz that the band’s leader, trumpeter and star soloist Frank Guarente absorbed as a youngster, to popular dance music and even the “hokum” sounds modern listeners love to hate. Depending on the date, the group was as large as nine players (not much smaller than the full Specht band), and the arrangements by pianist Arthur Schutt put every possible permutation of instruments alongside a range of exciting soloists. Improvisation and orchestration, solos and ensembles, jazz and pop: all raw material for the band.
Frank Guarente
“I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate” starts with a seedy minor key episode straight out of a nightclub production, before easing into collective improvisation. The unpromisingly titled “Barney Google” parodies its own wooden sax and squawking mouthpiece effects with a confident brass duet. “Snake Hips” and “You’ve Got To See Mama Ev’ry Night” are fine examples of raucous, wide open twenties jazz, and the New Orleans Rhythm Kings‘ “Farewell Blues” acquires an attractively bitter edge due in part to Russ Morgan’s trombone. Guarente delivers consistently powerful leads on all the Georgians’ sides. As a soloist, he offers everything from mellow, muted and Panico-esque paraphrase on “Way Down Yonder In New Orleans” to the uncluttered blues of “Henpecked Blues.” Chauncey Morehouse‘s drums aren’t always clearly audible, but his feel is undeniable, and he pulls out a kicking stop-time chorus on “Land of Cotton Blues.”
Cherry-picking highlights from this group is as difficult as pinning them down musically. The Georgians were more than a splinter group from some “large/arranged/commercial outfit” jamming out on improvisations. They also didn’t approach jazz the same way their contemporaries King Oliver and Fletcher Henderson did. Ironically, that combination of diversity and originality, supposedly hallmark virtues of jazz, are probably what’s kept them locked in stylistic limbo. Listen first and label after, if at all.
The Pop of Yestercentury 