Time Out for Jazz; Willard Robison

Good evening, this is Charlie Plank asking you to stop whatever you're doing and join me. And let's take time out for jazz. Tonight's program is another program honoring one of our composers and tonight's composer. His name is really not a household word, but we're going to be listening to the music of Willard Robison. Willard was born September 18, 1894 and died June 24, 1968. He was not only a composer, but he was a recording artist, radio personality and also a band leader. The band he led was really nothing to brag about, but just a good, danceable band. He was most active in the 20s, 30s and 40s, and he called his music Deep River music. His music was very lyrical, or still is very lyrical, and as a consequence many of the

singers enjoyed singing his tunes, and so tonight we're going to have a lot of vocals. This really doesn't bother me because the vocalist that enjoyed Willard's music or some of my favorite vocalists. As an indication of how he felt about music, we'll listen to this first one. As to be excused, if you do you surely be refused, to the joys of harmonizing, clean,

brother, clean, you'll never know the joy that you may bring. Just like a stringbeat needs a pull, you need good music to satisfy the soul, the devil is afraid of music, sing, brother, sing, sing, brother, sing, everybody sing. Back in 1927, when Willard wrote those lyrics, he said the devil is afraid of music, and Barbara Lee was just telling us about that, and she was backed up by Luna Smagluen on Piano.

The next one we're going to listen to is one of his most favorite, or famous I should say, it's one of my favorites. Willard never really had a whole lot of chart busters, if you will. He had one, which we'll listen to later on, but this one perhaps was his second best one, and it's actually received a lot more playing in recent years than it did while he was alive. A lot of the jazz saxophonists are playing this tune frequently now, along with some of the pianists. The tune I'm talking about is Old Folks, and the version we're going to listen to is One by Illumigarity, which is actually from an Arthur Godfrey radio program. Illumigarity is, as you may well be aware, it was one of the finest trombonist we've had, but he's going to try out his vocal chords on this one, and blow a few bars of trombone. After Old Folks, tune which bears some relation to it, and that one's called Pigeon Toad

Joed. Boy, what a pair of titles these two are, Old Folks and Pigeon Toad Joed. But Pigeon Toad Joed is going to be given to us by the multi-talented Betty O'Hara, who is going to sing and play trumpet on this, and Johnny Vera will back her up on Piano. Pigeon Toad Joed. Every one knows him as Old Folks, like the seasons he'll come and he'll go, just as free as a bird and as good as his word. That's why everybody loves him so, always leaving his spoon and his coffin, but his napkin up under his chin, and that yellow cop pipe, it's so mellow it's ripe, but you needn't

be ashamed of him, and the evening, after supper, what storage he would tell, how he held a speech at Gettysburg for Lincoln that day, I know that one's so well, don't quite understand about Old Folks, did he fight for the blue or the gray, boy he's so diplomatic and so democratic, we always let him have his way. Some day there'll be no more Old Folks, what a lonely old town this will be, children's

voices at play, will be still for a day, the name when they take Old Folks away, old the day when they take Old Folks away. Down in Mississippi, in the bottom land, lives a backwards character that you'd understand,

got the world in a jug, got the stopper in his hand, good old pigeon told you, now he can catch a mess of crawfish for the folks in town, and there's always turn of greens to pick from the ground, on the cool delta grass, he can lay the body down, good old pigeon told you, now if his two feet could talk, this would be their text, you let me buy this time, I'll let you buy the next, and the shuffling sound, that they make when

they pass, makes the hate hide out like a snake in the grass, now I know he'll be in glory on that judgment day, when the great gatekeeper says, step this way, the good doctors waiting, no more will people say, there goes pigeon told you. I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll

let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next

, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next and I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let you buy the next, I'll let the next

folks in Pigeon Toad Jode. Well, let's sort of pick it up a little bit and change the tenor of the lyrics a little bit. This next one is going to be by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra, and it's called Taint Sohoney, Taint Soh. And this has the beautiful Bixbiter Beck, trumpet and corned on it. Bing Crosby will do the vocal, Frankie Trumbauer is on here and actually pumps a little bassoon on here, a little bit unusual. Taint Soh by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra. And then following that, Chercroppin Blues. This is by the Charlie Barnett band with a young K-star doing the singing. So Taint Soh and Chercroppin Blues. Taint Sohoney, Taint Soh spoke to the Lord and said no Taint Sohoney, Taint Soh. Taint Sohoney,

Taint Soh tomorrow will bring something good and no Taint Soh. I mean it's just Taint Soh. It makes no difference what your problem may be. Just look up rough and I'm sure you will see Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh. The devil said yes but the Lord said no Taint Sohoney, Taint Sohoney. Taint Soh.

Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh. Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh, honey, Taint

Soh, honey, Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh, honey, Taint Soh, honey They call it sheer croppin', but there's nothin' to share.

Cause nothin' from nothin', leaves a handful of air. There ain't nothin' left here, anybody can use. I've got so share croppin' blue. My dog don't bring home rabbit. There's no gun on my shell. Yes, my dog's got funny habits. He's been eaten all the rabbits by himself. My son's in just city, doin' 10 to 15. The old lady left me when the pig ends got lean.

My neighbors can't stand me. They don't call me bad news. I've got the sheer croppin' blue. I mean I'm hungry. I've got the sheer croppin' blue. Boy, things were tough for K-Star when the goat ate her shoes. I mean that's gettin' pretty bad all. That was share croppin' blues. Another Willard Roberson tune is played by Charlie Barnett and his orchestra with, as I said, a young K-Star singing. And before that, Taint Sohoney, Taint Soh, by the Paul Whiteman band, featuring that fine horn of Bix, Byter Beck, and the vocal of Bing Crosby. A few more examples of Willard's nostalgia or his down-home music

will listen to round-the-old deserted farm by Mildred Bailey, accompanied by Red Norbo and his orchestra, and then Willard's real big hit, Cottage for Sale. And this will be done by Billy Eckstein, Mr. B, backed by one excellent B-bop band, but hardly heard here on this record because this is all Mr. B's record. After that, another Mildred one. Guess I'll go back home, again, accompanied by Red Norbo, who will be playing the xylophone. Round-the-old deserted farm with a Cottage for Sale, and I guess I'll go back home. When twilight yearning tell a heart to sing, something to dear, or lips to speak. I'm always thinking of my childhood home, and days he feels I used to roam.

The music of a summer far away is singing through this heart of mine today. I stand alone at sundown, and owe what melancholy charm. The prayer-meeting bell ends a hearty to the spell, round my old deserted farm. Though the home I loved is run down, there's still at melancholy charm. The birds flying by sing a muted lullaby, round my old deserted farm. A man in the next field, plowing,

there's calm on existing fields. A murmuring stream gives a twilight harsher sing, like sweet music will. The long ago departed, and left an old deserted farm, where all through the years I remember her with tears. Love long ago departed, and left an old deserted farm,

where all through the years I remember her with tears. With tears. With tears. A little dream castle with everything born, gives no living silence the chains are all drawn. My heart is heavy as I gaze upon.

A cottage for shame. The lawn we were proud of is blowing in hay. Our little dream garden has worth it away, where you've been through then, the way it seemed to say. A cottage for shame. Through everything go window, I see your face.

But when I reach that window, there's empty space. The keys in the mailbox, the same as before. But no one is waiting for me anymore. The end of my story is told on the door. A cottage filled for me and you, will never be a dream come true. The leaves are on the ground, all the seeds are down. A cottage for shame.

I guess I'll go back home this summer. I should have gone there long ago. I wonder who I'll meet when I walk up Main Street. Who the hell affirms, tello. I guess I'll go back home this summer. Mom will cry when I walk in. She'll brush away her tears.

Dad says, look who's here. We're glad your home again. After we've talked of everything, then I'll get a restless spell. I walk by the house where he used to live. I hope he's married well. Guess I'll go back home this summer. Leave this daily grind behind. There's nothing long I'm sure that going home won't cure. I'll find my peace of mind. Maybe the kids I used to know

have grown up and moved away. The games that we played, the plans that we made. Where are they all today? Guess I'll go back home this summer. Home sweet home is my favorite song. The folks will always be the heart and soul of me. I've stayed away too long. Guess I'll go back home, Mildred Bailey and Red Norvo.

Before that cottage for sale by Mr. B. and then before that round the old deserted farm by Mildred and Norvo again, that cottage for sale was not only Willard Roberson's big hit, but I believe that was also Billy Eckstein's biggest seller. A real bonus for both of them. Well, about this time of evening, it's time for me to remind you that this is Charlie Plank taking a little time out for jazz and hope you're enjoying it with us. Tonight we're playing the music of Willard Roberson, not a household name, but nonetheless a fine composer. Willard wrote primarily of an idealized American countryside. There was really no room for anything that was not absolutely genuine. This probably accounted for some of his appeal because in the era when he was writing this, it was quite fashionable to be sentimental about home and the countryside. But on the other hand, occasionally he wrote a little bit

of the similar side of life too. And this next one is called Barrow House Music. And this again is Mildred Bailey, but this is by Mildred and her Oxford Grace. What a swinging group. Mary Lou Williams is a pianist on this. And the old guitarist from the Andy Kirk band, Floyd Smith, does some fine work on this. So we'll hear Barrow House music. And then following that, a tune called Deep Elm. It was about a district in Dallas, Texas. And you get the real pronunciation here, not Deep Elm, but Deep Elm. So let's listen to Barrow House music and Deep Elm. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music. Music. Music. Music.

Music.