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Ambrose

“A Bungalow, a Piccolo, and You!” (1932)

“A Bungalow, a Piccolo, and You!” Words and music by Al Lewis, Al Sherman, and Lee David (1932). Recorded in London at Studio 1, Abbey Road on July 22, 1932 by Ambrose and His Orchestra with vocalists Sam Browne and Elsie Carlisle. HMV B-6218 mx. 0B-2378-1.

Personnel: Bert Ambrose dir. Max Goldberg-Harry Owen-t / Ted Heath-tb / Joe Crossman-cl-as-bar / Billy Amstell-cl-as-ts / Harry Hines-as / Joe Jeanette-cl-ts-?pic / Ernie Lewis-Teddy Sinclair-Peter Rush-vn / Bert Read-p / Joe Brannelly-g / Don Stutely-sb / Max Bacon-d1

A Bungalow, a Piccolo, and You ! – Ambrose and his Orchestra

The Elsie Carlisle vocal in “A Bungalow, a Piccolo, and You!” has often been overlooked. Edward Walker mentioned it in his 1974 discography, but the attribution was omitted by Rust and Forbes, Johnson, and Laird,2 and even by the first edition of my own Croonette: An Elsie Carlisle Discography, though that oversight has since been remedied.

The songwriters include Al Sherman and Al Lewis, who would later collaborate on “No! No! A Thousand Times No!” and Lee David, who would team up with Darl MacBoyle to write “That Means You’re Falling in Love” (the latter song was recorded in 1933 by Sam Browne and Elsie Carlisle). The 1932 “A Bungalow, a Piccolo, and You!” looks backward to songs with such titles as “A Bungalow, a Radio, and You” (Dempsey-Liebert; 1928) and “A Cup of Coffee, a Sandwich, and You” (Meyer-Dubin-Rose; 1925),3 though doubtless the formula being followed in all three compositions derives from a famous older phrase in Edward Fitzgerald’s various editions of his translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (“A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou,” in the first [1859] and second [1868] editions; “A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou” in the third [1872], fourth [1879], and fifth [1889] editions), the joke being that we would not normally expect light modern love songs to compare themselves implicitly to profound medieval Persian philosophical poetry.

Ambrose’s version of the song has a mostly instrumental introduction, except that very near the beginning a piccolo plays three series of notes that Elsie can be heard to mimic vocally. The piccolo continues to intervene playfully, even comically, throughout the song. Then Sam Browne begins to sing, describing himself as standing beneath someone’s window and telling her that all he needs is a bungalow, a piccolo, “and you.” Browne’s fun but comparatively brainless vocal proceeds until the piccolo takes over for a moment. It is at that point that something incredibly cute occurs: Elsie again has an exchange with the piccolo in which she imitates it with her voice, but this time she scats. Even better, she boops (“Boop-a-doo!”), and then repeats Sam’s sentiments about needing a bungalow, a piccolo, “and you.” Overall, her contributions to the recording are brief but bright and joyful.

While the songwriters were all American, I have not been able to locate any American recordings of “A Bungalow, a Piccolo, and You!” There are plenty of other British dance band recordings, however, including those by Henry Hall’s BBC Dance Orchestra (v. Val Rosing), Billy Cotton and His Band (v. Cyril Grantham), Terence McGovern (as Terry Mack and His Boys; v. Joe Leigh), Jack Hylton and His Orchestra (v. Pat O’Malley), Jack Payne and His Band (v. Jack Payne, Bob Manning, and Charlie Asplin), Nat Star (as Billy Seymour and the Boys; v. Fred Douglas), Jay Wilbur and His Band (as Jack Grose and His Metropole Players; v. Leslie Holmes), and Lew Stone and the Monseigneur Band (in a medley).

  1. These are the personnel according to Rust and Forbes’s British Dance Bands on Record; for the tentative identification of Joe Jeanette as the piccolo player, I have Nick Dellow to thank. Jeanette apparently played piccolo and flute in the British army years before joining Ambrose’s orchestra. ↩︎
  2. Edward S. Walker, Elsie Carlisle — With a Different Style: A Discography, published by the author, 1974; Brian Rust and Sandy Forbes, British Dance Bands on Record, 1911 to 1945, and Supplement, Richard Clay, Ltd., 1989; Richard J. Johnson, Elsie Carlisle: A Discography, published by the author, 1994; Ross Laird, Moanin’ Low: A Discography of Female Popular Vocal Recordings, 1920-1933, Westport, Connecticut, 1996. ↩︎
  3. My thanks to Jonathan David Holmes for reminding me of the latter tune. ↩︎
Jay Wilbur, Solo Recordings

“When That Man Is Dead and Gone” (1941)

“When That Man Is Dead and Gone.” Words and music by Irving Berlin (1941). Recorded in London on April 9, 1941 by Elsie Carlisle with orchestral accompaniment directed by Jay Wilbur. Rex 9960 mx. R-5566-1.

Personnel: Jay Wilbur dir. ?Alfie Noakes-?Chick Smith-t / tb / 3 cl-as-bar / Charles Trimby + 1-vn / p / g / sb / d / Elsie Carlisle-v

Elsie Carlisle – “When That Man Is Dead and Gone” (1941)

“When That Man Is Dead and Gone” is a song as edgy as it is catchy, insofar as it expresses a wish that a specific human being will cease to be. We are generally discouraged from making bold predictions that a bright future will definitely result from anyone’s demise, so Irving Berlin’s lyrics seem ethically transgressive and therefore artistically daring. The song’s message is made infinitely more powerful by the fact that its audience is expected to easily identify who “that man” is and thereby to realize that they have had the same dark fantasy themselves. “That man” is never named, although the reference to a “small moustache” makes it clear that he is Adolf Hitler.

“When That Man Is Dead and Gone” was published and released early in 1941, well before the United States entered World War II, but presumably the strong anti-Hitler sentiments of Elsie Carlisle and her countrymen (already engaged in war against the Axis Powers) were shared by most of the Americans who heard the song when it was first recorded and broadcast. Irving Berlin’s only memory of his native Russia consisted of seeing his family home burn down during a pogrom, so his aversion to violent expressions of intolerance may have been intensely personal.

Elsie Carlisle’s version of the song—augmented with a fine arrangement and the adept accompaniment of Jay Wilbur’s band—is a particularly fine example of how the underlying concept can sound rather sinister and conspiratorial. It is as if she is vacillating between slow, methodical plotting and swingy jubilation. Interestingly, some parts of the session were broadcast on the radio in a documentary about the record industry,1 but the program has been lost, as far as I know.

Noteworthy American recordings of “When That Man Is Dead and Gone” include those of Glenn Miller and His Orchestra (v. Tex Beneke and The Modernaires), Mildred Bailey (with The Delta Rhythm Boys), and Buddy Clark.

British recordings of the song include versions by Ambrose and His Orchestra (v. Anne Shelton), Geraldo and His Orchestra (v. George Evans and chorus), Carroll Gibbons and the Savoy Hotel Orpheans (v. Anne Lenner), Jay Wilbur and His Band (v. Sam Browne), Joe Loss and His Band (v. Bette Roberts), and Al Bowlly and Jimmy Mesene. Of the latter recording, it is worth noting that it was Al Bowlly’s last; he was killed two weeks later by one of That Man’s parachute mines.

  1. “Wax Secrets on Air,” Melody Maker, April 26, 1941, 1, ProQuest. ↩︎
Eddie Morris

“Babyin’ You” (1926)

“Babyin’ You.” Music and lyrics by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby; included in the London show Princess Charming (1926). Recorded by Eddie Morris and Elsie Carlisle (as Lena Barton) in London on November 24, 1926. Regal G-20196 (an Australian issue derived from the British Regal G-8762) mx. WA-4514-1.


“Babyin’ You” – Eddie Morris and Lena Barton (Regal G-20196)

The business of writing discographies really needs no defense, as these reference works are indispensable tools for understanding the history of music, theater, film, and television. Why someone would personally want to compile a discography is another question. Brian Rust, the twentieth century’s best known discographer, described having heard his favorite activity labelled by detractors as “analytical bookkeeping” or even “mere musical philately,” i.e., stamp collecting.1

Today, on the eve of Elsie Carlisle’s 129th birthday, I have the opportunity to describe a breakthrough that I hope will convey how thrilling assembling lists of records can really be.

In an addendum to his discography of female popular singers from 1920–1933, Ross Laird records

LENA BARTON: It has been reported that this is a pseudonym for Elsie Carlisle (but this is unconfirmed).

If we look back at his entry for “Lena Barton,” we find the following:

EDDIE MORRIS & LENA BARTONLondon, Nov 24, 1926
WA4513-1Cross your heartRe G8762
WA4514-1Babying youRe G8762

So a record exists, attributed to Eddie Morris and Lena Barton; we know the date it was recorded; and we know the two songs that are on it.2 Eddie Morris is the name of a real singer, but Lena Barton is an otherwise unknown artist.

I first noticed Laird’s addendum reporting the rumor that “Lena Barton” was really Elsie Carlisle a few years ago, but I was not able to find anyone who actually owned the record, and I decided to wait for more information. That information came to me last week, in the form of pages of addenda that discographer Richard J. Johnson had made but never issued for his own Elsie Carlisle discography.3

Johnson listed much the same information as Laird, but added in pen:

Lena Barton is Elsie Carlisle.

I took it that he had heard the record himself and felt comfortable identifying the voices. Clearly, it was time for me to update my discography (I was planning to release a new edition in the next few months anyway).

But it so happened that since the last time I looked into the matter, a transfer had surfaced on the Internet Archive, not of Regal G-8762 (the record mentioned by Laird and Johnson), but of the Australian Regal G-20196, which has one of its sides: “Babyin’ You.” One play was enough to convince me that the rumors had been correct: this was an Elsie Carlisle record, made during her first year of recording.

Why “Lena Barton”? Up to this point, Carlisle had been working exclusively for the Gramophone Company’s Zonophone label. It was not until February 1927 that she would do work under her own name for Columbia, which also owned Regal. I can only guess that some contractual requirement prevented her from appearing as herself on Regal in November 1926.

Eddie Morris, though, was the very real name of an American actor, billed as “The Kid from Kentucky,” who appeared regularly on the London stage and also on BBC radio. In fact, he had performed during Elsie Carlisle’s first radio broadcast, as is attested by several newspapers4.

“Babyin’ You,” a catchy song about the relationship between infantilization and affection, is a Kalmar and Ruby ditty. It was apparently added to an originally Hungarian operetta with an Albert Sirmay score, Princess Charming, which was playing in London at the time. Some noteworthy recordings of “Babyin’ You” were made by:

  1. Brian Rust, Brian Rust’s Guide to Discography, Greenwood Press, 1980, 4. ↩︎
  2. Laird, Moanin’ Low, 19. ↩︎
  3. Richard J. Johnson, Elsie Carlisle: A Discography, published by the author. My thanks to Peter Johnson for supplying me with his father’s papers on Elsie Carlisle, and to Steve Paget for having put me in touch with Peter. ↩︎
  4. E.g., “Broadcasting: Programmes for To-Day,” Northern Whig, March 1, 1926, 10, British Newspaper Archive. ↩︎