“Hangin’ On to That Man” (1931, 1932)

The dark and moody song “Hangin’ On to That Man” has music written by Russian-born composer Josef Myerow, who later as Joe Myrow would compose the popular “You Make Me Feel So Young” (1946). “Hangin’ On to That Man” is recognizably a torch song, insofar as it involves a woman describing how she keeps loving a man in spite of all the misery that he causes her. The song is thus very much in the mold of Mistinguett’s “Mon homme” or its anglophone version “My Man” (made popular by Fanny Brice in the 1921 Ziegfeld Follies).

It is not clear to me if anyone other than Elsie Carlisle ever recorded “Hangin’ On to That Man”; Ethel Waters is mentioned on the sheet music, but I have no evidence that she ever committed the song to shellac (she probably performed it on stage). It is therefore interesting that Elsie recorded the song not once but three times. She made the first two recordings with Spike Hughes and His Dance Orchestra, and we are fortunate enough to have Spike Hughes’s own account of the genesis of his sessions with Elsie.

In 1935, Spike Hughes published an autobiography serialized in Swing Music. He recollects

In the days when I had had colourful visions of making a fortune writing blues and low-down songs, I had a great ambition to write a song that Elsie Carlisle would sing, perhaps even sing on the radio and record. I don’t think, as a matter of truth, that I had ever heard her sing in those days, but her face made a pretty picture on a song of which I was very fond around 1929, and I thought she would probably sing my masterpieces better than another other native singer.

When she first started recording for Decca a contingent from the band used to accompany her, and I found that my dream-singer, whose picture I had liked so much in 1929, sang every bit as well as I had imagined. But I had no songs, no blue masterpieces to offer her. Obviously, she must appear in one of my records, for she was good company. After sessions she would entertain at a neighbouring public-house with unlimited Lancashire stories, which endeared her particularly to young William Walton, whose local the “Six Bells” was, and who, like Elsie, also came from Oldham.

Some time before the session of which I am writing, we had had a session from which no records resulted. For some reason everything had gone wrong. We had made Minnie, The Moocher, a long while before that epic became popular; we had tried a commercial number, To Whom It May Concern, in which Val Rosing made a fleeting appearance, but we made a mess of that; we had also recorded an Ethel Waters tune, Hangin’ On To That Man, but without vocal refrain and the solos had been bad, for it was a difficult tune to improvise upon. In short, it had been an unsuccessful session.1

The session that Hughes describes seems like a poorly remembered version of the June 18, 1931 session, at which the three songs mentioned were recorded and not issued; but Elsie did record a version of “Hangin’ On to That Man” that day, at least if eminent discographers Brian Rust and Richard Johnson can be trusted (I am not fortunate enough to own a copy of the unissued Decca recording with the matrix GB2920).

Of the second recording of “Hangin’ On to That Man,” Spike Hughes recalls

I decided, however, that if we were to do anything with the tune, it must have a vocal refrain to it. So Elsie Carlisle learnt it–not without some difficulty in finding the right key, I think she will confess. Apparently, Elsie liked it for she adopted it as her signature tune. For our part, we produced a record with the longest introduction that has ever gone on a ten-inch disc.

Here is the recording described by Hughes with his mixture of snark and admiration:

“Hangin’ On to That Man.” Lyrics by Frank Capano and Harry Filler, with music by Josef Myerow, alias Joe Myrow (1931). Recorded by Spike Hughes and His Dance Orchestra, with vocals by Elsie Carlisle, in London on November 18, 1931. Decca F. 2735 mx. GB3601-2.

Personnel: Spike Hughes-sb ldr. Chick Smith-Leslie Thompson-Jimmy Macaffer-t / Lew Davis-Bill Mulraney-tb  / Harry Hayes-as / Billy Amstell-cl-as / Buddy Featherstonhaugh-ts / Billy Mason-p / Claude Ivy-chm / Alan Ferguson-g / Ronnie Gubertini-d

Spike Hughes & His Dance Orchestra (v. Elsie Carlisle) – “Hangin’ On to That Man” (1933)

I am not sure exactly what Spike Hughes was referring to when he wrote that Elsie “adopted [‘Hangin’ On to That Man’] as her signature tune,” but certainly it is noteworthy that she recorded it a third time many months later:

“Hangin’ On to That Man.” Recorded by Elsie Carlisle with orchestral accompaniment in London on June 23, 1932. Decca F. 3038.

Personnel: ?Johnny Rosen-?Maurice Loban-vn / g / sb / ?Max Abrams-d

Elsie Carlisle — Hangin’ On to That Man

Transfer by Andy LeMaitre (YouTube)

In this version Elsie sings a languid introduction, and indeed the first half of the song is comparatively subdued. The contrast with the quicker and more impassioned second half gives Elsie the opportunity to engage in monodrama, which happens to be a specialty of hers. We can appreciate, with Spike Hughes, the attraction of Elsie’s pretty visage reproduced on sheet music, but we must admit that it was her ability to create a persona with nothing but her voice, in the small time allotted by the size of a shellac record, that will always define Elsie best.

"Hangin' on to That Man" sheet music signed by the composer
“Hangin’ on to That Man” sheet music

Notes:

  1. Spike Hughes, “Decca Days.” Swing Music 1.4 (June 1935): 84, 112.

“Making Conversation” (1933)

“Making Conversation.” Words by Fred Ritz and Harry Carlton, music by Harry Carlton (1933). Recorded by Elsie Carlisle with orchestral accompaniment in London c. November 8, 1933. Decca F. 3737 mx. GB6298-2.

Elsie Carlisle – “Making Conversation” (1933)

 “Making Conversation” is sometimes known by the longer title “Just Making Conversation (When We Ought To Be Making Love).” The composer, Harry Carlton, was well known for his 1928 “C-O-N-S-T-A-N-T-I-N-O-P-L-E” and his 1930 “Mickey Mouse”; Fred Ritz was a pseudonym of Frederick Wright, who also collaborated with Carlton on “Sundown in Old Waikiki” and “You’ve Got to Blow Your Own Trumpet.”1  Carlton is the only songwriter credited on Elsie Carlisle’s recording of the song, and the royalty stamp of “The Harry Carlton Music Co. Ltd.” appears on the label.

The song’s words play on the contrast between what is denoted by the expressions “making conversation” and “making love,” casting the former as pedestrian and the latter as vastly preferable. The lyrics serve as an invitation to convert acquaintance into amorous encounter. One might expect the repetitive simplicity of the underlying concept to be mildly annoying, and yet I find this song pleasantly infectious. Elsie Carlisle makes her version particularly noteworthy for an overall impression of sweetness and sincerity.

“Making Conversation” was also recorded in 1933 by the BBC Dance Orchestra (under the direction of Henry Hall), with vocalists Phyllis Robins, Les Allen, and Len Bermon, Ambrose and His Orchestra (with vocals by Sam Browne), Oscar Rabin and His Romany Band (with Dan Donovan), and Harry Leader and His Band (with vocalist Sam Browne).

Notes:

  1. My thanks to Roger Corti for providing the true identity of his relative Frederick Wright.

“Come Up and See Me Sometime” (1933)

“Come Up and See Me Sometime.” Words by Arthur Swanstrom, music by Louis Alter; composed for the motion picture Take a Chance (1933). Recorded by Elsie Carlisle with orchestral accompaniment in London on November 8, 1933. Decca F. 3737 mx. GB6297-2.

Elsie Carlisle – “Come Up and See Me Sometime” (1933)

“Come Up and See Me Sometime” was written by Arthur Swanstrom and Louis Alter for Paramount’s 1933 musical comedy Take a Chance, based on the stage play of the same name. The movie apparently inherited little from the play other than a couple of songs, but it augmented what it did borrow with other, more memorable songs, including the perennial “It’s Only a Paper Moon.” “Come Up and See Me Sometime” is introduced by actress Lillian Roth, who sings it while performing a burlesque act. The title of the song presumably derives from a suggestive catchphrase of Mae West’s, which originally took the form “Why don’t you come up sometime and see me?” (in She Done Him Wrong [1933]), but which soon became the rhythmically preferable “Come up and see me sometime” (as it occurs in I’m No Angel [1933]).

Elsie Carlisle dishes out boldness in her version. The visual component of the movie’s burlesque scene is absent, but Elsie leaves no doubt as to the import of the song’s repetitive sultry invitations to get to know her better. As the song progresses, her intonation increasingly approaches that of the vamp, and her final “…any ti-i-i-IME!” finishes our impression of the self-consciously predatory showgirl.

“Come Up and See Me Sometime” was recorded in America in 1933 by Ramona Davies (on vocals and piano) and Cliff Edwards (a.k.a. Ukulele Ike). In March 1934 two versions were recorded by Ethel Waters.

In Britain in 1933 there were also recordings of “Come Up and See Me Sometime” by The BBC Dance Orchestra (directed by Henry Hall, with vocalist Phyllis Robins, in a striking Phil Cardew arrangement), Scott Wood and His Orchestra (with vocals by Sam Browne), the Casani Club Orchestra (directed by Charlie Kunz, with vocalist Cecile Petrie; the recording was never issued), and Joe Loss and His Band (with singer Annette Keith).

“Dada, Dada” (1928 & 1930)

“Dada, Dada (D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-da-da)” is a “stuttering song,” a song in which the performer either pretends to stutter or plays around with words that naturally sound a bit like stammering (in the present instance, a young woman’s call to her father — “Dada!  Dada!” — serves the purpose).  One might think that, in imitating a speech impediment, “Dada, Dada” might risk being insensitive, and yet when one considers every other facet of the song, it is the stuttering that emerges as least offensive. “Dada, Dada” is primarily known for its humorous dramatization of a very innocent young woman being taken advantage of by a somewhat predatory boyfriend. Her cries of “Dada! Dada!” reach her father’s ears, but they only serve to remind him of how he came to have a daughter in the first place; he does not come to the aid of the comically naïve and therefore actually rather unfortunate girl. The primary songwriter, Arthur Le Clerq, was not averse to edgy humor; he would go on to write “Is Izzy Azzy Woz?” (1929) which gives ample opportunities for a singer to practice Yiddishisms, and the overtly ageist “Nobody Loves a Fairy When She’s Forty” (1934).

Having admitted that the theme of “Dada, Dada” is fundamentally unwholesome, I must admit that I rather enjoy hearing Elsie Carlisle singing it; her talent for interpreting bawdy, inappropriate lyrics is well known, and the song allows her to show off her upper vocal range by way of adolescent squeaks. A gauge of how much contemporary listeners must have liked her impersonation of a clueless girl is the fact that Elsie recorded it three times in a two-year period.

“Dada, Dada (D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-da-da).” Words by Arthur Le Clerq and Wallace Dore, music by Arthur Le Clerq (1928). Recorded by Elsie Carlisle with Jay Wilbur and His Orchestra, London, c. December 1928. Dominion A. 43 mx. 1055-2.

Personnel possibly includes Max Goldberg-Bill Shakespeare-t / Tony Thorpe-tb / Laurie Payne-Jimmy Gordon-cl-as-bar / George Clarkson-cl-as-ts / Norman Cole-vn / Billy Thorburn-p / Dave Thomas or Bert Thomas-bj-g / Harry Evans-bb-sb / Jack Kosky-d-chm

Elsie Carlisle – “Dada, Dada” (Dominion; 1928)

In all versions of “Dada, Dada” Elsie alternates between narrating the story and playing its protagonist. In this latter role she is the expert comedian in terms of reenacting the awkward youthful encounter and keeping the mock-stammering from being too implausible or even just annoying and repetitive (for variation she appears to do an imitation of a sort of infantile cuckoo-clock at 1:48). The naughtiness of the lyrics is highlighted by a highly inappropriate reference to Scripture1:

He says I am an angel
And a heavenly little thing!
If angels feel like I do,
“Oh death, where is thy sting?”

In this 1928 version, Jay Wilbur’s orchestra shines out admirably even from the asphalt-like shellac of Dominion Records.

Elsie would sing a bit of “Dada, Dada” again with many of the same accompanists in the “Imperial Revels” medley, recorded in late September 1930. She recorded the whole song again the next month, again with Jay Wilbur and His Orchestra (uncredited):

Elsie Carlisle with Jay Wilbur and His Orchestra, London, October 1930. Imperial 2381 mx. 5536-4.

Personnel possibly includes the following: Max Goldberg-Bill Shakespeare-t / Ted Heath or Tony Thorpe-tb / Laurie Payne-Jimmy Gordon-cl-as-bar / George Melachrino-cl-as-vn / George Clarkson-cl-ts / Norman Cole-vn / Billy Thorburn or Pat Dodd-p / Bert Thomas-g / Harry Evans-bb-sb / Jack Kosky-d

Elsie Carlisle – “Dada, Dada” (Imperial; 1930)

The accompaniment on Imperial 2381 is punchier, heavier on the brass and lighter on the strings, and more explicitly comical: the musicians seem to mimic Elsie’s singing at times. Her delivery of the “Dadas” is less sing-song than in her original version and more closely approaches natural speech, if her strange exclamations can be called that. Overall, one gets the impression of performers trying very hard to keep an inherently repetitive piece fresh and succeeding admirably.

Other versions of “Dada, Dada” were recorded in Britain in 1929 by Ray Starita and His Ambassadors’ Band (with vocals by Phil Allen), The Rhythmics (under the direction of Nat Star, with vocalist Tom Barratt), Clarkson Rose, and comedian Jack Morrison (accompanied by Bidgood’s Broadcasters).  The full lyrics that Morrison uses depict an increasingly rough struggle between the young people, thus fully realizing the song’s creepy potential.

It should finally be noted that although Elsie Carlisle does speak briefly in a 1933 recording by Maurice Winnick and His Orchestra entitled “Da-Dar-Da-Dar (Da-Dar-Da-Dee),” stuttering the words “d-d-d-darling” and “d-d-d-dearest,” that song concerns the difficulty young lovers have finding privacy — it is a much less troubling piece delivered almost entirely by Sam Browne, and it should not be mistaken for harder stuff.

Notes:

  1. 1 Corinithians 15:55.

“Baby” (1927)

“Baby.” Words by Raymond W. Peck and music by Percy Wenrich (1922); featured in the Broadway musical Castles in the Air (1926). Recorded by Elsie Carlisle, accompanied by Carroll Gibbons and an unidentified violinist, on May 6, 1927. HMV B-2489 mx. Bb-10514-5.

Elsie Carlisle – “Baby” (1927)

Video by David Weavings (YouTube)

“Baby (Fox-trot Lullaby)” was written in 1922 but was most prominently featured four years later in Castles in the Air, a musical comedy of manners that saw moderate success in 1926 on Broadway (less so the next year in London, where the show had only 28 performances). The lyrics have a surprisingly simple thesis, suggesting that “old-fashioned lullabies” have given way to modern “fox-trot lullab[ies],” that babies are no longer rocked in cradles but rather in the arms of dancing parents. The song tries to make its point with an introduction that roughly resembles a lullaby but that gives way to a catchy, fast-paced refrain. It would appear that Peck and Wenrich did not originate the notion of a foxtrot lullaby, as there had been a 1921 song entitled “Nestle in My Loving Arms — A Lullaby Fox-Trot.”

Elsie Carlisle successfully realizes the conceit of “Baby” by applying sweet earnestness to the intro at a measured pace but then propelling her way into the refrain. At the end of the song she repeats the refrain in a slow, dreamy way, thus integrating the ideas of “foxtrot” and “lullaby” into one. In the middle of the recording there is a remarkably good, quick-paced violin solo. The identity of the violinist is unknown; a contemporary review in Melody Maker suggests that it could be Hugo Rignold, although the reviewer gets the pianist wrong, suggesting that he is Arthur Young (we can be fairly sure that it is Carroll Gibbons).1

“Baby” was recorded in America in 1926 by Roger Wolfe Kahn and His Orchestra (with vocals by Billy Jones) and by Virginia Rea and Franklyn Baur (accompanied by the Brunswick Hour Orchestra). In 1927 it was recorded in Britain by Jack Hylton and His Orchestra twice (directed the first time by Chappie d’Amato, as Jack Hylton had been injured in a car accident, in a session whose output was rejected by HMV, and  the second time by Jack Hylton himself). It was also recorded by the Debroy Somers Band (with vocalist Bobby Sanders), Hal Christie’s Dance Orchestra (directed by Bert Firman), Victor Sterling and His Band, the Raymond Dance Band (directed by Stan Greening), Alfredo’s Band (with singer Peter Bernard), Will Hurst’s Band (with vocals by Maurice Elwin), and the Savoy Orpheans (directed by Carroll Gibbons, in a selection from Castles in the Air).

"Baby" (1927) sheet music

Notes:

  1. The Melody Maker and British Metronome 2.20 (August 1, 1927): 784.