"Guilt and Pleasure" is a terrific magazine, each issue of which is devoted to a different subject - all of Jewish orientation, though many would be of interest to anyone and everyone. The publishers intend it to be used to engender salon-like discussion. I don't know how they stay in business because they post each and every article in its entirety on the internet. I suspect that if and when they gather enough regular readers, they will stop doing so. In the meantime, there are a few excellent and interesting pieces from their latest issue (the "sound" issue, which includes many articles about the music industry) that I'd like to bring to your attention. They are well-written and as my kids like to put it, "edumacational":
1. The Jewish roots of scat?
Scat — vocal solo composed of nonsense syllables — first appeared in Louis Armstrong’s 1926 song “The Heebie Jeebies Dance.” Armstrong initially claimed that back in the days of one-take recording, with no technology to add in an overdub, he had dropped the sheet music and just began singing sounds on the spot as a substitute for the missing lyrics. However, Armstrong reportedly later told fellow bandleader Cab Calloway and others that scat derived from the sound he described as “the Jews’ rockin,” which he had heard growing up in a mixed black-Jewish neighborhood in New Orleans.
Fans have come up with two interpretations of this: either Armstrong was walking past a synagogue and heard rapid-fire davening, which struck his ear as nonsense, or he heard nigunim, Hasidic melodies intended to induce a meditative state before prayer (nigunim can also serve as lullabies).
In his writings, Armstrong also recalled lullabies sung by a Mrs. Karnofsky — a woman whose family befriended and employed him as a kid, and to whom he largely attributes his admiration of Jews and Jewish life.
Could Hebrew have inspired the “heebie jeebies”?
Scat was soon ubiquitous, with Armstrong’s friend Calloway becoming a second master of the form. In his greatest hit, “Minnie the Moocher,” Calloway calls out scat phrases and his band responds in black gospel style, yet the minor key and sweeping sound of his scat also recalls cantorial song. More
2. Tin Pan Alley - A Jewish industry killed by a Jew. Guess who and how?
During the sweltering summer of 1962, Neil Sedaka’s “Breaking Up Is Hard to Do” piped over and over — and over — through transistor radios and up the charts. Its catchy hook and painfully simple lyrics (Remember when you held me tight / And you kissed me all through the night / Think of all that we’ve been through / And breaking up is har d to do) were the sort of formulaic ingredients that fed the Tin Pan Alley hit factory where Sedaka worked and that dominated popular music at the time.
“Every time I ran out of lyrics, I’d throw in a ‘doo-be-doo,’ and it became a trademark,” Sedaka told Mix magazine a few years ago. “In fact, the night before we tracked ‘Breaking Up Is Hard to Do,’ I called up our arranger, Alan Lorber, and told him I wanted to incorporate ‘down dooby doo down down’ as a prominent part of the vocal arrangement. The record came to be known as the sandwich song. There’s a piece of bread to begin with — the syllabization — then the meat and finally another piece of bread. All of my hits in the ’50s and ’60s used this same technique.”
It was, for a time, an unbeatable system. But the following year brought an attack on Tin Pan Alley, the Midtown Manhattan hit-making industry that produced so many songs like Sedaka’s and whose hooks still resonate more than forty years later. While Sedaka, along with Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller, Carole (Klein) King, Gerry Goffin, Cynthia Weill, Howie Greenberg, Barry Mann, Jeff Barry, Burt Bacharach, Ellie Greenwich, and dozens of others churned out hits from cramped offices in the Brill Building at 1619 Broadway and its sister (and rival) center at 1650 Broadway — the heart of Tin Pan Alley — Greenwich Village was nurturing an assault on popular music that in the end resulted in the demise of the hit-making business uptown. More
3. Jonathan Richman, suburban Jew, outsider, and with his band the Modern Lovers, a forerunner of punk rock:
For the purpose of making sense of Jonathan Richman, the ideas of Polish-Jewish Marxist Isaac Deutscher are helpful. In his famous 1958 essay “The Non-Jewish Jew,” Deutscher attempted to explain why Jews ranked highly among modern Europe’s most innovative thinkers: people such as Spinoza, Marx, and Freud. He did not attribute this to superior genes or religious values; instead, Deutscher came up with a sociological explanation. Many of Europe’s great iconoclasts, he said, were Jews who had “looked for ideals and fulfillment” beyond Jewry but could not gain full entry into the larger, gentile society. As outsiders twice over, these “non-Jewish Jews” adhered to no entrenched beliefs. They could perceive what members of the majority could not, leading them to develop all sorts of subversive theories in the arts and sciences. Those theories were born out of a certain Jewish condition without expressing any directly Jewish beliefs.
Deutscher did not write “The Non-Jewish Jew” with young, postwar, suburban Jews in mind; he likely would have seen them as too affluent, assimilated, and contented compared to the people he discussed. What Deutscher wouldn’t have been able to perceive, however, was the dissonance many Jews felt in suburban America. Jewish kids typically weren’t captains of the football team or homecoming queens. They weren’t likely to be voted Cutest or Most Desired Desert Island Companion, although they stood a good chance of winning Funniest or Class Treasurer. They worried about their noses and hard-to-manage hair and the humiliation of having to shave a nascent moustache in the seventh grade. They faced occasional taunts and the odd punch. And they suffered through Hebrew school several days a week while their gentile peers ran free. Those suburban Jews were not ostracized, but they didn’t quite fit into the mainstream, either.
They had two basic choices, the Jews of suburbia. They could try to adapt (which entailed its own psychological and practical challenges) or go their own way. Jonathan Richman chose the second route. More