When was Bird’s first version of “Cherokee” recorded? (Part Two of Three)

Webster said he’d come back the next night to make sure he heard what he thought he heard, and Monroe dared him, “Well, if you come back tomorrow I’ll put him in the show, and he’ll be playing CHEROKEE.” If the story is to be believed, and Webster said he did return and heard Parker “stop the place,” then it makes sense that Parker should be playing over a specialty arrangement with the Monroe House Orchestra. –Dan Morgenstern, liner notes Early Bird, Stash Records (1991).

The mysteries surrounding Bird’s earliest version of “Cherokee” are no closer to being solved than they were last time. That’s because Jerry Newman’s involvement was a red herring of blue whale proportions. Unless you’re willing to stretch the facts like taffy, he wasn’t involved at all in the recording of it.

But the fact remains that this “Cherokee” was found in the Jerry Newman Collection after his death, with no accompanying information to speak of. So the question of who recorded it is central to the mystery here, but–spoiler alert!–no solution is forthcoming. We will, however, end up with a lot of circumstantial evidence and a prime suspect.

In the liner notes for Charlie Parker First Recordings, Onyx Records (1974), Morgenstern writes, “According to notations on Newman’s tape boxes it was recorded on a paper disc.” The implication here is that Newman himself didn’t possess the original paper-backed disc. All he had, it seems, was a dub of it on tape. So, in the strictest sense, the “Cherokee” disc doesn’t belong in the Newman Collection at all. He didn’t record it, nor did he possess it, nor did he like Bird’s playing in the first place. Exit Jerry Newman, pursued by a bear.

It was Morgenstern who, unbidden, brought Webster into the story, inviting in more red herrings. While there’s no reason to doubt the veracity of this anecdote, there’s also no reason to believe that the performance that Webster attended was recorded, nor that it took place within the time frame that Webster’s presence suggests.

Based on the existing evidence, the only plausible time Webster could have seen Bird perform at Monroe’s on two consecutive nights would have been between Friday, January 15 and Thursday, January 21, 1943. The Ellington Orchestra was off the road and back in NYC, and Bird was performing with the Earl Hines Orchestra at the Apollo. By January 22, the Hines band was in Baltimore, and they spent the next three months on tour. By January 24, the Ellington band was back on the road, and wouldn’t return to NYC until March 6.

All of this leaves the “Cherokee” recording date still solidly up in the air. What’s more, there doesn’t appear to be any solid proof that it was even recorded at Monroe’s!

Morgenstern says, “If Bird played ‘Cherokee’ in the show at Monroe’s, which had a small house band led by George Treadwell, this meant there had to be a small-group arrangement.”

I didn’t stop to think about it until recently, but that “if” throws everything that follows into doubt. It appears that Morgenstern was simply speculating. Again, just because Webster heard Bird at Monroe’s doesn’t mean this “Cherokee” disc was recorded there. And in a sense, the sound of Morgenstern’s presumed “Monroe’s House Orchestra” is the strongest evidence that it wasn’t recorded at Monroe’s.

In 1949, Bird described the Monroe’s scene to Leonard Feather:

When I came to New York [January 1942] and went to Monroe’s, I began to listen to that real advanced New York style. I think the music of today is a sort of combination of the midwestern beat and the fast New York tempos. At Monroe’s I heard sessions with a pianist named Allen Tinney; I’d listen to trumpet men like Lips Page, Roy, Dizzy and Charlie Shavers outblowing each other all night long. And Don Byas was there, playing everything there was to be played. I heard a trumpet man named Vic Coulsen playing things I’d never heard. Vic had the regular band at Monroe’s, with George Treadwell also on trumpet, and a tenor man named Pritchett. That was the kind of music that caused me to quit McShann and stay in New York.”

The notion that these innovative, forward-looking musicians are the players heard backing up Bird on the “Cherokee” disc defies belief.

It’s plain to see that we’re learning less and less as this investigation goes on.

• This “Cherokee” wasn’t recorded by Jerry Newman
• The Webster anecdote doesn’t have a direct connection
• Morgenstern’s speculation about the house band doesn’t ring true
• Proof that the disc was recorded at Monroe’s doesn’t exist

And that leaves us marooned. All we have now is “Cherokee” on a paper disc and a pistol with one shot. Our best chance of escape lies with the musical evidence. Here’s the recording in question:

This recording’s most striking feature is its primitive recording quality. In short, it just sounds old fashioned, and the lackluster, unswinging arrangement of the melody chorus only adds to the effect.

To defend the unknown pianist, he handles the melody chorus in a minimalist style not unlike Count Basie’s, and he plays some inventive fills. In that sense, he’s somewhat of a modernist, but his oom-pah comping behind Bird’s solo puts Bird in chains. I’m willing to believe that the arrangement called for it, and that the unknown bass player is another victim. During the melody chorus, he provides some walking bass lines in the modernist style, but as soon as Bird’s solo begins, he starts playing doubled notes, regressing to an earlier style. This forms a weird negative synergy with the pianist that further boxes Bird in.

It’s worth noting, however, that Bird is always responsive to his surroundings. He may have been trying to get into some kind of groove with this rhythm section by adapting to these limitations. Fortunately, the horns riff behind Bird’s second chorus, which helps counteract the polka feel. Against this backdrop, his lines regain their characteristic momentum and swing, making them sound more advanced overall.

What I’m driving at is that this “Cherokee,” despite its antiquated vibe, could have been recorded later than is generally assumed, and that’s the case I intend to make here. I’m aware, though, that my argument will be trapped in a hall of mirrors, where assumption is built on assumption.

Comparing Bird’s first version of “Cherokee” with his second version of “Cherokee” (full track below) is a necessary step in the dating process, but it doesn’t provide much direct evidence, in part because this second “Cherokee” has dating problems of its own.

Bird left the Earl Hines Orchestra in August, 1943, and ended up back in Kansas City, where the second “Cherokee” was recorded, making autumn 1943 the generally accepted date. More recently, though, Chuck Haddix has upset the apple cart by proposing a June 1944 date. Haddix alleges Bird was in KC with the Billy Eckstine Orchestra around that time, although this date conflicts with the Leo Parker itinerary.

I believe the musical evidence argues against June 1944. The Tiny Grimes date (September 15, 1944, Savoy) marks the dawning of Bird’s mature style. Aside from minor differences in tone quality, any solo from this date could have been recorded in 1945. Great as the second “Cherokee” is (and it’s a masterpiece), I find it hard to believe that Bird could have advanced that much in the space of three months. Conversely, a June 1944 date would mean these two “Cherokee” versions are separated by roughly two years, equally hard to believe.

The two versions share little vocabulary. One of the joys of Bird’s apprenticeship period is his unfettered spontaneity. At this stage in his development, licks are virtually nonexistent. (For better or worse, this makes the dating process more difficult.)

A couple of overlaps occur in the bridge. This is unsurprising, since Bird fashioned set pieces to navigate those troublesome changes. The first set piece is the “Tea for Two” sequence, which Bird was already using during his time with McShann. Gene Ramey described it this way:

Bird used to sit and try to tell us what he was doing. I am sure that at the time nobody else in the band could play, for example, even the channel to “Cherokee.” So Bird used to play a series of “Tea for Two” phrases against the channel, and, since this was a melody that could be easily remembered, it gave the guys something to play during those bars.

Here’s the “Tea for Two” sequence, first “Cherokee” first, second “Cherokee” second:

The second set piece is actually central to the dating process, but it’s bound up in a tangle of assumptions. It will be examined more closely next time:

There are a few exact matches and near matches:

Other than that, though, the level of melodic invention is so high that every phrase is unique. Both versions find Bird conjuring an endless stream of brand new melodies in the moment. Ultimately, the very fact that they don’t share vocabulary is what ties these two versions together.

When you step back and stop looking for matching phrases, the significance of the first “Cherokee” becomes clear. It documents Bird’s burgeoning skill at spinning out rapid-fire melodies composed entirely of eighth notes, something he’d been working toward ever since “Honey & Body.”

His solo on the McShann version of “Honeysuckle Rose” (full track below) shows he had already achieved this in the context of those particular changes, simple chords in a familiar key:

The “Cherokee” chord changes are much more challenging harmonically, and yet the eighth-note based melodies flow effortlessly from Bird’s horn, with scarcely a quarter note in sight. This suggests that these two versions of “Cherokee” may have been recorded less than a year apart.

What’s that you say? What about the goddamn date?

I was getting to that.

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Here’s Bird’s second “Cherokee,” with Efferge Ware guitar, and “Little Phil” Phillips drums:

And here’s the complete “Honeysuckle Rose,” Jay McShann Orchestra, December 2, 1940: