Billie Holiday

Lady Day: The Complete Billie Holiday on Columbia (1933-1944) (Sony/Legacy)

Artie Shaw

Self Portrait (Bluebird/BMG)

The swing era of the 1930s and ’40s marked the last time jazz was universally regarded as popular music. During that period, musicians, composers and arrangers were governed by commercial considerations. Solos were restricted, romantic ballads proliferated and many songs emphasized a rigid, prominent beat. Vocalist Billie Holiday and clarinetist/bandleader Artie Shaw ranked among the greatest performers of the era, but both ultimately transcended it to become jazz’s finest, most influential singer and its least understood virtuoso soloist, respectively.

Each was gifted, visionary and conceptually ahead of his/her time, constantly experimenting and looking beyond show pieces, novelty tunes and pop fare. Shaw resented playing the same songs night after night, no matter how much audiences loved them; he was a kindred spirit of the boppers in his wish to be regarded as more an artist than an entertainer. Though capable of crowd-pleasing, rapid-fire solos, upper-register gimmicks and feathery volleys, he preferred thoughtful, slowly developing performances that highlighted his complete command of the clarinet.

Holiday, meanwhile, saw every song—even ones with hideous lyrics or ridiculous scenarios—as another storytelling opportunity. She obliterated conventional rules regarding jazz vocals, neither scatting nor singing in the style that had been instituted by Bessie Smith, Ethel Waters and Ma Rainey. Instead, she improvised like an instrumentalist, hitting notes against the beat, varying her emphasis on key words from stanza to stanza, and displaying a wealth of emotions, sometimes during the same song.

Unfortunately, the colorful lives of these two performers—whose paths crossed during 1938, when Shaw willingly bucked the color line by hiring Holiday for his band—have received so much exposure that their extra-musical exploits have sometimes obscured their amazing achievements. Shaw was a legendary ladies’ man whose wives included Lana Turner and Ava Gardner, while Holiday’s drug and relationship problems have been discussed and examined at great length. Fortunately, the finest music of these legends has been compiled in two comprehensive, brilliantly annotated box sets that take the focus off their personal lives and put it back on their work.

The 10-disc Lady Day: The Complete Billie Holiday on Columbia (1933-1944) gathers 230 cuts, 35 of them appearing on a domestic release for the first time. While it’s debatable whether the singer did her finest work for the labels featured here (Columbia, Brunswick, Vocalion, Okeh and Harmony), there’s no question that the set covers the years when she evolved into a vocal icon. The material ranges from her two 1933 recordings backed by the Benny Goodman Orchestra to stints with Teddy Wilson and Count Basie. There are several sessions on which she was ostensibly the bandleader, plus dates with Eddie Heywood, Benny Carter, Duke Ellington, and an all-star jam band, as well as later tunes cut with Goodman. The set also features three hefty essays, the best by critic Gary Giddins.

The first four discs reflect a youthful vocalist crafting a style. While the orchestras of Goodman and Wilson add sumptuous backing, Holiday gradually adjusts her pitch and volume, hones her delivery and perfects her timing and approach. Though she lacked the overwhelming voice of Sarah Vaughan or the clear, ringing tones of Ella Fitzgerald, her enunciation and timing were always magnificent. Even when singing disposable fare like “Miss Brown to You,” “Yankee Doodle Never Went to Town” or “These ’N’ That ’N’ Those,” Holiday made laughable lines memorable. When she was given wonderful tunes such as “What a Little Moonlight Can Do,” “These Foolish Things” or “Summertime,” she’d caress the melody, expand key lines and transform the number into an epic experience.

It’s particularly instructive to hear how premier players such as saxophonists Ben Webster and Johnny Hodges, trumpeters Roy Eldridge and Jonah Jones, pianist Wilson and clarinetist Goodman adroitly squeezed fancy licks or clever riffs into restrictive settings. Though the singer was clearly the star, these instrumentalists inserted an occasional odd line or bent note into the arrangement during their few spotlight moments.

As the set moves into the late ’30s and early ’40s, Holiday’s voice gains maturity, warmth and depth, plus more authority and power in the lower and middle registers. The bulk of her greatest numbers comes during the ’40s sessions. There’s the definitive “I Cover the Waterfront,” which not only has a defiant, majestic reading by Holiday, but also excellent guitar by Al Casey and nice accompaniment from Wilson. She’s nimbly backed by alto stalwart Benny Carter on a 1940 rendition of “St. Louis Blues,” and saxophonist Lester Young makes an early appearance on one of Cole Porter’s most lyrically tasteless songs, “Let’s Do It.” Young eventually became Holiday’s favorite accompanist.

No one, not even Holiday, cut enough phenomenal performances to make everything on a 10-disc box set a classic. There’s plenty of period-piece garbage, as well as duds such as “He Ain’t Got Rhythm,” “Please Keep Me in Your Dreams” and “Sentimental and Melancholy” that droop despite beautiful vocals and first-rate musicianship. But more than two-thirds of the 230 numbers are marvelous, and hearing Holiday backed by such unlikely companions as trumpeters Bunny Berigan and Red Allen or saxophonist Tab Smith is a delight.

The 95 tracks on Artie Shaw’s Self Portrait have been remastered from his dates with Bluebird and RCA, and were personally selected for the collection by the artist himself. Shaw has frequently denounced past compilations as overly loaded with frilly songs and cuts that he loathed. Therefore, this set represents the music from the swing era that he feels mattered; he even adds his own views about the songs and the period in an accompanying essay. While the Holiday set is geared toward collectors, scholars and fans, this box set may have slightly more importance because it culls the junk and highlightsthe gems.

Oddly, the clarinetist truly disliked his greatest chart hit, “Begin the Beguine.” He felt the piece sounded too cute and flimsy. Still, he includes two versions of it on Self Portrait: the first (and familiar) one from 1938, when his orchestra was enormously popular, and a second, more somber version recorded in 1949. Shaw wasn’t overly fond of singers, thus he includes only a handful of vocal numbers—and just one by Holiday. Perhaps the singer best served by Shaw was Mel Tormé, who provided a mellow, lush presence.

Most importantly, these tracks continually reaffirm Shaw’s greatness as a clarinetist. His tone was among the purest ever heard in a jazz context. His notes were triumphant, full and clear, with no wavering lines. His solos were never out of tune, no matter how low or high he ventured. His floating, dreamy lines dramatically increased the passion on romantic ballads, while he could also deliver strutting, jubilant, rhythmic numbers as majestically as Goodman, Pee Wee Russell or any traditional New Orleans player. His rendition of “Stardust” rivaled Bix Beiderbecke’s, while “Suite #8,” “Summit Ridge Drive” and “Frenesi” remain treasured numbers.

Shaw’s groups couldn’t, however, compare to Goodman’s in the quality of supporting musicians: He didn’t have a Lionel Hampton, Charlie Christian, Jess Stacy, Gene Krupa or Teddy Wilson. He did hire a young Buddy Rich in 1939, but he didn’t give the percussive giant the room to fully display his skills. Roy Eldridge and Holiday certainly made stronger music in other settings, while saxophonists George Auld and Tony Pastor were wonderful interpreters, but hardly innovative soloists.

Shaw compensated with his string arrangements, use of polyharmonies and odd melodies, and flamboyant personality. He was also more willing to gamble musically than his peers were. This is evident in the later recordings that showcase his 1949 big band, a group clearly influenced as much by bop as by swing. Such tunes as “Get Out of Town,” “Love for Sale,” “Fred’s Delight” and “'S Wonderful” offer brisker tempos, more solo space and lighter, looser rhythms. Five years later, Shaw departed the music business for good, disgusted and embittered by what he saw as the perversion of art for business purposes.

Today Artie Shaw continues working on his long delayed autobiographical novel, while Billie Holiday remains a core part of the American musical consciousness. These box sets offer vivid musical portraits of two giants who helped make jazz America’s popular music for a brief time, and who continued making wonderful sounds after the mainstream audience looked elsewhere for commercial material.