Dollar bin diving: Budget jazz edition

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Hey, it's been awhile since ye olde Vinyl Cave had any action here on teh internetz. But you didn't really think I'd stopped buying piles of weird records, did you? Here's a roundup of some finds from fall 2022, which I set aside at the time for a column: a batch of (mostly) budget label jazz records from the 1950s and '60s. There was a lot of chaff issued by labels like Crown, Tops, and the various iterations of the Pickwick empire, but for those curious enough to look closer when sifting through the dustbin of history, there are gems to be found.

Charlie Ventura, Plays Hi-Fi Jazz: Saxophonist Charlie Ventura came up in the Big Band era of the 1940s, and by the time the LP era rolled around in the 1950s he was well positioned to do a lot of recording under his own name, leading various ensembles, for a lot of record labels. The Tops label is perhaps mostly remembered these days (if at all) by 45 collectors, who have learned to avoid its ubiquitous singles and EPs featuring chintzy covers of hits. However, the label did have a brief period of releasing original LPs, often by stars seeking to cash a check during a down period (the Ink Spots come to mind) so it's worth being observant. This LP caught my eye because it has actual liner notes and identifies the band, which includes longtime Madison resident and retired UW-Madison professor Richard Davis on bass. (Along with guitarist Billy Bean and drummer Mousey Alexander, Davis also plays on Ventura's solid album from around the same time on Baton.) It's a covers session with no surprising material choices, but you can tell this band was comfortable playing together — they are super tight, especially on display on the fleet-footed opener "Runnin' Wild." There are moments nodding to bop and even R&B sax honkers, which gives this a bit more flavor, too. In classic budget label fashion, an abridged and repackaged version of this album exists on the Craftsmen label. Per Discogs, that happened because Tops merged with P.R.I. in the late '50s…and the merged mini-empire was soon absorbed by Pickwick. (Tops L1528, 1957)

Don Ralke Orchestra, Very Truly Yours: This is one I would in most cases skip, expecting sleepy orchestra sounds or dinner music type stuff. But it's a very early Crown LP, always worth a shot…so I threw it in a stack of unpriced records gathered at an estate sale. I figured I was probably saving it from a Dumpster trip, if nothing else. There are a few sleep-worthy moments, but for the most part this falls somewhere between inertia and the space age bachelor pad sounds of Esquivel, thanks to occasional odd arrangements, well-placed vibes, and a wordless, disembodied vocal chorus. The arrangements are often built around guitar, somewhat unusual for an orchestra LP. The guitar is played by Bud Coleman, a name I did not immediately recognize but should have. It turns out he played guitar and mandolin for the Baja Marimba Band and on many '60s Herb Alpert sides before dying from complications of surgery in 1967. Coleman gets a couple mostly solo guitar showcases, which are both well worth the price of admission on their own. Don Ralke, of course, is a familiar name from countless records and TV/film work in Hollywood for the last half of the 20th century. (Crown CLP 5018, 1957)

No lead artist, Bossa Nova: This is a perfect example of a 100 percent sketchy looking product. There's no leader or band name indicated anywhere, but the list of players are on the front cover in small print: Al Hall, Buster Harding, Osie Johnson, Hank Jones, Jimmy Jones, Bill LaVorgna, Mat Mathews, Louis Metcalf, Sam Most and Ted Sommer. It's a list of names that will be familiar to fans of vintage jazz, but not ones associated with bossa nova. The track list also does not really have anything to do with bossa nova either. These concerns are amplified by actually listening to the record. They are playing a batch of fairly familiar songs and underlaying a sort of bossa nova like rhythm underneath. It's intermittently interesting hearing these pros try to work around that strange setup, but it mostly just sounds odd. Pianist Hank Jones gets in some good solos, though, and it really is true stereo rather than rechanneled garbage, so this probably was an actual session rather than a recycle job. Who the heck bankrolled this weirdness? There's not much identifying info on the record itself, other than the legend "K.M. Corp - Freeport, L.I." on the back cover. But a quick search of Discogs reveals the same record came out on Grand Prix, which is a Pickwick alias. That means the K.M. stands for Keel Manufacturing, a pressing plant Pickwick owned for a long time. (International Award Series, AK-215, probably early '60s).

Billy Tipton, Plays Hi-Fi on Piano: If the name Billy Tipton sounds familiar, it may be for reasons unrelated to music. Tipton recorded two albums for the Tops label in the late 1950s before moving to Washington state, playing local clubs and working behind the scenes in the music industry. For many artists who chose that sort of lower-key career path, that would be the end of the story. But when the jazz pianist died in 1989, Tipton's adopted sons discovered their father had been assigned female at birth. Before long the story became a national media sensation, and mostly not in a good way. The 2020 documentary No Ordinary Man, which can be streamed on Amazon Prime and other services, reframes the story of Tipton's life (about which not all that much is really known) through the lens of his legacy; the derogatory and belittling posthumous treatment in the media ended up elevating Tipton into a trans icon.

The albums themselves are not that easy to find all these years later. The only place I ever saw a copy of Plays Hi-Fi on Piano was at Resale Records many years ago, so I was happy to find one in a big pile of '50s budget label albums at a random estate sale stop over by the east-side Woodman's. It's a fun listen, kicking off with a piano-bass duet on "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man" that is so reverb-drenched it really puts the hi in the fi. Tipton's playing is inventive and sprightly, and really ranges around the keyboard. I'll be keeping an eye out for the other Tipton album. This is also notable for a budget label album in that the artist is actually pictured on the cover (although the art director's focus was obviously elsewhere)…that is Billy Tipton at the keys. (Tops L1534, 1957)

Jack and Julie, Yours Truly, Jack and Julie: Okay, cheating a bit here; Sue was not a budget label, and it's stretching it a bit to call this jazz. But this is so different it would be its own thing in any grouping.Yours Truly, Jack and Julie collects a dozen Great American Songbook/jazz standards, as played by a duo of harp (Jack Melady) and cello (Julius Ehrenwerth). Perhaps even more surprising: This is their second album for Sue. That's less surprising when you hear them in action. The duo approach their instruments in novel ways at times, to the point the instrument would be easy to mistake for something else. The song arrangements sometimes play it very straight with a somewhat classical music approach, and at other times they get way out there. It's certainly unique, and an outlier for Sue, which usually focused on R&B, jazz and a bit of rock 'n roll. (Sue STLP 1029, 1964)

Red Callender, Speaks Low: Here's another session featuring an unusual instrumental mix. Red Callender is probably best known as a bassist, credited on countless jazz sessions (and uncredited on many pop and rock sessions as a studio musician in Los Angeles). But Callender also played tuba, and that is his instrument on this session for Crown. Callender's tuba is most often trading solos with Buddy Collette on flute or clarinet. Against these sounds the rhythm section mostly lays back, but Red Mitchell on bass and guitarist Bob Bain get a few solo moments too. It makes for a low-key but fun outing, with a couple good Callender originals among the standards. Callender was leader for another album which was released by both Modern and Crown with different covers, Swingin' Suite, which is also worth picking up (and is easier to find than the tuba album, which seems to have not stayed in print very long). Unfortunately, this copy is one of Crown/Modern's notorious pebbly pressings and is pretty noisy, which does not go well with the quiet music. (Crown CLP 5012, 1957)