BING CROSBY
REMEMBERS
JOE VENUTI & EDDIE LANG
Throughout his illustrious fifty-year career, Bing Crosby worked with many musicians, but none held a more significant place in his heart than Joe Venuti and Eddie Lang. Their unique contributions profoundly influenced both his public performances and private moments. The Crooner reflects.
“Bing Crosby… In His Words.”
Bing Crosby Remembers Eddie Lang
PROLOGUE
Another Whiteman band member was Eddie Lang. Eddie was a South Philadelphia Italian. His real name was Salvatore Mazarro (Massaro). In the opinion of all the guitar players of his day and many since he was the greatest one of the craft who ever lived. Eddie could read little music. But he played with all the big radio and recording orchestras. Once he heard an arrangement rehearsed, he was not only able to play the guitar part of that arrangement but decorate it a bit. The next time they ran through the number he was solid as a rock.
He was the first fellow to do much single-string solo work on recordings and dance jobs. Single-string means picking the melody out on one string and hitting a chord once in a while to maintain a rhythm.
Eddie had only the sketchiest kind of education. When I’d asked him how long he’d gone to school, he’d say, “What’s school?” He was quiet and retiring but the things he did he did superlatively well. (4)
NOTE: Eddie Lang was a schooled musician, first in solfege, then eleven years of violin study. He played in the James Campbell (grammar) School orchestra. (1)
NOTE: Eddie Lang graduated from James Campbell (grammar) School (1908-1916) and Southern Manual Training High School (for boys) (1916-1920) (renamed in 1955 as South Philadelphia High School). (1,2)
Bing Crosby Remembers Joe Venuti
SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER 1926
One of my favorite Venuti stories has to do with the bass fiddle player he got “right off the boat from Italy.” Joe had his own band then and was working for Tommy Guinan, Texas Guinan’s brother, in a box bearing the gay name Tommy Guinan’s Playground. When Tommy and I see each other nowadays, we laugh about that engagement Joe played for him. “That buddy of yours put me out of the café business,” Tommy says. “I was going great until I signed him.”
For years, Joe wanted to import a bass player directly from Italy. It was his theory, an invalid one as far as I could see, that such a musician would have a way of playing bass fiddle that would fit ideally in a Dixieland combo. Finally, after much finagling, Joe went down to Ellis Island, fetched such a character back with him, and put him in his band for the opening night at Guinan’s Playground. There was a sell-out audience on hand, and everything seemed to indicate that the joint was on its way to a long and successful operation. Joe played a couple of solos, and the band went very big. Bix Beiderbecke showed up, carrying his cornet in a paper bag, and sat in with Joe’s musicians. However, the freshly imported bass player became hungry. He’d been on the bandstand for only an hour when he yelled at the waiter to bring him a steak. The waiter brushed him. He had other and more important things to do, such as waiting on people who were actually paying for their food and also tipping.
The bass play got hungrier and madder. At last he said to Joe in Italian, “If that fellow don’t bring me that steak quick, I’ll kill him!” Never at a loss for an uninhibited notion, Joe said, “The next time he comes near the bandstand, pick up your bass fiddle and hit him over the head with it. That’ll teach the ……….” The fiddle player with the steak yen nodded. When the waiter came by, he lifted his bass fiddle and, bong! It started a riot. The waiters came out swinging and tore into the musicians. The patrons departed for calmer surroundings. Tommy Guinan’s Playground opened and closed the same night. (4)
Bing Crosby Remembers Joe Venuti
ca. June 1929-March 1930
The Whiteman outfit was loaded with characters who have become legendary to jazz lovers. Joe Venuti was one of the most famous of these. Wherever musicians lay down their instruments to take five during a jam session, the conversation turns to Joe, and someone always comes up with a story about him. I have contributed such bits of Venutiana myself.
Joe’s a voluble, volatile, and violent Italian. He’s very loud, very noisy, and very given to telling fantastic stories about himself and his family. Nevertheless, he’s a great artist on the violin. I don’t think his equal exists when it comes to playing popular music on his chosen instrument.
Joe has a beautiful classic tone on the violin, which he never uses because it’s too intimate; too refined. Joe likes everything with beaucoup volume. He told me once he would have liked to have been a tympanist, but if he had, he would have had to use hatches for whatever a tympanist uses for drumsticks.
When Joe and I were in Hollywood with the Whiteman orchestra in 1929, working on the Old Gold radio program, Charlie King was our guest star on one program. Charlie was an attraction because he’s been featured in one of the first musical talkies. The Old Gold Show ran for a whole hour. We rehearsed for it afternoons at the old KHJ studio in downtown Los Angeles. In those days, radio was regarded as a frighteningly technical medium, and we approached it much more seriously than we did later in its development. We rehearsed and rehearsed to make sure everything would be perfect. The soloists had to learn their positions at the microphone; the section mikes had to be balanced; the opening had to come off with split-second precision. As part of this intensive preparation, we rehearsed with Charlie King. Charlie was a singer of the old school. He was a great guy, but in the opinion of such irreverent individuals as myself, he was far better as a comedian and dancer than as a singer. He was what we call a ricky-tick singer today, meaning that his style was a little on the razzmatazz side.
During rehearsal, when he began to give out with that “Just bring a sma-aile to Old Broadway” stuff, Venuti was fascinated, and he kept his eyes on Charlie throughout the rehearsal. Before the show, we had an hour break, and when we went out to find something to eat, Joe disappeared. He came back just before we went on the air.
As I’ve said, a radio program was more or less sacrosanct then, so we were nervous and Whiteman was in a swizet. He was getting money by the sackful from Old Gold and it would continue to jingle in, if things went smoothly. His music was the best in the land, and it had to sound that way. It wasn’t transcribed. He had only one crack at it, when we were on the air. So there was much tension before the show. Then voom! The red light was on, and the awful moment had arrived. The show started well, and presently, it was time for Charlie King’s solo. He stood up to face the mike. As he took his place, Joe opened his violin case and pulled out an old blunderbuss of the vintage of 1870, and drew a bead on Charlie. We began to laugh. We didn’t think that Joe would shoot King, but you could never be sure with Venuti. He was wholly unpredictable, and I remember thinking that King was in some slight jeopardy, even if the weapon was loaded only with rock salt.
Joe kept the gun on him, as if daring him to send one more corny note soaring from his larynx, and I thought Whiteman would have a stroke. He’d lost control of the band; we were laughing so hard that we were hors de combat, and Charlie King was singing a cappella. But toward the end, some of the more sedate instrumentalists rallied and mustered enough breath to give Charlie a finishing chord. (4)
Bing Crosby Remembers Joe Venuti & Eddie Lang
Fifteen Minutes with Bing Crosby
SEPTEMBER 2, 1931
I went to a lot of musicians I knew in New York who had been with Whiteman at one time or another and who were then recognized practically as the best on their instruments in the country: Eddie Lang (guitar); Joe Venuti (violin); Jimmy Dorsay (sic) (saxophone); Tommy Dorsay (sic) (trombone); Manny (sic) Klein (trumpet); and Chauncey Morehouse (drums). I asked them if, instead of working at their regular high salaries, they would, for two broadcasts, work at the regular rate. I told them that if I went over, I’d make it up to them, and if I flopped they would just have to charge it to profit and loss. Only Eddie and Joe were willing to take a chance with me. (10)
I had gone east to make a start on CBS sustaining radio, and after we did a few weeks, we started doing a little touring around. We had some band on that sustaining.! We had Artie Shaw, Joe Venuti, Eddie Lang, Tommy Dorsey, Frank Signorelli, and who was the drummer? Dick Burk. That was quite a band. A small band. And Jerry Colona on trombone. He was a good trombone player.
So, I really started with a good backup. Then I did a Primo (Cremo) Cigar program for a few months with Carl Fenton., which was the name of another leader, it was the house band. And Eddie Lang and Venuti were in that. But the rest were just NBC housemen. (5)
NOTE: September 2, Wednesday. (11:00–11:15 p.m.) After a second postponement, Bing completes his first solo radio show with Eddie Lang playing guitar and with the orchestra under Victor Young. Bing sings “Just One More Chance,” “I Found a Million Dollar Baby,” and “I’m Thru with Love.” The opening theme played by the orchestra is “Too Late” and the sheet music of this song quickly states that it is from “Fifteen Minutes of Bing Crosby.” The shows continue daily (except Sundays). Harry Von Zell is the announcer. Freddie Rich leads the orchestra from October 5. Russ Columbo broadcasts for NBC at 11:30 p.m. each night as competition for Bing. (7)
Bing Crosby Remembers Joe Venuti & Eddie Lang
The Cremo Singer
NOVEMBER 2, 1931-FEBRUARY 27, 1932
I did my first commercial for Cremo Cigars. For a while, I was on a CBS sustaining program, but sustaining or singing for Cremo, no one ever had a hotter orchestra accompanying him than I had. Freddie Rich was the conductor, and he was backed by such musicians as Joe Venuti, Artie Shaw, Eddie Lang, and Manny (Mannie) Klein, to name a few. (4)
Bing Crosby Remembers Eddie Lang
FEBRUARY 11, 1932
Leonard Feather: I remember the record you made with Duke (Ellington) of the “St. Louis Blues.”
Bing Crosby: Yeah, that was a strange thing. We … I think I was working in Philadelphia at the Carman Theatre, and he was coming through town, going someplace, and we did it in Camden (NJ), about three in the morning. It was the only time we could get together because he had a date there, and it was the only time … I think he was doing a lot of other things. And they said, “let's go out and you sing a couple of songs with Duke.” We were really exhausted but very lucky for that time of night.
Well, it was while I was on tour. I had Eddie Lang and Lennie Hayton conducting the orchestra and Eddie Lang on stage, and we were playing at a place called the Carman Theatre in Philadelphia. Do you have any idea of the year?
Leonard Feather: 1930
Bing Crosby: That’s when it was, huh? Late 1930, I believe. (5)
NOTE: The Bing Crosby/Duke Ellington recording occurred in NYC on February 11, 1932, resulting in two takes of St. Louis Blues. This late-night session took place after the singer’s final performance of his first engagement at the Paramount Theatre in New York City and immediately before the start of a six-week run at the Brooklyn Paramount. The ARC file card states that the session ran into the early hours of February 12 and did not finish until 1:20 a.m. Eddie Lang does not participate in this session. (6)
NOTE: Crosby, Lang & Hayton were at the Carman Theatre in Philadelphia, November 25-December 1, 1932.
Bing Crosby Remembers Eddie Lang
APRIL-OCTOBER 1932
When we were on tour, Eddie was my accompanist. He came on stage with me and sat beside me, cradling his guitar as if it were a loved bambino. We did most of our songs with just that guitar. Occasionally, we let the pit orchestra violins sneak in at the finish, or maybe we’d use them in the middle of the song for support. But basically, my accompaniment was Eddie’s guitar.
When we’d done the first show in every new town we checked into, Eddie remarked, “I’ll be busy between now and the second show.” Then he’d visit the local pool hall, case the players there, watch them play a little. Presently, he’d get in a game or two and manage to be beaten and look as if he had just fallen off a load of pumpkins and loose with his money. For the rest of the week between shows, Eddie’d haunt that pool hall. He let the locals win a little, but when the heavy loot was riding, he turned on his A game and knocked ‘em out. It’s my guess that he made more at pool than he did accompanying me. The natural ego of pool players (or any other kind of gambler) is good for a week’s exploitation if nursed along carefully. Eddie’s rivals always felt when he was knocking those balls in that he was having a run of good luck.
When Eddie played his best at billiards or pool, there weren’t many amateurs who could handle him. I’ve watched him in New York play with and hold his own with Ponzi, Mosconi (3), and other greats of the pro circuit. The same applied to his guitar game. He had a phenomenal memory. When he took up contract bridge, few he met were his masters or even his equals.
He never played golf, but once in a while, he’d go with me to a course, pick up a putter, and lick the pants off of me on the putting green.
He was what you’d call a real handy fellow. Ben Hogan (pro golfer) makes me think of him. Anything Ben tries to do, he does well. And although Ben had a lot more education that (than) Eddie had, Eddie was the same kind of fellow. Eddie never read the newspapers, but he always seemed to know what was going on in the way of current or sporting news.
If he’d studied guitar, I don’t know whether he’d have been a better or worse player. Maybe if he’d gotten involved with the technique of playing and following musical manuscripts, he might not have played with the dexterity, freedom, and good taste that come instinctively to the natural musician who plays by ear. (4)
December 2-8, 1932, Bing Crosby & Eddie Lang @ Capitol Theatre, NYC. Jack Hope Home Movie. (looped & speed corrected)
Bing Crosby Remembers Eddie Lang
1932-1933
Hollywood- I first met Eddie Lang when Al Rinker and I joined the Pops Whiteman family in San Francisco. His work on the guitar won me from the start. When I found that Eddie liked spaghetti, like me, we became real pals. Eddie liked to take in “the spots,” and, lucky for me, he had good sense and saved me from many a jam. And I don’t mean music session. Naturally, when I got into a musical solo spot, it was a great comfort to have such an artist with me. Eddie made me do my best when the break came, and I give him full credit. (8)
His (Eddie Lang) was one of the finest and most likeable personalities I have ever known. As a musician, he was, I believe, head and shoulders above anyone else in his profession, and yet, in spite of his widely known name and high reputation, Eddie retained a shy modesty that won him the friendship and admiration of everyone. (9)
“Please” rehearsal scene from the Big Broadcast. Eddie Lang, Bing Crosby, Stuart Erwin, ca. July-August 1932.
Bing Crosby Remembers Eddie Lang
JANUARY 1932-MARCH 1933
Looking back over the years since I first broke out of the Palouse country around Spokane, I can recall some outstanding things in show business, things which made lasting impressions on me.
High on my personal list of memorable moments are the great duets of Joe Venuti and Eddie Lang when they recorded together and when they played a specialty performance.
Before he died, Eddie Lang used to have great times with violinist Joe Venuti. They started out together in South Philadelphia and were partners in many duet recordings. The two made a number of recordings that are still collector's items. Eddie’s passing hit me hard.
He had a chronically inflamed sore throat and felt bad for a year or eighteen months before his death. He mistrusted doctors and medicine. Like many people who came from backgrounds similar to his and had no experience with doctors or hospitals, he had an aversion to them. But his throat was so bad, and it affected his health to such a point that I finally talked him into seeing a doctor. Many times afterward, I wished I hadn’t.
The doctors advised a tonsillectomy. And Eddie never came out from under the general anesthetic they gave him. I don’t think they use a general anesthetic now for adults. As I understand it, for an operation of that kind, the patient is anesthetized locally, so his respiration isn’t affected. Anyhow, Eddie developed an embolism and died without regaining consciousness.
It was a great blow. I not only lost a valuable associate in the entertainment business, I lost a valued personal friend, a friend I had fun with and who was loyal to me throughout all the years we were associated. I’ve often thought if I hadn’t recommended that treatment, he’d still be around. On the other hand, if he hadn’t had it, the infection might have gone into his bloodstream, and the same thing would have happened that did happen. (4)
Bing Crosby & Eddie Lang, April-May 1932, Maurice Seymour, Chicago, Illinois.
Bing Crosby Remembers Joe Venuti
JUNE 6-NOVEMBER 29, 1936
When Joe left Whiteman, he assembled his own band. For the most part, they played cafes. But as fate would have it, Joe and his outfit were booked to play dance music at the Texas centennial, which Billy Rose helped stage some years ago. One band wasn’t enough for Texas, or for Billy either, for that matter, so they booked Whiteman and his band, too, as the major attraction in the big auditorium and to accompany the galaxy of star attractions booked for the function. Much of his show was done with the spotlight playing on the performers and Whiteman conducting the orchestra in the dark. But being every pound a showman, he had a baton about three and a half feet long constructed with an electric lightbulb in its end so the musicians could watch it.
Joe’s band served in a relief capacity on the opposite side of the dance floor. After Whiteman had played the show, his band took a fifteen-minute break, and Joe’s band played a little dance music until the Whiteman band was ready to return. When the Venuti band had taken their seats, Joe came stalking out, lugging a broom with a railroad lantern on the end of it and began to conduct with the broom and lantern as his baton. A few more wisps of Whiteman’s hair fell out then and there.
Joe was considerably better with the bow than with the cue. He thought he could shoot pool like a champion, but my old pal of the Whiteman days, Eddie Lang, used to take most of his salary away from him at the game. Like a lot of the other fellows Eddie hooked, Joe was never able to get rid of the illusion that he could beat him. He never did. More than once their games ended with Joe ripping up the green baize cloth with his pool cue, breaking the cue in half, throwing the balls through the window, and leaving in a huff, considerably poorer for his experience. (4)
ca. June 6-November 1936, Joe Venuti & Paul Whiteman @ The Texas Centennial Exposition, Fair Park, Dallas, Texas.
Bing Crosby Remembers Joe Venuti
1940s
Joe could never resist a spot of violence. He loved it more than music. On another occasion, he was playing at a roadhouse nightclub near Cincinnati. It was a country club type operation with a band and a floor show, but because of its spaciousness it was difficult to heat, and Joe complained that it wasn’t warm enough. “I can state without fear of contradiction,” he announced, “that I am no penguin.” The manager kicked the heat up a degree or two, but it was still too frigid for Joe. He kept right on complaining, but the manager did nothing about it. One night, Joe brought a lot of apple boxes and packing cases with him when he came to work, broke them up in the middle of the dance floor, and started a bonfire on its waxed surface. The owner summoned the fire department, who turned hoses on everybody. When it was over, Joe was looking for a new job.
There’s only one rule with Joe. If he says he’s going to do a thing, you better believe him because it’s a certainty, no matter how goofy it sounds. (4)
Joe Venuti, Bing Crosby, Dan Dailey, Seattle, Washington, ca. late 1940s.
Joe Venuti, Bing Crosby, Dan Dailey, Perry Botkin (far right with guitar), Dutch Groshoff Orchestra, Washington (state), ca. mid-late 1940s.
Bing Crosby Remembers Joe Venuti
late 1940s-mid 1950s
One of the reasons I use Joe so much on my radio show, in addition to his artistry with his chosen instrument, is because it’s the only way I can stay even with him. One way to put it is to say that Joe is an improvident strolling player, and every so often I get a wire from some flag-stop or spa importuning me for money to get him out of town.
As I recall it, the last such occasion was a wire from Las Vegas, and the bite was for five hundred. It took me a couple of days to find our radio writer-producer, Bill Morrow, who was on a bit of a ramble entertaining Henry McLemore, Bob Ruark, Bill Corum, or some other kindred spirits from the Eastern writing fraternity, and query him on the possibility of using Joe on a show. The delay brought another wire from Joe, this time asking for seven hundred and fifty dollars. We finally went for that amount, so Morrow’s unavailability cost me two hundred and fifty dollars. To keep this from being a total loss, we gave Joe two shots on the show, thus establishing a Venuti base rate of one show for five hundred dollars or two for seven hundred and fifty dollars. (4)
CITATIONS
1. To dispel the impression that Lang was a talented but illiterate musician, it should be noted that he studied violin for eleven years under two competent instructors in Philadelphia. One of them, Professor Ciancarullo, had formerly played with the Naples Symphony Orchestra in Italy. He read music for concerts with the school orchestra and later doubled on violin with Charlie Kerr’s orchestra—Richard DuPage, Stringing The Blues, Columbia Records, 1962.
2. South Philadelphia High School, Dr. Tony Evangelisto, Arcadia Publishing, 2018.
3. Andrew Ponzi (Andrew D'Allesandro), b. January 20, 1903, Philadelphia – d. April 11, 1950, Philadelphia, as an American pool player and world champion. Willie (William Joseph Mosconi), b. June 27, 1913, Philadelphia – d. September 17, 1993, New Jersey. American pool player and world champion. Wikipedia.
4. CALL ME LUCKY, by Bing Crosby as told to Pete Martin, Simon and Schuster, 1953. The only changes to the book excerpts are punctuation and a few misspellings. Additionally, notes are included to update the text (as NOTE).
5. BLUE OF THE NIGHT MEETS GOLD OF THE DAY, Leonard Feather, Los Angeles Times, October 17, 1977. This interview took place in a dressing room when Bing was taping a television program in the NBC studios here last March (1976).
6. The Chronological Bing Crosby Volume Ten, JONZO RECORDS JZCD-10.
7. SOURCE: BING CROSBY—Day By Day, Malcolm Macfarlane, THE INTERNATIONAL CLUB CROSBY, bingmagazine.co.uk.
8. MUTUAL LIKING FOR SPAGHETTI MADE EDDIE & BING PALS, Downbeat, May 1939.
9. The Story of Bing Crosby, Ted Crosby, The World Publishing Company, 1946.
10. Screenland, June 1934.