Anita O’Day. There will never be another like her in the history of jazz. Along with Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald and perhaps one or two others, she influenced scores of jazz singers and virtually created a language — and set the standard– for true, modern jazz singing.

And yes, she lived what used to be called the “jazz life,” with a decades-long substance abuse problem, destructive relationships, and what can gently be termed as career highs and career lows.

But through her astounding professional life, that lasted from the early 1930s to her death in 2006, she always, always performed at the highest level. As detailed in her 1981 autobiography, “High Times, Hard Times,” life was rarely easy, and she almost lost that life more than once due to addiction.

Professionally, she was a perfectionist who only demanded of her accompanists what she demanded of herself.

Above all, Anita O’Day was a survivor. In the true sense of the word.

Jazz aficionados are fortunate that O’Day was amply represented on recordings, both authorized and unauthorized, from 1941 until her death, and that a good amount of performance film exists. Those films include her film shorts with Gene Krupa from the early 1940s, her memorable appearance in the legendary “Jazz on a Summer’s Day” documentary about the Newport Jazz Festival from 1958 and a guest stint on the Timex All-Star Jazz television show from the same year with Krupa and Lionel Hampton, a wonderful concert from Japan in 1963, a hard-hitting turn on “60 Minutes” profile from 1980, and various other odds and ends.

As incisive as her autobiography was and is (none other than Madonna was reported to have owned the rights to it for some time) along with the great recordings and videos, Anita O’Day’s real story–and the impact she had and has in the world of jazz–has never really been told. Until now.

“Anita O’Day: The Life of a Jazz Singer” is an award-winning film, completed in 2007 and now available on DVD for the first time, that truly tells the tale of a certifiable legend. Co-directed by Robbie Cavolina and Ian McCrudden, this marvelous production includes film of Anita’s interviews with Dick Cavett, David Frost, Bryant Gumble (that one is worth the price of admission), and comments from her fellow artists and collaborators through the years, including Buddy Bregman, Russ Garcia, Bill Holman, Johnny Mandel, Annie Ross, George Wein and Joe Wilder.

Taken as a cinematic whole, “Anita O’Day: The Life of a Jazz Singer” is, quite simply, Academy Award-winning material.

Most JazzLegends.com visitors know O’Day’;s history, but for those who may want a refresher, her first break as a singer was in 1938, when she began appearing at Chicago’s Off-Beat club, where she caught the attention of Krupa. She continued working around Chicago until she joined the GK crew in 1941. Her duet with Krupa trumpeter Roy Eldridge, “Let Me Off Uptown,” became a hit, and she was named “New Star of the Year” by DownBeat magazine. When Krupa disbanded in 1943, she briefly joined Woody Herman’s band, then the orchestra of Stan Kenton, where she again hit on wax with “And Her Tears Flowed Like Wine.” She rejoined Krupa in 1945 and stayed a year. Many fans of that “ace drummer man” consider the his 1945 band to be his best. After that, she worked as a single.

Her contribution to the Krupa band was a substantial one (and they had a number of live and recorded reunions until Gene’s death in 1973). Before her arrival in the Krupa fold in 1941, and the arrival of co-hort Roy Eldridge, the band was a not-particularly-distinguished swing crew that was highlighted by a few decent soloists and more than a few drum features by the leader. When Anita and Roy came on the scene, the band caught fire–and Gene said this many times throughout his career– and remained one of the top bands in the business until Gene gave it up in 1951.

From 1952 to 1962, in addition to touring nationwide, she recorded a series of 17 albums for Norman Granz’ Verve label and its various imprints. On an artistic basis and without exception, they still stand up today as among the most remarkable recordings in jazz history. Individually and collectively, they reveal a timeless “hipness,” sense of swing and overall sensitivity that will never, ever go out of style.

In the latter 1960s, O’Day recorded a well-received series of albums for a record company she owned and operated, Emily Records. Indeed, aside from the efforts of Max Roach, Charles Mingus and Dizzy Gillespie in the early 1950s, Emily was among the few, “jazz artist owned and operated” record companies in the history of jazz.

Her final album, “Indestructible,” was recorded in 2004 and 2005, and released in 2006. It was her first recorded effort in 13 years. She died in November of 2006, seven months after its release.

Singular credit must be given to Robbie Cavolina, who was O’Day’s manager for some years, and truly the mastermind behind “Anita O’Day: The Life of a Jazz Singer.” He almost single-handedly ensured that O’Day got the credit she deserved as an icon and an innovator during her lifetime, and that, almost until the end, she kept working. That Anita O’Day was around for 87 years–and still singing–had much to do with his dedication.

Jazz has been blessed with a pretty comprehensive filmed history, especially in the last 15 years or so, with performance films, features and documentaries. I’ve made a few of them myself.

This one is the best. — Bruce Klauber

“Anita O’Day: The Life of a Jazz Singer” is available in two editions: The standard edition is a two-DVD set that includes a 32-page, full color booklet with essays by noted jazz historians James Gavin and Will Friedwald, plus 16 pages of Anita O’Day’s scrapbooks. The deluxe edition includes the above, along with a 144-page, hard bound coffee table book of O’Day’s 1939 to 1969 scrapbooks.This edition contains much rare Krupa material as well Both are available via most online ordering outlets. For more information, visit www.AnitaODay.com, the official web site of Anita O’Day.

THE PHILADELPHIA PROBLEM (S)

I am becoming increasingly embarrassed these days to mention that my home town is Philadelphia.

In terms of a jazz scene, we have several, wonderful colleges with top-notch jazz programs, including Temple University, University of the Arts and Rowan University. Drexel University’s music program is growing as well. But in terms of places to work? Forget it.

There are two clubs that book jazz regularly in Philadelphia, Ortleib’s and Chris Jazz Cafe’, but for the fifth–or sixth–largest city in the country, and one with such a jazz history, to have only two jazz venues is disgraceful. And though some may argue the point about this, I’ve long felt there is a racial polarization here, with groups being all white or all black. That’s not what jazz is about, and that’s not why I wanted to get into it.

The racial issue recently reared its sorry head here via an incident now receiving national attention and deserved Federal investigation. A suburban Philadelphia country club cut a deal with an organization called Creative Steps, Inc., a day camp for underprivileged children. For a fee of $1,950, about 65 children, mostly Hispanic and Afro-American, would be allowed to swim in the club’s pool, every Monday for a few hours through August 10th. Allegedly, when some of the club members got a gander at the youngster’s ethnicity, they began making insulting remarks. Ultimately, the club nixed the deal, the Creative Steps’ money was refunded, and the kids were no longer welcome to use the facilities. When asked for an explanation, club president John Duesler said, if you can believe this, “There was concern that a lot of the kids would change the complexion and the atmosphere of the club.” said something about the kids “changing the complexion” of the club. Hoo boy. Several area columnists have commented that, based on those remarks, Duesler is either racist or incredibly stupid.” I think he’s both.

Incidents like these, to be sure, are not indigenous to Philadelphia, and I’ve often wondered why the Feds have never bothered looking into the fact that two of Palm Beach, Florida’s most illustrious private clubs refuse to allow Jews as members and very, very rarely as guests. Why hasn’t that made the front pages? For the sordid details on that horrible policy, pick up a copy of Ronald Kessler’s book, “The Season: Inside Palm Beach and America’s Richest Society.” It is absolutely impossible to believe that garbage like this still goes on. See you at the club.

JAZZ TIMES RETURNS

On the good news side, word has come that Jazz Times magazine has found a buyer, and will continue publication with an August issue. This is a rarity in the business of publications. Usually, once a “brand” is gone, it’s gone. Jazz Times boasts a great group of writers, reviewers and editors whose voices need to be heard. And though there is more than plenty of jazz information available via hundreds of web sites, there is nothing like holding–and reading–an actual magazine. There is, to me, a permanence to something like that. It’s the same feeling I used to get from holding an LP.

A SEMI-SWING READ: THE VIC DAMONE STORY

Around 1965, none other than Frank Sinatra said that Vic Damone “has the best pipes in the business.”

Ol’ Blue Eyes may have been right.

“My gift was singing,” Damone says in his generally delightful autobiography, written with David Chanoff, entitled Singing Was the Easy Part.’ “I had been given a voice and the ability to use it. I can only think that God gave that to me. I always felt somehow that it was my obligation to use that gift I had been given.”

And use it he did, for an astounding seven decades, beginning at the age of 19 when he recorded “I Have But One Heart” in 1947 for Mercury Records. It was the first of many hits, the biggest being “On The Street Where You Live.”

Born Vito Farinola in Brooklyn in 1928, Damone was singing professionally at age 12 on a radio program called “Rainbow House,” broadcast via WOR radio in New York city. Things moved quickly for the youngster with the big voice after that. He sang with Ted Mack (co-creator of the original “Amateur Hour”), then caught the ears of Perry Como, Milton Berle and Arthur Godfrey. While singing on Godfrey’s “Talent Scouts” program, one of the original, reality television shows, Berle promised to take Damone under his wing…if Damone won the competition.

Damone did indeed win, and Berle took him to the famed, William Morris Agency and said, “Sign this kid.”

Shortly after, Damone had his own “Saturday Night Serenade” radio show, was appearing in theaters, the better clubs and standing in for Frank Sinatra on “Your Hit Parade.” Movie star handsome, he was signed by MGM in 1950, by noted film executive Joe Pasternak, who saw Damone with comic Danny Thomas at the Riviera in New York city.

Through the years, there were four marriages to certifiable beauties–including film star Pier Angeli and singer Diahann Carroll–plenty of unavoidable contacts with the mob (who owned most of the nightclubs through the 1960s), close friendships with Sinatra and the Rat Pack, the Kennedys, golf stars like Ben Hogan and Sam Snead, and his conversion to the Baha’i faith.

Quite a career, and one that seemed to have “superstardom” written all over it.

Vic Damone did well and worked the “better rooms” and Vegas regularly, but true superstardom never happened.

One of the key reasons why has do to with the second half of Frank Sinatra’s legendary, “best pipes in the business” quote, that is often omitted these days. What Sinatra actually said, was, “Vic has the best pipes in the business…but he doesn’t always know what to do with them.”

Movies, television programs, influential friends and hit l records notwithstanding, Damone never made it to the top rung. In Vegas, Sinatra sang in the main room while Damone worked the lounge. Yes, he may have had great pipes, but what he lacked was showmanship and charisma.

He acknowledges this in his book and has no apologies for it.

“I just did not feel comfortable with what show business expected of me,” he explains. “I was not given a special talent as a show person. That wasn’t my particular gift.”

Damone actually turned down appearances on “The Tonight Show” starring Johnny Carson.

“If I had a movie coming out, or a TV show I was starting, or a hit record, I’d want to go on Johnny Carson to talk about it,” he says. “But if I had nothing like that, what would I do? I’d sing my song and go and sit there. Johnny would say, ‘Hey, Vic. Great song. What’s new?’ What would I say? ‘Nothing, Johnny. Nothing’s new.’ The point was, I was just not motivated to get my face in front of people all the time, no matter what. That attitude was detrimental to my career, I’m sure.”

This is an attitude pretty rare in celebrities of any magnitude, though his ego did seem to get the best of him during his marriage to Diahann Carroll (appearing frequently in tandem with her, she received first billing, and Damone writes that he “began to feel less and less valued”).

Ultimately, he appears to be peacefully comfortable with himself. He married Philadelphian Rena Rowan, co-founder, with Sidney Kimmel, of the Jones New York women’s clothing company, in 1998. The matchmaker was none other than Cissy Hurst, wife of the famed, Philadelphia radio personality Ed Hurst.

“We both wanted,” Damone says, “what I think most everybody wants: love with someone who loves you.”

Despite his immense talent and extraordinary career, above all, Vic Damone comes off as surprisingly normal, a rarity in show business.

The only disappointments in the book are a number of errors that could and should have caught by editors and/or fact checkers:

Bandleader Benny Goodman did break the color line by hiring black pianist Teddy Wilson, not vibist Lionel Hampton. Hampton was hired after Wilson.

The Frank Sinatra film is called “Step Lively,” not “Step Widely” as identified in the book.

The song title identified as “Embrace Me (My Sweet Embraceable You)” is actually “Embraceable You.”

The actual title of what Damone names as “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” is, simply, “White Christmas.”

There are others, which is surprising, given that the correct information is commonly available.

No, you won’t find out what Sinatra was really like, but you will learn how Damone almost got thrown out of a window by a member of the mob and other neat anecdotes. Singing Was the Easy Part is an often fascinating read that stands as a fine addition to showbiz lore.

SInging was the Easy Part
Vic Damone with David Chanoff
Foreword by Larry King
St. Martin’s Press, New York
271 pages, $25.95

A bit over a year ago, I received a call from an executive of the Gibson guitar company, owners of the Slingerland name since 1994. The executive thanked me for helping keep the Slingerland name alive through the years with books, DVDs and CDs, and to my astonishment, said that Gibson wanted to sell the name and asked if I would help broker the deal.

While I was certainly surprised to have received the call, I was more astonished by the fact that Gibson—finally—was going to do something with the Slingerland name. Gibson, of course, has done virtually nothing with the Slingerland brand for years, and also has continually refused to respond to parties who were very much interested in resurrecting it.

Slingerland’s slow demise was a particularly sad one, especially when you bear in mind that the greatest drummers in history endorsed that brand.

I had several ideas as to how to proceed. I strongly believed that only an American drum company could do the name justice, and that whatever outfit bought the name should have at least a modicum of jazz orientation, and an interest in the Slingerland legacy.

What I did not want to see repeated was what happened when Yamaha bought the venerable name of Rogers. For some unknown reason, Yamaha slapped the Rogers name on a student line of drum sets that have nothing whatsoever to do with what Rogers was

Though Gibson expressed interest in continuing to manufacture Slingerland drums—and claimed to be able to gear up in a short time—I was of the opinion that only the name would be of interest to a potential buyer. Since being taken over by Gibson in 1994, Slingerland’s quality and distribution were variable, at best, and manufacturing techniques had changed since the last time Gibson manufactured them.

I went to work immediately, and took the proposal to two, percussion industry titans. The first was a company best known for making drum heads, and I was told they wanted to stay that way. The other company was and is one that I consider to be the finest in the industry, domestic or stateside.

It did take some convincing in terms of what a drum with the Slingerland name on it could mean in the contemporary marketplace, as, let’s face it, it’s the young rockers most companies are interested in these days.

They proceeded with caution, but at least they proceeded.

And what has happened in over a years’ time?

Nothing. Those familiar with Gibson management are not surprised.

It’s likely too late to bring back Slingerland in any form, as with each passing day, the brand name becomes less and less of a memory.

Gibson owns a host of names—including Baldwin, Hamilton, Epiphone, Wurlitzer, Tobias, Nordiska, Chickering and Kramer—some are dormant and some are not.

But for the life of me—and to drum fans of a certain age all over the world—I cannot figure out why Gibson would let the legacy, tradition and the legend of Slingerland die. Again.