Bix Beiderbecke: Legend, Reality, and Legacy

Bix the Cult Figure

A legend among many musicians and fans even during his relatively brief life, Bix Beiderbecke was jazz’s first cult figure. After his passing in 1931 at the age of 28, Beiderbecke’s fame grew steadily through the decades. Those “in the know” savored every note that he recorded and there were endless debates over whether a particular cornetist or trumpeter on obscure recordings from the 1920s was actually Bix or not. Every known aspect of his life has been analyzed and arguments about Bix have strengthened and destroyed many friendships. There was even a collector’s album in the late 1970s called It Sounds Like Bix. It featured a variety of trumpeters and cornetists, most of whom did not sound that much like Beiderbecke although I was fooled by “So Long Blues” by the Biltmore Hotel Orchestra which sure sounded like Bix with the Wolverines.

What is it about Bix Beiderbecke’s life and career that has made him into a cult figure?

During an era when many other trumpeters and cornetists either used staccato phrasing (which went out of vogue by 1925), tonal distortions, or thought that playing hot meant shooting out a lot of notes, Bix displayed a beautiful tone, relaxed phrasing and his own logic in creating his solos. Eddie Condon once described his sound as being “like a girl saying yes.” No cornetist prior to the arrival of Bix on records in 1924 sounded like him. In addition, Beiderbecke’s ideas were often so advanced that they still sound fresh today, unlike the solos of many of his contemporaries. And his four piano compositions including “In A Mist” are still a bit futuristic nearly a century later.

Beiderbecke had a tragically brief life. It is easy to depict him as a true original who seemed to come out of nowhere before, like a shooting star, burning out before he was truly appreciated. Unlike the unrecorded Buddy Bolden (who can be thought of jazz’s first martyr), Tony Jackson, and Emmett Hardy (said to be an influence on him), Bix left behind dozens of rewarding recordings for followers to admire. Bix’s up and down life story is the stuff of legend, particularly if one believes the semi-fictional stereotypes.

The tale of Bix Beiderbecke as the freewheeling jazz musician who was forced to be buried in the huge commercial band of Paul Whiteman and who drank himself to death due to his frustration at not being able toplay the music he loved has always had its appeal even though it was not true. Being at his prime during 1927-28 when the roaring twenties was at its peak and then declining quickly during the Depression (even though the economic collapse had nothing to do with his demise) always makes for a great story.

Another reason that Bix became a major cult figure is that he was the first white jazz player to be roundly celebrated by African-American musicians, serving as proof that jazz has no racial restrictions when it comes to creativity. While there were earlier white jazz artists who deserve recognition, and such contemporaries as C-melody saxophonist Frankie Trumbauer (one of Lester Young’s inspirations) and bass-saxophonist Adrian Rollini (who influenced baritonist Harry Carney) were well respected (not to mention violinist Joe Venuti and guitarist Eddie Lang among others), Beiderbecke had a much greater impact. In fact, without much exaggeration, the idea of cool as opposed to hot jazz largely started with Bix. A line can be traced from Beiderbecke to the coolness of Bobby Hackett, Lester Young, the John Kirby Sextet, the Claude Thornhill Orchestra, Miles Davis, and Chet Baker.

And beyond all of this, there is his unique name, Bix. It was a family name that his father, grandfather and older brother were also called although it really stuck to the cornetist. But most of all there was the romantic quality of his life and times, even if it was not quite as simple as the stereotype.

Just the Facts

He was born on March 10, 1903, in Davenport, Iowa. At four, Bix was able to pick out songs on his family’s piano after hearing them once. A few years later, a local newspaper discussed his gift in a story titled “Seven Year Old Boy Musical Wonder.” While he had some piano lessons, Bix infuriated one of his piano teachers by improvising “improvements” to classical works that he played by ear rather than learning how to read music. At 15 when one of his older brothers brought home a new record, “Tiger Rag” by the Original Dixieland Jazz Band, he soon purchased a cornet and taught himself how to play.

While his parents would have been happy if Bix had become a classical pianist, they were dismayed at his desire to play jazz cornet. When he was 18 in 1921, they sent him to Lake Forest Military Academy in hopes of reforming him. But unknown to them, its location (35 miles north of Chicago) placed Bix near the center of jazz. Soon he was regularly spending evenings in local nightclubs, getting the chance to occasionally sit in with groups including the New Orleans Rhythm Kings. The late hours took their toll and he was expelled from the academy near the end of his first year. Released from that obligation, Beiderbecke was now free to pursue music full time.

After a period of time freelancing, in October 1923 he joined a new band, the Wolverines. They quickly developed into one of the finest jazz groups not only in the Midwest but in the United States as can be heard on the 13 songs that they recorded between February and October 1924. As the months progressed, Beiderbecke gradually became a dominant force in the group, developing into a masterful and highly original improviser. Whether it is “Jazz Me Blues,” the initial version of Hoagy Carmichael’s “Riverboat Shuffle,” “Royal Garden Blues,” or “Big Boy” (one of three recordings in his life that have Bix playing piano in addition to cornet), the 21-year old already had no real competitors in jazz among cornetists and trumpeters beyond Louis Armstrong who of course was on his own level.

In retrospect, Bix Beiderbecke made several major mistakes in his life. In October 1924 after the Wolverines made a strong impression during a visit to New York, Bix decided to accept a lucrative offer to join Jean Goldkette’s large dance orchestra. Somehow, he did not think that his inability to read music would be a hindrance but in less than two months he was let go. Goldkette promised to rehire him once his technical skills improved. If Beiderbecke had stayed with the Wolverines instead (Jimmy McPartland was hired in his place), his career might have been much different.

Considering how short his life was, the nearly two-year gap between significant recordings was a major tragedy. There was just one record date in 1925, a drunken affair by Bix’s Rhythm Jugglers (a sextet with trombonist Tommy Dorsey and clarinetist Don Murray) that resulted in two numbers including Beiderbecke’s “Davenport Blues.” Otherwise the cornetist, who was on his way to becoming an alcoholic, played some low-level jobs in the Midwest and worked in an orchestra led by Frankie Trumbauer in St. Louis. With Trumbauer’s invaluable help, Bix greatly improved his sight-reading.

In March 1926, Jean Goldkette kept his promise and rehired Bix. The Goldkette Orchestra was becoming one of jazz’s top big bands but, due to major difficulties with Victor’s record producer Eddie King who did not like jazz and particularly detested Bix’s playing, the Goldkette recordings of 1926-27 mostly just hint at the band’s potential. Saddled with so-so singers and stock arrangements, the orchestra often only got to cut loose a little during their final chorus and it was not until their very last recording in 1927, “Clementine,” that one can hear what the band really sounded like.

1927 was Bix Beiderbecke’s peak year, a period that was full of accomplishments. He began recording regularly with groups headed by Frankie Trumbauer and these contain some of his greatest moments on record. His absolutely perfect solo chorus on “Singin’ The Blues” (along with that of Trumbauer) has been recreated by others a countless number of times. “I’m Coming Virginia” has Bix’s longest recorded solo and features him as one of the first significant jazz interpreters of a ballad on record. Beiderbecke and Trumbauer proved to be a perfect team on these dates which also include classic renditions of “Way Down Yonder In New Orleans,” “Ostrich Walk,” and a newer version of “Riverboat Shuffle.”

In October, Beiderbecke began heading a series of freewheeling Dixieland dates under the title of Bix and his Gang. His recordings of such tunes as “At The Jazz Band Ball,” “Jazz Me Blues,” and “Royal Garden Blues” were less tightly arranged than the music on the Trumbauer sessions and pointed towards Dixieland of the 1930s and ’40s. In addition, in 1927 Beiderbecke recorded his piano solo “In A Mist.” Unfortunately he would never get around to recording his other three piano pieces (“Candlelights,” “Flashes,” and “In The Dark”) although other pianists would eventually get to those unique works in the 1930s.

When the Jean Goldkette Orchestra broke up in the fall, at first Beiderbecke and Trumbauer joined a hot jazz group led by Adrian Rollini. But that unrecorded orchestra was unable to gain much of an audience and, when it collapsed, Bix and Tram became part of the Paul Whiteman Orchestra. Unlike the legend, Beiderbecke was quite happy to join Whiteman who had the most prestigious and popular orchestra of 1920s America. To the cornetist, it was proof that he had arrived as a musician.

At first, 1928 continued at the high level of the previous year. While often confined to ensembles with Whiteman, Bix had occasional features on such recordings as “There Ain’t No Sweet Man That’s Worth The Salt Of My Tears,” “San,”“Dardanella,” and “You Took Advantage Of Me” (which has a famous tradeoff between Bix and Tram). He continued recording with Trumbauer’s groups and on his own sessions (including “Somebody Stole My Gal,” “Louisiana,” and “Margie”). But soon the hectic pace of constantly performing at concerts, on the radio and recordings with Whiteman along with traveling wore him down and his drinking increased.

On Nov. 30, 1928, Bix Beiderbecke had a complete breakdown which trumpeter Randy Sandke has theorized was probably due to poisoned alcohol, possibly supplied by government prohibition agents to unsuspecting drinkers in Cleveland. The cornetist, who was 25, never really recovered from this and his health would be shaky from then on.

Paul Whiteman hired Andy Secrest as a soundalike to fill in for Bix’s parts and kept him on when Beiderbecke returned in 1929. Bix tried to make a comeback although his playing had noticeably declined despite a few good moments. He stopped appearing on Trumbauer’s sessions after a final date in which one of the songs was ironically titled “No One Can Take Your Place.” After recording a brief solo on “Waiting At The End Of The Road” (another ironic title) with Whiteman on Sept. 13, 1929, he collapsed. The bandleader sent Bix home to Davenport in hopes that he would be able to return someday, keeping him on his payroll.

After spending time in the hospital and taking it easy in Davenport, Bix returned to New York. Despite his best efforts, he was not able to stop drinking. He appeared on four record dates in 1930 with all-star groups led by Hoagy Carmichael and Irving Mills, playing beautifully on the melancholy “I’ll Be A Friend With Pleasure,” but he was no longer at his prime and was clearly ailing. On Aug. 6, 1931 he passed away at the age of 28.

Bix’s Legacy

While one can think of Bix Beiderbecke’s short life as a tragedy, since so much time has passed (if Bix were around today he would be 122), it is best to focus on his triumphant music. Fortunately all of his recordings are readily available.

The most comprehensive collection is a series of four three-CD sets put out by Sunbeam that are called Bix Restored: The Complete Recordings and Alternatives Vols. 1-4 plus the single CD Bix Restored Vol. 5. The latter has three discovered alternate takes plus recordings by a variety of cornetists and trumpeters who were inspired by Beiderbecke. Because this series contains not only every Bix solo but every recording that he was on with Paul Whiteman (including many on which he cannot be heard) these sets are primarily recommended to his greatest fans.

For listeners who just want to acquire Beiderbecke’s best solos, Archeophone’s single CD The Complete Wolverines 1924-1928 (which also includes some titles recorded after Bix left the group), Vol. 1: Singin’ the Blues (the best of his recordings with Frankie Trumbauer), and Vol. 2: At the Jazz Band Ball (the Bix and his Gang sessions) are well worth acquiring. The latter two CDs were put out by Columbia/Legacy.

Other than some private silent home movies, Bix Beiderbecke only appeared on film once. A newsreel from 1928 celebrated Paul Whiteman switching from the Victor to the Columbia label. His orchestra is seen playing “My Ohio Home” with Bix leading the trumpet section although the cornetist is not really audible. However a very good documentary was made in 1994 and released by Playboy Home Video on DVD. Through interviews with survivors of the era (all of whom are now gone) and very impressive research, Ain’t None Of Them Play Like Him Yet definitively tells the Bix Beiderbecke story.

There have been several books on Bix Beiderbecke, most of which have their flaws. Two are recommended. Bix: Man and Legend by Richard Sudhalter, Philip Evans, and William Dean Myatt (Schirmer Books, 1974) is not perfect. It includes a bit too much invented dialogue by Sudhalter and a few of the tales are questionable. However it reads very much like a colorful novel and serves as an ideal way to discover the magic of Beiderbecke’s music and life. More than two decades later, Philip and Linda Evans published The Leon Bix Beiderbecke Story (Prelike Press, 1998) which, although a bit dry, sticks to the facts, corrects what was wrong in the earlier book, and adds a great deal to what is known about the cornetist.

Even if he had not become a cult figure, Bix Beiderbecke was never in danger of being forgotten. Hoagy Carmichael said that his composition “Star Dust” was inspired by Bix and, along with. Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong, was never tired of praising Bix. Many cornetists and trumpeter have tried to emulate Bix’s tone with Tom Pletcher probably coming the closest along with a remarkable Southern California cornetist Dick Randolph who barely recorded.

Perhaps the finest tribute was supplied by Benny Goodman. He was asked in the 1980’s by Randy Sandke if he would have hired the cornetist for his famous band of the mid-1930s if Beiderbecke had lived. Goodman replied by asking “Would Bix have hired me?”

Scott Yanow (scottyanowjazz@yahoo.com), who has authored 12 books, 996 liner notes for recordings, and reviewed over 21,000 albums, has now written 98 articles in Syncopated Times’ Jazz Profiles series. He once put together a cassette containing every Bix Beiderbecke solo and Bix-led ensemble in chronological order, sending copies to Hugh Hefner (who financed the Bix documentary) and Dave Frishberg, who composed and recorded a touching original called “Dear Bix.”