John Hyman, aka Johnny Wiggs, Part One

Jeff Barnhart: Hal my friend, you’ve chosen a musician I know little about, but whose work I’ve heard—and very much enjoyed in the past. Since he’s not a household name like some previous greats we’ve discussed, I hope you won’t mind if I start with a few questions? We’re taking a close look at cornetist Johnny Wiggs’ life and recorded work. I know he was born and died in New Orleans (1899-1977) but I’m intrigued that his first recordings were as leader of a group called John Hyman’s Bayou Stompers. It appears he is Mr. Hyman, so why the name change (one way or the other)? Was the family name Wiggs or Hyman?

Hal Smith: Jeff, Johnny Wiggs was born John Wiggington Hyman. He took the “Johnny Wiggs” moniker later, when he wanted to separate his identity as a schoolteacher from that of a musician.

Johnny Wiggs recalled the “bottle men” of New Orleans—with their toy horns—as an early influence. Apparently, there were some great lowdown blues players blowing into those tin horns! (Jelly Roll Morton also praised these blueblowers. They must have sounded amazing)! Wiggs also heard Joe “King” Oliver at dances in New Orleans in the teens and Oliver’s playing became a major inspiration.

However, at the time of Johnny Wiggs’ first recordings, he had clearly been influenced by the music of Bix Beiderbecke and Red Nichols. It is apparent that the other musicians in the “Bayou Stompers” on Mar. 10, 1927 were also listening to the recordings by Miff Mole, Eddie Lang, Vic Berton, and several influential pianists of the “New York” school…

“Ain’t Love Grand?” has a Paul Whiteman-like “Symphonic Jazz” introduction, utilizing whole tones. Wiggs uses Bix/Nichols phrasing. Pianist Horace Diaz is channeling Arthur Schutt and Monk Hazel’s brushes recall Vic Berton, Stan King, and Chauncey Morehouse. Alvin Gautreaux plays a solo on an instrument you wouldn’t expect to hear in this kind of ensemble: harmonica! Hilton “Nappy” Lamare plays a way-out guitar break that sounds nothing like his later work with the Bob Cats. Wiggs continues to play a mix of Beiderbecke and Nichols alongside the Miff Mole-like trombone of Charles Hartman. Monk Hazel contributes some hot choke cymbal before the arranged, modernistic ending. The composer is listed as “B. Peck.” I have no idea who that might have been, but whoever it was, he (or she) certainly utilized a lot of forward-looking ideas for 1927!

The reverse, “Alligator Blues,” is not the familiar number penned by Fats Waller and recorded by Louis Armstrong. The composer credits on this one are cornetist Wiggs (Hyman) and pianist Horace Diaz. Nappy Lamare begins the proceedings with some up-to-date guitar breaks. There is more Nichols-style cornet from Wiggs, a wacky harmonica solo and wonderful playing by trombonist Hartman and clarinetist Elery Maser. The ending is pretty far out, even for this band! Strangely, I think, there is hardly anything heard on these recordings to indicate that they were recorded in New Orleans, by New Orleans musicians. What do you hear on these sides, Jeff?

JB: If I didn’t already know who was playing these sides, I would have chalked it up as a forgotten “Bix and His Gang” or “California Ramblers” side! No style being played at functions in NOLA at the time can be found on either of these sides, Hal. Compare these with the Halfway House Orchestra from near the same time (covered in our column in October and November 2022) and you hear how steeped in the New Orleans sound that hot dance band was! The most New Orleanian aspect of these sides is the name of the group, although you’d be hard-pressed to find sounds like these being created in the Bayou!!! This is not to take away from the expert (and frankly beautiful) playing here; it’s just interesting to hear how much influence recordings traveling around the country had on players who were already surrounded by a distinct collection of styles.

I’ve always loved “pyramid chords” and we find them at the beginning of “Ain’t Love Grand?” (A poorly grammatic title that is ironic given the sophistication of the playing throughout this recording!). Single notes are hit by—in order—piano, trombone, alto sax (although none is credited), and cornet, layering to create two harmonies over the first two bars with parallel ninth chords that foreshadow the first strain of Jelly Roll Morton’s “Freakish,” released two years later. The first half of the opening chorus features cornetist Wiggs playing over long tones from the sax and trombone, which then open up during the second half.

Ensemble gives way to a confident piano solo in the “novelty” style we don’t associate with this period in New Orleans—the final eight bars of which culminate in an ensemble ride. This gives way to the harmonica solo you mentioned, Hal, that I must confess left me flat. I’ve nothing against harmonica at all, but I find Mssr. Gautreaux’s figures are static, repetitive and boring.

The shrill monotony is mercifully broken up by the attention-grabbing guitar break and pianist Horace Diaz’s backing with rippling fourths during the final eight bars. A harmonized front-line break leads us into the final chorus and now we have a bit of heat. Bars 17-30 are assayed by Wiggs accompanied by what sounds like syncopations on the Chinese cymbal by drummer Monk Hazel, interrupted by an angular break and ensuing solo by trombonist Charles Hartman, whose playing a-la Miff Mole shows real virtuosity!

The 48-bar tune concludes with a final six-bar ensemble leading in bar 31 to a one-bar phrase from the harmonica that is repeated by trombone and then repeated and expanded by cornet into that modernistic ending you reference, Hal, with Monk Hazel’s gently choked cymbal having the final “word.”

“Alligator Blues” is not a blues, but rather a hot asymmetrical tune with verse-chorus format. A suspenseful SEVEN-bar intro featuring Charleston rhythm and surprising breaks (just where are they going here?) leads to 32-bar ensemble chorus sporting unusual changes and phrases throughout. A sixteen-bar ensemble verse (with Wiggs playing a “flutter-valve” figure lifted from Louis Armstrong) leads the listener to the first solo—and a key change.

Returning with a more rhythmic—and more successful—solo is our harmonica player (is he a harmonica-ist? A harmonica-er? Something else?) aided once again by descending figures in fourths by pianist Horace Diaz, the highlight of which is a nifty harmonica break midway through the chorus. Monk Hazel’s two-bar break on Chinese cymbal delivers us into the inventive phrasing of Johnny Wiggs, accompanied by organ tones from the ensemble.

Charles Hartman delivers a solo facile enough to make one wonder if he’s playing valve trombone (although we know he’s not) since there’s not a glissando present anywhere! A front-line whole-tone horn break brings us to the climactic final bars with the horns playing on the beat as Monk Hazel chokes the cymbal on the offbeats, and you pointed out an ending that simply must be heard to be (dis)believed…not a conclusion that would have made dancers comfortable…

Two more questions Hal: 1) Is there any historical record regarding whether the Bayou Stompers were a gigging band or brought together for this recording date? 2) Our next sides take us a quarter-century later than, and a whole world away from, the 1927 recording. You mentioned in an email that you feel strongly about this edition of our shared column. Could you describe why Wiggs’ music is so meaningful to you as you take us into the sides you’ve chosen as rendered by the Wiggs-Burke Big Four?

HS: By the way, I hear that “flutter-valve” figure on quite a few Red Nichols records, too! To answer your questions: as far as I know, this band was strictly a recording band. If it had been a working band, I wonder how the dancers who followed the Halfway House Orchestra and the New Orleans Owls would have reacted to the strange sounds played by the Bayou Stompers!

I really love the sound of the “Big Four” because it seems to fit the descriptions of the kind of music played for picnics and other gatherings at Milneburg in the years preceding the Roaring Twenties. Real OLD-SCHOOL New Orleans music, played by four iconic musicians. Johnny Wiggs and clarinetist Raymond Burke obviously inspire each other and the rhythm by Dr. Edmond Souchon on guitar and Sherwood Mangiapane on bass is out of this world!

“Mama’s Baby Boy” is Clarence Williams’ cleaned-up version of a traditional number with a title that we can’t print in The Syncopated Times. Sort of the mirror image of what George Brunies did to Clarence Williams’ “You’re Some Pretty Doll” with the “Ugly Chile” parody lyrics. You can easily hear the Joe Oliver influence in Johnny Wiggs’ playing; a real crackling tone, particularly with the mute. Raymond Burke was definitely a “New Orleans clarinetist” but his style and sound were absolutely unique. I really dig Doc Souchon’s gravelly vocal and that old-time bass playing too.

“Put On Your Old Grey Bonnet” is my favorite of all the Big Four recordings. Just listen to Raymond Burke’s soulful clarinet on the rarely played verse. Next, Wiggs really heats things up when he puts the mute in. Souchon is a rhythmic dynamo on guitar and Mangiapane’s syncopated phrases on the bass are reminiscent of Ed Garland. Burke plays a beautiful solo that stays mainly in the lower register, then Wiggs jumps back in for three more choruses. The figures he plays near the end of the penultimate chorus reminds me of Ray Ronnei and on the last chorus it sounds like he is channeling Natty Dominique…killer!!!

“Singin’ The Blues” is another side that I just love. The spirit of Bix—filtered through four terrific New Orleans musicians—is definitely present here. Wiggs’ tone and phrasing are a lot closer to what he was playing in 1927 than what we just heard on “Old Grey Bonnet.” Raymond Burke’s playing throughout is haunting and lyrical—like the more introspective recordings by Pee Wee Russell. Doc Souchon plays some spot-on guitar arpeggios that sounds as though they were inspired by Eddie Lang. Mangiapane’s bass is understated, but solid as a rock.

I would gladly pay a steep admission price to hear a band that sounded like this in person. What are your thoughts, Jeff?

JB: I fell on love with this quartet instrumentation when I first heard the Sidney Bechet and Muggsy Spanier sides from 1940. Twelve years later, these sides from New Orleans were released, and I still love the sound. We’ve included the line-up of cornet, clarinet, guitar, and bass at Monterey and I hope we’ll start to see it appear more often elsewhere! Of course, playing this way requires a simpatico that can be tricky to achieve, and these cats have it! Wiggs and Burke make their ensemble choruses sound effortless; I imagine they’d played together quite a bit over the years to achieve that laid-back synchronicity. Sherwood Mangiapane’s percussive slap-bass almost eliminates the desire for the inclusion of drums (sorry, Hal!). You chose a terrific cross-section of the styles with which this outfit was familiar!

“Mama’s Baby Boy” has very simple harmonies across its sixteen bars; a bit reminiscent of “Heebie Jeebies” or “Do What Ory Say,” it switches between V7-I (in this case Eb7 to Ab) for twelve bars and then utilizes a four bar turnaround of Ab-F7-Bb7-Eb7 finishing on the Ab. Solos for Burke and Wiggs lead to Doc Souchon’s vocal you mention that I also enjoyed so much. After the vocal there’s time for two ensemble choruses; on the first listen, the second chorus was a surprise as Wiggs was already playing SO hot! He hits a high Ab for the final four bars of the penultimate chorus, and you can just visualize him circling with the bell of his horn to go around one more time.

Hal, your favorite track takes me to the image of those picnics you described. The first chorus of 1909’s “Put On Your Old Grey Bonnet” is gently wistful. The way the group plays it, and how Raymond Burke presents the pretty verse, suggests they must’ve been familiar with the lyrics and the story they tell. Wiggs’ muted horn is hot and sassy, Burke’s phrases channel many of the New Orleans clarinet giants that preceded him while maintaining his own “voice,” Souchon’s steady beat rocks things along (although he does rush a bit as things heat up), and I love those polyrhythms Mangiapane creates throughout—the ensemble preceding the clarinet solo features a bass rhythm reminiscent of a horse’s canter (Old Dobbin was apparently dancing while pulling the Shay!). To me, the fact that Wiggs stays in the middle register for the final three ensembles makes things even more exciting; he bends notes with aplomb and repeats short, intense phrases to build up the heat. THIS is the sound I want to hear if I’m lucky enough to celebrate my golden wedding day!

Raymond Burke’s tone is so sweet, deep and mellow on the start of “Singin’ The Blues!” There are many elements of this side with which I immediately fell in love. Let’s start with the tempo. The original recording with Frank Trumbauer and Bix from 1927—interestingly recorded a mere five weeks before the Bayou Stompers sides—is rendered several clicks faster than the Big Four’s version. The feel achieved on this side could only be created by New Orleans musicians. Burke begins by obliquely referencing the melody over the final eight bars of the chorus, accompanied by Souchon’s lovely guitar lines referencing Eddie Lang. Wiggs plays plaintively, leaving plenty of room for Burke and Souchon to respond “in the cracks.” Hal, for me this side lives up to the title of song: it’s singing and drenched in a bluesy hue. I want to hear MORE from Raymond Burke! He makes no attempt to copy any of Tram’s phrasing, and honestly, although Wiggs’ tone is reminiscent of Bix’s, to my ears he’s phrasing like a late-night New Orleans musician on a front porch or in a juke joint. SO chilled and pretty. This is a track I’ll return to often when the noisy jangling of the world gets to be too much for me.

I know I’m like a kid in school, but I have two MORE questions for you, Teach! First, did Wiggs do any recording between 1927 and 1952 or did he need that long to recover from those harmonica solos? Second, do we know if Wiggs and Burke often played together? Sorry, three questions, the third being: “What’s next?”

HS: Wiggs made a couple of 78s for the New Orleans record label in 1949, but I can’t find any more recordings he did until 1952. And, as I understand it, he wasn’t even supposed to be on the session with Burke, Souchon, and Mangiapane. He just happened to stop by the studio! What a lucky break!

Wiggs and Burke continued to play together for two decades and participated in some memorable recording sessions too. (We discussed one of those in our column on Bob Greene earlier this year). They also appeared at the Manassas Jazz Festival in the late 1960s and early 1970s, with great musicians like Don Ewell and Zutty Singleton!

The next side is actually one that you suggested: “If Ever I Cease To Love,” by Johnny Wiggs and his New Orleans Kings. This was recorded in 1954 and reunited Wiggs with Burke, Souchon, and Mangiapane (on brass bass). Emile Christian, formerly with the Original Dixieland Jazz Band, is on trombone. Jeff Riddick is on piano and the drummer is a New Orleans master: Paul Barbarin. This is a spirited, hot version of the classic Mardi Gras theme. What elements of this recording appeal to you?

JB: Hal, I listened to the entire compilation of songs from the GHB CD 507 release called ‘Congo Square’ and Other Vintage Material and loved every track but this one hit me in the gut. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s that the band is resurrecting a tune from 1870 composed by George Leybourne and published in Boston; that it found its way down to NOLA and Congo Square and eventually to these musicians in the mid-20th century is mind-boggling to me! I also love the marching tempo; you just CAN’T sit still while listening to this side. While this is ensemble throughout (excepting an eight-bar solo for clarinetist Raymond Burke, although trombonist Emile Christian continues to play), so doesn’t necessarily feature our subject, Johnny Wiggs, his strong command of both the group and the feel it achieves is present throughout the track. “If Ever I Cease to Love” comprises an unusual 20-bar verse and an eight bar refrain (chorus) and after we hear the band play through it with that intoxicating beat, Doc Souchon renders a rough vocal which, for me, is more poignant because of the earthy delivery.

Looking closer, after a four-bar intro made up of bars 12-16 of the verse, the band plays through the extended form described above, and Souchon’s shirtsleeve vocal which, if the track had been longer, could’ve been expanded; there are four verses and choruses to this song, each set as clever as the previous one! Wiggs brings the band back in HOT over the verse, then Burke solos on the eight-bar chorus and Wiggs leads the band in a strutting two-chorus 16-bar frenzy; he’s testifying here, bending his notes with a vibrato big enough to halt traffic: on the final eight bars Wiggs makes me imagine what Buddy Bolden must have sounded like in his prime.

HS: Don’t forget that great drumming by Paul Barbarin! Those BOOM-BOOMs and the afterbeats on the snare make this march-like performance swing like a carnival parade.

Jeff, what do you say we make this a two-parter? We could talk about some later recordings by Johnny Wiggs and maybe discuss one or more of his original songs?

JB: That sounds perfect to me, Hal. I’m really digging Wiggs’ work—as well as that of the musicians who joined him. Hopefully this column will continue to make readers aware of some forgotten greats like Johnny Wiggs. Looking forward!