NEW YORK CITY, 1948. The Civil Rights Act is still more than a decade and a half into the future, and minorities -- especially African American -- are struggling to find a foothold into a society that has provided them every disadvantage possible (and is inventing new ones daily). Despite the odds against him, an indomitable black man in his twenties abandons his job as a janitor to chase his dream of becoming an actor. Alongside friend and fellow struggling actor Sidney Poitier, he enrolls in The New School for Social Research’s Dramatic Workshop program to learn the craft. Soon afterward he begins performing in the American Negro Theatre to hone his skills and talents.
This man, who you’ve correctly inferred is one Harold Belafonte by name, would frequently vent his hardships with musician compatriots in his favorite hangout, Broadway jazz club The Royal Roost. His friends came to see him perform in Of Mice and Men one night and were impressed with his singing, suggesting he entertain at the club to help ease his financial burden. Belafonte had neither musical training nor interest in singing as anything other than a necessary tool of the stage, but was eventually persuaded when The Roost’s artistic director gave him a shot. He worked with club pianist Al Haig to put together a set, and two weeks later came his debut. It was a baptism of fire as he and Haig received impromptu accompaniment by Max Roach on drums, Tommy Potter on bass and Charlie Parker on sax.
We can pinpoint this event as the Belafonte Big Bang -- without this evening, without his friends pushing him toward the nightclub’s stage, without Monte Kay at The Royal Roost giving this untrained unknown a shot -- it’s very possible that right now we wouldn’t have the entire catalog of Harry’s music that we’re going to talk about over the course of the following year. No Banana Boat Song. No Jamaica Farewell. No Matilda. No Man Smart (Woman Smarter). No Zombie Jamboree. No Man Piaba. No Mama Look a Boo-Boo. That’s a sad world indeed, friends. I don’t want to stop the carnival, so let’s turn the world around to brighter subjects.
We can pinpoint this event as the Belafonte Big Bang -- without this evening, without his friends pushing him toward the nightclub’s stage, without Monte Kay at The Royal Roost giving this untrained unknown a shot -- it’s very possible that right now we wouldn’t have the entire catalog of Harry’s music that we’re going to talk about over the course of the following year. No Banana Boat Song. No Jamaica Farewell. No Matilda. No Man Smart (Woman Smarter). No Zombie Jamboree. No Man Piaba. No Mama Look a Boo-Boo. That’s a sad world indeed, friends. I don’t want to stop the carnival, so let’s turn the world around to brighter subjects.
Belafonte was, of course, an immediate hit. 1949 saw him doing studio work, first for indie label Jubilee Records. Teamed with the Zoot Sims Quintet (which included Royal Roost regulars Al Haig and Tommy Potter), he sang the songs that comprise today’s record. While Folk Songs with Harry Belafonte is not his first album, having been released by Coronet in 1960 after he already had several hits, this 33 RPM re-release of the Jubilee sessions is going to play a lot better than the 78 original (unless you’ve got the money to throw at a 78 preamp, which I most definitely do not). Titles acquired in similar fashion from The Islanders complement this release; though they were never in the studio with Belafonte, their influence apparently lingered on, as soon after he began to musically explore his own Caribbean roots.
An aside: there is an alternate version of this release, also cataloged CX-115, which has no difference in Belafonte’s tunes other than restructuring them onto one side. I, however, could not do without both, as the lineup of Islanders songs differs. I wouldn’t want to be without the Hold ‘Em Joe that one offers without the When the Yankees Are Gone of the other, especially considering that both were later covered in whole or part by Harry himself.
Getting past the obvious irony that Belafonte isn’t the one singing calypso on this release, these early
recordings are more reflective of the times than the artist. The tracks Simple, Simple and Annabelle Lee are, despite Belafonte’s sterling freshman contribution, little more than maudlin love ballads typical of the period. Only One Like Me has the feel of its contemporary upbeat songs, though the lyrics set it apart in their description of a chance encounter with some manner of depressed mythological woodland creature, perhaps a cautionary tale of the perils of walking in the forest after taking shrooms. Venezuela sounds like the musical version of the wind on a Halloween night, the distinctiveness of which really makes it shine; it was nearly my pick for this week’s feature, however...
I selected The Night Has a Thousand Eyes as feature track because it’s so illustrative of Harry’s early nightclub crooning style. After a few more years of age-related hearing loss take the bittersweet molasses from his voice, I’ll have little to distinguish this from Sinatra or Crosby. The first time I heard this track, I had a very difficult time believing it was Harry Belafonte, and even after many repeat listenings, it’s still a strange departure from the rest of his discography. It’s a glimpse into a time when happenstance could have once again driven Harry in a different direction, had it not been for his interest in exploring folklore.
Next week we’ll be taking a look at another set of recordings done in 1949 during Harry’s burgeoning singing career. In the meantime, if you want to talk Belafonte, leave a comment below!
Next week we’ll be taking a look at another set of recordings done in 1949 during Harry’s burgeoning singing career. In the meantime, if you want to talk Belafonte, leave a comment below!
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