I’ve always had a soft spot for Cab Calloway. From the time I was small my grandmother, who grew up in Harlem, would sing "Minnie the Moocher," his trademark song, to my sister and I, then regale us with stories of nights dancing at the Cotton Club to the music of Cab and his big band. She may have seen other artists perform there, but she only ever mentioned Cab Calloway by name. Apparently, he was a memorable and electrifying personality.
So, is it possible to catch such lightning in a bottle?
Alyn Shipton’s biography is lovingly detailed and extremely informative. The research that went into the material was obviously extensive and, even though personal details are relatively sparse, it appears he worked with the cooperation of Calloway’s family as well. However, this book is aimed more at fellow musicians (or musical scholars) than it is at the average reader. Shipton’s goal is obvious from the start, to persuade readers to re-evaluate Calloway’s musical legacy, to see him and his band as jazz innovators in their own right, not merely a populist crossover act that pandered to the lowest common denominator. And that’s all well and good, but he spills an inordinate amount of ink attempting to describe the contributions of the individual musicians on many of the band’s numerous recordings and, honestly, trying to capture the sound of a swing band in writing is a fool’s errand. In this, the only thing Shipton accomplished was to force me to seek out old clips of Calloway so I could see for myself what a magnetic performer he was. And he truly was.
Although I was initially attracted to the book because of Calloway’s connection to the Harlem Renaissance period, it surprised me that the last two sections, detailing his later years, were infinitely more engaging. The depiction of Cab’s early days in show business was rather dry - detailing the line-up changes and curriculum vitae of each and every band member, their tour schedules, song arrangements, sets and costumes, not to mention his various professional relationships with songwriters, managers, mobsters and club-owners. I’m ashamed to admit that, at times, I had to force myself not to skim these bits. After the decline in popularity of big band music, his career appears to be in a downward spiral before he re-invents himself as a Broadway musical star and ultimately endears himself to an entire new generation of music fans with his appearance in The Blues Brothers film. It’s during that relatively brief fallow period, when Calloway sinks into a deep depression, that the reader finally feels privy to some aspect of his inner life. Prior to that, although there were deaths, divorce, infidelity, racism and child rearing, Shipton describes these events very superficially, perhaps for fear of devolving into melodrama and diminishing the book’s more serious musical aims.
So ultimately, I came away with a greater knowledge of Cab Calloway’s professional background and his musical oeuvre, as well as a renewed appreciation for his contributions to music, but felt that I really didn’t get to know him any better as a man.
Recommended for serious fans of jazz and/or twentieth century African-American history.