In Barry Ulanov's 1952 book 'A History of Jazz In America', Roy Eldridge recounts that he and Clyde Hart made a free improvisation record. "We decided in front that there'd be no regular chords, we'd announce no keys, stick to no progressions. Only once I fell into a minor key; the rest was free, just flowing. And, man, it felt good." (Ulanov 1952, 239)
At first, I hypothesized that Eldridge and Hart had gone to a studio, and recorded a free improvisation. So I checked Eldridge’s and Hart’s names in Lord’s Discography. They first appeared together on November 10, 1938 as a part of Chu Berry’s “Little Jazz” band. After this, Hart played as part of Eldridge’s stint at the Arcadia Ballroom (August 5 thru September 9, 1939). On February 14, 1940 they played together in Fred Rich’s band. There were no duo recordings listed.
The latest recording listed by Lord is a stint that Eldridge did in Paul Baron’s CBS Radio Orchestra in 1944, with singer Mildred Bailey. However, Lord credits Hart as an arranger for the Orchestra; Teddy Wilson was on piano! So Hart may not have been present for those dates at all. Clyde Hart (born Feb 24, 1910) died March 19, 1945.
Then a few years ago, jazzjournal.co.uk republished a 1960 “Blindfold Test”-style interview with Eldridge (and Sinclair Traill). Although it was posted in 2020, I came upon it fairly recently. It doesn't solve the mystery, but it provides further context. After hearing Ken Colyer’s rendition of ‘Cheek To Cheek’, Eldridge riffs about flugelhorns and pocket trumpets, and the subject turns to Don Cherry.
“Yes, something like the one Don Cherry plays now with Ornette Coleman. Yes, I heard that group, and I know one thing – they’re the bravest people I ever seen! I went three nights in a row, sober at that, and never got the message. You have to hear them in person and then you really can’t understand it. I went with some young, modern musicians, took Paul Chambers with me. ‘You explain to me what’s happening’, I said. But he said ‘Man, I don’t understand it either.’
The group start out with something, play a riff on the first chorus, then they leave everything and just blow. No amount of bars, nothing conventional, just blowing in their horns – no melody, no kinda’ way. You can’t say it’s the blues, nor How High The Moon – or nothin’.”
Eldridge continues:
“You remember years ago I used to play with Clyde Hart, the pianist? Clyde and I were at the Paramount Theatre one time and I had a little recording machine in my bag. So we decided to play without telling one another beforehand what we were going to play. We played and it came out all right; there was a sort of melody going along there, but this stuff Ornette Coleman plays there ain’t even nothing like that to it. ’Course, everybody back home is afraid to say anything about it, because it’s new and it might be good y’know. After all, there’s all kinds of music, Dixieland, modern and all that, and there’s got to be something new sometime.”
There are two significant clues here: 1) Eldridge and Hart did not record at a studio, but used equipment to record themselves, and 2) the recording was likely made at the Paramount Theater. It’s certainly possible that there was a home record cutter in a dressing room or rehearsal space at the Paramount Theater. It’s also possible that they recorded themselves performing a duo improvisation for an audience.
In any case, the phrase “little recording machine” gives me pause. Tape technology was experimental and not widespread in the US until after WWII. (The whole story of Jack Mullin is quite fascinating.) Since Clyde Hart died before the end of the war, that rules out any sort of tape recording. And anyway, it would be a few years before that technology would have been small enough to fit “in [your] bag”! Eldridge and Hart’s recording would likely have been cut on a home record cutter, which were themselves quite bulky.
Perhaps a more accurate picture will emerge from further research into the Paramount Theater, and when Eldridge played there. After all, discographies only provide information on recordings, many of which are commercial in nature. There may be advertisements, press releases, blurbs and so on, which could tell us more.
Whenever (and wherever) it happened, what matters most is whether or not it has survived the passage of time. Given the available evidence, it seems at least possible that this recording preceded the 1944 Rosenkrantz recordings of Erroll Garner, Stuff Smith and Robert Crum, perhaps by a few years. I would pay good money to have access to a photograph of the disc, and even better money to hear a recording of it!
Hank Jones remembered Clyde Hart in 1989: “...Clyde Hart was very well known for his harmonic ideas. By the way … Lucky Thompson, was a great admirer of Clyde Hart. We once were together in New York. We went to the Savoy Ballroom. Clyde Hart was playing there. He marveled at Clyde's harmonic ideas and the way that he voiced his chords. That is what a lot of people remember about Clyde. I didn't know him personally, I just saw him. He had discrete harmonic sense. I think a lot of pianists learned from Clyde Hart, including Teddy [Wilson]. Maybe even Art [Tatum] and, maybe also some arrangers, as well.”
