“Sleepy Lagoon” by Harry James

At #1: June 20, 1942-July 11, 1942 (four weeks)
Still alive? No. Harry James died of lymphatic cancer on July 5, 1983

“Sleepy Lagoon” is supposed to be the version of “By the Sleepy Lagoon” with lyrics. According to Wikipedia, the song wasn’t initially written with lyrics. Jack Lawrence would end up adding words to “By the Sleepy Lagoon” but needed to get permission from Sir Eric Coates, the composer of the song.

In 1940, Lawrence wrote Coates for the permission to add lyrics to the tune. Coates didn’t mind; he thought Lawrence’s lyrics perfectly fit the song. According to Jack Lawrence, the song was a big hit during the period of the war when the Germans were blitzing London. Lawrence would finally meet Coates in 1946 and Coates would offer more music for Lawrence to add lyrics to – but according to Lawrence, none of them had the charms of “Sleepy Lagoon”.

It’s odd that Harry James would make a hit with “Sleepy Lagoon”. If he recorded a version with Lawrence’s lyrics, I can’t find it. Donald Clarke writes the following about Harry James:

his tone was clear and pretty and his technique absolutely secure; in Texas trumpet players were said to quake at the mention of his name, but more to the point he was a good leader, and although he could always swing he saw nothing wrong with sentimentality as long as it was honestly felt. As with many bands, the biggest hits were vocal numbers, and James used vocalists properly rather than as mascots, having arrangements written for them.

…and elsewhere from Clarke….

Harry James was a superb trumpet player, who began playing at the age of nine in his father's circus band, and was evidently one of the best-liked men in the business. His post-Goodman success was slow in coming, but he finally did well and continued to draw large audiences in places like Las Vegas until he died. His dance band music was not particularly jazz-oriented, though his first hit was a cover of 'One O'Clock Jump' (reissued in 1943 during a recording ban as 'Two O'Clock Jump'), and 'Strictly Instrumental' (written by Edgar Battle, among others) was an attractive chart from the Lunceford book. James's band was good enough in 1950 to be raided by Duke Ellington, and he later employed Buddy Rich on drums. His theme was 'Ciribiribin', in 3/4 time (published in Italy in 1898), and another hit was the trumpet virtuoso's 'Flight of the Bumble Bee'; his 'Sleepy Lagoon' was adapted from the 'valse serenade' of English composer Eric Coates.

Most of James's big hits were vocals. He hired the very young Frank Sinatra, who was soon stolen by Tommy Dorsey, and then Dick Haymes, a good singer in the same mould; Helen Ward and Helen Forrest recorded with James, and Kitty Kallen joined him around 1944. Forrest's hits were 'I Don't Want to Walk Without You' and 'I've Heard That Song Before'; James was listed as a co-writer on Duke Ellington's 'I'm Beginning to See the Light', which, sung by Kallen, was a number one hit in the white chart in 1945.

A ‘valse serenade’ is an orchestral waltz. When Clarke wrote that James drew large audiences until he died, he wasn’t kidding. He played his final professional performance in Los Angeles on June 26, 1983 and died of cancer just nine days later in Las Vegas.

“A String of Pearls” by Glenn Miller

At #1: February 7, 1942; February 21, 1942 (two non-consecutive weeks)
Still alive? Missing in action on December 15, 1944

“A String of Pearls” picked up right where Glenn Miller left off with “Chattanooga Choo-Choo”. The song was composed by Jerry Gray and Eddie DeLang wrote lyrics for it, but I can’t determine whether or not “A String of Pearls” was released with lyrics. The versions that I’ve found on YouTube are instrumental versions and my goal is to link to the YouTube clip of the original version. It appears to be common practice in the swing band era to compose or perform an instrumental version and to add lyrics for later performances – so you never know when listening to a song which version was the one initially released.

If you read the Glenn Miller site maintained by the University of Colorado – Miller was a student there, briefly – you can almost play a game of “Seven Degrees of Glenn Miller” with every other major swing band leader or performer. The era appeared to be dominated by a handful of big band composer; it shouldn’t be surprising to conclude that they had connections with each other.

Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey: Miller was a performer and a music director in the Dorsey Brothers Orchestra.

Bing Crosby: Bing released some music with the Dorsey Brothers and had the opportunity to meet Miller there – they were apparently good friends.

Bix Beiderbecke: Miller was in the same band with Bix early on, when Miller was playing with the Ben Pollack band. Miller wasn’t far away from his high school graduation.

Benny Goodman: Miller and Goodman were both in the Pollack band and were roommates.

The Ink Spots: Miller’s band and The Ink Spots shared a bill at New York’s Paramount Theatre. Miller was given a diamond-studded wristwatch by The Ink Spots at the end of the engagement.

Artie Shaw: While Shaw had fled to Mexico to recuperate after “Begin the Beguine”, this left Shaw’s musical arranger Jerry Gray without a job. Miller snapped him up. Shaw undoubtedly had hard feelings about it. After Miller was presumed dead, Shaw said to the effect that Miller should have survived and “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” should have died.

The Andrews Sisters: Miller and The Andrews Sisters performed on the same radio show; soon, it was just Miller.

Harry James: As Miller was headed off to the Army, he turned the stewardship of his radio program over to James, for which James was quite grateful.

Frank Sinatra: From the website link, which explains how Glenn Miller was able to get great musicians for his Army band:

The procedure was simple. A draftee would send a letter to Glenn, giving him all the details about his induction, whereupon Glenn would request, through channels, his assignment to his command. These men would eventually report to Atlantic City for their basic training. Frank Sinatra, who would be classified 4-F, was among the musicians and singers who were in contact with Glenn. If Francis Albert had been drafted, he would have been assigned to Miller.

Ten years after Miller disappeared/died, Jimmy Stewart would star in The Glenn Miller Story. The movie was a big hit at the box office, and was nominated for three Oscars, winning for Best Musical Score. It looks like I’m going to have to add another movie to my list of must-see films for the Number One Hits Blog.

“Song of the Volga Boatmen” by Glenn Miller

At #1: March 15, 1941 (one week)
Still alive? Very much not alive. Major Glenn Miller went missing in action on December 15, 1944



When I was a kid growing up and suckling on the teat of television, sometimes during cartoons or comedies an odd background tune would play when someone was slaving away or being forced to perform some odious task. The tune – very slowly – went:

bwha bwha BWAAAAAAAH bwhaaaa
bwha bhha BWAAAAAAAH bwhaaaa

And now I can tell people what that tune is. It’s the “Song of the Volga Boatmen”. The version by Glenn Miller – well, actually arranged by Bill Finegan – is very peppy. There’s clearly no toting of barges or lifting of bales. This is the kind of music that your average person would associate with “big band” music, lots of brass and clarinets and trombones.

There’s so much to write about when it comes to Glenn Miller. One can write about the circumstances of his death. One can debate whether or not Miller counts as a “war hero”. One can write about his place in music history.

Instead, I want to write about the concept of the “Ghost Band”. What happens to a big band when the person after whom the orchestra is named passes away? A lot of big bands became “ghost bands”, named after band leaders who were no longer alive and becoming nostalgia acts.

After Glenn Miller died, his estate allowed the Glenn Miller Orchestra to keep playing. Tex Beneke became the band leader of Glenn Miller’s band, but there was a struggle over the musical direction with the Glenn Miller estate. Beneke didn’t want the band to sound too much like Glenn Miller’s, whereas the estate wanted the Glenn Miller Orchestra to play Glenn Miller songs just the way Glenn Miller wanted them. They parted ways.

The Glenn Miller Orchestra still exists today. Not every song they play is a Glenn Miller Orchestra but a lot of them are. These ghost bands are a cross between a rock band losing its lead singer and a rock band essentially becoming a nostalgia/tribute band, playing its old standards and not creating anything new. (The only modern rock band I can think of that has taken this direction is Queen after Freddie Mercury died. Most rock bands keep creating new material even after a change in personnel, but I guess it would be a lot tougher for Eddie Van Halen to hire Sammy Hagar as lead singer if his band were called the David Lee Roth Quartet.)

Count Basie is long gone, but his orchestra is still active in 2012. Harry James gave Frank Sinatra his first big start, but his band outlived both of them. Jimmy Dorsey’s orchestra is still out there, somewhere.

A music fan of the 21st century would probably suggest that these ghost bands just pack it in. Andrew Gilbert wrote:

Though descriptive rather than pejorative, the term often carries a whiff of the dismissive, as if a musical legacy should be interred with its creator (things work differently in the world of dance, where no one seems interested in tossing dirt on the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater).

Artie Shaw actually had a ghost band under his name while he was still alive. It was conducted by Dick Johnson. Shaw said, “…that term ‘ghost band’. I hate it. I’m not a ghost. It’s just a band.”

“I’ll Never Smile Again” by Tommy Dorsey

At #1: July 27, 1940 – October 12, 1940 (12 weeks)
Still alive? No. Dorsey died on November 26, 1956
Extra info: Frank Sinatra is the vocalist



Imagine that you are fifteen years old and living in the United States in 2012. Assume that you’re downloading the latest hit by Lady Gaga into your iPod and after the download, you hit “play”. But instead of Lady Gaga you get “I’ll Never Smile Again” by Tommy Dorsey. What would be your initial reaction?

You’d know something was wrong right away. You’d listen to the chorus for a few seconds, thinking that Lady Gaga was putting you on, but after thirty seconds you’d probably conclude that you downloaded the wrong song. There’s no escaping the fact that this song is a musical relic, an object of some extinct era. There’s very little connection between this song and anything your peers are listening to now – at least none that you can figure out.

It’s a very slow song. There’s none of the bombast associated with a modern song. It’s a very sentimental song, which focuses on capturing the smoothness of the singer’s voice. There’s no “rock sensibility” – these days, a certain gracelessness in presentation is expected because it denotes honesty and authenticity. Instead, this song showcases technical proficiency. Clearly, it’s supervised; there is no “jamming”. There’s no improvisation, everyone is on the same page from the first note. You could compare it to classical music, which probably would have been a scandalous comparison to any longhair living in 1940.

So where’s Tommy Dorsey? Is he the singer? No, that’s Frank Sinatra. Okay, maybe he wrote the song. No, he didn’t write the song either, that was Ruth Lowe. So what did Tommy Dorsey do for this song that allows him to stamp his name all over it?

He conducted the orchestra, and probably arranged the song. The song was assembled by Dorsey. Ruth Lowe wrote this song after the death of her husband after he died during surgery. She offered the song to a Canadian performer, but it went nowhere. So she gave it to someone in Tommy Dorsey’s band, hoping that Dorsey would pick it up. Dorsey liked what he heard, and he went with it.

Sinatra had only been in Dorsey’s band as his singer for about seven months or so. He had only fronted a big band since a year before. He had been hired by Harry James just a year earlier, his first big break in show business. Tommy Dorsey – who I understand had no problem with raiding other bands for their best performers – wanted Sinatra. Graciously, Harry James released Sinatra from his contract, for which Sinatra would be forever grateful. (The Chairman would not be so grateful about the terms of Dorsey’s contract, which gave Dorsey a third of Sinatra’s lifetime income.) I’m sure some Frankie fan out there will set me straight, but I believe that “I’ll Never Smile Again” was Frank Sinatra’s first big hit. (Frankiemania would soon follow.)

Even if Dorsey is waving his baton and playing puppetmaster, he has a very light touch. Nothing someone unschooled would ever associate with “Big Band” music. (No loud trumpets, trombones, etc.) Without knowing otherwise, I suspect that Dorsey’s skill was very much like that of a modern day studio producer crossed with a musical conductor. He knew how to put this song together – he crafted it which is why he gets to put his name on it. Frankly, modern music would be a lot more honest if songs were attributed to the engineers in the booth and not attributed to the singers who these days merely provide vocal samples which are autotuned almost to the point of being unrecognizable.

Maybe Tommy Dorsey, if he were alive and at his peak in 2012, would have done the same thing modern studio engineers do if he had access to the technology. What do I think about this song? I think it’s pretty dull myself. Not of my time, although I can understand its appeal. But I do believe that Dorsey would have never sweetened Sinatra’s voice. I don’t know much about music, but Sinatra’s voice is as perfect for this song as you can get.

Okay, enough about the song itself. Why is this song the first Number One song?

According to Wikipedia, Billboard had been tracking popular songs before 1940. They tracked:

• Sheet music best sellers
• Records most popular on music machines (jukeboxes)
• Songs with the most radio plugs – this was limited to New York City

However, this inaugural Top Ten list – called the “National List of Best Selling Retail Records” – was a first attempt at a nationwide poll of record sellers in large cities, from New York to Los Angeles.

It’s odd that the first Number One song of the Number Ones features a great singer – who would dominate the charts for decades, but would not get the first Number One song attributed to him – that would belong to Tommy Dorsey. This is 1940, and the Big Bands roam the world of popular music like dinosaurs. Frankie will have to wait until the landscape changes.

Extra: The Three Stooges made a short subject film in 1941 called "I'll Never Heil Again". Clearly, Tommy Dorsey was on someone's mind at Columbia.