I know I said I wasn't going to do this as part of my drummer series, but there is some controversy as to the exact date of Chick Webb's birth. Also, it was some time in February, and I just don't want to wait that long anyway. His death, however, is well documented: he died 70 years ago today.
If you don't know who Chick Webb was, it isn't surprising. I certainly feel he never got the recognition he deserved. Had he been a white drummer, you'd certainly have known him. That's the theme of today's diary, and I have to say that I don't feel all that comfortable writing about it.
I suppose one might explain away the overt racism of the 1930s, as just an unfortunate aspect of the time. But to me, that is largely the same sort of nonsensical argument as Dick Cheney's latest excuse for torturing people, i.e. that we we as a society somehow went crazy for a while so such insanity makes it o.k. I don't buy it. Racism was wrong in the 1930s just as torture was wrong in 2002, and to me, that's it. But there's an interesting story about how some people challenged that racism in ways that seem subtle now, but took great courage. One of those people was Benny Goodman, the "King of Swing."
Nevertheless, if you've talked to your parents or grandparents about it or studied the history, you know that there was a certain level of overt racism that was "acceptable" even in polite society, commercial undertakings, and the mass media. The drum business was just like any other, even though it owed a lot to the popularity of jazz music that had its roots in New Orleans' Black community.
Up to around 1910, a brass band or orchestra that had percussion would have to have more than one percussionist to create the dance beats. At a minimum, the band would need to have someone to play the bass drum, and another to play the snare drum. The bass drummer might also clap a hand-held cymbal to a stationary one mounted on the bass drum with one hand while he hit the bass drum's skin with the other. That all changed in 1909 when William F. Ludwig created the first really practical bass drum pedal. Suddenly, a drummer could play the bass with his foot and still play the snare drum. It was a sensation that quickly caught the attention of bandleaders who now could hire one drummer instead of two.
Here you can see a picture from the 1914 Ludwig catalog.
And here is the Universal Speedmaster 50 years later. The pedal survived well into the 1970s.
That pedal "kicked off" (pun intended) both the jazz era and the Ludwig Drum Company. Originally called the Ludwig Drum Pedal, it eventually became known as the Universal Speedmaster, and while many improvements have been made by various inventors, its basic design survives today in almost all bass drum pedals made. It was so popular that Mr. Ludwig gave up a rather prominent career as a percussionist (he was the tympanist with the Chicago symphony) to make drums rather than play them.
That may be one reason why Ludwig drums have survived while many other American makes have either disappeared or have become "badge engineered" versions of generic drums made in Taiwan or China: a real drummer made them. Not all drum companies ever had that sort of "street cred."
One that did, though was the Leedy Drum Company. Ulysses G. Leedy was also a famous drummer in the late 19th century, who quit playing to concentrate on building drums. By the 1920s, Leedy was the biggest company (and made the biggest drum - that giant bass drum that the Purdue marching band still uses).
In 1929, both Leedy and Ludwig agreed to sell their companies to the C.G. Conn Company, a well-known maker of band instruments. Conn wanted a position in percussion to fill out its line, and found willing sellers in Leedy, who was looking to retire, and Ludwig, who wasn't as old, but couldn't resist a million dollar payout just as the depression was starting. Both men received that much in Conn stock. By 1932, each man’s investment was worth about $100,000. Ulysses G. Leedy started another drum company, but soon passed away. William F. Ludwig agreed to work with Conn as a consultant, but lasted on the job only a few years, when he quit over differences with Conn management.
Conn bought two companies for the purpose of dominating the market in every town that had more than one music store; each retailer could have something different from the other, and Conn could sell to both of them. Leedy moved from Indianapolis and Ludwig moved from Chicago to Conn's home in Elkhart, Indiana. Although they were marketed as competitors, both companies' products were produced in the same factory.
It was at this time that under the stewardship of George Way, Leedy introduced a number of modern advances in drum technology, none more important than the self-aligning tension casing in 1933. Up until that time, modern snare and bass drums were tensioned with bolts screwed into tubular receivers. If a bolt got misaligned as often happened, the threads on either the bolt or the receiver could strip. The self-aligning casing held a nut inside with a spring keeping it in place. The bolt could be much more easily matched up to the nut, and thread stripping was largely eliminated.
Leedy gave the casings a contemporary "Art Deco" look. The first one is called the "bowtie" lug, due to its distinctive x-shaped relief that looks like a tied bowtie standing on end. You can see them on this 1934 Leedy Broadway brass snare drum.
A few years later, the company introduced "beavertail," also a fine example of the Art Deco style. It's one of my all-time favorites, and not just because I get to say "beaver" heh, heh (hey, I am a drummer; we can't help it).
I am very fond of those Leedy drums. The Conn-era Leedy and Ludwig drum shells are considered the best of the day, and they sound wonderful to my ears. That's why I have two sets of Leedys, made in 1943 and 1949-50, and I am confident that they can still handle any type of gig (I've taken them out on plenty).
As much as I like the drums, I am somewhat embarassed about one part of Leedy history. The company's advertising was, in my opinion, the most blatantly racist of any drum company. During the 1930s, Leedy regularly sent out a flyer to current and potential customers that featured this happy fellow:
In 1941, even though Sonny Greer of the Duke Ellington Orchestra was arguably the best known artist-endorser that Leedy had, his picture was featured on the back cover of the company catalog. On the front is Bill Patton of Orrin Tucker's fine ensemble. I'm sure you've all enjoyed Orrin Tucker's music as you travel up to the 27th floor from the lobby of your favorite office tower.
It was against the backdrop of an attitude like this that Chick Webb had to make a name for himself as a bandleader and drummer. Benny Goodman wasn't the only King of Swing. Back in the 30s, Chick Webb also had that nickname, only in a different community. I would not ever try to minimize Benny Goodman's accomplishments; he earned his fame through hard work and talent, but he never faced anything approaching the obstacles that Chick Webb endured his entire life just to survive.
Chick suffered from Pott's disease, a particularly nasty form of tuberculosis that attacks the spine. It nearly killed him as a child and left him hunchbacked and likely in constant pain. It is simply a wonder he could play the drums at all, much less be perhaps the best of his time. He was known as a normally rather shy, retiring person, but became anything but that when he got behind the drums.
Chick also had a great ear for great music and great musicians. He was quick to recognize the immense talent in a young female vocalist by the name of Ella Fitzgerald. The press reported that Chick had adopted her; it wasn't true, but it might as well have been, because the two shared a deep mutual respect and friendship. Ella didn't forget what Chick did, and kept the band together for several years after his death. Perhaps classy people just naturally attract classy people .
O.K., enough of this jibber-jabber; you have to hear Chick play, and then I think you'll understand what a phenomenon he was.
Benny goodman knew exactly what it meant to have Chick Webb around billing himself as the king of swing. Ken Burns documented the "showdown" on May 11, 1937.
That took courage on Benny's part. He didn't have to play in any drum battle - he was already popular, and would have stayed so regardless. But Benny Goodman respected good musicians, and didn't care what color skin they had. His 1936 trio featured Teddy Wilson on piano, and then became a quartet with the addition of Lionel Hampton (who was a great drummer as well as vibraphonist).
I don't want to make it seem that Chick didn't get recognition from the drum industry; he did. It wasnt' from Leedy, though. Chick endorsed Gretsch drums, and he was featured on the front cover of the 1939 Gretsch Drums catalog, next to the great Billy Gladstone.
I’d like to think that Karma had something to do with the end of the Conn organization’s venture into the drum business (although many would probably say its development of the disastrous "Knob Tension" drums was probably the more important factor). In any case, Conn first tried to merge the Leedy and Ludwig companies in 1950, failed, and eventually sold the Leedy name to the Slingerland company. William F. Ludwig, who had gone back into the business under the name "WFL" (Conn wouldn’t let him use his own name), was able to purchase the Ludwig brand back in 1955.
Those of you who have an ear for drum style probably recognize the influence that Chick Webb had on a number of younger drummers, such as Buddy Rich, Max Roach, and Louis Bellson in the the 1930s and 1940s, and on later drummers like John Bonham, Clive Bunker, Billy Cobham, and Neil Peart today. Please accept this minor deviation from the series parameters to celebrate the underappeciated genius of Chick Webb. Take it Chick.