Reportedly composed as early as 1918, this is one of the best known Ragtime pieces by Morton, and certainly the most memorable. He was proud of its versatility, as it could be performed as a rambunctious piano solo in a brothel, yet turned into a smooth traditional band rag at a society ball. Grandpa's Spells is indicative of a musician's application of the KISS principle (Keep It Simple, Stupid). The initial melody in the A section is not at all complicated, and barely even syncopated. The B section is even less involved, where most of the musical changes occur in the left hand, with the exception of a fun-to-play break of ascending chorded octave. The sparseness of the A section begs for all types of improvisation possibilities when it is returned to. Then comes the part that is hard to forget. The printed directions, which I assume are meant to create the "spells", call for the performer to "smash the lower keys with the left hand." I have seen a large variety of methods to accomplish this effect, including elbows, shoulders, knees, heads, rear ends, and feet (the latter of which is my preference, and visually stunning in my opinion - most piano owners are certainly stunned by it). The title reminds me of my own grandfather, who used to quiz me with things like "What's R A Y I E N N E?" "I dunno, Grandpa!" "Why it's the worst spell of rain I've seen in a long time!!!" Grandpa's spelling!

Jelly Roll Morton at one point boldly proclaimed himself as the inventor of jazz, and was able to even pinpoint the date he thought it up. In spite of this mildly inflated ego condition, he was both prolific and consistent in his work, although he often recorded the same piece with minor variations and major name changes. London Blues was also known as the London Cafe Blues in one incarnation and Shoe Shiner's Drag in another. This particular blues of Morton's is unique in that each phrase ends with the same four bar riff, in spite of there being three distinct sections. It also falls outside of the usual expected chord sequence for a blues for some of the iterations, but is nonetheless comprised of a consistent 12-bar pattern. As a result, there is a marked difference in feeling between the first and second halves of the piece. I prefer a laid back tempo on this style of blues, in spite of the brisk tempo of his many recordings. My performance influence here is a bit less Jelly Roll and a bit more Paul Lingle, based on his take of the piece included on his well-known 1952 album for Good Time Jazz.

Dink Johnson was one of Ferdinand "Jelly Roll" Morton's brothers-in-law through Morton's first wife, Anita Gonzalez. Dink and his older brother Bill Johnson performed often with Morton during his years in Los Angeles at the Melrose Café. Dink was usually a drummer, and both brothers were readily influenced by this talented giant of jazz. Johnson was among the first black musicians to be recorded, and made possibly the first jazz recording produced in Los Angeles. It is reported that Morton was likely staying with Dink in L.A. when he passed away in 1941. The exact year of origin of this piece is unknown, but its roots are not hard to trace. It is derived from an old New Orleans street song that was the basis of I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate and Gaitmouth among others. On the street it was simply known as the cruder K.M.F.A., which could account for some of the obvious attitude conveyed in Stomp De Low Down. There are three sections, all in the same key, and all have the same ending chord progression, common with many of Morton's pieces as well. I first heard this played by the gregarious Butch Thompson on A Prairie Home Companion many years back, and have not been able to resist it since.

One of a series of blues that Morton wrote, this was never recorded as a piano solo. His band did it considerably faster than I, and threw in some street effects to gag up the title a bit. Publisher Walter Melrose added lyrics to this as with some other Morton pieces to make it more palatable to the buying public in song form, but it leaves out the wonderful trio. Sidewalk Blues is still a staple of Dixieland and Traditional Jazz bands. The first return to the A section is often played with the left hand emphasis on the second and fourth beats only. The C section is a through-composed full 32 bar theme, not as unusual for this time as it would have been just a few years earlier. My interpretation is based on the Good Time Jazz recording of Paul Lingle, made in 1952. If you listen to his, you can actually hear him humming (a bit out of tune) in the background, a trait that once caused a radio station to disassemble its entire transmitting system to locate the source of the odd noise.

One of the interesting hallmarks of many Morton compositions is that he would find an idea and hang on to it throughout most of the piece. It might be a particular phrase used at the end of each section, or a rhythm. In this case, it is a relentless bass line that is only broken up after almost three minutes into the piece, but is effective in conveying what might be people's perception of the title. Pushing an idea that was most widely used that same year by Duke Ellington in The Mooche and similar "jungle" pieces, Morton gives us the never-ending rhythm that, in this instance, also does not change harmonically in the left hand, with several blues variations in the right hand. It is also a refined hint of the more vivacious barrel-house boogie that was just emerging. The opening harmony is used only in those first four measures. Then the first section breaks convention by adding a couple of measures before moving to the variations, one of which also has an extra measure. The first break we get from the rhythm is a theme that would subsequently also be used as the opening verse of Basin Street Blues (which was actually composed by Glenn Miller to compliment the Spencer William chorus). Then it's back to the jungle rhythm. The only truly recurring pattern is a jungle yodel of sorts, but also a plaintive theme with the only harmonic content that breaks from the unending stream of C/C6/C7 chords. This style of rhythmic "jungle chant" was used almost exclusively by black artists, who were constantly being very inventive in this regard, staying just ahead of their white counterparts for quite some time in the fields of ragtime and jazz. This piano version is more based on his 1938 Library of Congress solo recording, as the original incarnation of this was with his Red Hot Peppers.

A relatively simple piece in structure, this was one of the only stomps that Morton composed but did not record as a solo, arranging for its publication through Melrose Brothers, his primary publishing outlet at the time. Billy Goat Stomp consists of two separate sections, in the relative major and minor of C, which are made up of short eight bar patterns. These patterns primarily echo the call and response technique so prevalent in black music history, and therefore allow for a great deal of improvisation. Many of the melodic riffs could be termed as breaks, since they were used as such in other Morton pieces. It is not until after eight iterations of the eight bar pattern that the stomp portion of the piece actually begins. The published version ends at the conclusion of the A minor stomp section, but I have gone back to the beginning for balance and to create a more affable C major ending. The origin of the title is unclear, although in this instance it may actually have been named by Walter Melrose instead of Morton.

After having almost disappeared from view in the 1930's, Jelly Roll Morton was rediscovered by historian Alan Lomax. He was working in a Washington D.C. dive run by his girlfriend of the time (for which he wrote Sweet Substitute). Lomax recognized the potential fount of information contained within the mind of this icon of early jazz. He arranged a series of recordings in 1938/39 that were sponsored by the Library of Congress and eventually released by Circle Records. On these, Morton talks about his life and loves, and particularly about his music. At one point, when asked about Joplin, Morton noted that he knew some of his pieces, and that the two had met at some point. He then talked about the Maple Leaf and played it "St. Louis style" as he remembered it from 1904. He then noted that (paraphrasing) "it's a fine tune, but now if I had written it, I would have done it a bit different. Something like this..." He then proceeded to play a very Mortonesque variation of the well known standard. Mine is an expanded interpretation of Morton's recording, and is not intended as a direct quote as such, but it still keeps to the spirit of the Jelly Roll style. Just the same, the underlying Joplin tune from 1899 is still at the core of this work.

Although the copyright on this work is 1950, several years after Morton's death, he had recorded it for the Library of Congress sessions with historian Alan Lomax in 1938, and it was likely performed prior to that in his Washginton, DC haunts. Unusual in the catalog of Morton's works, this is the only one that comes close to the prevalant "swing" music of the mid-1930s in the wake of the success of Benny Goodman, Fletcher Henderson and others. A gently lilting ballad-style song, the title is reportedly a reference to his DC girlfriend, Cordelia Rice Lyle, in the absence of his former lover (possibly common-law wife) Anita Johnson Gonzalez. I first encountered it at a very young age on Paul Lingle's only album, which was recorded in 1951 for Good Time Jazz Records, and had learned it, more or less, by age 12 after several years of listening. This recording was made in 1984 a bit after the start of my career in Durango, Colorado, and while not perfectly executed, I still remember the affection I poured into this session, and in particular, this piece. So absent a more current recording, please accept this Sweet Substitute.

In spite of the listed copyright date, there are indications that Morton was playing this "Spanish tinge" piece as early as 1910, even though it was first recorded in 1938 at the Library of Congress sessions with historian Alan Lomax. It is one of the best of that genre of his pieces, and even trumpeter Herb Alpert picked up on it in the mid-1970s (possibly influenced by his pianist, Dave Frishberg). The primary rhythm used is a modification of the African habanera, a four beat syncopated rhythm that is often confused with the Latin Tango. The A section is similar to Abe Olman's Egyptia from 1911, though which composer borrowed from the other is unclear. It is the only minor section, and in one recording it is repeated after the B section, but more often is not in modern performance. The B and C sections are similar in construction, but in different keys. Both start with a short melodic run, then have either a fill pattern or silence. The C and D sections are played in sequence before they are repeated. There are patterns throughout that are indicative of the fusion of Spanish and French influences found in the New Orleans of Morton's youth.