“Georgia on My Mind” was composed and recorded by Hoagy Carmichael (lyrics by Stuart Gorrell) in 1930. Born in 1899 and dying in 1981, Carmichael composed several hundred songs, many of which became hits, including “Stardust,” “The Nearness of You,” “Heart and Soul,” “Skylark,” and “In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening.” These songs are important contributions to an amorphous and sprawling body of popular song sometimes called “the American Songbook.” The composers of these songs are said to be denizens of “Tin Pan Alley,” at the center of which we find the Brill Building, just north of Times Square at Broadway and 49th Street. For a while Carmichael worked for Southern Music, which had its office in the Brill Building.
Here is Carmichael’s 1930 recording of “Georgia on My Mind.” Many, though by no means all, standards, as they are sometimes called, have the same general form: AABA. Each letter stands for phrase eight measures, or bars, long. The A sections have the same melody and harmony which the B section has a different, and often contrasting, melody (along with its underlying harmony).
This recording begins with a short introduction featuring violinist Joe Venuti, followed by Carmichael coming in on the vocal (c. 0:15). We hit the B section at about 0:51. The B section is often called the “bridge,” presumably because it connects two A sections. Carmichael repeats the A-strain 1:08 starting at 1:08 and ending with a short violin phrase from Venti. Starting at about 1:26 the performance becomes purely instrument. First, we have what sounds like a muted trombone solo, which pretty much sticks to the melody. At 2:01 Venuti plays a violin solo on the bridge. At 2:21 we return to the A-strain with Jack Teagarden on trombone improvising a solo. That ends with the full band playing a chord at 2:39 followed by an 8-bar cornet solo played by Bix Beiderbecke (his last). Venuti, Teagarden and especially Beiderbecke were important musicians in their own right.
Notice Carmichael’s voice. It’s dry, and not particularly mellifluous. His style is relaxed, verging on conversational. It’s a style made possible by technology, a style that would be all but hopeless in live performance without a microphone and amplification. By the same token, it’s a style well-suited to recording, which was still a relatively new medium at the time. It’s a style that owes a lot to Louis Armstrong. Carmichael and Armstrong knew one another and Armstrong performed some of his song’s, e.g. “Rockin’ Chair.”
Perhaps the best-known version of “Georgia on My Mind” is Ray Charles’s 1960s recording. We’re now a quarter of a century and a world away from Carmichael’s depression-era recording. After a short instrumental intro (strings), this is a vocal performance the whole way through. Charles’ carries the lyric variously back by strings, chorus, and Charles’ own piano. We finish the first chorus (AABA) at about 2:16 and then transition, not to the beginning of a second full chorus, but back to the bridge, then back to the A-strain at 2:13, finishing with a short outro starting at 3:13. The choral backing on the final A-strain is fuller and higher in the mix than before.
Now for something different: Jacob Collier. Collier was born in England in 1994 and began posting to YouTube in 2011 and came to the attention of Quincy Jones a couple of years later. He uploaded in rendition of “Georgia on My Mind” in 2015.
Except for an instrumental solo in the middle (keyboard and bass), this is an exclusively vocal recording, with Collier singing all the parts.
To be honest, I don’t quite know what I think about Collier, or at least this aspect of his work. While I appreciate both the technical and musical virtuosity involved, I find the overall effect at bit cloying and static. It’s TOO MUCH and I don’t know where it’s going.
But that’s neither here nor there. My point is simply that THAT TOO is “Georgia on My Mind.” We have the song itself, whatever that is, a melody, a harmonic structure, and the lyrics, and the way that song is realized in a specific sonic world. The song is still the song, still “Georgia on My Mind,” but the realizations, the performances, are quite different.
Let’s now listen to a different realization, a different sonic world, one that dispenses with the lyrics entirely. This is a 1976 recording by tenor saxophonist Dexter Gordon, who had returned to the United States that year after having lived in Europe – Paris and Copenhagen – for well over a decade. Gordon was born in 1923 and came of age during the 1940s during the bebop era.
At almost 10 minutes long, this is by far the longest version of the song we’ve heard so far. Gordon is accompanied by Barry Harris on piano, Sam Jones on bass, and Al Foster on drums.
Jones plays a very short introduction and then we have Gordon for two full choruses (AABA/AABA). Notice how Gordon inflects the notes and add little embellishments, especially at the ends of phrases. He digs in on the bridge (1:21) and then plays an ascending phrase as he transitions to a second, more improvisational, chorus at roughly 2:31. That is, he just barely, so lightly, stops playing to finish out his statement of the melody before making a seamless transition to his improvised chorus. If you listen carefully, but oh so loosely, you can hear that he never really leaves the melody while improvising. Every once in a while, he’ll be right on it, but he’s always attending to it, glancing at it. It’s always there. Always. [Bridge at 3:47.] Gordon finishes his solo at 5:04 and Barry Harris starts in on piano. [Bridge at 6:17.] Harris finishes his chorus and Gordon returns (7:26), but not to the beginning, the A-strain. He returns on the bridge, follows that by returning to the A-strain (8:10), when then leads into an unaccompanied statement by Gordon (starting at about 9:00).
This last version is the reason I’ve written this piece. It’s by trumpeter Lew Soloff from 2014. Soloff was born in New York City in 1944, worked with jazz-rock band Blood, Sweat & Tears from 1968 to 1973, and then spent the rest of his career freelancing in New York City while he played a variety of jazz gigs.
Like Gordon’s version, it’s a jazz performance, at roughly the same tempo, but a bit longer. The music is slow, stately, and soft, very soft. Soloff ends his first eight with an elaborate embellishment (1:06) accompanied by a touch of gospel piano, and continuing softly along until we get a rapid delicate climb into the upper register (1:16), then backing away, then throwing in a little growl (1:20), and again backing off. Notice how they begin the bridge. Soloff growls a note out while the drummer hints at a march-like beat. More growling. Then we’re into the bridge. Soloff picks up a plunger mute and plays a bit of 1920s style gut-bucket trumpet to finish out the bridge. He keeps the mute in hand to finish out the A-strain. Notice the passage starting at 2:53 or so where he tongues each note – very unusual in jazz – to finish out his first full chorus.
I feel like I could keep on like this through the whole performance. There’s so much going on, so many twists and turns and nuance, and yet at the same time it sounds like almost nothing is happening. It’s so restrained. I could keep writing like this, who’d want to read it? Heck, I don’t want you to read, I want you to listen to the damn music, but actively, with care, wrapping your brain waves around each sound.
What to do?
Tell you what, Soloff announces his second chorus like he channeling Louis Armstrong. Still slow and stately. Then a lot of twiddling starting at 3:40. The twiddling will recur later, and in the piano. Twiddling in the bridge, some clapping in the audience. 4:47: Soloff synchs up his hits with the bass drum. The plunger returns. It has to, no? 5:27 the melody walks all over the place, and then back to slow and easy. At one point Soloff ditches the trumpet and plays only the mouthpiece. One more tonal color heard from. Then it’s the pianist’s turn. Notice all the twiddly stuff, and the stride licks. Soloff comes back in on the bridge, tossing the plunger in here and there as the spirit moves. And now we pound it out with drum, bass, and piano (8:40), though “pound” is perhaps not the right word because it’s not that loud, just loud enough, solid, more of an attitude, and a quickening. And then we bring it right back down (8:43), smooth and natural. It’s the easiest thing in the world. We’ve got time. Breathe.
Your turn. The big climax is coming up. You don’t need me to point it out. Do you?
The music went all over the place. But is there one moment when you didn’t know where you were?
* * * * *
Bonus: Rick Beato interviews Rick Rubin
This has nothing to do with “Georgia on My Mind.” But I’ve been listening to it, and it’s excellent. Rick Rubin is the founder of Def Jam Recordings and a pioneering producer of hip hop. But he’s worked with many different artists. This interview runs almost three hours and is packed with insight into music production.
Enjoying the content on 3QD? Help keep us going by donating now.