By 1929, Red Nichols had been active as a recording artist for nearly eight years. He had been making a name for himself as a leader since 1925, usually in the company of a superhuman trombonist by the name of Miff Mole. While some folks might focus upon the presence of Jimmy Dorsey, seasoned early jazz addicts will also cherish the opportunity to commune with the spirits of Miff Mole, Vic Berton and Arthur Schutt. The first three selections reveal what these men were able to accomplish under optimal conditions,( i.e. without vocals or violins). The band is wonderful, especially when Adrian Rollini introduces "Allah's Holiday" with the bass saxophone or takes a weird solo during "Roses of Picardy" using an ebonite tube full of holes with a clarinet mouthpiece stuck in the end of it. This bizarre instrument was identified as the E flat "hot fountain pen." It has a reedy, often slightly congested sound. The Captivators session brings on a veritable sitz bath of early-'30s smooth dance band effects. The instrumental takes were shipped straight to Germany, while Scrappy Lambert's vocal tracks were foisted upon the American record-buying public. Glenn Miller sounds as though he's blowing his trombone into a wine bottle during the instrumental version of "I'm Marching Home to You." At their best these sides enable the listener to cultivate a pleasantly false sense of well-being. Miller, Jack Teagarden, Babe Russin and multi-instrumental Benny Goodman made for a perfectly reasonable Five Pennies until Scrappy showed up and started singing "On the Alamo." After he ran out of breath, they gagged the Lamb and recorded a perfectly good instrumental take. A 19-piece Five Pennies band -- including four violins -- deliberately created a movie soundtrack malaise before the arrangement kicked the band into a suitably rambunctious background for Teagarden's handsome vocal on "Sally, Won't You Come Back?." Two weeks later, swollen to 20 players with Lambert attached to its neck like a pilot fish, the band cut three more sentimentally disturbed numbers. On June 12 of 1929, Nichols carved his band down to 12 units. Apparently incapable of making more than a handful of records without singers, he now induced Red McKenzie to moan and groan his way through "Who Cares?." Fortunately, "Rose of Washington Square" came out as a hot instrumental, enabling the listener to enjoy the combined energies of Pee Wee Russell, Bud Freeman, Joe Sullivan and Dave Tough. By this time you might as well completely surrender to the pop music esthetic of mid- to late- 1929 and simply enjoy the lyrics to "I May Be Wrong, But I Think You're Wonderful." Lambert is, well, useful as a concise articulator of the words to "They Didn't Believe Me," one of the few songs Jerome Kern would be remembered for if he hadn't slept in and missed the boat when the Lusitania sailed off on its rendezvous with German torpedoes in 1915. If you forget that this is supposed to have something to do with jazz, it feels like a two-bit lieder recital. So what the hell. After all is said and done, it really is a lovely old tune. ~ arwulf arwulf, All Music Guide