Why a book about Chick Henderson?
Who was Chick Henderson?
The answer to the first question is simple. The 1930’s and 1940’s were the golden years of the dance bands and crooners — a never to be forgotten worldwide phenomena. Popular songs of those days are the golden stan- dards of today, simply because they had easily memorised melodies, usually built up of four sets of eight bars, with the second and fourth set being iden- tical, and the first very similar, with only the middle eight being different, or thirty-two bars in total. The lyrics held an interesting tale, story, or eulogy. They were generally about love, in the polite caring sense — never about sexual intercourse — never vulgar — and they made a girl feel like a lady — a protected species, not something to be abused and ravished one night and discarded the next. Men were gentlemen in the lyrics, not male and female rapists, as later decades would reveal in so-called ‘Pop’ Tin Pan Alley.
Exponents in the vocal art of those far-off days were many — ten a penny to be precise. Good ones were rare. In the U.S.A., the undisputed ‘King’ was Bing Crosby. He had no equal, right through the Thirties. In the Forties, Dick Haymes, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, and the Canadian ‘Bing’ - Dick Todd, came along as sQr ous rivals, but they never took his crown. In this country in the 1930’s, it seems that most vocalists or crooners as they were called, were imitation Bing Crosby’s - high voiced Crosby’s (Jimmy Mesene’s early work including phrasing and trills) - low voiced Crosby’s (Denny Dennis, in my opinion a copyist, in the 1930’s although he has denied this). Chick’s record of ‘You started me dreaming’ sounds like he is impersonating Denny Dennis!!
Al Bowlly - a South African by birth, came to England in 1928, and per- fected a method of putting across a vocal where the microphone became the sole tool of his trade. His soft, unusually resilient voice could slide from chest to head without any break, and the close, almost whispered sound came out like “fine sandpaper soaked in treacle being gently rubbed down the spine” - as one fan put it. Bowlly disliked the word ‘crooner’, and described himself as a ‘song stylist’ — but crooner he was, in the accepted sense.
Chick Henderson, an unknown from Hartlepool, a town formerly in Durham County and now in County Cleveland, was a singer who took the part of a dance band vocalist - a crooner who was essentially a singer. He made his first record in June, 1935 and his last in January, 1942. His short recording career saw him leap in five years to Britain’s No. I male singer — (In 1940 he was second top, Al Bowlly was fourth).
His early records were very ordinary indeed (he started at 23) but by his second year, at 25 years old, he had developed a rich manly voice, so unlike Crosby that he presented a refreshing and welcome change to the public at large — (compare his “Pennies from Heaven” to Bing’s). The opportunity to prove himself came when the ~ bar song, “Begin the Beguine”, was republished. (It had flopped in 1934). In July of 1939 Chick recorded it. It is still selling! It has become the best selling dance record ever made in the U.K. — a classic, and the definitive version of the song. Chick was more than a one hit wonder, too, as any new collector of his records will soon find out.
Who was Chick Henderson?
The fact that you may not know is the fault of the ‘Pop’ mad media who, for three decades, have denied the British their birthright in the form of their popular musical heritage. Americans have always re-issued from original masters, and continue to do so, the artistes and artistry of their Golden Age stars. In the U.K., the only two record companies we have with roots in the 20’s and 30’s, EMI and DECCA (Decca is now part of the Philips Group), destroyed virtually every master and metalwork of their popular record catalogues.
In 1968 I wrote the following...
“Who then is to blame for juvenile degradation? Who has reduced the noble British youth to a wriggling, trembling, shaking, twitching, convuls- ing conglomeration, of glassy eyed goons, whose very appearance, clothing and hairstyles, would scare the pants off any Dracula, Frankenstein Mon- ster, or Horror Comic Zombie? The answer is simple — it is the chosen race of pop music purveyors - the greedy grasping gripes who first recorded the goulish gibberish of a few half-witted hairbrains, the absolute dregs of the bucket, possibly because they were too mean to pay musicians, and who iabelled their quack, cheap concoction — “Pop Music” — and plugged it and pushed it over and over again into the gullible minds of the wanting-to-be different teenager — until the disease became an epidemic. Add to this a Foreign Legion of “Disc Jockeys”, and Producers, some of whom would 'plug’ their own grannies, for a back hander, then stir in one great big hypo- crite which masquerades behind a blasé front of Olde English proprietry, but which underneath is in the swim up to its neck - dear old Auntie B.B.C., dilute with the not to “miss a buck” music publishers who would rock “Rock of Ages” and plug the “Lords Prayer” for a minute of “Air Time” then bring this hideous revolting mess of pottage slowly to the boil with an equally irre- sponisible ITV and the result - the youth of Today are whipped by this Jungle Fantasy into a frenzy of wild cavortings followed closely by “punch-ups’. kick-ups, knifings - wanton damage - rapings - immorality - plunderings ad infinitum.
Our Missionaries will tell you that the most uncivilised of tribes can live peacefully for years until some fool strikes up the Tom Toms, and Rock and Twist Rhythms. Before long the whole tribe joins in, and within hours they start kicking, beating, killing, orgying and eating each other. A saying older than Christ that “music can bring the best out of a man” — is equally true in reverse.
The Dance Hall Hops of the 1930’s with their Fox Trots, Waltzes, Quick- steps, and melodious melodies never produced the butchery and drunken hooliganism of the sizzling 60’s with its Rock, Twist, Shout, Shake, Tremble and Quiver.
Having worked in the Dance Business before, during and after the ad- vent of Rock ‘n Roll, the writer was a first hand witness of the degenerative decline.
Never mind flogging the kids who disrupt - never mind cursing their irresponsible parents — leave the dithering old magistrates bellowing down each other’s ear-trumpets, get at the root cause, cobalt bomb the cancerous roots — unsparingly slit with the scalpel — remove and burn the fat, rich Un- British polluters - the hell-bound ship load of pop music purveyors - the Agents, the Managers, the Publishers, the Recording Chiefs, the B.B.C. and I.T.V. These are the destroyers of a Nation, those who manufacture and market, the jungle sounds and rhythms - and the Lyrics which pre-war would have earned the composers a life time in a padded cell.
The discreet “1 kiss your little hand Madame” of 1932 has been replaced with “Come here I’m gonna have you tonight babe” in 1968 — and with it a once moral God fearing leader of the world — the British Lion — has been reduced to an immoral tenth rate state — The once “Roaring Lion” is now a moth eaten rug, on which all the 2½ d, tenth rate countries scornfully wipe their naked feet”.
That article, incidentally, so impressed the senior B.B.C. producer at B.B.C. Newcastle, that he gave me my present job at the B.B.C. when he became Manager of B.B.C. Radio Newcastle in January, 1971.
In reading this book, however, you will learn a little about the exciting musical world of yesteryear - a world which the B.B.C. and I.B.A. have denied access to - for you and millions like you.
The B.B.C. has the biggest record collection in the world, and it keeps the doors firmly locked.