Rhythm is Our Business reviewed

No, I don't think that the Flyer art director consulted Eddy Determeyer's fine book when designing our cover, despite the resemblance.

I, however, leaned on Determeyer's book- the first biography of swing orchestra leader Jimmie Lunceford- for crucial facts, photos, and even Memphis contacts (Determeyer lives in the Netherlands to help lend that situation some perspective) in writing the above article. The first excerpt I read, though, made me nervous. I had known that Lunceford died somewhat mysteriously, and googled around until I found Determeyer's account of that event, prior to receiving my copy of his book and reading the whole thing. Determeyer concluded, matter of factly, that Lunceford died of a heart attack, just as his death certificate stated. Not that I was disappointed, but having been raised on tales of deals with the devil and no good women poisoning rambling men, I halfway expected the same from the Lunceford story. Shows what I knew about Lunceford. And Determeyer.

Determeyer's justification for writing was the imbalanced combination of Lunceford's stature among big band orchestras during his lifetime (1902-1947), and historical obscurity compared to that of his peers, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Cab Calloway, Woody Herman, and Glenn Miller.

I won't spoil the plot for you, since it's pretty safe to say that Lunceford's life story isn't well-known, and it is one of the strengths of Determeyer's book. Determeyer mixes biography with jazz history most deftly throughout, so the reader never gets too bogged down with less interesting personal details.

Rather than opining and speculating, Determeyer turns artistic assessments of Lunceford's orchestra to the orchestra leader's peers, as they appeared in contemporary documents, rather than reminiscences. To read that Miller, who died in 1944, rated Lunceford's band ahead of both Ellington's and Basie's, weighs far more than any critical revisionism ever could.

Determeyer makes plenty of intriguing statements along the way as well. He writes that Lunceford originated the use of choreography in black music with his orks' high flying acts. The author also states that the Lunceford orchestra's early sides featuring the preaching of bass player Moses Allen represent some of the earliest sacred-secular fusion in African-American music.

These are both well supported with facts and comparison to Lunceford contemporaries. More importantly, the assertions challenge the common "from slavery to hip-hop" trajectory that's become one of the hoary conventions of black music scholarship. Too many scholars, and fans, of blues, jazz, soul, and rap view African-American music as traveling in a straight line from Africa to the Bronx, with each successive generation of artists somehow absorbing the innovations of the previous. As Determeyer describes, though, not every black artist has emerged from a cultural tradition.

These are brave and unexpected turns for a biography to take, and Determeyer's insightful telling of the Lunceford story is richer for them.

As y'all know I have a soft spot for the underdogs of American music history, and thanks to Determeyer, the historical record is now a little more even.