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SELECTIVE 101; MAY, 1949


With only a few more records to go before we get to the 1950’s we’re going to take some time to add in a few 1940’s songs we either overlooked or intentionally avoided for various reasons when first covering this ground. It won’t take long and hopefully will paint a more vivid picture of the first era of rock as we head into the second era in the next week or two.


I didn’t want to do this… I certainly didn’t HAVE to do this… yet here I am doing it anyway.

No, I’m not talking about the website itself, but rather today’s entry, one that I was hesitant to include.

Yet the reason I was initially reluctant to add this to the roll call of songs chronicling rock’s full history isn’t because it’s not a good record, it’s a perfectly fine record actually. It’s also not that it doesn’t fit seamlessly into rock ‘n’ roll stylistically, because it does. The reason is because the artist himself belongs to another genre… or two.

If there’s one thing that has caused (probably needless) consternation for me over the first two years of rock it’s been trying to write about artists who were outside of rock who briefly stepped INTO rock as if to test the waters before quickly hopping back out, drying themselves off and heading back inside to the warmth of whatever genre they came from.

Since the point of this project is the tell all of rock’s history as well as examine the artists who devoted themselves to this field, it was sort of a distraction to have to talk about those from other fields who were sort of muddying the waters between genres. It also perhaps ran the risk of making it confusing for those who might start wondering why we were focusing on someone who made their name in jazz or blues or pop who were only stopping by for the proverbial cup of coffee in rock before heading elsewhere. No matter how much I may try to explain that they’re just temporary visitors you’re never quite sure if you’re making the lines of distinction entirely clear.

Therefore when faced with yet another interloper from the outside music world I initially said, the heck with him, let’s just skip over him and move on to the next artist, one who wasn’t auditioning for a role he had no intention of keeping as soon as a better offer came along.

Obviously I’ve reconsidered and so here we are muddying up those waters yet again with a moonlighting jazzman named Bump Myers which means my emphatic disclaimer that “I really didn’t want to do this” is about to be drowned out by the noise from Myers’ saxophone.
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