Chris Griffin: the Last of Goodman's Biting Brass


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What the hell do you feed those trumpet players? Raw meat? —Harry Glantz
Chris Griffin spent the afternoon of his 89th birthday in a Connecticut casino lounge listening to a big band play hits from the Swing Era. Most of the audience was older, many of them dancers who applauded favorites by Glenn Miller and Frank Sinatra. Griffin sipped red wine in a booth with a good view of the band. Carefully dressed in a blazer and tie, he looked every bit the legend.

Griffin earned jazz immortality as a member of the classic Benny Goodman Orchestra of the late 1930s. The years he was with Goodman, 1936-39, are considered the peak of the King of Swing's career, when he had the number one band in the country and one of the most remarkable collections of talent ever assembled. Griffin worked alongside Charlie Christian, Lionel Hampton, Fletcher Henderson, Harry James, Gene Krupa, Teddy Wilson and many others. For two years, from January 1937 to January 1939, Griffin was part of the most celebrated trumpet section in jazz history. Dubbed "The Biting Brass" by the music press, Griffin, Ziggy Elman and Harry James outshone the competition with their precision, powerful attack and bright, ferocious sound.

"Probably the greatest first trumpet player the New York Philharmonic ever had was a guy named Harry Glantz," said Griffin with a smile. "He was a friend of Benny's. He came in to hear the Benny Goodman band in the Paramount Theater. He got Benny's ear afterwards and he said, 'What the hell do you feed those trumpet players? Raw meat?'"

Admirers included Duke Ellington, who called them "the greatest trumpet section that ever was," and Glenn Miller, who referred to the section as "the marvel of the age."

All three members could solo and play lead. They memorized their parts, played matching Selmer trumpets, and tuned slightly sharp for a more brilliant sound. Nearly seventy years later it is still thrilling to hear their roar on classic recordings like "Roll 'Em," "Life Goes to a Party," and the Stravinsky-inspired frenzy, "Sing, Sing, Sing." In vintage footage they toss out their valve hands with a flourish, point their bells high and rip through their parts with the proud nonchalance of young men who know they are the best at what they do.

Harry James and Ziggy Elman were larger-than-life characters and very extroverted players. James had been raised in a Texas circus band and had learned to play jazz in territory groups, proving himself in one roadhouse after another. Elman had cut his teeth in the nightclubs and ballrooms along the boardwalk of Atlantic City when it was fast and frantic.

"And then there was me, a poor farm boy, sitting between these two guys," said Griffin with typical self-deprecating humor. "I never sought after, nor did I get, very much publicity," says Griffin about his role as "the quiet one" in the section. And yet he had far more experience in the big time than either James or Elman. Before joining Goodman he was a member of both the Charlie Barnet and Joe Haymes orchestras. He toured with Rudy Vallee and Willard Robison, and soloed on recordings of Barnet, Mildred Bailey and early Teddy Wilson/Billie Holiday sides. He replaced the mythic Jack Purvis in the Haymes band and filled Bunny Berigan's seat in the CBS studio orchestra. This by the time he was twenty.

However, Griffin was never a showman like Elman and James who both soloed in flashy, Armstrong-influenced styles. Griffin was always more interested in melody, his solo style closer to the lyricism and restraint of Bix Beiderbecke. In the "killer-diller" Goodman band it made sense that Griffin handled the bulk of the lead parts, directing the entire orchestra with his high, clear tone and solid rhythmic sense while most of the solos went to the others, especially James.

"When he first joined the band we were at the Pennsylvania Hotel," says Griffin. "He came in and the first solo he played...it was just remarkable. It was as if he had stored that solo as an opening to an act. But the rest of the night he played equally, if not better. He just had this remarkable new style that no one had ever attained before. He was a great, great player."

And then there was Elman: "A super ego. And he backed up everything that he bragged about by doing it and doing it well. He wasn't as talented ... as Harry, but he almost attained Harry's showmanship, simply by the bravado of his playing."


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