Jelly Roll Morton ranks among jazz’s earliest towering figures, yet he inflicted lasting damage on his own legacy after death by inflating his importance, notably by asserting that he had created jazz itself in 1902. His achievements as a foundational innovator were already so substantial that such embellishments proved unnecessary.
He stands as the idiom’s first major composer, responsible for pieces including “King Porter Stomp,” “Grandpa’s Spells,” “Wolverine Blues,” “The Pearls,” “Mr. Jelly Roll,” “Shreveport Stomp,” “Milenburg Joys,” “Black Bottom Stomp,” “The Chant,” “Original Jelly Roll Blues,” “Doctor Jazz,” “Wild Man Blues,” “Winin’ Boy Blues,” “I Thought I Heard Buddy Bolden Say,” “Don't You Leave Me Here,” and “Sweet Substitute.” As an arranger he displayed particular skill, evident on the 1926 recording of “Black Bottom Stomp,” where he maximized the three-minute span of 78-rpm discs through shifting instrumental combinations, tightly focused solos, and dynamic contrasts. His piano work, though long underappreciated, possessed a wholly personal character. Though he sang only once on disc during the 1920s, on “Doctor Jazz,” his late-1930s sessions revealed him to be a persuasive vocalist. He was, in addition, a genuine personality.
Details of Morton’s life before 1923 remain cloaked in myth. He began playing piano at age ten, performed in the Storyville bordellos as a teenager—an activity that led certain relatives to disown him—and by 1904 was journeying across the South. He pursued other livelihoods, among them gambler, pool player, vaudeville comedian, and even pimp, yet music always drew him back. By 1915 he likely had few equals at the keyboard and served as a crucial link between ragtime and early jazz. He worked in Los Angeles from 1917 to 1922 before relocating to Chicago, where he reached his artistic height over the following six years. His 1923–24 solo piano recordings first showcased his approach, material, and command. Although his initial band sides remained rudimentary, the 1926–27 Victor dates with his Red Hot Peppers rank among the most vibrant of his output. On those sessions he enjoyed ideal support from cornetist George Mitchell, trombonists Kid Ory and Gerald Reeves, clarinetists Omer Simeon, Barney Bigard, Darnell Howard, and Johnny Dodds, occasional C-melody contributions from Stomp Evans, banjoists Johnny St. Cyr and Bud Scott, bassist John Lindsay, and drummers Andrew Hilaire and Baby Dodds. He also cut dynamic trios featuring Johnny and Baby Dodds.
Once jazz’s center moved to New York around 1928, Morton followed. His habit of boasting unfortunately impeded his progress and often prevented him from securing preferred sidemen. Victor continued to record him through 1930; despite occasional sloppiness or unevenness, several further classics emerged. Among the players he employed on the New York sides were trumpeters Ward Pinkett, Red Allen, and Bubber Miley, trombonists Geechie Fields, Charles Irvis, and J.C. Higginbotham, clarinetists Omer Simeon, Albert Nicholas, and Barney Bigard, banjoist Lee Blair, guitarist Bernard Addison, tuba player Bill Benford, bassist Pops Foster, and drummers Tommy Benford, Paul Barbarin, and Zutty Singleton.
With the Depression’s onset, Morton slipped into neglect. Having cultivated few allies in New York, his style now viewed as dated, and temperamentally unsuited to sideman work, he made only a single obscure appearance on records between 1931 and 1937, during a Wingy Manone session. He eventually performed in a Washington, D.C., club for audiences unaware of his historical role. Ironically, “King Porter Stomp” became one of the swing era’s most popular numbers, yet few listeners recognized its composer. In 1938, however, Alan Lomax captured an extensive and compelling series of musical interviews for the Library of Congress. Morton’s accounts were vivid and his piano playing remained largely strong as he recalled early New Orleans and illustrated other keyboard styles of the period. The material would finally appear on albums a decade later.
Morton returned to New York in 1939 intent on reviving his career. He led several band dates featuring Sidney Bechet, Red Allen, and Albert Nicholas and also taped outstanding solo performances, though none achieved strong sales. Late in 1940 the ailing musician set out for Los Angeles, yet by the time he died at fifty he already seemed elderly. Ironically, his music soon regained currency as the New Orleans revival gained momentum, and had he survived a few additional years he would likely have regained his earlier stature, much as Kid Ory did.
Morton’s early piano solos and landmark Victor recordings, together with nearly every other disc he made, have since been reissued on compact disc.
