"It was, all things considered, just an unexceptional whistle stop on a wearying circuit of dance halls and theaters – the night before they had played in Winnipeg, Manitoba and, conveyed by train the 200 miles to this evening’s North Dakota gig, would immediately afterwards find themselves en route to Duluth,  Minnesota for their next show. There was certainly no expectation that the on-site recording, made by two South Dakota fans, Jack H. Towers and Dick Burris, on a single acetate disc recorder (which accounts for some gaps in the music when the discs needed to be replaced), would survive through the decades and ultimately become an iconic document, preserving timeless evidence of such singular musicianship and distinctive music. The circumstances that provided us with the opportunity to appreciate this slice of  history are extraordinary, to say the least. But here we are.

One of the thousands of gigs the various incarnations of the Ellington orchestra performed over Duke’s fifty-seven year career, this night in Fargo became legendary for several reasons: the unlikely consequences of time and place, the personnel, the compositions, and the inspiration that sometimes strikes when it is least expected, even amid an incidental lapse of ensemble or momentary miscue. Which is not to say that the band – or indeed any Ellington band over the years – was incapable of achieving countless nights of similar rewarding music; no doubt they did, and in fact there are other live recordings that merit equal praise. Fargo, however, is remarkable for qualities all its own.

To begin, the band was in a transitional phase between the brilliant “jungle period” of the late ‘20s and the streamlined swing of the ‘40s. As is common knowledge, Ellington’s compositional perspective was hardwired to the nature of his interpreters – their individual instrumental tonalities, technical abilities and limitations, and personality traits – and one of Ellington’s saving graces was their loyalty to the cause. Three men present at Fargo – Otto Hardwick, Fred Guy, and Sonny Greer – were with Ellington’s Washingtonians sextet as early as 1924, and he began assembling reliable sidemen shortly thereafter. Tricky Sam Nanton joined in ’26, Harry Carney in ’27, Johnny Hodges in ’28. By 1932 both the trombone and saxophone sections were intact, as was three-fourths of the rhythm section. But there were also changes that would significantlyalter the band’s sound and character. Bubber Miley, whose trumpet was a primary color and texture in the band’s early successes, was long gone, and his replacement, Cootie Williams, had recently departed (though he would return). Here, Rex Stewart, not specifically a growler, contributed an intricate sensibility. Bassist Jimmy Blanton brought a new versatility and virtuosity to the bass (though his participation was, alas, short lived). And the addition of Ben Webster would introduce a new element – the equally volatile and romantic tenor saxophonist – to the band.

The key soloists were still Hodges, Barney Bigard, and Nanton, with Stewart and Wallace Jones sharing trumpet roles (this probably being Ray Nance’s first night on the job, he had not yet found his niche), and Sonny Greer inimitable as ever. The repertoire was a mixture of Ellington classics, new material, and popular songs the audience would recognize. Remember, this was not a concert setting but a dance hall, which necessitated a variety of tempi, rhythms, and styles to keep the customers happy. Thus the latin-tinged “Conga Brava” and “The Flaming Sword” for the fancy-steppers, “Mood Indigo” and “Warm Valley” for more intimate maneuvers. Duke’s ambitious charts, like “Harlem Airshaft” and “Ko Ko,” would allow the dancers a respite to catch their breath. For us, however, Fargo is a rare opportunity to savor several of Duke’s newest items in the brief period before they were permanently dropped from the set list. Even the previously recorded classics – “The Mooche,” “Mood Indigo,” and “Rockin’ in Rhythm” – were tweaked with new twists; “The Mooche” obtained a previously unheard section with Hodges’ alto answering Nanton’s vocally-plungered trombone, Wallace Jones’ sensitive open and muted trumpet enhanced “Mood Indigo,” and the indefatigable “Rockin’” survived Stewart’s whinnying and wailing.

But the majority of the Ellington pieces selected here, ten in all, had been recorded earlier that year and six of them would disappear shortly thereafter, to be replaced by an ever-increasing magnificence of new compositions that would redefine Ellington’s career throughout the ‘40s. So “Chatterbox,” “Sepia Panorama,” and “Clarinet Lament” may not deserve the obscurity that was fated for them. As for “On the Air,” named by Duke on-the-spot (a reference to the 30-minute local radio broadcast and the occasionally audible announcer), this may be the only public performance it ever received.

The band, then, and Duke’s alchemy make this a memorable evening, but for my money Ben Webster steals the show. Notice his sharp attack enlivening “Bojangles,” the thrilling recreation of “Cotton Tail,” and the dramatic intensity of his soliloquy on “Star Dust.” Just another whistle stop? Hardly." - Art Lange