Chris Albertson Recalls Ida Cox and Her Final Recording Sessions
Born in Iceland in 1931, Chris Albertson studied art in Copenhagen before making his way to the United States in the 1950s. He initially worked as a disc jockey in Philadelphia and then relocated to New York to eventually become a noted record producer, author, jazz journalist and two-time Grammy winner. Critically acclaimed Bessie (New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press, 2003 rev. ed.) is his authoritative biography of blues legend Bessie Smith. Albertson was the producer of Ida Cox's final recording project, Blues for Rampart Street, an album he persuaded her to record for New York-based Riverside Records in 1961 .
Shedding light on his visit with Ida Cox in Knoxville and her final recording sessions in New York, Chris Albertson recounts his time with the blues singer as follows:
Chris Albertson: I went down there, and I called her from my hotel. She said, "I don't sing anymore except in church." She was very nice, and she said, "Why don't you come by?" She was living with her daughter in a very nice section of Knoxville, and I went up there and we got along very well. She said she wasn't going to sing. She was finished with that part of her life. Then I brought up all these people she had worked with and all her old recordings, and got her on course for a nostalgia trip, I guess. (Laughing) She finally said, "Well, you know? Maybe just one." I didn't know it then, but she thought we were still doing 78s. (Laughing)
Greg Freeman: Oh! She didn't know she was going to do an entire album. (Laughing)
C. A.: Right.
G. F.: (Laughing)
C. A.: She thought [it would be] two- or three-minute sides like they did in the old days. I didn't realize that until she got to New York. But, anyway, her health was not the best. And she had a doctor she was seeing regularly, and she put me in touch with the doctor.
Oh, and she had a neighbor who played piano, and I knew she could still sing 'cause she did do that. Her daughter sent me a tape of her singing with the neighbor accompanying her, and I think it had been done fairly recently, but it might not have been. Anyway, I wouldn't worry about that. But when I got to New York, I was in regular contact with her doctor, and I think it was maybe a couple of months before he finally said, "She's okay. She can go now." And, of course, she didn't know who I was, and she was leery of all that . . . this stranger from New York.
G. F.: Oh, sure.
C. A.: I talked to Grauer and said, "Can we send her a check in advance? So, of course, we sent her a ticket and all that, but we also sent her a check. I think it was $750. I may be wrong. But, anyway, she came.
Our offices were in the Paramount Hotel, which is right in the theatre district. And so we got her a room there, and I pretty much stayed with her most all of the time except when she was sleeping. I would sit in her room and watch television with her.
And then she wanted to buy a dress for her daughter. So, we had a young lady, then a composer, who [eventually] committed suicide, a real nice lady . . . Sarah Cassey. And Sarah said, "Let me take her out." And Sarah knew where to go, you know. And that was one of the few times when I wasn't with her.
G. F.: Sure.
C. A.: But I was supposed to meet them at one point at the Metropole Cafe after they went out shopping. And I remember going into the Metropole Cafe, and Henry "Red" Allen was there. And I said, "Have you seen Ida Cox?" And he said, "Where are you coming from, man? She's been dead for years!" He thought she was dead. (Laughing)
The funniest thing happened when . . .
One of the last live performances she'd given was with Count Basie's band in the '40s. And Basie was at the Apollo. So, I asked if she wanted to go there. And, of course, she had appeared at the Apollo and wanted to go there.
So, we went there and went backstage, and Basie was in the dressing room. The dressing rooms there aren't anything to write home about, but the star dressing room was bigger than the others. So, he's facing the wall, facing a mirror, and the door is behind him. He could see who was coming in by looking at the mirror. And we came in. He looked, and he looked, and turned around. "Ida?" "Yes, honey." He [then] said, "Didn't you die?"
G. F.: (Laughing)
C. A.: She said, "Honey, I came back."
G. F.: (Laughing) That's great.
C. A.: "Didn't you die" is my favorite line.
Anyway, when we got into the studio, we did two sessions. Two days in a row and, of course, had an all-star band.
I spent a lot of time in the session transcribing from the old Paramount records because she couldn't remember the lyrics. Some of those records were very old and difficult to understand the lyrics, but I did that, at any rate . . . typed out for her. We got into the studio, and I would hand her the sheet with the lyrics, and she would read maybe the first line or two, and then her hand dropped as it all came back to her.
G. F.: Wow! And this was recorded at Radio City Music Hall, correct?
C. A.: Well, no, it was at the Plaza Sound Studios, which were atop Radio City Music Hall. You went through a side entrance.
G. F.: Okay.
C. A.: I took her into the control room, and she saw the row of Ampex tape recorders and said, "Are we gonna record both sides today?" So, I told her, "We don't just record two sides." I explained to her what an LP was, and she just went, "Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. Isn't that marvelous?" (Laughing)
And, so she was very impressed with the orchestra. Of course, these were not young guys. Coleman Hawkins had been a member of Ma Rainey's band when he was young. But she said, "Those kids are good."
G. F.: Those kids! (Laughing)
C. A.: And the place was packed. Balliett. Nat Hentoff. Martin Williams. John S. Wilson of the New York Times. Every major critic in town called and wanted to come there.
It was an event.