by Brian Rust
(from the liner notes of The Goofus Five 1926 to 1927 on Timeless Records)

Back in 1924, Ed Kirkeby, the manager of the prestigious American dance band known as the California Ramblers, decided that a quintet of the band within the band would be an excellent novelty, especially for playing popular tunes of the day for dancers who preferred their music with a strong jazz flavour. So it came about that the Little Ramblers were formed; but like the parent band, they recorded only on Columbia. Finding their music was a success, Kirkeby secured contracts with other record companies under the name of the Five Birmingham Babies, and on Okeh as the Goofus Five.

Many people had no idea what a goofus was; to a few the word signified much the same 'corny', or out of date, behind the times, simple-minded, obvious. In a musical context, it indicated the strange instrument that looked like a saxophone but sounded like a mouth-organ. Adrian Rollini, the bass saxophonist with the California Ramblers, adapted the goofus for use with the jazz unit that Okeh records had become identified with it.

The Goofus Five did not remain a quintet for long; like Red Nichols Five Pennies on Brunswick records of the same era, as often as not they were seven or eight in number. At the outset, there were only five, but the addition of trombonist Abe Lincoln, tenor saxophonist Sam Ruby and occasionally a vocalist who could be Ed Kirkeby himself made the number up. Their repertoire was principally the popular tunes of the mid-1920s, augmented by several titles that had become jazz standards even at that early date. The two dozen recordings were issued in England as 'The Goofus Washboards', for no apparent reason, since at no time did drummers Stan King or Herb Weil use a washboard when making them. Ain't That A Grand And Glorious Feeling? never appeared anywhere credited to the Goofus Five; its original issue was labelled 'Russell Gray and his Orchestra', and in England as 'The Parlophone Syncopators'. This eccentricity meant nothing to the young people of those days who simply wanted lively dance music for their special gatherings; subjecting it to the keen eyes and ears of Sherlock Holmes-like discographical researchers was something for the future, something they could not have envisaged. (Nor could anyone paying three shillings - 15p - for a single 78 in 1926 or 1927 ever have dreamed that the excellence of the music, and its unique quality, would send the price of the originals up to around 20 pounds a copy nearly seventy years later!)

The Goofus Five struck a neat balance between commercial dance music and what might be termed thorough-going jazz. As will be seen and heard, less than half of these titles have vocal refrains, as they were then called, but though there are improvided (hot) solos in abundance, and the ensembles have a free, swinging sound, it is quite easy to follow the melody line as written. There is a joyous, almost ecstatic quality about the manner in which the Goofus Five played their music; where else in the annals of dance music of the so-called Roaring Twenties can we find these same titles performed with such warmth and enthusiasm? At the same time, there is nothing frenzied about them; they swing in the best sense, but are perfectly relaxed, and if anyone should criticize the band for the use of prominent banjo, let it be said that in Tommy Felline we have one of the unsung heroes of jazz, a musician whose taste and technique are united in masterly performances that provide something of interest in both the melody line and rhythm.

In Chelsea Quealey the band had a trumpet player who knew how to improvise a strong but not overpowering lead; Abe Lincoln and Al Philburn were both admirable trombonists in the style of such stars as Miff Mole and Tommy Dorsey, but who somehow never achieved the fame or recognition they deserved. Bobby Davis was a fine clarinetist and perhaps an even better alto saxophonist, but the outstanding member of the band Adrian Rollini, master of the bass saxophone. Certain critics in recent years have seen fit to condemn Rollini for trying to play the role of trombonist and bassist simultaneously, but there is no evidence of this duality here. To begin with, there is no bass, either brass or string, on any of the tracks by the Goofus Five, and on the one date without trombone, Rollini contents himself with providing his usual rich impetus to the rhythm section, adding an extra voice to the reeds. He uses the goofus sparingly; one of the best examples of this curiosity is on Lazy Weather.

Les Reis, also known as Russell Douglas, and Ernest Hare provide most of the vocal work when Ed Kirkeby does not, but on the last session, a breezy girl named Beth Challis sings on all three titles. Within a year, she was singing in London at the old Alhambra Theatre and other variety theatres, and recording. Her bubbly style fits the Goofus Five perfectly.

At the same time as Beth Challis was appearing in London, four of the later members of the Goofus Five were also to be heard in the capital. They were Chelsea Quealey, Bobby Davis and Adrian Rollini, who had joined Fred Elizalde's band in the Savoy Hotel on January 1, 1928, and pianist Jack Russin, who arrived six months later. The Goofus Five as constituted in this set disappeared forever; when the name reappeared on record labels in the summer of 1928, it was as The Goofus Five and their Orchestra, which was simply another way of saying California Ramblers. Without these great men, the main band and its band-within-a-band could not exist, and the California Ramblers changed from being a superlative organization to being a good dance unit. By the time the expatriates returned to New York at the end of 1929, the Wall Street debacle had taken place, public taste had changed, and the optimistic, good-time sound was no longer 'fashionable'. In this memento of one of the finest of all White jazz bands, we have music by some of the top composers of the time: the great Harry Woods, whose enormous output ranged from the comedy of Poor Papa to the warm philosophy of The Clouds Will Soon Roll By (in 1932); the equally great Harry Warren, whose enthusiastic You Gotta Know How To Love contrasts vividly with the song in praise of Clementine (From New Orleans); Walter Donaldson, another great writer who often supplied his own lyrics (Where'd You Get Those Eyes? and I've Got The Girl remembered by many as the first number Bing Crosby ever recorded); Milton Ager, whose partnership with Jack Yellen produced a variety of songs from Vo-Do-Do-De-O Blues and Ain't That A Grand And Glorious Feeling? to Happy Days Are Here Again; and black composers Maceo Pinkard, who is represented here by I Wonder What's Become Of Joe? and Armand J. Piron, whose I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate was a hit in 1922 and has long been a jazz standard. These, and many more, all contributed to the gaiety of the nations long ago, and for our pleasure today, thanks to the Goofus Five and the brilliant records they made.

If you would like to order the Timeless Records' CD of The Goofus Five 1926 to 1927 you can do so through Worlds Records or direct from Timeless Records.

Thanks to Bob Palmer for his help with this page