Irma Curry may not be a familiar name to you, but in the early 1950s she was a star vocalist in Lionel Hampton's band. In 1962, she recorded a stupendous album for Columbia called Love Is a Necessary Evil. The band,arranged by Al Cohn and conducted by Don Elliott, included Hal McKusick (as), Barry Galbraith, Chuck Wayne (g), Bill Crow (b) and Jo Jones (d).
Irma also recorded several singles with Benny Carter in 1964 and with the Alan Simon Trio in 1985. In between, she performed at clubs in New York and Hollywood, including gigs with Louis Jordan. A few weeks ago, when Fresh Sound's Jordi Pujol told me he was re-issuing Love Is a Necessary Evil and that Irma was still around, I tracked down a number for her and we spent time on the phone. Irma has the most lyrical phone voice and she is as sweet and as gracious as can be. (All photos of Irma Curry courtesy of Kim, Irma's daughter.)
In Part 1 of my two-part conversation with Irma, she talks about her early years, how she came to join the Hampton band and her friendship with Wes Montgomery...
JazzWax: Where did you grow up?
Irma Curry: I was born on Oct. 7, 1928 and raised in Baltimore. I grew up during the Depression, when a lot of people were poor. We all were in the same boat. From the time I could crawl, music was in my life. My parents and their families sang gospel and popular songs, and the radio was always on. My father was a laborer and my mother was a housewife who also did factory work. I had one brother and a sister. I was the middle child, so I often wound up being blamed for someone else’s mischief. Fortunately, my voice was identical to my mother’s. When my brother and sister irritated me, I’d go upstairs and call out to them to do chores, like fold the wash. They thought it was my mother and never knew it was me.
JW: Did you take singing lessons?
IC: I never took a single singing lesson. I never took music lessons, either. I harmonized with my parents and listened carefully to the radio and to records of singers like Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Lena Horne (above), June Christy, Margaret Whiting, Judy Garland, Jo Stafford and others.
The oddest thing is I never intend to be a singer. When I was young, I was into detective magazines and was set on becoming a criminologist—a word I discovered in the magazines. Music was always in my heart, though. I could play piano by ear. For some time I thought I had my own piano style, but I learned later that what I was doing was called stride. I had seen many pianists going back and forth with their hands, not knowing what they were doing. I made up a lot of songs. By the time I attended Paul Laurence Dunbar High School, I entered a singing contest and won.
JW: What was your first professional break?
IC: In school, I was invited to a lot of singing functions by my teachers and the church. One day, when I was at church, a well-known black radio announcer in Baltimore named Chuck Richards was there. He heard me and wanted to manage me. He was a wonderful person. He also had been a vocalist and knew the ropes. When TV arrived in the late 1940s, a local station held a big contest. Chuck wanted me to enter and I did. I won for eight weeks straight. One of the prizes was an engagement at Club Astoria, a local nightclub. I wasn’t old enough yet for the nightclub scene, so Chuck had to have a talk with my parents.
My parents eventually agreed that I could take the engagement but only if I had a chaperone and stayed in the dressing room. A neighbor agreed to be my chaperone at the club. I sang with a four-piece house band at the Astoria, mostly standards. The place was packed, with the audience standing around the walls. I was a neighborhood kid and had been in the papers for my singing. I had an ear for the music and could remember a song cold the first time I heard it. I had been going to local confection stores to pick out sheet music of songs I wanted to learn. After my first set, people in the audience were yelling, “Encore!” I had no idea what the word meant. A lady in the audience finally yelled, “Honey that just means do another song for us.” [Above, Irma Curry]
JW: How did you come to join Lionel Hampton?
IC: At that time, the Royal Theatre on Pennsylvania Ave. hosted many of the big acts that came through town. During my week at the Astoria, Lionel Hampton was at the Royal. Then a miracle happened. Hamp and some of his musicians stopped by the club after their concert. I was backstage after the set, since I wasn't allowed on the floor. Chuck brought him back to meet me. Hamp was crazy about my voice and hired me on the spot. He said, "How soon can you get up to New York? I want to record you right away." [Above, Irma Curry with Lionel Hampton's band at New York's Capitol Theater]
After the show at the Astoria, I returned home. I had never been away from home let alone on the road. Chuck came over and spoke to my parents about it and persuaded them to let me go. They didn’t have to worry. They raised me well, and I was a proper young lady. They were just worried about my welfare, but I knew how to take care of myself.
JW: How was the recording session?
IC: I had never been out of town before, so my parents wanted Chuck to go and keep an eye on me. When I arrived in New York in January 1950 and went into the studio, Hamp gave me I’ll Never Be Free. I spent 10 minutes with a pianist, who taught me the song and learned it on the spot. All of the musicians all told me I had terrific ears. [Above, an ad for Lionel Hampton's concert in Seattle, Aug. 30, 1951]
After that recording session, Hamp wanted me on the band full time. Gladys, Hamp’s wife, was the band's manager and was very nice to me. She became a Curry fan immediately. Hamp nicknamed me “Lil’ Bits,” because I was smaller than everyone else. I was 4 foot 10½ inches and weighed about 90 pounds. [Above, Irma Curry in Pittsburgh with the Lionel Hampton band]
JW: How long did you remain with Hampton?
IC: For three years. The musicians were so great to me. They were protective. Many of those guys like Benny Bailey, Jerome Richardson, Bobby Plater, Al Grey and Milt Buckner became superstars. I was closest with Wes Montgomery, who was in Hamp’s band in 1950. Wes was very compassionate and unpretentious. I don’t think he realized how talented he was. Wes (above) was humble and quiet, and very sweet. We used to sit backstage together, and he’d just wow me with his chord changes. He’d say, “How do you like this chord?” I’d sing really softly into his ear and we would laugh.
I never saw Wes drink but he smoked like a chimney. He’d tilt his head back while he played to keep the ashes from falling as he finished a phrase. I’d watch his fingers running up and down. One time I said to him, “I wish I could play like you.” He put his guitar in my lap and looked at me and laughed. “Never mind, Lil’ Bits. With you, you need a bigger lap or a smaller guitar.” He was so precious, and we were very close. I really miss him.
JW: Quincy Jones was in that band, too, on trumpet, yes?
IC: Oh, yes. When Quincy came on in 1951, he drew out the talent of other musicians. He came with something unique. He was an extremely gifted trumpet player and arranger. He was a gentleman with a foul mouth. But he had to carry on like that. He was so skinny and picked on. We both were as skinny as can be. I remember when he first joined Hamp, he was already a fierce musical lion. I think he frightened and challenged a lot of musicians. He could blow his behind off. To me, he was futuristic. His arrangements were loud and clear. Hamp was blessed to have some fantastic arrangers. Those guys and their charts was the sound of that band. Trumpeter Ed Mullens did most of my ballad arrangements but unfortunately he got little or no credit. [Above, Quincy Jones and Irma Curry on the road with Lionel Hampton's band]
Everyone loved to tease me. Ed used to sit behind me and make these popping sounds to keep me awake. I wasn’t a good sleeper on the bus. The seats were hard for me. I was always bawling him out for teasing me, and that tickled him. Eventually, trombonist Al Grey changed my name to “Leetle Beets.” I guess it was easier to say. Benny Powell, saxophonist Johnny Board, Quincy Jones and me were all tight. Those were great days. [Above, from left, Art Farmer, Quincy Jones, Lionel Hampton, and Walter Williams, ca. 1950]
Tomorrow, Part 2 of my two-part interview.
JazzWax tracks: You'll find four of Irma Curry's ballads with Lionel Hampton as bonus tracks on the new re-issue of Love Is a Necessary Evil (Fresh Sound) here.
JazzWax clips: Here's Irma Curry singing A Kiss Is Just a Kiss with Lionel Hampton's band in May 1951and an arrangement by Ed Mullens...
