What a Wonderful World: The Magic of Louis Armstrong's Later Years
Were Louis Armstrong's later years his worst – or his best?
Louis Armstrong was a music virtuoso, an innovator of the highest level, and one of the greatest entertainers in American history. His admirers spanned the globe, packing concert halls from Toronto to Tokyo. His groundbreaking jazz records, some recorded in the mid-1920s, still outsell (and out-download) most contemporary jazz recordings, and today, 40 years after his passing, Armstrong’s gravelly voiced take on songs like “Hello Dolly” and “What a Wonderful World” pour daily out of radios around the world. Armstrong is widely credited with “inventing” jazz and no one ever picks up a trumpet without acknowledging his legacy.Skip to next paragraph
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But not everyone was enthralled by the great “Satchmo.” In fact, a healthy percentage of African-Americans and many jazz critics – even now – view the last 20 years of Armstrong’s performing life as a betrayal. In their eyes, Armstrong was tone-deaf.
When he was still in short pants, the young Armstrong was already a consummate performer and comedian, entertaining crowds on street corners and honky-tonks in New Orleans. (Look up “mugging” in the dictionary and you’re apt to see an eye-rolling, hanky-mopping photo of Armstrong, circa 1920, grinning back at you.) Unfortunately, his later years are most remembered for his frequent appearances on “The Ed Sullivan Show” and other variety shows where musicianship often took a back seat to cutting up and clowning. While white audiences of the 1950s and ’60s may have been amused, many black viewers were enraged. For them, the flickering TV images of Armstrong’s “minstrel show” were anathema, an unwelcome remnant of a sublimated past.
What a Wonderful World: The Magic of Louis Armstrong’s Later Years aims to rehabilitate Armstrong’s tarnished reputation. Ricky Riccardi, the book’s author and an unabashed fan, examines both the music and the man from 1947 until his death in 1971.
As an archivist at the Louis Armstrong House Museum and a jazz pianist, Riccardi brings a unique bag of qualifications to the task, including unprecedented access to private Armstrong archives and thousands of hours of tape recordings of the man himself – horsing around backstage, auditioning potential recruits, and interacting with fellow musicians. As the tape rolls, Armstrong speaks candidly about racism, segregation, and touring in the South. And while Riccardi’s efforts to rehabilitate Armstrong’s postwar reputation as a man don’t fully succeed, the rich details of the musicmaking, colorful personalities, and Armstrong’s life on the road with his beloved All Stars band is priceless.