Word: muskrat
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...clear across the runways of Rome's Ciampino airport last week came the brassy Dixieland chatter of Muskrat Ramble, swung by "The Roman New Orleans Band." Teen-age Italian hepcats, backed by placards of "Welcome Louie," were beating out a solid welcome for American Jazz Potentate Louis ("Satchmo") Armstrong and his All-Stars.* On the last lap of his first grand European tour since 1935, Satchmo had found solid welcomes and solid houses wherever he landed. In Stockholm, 40,000 fans welcomed him at the airport; thousands waited in line all night to get tickets for his concert. Stockholm...
...even up around F and G above high C; he had such sheer power that he could blow as many as 300 ceiling notes in succession. The songs that came from his shiny horn ranged from the most mournful of blues to the explosive abandon of numbers like Muskrat Ramble...
...very special talent for integration and quiet harmony which makes it a welcome change from the noisy cacophony which seems popular now. Wilber, Archey, and the aged Pops Foster take turns backing restrained solo breaks, with only the final choruses of such venerable numbers as "Rose Room," "Muskrat Ramble," and "High Society" erupting into high, driving chords. These closing choruses, plus Archey's solo on "How High The Moon," were the brightest spots of Sunday's performance...
...slump is not only in high-priced furs. In the Louisiana bayou country, where trappers sold $11 million worth of muskrat, raccoon, opossum and other cheap furs last year, there were few buyers as the 1948 trapping season opened. Fur dealers were still loaded up with last year's skins...
...place was crowded with more that people. Shades of Aunt Hagar and Sister. Kate filtered through the smoke and a lil ol' muskrat rambled in. For two solid hours in that staid Lowell House cubicle there were ladies of the new Orleans evening and the stale smell of K.C. gin. But for the grim visage of Abbot Lawrence Lowell above the fireplace it might have been any backroom in Chicago back in the days when Cicero was Cicero and not an essay in Life magazine...