Filed Under: "Columbia Records"

Three jazz legends, stacked, in the July 1952 issue of Coda, Columbia’s new release monthly. From the top: Harry James (trumpet)Benny Goodman (clarinet)Art Tatum (piano) Each had a new LP that month: James with Soft Lights, Sweet Trumpet, Goodman’s Let’s Hear the Melody, and Art Tatum Concert. As art director, Flora launched Coda in 1943, and provided most illustrations for the (largely classical music) monthly until he was named Sales Promotion Manager in 1945. This…

Dummy pages, Gene Krupa and his Columbia recording orchestra, demo booklet, 1941, part of a series of homemade samples prepared by Flora for the Columbia Records art department. Most pages from the booklets (which earned the artist a job at Columbia) were reproduced in The Curiously Sinister Art of Jim Flora; three of the above four pages were omitted due to space constraints. We posted another unpublished page from the series here and more Flora…

A draft and a refinement of a common theme. This barrelhouse piano player was roughly rendered for a series of demo booklets the Cincinnati-based Flora crafted in 1941 as a job pitch: “Columbia Records was reissuing old jazz records without much fanfare,” the artist (and jazz aficionado) later wrote. “I had the temerity to make these small booklets to try to point out the error of their ways.” His temerity paid off. In early 1942…

Because we feel like it. Because cartoon violence is the best violence of all! Cover detail, Columbia Coda, June-July 1943. The above is not a garden variety mugging—it has to do with highbrow musical theatrics. The dagger to the heart caused the victim to sing—and thereafter to be written out of the plot. Although it’s possible he returned in later acts as a zombie.

Longtime friend, music collector, and fellow Floraphile David Burd reports a first sighting: The new Flora book is in stores today! I just picked up my copy. We expected the book to hit streets in mid-August. That’s what happens when you work with a niche publisher—they surprise on the upside. (Note: Amazon.com lists a release date of July 29, 2009.) Illustration of celebratory Benny Goodman (above): not in this book. It appeared in our second…

Spot illustration, Columbia Coda, December 1945

Now available: a limited edition (25) fine art print of Flora’s 1947 Columbia album cover for Louis Armstrong’s Hot 5. This print was commissioned from Jim Flora Art by Hypergallery, a UK dealer who specializes in reproductions of classic album cover art, and is available exclusively through their website. The print was produced by Flora archivist Barbara Economon from a vintage printer’s proof sheet in the Flora collection. Each print in the edition was hand-signed…

Dummy page, Columbia’s Children’s Album Sets, demo booklet, 1941, part of a series of homemade samples prepared by Flora for the Columbia Records art department. Flora was living in Cincinnati at the time, an Art Academy grad, newly married, barely making ends meet as a freelance commercial illustrator, and sidelining on Little Man Press projects with Robert Lowry. Within a year, Columbia art director Alex Steinweiss offered Flora a job. Within two years, Flora had…

Paris had this unnamed gargantuan invader. In the foreground, a Van Dyke-bearded, top-hatted anatomical spare part flees from impending carnage, his method of self-propulsion unknown. Spot illustration, Columbia Coda, Nov-Dec. 1943, having something to do with composer Frederick Delius—but after reading the booklet’s accompanying text, we’re not certain what.

Spot illustration, table of contents page Columbia Disc Digest, April 1946

Floraphile Cary Ginell dropped us a note: Just ran across this image in the Library of Congress archives. It’s a shot taken by William Gottlieb of the Commodore Record Shop in New York in 1947. Check out the guy in the middle of the photo. He’s getting ready to purchase (or sell, if he’s a counter clerk) the Kid Ory Columbia 78 album with Flora’s artwork. BTW, the guy reaching up to pull something from…

Born this day in 1916. In 1939 the trumpeter, already a top-tier bandleader, hired a smooth, upcoming but relatively unknown vocalist from New Jersey, but failed to convince the kid to change his name to “Frankie Satin.” Within a year, James and singer had parted ways, the latter to join Tommy Dorsey’s orchestra. Within a few years, both James and the kid crooner were on their respective ways to becoming music legends. Columbia Records ad…