Carstairs McFadyen’s fi rst outfi t was the Original Mississippi Levee Stompin’ Jass Wranglers, but as the saxist recorded in his picaresque autobiography, Ooh Wee, Baby!: The Highs and Lows of a Genuine Jazzer, “When I saw that we were attracting a lot of ladies, I changed the name to the Creole Tunesmiths. It sounded more classy – and it sure did attract a lot of classy ladies!” Yes, McFadyen certainly had an eye for the ladies and if his rambunctious memoir is anything to go by, then they certainly had an eye for him. It’s a wonder he found time to keep his pants up, let alone keep a band on the road; and on Independence Day 1930 he even found time to go into the studios of a littleknown Kansas City label, Spiffy Records. Proceedings begin with a jumping version of ‘The Star Spangled Banner’, which turns into a bizarre stomp that comes on like a 1920s version of Hendrix at Woodstock in ’69 – with veteran banjoist Venezuela Smith going in for all kinds of bizarre tunings and fretboard scuttlings. According to McFadyen, at one point he attempted to play with his teeth but his dentures snagged in the strings and the results were unpalatable. Next up is ‘Hot and Stompin’’, which has some very nice ensemble work – and a bizarre solo from Hoddy Lunsden that sounds like the bastard child of Claude Debussy and Tom Waits. Following this is a trilogy of salacious songs: ‘Salty Sareena, the Backstreet Belle’, ‘She’s Skirty, She’s Flirty, She’s Downright Dirty’, ‘She’s My Downstairs, Mamma, and She Keeps Her Basement Clean’. The leader’s playing is actually perfectly competent on all of these numbers and is reminiscent of Johnny Hodges on ‘Warm Valley’, but with a side order of molasses. A little goes a long way – as McFadyen may have said himself in a moment of post-coital repartee.