Let them take an expert's word that if they do, they'll hear things that they never heard before, things that will boost them higher than Louis Armstrong's top flight C, which is higher than the Alps and more stunning. If they don't yell throughout the skillful modulations the arrangers switch tunes with, they'll get the thrill of brilliant mathematical changes, subtleties of tone combinations and blendings we try to put into things. They'll hear Tommy Dorsey's trombone as they never heard it before, find things in Count Basie's smooth, dazzling arrangements the Count put there for them. They'll get a deeper sweeter kick out of sweet swing. And swing like anything else has its different moods, pace and colors.
Nobody does everything at top speed without letdown.
Meawhile, the Clintons and Basies are scared to death that their most subtle arrangements will be drowned out, stomped down. But when it's time to give with the trumpets, Larry must blend in saxes, and sneak around his effects like a dishonest man. This doesn't mean I'd encourage the icky, or high-brow, regard for swing. I grow violently jitterbuggy myself when anyone sinks into a cataleptic state when Raymond Scott is being played, and shushes you if you happen to sneeze. I'm ready to shoot when the ickies kick swing around with professorial nonsense.