Milenberg Joys

Milenberg Joys has one of the great disputed origins in jazz. Morton always claimed sole authorship, but the published credits list Leon Roppolo and Paul Mares of the New Orleans Rhythm Kings as co-writers. What actually happened, near as anyone can reconstruct, is that Morton taught the tune to Roppolo and Mares during late-night sessions at the Friar's Inn in Chicago around 1922, and they recorded it first with their band. Morton didn't get to wax his own version until 1925. By then, the Rhythm Kings had already made it a hit — with their names on it.

This was a pattern that would define Morton's entire financial life. He composed prolifically, trusted freely, and signed whatever was put in front of him. He once sold the rights to a song for a new suit. Not a metaphorical suit — an actual garment. The man dressed impeccably, drove a succession of increasingly expensive cars, and died with almost nothing in his bank account. The diamond in his tooth was worth more than his estate.

But listen to what he does with Milenberg Joys on the piano and you understand why none of that mattered to him in the moment. The piece is named after Milneburg, a resort area on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain where New Orleans musicians would gather for weekend fish fries and cutting contests. Morton captures that energy — the breeze off the lake, the smell of frying catfish, the competitive joy of musicians trying to outplay each other for nothing more than bragging rights and another plate of food.

The 1925 solo piano recording is Morton at his most relaxed and melodic. No band to arrange, no egos to manage — just a man and an instrument telling a story about a place he loved. Milneburg itself was destroyed by a hurricane in 1947, but the joys survived on shellac.