"In the autumn of 1945, the hottest thing in New York was an ancient black trumpet player who, just three years before, had lacked both an instrument and teeth. What Willie ‘Bunk’ Johnson did possess, however, was historic, even mythic charisma. He’d been present in New Orleans at the very dawn of jazz, and played with Buddy Bolden, the fabled cornettist who’d virtually invented the music. And now here he was, freshly equipped with dentures and horn, a living icon pouring out authentic blues and rags with a company of similarly venerable New Orleanians. Audiences weary of the noisy regimentation of swing and the edgy complexity of bop were entranced by the throbbing warmth of ‘real jazz’, as if they’d been transported to the halcyon days of Basin Street. Unfortunately, Bunk’s moment in the sun was short-lived. Though a wily, urbane character, adept at charming his patrons and the media, he was also wilful and fond of a drink. Rather contemptuous of the band that had been assembled for him, he couldn’t be relied on to perform at his best or even turn up. Within a year, critics lamented that ‘the name Bunk Johnson (had) lost its magic and its meaning’, and he returned to Louisiana, where he died in 1949. All the same, his brief acclaim made Johnson the figurehead for a worldwide boom in the popularity of traditional jazz which continued after his death: Johnson sidemen such as clarinettist George Lewis forged international careers, and made New Orleans a tourist mecca. But Johnson remains controversial, revered by many as a unique musician, dismissed by others as a has-been who was second-rate in his prime. And yet the Johnson records still cast their spell – the singular vitality of New Orleans, pulsating and human, with a communal rhythm that’s more important than individual virtuosity."