Germany under the Third Reich was no place for a jazz musician. The decadent clubs of the Weimar era were closed down and, as the Czech writer and saxophone player Josef Škvorecký later recalled, a series of edicts placed on jazz musicians. They included that compositions could display less than 10% syncopation, in favour of “a natural legato devoid of the hysterical rhythmic reverses characteristic of the barbarian races”.
Yet the regime also supported a Nazi-sanctioned swing band of its own. Recognising that the anti-allied broadcasts of Lord Haw-Haw were in danger of losing their impact, Reich propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels decided to jazz them up a little by introducing an ensemble, Charlie and his Orchestra.
The recordings of Charlie and his Orchestra have become cult items among jazz collectors for their joyless, pro-fascist versions of Tin Pan Alley standards sung in heavily accented English – a bizarre attempt to undermined allied confidence. Although the story is undeniably fascinating, it creates an obstacle for Peter Arnott’s dramatisation, jointly produced by Belgrade theatre, in Coventry, and Nottingham Playhouse, given that joyless, pro-fascist versions of Tin Pan Alley tunes performed with 10% syncopation is scarcely the most thrilling quality one looks for in a stage musical.
The critical point that Hamish Glen’s production has to address is whether the musicians involved were genuine sympathisers, or persecuted artists forced to distort the music they loved. The answer seems to be a bit of both: Berlin bandleader Lutz Templin (Tomm Coles) is initially disgusted at the hijacking of his band for propaganda purposes, but appears to become increasingly enthusiastic about the doctrine of Aryan superiority.
The early scenes are the most infectious, including a subversive version of Minnie the Moocher with an amended “heil-de-heil” chorus. Yet the story is defeated by its increasing sense of ennui. Arnott filters the tale through the reminiscences of a jaded American war correspondent (Richard Conlon) obsessed with a cabaret singer (Miranda Wilford) who, despite a certain sultry presence, is really no Sally Bowles. Callum Coates makes a braying appearance as Lord Haw-Haw, though the role is so underdeveloped that the brief episode in which he is shown receiving a whipping from a Gestapo-styled dominatrix seems a rather salacious insertion – unless it is there to underline the overall theme that it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that sting.
• At Nottingham Playhouse until 18 October. Box office: 0115-941 9419.
• Swing time for Hitler: how the Nazis fought the allies with jazz
