Boy oh boy, this song really cooks.  The drums are just a hair ahead of the other instruments, the piano is ever so slightly behind, and the resulting mismatch in tempo gives the song the sexiest syncopation this side of a liberal Joplin cover.

And the harmonies when the horns come back in at 2:51.  I mean come on.  Just stop it.  And when Bechet lets it rip at 3:48.  Listen to how the piano settles down to match the drums’ tempo to allow Bechet to get loose.  This is such a gloriously American sound, a fusion of Tin Pan Alley and a New Orleans jazz funeral, with a dash of Django Reinhardt.

If you need me I’ll be in a smoky jazz club in Paris with a French 75, my man on my arm, and a whole evening of hedonism ahead.