You can make a strong argument that Rock ‘n’ Roll was born right here in Cincinnati, Ohio. In fact, Jon Hartley Fox, author of “King of the Queen City: The Story of King Records,” insists there is no argument:



“Did Wynonie Harris record the first rock and roll record in 1948 with ‘Good Rockin’ Tonight’? That is, of course, a highly subjective question and impossible to answer, but, yes, he did.”

Harris recorded his version of Roy Brown’s song on 27 December 1947 at the King Records studio in Cincinnati. As might be expected, Cincinnati paid no attention to this monumental event, even when Harris’ platter soared to the top of the rhythm and blues charts and stayed there for most of 1948.

It appears no one really thought rock ‘n’ roll was a thing in 1948. Cincinnati newspapers reported with some regularity on King Records, but every article identified only two types of records sold by Sid Nathan’s hometown label – hillbilly and “sepia”. The latter term referred to rhythm and blues or, less politely, “race” music.

Likewise, Cincinnati media largely ignored Elvis Presley’s 1954 cover of “Good Rockin’ Tonight”. It wasn’t until the early part of 1955 that rock ‘n’ roll began seeping into the consciousness of the Queen City. As you can imagine, the Queen was not amused. A columnist in the Cincinnati Enquirer [20 March 1955] summed the quandary:

“Sad but true: Recent blasts at the leering lyrics in the rock-n’-roll discs have boosted their sales.”

The Cincinnati newspapers repeatedly announced the death of the rock ‘n’ roll fad. Here is the Cincinnati Post [31 May 1955]:

“Well, it was fun while it lasted, but rhythm and blues – or call it rock ‘n’ roll – has gone from a national mania down to a cult. The rock ‘n’ roll craze – involving blues music with a heavy beat and words that didn’t necessarily make sense – sold millions of records and put struggling independent companies into the black. But it also gave the industry a black eye, temporarily at least.”

A year later, the Enquirer editorialized [18 July 1956] that rock ‘n’ roll was an “Audible Drug”:

“The effect of ‘rock ‘n’ roll’ is to whip its addicts into a frenzy of mob violence, police have found. The results of its mass hysteria, noted on police blotters, include bottle-throwing, beatings and stabbings, besides the wanton smashing of dance halls.”

Magee Adams, the Enquirer’s radio critic, followed up a few days later [22 July 1956] with a grateful eulogy on the death of rock ‘n’ roll:

“Teen-ager riots have demonstrated that, when administered en masse, ‘rock ‘n’ roll’ acts like a drug, as potent in its way as chemical compounds. This is the effect that was ignored when the craze started. To their credit, many stations, including some of the locals, long had banned the more objectionable forms of the craze.”

To be more accurate, Cincinnati’s radio stations seem not to have actually banned rock ‘n’ roll, but they tried to ignore it. Cincinnati teenagers must have found their rock ‘n’ roll music via word of mouth, record stores, or juke boxes at the neighborhood malt shop, because it wasn’t until the spring of 1956 that WKRC scheduled one lonely hour of rock ‘n’ roll at 9:00 p.m. on Saturday night. Competing stations added a “Teen-agers” show on WCPO and “Juke Box” on WSAI, making a grand total of four hours of rock ‘n’ roll amid the standard programming of classical music, show tunes, farm reports and baseball.

Rock ‘n’ roll finally landed like an atom bomb in Cincinnati on 9 May 1956. The epicenter of the explosion was Cincinnati Gardens and the detonators included most of the big names of rock ‘n’ roll: Bill Haley and His Comets, Bo Diddley, The Platters, Clyde McPhatter, The Drifters, Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers and The Flamingos. Cincinnati Post reviewer Jim Johnson [10 May 1956] expressed shock at the behavior of the audience:

“By the third quarter of the show, they were in the aisles, all over the floor and unaware of anything but the music. Even performers were dancing back behind the band stand. Those who have gone through a rock ‘n’ roll frenzy say it’s something they can’t help. It’s caused by over-exposure to the beat.”

The Enquirer sent a serious music critic, E.B. Radcliffe, to a repeat show that autumn, apparently under the impression that rock ‘n’ roll was a new direction in jazz. Radcliffe [25 October 1956] opined:

“The program also proved that Rock ‘N Roll is opening up new avenues for jazz. Some of them do not have to be followed very much farther to lead right back to the tall trees where the cats move about on all fours and hang by their tails, and swing is always a means of locomotion rather than a musical term. Wherever it is heading (and the monotonous quality of some of it indicates oblivion is a close and likely terminal point) Rock ‘N Roll gives plenty of exhilarating pleasure to its fans.”

Notably, photos from the Cincinnati Gardens shows reveal that they were fully integrated. And it is apparent that the audience was composed almost entirely of high school students. When the Enquirer surveyed readers [27 October 1956] about rock ‘n’ roll, all of the respondents were high school students, typified by a young lady named Ivadean Gadberry of St. Bernard High School:

“Rock ‘n’ roll has a good beat to it for dancing and is terrific for jitterbugging and I just love to do that. Waltzing, etc., is just too slow for me, although slow dances are good for older people.”

Speaking of “older people,” rock ‘n’ roll did not dent the college crowd until the 1960s were well underway. Jazz concerts and folk hootenannies provided a level of sophistication at area universities, where rock ‘n’ roll was definitely considered “kid’s stuff.” A crack in the intellectual façade opened at the University of Cincinnati when The Grill at the Student Union began offering rock ‘n’ roll sessions on Friday. A reporter for UC’s student newspaper [2 November 1961] described the scene as if she was an anthropologist:

“Inhibitions are cast aside as the true beat of the music is reproduced in weird and amazing bodily contortions. The stomp, the continental, and especially the twist – done as you’ve probably never seen before … and perhaps never hope to see again.”

We’ll allow Cincinnati icon Al Schottelkotte to have the final word. Not yet a TV anchor, Schottelkotte was a Cincinnati Post columnist on 5 July 1956, when some exotic sounds assaulted his ear:

“Something for the town to talk about: The rock ‘n’ roll recording blasting forth from a speaker in front of the Albee Theater to split the late evening calm around Fountain Square. Ugh!”