The Swing Column will appear on Fridays beginning next week.

"Swing will die within the next six months," said Paul Whiteman in 1934. Since then, not only has it made the phonograph record industry worth a small mint, but it has shown nightclub owners and theatre operators that life is something besides a bowl of red ink. The San Francisco Fair wasn't doing too well until Benny Goodman and cohorts arrived on the scene. And we doubt very much that Mr. Whalen has been booking swing bands for the New York Fair because he likes their brand of "jump" music.

Not even such black marks as Mr. Larry Clinton's persistent swipings from Tschaikowsky can cover up some of the fine playing done this year both on records and in person by a great many bands. Among the crop of new outfits, trombonists Jack Teagarden and Jack Jenny and pianist Teddy Wilson have units worth watching . . . The public's taste in jazz has kept on improving; consequently, Mr. Shaw is finding things just a bit more difficult. His tripe isn't quite as easy to pan-handle this year . . . Benny Goodman has broken the biggest unwritten law in jazz by having a colored man as a regular member of his band. Fletcher Henderson was the choice. The idea is fine--the selection not awe-inspiring. Fletcher is a great arranger, but, he can't play piano . . . . Saxie Dowell, author of that damn tune about some fish, broke his arm recently at Atlantic Beach. That about evens it up . . . It also seems as if last year's deluge of bad swing has given up the ghost. Future outlook is marred only by the far-off swish of Sammy Kaye.

As for local music possibilities, the Raymor Ballroom, in addition to its usual large supply of doeith young women, will offer some really good bands. Red Nichols is there now...The Roseland State right around the corner, will continue to bring in big names. But their poster advertising is so poor that one finds out about Glenn Miller's orchestra not earlier than two days after it is gone . . . No word ensues from the Southland, traditional hangout for Harvard men. It is to be hoped, however, that they do as well as last year in giving Boston a chance to hear music rather than Ruby Newman . . . At this writing, the Little Harlem, colored dine and dance spot right near the Raymor-Roseland corner, plans to have Jack Hill again. Hill has the finest small jump combo in town and is very swell for both listening and dancing.

As for finding spots in which to hear good jamming or to do a little playing yourself, they just don't exist in Beantown. The number of jam joints in any given locality can always be obtained by squaring the difference between midnight and the liquor curfew. In Boston, the curfew is at one. Occasionally, the Stork Club at City Square in Charlestown will see some after-hours playing, but not as the usual thing. Ardent swing fans had best direct their efforts towards the next election.

And by the way, Woody Herman, famous leader-clarinetist of "The Band That Plays the Blues", will be at the Minute Man Record Shop on Boylston Street next Wednesday from three to four. Besides having brought his band from mere local fame to a national peak in the space of one year, Woody is a brilliant musician and really knows whereof he speaks. Drop around and get him to tell you why he thinks all good jazz should be built on the blues--it's worth hearing.

If you're looking for records, the Square is well stocked with stores which despite a surplus of Kay Kayser, manage to keep a pretty satisfying stock on hand. Well-founded rumor has it that an attempt is being made to found a real swing club at Harvard with record concerts and demonstrations by some of the country's best. And then the House Committees always slip up occasionally and get a good band for one of the House dances.