He was five feet tall and five feet wide. At least, that’s how the song went. Jimmy Rushing, the man they called Mr. Five by Five, wasn’t literally a perfect square, but his voice had a physical presence that could level a room. If you’ve ever felt a chill down your spine listening to a blues singer shout over a roaring brass section without a microphone, you’re feeling the ghost of Rushing. He didn't just sing the blues; he propelled them into the stratosphere of the Big Band era.
Honestly, it’s kinda wild how many people forget him today. They remember Count Basie. They remember Duke Ellington. But Rushing? He was the engine. Without that massive, sandpaper-and-silk tenor, the Basie orchestra might have just been another tight rhythm section. Instead, they were a force of nature.
The Shouter Who Could Actually Sing
Most people think of a "blues shouter" as someone who just bellows until their vocal cords fray. That wasn't Rushing. He had this weird, beautiful paradox of a voice. It was huge. It was loud. But it was also incredibly agile.
Imagine a man of his stature—he was a big guy, no doubt—standing in front of the Count Basie Orchestra in the 1930s. This was before modern PA systems. He had to compete with sixteen guys blowing trumpets, trombones, and saxophones at full volume. Rushing didn’t just compete; he won. He sat right on top of the beat.
He grew up in Oklahoma City. It was a crossroads of styles. You had the high-society classical influence from his father, who played trumpet, and the raw, gut-bucket blues from the streets. His mother and brother were singers too. He wasn't some accidental talent; he was bred for this. By the time he joined Walter Page’s Blue Devils in 1927, he’d already figured out how to blend those worlds.
Why They Called Him Mr. Five by Five
The nickname wasn't meant to be mean, though by today's standards, it feels a bit blunt. It was a brand. In 1942, Freddie Slack and Ella Mae Morse released a song literally titled "Mr. Five by Five." It was a hit. It described a man who was "five feet tall and five feet wide," and while it wasn't written specifically about Rushing, the public immediately glued the name to him.
He leaned into it.
Rushing understood the business of entertainment. He was a showman. He had this infectious bounce when he performed. Watch old footage of him—he’s never static. He’s always moving, always smiling, even when he’s singing about losing his last dime. That’s the "Rushing Magic." He made the blues feel like a celebration rather than a funeral.
The Basie Years: 1935 to 1948
This was the peak. If you want to understand the DNA of jazz, you have to listen to the recordings Rushing made with Count Basie. Tracks like "Sent for You Yesterday" and "Going to Chicago Blues" are basically the blueprints for everything that followed.
- The Swing Factor: Rushing didn't sing behind the beat like Billie Holiday. He sang with it.
- The Range: He was technically a tenor, but he had the weight of a baritone.
- Lyricism: He could take a standard blues couplet and make it feel like Shakespeare.
When he left Basie in 1948, people thought he was done. The Big Band era was dying. Be-bop was taking over. People wanted complex, nervous music, not the steady, rolling swing of the 40s. But Rushing was sturdier than that. He formed his own group and eventually transitioned into a solo career that, frankly, contains some of his best work.
The Misconception of the "Old Fashioned" Singer
There’s this annoying idea that Jimmy Rushing was a relic once the 1950s hit. That’s total nonsense.
In 1957, he released The Jazz Odyssey. It’s a masterpiece. He went to New York and recorded with mainstream jazz legends. He proved that his voice wasn't dependent on a massive brass section. He could be intimate. He could be subtle. Then there’s The You and Me That Used to Be, recorded just a year before he died in 1972. His voice had aged—it was raspier, more weathered—but the phrasing was even better. He knew exactly which notes to skip.
He influenced everyone. Big Joe Turner? Definitely. Ray Charles? You can hear Rushing in Ray’s DNA. Even some of the early rock and rollers owed him a debt. He bridged the gap between the rural blues of the South and the urban sophistication of the North.
The Technical Brilliance Nobody Talks About
We need to talk about his breath control. Seriously.
To shout over a big band without straining requires a technique similar to opera. You have to breathe from the diaphragm. You have to project. Rushing could hold a high note while the entire brass section was screaming, and he never sounded like he was hurting himself.
✨ Don't miss: TV Lineup for Tonight: What to Watch on Saturday, January 17
He also had perfect diction. You hear every word. In an era where many blues singers were prized for their "rawness" or "mumbled authenticity," Rushing was clear. He wanted you to hear the story. He was a storyteller who happened to have a voice like a foghorn.
Mr. Five by Five in the Modern Context
If you’re a producer or a songwriter today, there’s a lot to learn from Rushing. He understood "pocket." In modern music, we talk about the pocket as the space where the rhythm feels just right. Rushing was the king of the pocket.
He didn't over-sing. He didn't do unnecessary runs or vocal gymnastics. He stayed true to the melody and the groove. In a world of Autotune and over-processed vocals, there’s something incredibly refreshing about the honesty of his delivery.
How to Actually Listen to Jimmy Rushing
Don't just go to a streaming service and hit "Shuffle." You'll get a mess of low-quality radio rips. To really hear what made him special, you need to be deliberate.
- Start with the 1930s Basie stuff. Listen to "Good Morning Blues." Notice how he enters. He doesn't creep in; he arrives.
- Move to his 1950s Columbia recordings. This is where the fidelity improved, and you can hear the nuances of his vibrato.
- Watch "The Sound of Jazz" (1957). It’s a TV special. Rushing performs with an all-star band. You can see the physical way he pushes the music forward.
Actionable Takeaways for Jazz Fans and Musicians
- Study the "Shout": If you're a vocalist, study how Rushing uses his chest voice. It’s about resonance, not throat tension.
- Rhythm First: Notice how Rushing treats his voice like a percussion instrument. He’s essentially a fifth member of the rhythm section.
- Embrace the Character: Rushing didn't try to be a skinny crooner. He leaned into his identity. Authenticity isn't a buzzword; it’s what kept him relevant for four decades.
Jimmy Rushing passed away from leukemia in 1972. He’s buried in Maple Grove Cemetery in Queens. He didn't die a billionaire, and he isn't a household name like Frank Sinatra. But in the world of jazz, he’s a titan. He was the man who taught the blues how to swing and taught the world that you don't need a microphone to be heard. You just need a voice that’s five feet deep.
🔗 Read more: Robert Olen Butler’s A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain: What Most People Get Wrong
To truly appreciate the legacy of Mr. Five by Five, look for the 1958 album Little Jimmy Rushing and the Big Brass. It is, quite simply, one of the most powerful vocal performances ever captured on tape. Listen to it at high volume. It’s the only way he would have wanted it.