My readers will catch the reference in the title to one of the great recordings of the early LP era (some might say one of the great recordings of all time) RINGSIDE AT CONDON’S, a collection of live performances by Eddie Condon’s 1951-52 band at the club named for him. The music is precise but utterly spirited, a collection of great idiosyncratic soloists forming a cohesive ensemble unit.
Drummer Kevin Dorn doesn’t have his own club, and he probably wouldn’t want one — but the music he and his band, THE BIG 72, played last night at The Garage (Seventh Avenue South in Greenwich Village, New York City) evoked the Condon band of the Fifties in the best way. Not as a repertory exercise (although listeners with long memories might hear a respectful nod to a famous recording here or there during the set) but as a Condon-inspired exercise: hire the best players, let them have space to blow on good, sometimes less-heard songs, and enjoy the jazz.
The crowd did. (As an aside, I have to say that The Garage has the most mobile — or perhaps fidgety? — audience I’ve ever seen in a club: an apparently steady stream of people who had come in for a drink, a chat, or one song, entering and leaving. Come and meet / those tramping feet — about two miles south of Forty-Second Street). Hear a woman in the audience, who had been dancing wildly to the music, shout out “We love you!” before the band sails into HOW COME YOU DO ME LIKE YOU DO?
And that band. Kevin, summoning up the driving energy of Cliff Leeman, Buzzy Drootin, George Wettling — while listening to and supporting the band, varying his sound as the music demands. Bassist Kelly Friesen, a rhythmic rock, whether walking the chords, slapping, or even bowing the bass — he cut through the chatter and lifted everyone up. Jesse Gelber at the piano, talking to it as a man inspired, grinning enthusiastically at the keyboard. Trumpeter and sometime vocalist Simon Wettenhall, fervent and animated but subtle, turning curves like a race-car driver. Michael Hashim, mixing a gentle Hodges-approach with a violent rhythm-and-blues side, always enjoying himself. And my hero of the night, clarinetist Pete Martinez, who was in full flower with his patented version of Ed Hall’s inspired rasp in his tone. And, in the fashion of the great informal aggregations of jazz, each of them is a particularly stubborn (although mild-mannered in person) individualist who keeps his identity safe while playing for the glory of the ensemble. What a band they are!
People in the know are accustomed to seeing and hearing this aggregation under the heading of the TRADITIONAL JAZZ COLLECTIVE. Kevin and colleagues have taken on a new name, somewhat mysterious — THE BIG 72. To find out what it means, you’ll have to ask Kevin at a gig.
Here they are on Friday, February 5. 2010:
Paying homage to Bix Beiderbecke (and to Condon’s BIXIELAND sessions) they began with a quick I’LL BE A FRIEND WITH PLEASURE, capped by Simon’s derby-muted improvisation on Bix’s recorded solo:
Then, perhaps in tribute to the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, wherever, who formed the mass of the audience, they launched into a rocking FIDGETY FEET:
The aforementioned question (sometimes unanswerable) that reminded me of JAMMIN’ AT CONDON’S: HOW COME YOU DO ME LIKE YOU DO?:
Another Bix-inspired homage, although he never knew the song, composed later by Hoagy Carmichael: SKYLARK, with a rough-toned but convincing vocal by Simon:
And finally, in honor of Mr. Hall and perhaps Oran “Hot Lips” Page, here’s THE SHEIK OF ARABY, complete with verse:
I had a wonderful time listening to this band. And — don’t keep it a secret — they have a steady gig at the Garage, late night sessions two Fridays every month. You should see what they’re like live: I plan to!
From Bill Haesler, the Australian jazz scholar, and courtesy of Denis King, I learned that Harry Oakley has posted on YouTube a four-minute selection from the trumpeter Sylvester Ahola’s home movies, taken in the 1920s. They are cheerful sketches of musicians mugging for the camera, and in some cases doing vaudeville bits. But few of young men we see here are identified or perhaps identifiable. I wonder if these faces are known to my readers? (I find it delightfully ironic that there’s a sign for ROOSEVELT FIELD in this selection: it was famous as a Long Island airstrip – remember Charles Lindbergh? — before it became a shopping mall. I’ll drive past it today!)
From Harry: Trumpeter Sylvester Ahola was a keen filmer and began his hobby in the 1920′s when amateur filming was still a novelty. Ahola filmed much that interested him but we have selected the footage which shows a number of his fellow musicians from different bands of which he was a member. Alas, with only a few exceptions, we have been unable to identify these men and we invite everybody to help us find out who they are. Ahola himself can be seen a few times; rowing a boat, with his camera in his hand (obviously filmed by someone else with another camera although it is possible that he owned two), playing his trumpet, doing a short dance and with an elderly couple, probably his parents. In the scenes with the guys in striped jackets we have identified Adrian Rollini and Tommy Felline – both from the California Ramblers of which Ahola was, very briefly, a member. This footage was shot on the roof of the Newark Branford Theater in March 1927. After leaving the California Ramblers Ahola joined Bert Lowe and his Orchestra (not to be confused with Bert Lown), and several members of this band were also filmed. We have added an appropriate soundtrack; a long version of “The Pay Off”, played by the California Ramblers in 1927.
It has been nearly 40 years since I first heard the cornet magic of ‘Papa Ray’ Ronnei…
In the mid-‘60s I was a dedicated fan of the San Francisco style as played by Lu Watters, Turk Murphy, Bob Scobey, the Firehouse Five and…Vince Saunders’ South Frisco Jazz Band. In 1966 my parents had taken me to Huntington Beach, Californiawhere the South Frisco band played weekends at the ‘Pizza Palace’. We became instant fans of the SFJB after that first evening and made regular trips up from La Jolla to catch the band on weekends. The band members were especially kind to a young fan. Washboardist Bob Raggio, then an employee of Ray Avery’s ‘Rare Records’ was particularly helpful in locating several out-of-print Murphy and Watters LPs for me.
Late in 1967, Bob sent a note along with an LP he had found for me. The note mentioned that on the coming weekend, a ‘very special edition of the South Frisco band would perform at the Pizza Palace, with ‘Papa Ray’ Ronnei on cornet.’ I had heard of Ray Ronnei, but had not actually heard him play. 1 Even so, my parents accompanied me to Huntington Beach to hear the band.
At the Pizza Palace we settled in at a table, not knowing quite what to expect, when the band took off on ‘You Always Hurt The One You Love’. Ray Ronnei’s brassy, staccato attack and almost surrealistic phrasing was like nothing I had ever heard! 2 It was a glorious and unique sound; one I still have not recovered from! The tune selection was a radical departure from the San Francisco repertoire I was so used to: ‘Bogalusa Strut’, ‘Salutation March’, ‘Big Chief Battle Axe’, ‘One Sweet Letter From You’, ‘Ugly Chile’, ‘Blue Bells, Goodbye’, ‘Sweet Lotus Blossom’, ‘Bugle Boy March’ etc. This night at the Pizza Palacethe first time I had heard any of these numbers! 3
When the performance ended—much too soon to suit me!—we headed home to La Jolla. My head was spinning from the spellbinding sound of Ray Ronnei’s cornet. Despite my continuing interest in the San Francisco style, I wanted to hear this hornman again—as soon as possible! I did not have to wait too long, as South Frisco’s cornetist Al Crowne took a leave of absence from the band in 1968. His replacement: Ray Ronnei! My family made dozens of journeys north to Huntington Beach during Papa Ray’s tenure with the South Frisco in 1968-69.
The SFJB lineup varied during this period. 4 Trombonist Frank Demond moved to New Orleans and was replaced on by Eric Rosenau, then Roy Brewer. Mike Baird was usually on clarinet, though Jim Bogen and soprano saxophonist John Smith sometimes filled in for him. Ron Ortmann was the regular pianist, spelled at times by Dick Shooshan, Bill Mitchell and Robbie Rhodes. Tubist Bob Rann was usually present, with Mike Fay on string bass in Rann’s absence. Banjoist-leader Vince Saunders was a constant, as was washboardist Bob Raggio—until the latter moved to Pittsburgh to play at baseball star Maury Wills’ nightclub. But despite the shifting personnel, that distinctive cornet sound continued to ring joyously over the ensembles.
When the South Frisco repertoire expanded, three of the ‘new’ tunes—at least new to me—caught my fancy: ‘Here Comes The Hot Tamale Man’, ‘Messin’ Around’ (by Cook and St. Cyr) and ‘Flat Foot’. These three have been my favourite ‘trad’ numbers since hearing Papa Ray play them in 1968. Though Vince Saunders was the bandleader, he frequently let Papa Ray kick off tunes. The latter tended towards brisk tempos and kicked them off old-style, i.e. ‘one-two-three-four ONE! TWO! With only a little imagination I can still hear the powerful band roaring through all-ensemble versions of ‘Maple Leaf Rag’ and ‘Cakewalking Babies’ (with Papa Ray playing the same burst of capsicum on the outchorus that Mutt Carey played on the ‘New Yorkers’ record of the same tune). The South Frisco Jazz Band in 1968-69 was truly one of a kind.
In 1969, Papa Ray left the South Frisco group and Al Crowne returned. Earlier, the band recorded an LP for the Vault label entitled ‘Here Comes The Hot Tamale Man.’ Unfortunately, that LP has not yet been reissued on CD. However, Ted Shafer’s Merry Makers Record Company has released a CD of the South Frisco Band live at the Pizza Palace, recorded in 1968 by clarinetist Ron Going. This disc ‘tells the story’ of just how exciting a time 1968-1969 was for fans of Papa Ray’s cornet work.
While still a resident of Los Angeles, Papa Ray played with the Salutation Tuxedo Jazz Band, Crescent Bay Jazz Band and other groups. Before signing on with South Frisco, he worked with Ted Shafer’s Jelly Roll Jazz Band in the Bay Area. He returned to the Jelly Roll Jazz Band temporarily in 1969. I was able to enjoy his music via tapes made previously at the Pizza Palace, LPs by the El Dorado Jazz Band, Jelly Roll Jazz Band and the then-new South Frisco LP. On one occasion, our family was watching a San Francisco Seals hockey game on tv. After a Seals goal, a jazz band in the stands struck up ‘Hot Time In The Old Town Tonight’. Clarinetist Bob Helm and trombonist Bob Mielke were instantly identifiable, as was the peppery cornet—Papa Ray, of course!
I continued to see and hear Ray Ronnei on his visits to the L.A. area. Sometimes he would play at a Sunday-afternoon jam session at one of the local jazz societies. On one memorable occasion, I was asked to play a set with Papa Ray, Dan Barrett, Ron Going, Dick Shooshan, Doug Parker and veteran New Orleans bassist Ed Garland. I don’t have a recording of this session, but at least I got a photo!
Living away from California, I would hear occasional news concerning Ray’s appearances on various jobs. Later, there was a disheartening rumor that he had quit playing. I had the recordings to listen to, but still hoped to hear the ‘real thing’ again some day. In the early ‘90s I returned to California and wound up playing once a week at the ‘Hofbrau’ in Fullerton (Orange County), California. The bands in rotation at the time included Gremoli, Evan Christopher’s Quintet and my own Frisco Syncopators. One night, Mike Fay came to hear the band—with Papa Ray in tow! Ray looked the same as he had the last time I saw him, in the ‘70s. What a blast it was to see him, and in good health at that.
Later, when key personnel became unavailable to play the Hofbrau, the Frisco Syncopators gradually became the New Orleans Wanderers. Papa Ray was still making an occasional appearance at the club, though I had not been able to induce him to play. But Mike Fay stepped in, describing the band’s sound and repertoire and we managed to get Ray on cornet! With Alan Adams (trombone), Mike Baird (reeds), Vic Loring (banjo), Mike Fay (bass) and myself on drums, we hit ‘You Always Hurt The One You Love’. It unleashed a flood of happy memories, of good times at the Pizza Palace. And best of all, Ray had his lip and his drive. No one had to shoulder an extra load that night! I still don’t know why I didn’t take a tape recorder. Unfortunately, no one recorded us that night! The lack of recording is all the more unfortunate because Ray was unable to make the job on a regular basis. The Golden Eagles’ Ken Smith stepped in and became our regular hornman.
My last encounter with Papa Ray was in 1995, when the Wanderers recorded a session for release on cassette. We assembled in Mike Fay’s living room in Claremont, California and saw that a guest was settling in to listen to the session. Papa Ray was happy to see his musical friends and obviously enjoyed our performances. He would not join in on cornet, but we managed to coax him into singing ‘How Long Blues’, which was released on the cassette.
Since then, I continue to hear that Papa Ray has taken part in occasional sessions and the report invariably includes the line ‘He sounded as great as ever’. I am sure the reports are true. Hearing Papa Ray Ronnei on cornet has always been a magical experience; one of the biggest thrills I have experienced in jazz. To me, he will always be one of the greats!
Notes
I never heard the El Dorado Jazz Band in person. They played mostly in bars where a teenager could not enter, according to California state law. I bought the El Dorado Epitaph and Item-1 LPs after hearing Ray with the South Frisco band. The band finally broke up in mid-1966, but this ‘special edition’ of the South Frisco Jazz Band would be composed almost entirely of El Dorado veterans.
At the time I was unfamiliar with the recordings of Freddie Keppard, Abbie Brunies and especially Mutt Carey, who were the premier inspirations for Ray Ronnei. (Ray studied with Mutt Carey in the late ‘40s).
I discovered Bunk Johnson, George Lewis, Kid Ory and ‘British Trad’ after hearing this ‘New Orleans’ version of the South Frisco band. Bassist Mike Fay played that night, as did pianist Dick Shooshan. Besides hearing Ray Ronnei for the first time and hearing a wealth of ‘new’ tunes, this was my first exposure to New Orleans style string bass and Jelly Roll Morton type piano.
There were surely more substitutes and guests with the South Frisco Jazz Band during this period. My listing is based on those I actually heard, or who were recorded at the Pizza Palace.
P.S. Ray Ronnei, born in 1916, is happily still with us! Although he no longer plays the cornet, his composition SALTY BUBBLE can be heard in the 2009 Woody Allen film WHATEVER WORKS, and Ray plans to continue composing! The original recording can be purchased here: http://www.worldsrecords.com/pages/artists/r/ronnei_ray/ray_ronnei_64328.html
There’s a Stephen Sondheim song — BOUNCE — from the musical of the same name. I heard it many times on Jonathan Schwartz’s show on WNYC-FM. It’s a cynical paean to the ability to re-adapt, to get up off the floor, to reinvent yourself, sung by two brothers who have seen a great deal.
I thought about it, however irrelevantly, when the young jazz pianist Joe Alterman sent me a copy of his debut CD, PIANO TRACKS (VOLUME ONE). Young? He’s twenty-one. Credit for my knowing about Joe is due to the energetic Marc Myers, of JazzWax: read his December 2009 post on Joe here: http://www.jazzwax.com/2009/12/joe-alterman-piano-tracks.html.
Joe admires the lyrical, singing, propulsive styles — they’re timeless — embodied by Hank Jones and other giants.
Joe’s also got his own personal blog, where he writes about meeting Hank Jones and Jimmy Heath, studying with Don Friedman, and more — humble, funny, and to the point. It’s http://joealterman.blogspot.com/
But back to the CD at hand. It was recorded last year, and it is a comfortable kind of music: swinging without being self-conscious, embracing the past without being restricted by “repertory” conventions. Joe is a melodic player — someone who respects the compositions he sets out to play (Arlen, Johnny Green, Styne, Gershwin, Mancini) and is also an adept composer. I’ve heard some contemporary pianists recently who seem to believe that their improvisations must be aggressive to be compelling, so they rampage over the keyboard as if they were annoyed by it. That’s not Joe’s style. He knows the virtue of space, of letting lines breathe. And he knows how to swing naturally in the fashion of Red Garland and Ahmad Jamal. Some of the infectious bounce of this CD is due to bassist Scott Glazer and drummer Justin Varnes (on one track, they are replaced by Sam Selinger and Tiffany Chang), but with all due respect to them, I think Joe could swing on his own. He understands the possibilities within “medium-up-tempo,” and the CD has its own rocking momentum. And several of his originals deserve their own life — the moody THE FIRST NIGHT HOME, and the naughty blues (BEFORE YOU BRING ME MY CORNBREAD) SLAP SOME BUTTER ON THAT BISCUIT, which surely has lyrics waiting to be sung.
When you have a blog — this one or any other kind — you find out the words and phrases that people have used on Google or other search engines to come to your blog. Sometimes the journey is a straight line (the most frequent searches are for “Louis Armstrong,” “Billie Holiday,” “Frank Sinatra,” “Joel Helleny” and so on). But occasionally imagining the original impulse in the searcher’s mind and trying to reconstruct the journey from idea to JAZZ LIVES is both difficult and hilarious. Witness these recent examples of inexplicability:
First, we have the MIS-SPELLERS:
“man city blue blowers”
Phonetic-ese for MOUND CITY (St. Louis) which makes for a particularly testosterone-heavy group of comb-and-tissue players; men whose kazoos are formidable instruments.
lester young, lady be god
Perhaps the deification of Billie Holiday by Lester Young?
meaning atterly deplorable
Here, I don’t know if the writer was looking for a defintion of the phrase or saying that my blog was atterly, atterly to be deplored.
was is billie holiday’s nationality
Was American, korrekt?
talk less – miss holiday
1) I can’t say; my lips are sealed. 2) If you don’t say anything, they take away your sick days at work?
jazz pianist and singer black overweight
I assume that someone here was thinking of Fats Waller but couldn’t recall the name, or was shy about typing in his name for fear of causing offense: the computer would shut down because of such offensive language. One never knows, do one?
jazz vocal shout face
My first thought was that someone was looking for a Google Images piece of clip art — a singer whose face was showing the joyous possibilities of shouting in rhythm. But then I said, “No! Someone’s looking for information on the almost-unknown hot singer SHOUT FACE, who made three records with Billy Fowler and his Howlers in Atlanta in 1927.”
Who knew that the ethereally gutty Ms. Korn, an irreplaceable singer, was also a nifty photographer? Well, here’s a sample — taken in Lithuania when the Cangelosi Cards did their summer 2009 tour:
I found this photograph (and others) on the newly enlarged site devoted to the Cards and to Mona’s Hot Four, to their music (compact disc issues for sale!), their calendar, news, contact information, and more. Thanks to Marcus Milius for telling me about this. I gather that the Cards are not (as I write this) performing Monday nights at Banjo Jim’s — for the time being — but all things are mutable.
Three clips from a vanished era — when movies were introduced by black-and-white newsreels (and cartoons, short subjects, even travelogues) that had time to show jazz musicians, those vivid people, in action. Here are three very short excerpts brought to us by that intrepid jazz time-traveler Enrico Borsetti. The subjects of the first clips will be more than familiar (you’ll see Arvell Shaw in the big band clip) but the surprise, for me, was of the brilliant New Orleans clarinetist Albert Nicholas in the final clip.
Those of you who don’t speak Italian fluently and rapidly will find the narration difficult at first — but my readers are good at improvising!
In the first post (April 1959) the welcome is provided by the Roman New Orleans Jazz Band, and don’t ignore those beautifully dressed, smiling “stewardesses”:
Then, we move to Holland (May 21, 1958) in front of a very happy audience. FINE comes all too soon:
Finally, the International Jazz Festival at San Remo (February 1, 1956) with twelve glorious bars of Albert Nicholas — one luminous blues chorus:
Also featured are Italian jazz notables Nunzio Rotondo, Carlo Pes, Romano Mussolini, Gilberto Cuppini and the Milan College Jazz Society.
P.S. I have a particular sentimental attachment to footage of this kind because my late father worked for a time at Movietone News. Irrelevantly, perhaps — one of his colleagues was Walter Bishop Sr., father of the modern jazz pianist.
That title isn’t to be taken lightly, for several times last night when The Ear Regulars (with guests) got together to play, they hit a real groove. Not too slow, not too fast. But I thought of the Ruby Braff-George Barnes Quartet, or the Buck Clayton Jam Sessions: musicians who know deep down what it means to choose the right tempo for the right song, to patiently, humorously let things build, to listen to each other. The result was that often the room was both hushed and exuberant. It was annoyingly cold outside in New York City last night, but The Ear Inn was spiritually warm — the kind of place I hated to leave even when the music was over.
Here are four performances from the evening’s jazz festivities. The Ear Regulars (regular fellows all) were particularly lyrical: Jon-Erik Kellso, Matt Munisteri, Dan Block, and Pat O’Leary. Eloquent, concise storytellers all — people who know what it is to sing on their instruments.
You might notice an occasional blurry passage (visually, not audibly): either my camcorder was overwhelmed by emotion or it needs an appointment with the autofocus doctor. But the music comes through vibrantly, which pleases me greatly.
This post starts with a song that people know (through Louis, Jack, Billie, and others) — a Harold Arlen cride coeur — but few people play: I GOTTA RIGHT TO SING THE BLUES:
Then, a song that’s even more obscure in this century — perhaps because its period “ethnic” lyrics produce justifiable discomfort (although I miss Louis and Lips’ versions): CHINATOWN, MY CHINATOWN:
The Ear Regulars expanded nicely: Conal Fowkes took over the string bass while Pat O’Leary treated us to his exceptional jazz cello playing. An extraordinary string section! Watch their hands, please.
Anat Cohen came in and played her part while seated on a barstool. Andy Farber (sounding sweetly like Hilton Jefferson) added his alto sax. And they embarked on a sweetly hot I FOUND A NEW BABY (in two parts):
They were romping, although not accelerating:
Clarinetist Frank Perowsky joined them for the final ensemble — a lengthy, swaying version of the blues line RED TOP (in Db, or “dog flat”) that wasn’t a moment too long, although it ran sixteen minutes. I was in the middle of a four-piece reed section: a clarinet to my right (Anat), one to my left (Frank), two saxes in front of me — rather like living in a Fifties demonstration-of-stereo record. And, there was more from that world-class downtown unbuttoned string section!
The second part:
I haven’t written much about the music. As Charlie Parker told Earl Wilson, it speaks louder than words. The music I heard last night at The Ear Inn transcended words: it wasn’t a matter of volume.
It was an honor to be there, and that’s no stage joke. Thanks to everyone — and to Phillup de Bucket, who has a cameo in CHINATOWN, to Vlatka Fowkes, Beverly, Karen, Randi, and Katy; to Victor, the epitome of musical Hip; to the friends of hot jazz who made the place so convivial.
