Daily Archives: July 10, 2012

YOU’D BETTER LOCK YOUR DOOR!

Wise advice from James Young and Ted Buckner on the subject of keeping one’s domicile safe — Homeland Security in its most local usage — delivered irresistibly by Fats Waller and his Rhythm in 1941.  Thanks to cdbpdx  on YouTube for posting this, Tom Collins and Ricky Riccardi for bringing it to our attention:

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Three thoughts.

First, JAMES Young might very well be our own Trummy, who was witty in his own right — he and Ted Buckner were members of the Jimmie Lunceford Orchestra in 1941.

Second, I have no proof for this beyond an intuitive hunch — but I think that “twenty-four robbers” as an expression is a euphemism for a massive hangover rather than a burglary.  Play the video again and see if you can’t imagine two people, bedraggled after an exuberant night:

“Man, what happened to you?”

“I don’t know.  But I feel like twenty-four robbers broke into my house.”

Third, can we all marvel once again at the delightful exuberance of Thomas Waller?  He’s not clowning, not showing off — he’s just swinging himself and the band better than anyone before or since.  I was reminded of the Ralph Sutton story: if you told Ralph he sounded better than Fats, he was well and truly annoyed because he thought NO ONE sounded better than Fats.

As for me, I’m going to play this video again.

May your happiness increase.

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IT’S A MYSTERY TO ME

I have been wanting to write this for years.

I know that my notions of having a good time differ from other people’s.  I might be excessively focused on the live musicians improvising in front of me.  Jazz invites me to a wondrous trancelike state.  This is my problem, and I happily admit it.

But I wonder if anyone can explain this phenomenon.

In a club or a bar where musicians will be playing, people arrive, happy to be there, sit down, and begin animated chat before the band starts.  The music begins; the people continue talking.  When a song concludes, they applaud wildly, they shout WOOHOO!

The band starts to play; the people talk.

When the band concludes, the people leap to their feet, applaud rhythmically, demand encores.  Their displays of enthusiasm for the music are louder and more fervent than anyone else’s.

Obviously their multi-tasking operates at a more sophisticated neurological level than mine, because they can talk and listen at the same time.  But I wonder how much of the music they have actually heard?

May your happiness increase.

P.S.  If any readers want to explain to me how alcohol loosens inhibitions, I do understand.  And if anyone wants to call me a wet blanket, a party pooper, a spoilsport . . . . I admit to being those things and I have been called far worse.  But I don’t understand the phenomenon.