THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene –a Wednesday night. (Don’t miss the upstairs windows!)
And a Wednesday night at that same place — March 29, 2006 — from the cassette recorder I placed on my table, to capture the extraordinary little band led by the unpredictable Eddy Davis, banjo, vocal, and imagination; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone and a bamboo cane that was also a flute — provoking hilarity and awe; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Conal Fowkes, piano; Debbie Kennedy (whose birthday was yesterday), string bass.
Eddy could play the “standard” traditional-jazz repertoire, but his imagination was expansive, so the tunes for this fifty-minute visit to the past are far from the usual: COME RAIN OR COME SHINE (which Eddy sings and then provides a chordal roadmap for the rest of the band — before a patron wants to take a photograph of the band) / WHAT WILL I TELL MY HEART? (a song presumably new to the band, at a rocking tempo which builds a splendid momentum: I assure you I was not clapping along) / PLAY, FIDDLE, PLAY (bringing the balalaika to Eighth Avenue, then Eddy’s vocal interrupted by “miscellaneous instruments”) / WHERE BEAUTY LIES (Eddy’s original composition, which no one had seen before) / I’LL NEVER HAVE TO DREAM AGAIN (“the Conal Fowkes Show” which leads into Eddy becoming Billy Eckstine for a few bars, before Conal shows off his sweet way with a ballad, even at a trotting tempo) — songs associated with Frank, Bing, Slam, Fats Domino, Isham Jones, Connie Boswell, and more. What a mix of tenderness and assertive swing, lyricism and surprises:
Beautiful, idiosyncratic music, casting its own spells. We were so fortunate to hear and see it. And if you weren’t at a front table between 2005-6, I hope the sounds create their own magic.
THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene. Private collection, New York.
From left, the artist herself, coming out of the subway; street person with dog; (inside window) Sean, bartender; Herb Maslin, CEO, Charlie Levenson, jazz enthusiast; Eddy Davis; Scott Robinson; Jay, occasional Cajun host; Debbie Kennedy; Simon Wettenhall, trumpet; Mr. Spoons; Orange Kellin. The Green Vespa is unclaimed. No doubt Arlene Lichterman was indoors, taking care of things. Be sure to linger over the windows above and their lively inhabitants. Thanks to Ms. Rosene for the identifications.Eddy Davis, courtesy of ScienSonic Laboratories.
Ah, a Wednesday night fifteen years ago is so far away but also right at hand, depending on which lens you use. The distant past that isn’t really that distant when we can hear it.
Here is a recording of a Wednesday night gig by Eddy Davis’ WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM (or his NEW ORLEANS JAZZ BAND, I don’t know what name he was using that night): Eddy, banjo, vocals, leader; Debbie Kennedy, string bass; Conal Fowkes, piano; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone.
The recording medium was my cassette recorder placed on the table; the sound feels narrow at first but give it ninety seconds for your ears to adjust. They will.
The songs are STUMBLING / THAT OLD FEELING / STARDUST / IN A SENTIMENTAL MOOD / AS LONG AS I LIVE / GOOD -BYE / AUTUMN LEAVES / MARGIE / SWEETHEART OF ALL MY DREAMS (Conal) / SOMEBODY STOLE MY GAL (Conal) //
Eddy Davis was the ringmaster of his own circus, both benevolent and imperious, and he allowed us to come in under the huge brightly-colored for regular visits. His imagination was hugely expansive, and in this performance you will hear how reverently his musical colleagues had chosen to follow him.
Within the first five or six minutes of this performance, you will hear the magical intuitive synchronicity that this working band had — they are having the time of their lives while expertly navigating the curves at any tempo. The solos are casually eloquent; the interplay is at the very highest level. And there are the hallmarks of an Eddy Davis performance: the idiosyncratic stream-of-consciousness chat to and with the audience, the surprising cadenza-false endings, Eddy’s vocals that initially might sound as if he was ordering breakfast at the diner but that soon reveal passion. I also cherish the unorthodox instrumentation. Somewhere that night, a quick walk away, a jazz group of trumpet, alto, piano, bass, drums was having their own good time, but the sounds these musicians got were special: their own sonic aquarium, with the most remarkable bounce at any tempo. And they could get up a ferocious momentum that makes me think of the Bechet-Spanier Big Four or the 1938 Basie band: hear the outchorus of SOMEBODY STOLE MY GAL.
The Cajun was a scene in itself even when the music wasn’t playing — a vanished world where art and commerce looked warily at each other and settled in for the evening — and I miss it deeply.
So here’s an unedited visit to that world, an ordinary night in 2006 where the music was anything but ordinary:
What a privilege to have been there; I hope you feel it too, even if you were elsewhere that night.
Postscript: if you’re charmed by Barbara Rosene’s art (and she has a wide range) you can see more of it here.
Edward Meyer has written the definitive biography of Dick Wellstood, GIANT STRIDES: THELEGACY OF DICK WELLSTOOD (1999), and an even more extensive book on Kenny, JUST FOUR BARS: THE LIFE AND MUSIC OF KENNY DAVERN (2010), both published by Scarecrow Press.
When it came to his friends, Kenny Davern was a generous man who loved to share the things that gave him pleasure. One Sunday afternoon, I had driven down to Manasquan to talk with Kenny about the Wellstood book. Elsa was away and he wasn’t working that evening, so he wasn’t pressed for time. After we finished talking about Dick, we went out for pizza, after which we went back to his house.
He was in a talkative mood that night and we schmoozed about a number of things and people – not many of whom were connected with jazz. Several hours passed. I had to get up and go to work the next day and was facing a 60+ mile drive back to my apartment in Manhattan in Sunday night traffic. But, just when I was ready to leave. the conversation turned to Wilhelm Furtwängler, the conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic. Kenny passionately believed that Furtwangler had never gotten the recognition due him and that he was far better at getting the best out of the musicians in his orchestra than Arturo Toscanini. who led the NBC Symphony. I had no views on the subject – mainly because I knew little about classical music and even less about the skills of either man – but that only spurred Kenny into his role as teacher.
He left the room and came back with two recordings of the same piece – one by Furtwangler and the other by Toscanini. “Listen to this,” he said, and played about five minutes of the Furtwangler recording. “Do you hear how Furtwangler brings out the individual sound of each horn? Now listen to this.” And he played about five minutes of the Toscanini recording. “Do you hear the difference?” Fool that I was, I said that I couldn’t really tell.
That was clearly the wrong answer because we went through the exercise again. By this time, it was about 10:00 p.m., and although I was no better informed at the end of the second round of recordings than I had been before, when Kenny asked if I could tell the difference, I nodded my head vigorously. And, before the demonstration could progress any further, I stood up and said that it was time for me to go home. And I left.
I saw him about a week later and as soon as he had a free moment he came over and gave me a short handwritten list on which he had jotted down the titles and numbers of a few Furtwangler CDs. He thought that I might like them.
Years later, I learned that my experience was not unique. If one of his friends liked something that Kenny had, Kenny would make, or buy, a copy of for him, or lend it to him, or tell him where and how to get one for himself. This didn’t jibe with Kenny’s public image: but then, very little did.
The musical portion of this remembrance was created at the Grande Parade du Jazz, June 10, 1978, in a program called “JAZZ CLASSIQUE,” featuring Wallace Davenport, trumpet; Freddy Lonzo, trombone; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Olivia Cook, piano; Frank Fields, string bass; Freddie Kohlman, drums — with Kenny joining them for the last two songs, BLUES and CHINATOWN, MY CHINATOWN.
I asked Orange if I could post this video and he graciously wrote, The memories came flooding back. I played a lot with Wallace’s bands in those years and we were on the George Wein festival circuit frequently. We got to play with all sorts of guest stars and Kenny was one of those. This was our first time meeting. I don’t think he knew of me, but I was very well aware of him and very impressed by his playing. I was nobody and apprehensive, to say the least, to play with the clarinet star. Kenny sounded fantastic.
He always did. Kenny performed and recorded for more than fifty years. It doesn’t seem enough. We miss him.
Scott Robinson wrote this elegy for Eddy Davis on April 8, 2020, and I couldn’t improve on it.
I’ve just lost one of the dearest friends I’ve ever had in music. Eddy Davis was a highly significant and influential presence in my life. He was a fiercely individualistic performer… a veteran of the old Chicago days when music was hot, joyful, exuberant and unselfconscious. A character and a curmudgeon, who could hold court for hours after the gig. And a loving mentor who helped younger musicians like myself learn and grow in this music. I had only played with Eddy a handful of times when he called me in late 1998 to say that he was forming a new band to fill a weekly Wednesday spot at the Cajun on 8th Avenue. He wanted me to play lead on C melody saxophone, in a little group with two reeds, and no drums. This by itself gives a clue to what an original thinker he was.
I already knew that Eddy was a proficient and highly individualistic stylist on the banjo, who sounded like no one else. What I didn’t know, but soon found out, was that this man was also a walking repository of many hundreds if not thousands of tunes of every description, ranging far beyond the standard repertoire… with a fascinating background story at the ready for nearly every one. I quickly learned that he was also a prolific and idiosyncratic composer himself, with a wonderfully philosophical work ethic: write original music every day, keep what works, and throw the rest away without a backward glance.
Eddy was also what used to be called a “character”: affable, opinionated, hilarious, and irascible all in one, and above all highly passionate about music. What I learned over the ensuing 7 ½ years in Eddy’s little band, I cannot begin to describe. I came to refer to those regular Wed. sessions as my “doctor’s appointment” — for they fixed whatever ailed me, and provided the perfect antidote to the ills of the world, and of the music scene. Over the years we were graced with the presence of some very distinguished musicians who came by and sat in with us, including Harry Allen, Joe Muranyi, Bob Barnard, Howard Johnson, and Barry Harris.
Eddy was generous with his strong opinions, with his knowledge and experience, and with his encouragement. But he was a generous soul in other ways as well. When he heard that I was building a studio (my “Laboratory”), he had me come by the apartment and started giving me things out of his closets. A Roland 24-track recorder… three vintage microphones… instruments… things that I treasure, and use every single day of my life. When my father turned 75, Eddy came out to the Lab in New Jersey and played for him, and wouldn’t take a dime for it. When I got the call last night that Eddy had passed — another victim of this horrible virus that is ruining so many lives, and our musical life as well — I hung up the phone and just cried. Later I went out to my Laboratory, and kissed every single thing there that he had given to me. How cruel to lose such an irreplaceable person… killed by an enemy, as my brother commented, that is neither visible nor sentient.
One night at the Cajun stands out in my memory, and seems particularly relevant today. It was the night after the last disaster that changed New York forever: the World Trade Center attack. There was a pall over the city, the air was full of dust, and there was a frightful, lingering smell. “What am I doing here?” I thought. “This is crazy.” But somehow we all made our way to the nearly empty club. We were in a state of shock; nobody knew what to say. I wondered if we would even be able to play. We took the stage, looked at each other, and counted off a tune. The instant the first note sounded, I was overcome with emotion and my face was full of tears.
Suddenly I understood exactly why we were there, why it was so important that we play this music. We played our hearts out that night — for ourselves, for our city, and for a single table of bewildered tourists, stranded in town by these incomprehensible events. They were so grateful for the music, so comforted by it.
The simple comfort of live music has been taken from us now. We must bear this loss, and those that will surely follow, alone… shut away in our homes. I know that when the awful burden of this terrible time has finally been lifted, when we can share music, life, and love again, it will feel like that night at the Cajun. My eyes will fill, my heart will sing, and the joy that Eddy Davis gave me will be with me every time I lift the horn to my face, for as long as I live.
It should be clear that the passionate honesty Scott offers us when he plays also comes through his words.
Here is an audio document of one of those Wednesday nights, March 29, 2006, recorded at The Cajun. Eddy Davis, banjo, vocal; Conal Fowkes, piano, vocal; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Debbie Kennedy, string bass; Fernando Kfouri, trombone (on TAILGATE RAMBLE). I wish I had been less intimidated (underneath his Midwestern affability, I sensed there was a core of steel in Eddy and I initially kept my distance, although I did develop a friendly relationship and did create videos) and brought my video camera, but I’ve left everything that was recorded that night in — including Conal going in search of his car, which had been towed, between-songs chatter, and more, for those not fortunate to be there fifteen years ago or other times.
I’m going to allow myself the freedom of not writing the history of this song, nor posting all the versions, but simply offering a few that please me immensely. This post is in honor of Doctor J, who knows why it is.
A little introduction (2006) by the Manhattan Ragtime Orchestra, who closed sets with it: Jon-Erik Kellso, Brad Shigeta, Orange Kellin, Morten Gunnar Larsen, John Gill, Skye Steele, Conal Fowkes, Rob Garcia:
Louis gets to introduce his own performance:
and here’s the lovely 1930 version, with magnificent Louis (yes, I know that’s redundant) and his “Rhythm Boys” drawn from the Luis Russell band, starring J.C. Higginbotham and Pops Foster. Apparently Paul Barbarin plays vibraphone and the band’s valet plays drums: he swings!
Count Basie, slightly less than a decade later, with Buck Clayton, Lester Young, and the rest of the Hawaiians (the trumpets make wonderful derisive noises at the end of Lester’s solo — why? I don’t know, but it’s just splendid):
And a more contemporary version I treasure because it seems to convey decades of vernacular music performance, making the transition from waltz-time to quietly majestic rocking (yes, Louis is standing in the wings, very happy). I imagine the opening choruses as a tea-dance or perhaps a summer band concert in a gazebo in the town park, and then the band takes on restorative color and swing, never aggressively but with sweet eloquence. The group is the 1987 Red Roseland Cornpickers, featuring Bent Persson, Claus Jacobi, and Keith Nichols, and this is taken from my prized “long-playing record” on the Stomp Off label:
Details for those who crave data: Bent Persson (tp-2,vcl) Folker Siegert (tb-3,vcl) Claus Jacobi (as-4,ts-5,cl-6,vcl) Engelhard Schatz (cl-7,sop-8,ts-9,vcl) Lothar Kohn (as-10,g-11,vcl) Joachim Muller (bassax-13,cl-14,as-15) Keith Nichols (p,vcl) Gunter Russel (bj-12,vcl) Ulf-Carsten Gottges (d) Gottingen, January 4 & 5, 1987. SONG OF THE ISLANDS: (2,3,4,6,7,9,12,13,14,15, Bent, Folker, Claus, Engelhard, Lothar, and Keith, vocal).
In these stressful times, this music evokes warm days, cool nights, tropical beaches, and fresh pineapple.
For the moment, this is my final bowing-low in a series in honor of Eddy Davis (even though I have more music and words from December 26, 2019, to share). I’ve devoted nearly a week of posts to him because of the intense emotional collision of grief and joy he brings forth in me and those who knew him and enjoyed his work. His play, I should say. I’ve been going backwards chronologically, and although I saw and enjoyed Eddy and “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm” at The Cajun possibly very early in 2005, this 2006 session was the first time I brought a video camera there.
THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene –a Wednesday night.
Ordinarily, the band would have been Eddy; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Conal Fowkes, piano; Greg Cohen or Debbie Kennedy, string bass, with guests. For this night — July 5, 2006 — it was Eddy, Scott, Conal, Dmitri Kolesnikov, string bass, Michael Hashim on alto and soprano saxophones, with a guest appearance by Bob Ringwald, piano and vocal.
The camera I was then using recorded to mini-DVD discs, a particularly stubborn medium, so these videos stayed on the shelf until 2017, when I found that I could transfer and share them. I asked Eddy if that was something he would like (he did) and then asked if he would write something about the gig:
WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM
I, Eddy Davis, have in my lifetime had the pleasure of having many wonderful Jazz Bands filled with wonderful musicians. It all started back in “The Windy City” in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. I was a Composition student at the Chicago Conservatory and working as a band leader for the Syndicate on Chicago’s infamous Rush Street. Boy, those were the days. During this time many great, interesting musicians came through the band.
Fellows like “Kansas” Fields, who had just returned from a ten year stint in Paris and Charles “Truck” Parham who started in the music business as a truck driver for the Fletcher Henderson Band. He was hauling the band instruments from job to job. When I asked Truck how he got his nickname he told me this story. He said: “One night the bass player got drunk and couldn’t play, so Fletcher said “Hey, Truck, get up on the band stand and act like you are playing the bass.” He said he liked it so much that he bought a bass and learned to play it. When he came to my band he had just gotten off the Pearl Bailey/Louie Bellson trio. When he left my band he joined the CBS staff orchestra. I was lucky enough to have the likes of Frank Powers or Bobby Gordon on Clarinet. I had the wonderful Norman Murphy on trumpet who had been in the Brass section of Gene Krupa’s Big Band. I also had the hilarious Jack “The Bear” Brown on trumpet. My band played opposite the original “Dukes of Dixieland” for a solid year at the club “Bourbon Street” in the middle. There were the Asuntos — Frank, on Trumpet — Freddie on Trombone and PaPa Jack on Trombone and Banjo. Gene Schroeder was on piano (where I learned so much) and the fantastic Barrett Deems on Drums.
At the Sari-S Showboat I was in the band of the great Trombonist Grorg Brunis, the Marsala Brothers, Joe and Marty, along with “Hey Hey” Humphries on drums, were also on the band. Another great band I played on was listed as Junie Cobb’s “Colonels of Corn.” The main reason this band was so great was that they were the very originals of JASS MUSIC. Junie was a multi-instrumentalist who on this band was playing Piano (he also recorded on Banjo). Al Wynn who had been the musical director for the great blues singer “Ma Rainey” was on Trombone and the wonderful Darnell Howard, who made terrific recordings with “Jelly Roll Morton,” was on Clarinet. We were playing at the Sabre Room and I was 17 (maybe 16) years old. I was a member of the last Jabbo Smith “Rhythm Aces” in New York City in the 1970’s.
Well, I could go on and on, but I’ll just say that the band “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm” which I had for four or five years at the “Cajun Restaurant” on 16th Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan was the thrill of my life. With the GREAT Scott Robinson and Orange Kellin on Reeds and Debbie Kennedy on Bass and MY BROTHER from a another mother — Conal Fowkes — was on Piano (he knows what I’m going to do before I do it and fits me like a glove). These were perhaps the most satisfying Musical Evenings I’ve ever known.
Scott Robinson is easily the best (for me) musical mind and player I’ve ever been in the presents of. I couldn’t come up with enough words to express my JOY with this band for those several years we performed every Wednesday night at the Cajun Restaurant in the great town of Manhattan.
We had two great subs on the night of this video. Dmitri Kolesnikov was on bass and on saxophone, the truly wonderful “The Hat” Michael Hashim.
Mr. Steinman, I would like to thank you so very much for supplying these videos and if you or anyone else has any other footage of any combination of this band, it would please me to no end to know of it.
The Banjoist Eddy “The Manhattan Minstrel” Davis
SWING THAT MUSIC:
WHO WALKS IN WHEN I WALK OUT? / HAPPY BIRTHDAY / I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS:
AFTER YOU’VE GONE / OLD BONES / YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF ME / TROUBLE IN MIND, all with vocals by Bob Ringwald:
BLACK BEAUTY / SWEET MAMA (vocal Eddy) / THE CASTLE RENOVATED:
THE CASTLE, concluded (with apologies to Dmitri):
DAPHNE / MY FRIEND (vocal / composition by Conal) / TOO MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE (Conal):
This band was — without exaggeration — a doctoral seminar in ensemble playing and collective momentum. It was an honor to be there, and a greater honor to be able to share these videos with you. And this was a complete evening at the Cajun, just under two hours of live performance. It is as close as any of us will get to that deeply-remembered and now-departed experience.
Debbie Kennedy, the wonderful bassist, Eddy’s dear friend (I think she’d also call herself a student at the University of Davis) has written lovingly about Eddy, and I present her words here:
Eddy was one of the most amazing musicians I ever met in my entire life. SUCH a character with a fierce love of music. One of the best bandleaders I’ve ever played with. I just hope that his passing was painless and that his transition was smooth.
Apart from all the incredible happiness/joy that I experienced from playing with Eddy every Wednesday night at the “Cajun” restaurant from 2000 to 2006 in an extremely special band, I lucked out in 2008 and won a Greencard in the “Greencard Lottery.” Part of that process was that the immigration authorities needed a “Letter of Employment” showing that I would be earning a certain amount of money every year (even though I’d already been living in NYC for 10 years and earned enough to support myself comfortably, I guess they wanted to see that I would be self sufficient and not claim welfare).
Eddy very kindly wrote that Letter of Employment for me, stating that I was working with Woody Allen’s band (which was the truth – I had subbed frequently with the band starting October 2004, but I still wasn’t yet playing on a weekly basis when he wrote it). I strongly feel that his letter (especially with the name “Woody Allen”) clinched the decision for my Greencard to be granted. Thank you Eddy!!
Then, eventually, he was kind enough to have me on the gig with Woody every week, starting a few years ago. It was actually Greg Cohen’s gig, but Greg moved to Berlin at a certain point around 2011 / 2012, so I did end up playing the gig on a weekly basis at that time, when Greg moved to Berlin.
This was an absolutely invaluable experience and was the gig that kept me alive when so many other freelance gigs had dwindled in recent years.
I feel incredibly indebted to Eddy and I feel blessed to have had such regular playing with him for so many years: Giving me the steady gig at the Cajun in 2000, and when that finished in August 2006, I still played with him pretty regularly, culminating in playing every week with him in the Woody band right up until last month.
March 9th was our last gig.
Like some others who knew Eddy well, I thought he was invincible and thought he was going to pull through this – he’d pulled through so many other illnesses before: terrible car accident, shingles, hellish Sciatica, High Cholesterol, high blood pressure, Diabetes…you name it, he’d had it (and he loved to tell you all about it, ha, ha! 😉).
Nothing will equal the pure joy that I felt on such a deep level when we were in the middle of playing a tune, him horsing around, having a great ol’ time.
Rest In Peace, my beautiful friend ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
Eddy loved what I will call “false endings,” where the band appeared to have concluded the song and the performance — and the audience would applaud — but, no, they weren’t through as he would (grinning hugely) launch into a bravura ending that left us cheering.
I think of those “false endings” as a metaphor for Eddy and his art. He appears to have gone, but he hasn’t. As long as we can hear him, see him in videos (and he left us hundreds of solo performances from his apartment), and remember him, he ain’t gone.
Incidentally, I have been posting Barbara Rosene’s painting of The Cajun because it pleases me so — Debbie Kennedy is in it as well as Eddy, Scott Robinson, and Simon Wettenhall — but Barbara has done many other paintings of jazz clubs, landscapes, and abstracts — that are not yet in private collections. And you know me: I only promote artists (visual as well as musical) whose work I love: find out more here.
I was able — now I think, blessed, to be able to see and hear Eddy Davis, however intermittently, for fifteen years of gigs. This one I present to you was from The Ear Inn (326 Spring Street) — the House of Joy I hope to return to — took place on Sunday, June 5, 2011.
It was a reunion of sorts for an inspired hot band of individualists that hadn’t played regularly for some time. In 2005-6, this band had a regular Wednesday-night gig at The Cajun (a now-departed home for jazz in Chelsea). The quartet was led by banjoist / singer / composer Eddy Davis, who called it WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM. The title was more than accurate, and I miss those Wednesday nights.
Eddy’s compatriots at The Cajun were most often Scott Robinson on C-melody saxophone; Orange Kellin on clarinet; Conal Fowkes or Debbie Kennedy on string bass. Sitters-in were made welcome (an extraordinary visitor was cornetist Bob Barnard) — but this little quartet didn’t need anyone else. It swung hard and played rhapsodic melodies, as well as exploring Eddy’s own compositions (they had a down-home feel but the harmonies were never predictable).
At The Ear, this band came together again — Eddy, Scott, Orange (up from New Orleans) and Conal, as well as second-set guests Dan Block and Pete Anderson on saxophones.
Eddy had grown a fine bushy beard since the last time I saw him, but nothing else had changed — not the riotous joy the musicians took in egging each other on, the deep feeling, the intuitive ensemble cohesiveness, the startling solos and more.
I offer to you a singularly rare tune — a Washboard Rhythm Kings specialty from 1931 (the only other band to perform this was the sainted Reynolds Brothers). It has a wonderful title — Eddy tried to explain it to a curious audience member when the music had ended (with only mild success), FUTURISTIC JUNGLEISM:
And a pretty MEMORIES OF YOU:
And a finale to end all finales, just short of eighteen minutes: what began as a moody, building WILD MAN BLUES (running ten minutes) and then segued into a hilarious-then-serious romp on FINE AND DANDY . . . reed rapture plus hot strings!
If that isn’t ecstatic to you, perhaps we should compare definitions of ecstasy?
I’ve asked musicians who worked with Eddy and thus knew him better to write their loving recollections. But I will indulge myself here for a few sentences. Eddy always acted glad to see me, and he was happy to have his performances captured on film, but I am not sure he knew what to make of me (a reaction he was not alone in) so we never had a long conversation until the last time I saw him — where he enthusiastically spoke with great energy about the musicians he had played with when he was sixteen or seventeen. I was amazed and delighted and pursued him with the idea of doing a video interview, but — for all sorts of reasons I can only guess at — he was silent about the idea, which I regret greatly. At least he wrote some of it down on a letter to me which I will share in Part Five — but, ever the well-brought up Midwesterner, he addressed me as “Mr. Steinman,” curiously formal.
He was remarkable to me because of his indefatigable energy. He electrified any group that had the good fortune to have him at the center. He was genuinely a joyous sparkplug. The other people on the stand felt it, as did we. He bounced; he rocked; he was having a lovely time and wanted to make sure we did also. Eddy was a complete showman, but it felt completely honest. And his unpredictability was charming in startling ways. I never knew what he was going to do, and that was such a pleasure — anticipating the next brightly wrapped package and then savoring its contents.
His command of harmony was lovely; he knew where he was going and genially took everyone along with him. His solid rhythm was never mechanical, and in some ways his banjo artistry redeemed every caustic thing said about that stringed instrument; he was flexible and elastic and I imagine I hear the whole history of jazz and popular music in his playing. And that history — made current and shiny — came through in his incredibly broad repertoire: Doc Cooke and early Ellington, Django and Jerry Herman, his own lyrics to jazz classics.
He gave of himself with such deep generosity. And although each of us is unique, few of us can embody that idea so joyously.
Eddy Davis was a stubborn fellow — he did what he wanted to, but more important, he would not budge from what he had in mind. (I speak from experience.) So Eddy refuses to go away, which is a wonderful thing.
Here is the third part of my delighted-yet-grieving evocation of him: a session from The Ear Inn on June 3, 2012. The Ear was darker than usual (hence the yellow graininess of the image so that you and I could see as well as hear) but the brilliant music is nearly blinding. The details, and the music, below, as I offered them in September 2012. The first part of my series can be found here; the second part here. I have one more session to offer, from even more years ago. But love and joy and loss are not bound by clocks.
Eight years ago, I first visited the Cajun Restaurant in the West Village (that’s Greenwich Village, New York) on Eighth Avenue. It had been around for a long time, but it was known as the only place that still featured “traditional jazz,” however one defined the term, seven nights and two afternoons a week.*
A regular attraction was the Wednesday night band — a compact unit led by banjoist / singer / composer Eddy Davis, and dubbed by him late in its run WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM. Most often, the instrumentation was Conal Fowkes, string bass; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Orange Kellin, clarinet, and Eddy — four players with a strong lyrical streak who could also make a bandstand seem wildly hot in the tradition of the Bechet-Spanier Big Four or Soprano Summit on an uptempo outchorus.
THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene — a Wednesday night.
Since the regular Wednesday night gig ended, this band has gotten together for musical reunions — although not as often as its fans and partisans would like. Thus, I was thrilled to learn that Eddy, Conal, Orange, and Scott would be “the EarRegulars” on Sunday, June 3, 2012, at The Ear Inn. And I present some of the frankly magical results herein.
Eddy would not be insulted, I think, if I called his approach “quirky,” and his whimsical view of the musical spectrum colors and uplifts the band. Another leader might have stuck to the predictable dozen “New Orleans” or “trad” standards, but not Eddy. His musical range, affections, and knowledge are broad — he approaches old songs in new ways and digs up “new” ones that get in the groove deeply. He knows how to set rocking tempos and his colleagues look both happy and inspired. In addition, Eddy writes lyrics — homespun rather than sleek — for some classic jazz tunes, and he sings them from the heart. All of these virtues were on display at The Ear Inn — friendly, jostling, witty solos and ensembles, and performances that took their time to scrape the clouds.
The melody for BABY, YOU’RE THE BEST might be elusive for some, but it has deep roots — Lil Hardin Armstrong’s TWO DEUCES, which Eddy has turned into a love song and the band has turned into a down-home West Village classic:
TWO-A-DAY is one of Eddy’s favorite obscure songs — a Jerry Herman number praising a kind of vaudeville bill (and time and place) from the ill-starred musical MACK AND MABEL, charting the lives and times of Mack Sennett and Mabel Normand. When Eddy sings lyrics about the “atomic age,” Scott emphasizes the point through his distinctive space-age attire:
POTATO HEAD BLUES, with jaunty lyrics and wondrous playing. All for you, Louis:
I DON’T WANT TO SET THE WORLD ON FIRE needs no introduction — recalling the Ink Spots and their sweet lovemaking on Decca Records:
Jon-Erik Kellso, Hot Man Supreme, came into The Ear Inn after another gig — hence the formal wear — sat down, and joined the band for a calypso-infused THE BUCKET’S GOT A HOLE IN IT. Maybe this bucket was full of Red Stripe beer?:
At the start of THANKS A MILLION, you’ll notice an empty chair next to Orange — soon to be filled by the illustrious Dan Block on bass clarinet, with Scott switching over to one of his taragotas, or taragoti — which he’d first taken out for POTATO HEAD BLUES:
STRUTTIN’ WIH SOME BARBECUE, complete with verse:
And the session closed with Eubie Blake’s lovely affirmation, LOVE WILL FIND A WAY, taken at a strolling medium tempo:
P.S. This session happened in the beginning of June and has only emerged three months later — no reflection on the splendid heartfelt music, but because of some small technical difficulties . . . now happily repaired.
*At the end of July 2006, The Cajun closed after a twenty-eight year run — to make way for a faceless high-rise apartment building. When I find myself on Eighth Avenue and Sixteenth Street, I try not to search the spot where it once was. It was a flawed paradise, but we miss it.
Early on in this post, you can see Barbara Rosene’s painting of The Cajun. Barbara, as you know, is also a very personal singer — heartfelt and tender. It was in this incarnation that I first met her, and she knew Eddy before I did. Here are her feelings about him:
Eddy Davis.
He welcomed me on the stage of The Cajun with Conal Fowkes, Debbie Kennedy, Scott Robinson, Simon Wettenhall and a myriad of other players and singers. I never wanted to be anywhere else on Wednesday nights. I would often sing “My Foolish Heart” which was a favorite of my Mom’s and I later realized was a favorite of Eddy’s. He was always so pleased when someone knew something other than the “regular” tunes. He would play “Artificial Flowers,” a Bobby Darin hit, or a Jerry Herman tune. There were no rules. Just good songs.
A few of us worked on a play that he had written for a while and we would do read-throughs at his apartment. One particular time I was late, having just gone through an emotional goodbye with someone we all knew, and he gave me a fatherly hug and an expression of understanding that made me know how much he cared for me. It floored me. This depth of feeling and understanding certainly came out in his music, but not always one on one, so it was very meaningful to me. About this same time he arranged for me to sit in at the Carlyle with Woody Allen for a couple of different nights. He would just gesture for me to come up and sing a chorus without any fanfare. I remember doing “One Sweet Letter From You.” He knew how much this meant to me. If he could give someone an opportunity, he did so with joy and without thought of compensation.
I also loved that he was from Indiana. We were small town midwesterners in Manhattan. He reminded me of the people I had grown up with. We talked the same language. My parents would have liked him. I will miss him terribly. He taught me so much.
Once, the Manhattan Ragtime Orchestra had a steady gig in New York City where they made wonderful music. The club is gone; the gig is gone. But the music remains.
Here is the first part of this glorious archaeological dig, with almost an hour of new / old 2006 music, and the stories underneath the surface.
Here’s the first video segment:
and the second:
That night the MRO — usually led by clarinetist Orange Kellin — was Jon-Erik Kellso, trumpet; Brad Shigeta, trombone; Pete Martinez, clarinet; Matt Szemela, violin; Jesse Gelber, piano; John Gill, banjo, vocals; Conal Fowkes, string bass; Rob Garcia, drums, and the songs played are WHEN MY BABY SMILES AT ME (Gill does Ted Lewis) / RED PEPPER RAG / UNDER THE BAMBOO TREE (Gill) / RUBBER PLANT RAG arr. Pete / EGYPTIA / “OUR GANG” theme out:
And Part Four, THE RAGTIME DANCE / KROOKED BLUES / NEW ORLEANS WIGGLE / HIGH SOCIETY / SONG OF THE ISLANDS (out theme) //
Those were great times. And not simply because of any historical-nostalgic longings, but because of the wonderful music, played with inspiration rather than ironies. I am grateful to have been there, and even more grateful that I could bring a video camera and a tiny tripod . . . gifts from the past that gleam today.
After this post was published, a friend reminded me that the CD,
“MANHATTAN RAGTIME ORCHESTRA: AT THE JAZZ BAND BALL” (with its
wonderful 1898 photograph of Broadway at 28th Street in Manhattan!),
is still available from Stomp Off Records: PO Box 342, York, PA 17405.
That girl, and the story of that girl, are both imperishable. Not only does Mr. Bernstein recall her, but everyone who has ever seen CITIZEN KANE recalls him recalling her. Or so I hope.
Music, so powerful and so multi-layered, is more slippery in the memory, giving us a mixture of sensations and emotions. Of course people remember Louis playing 250 high C’s, but how many people can recall with clarity a performance full of lights and shadings that happened once, on the spot, and then was over?
Fortunately we have recording equipment of all kinds, and to think of what would have happened to jazz without it is impossible. But here’s a New York story with gratifications attached, not simply narratives of what happened.
Exhibit A, “The Big Easy”:
Exhibit B, courtesy of eBay:
Exhibit C, self-explanatory:
In 2005, when I was once again free to explore, I discovered The Cajun, a traditional-jazz club in New York City’s Chelsea neighborhood. It closed in late summer 2006, and it was obliterated to become luxury housing, alas.
The owners were Herb Maslin and Arlene Lichterman (Arlene is still with us) and at our first encounter I offered to help publicize the club, even though I had not yet imagined having a jazz blog. I was writing for The Mississippi Rag and other jazz periodicals, and offered help with press releases. She was eager to have what festival promoters call Asses in Seats, so I could come anytime and make notes on performances and the general ambiance. I was free to modestly of generic food. (I worked my way through the menu, an explorer looking for edible land.)
I have said elsewhere that I’d seen people of my vintage shooting videos of their grandchildren and the ducks on the pond, and it dawned on me that I could buy one to document the music I and others loved. Exhibit B was, after Flip, my first real video camera. It recorded on 30-minute mini-DVDs, difficult to transfer, but it worked in the odd lighting and the built-in microphone was acceptable, especially when I sat close to the band. At the time, I did not know what I might do with the discs — YouTube was only allowing postings of no more than ten minutes and my editing skills were not even rudimentary — but the thought of capturing what would otherwise be evanescent was entrancing.
Thirteen years later, I uncovered a number of videos from 2006: a small stack of mini-DVDs in plastic cases still sits in a bookcase as I write this. Some videos, when I shared them with the participants (I ask permission first, the videographer’s “informed consent”) created hot-jazz-PTSD, and will remain unseen. But the four sets of the Manhattan Ragtime Orchestra pleased my hero John Gill, and the trumpeter Jon-Erik Kellso, who encouraged me to post them so that this splendid band would not be just a memory or a record. I canvassed the musicians, some of whom are friends, and those who responded agreed that these performances should be enjoyed now.
John continues to believe in the music: he told an interviewer long ago, “It’s music of the people. It’s open and honest and straightforward and comes to you with open arms,” and he continues to live that truth in New Orleans.
Here is the first hour of music (a set-and-a-half of four) from the Manhattan Ragtime Orchestra, playing their own warm, spirited “radical pop music”: John is on banjo and vocals, with Jon-Erik Kellso, trumpet; Matthew Szemela, violin; Brad Shigeta, trombone; Pete Martinez, clarinet (subbing for leader Orange Kellin); Jesse Gelber, piano; Conal Fowkes, string bass; Rob Garcia, drums.
No tricks, no funny hats, no gimmicks: just real music. A woman fanning herself: it was July.
Part One, including PORTO RICO / NEW ORLEANS JOYS / TEE NAH NAH (Gill vocal) with Arlene Lichterman cameos / BUDDY’S HABITS / HOME IN PASADENA (Gill) / HIAWATHA (Lizard On A Rail) / DEAR HEART – I’M FOREVER BLOWING BUBBLES //
Part Two, including a Buddy Bolden Medley: DON’T GO WAY, NOBODY – MAKIN’ RUNS / CONGO LOVE CALL / BOUNCING AROUND / SONG OF THE ISLANDS (closing theme) / CREOLE BELLES (Gill) / A BUNCH OF BLUES //
To me, much more gratifying that a fleeting glimpse of a girl and her parasol. And there is another forty-five minutes of music to come.
This is the final part of my documentation of a jazz evening at a vanished New York City club / restaurant, The Cajun, run by Arlene Lichterman and Herb Maslin — a night that featured “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm,” the energetic, playful small band led by Eddy Davis (banjo, vocals, originals).
Eddy Davis, “The Manhattan Minstrel”
With Eddy, two of the regulars were on hand this night, slightly over eleven years ago: Scott Robinson (C-melody saxophone) and Conal Fowkes (piano, vocal). The other regulars would have been Debbie Kennedy (string bass) and Orange Kellin (clarinet) but for this night their places were taken by Dmitri Kolesnikov on bass and Michael Hashim on alto and soprano saxophone. Here is the earlier part of the evening, with Eddy’s invaluable commentary on his part in the scene.
SWING THAT MUSIC:
WHO WALKS IN WHEN I WALK OUT? / HAPPY BIRTHDAY / I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS:
This band was — without exaggeration — a doctoral seminar in ensemble playing and collective momentum. It was an honor to be there, and a greater honor to be able to share these videos with you.
The Cajun Restaurant, no longer extant but the vibrations and sights still exist here and in our memories.
Eddy Davis, “The Manhattan Minstrel”
A little more than a week ago, I posted the first of a three-part series on this wonderful band, with videos from 2006 that I rediscovered. I am taking the liberty of reprinting the text from that post here. And the music from that first post is also here. (For those impatient with prose — and some have told me this in ungentle terms — the new video is at the bottom of this posting.)
Late in 2005, I made my way to an unusual New York City jazz club, The Cajun, run by Arlene Lichterman and the late Herb Maslin. Unusual for many reasons, some of which I won’t explicate here, but mostly because it offered traditional jazz bands nine times a week — seven evenings and two brunch performances.
Who was there? I will leave someone out, so apologies in advance, but Kevin Dorn, Jon-Erik Kellso, Vince Giordano, John Gill, Michael Bank, J. Walter Hawkes, Pete Martinez, Michael Hashim, Scott Robinson, Barbara Rosene, Danny Tobias, Steve Little, Bob Thompson, Barbara Dreiwitz, Dick Dreiwitz, Hank Ross, Craig Ventresco, Carol Sudhalter, Peter Ecklund, Brad Shigeta, John Bucher, Sam Ulano, Stanley King, and Eddy Davis — banjoist, singer, composer. More about Eddy and his wondrously singular little band, “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm,” which was no hyperbole, in a moment.
Originally I brought my cassette recorder to tape some of the music, but I had a small epiphany: seeing that every grandparent I knew had a video camera to take to the kids’ school play, I thought, “If they can learn to do this, so can I,” and I bought my first: a Sony that used mini-DVDs, each of which ran about 30 minutes. It was, I think, the most inconvenient camera I’ve ever owned. For some reason that I can’t recall, I tended to let the discs run rather than starting and stopping. They were, however, nearly untransferable, and they sat in small stacks in a bookcase.
This April, though, I tried to take a cyber-detour, and was able to transfer all the videos, perhaps forty hours or so, to my computer and thus to YouTube. I sent some to the players and the response was not always enthusiastic, but Eddy Davis was thrilled to have his little band captured, even though it did not have all of its usual personnel. Usually, WR and WR had Orange Kellin, clarinet; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Conal Fowkes, piano and vocal; Debbie Kennedy, string bass, in addition to Eddy. On this night, Michael Hashim replaced Orange; Dmitri Kolesnikov took Debbie’s place. [Update to this posting: pianist / singer Bob Ringwald of California and father of Molly, sits in for this set.]
I find these videos thrilling: this band rocked exuberantly and apparently was a small jazz perpetual motion machine, a small group where the musicians smiled at each other all night long, and it wasn’t a show for the audience. And there’s some of the most exciting ensemble interplay I’ve ever heard — to say nothing of the truly false “false endings.”
I’d asked Eddy to write something for this post, and he responded gloriously.
WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM
I, Eddy Davis, have in my lifetime had the pleasure of having many wonderful Jazz Bands filled with wonderful musicians. It all started back in “The Windy City” in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. I was a Composition student at the Chicago Conservatory and working as a band leader for the Syndicate on Chicago’s infamous Rush Street. Boy, those were the days. During this time many great, interesting musicians came through the band.
Fellows like “Kansas” Fields, who had just returned from a ten year stint in Paris and Charles “Truck” Parham who started in the music business as a truck driver for the Fletcher Henderson Band. He was hauling the band instruments from job to job. When I asked Truck how he got his nickname he told me this story. He said: “One night the bass player got drunk and couldn’t play, so Fletcher said “Hey, Truck, get up on the band stand and act like you are playing the bass.” He said he liked it so much that he bought a bass and learned to play it. When he came to my band he had just gotten off the Pearl Bailey/Louie Bellson trio. When he left my band he joined the CBS staff orchestra. I was lucky enough to have the likes of Frank Powers or Bobby Gordon on Clarinet. I had the wonderful Norman Murphy on trumpet who had been in the Brass section of Gene Krupa’s Big Band. I also had the hilarious Jack “The Bear” Brown on trumpet. My band played opposite the original “Dukes of Dixieland” for a solid year at the club “Bourbon Street” in the middle. There were the Asuntos — Frank, on Trumpet — Freddie on Trombone and PaPa Jack on Trombone and Banjo. Gene Schroeder was on piano (where I learned so much) and the fantastic Barrett Deems on Drums.
At the Sari-S Showboat I was in the band of the great Trombonist Grorg Brunis, the Marsala Brothers, Joe and Marty, along with “Hey Hey” Humphries on drums, were also on the band. Another great band I played on was listed as Junie Cobb’s “Colonels of Corn.” The main reason this band was so great was that they were the very originals of JASS MUSIC. Junie was a multi-instrumentalist who on this band was playing Piano (he also recorded on Banjo). Al Wynn who had been the musical director for the great blues singer “Ma Rainey” was on Trombone and the wonderful Darnell Howard, who made terrific recordings with “Jelly Roll Morton,” was on Clarinet. We were playing at the Sabre Room and I was 17 (maybe 16) years old. I was a member of the last Jabbo Smith “Rhythm Aces” in New York City in the 1970’s.
Well, I could go on and on, but I’ll just say that the band “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm” which I had for four or five years at the “Cajun Restaurant” on 16th Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan was the thrill of my life. With the GREAT Scott Robinson and Orange Kellin on Reeds and Debbie Kennedy on Bass and MY BROTHER from a another mother — Conal Fowkes — was on Piano (he knows what I’m going to do before I do it and fits me like a glove). These were perhaps the most satisfying Musical Evenings I’ve ever known.
Scott Robinson is easily the best (for me) musical mind and player I’ve ever been in the presents of. I couldn’t come up with enough words to express my JOY with this band for those several years we performed every Wednesday night at the Cajun Restaurant in the great town of Manhattan.
We had two great subs on the night of this video. Dmitri Kolesnikov was on bass and on saxophone, the truly wonderful “The Hat” Michael Hashim.
Mr. Steinman, I would like to thank you so very much for supplying these videos and if you or anyone else has any other footage of any combination of this band, it would please me to no end to know of it.
The Banjoist Eddy “The Manhattan Minstrel” Davis
The songs are AFTER YOU’VE GONE / OLD BONES / YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF ME / TROUBLE IN MIND, all with vocals by Bob.
It’s so lovely to be able to reach back into the past and find it’s not only accessible but glowing. There’s more to come.
Late in 2005, I made my way to an unusual New York City jazz club, The Cajun, run by Arlene Lichterman and the late Herb Maslin. Unusual for many reasons, some of which I won’t explicate here, but mostly because it offered traditional jazz bands nine times a week — seven evenings and two brunch performances.
Who was there? I will leave someone out, so apologies in advance, but Kevin Dorn, Jon-Erik Kellso, Vince Giordano, John Gill, Michael Bank, J. Walter Hawkes, Pete Martinez, Michael Hashim, Scott Robinson, Barbara Rosene, Danny Tobias, Steve Little, Bob Thompson, Barbara Dreiwitz, Dick Dreiwitz, Hank Ross, Craig Ventresco, Carol Sudhalter, Peter Ecklund, Brad Shigeta, John Bucher, Sam Ulano, Stanley King, and Eddy Davis — banjoist, singer, composer. More about Eddy and his wondrously singular little band, “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm,” which was no hyperbole, in a moment.
Originally I brought my cassette recorder to tape some of the music, but I had a small epiphany: seeing that every grandparent I knew had a video camera to take to the kids’ school play, I thought, “If they can learn to do this, so can I,” and I bought my first: a Sony that used mini-DVDs, each of which ran about 30 minutes. It was, I think, the most inconvenient camera I’ve ever owned. For some reason that I can’t recall, I tended to let the discs run rather than starting and stopping. They were, however, nearly untransferable, and they sat in small stacks in a bookcase.
This April, though, I tried to take a cyber-detour, and was able to transfer all the videos, perhaps forty hours or so, to my computer and thus to YouTube. I sent some to the players and the response was not always enthusiastic, but Eddy Davis was thrilled to have his little band captured, even though it did not have all of its usual personnel. Usually, WR and WR had Orange Kellin, clarinet; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Conal Fowkes, piano and vocal; Debbie Kennedy, string bass, in addition to Eddy. On this night, Michael Hashim replaced Orange; Dmitri Kolesnikov took Debbie’s place.
I find these videos thrilling: this band rocked exuberantly and apparently was a small jazz perpetual motion machine, a small group where the musicians smiled at each other all night long, and it wasn’t a show for the audience. And there’s some of the most exciting ensemble interplay I’ve ever heard — to say nothing of the truly false “false endings.”
I’d asked Eddy to write something for this post, and he responded gloriously.
WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM
I, Eddy Davis, have in my lifetime had the pleasure of having many wonderful Jazz Bands filled with wonderful musicians. It all started back in “The Windy City” in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. I was a Composition student at the Chicago Conservatory and working as a band leader for the Syndicate on Chicago’s infamous Rush Street. Boy, those were the days. During this time many great, interesting musicians came through the band.
Fellows like “Kansas” Fields, who had just returned from a ten year stint in Paris and Charles “Truck” Parham who started in the music business as a truck driver for the Fletcher Henderson Band. He was hauling the band instruments from job to job. When I asked Truck how he got his nickname he told me this story. He said: “One night the bass player got drunk and couldn’t play, so Fletcher said “Hey, Truck, get up on the band stand and act like you are playing the bass.” He said he liked it so much that he bought a bass and learned to play it. When he came to my band he had just gotten off the Pearl Bailey/Louie Bellson trio. When he left my band he joined the CBS staff orchestra. I was lucky enough to have the likes of Frank Powers or Bobby Gordon on Clarinet. I had the wonderful Norman Murphy on trumpet who had been in the Brass section of Gene Krupa’s Big Band. I also had the hilarious Jack “The Bear” Brown on trumpet. My band played opposite the original “Dukes of Dixieland” for a solid year at the club “Bourbon Street” in the middle. There were the Asuntos — Frank, on Trumpet — Freddie on Trombone and PaPa Jack on Trombone and Banjo. Gene Schroeder was on piano (where I learned so much) and the fantastic Barrett Deems on Drums.
At the Sari-S Showboat I was in the band of the great Trombonist Grorg Brunis, the Marsala Brothers, Joe and Marty, along with “Hey Hey” Humphries on drums, were also on the band. Another great band I played on was listed as Junie Cobb’s “Colonels of Corn.” The main reason this band was so great was that they were the very originals of JASS MUSIC. Junie was a multi-instrumentalist who on this band was playing Piano (he also recorded on Banjo). Al Wynn who had been the musical director for the great blues singer “Ma Rainey” was on Trombone and the wonderful Darnell Howard, who made terrific recordings with “Jelly Roll Morton,” was on Clarinet. We were playing at the Sabre Room and I was 17 (maybe 16) years old. I was a member of the last Jabbo Smith “Rhythm Aces” in New York City in the 1970’s.
Well, I could go on and on, but I’ll just say that the band “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm” which I had for four or five years at the “Cajun Restaurant” on 16th Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan was the thrill of my life. With the GREAT Scott Robinson and Orange Kellin on Reeds and Debbie Kennedy on Bass and MY BROTHER from a another mother — Conal Fowkes — was on Piano (he knows what I’m going to do before I do it and fits me like a glove). These were perhaps the most satisfying Musical Evenings I’ve ever known.
Scott Robinson is easily the best (for me) musical mind and player I’ve ever been in the presents of. I couldn’t come up with enough words to express my JOY with this band for those several years we performed every Wednesday night at the Cajun Restaurant in the great town of Manhattan.
We had two great subs on the night of this video. Dmitri Kolesnikov was on bass and on saxophone, the truly wonderful “The Hat” Michael Hashim.
Mr. Steinman, I would like to thank you so very much for supplying these videos and if you or anyone else has any other footage of any combination of this band, it would please me to no end to know of it.
The Banjoist Eddy “The Manhattan Minstrel” Davis
Here’s the first part of the evening. Eddy announces the songs, some of them his originals and a few transformations — all listed in the descriptions below the videos.
Come with me to the glorious days of 2006, to a club that has been replaced by a faceless high-rise apartment building, which has none of the joyous energy of the band and the Cajun. And enjoy the music, with no cover charge — yours for keeps.
Like balm to the afflicted areas, with no side effects. Apply as needed. And here‘s the first part of the prescription for all ailments, delivered promptly by those expert board-certified practitioners of joy, John Gill, Leon Oakley, Duke Heitger, Orange Kellin, Tom Bartlett, Conal Fowkes, Clint Baker, Kevin Dorn — drawing on the phamacopeia created by Oliver, Armstrong, Morton, Dodds, ory, Murphy, Watters, and other esteemed scientists of Stomp.
WILLIE THE WEEPER (Parental advisory: this song depicts the use of illegal substances, although this is a wholly instrumental version):
TACK ANNIE (and thanks to Professor Gill, a major mystery has been solved):
WHEN ERASTUS PLAYS HIS OLD KAZOO (performed by Johnny Dodds, composed by Sam Coslow, Larry Spier, and Sammy Fain — anachronistic for the late Twenties but a good song to improvise on):
NEW ORLEANS SHUFFLE (thanks to the Halfway House Dance Orchestra, 1925, and later versions):
And two sides of King Oliver, late and early. First, a request for RHYTHM CLUB STOMP (the YBS attracts hip audiences):
And early — SOUTHERN STOMPS:
I’ve learned from official sources that we will indeed see and hear the Yerba Buena Stompers at the 2017 San Diego Jazz Fest (that’s November 22 – 26), a pleasing bit of news for sure.
There is a small-scale blizzard outside my window, with ten inches of snow predicted, so the need for something warming — hot stomping music — is intense, and medically necessary. Therefore I present some videos of one of my favorite bands, the Yerba Buena Stompers, as they rocked the room at the San Diego Jazz Fest, last November 25 and 26th.
The YBS is a working band, with a fairly consistent personnel for the last fifteen years, and their music shows it — the friendly comfort of an ensemble where everyone knows everyone else. I’ve seen and videoed them at a variety of festivals — most often, I think, at the San Diego Jazz Fest, which (coincidentally) is a place of friendly comfort and hot music. (I look forward to their return appearances!)
They are: John Gill, banjo / vocal; Leon Oakley, cornet; Duke Heitger, trumpet; Tom Bartlett, trombone / vocal; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Conal Fowkes, piano; Clint Baker, tuba; Kevin Dorn, drums. Although — on paper — they honor the music of Lu Watters and, by extension, Turk Murphy, their roots are deeper, going back to the hot Chicagoans, Freddie Keppard, Louis, Kid Ory, Joe Oliver, Jelly Roll Morton, Scott Joplin, venerable pop tunes, and more. They honor the revered recordings, but their solos — hot and spicy — are their own. And they make the world a warmer place.
Honoring Doc Cooke and Keppard, HERE COMES THE HOT TAMALE MAN:
For Kid Ory and Louis, SAVOY BLUES:
Ostensibly for Scott Joplin, but I think of Paul Mares as well, MAPLE LEAF RAG:
Turk Murphy’s theme song, BAY CITY:
A new dance from the early Twenties, SHIM-ME -SHA -WABBLE:
The snow is abating somewhat. Thank you, Stompers! (And there will be more video from their time at the San Diego Jazz Fest.)
THINGS I LEARNED (OR RE-LEARNED) AT THE 2016 SAN DIEGO JAZZ FEST:
1. Never set up a travel schedule that gets you home (after a long weekend of life-changing music) at 5:20 AM Monday. Not “sleeping” on a plane is worth a higher fare.
2. Music is best experienced in the company of friends — those on the bandstand, those in the audience. The former, a partial list: Marc Caparone, Dawn Lambeth, Ray Skjelbred, Conal Fowkes, Kris Tokarski, Clint Baker, John Gill, Duke Heitger, Jeff Hamilton, Kevin Dorn, Orange Kellin, Leon Oakley, Dan Barrett, Tom Bartlett, Stephanie Trick, Paolo Alderighi, Katie Cavera, Josh Duffee, Andy Schumm, John Otto, Dave Stuckey, Dan Barrett, Larry Scala, David Boeddinghaus, Nobu Ozaki, Virginia Tichenor, Marty Eggers, Mike Davis.
Off the stand: John Ochs, Pamela Ochs, Donna Feoranzo, Allene Harding, Rae Ann Berry, Barbara L. Sully, Judith Navoy, Mary (“The Ambassador of Fun”) and her twin, Chris and Chris, Paul Daspit, Jim and Mary McNaughton, Gretchen Haugen, Patti Durham, Angelica, Carol Andersen, Bess Wade, Cat and Scotty Doggett, Ed Adams.
Much-missed and I await their return: Hal Smith, Janie McCue Lynch, Donna Courtney, Mary Cross.
I know those lists are incomplete, and I apologize to any reader I’ve accidentally omitted.
3. This festival is delightfully overwhelming. At any given time, music was happening in seven rooms simultaneously. There was a Wednesday night session, a Thursday night session, full days on Friday and Saturday (with approximately seventy offerings of music, most an hour long) and a full afternoon on Monday. By six PM on Monday, I was full and sloshing.
4. I am a man of narrow, precisely defined “tastes.” I didn’t grow up sitting in Turk Murphy’s lap — now there’s a picture! — I began my listening education with Forties and Fifties Louis, so I need lyricism and melody the way plants need sun and air.
Many of the bands so dear to my California friends strike me as perhaps over-exuberant. And when a fellow listener, politely curious, asked me “When did you get into trad?” I had to consider that question for a moment before saying, “I didn’t start listening to ‘trad’ . . . ” As I get older, I find my compass needle points much more to subtle, quiet, sweet, witty, delicate — rather than the Dixie-Apocalypse. Each to his or her own, though.
5. Videos: I videoed approximately eighteen sets, and came home with perhaps ten times that number of individual videos. They won’t all surface; the musicians have to approve. And I probably didn’t video your favorite band, The New Orleans Pop Tarts. Rather than mumble about the unfairness of it all, come to next year’s Fest and live in reality rather than virtually! Or buy an RV and a good camera so that you can become an official NOPT groupie-roadie-archivist.
6. For the first time in my life I helped sponsor a group. It was extremely rewarding to think that I had helped some music to be heard in public that otherwise would not have. I’ve offered to do it again for 2017. And, not incidentally, sponsors get to sit in the very front row, a great boon for people like me who want to capture the music to share with you. Videographers like myself want to be made welcome.
7. Moral tradeoffs are always possible and sometimes happily inevitable. At the San Diego Jazz Fest, one can share a large platter of tempura-batter-fried pickle slices and fresh jalapenos . . . because one is doing so much walking that the second activity outweighs the first. Or one tells oneself this.
8. On a darker note, odd public behavior is more pungently evident. People who call themselves jazz fans talk through a whole set about the new puppy (and I like puppies). Years ago I would have blamed this on television and the way viewers have been able to forget the difference between private and public behavior. Now I simply call it self-absorption, and look for a window that I can open.
Others stand up in front of a band to take iPhone photos of the musicians, pushing their phones into the faces of people who are playing and singing. Photographers have treasured costly cameras that beep, whir, and snap — we ignore these aberrations at many events (I think some photographers are secretly excited by such things) but at musical performances these noises are distracting.
I won’t say anything about those folks who fire off flash explosions in well-lit rooms.
I cannot be the only person who thinks of creatively improvised music as holy, a phenomenon not to be soiled by oblivious behavior. As a friend of mine says, “You’re not the only person on the planet.”
9. The previous paragraph cannot overshadow the generosity of the people who put on the Fest and the extreme generosity of those who create the music. Bless them. And the nice young sound people who worked hard to make music sound as it should!
It’s appropriate that the Fest takes place at Thanksgiving: I feel so much gratitude as I write these words, upload videos, and look at my notes of the performances I attended.
More — including videos! — to come. Start planning to come to the 2017 Fest, to bring your friends, to sponsor a band. Any or all of these activities are so much more life-enhancing than Black Friday.
Long before I’d ever met Steve Pistorius in person, I knew his music: consistently alive, full of good feelings even when he was playing or singing the saddest blues. I’d heard him solo, playing full, orchestral piano, and heard that piano bubbling through ensembles in exuberant down-home ways. I had the honor of meeting him and hearing him in person at the first Steamboat Stomp in New Orleans (that would be 2013) and I have had the pleasure twice more.
From the left, that’s Benny Amon, drums; Orange Kellin, clarinet, Steve himself, and James Evans, clarinet, saxophone, and vocal. These four gentlemen have just come out with a CD, called STEAMBOAT DAYS, and it’s wonderful. And — should you want to go immediately to gratification, you can buy copies at www.stevepistorius.com.
As usual with Steve, the repertoire is a mix of sweet reassuring surprises — New Orleans and New Orleans-inspired jazz without the hackneyed Bourbon Street bounce. And this quartet is both original — they inhabit 2016 — and comfortably mellow. I had the privilege of writing a few lines for the disc . . .
Technically speaking, this is a compact disc, as you see when you slide the plastic article into the player. But I prefer the archaic term “record,” in the broader sense: an accurate depiction of something memorable, a way of capturing something evanescent for posterity. This record enshrines for us something rare and cheering: actual improvised music being made on the spot by musicians, without artifice. Although much of the repertoire is sweetly venerable, we know immediately that this creativity, singular and collective, exists now. STEAMBOAT DAYS doesn’t strive to imitate historical recordings or legendary bands — no conscious homages to Noone, Mezzrow-Bechet, Wilber-Davern. Let those who wish to “play old records in high fidelity” do just that. This is a record of what Steve, James, Orange, and Benny felt like playing in the moment. Thus it is genuine and irreplaceable. And varied, with stomps, blues, pop songs both tender and mournful, genuine make-out music (SWAY), a handful of Creole seasoning, and a properly dark roux.
The music is occasionally raw — as in so intense in its emotion that polish becomes an afterthought — yet at the same time highly expert. At once delicate and ferocious, it is a lace tablecloth with a tiger underneath. Although New Orleans jazz, according to the Sages, is an ensemble art, the four soloists amaze and delight throughout. James and Orange complement each other — tonally and stylistically — I think of different varieties of ivy growing exuberantly up a wall. Steve and Benny are all the rhythm section anyone would ever need, a truly orchestral pianist and a percussionist who makes beautiful rollicking noise. This is an expandable quartet, with the singing of Steve (whose seriousness is porous to let deep feeling come out) and James (who so tenderly offers his heart to us) — also a rousing pleasure on C-melody saxophone, with his own sound.
Many hour-long recordings start out glossy and appealing but by the time I am twenty minutes through, I am looking for some other way to amuse myself. Don’t my socks need to be paired? These selections tumble one upon another, and my only problem is that, having heard KATHLEEN for the first time, I didn’t want to go on to the second track without walking dear Kate home a few more times.
This is A BAND, so delicious. They do not archaeologize; they are warm rather than scholarly-chilly. They do not play at the music. They ARE the music. May they have ten thousand opportunities to keep pleasing themselves and us.
For the record, the songs are I’LL TAKE YOU HOME AGAIN, KATHLEEN / SINCE MY BEST GAL TURNED ME DOWN / GULF COAST BLUES / I WANT YOU JUST MYSELF / THE YAMA YAMA MAN / WILD CAT BLUES / CRYIN’ FOR THE CAROLINES / LE MARCHAND DE POISSONS / QUIEN SERA [SWAY] / SATANIC BLUES / A MILLION DREAMS / POOR KATIE REDD / FORTY AND TIGHT / RIVERSIDE BLUES / STEAMBOAT DAYS.
But wait! There’s more! You don’t have to take my word for it. How about the set that the Quartet performed at the Steamboat Stomp last month (September 24, 2016) on the Natchez? That’s Tom Saunders on bass sax, in for Benny Amon on drums.
Can do.
SATANIC BLUES:
RIVERSIDE BLUES:
STEAMBOAT DAYS:
CRYIN’ FOR THE CAROLINES:
FORTY AND TIGHT:
I’LL TAKE YOU HOME AGAIN, KATHLEEN:
SHREVEPORT STOMP:
THE FISH VENDOR (LE MARCHAND DE POISSONS):
You’ll want a copy of the CD to complement the videos, I assure you. And this band is a life-enhancer.
I confess that I’ve let some days go by without blogging. Unthinkable, I know, but I (gently) throw myself on the mercy of the JAZZ LIVES court of readers.
Permit me to explain. From Thursday, September 15, to Sunday, the 18th, I was entranced by and at the Cleveland Classic Jazz Party. Consider these — randomly chosen — delights. Jim Dapogny playing IF I WERE YOU (twice) and some of his winsome original compositions. Rossano Sportiello, Frank Tate, and Hal Smith swinging like no one’s business. Rebecca Kilgore singing KEEP A SONG IN YOUR SOUL in the Andy Schumm-Hal Smith tribute to Alex Hill. Andy, on piano, with Paul Patterson and Marty Grosz — once on banjo! — in a hot chamber trio (a highlight being LOUISE). Wesla Whitfield in wonderfully strong voice. Dan Block and Scott Robinson romping through HOTTER THAN ‘ELL. A Basie-styled small band led by Jon Burr, offering (among other pleasures) IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS OF THE MORNING. A string bass trio — Burr, Tate, and Kerry Lewis — showing that no other instruments need apply. Harry Allen and Jon-Erik Kellso playing ballads, and Dan Barrett, too. Tributes to Nat Cole, Harry Warren, Isham Jones, and Bill Evans. Many videos, too — although they take some time to emerge in public.
I came home late Sunday night and on Monday and Tuesday returned to normal (employed) life as Professor Steinman: John Updike, Tillie Olsen, William Faulkner.
Tomorrow, which is Wednesday, September 21, I get on a plane to New Orleans for Duke Heitger’s Steamboat Stomp. Obviously I can’t report on delights experienced, but I can say I am looking forward to hearing, talking with, and cheering for the Yerba Buena Stompers, Miss Ida Blue, Banu Gibson, Tim Laughlin, Hal Smith, Kris Tokarski, Andy Schumm, Alex Belhaj, David Boeddinghaus, Ed Wise, Charlie Halloran, James Evans, Steve Pistorius, Orange Kellin, Tom Saunders, Debbie Fagnano, and many others.
So there you have it. I could sit at home blogging, or I could be on the road, collecting gems, some of which I will be able to share.
My counsel in all this has been the most eminent solicitor, Thomas Langham, who will now offer his closing argument to the jury:
Today is the first day of class, so I handed out papers for my students to read and a questionnaire to fill out. But turnabout is fair play: my friend, Professor Hal Smith, sent me some pages worthy of deep study: the schedule for the 2016 Steamboat Stomp.
I’ve written with great admiration of my experiences at the 2013 and 2015 Stomps hereand hereand here (and more, for the curious) — but I want to share with you the Coming Attractions that are less than a month away. For full details, of course, you should visit here. And, without being too pushy, may I suggest that space on the Steamboat Natchez is not infinite, and that lodgings in New Orleans are equally finite, that time is of the essence.
There are four sessions: Friday evening, Saturday afternoon and evening, and Sunday afternoon, each of them introduced by a steam calliope recital by the dextrous Debbie Fagnano. I should also mention that the Natchez has three areas for music: the main cabin, the top deck, and the Captain’s Salon. So there are always simultaneous sessions going on.
On Friday night, there will be two delights: on the boat itself, sessions by Tuba Skinny and the Yerba Buena Stompers; at the Palm Court Jazz Cafe, the Steamboat Stomp All-Stars (David Boeddinghaus, James Evans, Andy Schumm, Tom Saunders, Hal Smith) will hold forth.
On Saturday morning and afternoon, sessions by the Steve Pistorius Quartet (Steve, James Evans, Orange Kellin, Tom Saunders), the YBS, and Tim Laughlin (with Neil Unterseher, Alex Belhaj, and Ed Wise); later, at dockside, the Cakewalkin’ Jass Band (Ray Heitger, Tom Saunders, Alex Belhaj, Jamie Wight), Tim Laughlin, Andy Schumm, Neil Unterseher, Ed Wise, and a jam session with the YBS.
Saturday night, Banu Gibson (with David Boeddinghaus, Tom Saunders, Andy Schumm, James Evans, Kevin Dorn, Charlie Halloran), the Dukes of Dixieland, Tuba Skinny, the YBS, the Kris Tokarski Trio with Andy Schumm and Hal Smith, the Steamboat Stompers (Duke Heitger, Tom Saunders, Steve Pistorius). Banu Gibson (with David Boeddinghaus, Andy Schumm, Hal Smith), and another Kris Tokarski Trio with Hal Smith and Tim Laughlin.
On Sunday morning, Solid Harmony (Topsy Chapman and her two songful daughters) will be backed for one set by the Kris Tokarski Trio (Clint Baker and Hal Smith), and then by the YBS.
The Stomp will conclude with a VIP / Patron Party at the Bourbon New Orleans Hotel, and I have heard that Kris Tokarski, Andy Schumm, and Hal Smith will be playing a gig at Snug Harbor that night. No doubt.
That’s a whole lot of Stomp. Hope to see you there!
As Heidegger used to ask himself, “What would a Stomp be without Stompers?” (I’ve translated from the original.) And when the query becomes even more specific, “What would a Steamboat Stomp be without the Yerba Buena Stompers?” the answer is even clearer. And so it was, on September 18, 2015, the Stompers took to the stage for the first night’s concert. And they did indeed Stomp. They are John Gill, banjo / vocal; Conal Fowkes, piano; Clint Baker, tuba; Kevin Dorn, drums; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Tom Bartlett, trombone; Leon Oakley, cornet; Duke Heitger, trumpet, playing a program of New Orleans-associated hot jazz.
CAKE WALKING BABIES FROM HOME:
WABASH BLUES:
WILLIE THE WEEPER:
MILENBERG JOYS:
OLD STACK O’LEE BLUES:
THE GIRLS GO CRAZY:
It’s not just the Girls. I look forward to future YBS encounters.
A serious word about those six performances. I think the test of any band of this sort is the measure of energy — I don’t mean volume or velocity — they can bring to familiar material. Everyone in that room had heard or perhaps played MILENBERG JOYS many times. But the Stompers approached the material with the curiosity and love that made the familiar into something vibrant. And that is both precious and rare, the very opposite of rote performance.
When I know more about the 2016 Steamboat Stomp, you can be sure I will let you know.
It is possible I have clothing older than jazz trombonist Charlie Halloran, but I am thrilled to let you know about his CD, which contains some wonderful music.
The first thing you might notice about the disc’s cover above — leaving aside the energetic graphic design — is that it advertises a band rather than a soloist, and that is all to the good. When you notice that Charlie has surrounded himself with people who have been making recordings longer than he has — their names follow this extended sentence — you know that he knows quality, as do they.
Who are those people surrounding Mister Halloran and his slide trombone? How about Tim Laughlin, clarinet; Steve Pistorius, piano; Tom Saunders, string bass; Charlie Fardella, trumpet; Walter Harris, drums; Jimbo Mathus, vocals. I know half of this band personally, and even if I’d never heard the CD, their presence would be a living testament to their faith in Charlie and the sincerity and joyous wisdom of his music.
Back to the band and to the overall idea of this disc. Since it is a band whose members embody an ensemble tradition in their work, something is always going on, even surreptitiously, throughout each of the tracks. In fact, the music is dense with surprises: backgrounds behind a soloist, interesting ensemble modifications, a rhythm section that is part Second Line, part timeless Mainstream. But everything has a fluid romping motion underneath it.
And each of the front-line players is perfectly poised, a distinctive voice, immediately recognizable. I’d call the general aesthetic of this disc a modern version of hot lyricism. The Quality 6 swings throughout — no tempo too slow or too fast for dancers — but every note has a particular singing quality. And Jimbo’s voice, tough-tender, is the perfect counterpart to the instrumental glories.
You’ll know that a great deal of music is marketed these days as “authentic” New Orleans. I keep away from any debates on authenticity, but will say only that the music on this disc is not loud jive for the tourists, nor is it museum-safe reverent recreation. It sounds like music, where the individuals are fully aware (in the most affectionate ways) of the tradition but know that their task on the planet is to express themselves — and that’s glorious.
The repertoire is another treat. There are times in my life when a beautifully done JUST A CLOSER WALK WITH THEE has hit the spot, but I take a special pleasure from picking up a disc and seeing, “Wow, they’ve done that song? I can’t wait to hear what they’ve done with it.”
The songs are: In The Gloaming / Bouncing Around / St. Louis Cemetery Blues / Dreaming The Hours Away / The Ramble / Let’s Put Our Heads Together / Beautiful Dreamer / Memphis Blues / If We Never Meet Again / Weather Bird / June Night.
I asked Charlie for his thoughts on the repertoire, and he told me, “Most of these tunes are songs I’ve learned in the past 4 or 5 years and just don’t have the opportunity to play very often. Although, as I’m playing with these veterans more, that is starting to change. I play Dreaming the Hours Away with Steve Pistorius pretty regularly and Tim has been calling If We Never Meet Again at the Palm Court recently. St. Louis Cemetery Blues is a Squirrel Nut Zippers song that we never played when the band was touring, so I really wanted to get that down and have Jimbo, the composer, sing it. I share his love of Stephen Foster, so I thought he would be perfect for Beautiful Dreamer, the arrangement and cadenza I ripped off a bootleg recording of Pops on the Ed Sullivan show via Ricky Riccardi. The Ramble is from those killer, Lawrence Brown heavy, recordings of the Paul Howard band. I get a kick out of how the song holds up to a New Orleans treatment. Bouncing Around I’d only ever played from the music with Orange Kellin’s band. I was trying to give it more just a raggy feel, how a band where not everybody could read might play it, half from memory, approximation. June Night I learned from Ed Polcer, Weather Bird I was thinking of those Jelly Roll trios as much as the Louis/Hines version.
A few more words about Charlie (someone who knows his history but is not condemned to repeat it). The trombone is a delicious but devouring instrument, one that leads the incautious into acrobatics, self-parody, or restrictive styles. Charlie clearly knows the whole range of the instrument from Ory to the present, and although I hear echoes of other big-toned players from Quentin Jackson to Benny Morton to Sandy Williams to Teagarden, what I hear most is an affecting personal synthesis of the Past — operating gleefully and skillfully in the Present. (Did I say he was a wonderful ensemble trombonist, someone who knows how just the right harmony or the right epigram can add so much in just a few notes? And although he knows and can do a properly rough-hewn style, he loves melody and has a deep awareness of contemporary traditional jazz — which words should not scare anyone away. Nothing is fake or faux or glaring here. It all sounds good.)
Enough words for the moment.
Here’s a minute with this amiable expert fellow:
Charlie’s biography, for those who like that thing, is here.
Here are two links to the music— and the music. And of course, here’s Charlie’s Facebook page.
Young Mister H is not someone I greet at the beginning of his brilliant career. He’s already living it, and his debut CD shows it beautifully. The only fault I could find with this issue is that it isn’t a two-disc set. And I do not write those words casually.
Steve Pistorius is an irreplaceable pianist, singer, bandleader, and visionary, and I love his Quartet — with a front line of Orange Kellin, clarinet; James Evans, vocal, reeds, and someone adept keeping time and swinging out the root notes — on this most recent occasion, Tom Saunders on bass sax. The Quartet doesn’t strive to imitate anyone in particular, but what comes out is deep and swinging.
You could call it New Orleans jazz and not be wrong, but I think of it as four kindred souls having a sweetly intense conversation about the song at hand, where their intelligence and feeling raise up every note from what could be formulaic or prosaic. Here is what I wrote about their first disc, NEW ORLEANS SHUFFLE. To read what I wrote about their second, UNDER A CREOLE MOON, you’ll have to buy the disc — which I’ll predict you would want to anyway.
Now, this isn’t an advertisement for those two compact discs (although the subliminal energy is in my words, I hope) but a gift of music — a session on the Steamboat NATCHEZ recorded [by me, for you] during the 2015 Steamboat Stomp.
A cinematographic caveat follows. I was shooting into bright sunlight through large glass windows, so there was a good deal of unsolicited glare. Changing the videos to black and white helped cut down on the lurid aspect, but the four players are individually and collectively sheathed in what looks like swing ectoplasm. Fitting, of course. The sound, however, is fine and finer.
King Oliver’s I AIN’T GONNA TELL NOBODY:
James rhapsodizes so wonderfully on YOU BELONG TO MY HEART:
Doc Cooke’s BLAME IT ON THE BLUES:
An Oliver rarity, I CAN’T STOP LOVING YOU:
Mister Morton’s FROG-I-MORE RAG:
Bechet’s WASTE NO TEARS:
A. J. Piron’s THE BRIGHT STAR BLUES:
And a later Bechet, DANS LA RUE D’ANTIBES:
Hot, intent, relaxed, soothing, compelling. The best in their line. And somewhere in these videos Steve says ruefully that this band has lost its regular gig. I find that astonishing — in New Orleans, so proud of its music? — that I hope it has been remedied by now. Club-owners and party-givers, take note.
And I will keep you informed about the 2016 Steamboat Stomp — something I hope to attend.
JAZZ LIVES 