Showing posts with label Hall Brother Jazz Band. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hall Brother Jazz Band. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

A Decade Of Aces: Part Eight '12


This is the Eighth in a series of historical retrospectives on the Southside Aces, in celebration of their tenth anniversary.



We began 2012 with a changing of the guard. Andy put in his notice. If these trumpet men were actual guards, and the Decade of Aces was the night watch, Zack drew the first two hours, tried to get some sleep for the next four hours while Andy peered over the wild jazz frontier, and finally returned to duty. I would be dishonest if I said that in the end Andy and I had no differences, that the situation was as cheery and flip, crisp and clean as the above analogy suggests. But we are peaceful and reasonable men, and managed to come to the conclusion of this chapter without fisticuffs…even though he is from Wisconsin.

He served the rest of his time with two shows. The first was at the Eagles on January 12th. We featured the music of Duke Ellington that night. Some of my favorites in our repertoire, including “The Mooche,” “Stevedore Stomp,” and... 



Before the show, a dancer who had never seen us, and wished to know what kind of music we played had approached me. I thought I had given a good explanation, but then he asked, “Well, tell me this: do you perform polkas?” I dryly replied, “The New Orleans repertoire is not famous for its polkas.” He persisted for several minutes, “But could you play a polka?” Eventually I smiled and explained we might be able to provide a “New Orleans polka.” Later, I called “Moulin a Café,” and the band tried to create a polka feel with this nineteenth century ragtime. I think it created more doubtful expressions than a polka feel.

Zack was on the Famous Dave’s in January, but Andy did his last shows with us at the Ritz Theater in February, for the Fifth Annual Best of Midwest Burlesk. The headliner that year was a woman from New Orleans, Perle Noire, who featured a Josephine Baker act. 


I often commented how my work to pay ratio on those shows would have made the union wince, but I also liked to say, “It’s a burlesque house, not a coalmine!” I really enjoyed the sense of accomplishment I got from these shows, but a last-minute request from a performer sometimes required a reality check. This was my somewhat labored analogy: “Asking me to write out a full band arrangement of a Prince tune the night before the show would be like me asking you, in the same amount of time, to assemble a Statue of Liberty costume by stitching together two thousand Mr. Yuck stickers.” 


  
I think you could make the colors work.


One of my favorite memories from that year was backing up a singer named Big Mama Red on a old New Orleans dance band tune, “Mama’s Gone, Goodbye.” She knew how to belt ‘em! We also unveiled my arrangement of “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga. But what has to stand out for the band was our own unveiling! Four acts into the last show, we ditched our trademark black suits to reveal full red Union suits beneath! This went over well, I can tell you. I've always wondered why Andy kept his black dress shoes on. In case of fire? We wore our red union suits beneath our suit coats at the cast party later. Something Jelly Roll Morton would have called “Shootin’ the agate.”

What a cast! As you can see, Union Suits provide flexibility in your wardrobe.



Lundi Gras at Famous Dave’s included Charlie DeVore working with us and producing his famous “Tiger Rag.” After “When My Dreamboat Comes Home,” which begins with ten bars of Bb, Erik said, “Dang! That’s a long time on one chord!” Robert said, “Like a desert!” Erik, “Yeah. I kept seeing mirages making me think the next chord was coming!” And two jobs for the Aces the following day made sure we celebrated Mardi Gras right. 

It bears repeating. I walked into the Eagles of a March evening to set up our stage, and hear this inquiry coming from the bar—“Hey, Rick! What was that that shot my dad’s finger off?” With that proof of place, I prepared for an evening featuring the music of the Hall Brothers Jazz Band, with Charlie DeVore leading the proceedings. See my blog of that time, The Lineage Of Inspiration, for the whole story. 

At Famous Dave’s, Erik let loose a sentence that was probably a historical first. “Now we’re going to play a Duke Ellington song followed by a Lady Gaga song.” The Lady Gaga garnered us a new friend, a young woman who said, “I basically have two things on my ipod, Big Band and Lady Gaga.” It was a good night, but the music booker at the Big Barn of Baby Back had told us he wanted “to shake things up a bit,” so we weren’t offered another show until deep into the summer. We were a bit miffed after three years of history, so turned down the belated offer. At 11:03 that night we began what I'm choosing to call our leave of absence.  

In April, we went into the Social Dance Studio on 38th Street and 23rd Avenue. Terry Gardner of TC Swing had offered us the First Saturday Dance. This was the one where Erik couldn’t wait to get home to eat, so he ordered a pizza delivered while were on the bandstand. Once he was nourished, he was able to drop yet another unbelievable introduction to Robert’s version of “Sweet Sue.” “Half and half poured over perfectly ripe peaches. It’s a warm, rainy night with the windows open. Clean, white sheets. Satin! And Robert Bell stretched out naked! That’s what this song sounds like!” Everyone in the room was either laughing, or uncomfortable, or both.


Dreamy!

April Eagles bring Louis Armstrong flowers. We started the feature with “West End Blues.” Zack planted his flag on the peak of that particular Armstrong mountain. We ended the set with “Mahogany Hall Stomp,” Zack holding the chorus of high Bb with the mute in! Another peak scaled for the French Tickler. In between, Dave McCurdy, subbing for Robert, sang his beautiful “What A Wonderful World,” and Zack finished the night with a vocal on “When It’s Sleepy Time Down South.”  And it was around this time Erik began raffling off “A hug from the sousaphone player.” What a night!

The Eagles seems to always provide high moments of music and comedy. In May, six minutes before our feature on Jimmie Noone was to start, I was the only member of the band in the house. I opened the stage door and peered out into the parking lot. It was there I spotted Erik in jeans and a tee shirt helping Dave load firewood from the back of Dave’s Checker Cab to Erik’s trunk. It was a new one on this bandleader, but long years experiencing my band’s relationships with clocks allowed me to merely nod philosophically and say to myself, "Why wouldn't they be doing that right now?" Miraculously, nine minutes later (only three minutes late!) we started the show with everyone suited up. We played great Jimmie Noone tunes, including one new to our book, “Japansy.” 

All six of us played a great job overlooking the pit of the Grain Exchange in May, where we were well paid and given free whiskey. Four of us played for that swanky affair, Retrorama, at the Minnesota Historical Society again. They put us in the same third floor, marbled corner next to the elevator as the year previous. If we continue to do this job every year until we shuffle off the mortal coil it will become known as “The Southside Aces Memorial Nook.” 


We also played the late show at the Dakota Memorial Day weekend. They were using us to lure over some of the Preservation Hall guys after their show at Orchestra Hall. It worked! A good handful did come over, and it was a memorable evening. Evan Christopher and Irvin Mayfield and others sat in with the band for a fantastic night of music that didn’t end until 2:30, late by Dakota standards. We spun together a version of “Just A Closer Walk With Thee” that came in at sixteen minutes! Normally my warning klaxons go off when a song heads north of SIX minutes, but I didn’t feel nervous for a second. 


Irving Berlin was featured at the Eagles on National Bourbon Day in June. I wasn’t going to have us play one of Berlin’s biggest hits, “God Bless America,” on account of how he wrote one or two other hits, until I realized it was also Flag Day. Erik kept calling it, “National Buy The Sousaphone Player A Bourbon Day.” We raffled off kosher foodstuffs. Chuck Sweningsen won the hug from the sousaphone player. After he uncomfortably accepted Erik’s hug, we gave him one of our CDs to avoid a lawsuit. 

Earlier in the year, when I had asked the owner of Humans Win! studio what he thought about having the Aces in to record some Christmas tunes, he replied, “What could be better than a New Orleans Christmas album recorded in the middle of summer by an atheist Jew engineer?” So there we were on June 27th, at the start of a heat wave. I’m sure folk in southern climes are accustomed to accompanying their Noels with dripping sweat, but it’s a bit surreal for we Northern Men. I had a great time with this project. From a rollicking brass band version of “Deck The Hall,” to our hot swing version of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,” to brand new originals—one by me and Erik and one by Claudia and Randi—to songs I called my “Christmas Postcard Arrangements.” These were the ones I fully arranged, with very little, if any soloing. In the studio one night we were recording one of those when Robert asked if he should put a flourish at the end. Zack called out, “Yeah, Robert! You put the stamp on that postcard! Lick that stamp!” We put a Rick Rexroth-sung version of “Away In The Manger” on there, which included a sousaphone introduction. Steve said, “I’ll never be able to look at a Nativity scene again without seeing a sousaphone in the manger.”  


An extremely hot July 3rd evening found we men of the Aces on the hill behind the Minnesota Historical Society to kick off their Nine Nights of Music series. At the Eagles I presented an arcane and scholarly feature—Songs of the Public Domain! If I’d have had a logo made for that night, it would have been an image of an index finger pushing eyeglasses up the bridge of a nose, in the international sign language for “Nerd.” We had half Bill Evans band—Bill, Charlie DeVore and Dave McCurdy—and half Aces. 

Later in the month, we had the joy of participating in a chautauqua! “Drinking The River” featured us along with an historian who spoke of the brewing history along the Mississippi, a presentation by a waste treatment scientist, a singing Park Ranger and some dude in fur trapper attire. I want you to contemplate for a moment what kind of twists and turns your life would have to take in order to find yourself in the position to make some of your livelihood by slipping into your fur trapper get-up. 

Band on Boat


Fur Trapper on Boat


For our August Eagles, we brought in special guest Henry Blackburn on soprano saxophone, alto and clarinet to feature the incredible music of Sidney Bechet. It was a wonderful night, and a lot of people saw it, one of whom went home with a raffled copy of Bechet’s autobiography, Treat It Gentle. Bechet’s famous “Petite Fleur” and “Si Tu Vois Ma Mere,” were dished up along with “Promenade aux Champs Elysees” and “Moulin a Café.” Henry is fluent in French. Because of all those Bechet compositions with French titles, I joked how Henry was there to judge my pronunciations. “So here we go with the next one,” I paused, “Passport To Paradise.” I looked to Henry for approval, “How was that?” He considered for a moment, “Not bad,” he nodded. Steve chimed in, “What does that mean in English?”

A sultry day on the berm at Abbott produced some lazy tempos to go along with the heat. Zack reminded Erik that Erik owed him twenty dollars, which had been going on for some time. Erik was without the cash that day, too. We usually stand up for solos and for the last choruses, but in deference to the muggy day, I suggested an alternative. “Some of the New Orleans bands just stand up for last song of the set.” Zack said, “I’m in. If some guys did it once in New Orleans, I’ll do it.” Erik saw an opportunity, “Once, in New Orleans, there was this guy who said I didn’t have to pay him the twenty dollars I owed him.” 

September at the Eagles was dedicated to the Gershwins. The raffle prizes included “Potahtoes” and “Tomahtoes” to go along with the tune, “Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off.” This is also where we had a post-show photo shoot for the upcoming Christmas album. If any of you have a copy, you’ve seen the inside cover. Well, here’s one of the rejected photos from that night. If you look closely, Erik just let loose the punch line of a joke I can only tell you in private.


September brought us to Hastings for a wedding and to St. Paul for the second annual Oysterfest at Meritage. Erik gave the crowd a begging story. “I can tell you that the sousaphone player has been able to make it through some hard times with oysters.” Sure enough, trays of oysters began appearing. Later, after I worked myself into a lather on “St. Phillip Street Breakdown,” Erik told the crowd, “The clarinetist keeps his strength up with oyster stout!” Within a few minutes, I looked down to see three cups of the briny brew at my feet. Later, when Erik announce that we were flown in from Minneapolis, the stogie-smoking mayor of St. Paul, Chris Coleman, and his cohorts booed us! He definitely has pride of city. He turned it into cheers when Erik attempted to mollify him by announcing that Dave hailed from Osceola Avenue in St. Paul. This event is tops on my Aces calendar, and Erik will also testify to his overwhelming approval. Anyone reading this ought to plan on seeing us down on St. Peter Street this year!

In October, we played a Foodie Night at the Dakota. Andrew “Diz” Gillespie subbed for Dave. Diz had just completed the Twin Cities Marathon the day before, and said he was sore, but ready to play. “As long as I don’t have to climb stairs,” he informed me. I pointed backstage, “You have to climb two of them to get up there.” Adopting an expression as though seriously assessing the situation, he said, “I better call in a sub.” 

The Eagles was the site of our celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of Preservation Hall with all of that music that came out of there. Erik’s first announcement of the night was, “Robert would like everyone to know that the banana is one of the world’s first Super Foods.” This caused me to look over my shoulder at the back line. And there it was, a half-peeled banana resting on Robert’s amp. The raffle included French Market Coffee and Tony Chachere’s Creole Seasoning, and actual record albums of Preservation Hall I had dug up at Hymie’s Records on Lake Street. 


Special guests two months in a row! Charlie DeVore appeared at the Eagles with us in November so that we might purvey the wares of King Oliver. Possessive tunes like “Buddy’s Habits,” and “Mabel’s Dream.” Wheelhouse tunes like “Canal Street Blues” and “Dippermouth Blues.” We had an actual meat raffle that night. Chicago hot dogs with sweet and hot peppers, in order that the winner could, as Erik said, “make your own Maxwell Street dogs and invite me over!” We may or may not have procured a rye on the rocks from Royal at the bar, and raffled that off as well! The raffle for the hug from the sousaphone player included Erik’s ever more refined declaimers: “I promise to keep my eyes open,” he said. “Now if you’re uncomfortable with the hug, we can make arrangements. Or you can just not raise your hand if your number is called.” Charlie’s grandson Noah won. He tore up the ticket and threw it in the air like confetti, and raised his arms in the air in victory as he and Erik walk toward one another on the dance floor. A huge hug commenced, and Erik told the crowd, “I’d suggest getting a hug from Noah if you need it. He’s a good hugger.” 

So the last time the Aces met in 2012 was December 13th when we released Santaphone, our first Christmas album. 


If we see our way to a 20th Anniversary, we’ll probably release our second one by then. The Beaujolais Sisters, Nadine Dubois, Maud Hixson, Rick Rexroth, Charlie DeVore made for a ton of special guests. I had even hired Mike Mello to play sousaphone for the title tune. Bob, the raffle ticket dispenser for the Eagles, approached Henry’s table before the show and said, “Hang on to your tickets now, because you ladies can win a spanking from me.” This caused the expected discomfort from the women to whom he was speaking, and no end of amusement out of Henry. 

When Dave launched the drum introduction to “Happy Feet Blues,” Erik’s toddler son shot out on the floor as if from a pitching machine that catapults two and a half year olds! He couldn’t help himself. He was dancing, throwing his arms up, laughing—Dave’s drumming was an electric wire to his heart. I saw him and I never felt so joyous playing that song. Charlie’s present to the assembled was a sixteen bar chicken cluck vocal during “Winter Wonderland,” and our present was a loaded raffle. A candy cane of Hershey’s Kisses, a set of actual candy canes, the Lifesavers Memory Storybook, Christmas Jello molds, eggnog, and four signed CD release posters with the Aces in their Union Suits. Christmas booty!


The album was called Santaphone after the tune Erik and I wrote about Christmas procrastination miracles. I know it isn’t Christmas, but you can feel how we felt putting it all together in the summertime if you give it a listen right now! Plus, Claudia made a cool video.





Sunday, June 26, 2011

ARGO

On June 25th, 2008, one of the best drummers the world ever had the privilege to hear passed away at the age of 78. Donald “Doggie” Berg played drums with the Hall Brother’s Jazz Band and Bill Evans New Orleans Jazz Band, among others. I had the honor of having played with him for several years, including his last job, the night before he died. There are those who could tell a much more complete story of Doggie: Charlie DeVore and Bill Evans to name two. Charlie and Bill spent decades with him after all. I only managed to be lucky enough to be around for one of those decades, so my story is incomplete, but here’s what I saw.

It’s not uncommon for musicians to use the names of other musicians as adjectives when describing or asking for a certain way of playing. For instance, you might say, “He did that Baby Dodd’s thing!” I will even occasionally turn a guy’s name into a verb, as when I request the Southside Aces drummer, Dave Michael, to “Sammy Penn it up!” You could hear a man long-immersed in the history of jazz whenever Doggie played, but his style was so unique, so much an organic function of the man himself. He did that Doggie Berg thing.

The man himself could also sing the hell out of a song. The stamp he put on certain tunes to this day makes us utter phrases like, “That’s a Doggie song.” A short list of my favorites would include “Sing You Sinners,” “Buddy Bolden’s Blues,” “Celito Lindo,” (a tune on which Doggie used his career as a Spanish Professor to great advantage), and finally my all-time favorite, “Winin’ Boy Blues.” I only have my memories of him doing that, but take a listen to “Sing You Sinners” from a Hall Brothers recording:



It was through my association with the Bill Evans New Orleans Jazz Band that I had the great pleasure of Doggie’s friendship and jazz mentorship. In fact, it was he who originally pulled me under the collective wing of that band. This was an act, unbeknownst to him, which would eventually lead this clarinetist to make what is tantamount to a blood oath to play the music as long as I can hold up my horn. Back in August of 1998, my friend Mike and I had just returned from the Bix Beiderbeck Festival in Davenport, Iowa. We possessed a deep need to find a source of the music back here in our hometown. One of the cooks at Chang O’Hara’s on Selby Avenue in St. Paul (nowadays called the Happy Gnome and without music of any sort) told Mike about Sunday afternoons, and this band that seemed to be what we were looking for. We showed up one Sunday and took our seats in a back booth. The music began, and what we heard dropped our jaws. This was one of those moments when a whole new universe opens up in front of you. We had just picked up a new Sunday habit.

The first set finished, and before we could push our jaws back up into our faces, Doggie marched off of the bandstand and right up to our table. You see, if you looked around that room on that day, or any other Sunday during the band’s run there, you would have noticed a distinct lack of folk from Mike’s and my generation. We had at least thirty years of catching up to most of the people there. Doggie certainly noticed how we stuck out, and he wasted no time getting to the bottom of it, “What are you two doing here?” 

Those were the first words he ever said to me. It wasn’t the voice of someone accusing you of trespassing; it was the voice of incredulity. What possible reason could two people of our age have to sit ourselves down in front of this band? We told him about Davenport, and how we had developed a real urge to hear the music. He asked us how long we even knew about the music. I said, “Well, I remember when I was about eleven years old [this was twenty years later], my parents took me out to a place called the Emporium of Jazz to hear a band called the Hall Brothers.” He said, “That was us.” My jaw stayed south of my face. I eventually got around to mentioning I played clarinet. “You do?” he said excitedly, “Bring it down here next time. We’ll get you up there.”

And that’s how it started. He invited me into the music without ever having heard a single one of my notes. I began to sit in, first for a couple of tunes at the end of the night, slowly improving until a couple of years later Bill Evans began to hire me. That band patiently saw to my jazz education then, just as they do now. And it all came about on account of Doggie’s curious, gregarious nature. 

I haven’t yet mentioned his mischievous sense of humor. Here’s one of my favorites. The aforementioned Dave Michael, drummer for the Southside Aces, had not yet met Doggie. We were invited to a Labor Day pool party at which many of our local traditional jazz luminaries would be present. Dave and his wife Mindy showed up and were standing next to the pool sort of shyly looking around at a lot of people they didn’t know. Dave had hold of a beer he had just opened. Doggie, resplendent in a pair of drawstring trunks and a very tanned shirtlessness, walked up to the couple. “What kind of beer is that?” he said, pointing at Dave’s beer, “Do you mind if I try it?” Dave said “Sure,” and handed it over. Doggie proceeded to tilt the full bottle up and didn’t tilt it down again until every drop had disappeared. “Pretty good,” he said nonchalantly, handing the empty back to Dave. Then he turned left and jumped directly into the pool. Those were the first words Doggie ever said to Dave.

                                               Pontchartrain Owls at MRB in April of 2008
                                              (you can see Doggie's head behind my left hip)

The April before he died we were in New Orleans. Every spring, members of the Bill Evans band, plus musicians from around the world form a once-a-year band called The Pontchartrain Owls for the French Quarter Festival. We were down there playing, eating, and drinking, like you do. One night a few of us were in a joint called Johnny White’s, on St. Peter Street off of Bourbon Street. Doggie kept buying himself, my wife, Claudia, and me shots of Bulleit Bourbon. You can see my nose in the foreground. Well, you can see my nose in most foregrounds. Anyway...

                                                 Johnny White's, April of 2008

He and Bill Evans regaled us with stories of the jazz life, and we all traded several jokes of the blue variety. A somewhat honed sense of propriety prevents me from printing them here; you’ll have to approach me sometime to get the full skinny. The upshot though, is that a certain joke told by a certain wife of mine burrowed in to Doggie’s mind to stay. Forward to Doggie’s memorial, only two and a half months later, and horn man Dave Braun stood up at the microphone and told how he sat down with Doggie before his last gig, “I was with Doggie before the job that night, and he told me this joke. I believe it was the last joke he ever told.” And with a straight face, Braun went on to repeat that which Doggie had learned from Claudia in that late night session at Johnny White’s. Not your usual funeral fare, I can tell you. Crickets and stifled laughter from the back of the room was all there was to be heard. All the aforementioneds—Mike, Dave Michael, Claudia and I—we were the said laughter-stiflers standing at the back of the room, bent over in delighted disbelief. Doggie’s mischievousness striking from the beyond!

Some time later Mimi, Doggie’s widow, bequeathed to the band-members several of his ties. When I spot my Doggie tie on my tie-rack, it seems as though I can see a whole Doggie standing behind it. The twinkle in his eyes, the ready wit, the fantastic drumming. I will wear that tie this Tuesday when we take the “stand” at Bennett’s Chop and Railhouse. And if there happens to be some Bulleit Bourbon about the place, I may have to bend my elbow a bit. I owe him a permanent and roomy place in my memory. To the Dog!