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 12^th. We featured the music of Duke Ellington that night. Some of my favorites in our repertoire, including “The Mooche,” “Stevedore Stomp,” and... 

 “Five O’Clock Drag.”

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.

Kriss Abigail Photography 

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 38^th Street and 23^rd 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. 

Just A Closer Walk With Thee

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 27^th, 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 3^rd 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 13^th when we released Santaphone, our first Christmas album. 

If we see our way to a 20^th 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.

Listen! Watch!

A Decade Of Aces: Part Seven '11

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

The Southside Aces Big Four represented the band at the Eagles to start 2011. It was a meager winter crowd, but at least they didn’t outnumber the band. During the second set, we had to pause to let Erik disassemble his sousaphone to actually remove snow. I wonder if insurance covers ice dams in your sousaphone? We also played a 1923 A.J. Piron tune, “Bouncin’ Around,” which Erik introduced as, “the second oldest song ever composed.” 

The Best of Midwest Burlesk again happened at the end of January. I had arranged ACDC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” for the band to open each show. The crowd seemed to love the hard rock put through the New Orleans filter. This year had more than seventy different performers over four shows in two nights. As one of Andy’s coworkers mentioned later, “I kept expecting them to run out of ways to take their clothes off, and they never did!” 

January 31^st is my birthday, and I spent it at Famous Dave’s on the Aces job. The Butlers made me do a birthday dance, which meant I was given the opportunity to break Claudia’s, Shannon’s, Lisa’s, Heidi’s and, yes, Bill’s toes. The band was determined to never stop, so I ran away from the dance floor in terror of the liability I was facing causing injury to any others foolish enough to join the brawl. 

We played in February at the Eagles, for the first time with six guys. Mark Kreitzer was on guitar again, and Darrin Sterud played his hot trombone. Erik showed up early so he could get the $7 steak dinner. Mark sang seven verses of “Mack The Knife” in the original German. Oppressive! We also spent St. Patty’s Day at the Eagles. All six Aces assembled to play the dance, and to have band photos taken for our upcoming new album. We did one of those old-fashioned band pictures, like some Midwest territory band swinging through Minneapolis in 1934, pausing long enough for a photo to be taken and sent ahead to Rapid City for advance publicity.

Erik came back from the bar after procuring whiskey, and told me about a 96-year-old WWII veteran named Ernie, survivor of Pearl Harbor among other things. Ernie was a harmonica player and had asked if he could sit in. The band got started, and for some reason during the set played “I Found A New Baby,” “Bill Bailey” (which Robert sang as “Bill O’Bailey” in honor of the holiday), and “I’ll See You In My Dreams” all in a row. An old guy, sitting upright in his uniform, shouted, “They’re all in F!” I think a good jazz band makes an effort to separate songs in the same key, but that was the first time in my experience someone actually noticed! Erik whispered, “Tony! That’s the guy who’s going to sit in!” After a few seconds of all of us looking at him, Erik said, “Doesn’t he look like the white Uncle Lionel?” Ernie Mattson played “Jambalaya On The Bayou” and “Saints” with us, combining that mournful prison tone with a rhythm like a square dance. Rick Rexroth sang “Danny Boy,” and the Beaujolais Sisters gave us “Everybody Loves My Baby,” ala the Boswells, with Randi singing for two! What a night!

Everybody Loves Randi’s Baby!

On April 1^st, a quartet of Aces was asked to provide music at Temple Israel for a memorial.  Since most New Orleans memorial and funeral music comes out of the Baptist hymnal, I had a conversation about not wanting to bring offence into Temple with that repertoire. It was solved when I learned that the deceased had loved Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald. The man’s son didn’t want to conduct the transaction on the day of the memorial, so we met the day before and he handed me, a perfect stranger, an envelope with cash payment. A very rare case of a 21^st Century handshake deal. It felt good to work on trust. We ended up playing “Mahogany Hall Stomp” in place of “Saints” for the postlude. 

The Eagles was shaping up to be a special place for us by this point. It has a culture all of its own, and it always seems easy to settle in and be comfortable there. The barkeep’s name is Royal, so over the past few months I had grown fond of walking up to him and placing my order, “Royal. Crown Royal.” When I found out, however, that Jim Beam was $1.25 cheaper, I decided to forego my whiskey-ordering haiku from then on. Erik had his hyperbolic burners on in April, so he introduced Andy this way: “Andy Hakala. He’s a blues man! The Roughrider! He eats three steak specials before he plays a note!” Ernie Mattson sat in with us again. When I went to collect him the second time at his table to help him to the stage, he handed his wife his cane and said, “Hang on to this. I don’t need it. I’m all exercised up!”

Ernie!

The following week, a Big Four outfit made it down to New Ulm’s Grand Café again. Joe, the now former mayor, who had led choruses of “Ein Prosit” during earlier visits, shook my hand at the break and said, “You guys create the flow out there! The harmonious juices of society!” If I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me!

On May 12^th, four Aces were hired by the Minnesota Historical Society to play the first annual Retrorama. This event celebrates the vintage, targeting Mid-century. That year featured a Munsingwear exhibit which showed examples of undergarments from the 19^th century all the way through the 1980s. A vintage boutique, vintage cocktail and cooking demonstrations, and the opportunity for patrons to decorate their own pair of boxers, including the optional Munsingwear penguin logo! This led to the line of the night, uttered by Robert. We were playing near the tables full of boxers. “Look at those people…drinking and making underwear!”

Zack subbed for Andy at Famous Dave’s that month, Steve Pikal for Erik. After wandering a bit on the bridge to “Coquette,” Zack apologized to me, “Sorry about that bridge. I was pretty close to the melody, wasn’t I?” I adopted a sage expression and replied, “That’s actually our job. To get pretty close to the melody.” As was mentioned previously, I’ve been accused of possessing the vocal stylings of Vincent Price. Our chart of “My Very Good Friend, The Milkman” is keyed low enough that if I had any good sense I wouldn’t sing it. I like the words, though, so I did. When I was finished I looked back at the stunned expressions of my bandmates and called out, “One of you save me!” Steve Pikal’s smile never wavered when he called back, “One?!”

The last day of May had Robert and I in KBEM’s studios with Mary Ann Sullivan on her show, Corner Jazz. We were building up steam for the next week’s release of our third album, an eighteen-month journey from conception to finish. We had experienced delays in the shipment of the CD. I was in Andy’s backyard drinking margaritas on June 8^th, the day before the CD release, wondering why I hadn’t heard from Erik yet about a FedX delivery. I said, “I’ll bet in the next conversation I have with him he says something like, ‘Well, Tonya’s sister’s friend’s uncle owns a fleet of ice cream trucks, and he was at a Blue Bunny convention in Milwaukee, and so I got him to swing down and pick up the CDs. He should be in town tomorrow about 7:30.” But there was no more drama after all. They made it!

A Big Fine Thing was released to the world at the Eagles. We had a great crowd of dancers and listeners. From the title tune to some of my favorites like “Perdido Street Blues” and “Back To Black,” we were loose and having a blast all night. We packed up and as Andy left he said, “I’m going to go home and check our online sales. I bet I find out we’ve gone viral and we’re going to be on the next episode of Veronica Mars!” Back at my house I fed Erik snacks and a cheese sandwich. This was like one of those moments when you have to let go of the dog treat quickly or get your fingers snapped up. Erik vowed, “The next time at the Eagles I’m going to order two steak dinner specials, one for before the show, and one for after!”

What you see there is about a ninety-year age range of fans!

Erik working up another appetite.

On June 13^th, we helped a family memorialize their dad in the morning, helped Steve’s daughter, Rose, celebrate her 21^st birthday at Famous Dave’s that night (even playing “The Rose Of The Rio Grande”), and, Dave and I anyway, ended up at the tavern called Cuzzy’s over on 5^th and Washington much later. I was wearing my “Bix Lives!” tee shirt, a memento of the Bix Beiderbecke Jazz Festival in Davenport, Iowa. Danny, the young barkeep, said, “Cool shirt. I love Bix’s music.” This dropped Dave and I on the floor in shock. The chances of someone in his thirties working a downtown bar in the 21^st Century who knows Bix is probably in the .000something percentile. He explained, “My mom grew up in the Quad City area and I grew up listening to that stuff.” I told him the story of Bix and his “pivot tooth,” which I got out of Eddie Condon’s book. Bix and those guys were traveling one winter, and Bix’s false tooth flew out of the car. They apparently spent an hour looking for it in the snow, before someone miraculously found it. This led to the creation of a shot called the “Pivot Tooth.” Rail gin—Bix drank too much of the bathtub variety—with a garnish of a white Good-N-Plenty. It was awful, but we felt we appropriately honored that Davenportian. 

Cuzzy’s—Open ‘til closed

I was hired to put together a brass band for Westminster Church’s Town Hall Forum. A few Aces and a lot of brass band guys were otherwise occupied that day, so we had to do a big time shuffle. Steve moved to sousaphone, Erik strapped on a bass drum, Chuck DeVore played snare, Wittacee trombone, and I still had Robert come in with a banjo. We were a brass band without a trumpet and sporting a banjo. When we all assembled in the green room, I asked out loud, “Is this what people mean when they say, ‘perpetrating a hoax’?” Erik gave me a quick, affirmative nod. But Wittacee could fill the sanctuary of Westminster by himself, and we only had to play six songs, so we ended up doing great. Although it took us three choruses to find each other on our parading exit song, “Mardi Gras In New Orleans.” Back in the green room, I remarked how good it felt to finally gel on “Mardi Gras.” Erik said, “Like getting a rock out of your shoe.” Robert riffed, “The Rock In Your Shoe Brass Band!” Erik exclaimed, “We should hire out all the time!” I commented, “As long as the job’s only thirty minutes.” Erik—“The Thirty Minute Brass Band!”

Do those looks say, "We got away with it!" or what?

During rehearsal in July, we pulled out our calendars to talk about upcoming shows. Erik had a worried look on his face as he looked over Steve’s shoulder. “Steve! That’s a 1983 calendar!” Sure enough, it was. Steve shrugged, “I lost this year’s calendar, so when I looked around the house, I found this one. It turns out the dates matched.” You’ll have to ask Steve why he still had a 1983 calendar sitting around the house.

We played on the grassy knoll at Abbott under beautiful skies both for lunchtime and for dinnertime. We started the afternoon slot for some reason in a perversion where we decided to play only songs in Ab. “Bourbon Street Parade,” “Tiger Rag,” “Postman’s Lament,” and “San” happened before Erik finally gave in. “We gotta get off the Ab! That much Ab in a row, I feel like I’ve been eating butter brickle for an hour!” During the evening show, Andrew “Diz” Gillespie subbed for Dave. He showed up with what used to be a white dress shirt in his hand. “This is Erik’s.” It was stained yellow by sweat and beer. When Erik arrived, he and Diz discussed the shirt’s history. “This was from Seattle?” Erik asked. “That was years ago. I thought I lost this shirt.” The shirt had traveled from Minneapolis to Seattle for a Mama Digdown’s show, then on to New York where Diz currently lives. It hung around there until it was perfectly ripened. Erik began using words like “vinegar” and “bleach” and “sun,” boasting, “I bet I can bring it back!” I said doubtfully, “To what, ecru?” He unrolled the shirt he wore that day to show a six-inch tear in the sleeve. “Maybe I can swap out the sleeves.” Robert chimed in, “Then you can sell the rest of the shirt on craigslist for parts.”

I hired Chuck DeVore to play snare for the Autumn Brew Review. There would be two sessions this year, so we would be on the brewery grounds from noon to seven. I told Chuck to get there early because of the paucity of parking. I said, “We should at least start the day as professionals,” predicting that, what with a jazz band being around that much beer for seven hours, something might happen to diminish that image. Chuck was confident, “We’ll still be professionals! We’ll just be drunk!” Andy and I visited a brewer who brought root beer, cream soda, and raspberry ginger ale. Andy said, “This is great, but bringing root beer to a beer festival is like bringing a knife to a gunfight.”

Jazz band and beer connoisseurs 

We were hired for the first annual Oysterfest, put on by Meritage restaurant in St. Paul. Chef Russell Klein and his wife, Desta Maree, have themselves quite the joint, and we loved them for our inclusion in this fantastic party! They blocked off St. Peter Street and flew in oysters from all over. There was even a special Oyster Stout from Lift Bridge Brewery. Did you hear me? Oysters, beer and jazz! Chef friends from other restaurants were part of an oyster-shucking contest. It was unseasonably warm for October 9^th, so people were in shorts and sundresses, looking summer beautiful. Robert ran late, biking up wearing one of those fit biking outfits. He had his whole suit stuffed in his banjo case. Erik managed to stuff three-dozen oysters into his craw throughout the day. Never let that man near your mollusks! But we were a great fit, especially when we second-lined through the street and into the restaurant. 

On October 13^th, we went into the Eagles Aerie #34 with a mission. It was the first time that we were to feature a specific artist or composer from jazz history. This was the night we featured the music of George Lewis. This also started our tradition of conducting a raffle for our fans to win fantastic prizes. Sometimes “fantastic” might be a bit of a strong word to describe our prizes, but you still get to feel like a winner! Our second raffle winner of the night complained, however. “We thought we were going to win one of you guys!” Steve told her, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot later.” 

In November, we featured Jelly Roll Morton. Our “Winin’ Boy Blues” kept clear of the Library of Congress filthiness that Jelly recorded. How often do you get to read the phrase “Library of Congress filthiness?” I scandalized Dre, Heidi and Mrs. Butler with a private reading of those lyrics later. One of my favorite tunes of the night was “New Orleans Bump,” a sinister, minor key song with a manly swagger. 

“New Orleans Bump” Wynton Marsalis-style 

Butch Thompson was also on hand that evening to capture the band for his four-part radio series “Classic Jazz MN,” and later in the night turned in a great, quiet solo on the very same “Winin’ Boy Blues” I said was so dirty. If you don’t sing the thing, it’s a gorgeous bit of music!

November saw us in an unbelievable 1902 Stillwater lumber baron’s ballroom for a wedding, and down in Richfield at the American Legion for the Third Annual All Airborne Ball. We had Zack in the lineup, and were graced by Rick Carlson on piano. Charlie DeVore sat in. In his customary singing exuberance, he accidentally kicked a mic stand off the stage, which took out a whole row of decorative paratroopers. He’s so punk rock! He apologized to Bill Butler during break. Bill said, “That’s all right Charlie. I’m just glad you didn’t go over with the mic, or next year we’d have to call it the Charlie DeVore Memorial All Airborne Ball.” 

Our December Eagles featured Christmas music; including the first time we performed Donny Hathaway’s “This Christmas.” It was a fun night. One of our raffle prizes was a carton of eggnog. Despite it being advertised as a Christmas show, a ballroom dancer appeared in the middle of the feature set and yelled, “No more Christmas songs!” Erik, with full approval of the Southside Aces board, of which I am a trustee, replied on mic, “This is our Christmas feature. We get one set a year, and we’re going to play it. If you don’t like it, you can go sit down until we’re done!” It was one of my favorite Erik speeches ever. We love to please our fans, but sometimes you have to hold your ground. Plus, isn't your sweet caramel chocolate that much better with a little salt?

A Decade Of Aces: Part Two '05-'06

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

On February 8^th, 2005 we went into the Times to celebrate our first release, All Aboard. How’s this for the musician’s compromise? We had decided it was appropriate enough for a band such as ours to hold a CD release on Mardi Gras, so there we were at the Times of a Tuesday night. At that time, Mardi Gras in these parts was a vague notion. People have to go to work on Wednesday; why would you go crazy on a Tuesday night? It’s kind of still that way, although I believe Mardi Gras awareness is improving. On account of this under-the-radar aspect of our nation’s greatest holiday (do I exaggerate?), places didn’t invest in the Tuesday night, preferring to bank on the weekend regardless of whether or not it was actually Fat Tuesday. Mardi means Tuesday, people!!! Ahem, excuse me. So this was what was offered to us: the Times would pay us, or put an ad in the City Pages and feed us. Not both. We chose the ad and food, perhaps because we were young and foolish. Or perhaps because we were hungry. I have a copy of that issue of the City Pages around here somewhere. I think the ad was about two inches wide by six inches high. We like to tell ourselves that at least three people were at the Times that night because of the ad. We did have a lot of friends, though. So we had a great time, with dancers, drinkers, and a second-line parade around the bar. In the end, we were able to maintain our Mardi Gras Certification because of that party, so it was all worth it.

Here's a never seen before picture from the photo session for our All Aboard cover:

2005 gave us a diverse work. Besides appearing at the Times once in awhile, there were these memorable moments:

—Pregame for the St. Paul Saints

—Kelly Doran announced his candidacy for governor at one of his construction sites on a blustery June day. The Aces enlivened things from a small, rickety stage. At some point, the wind grabbed hold of one of Dave’s cymbals, but fortunately this only created startling noise, not tragic decapitation.

—Father’s Day of that year brought us out to the Hopkins Hot Summer Jazz Festival. This marked the first time that our mentors heard the band. The Aces were sandwiched between the Mouldy Figs and the Bill Evans New Orleans Jazz Band. Erik and Robert figured out a way to have their chord book explode, so I have this memory of calling tunes and looking over my shoulder to watch them fish around in a pile of music at their feet!

—Peavey Plaza shows, where I seem to recall a lot of moms and strollers full of kids. A deliberate ambiguity on my part—some of the moms, too, were full of kid(s).

—Mears Park downtown St. Paul, where our audience consisted mostly of the park’s resident vagrants

—Wedding Incidents

—the one where an iron arbor fell on Dave and Robert’s head, producing a  giant goose egg on Robert’s dome, but, if you can believe it, not causing either of them to miss a single beat. They began to brag that Robert’s bump was so big it was “eggs and bacon.” Or maybe it was that his injury looked like a strip of bacon. By the end of the show, Dave kept asking Robert, “How’s your bacon?”

—the one where the wedding ceremony took place center ice at Mariucci Arena for a couple on skates. The band did a slow ice shuffle in our suits and street shoes out to a square of carpet to sit down and play the “Minnesota Rouser.” The ceremony was officiated by a man on skates, in referee stripes.

—our showcase at The Annex, a joint normally associated with punk and hard rock music. The Annex was in the basement at 528 Hennepin, across from Block E. We were the “headliner” of a three-band act. College-age kids in jeans and tees comprised the lineups of the first two bands playing, as well as the crowd. The first band was definitely influenced by the Beatles, and the other fashioned themselves a punk band, “Ramones wannabes,” Dave informed me. Then we walked up in our full suits. There were only about nine kids in the audience, but they were game, as was evidenced by the fact it was the first and probably only time I will ever see a group of the youth moshing to Jelly Roll Morton.

                                                      Did we really belong here?

And, of course, that fall Hurricane Katrina came to ground. On September 18^th, just a few weeks later, the Aces were part of a double bill benefit at the Dakota with the Bill Evans New Orleans Jazz Band. Special guest Kid Merv played with us. He and his wife just escaped New Orleans with their one-day old infant the day before the levees broke.

We ended 2005 by starting a monthly job at Club Underground. Another venue that was and still is primarily a home for punk rock. Located in the basement—a very prosaic name this club has—up on Spring Street in Nordeast Minneapolis. The owner, Peggy Dunnette, was influenced by parents who loved jazz. So she decided on an experiment to change it up once a week, rotating four traditional bands in on Sunday evenings. In addition to the jazz, they put candles on tables, and Peggy’s grade school-age daughters would conduct a meat raffle between sets. 

The Aces played for $55, beer and food. Oh, and the dancers. This eventually was reduced to $50, beer and half off food. After going in there in June of 2006, we were fired. The jazz experiment had failed, so they went back to purveying just one style of marginalized music, punk rock. The best thing to come out of that job was our lasting friendship with those dance floor wonders, Bill and Shannon Butler. 

Through roughly that same time period, we managed to get hired and fired at a St. Paul supper club called Mitch’s. We played our first show there on February 7^th, and our last one in May. I recall a version of “Tiger Rag” along the way that raised the hair on the back of my neck. Or was that a premonition about getting the pink slip? We all felt like we weren’t given enough of a chance to build something. Despite that, Dave still has fond memories of the steak sandwich and the goulash. These days it’s called Bennett’s Chop and Railhouse, and I play there monthly with the Bill Evans band.

That was pretty much our schedule for the first half of 2006. Monthly appearances at Club Underground, Mitch’s and the Nomad, with a show at the Times thrown in for good measure. A much more significant event, however, happened in May. On the nights of the 9^th and 10^th, we went into Patrick’s Cabaret next to the 3^rd Precinct on Minnehaha Avenue to record our second album. Matthew Zimmerman recorded us “live” without an audience. We were set up in our standard two lines in the cabaret. When you look at the picture, imagine us near the window facing you. 

Matthew had to fashion a sound booth out of the outer hallway, not pictured. He couldn’t actually see us at all; we communicated through headphones. The project was funded by Dave Michael Is Foolish Enough To Lend His Bandmates Money Enterprises. Standout memories: We were nervous, having difficulty loosening up. We procured a bottle of Old Heaven Hill from Minnehaha Liquors across the street. Maybe a jazz band shouldn’t record directly across from a liquor store, I’m not sure. Maybe they always should. We have distinct memories of putting the bottle on a stool next to the band along with a lamp to give it a homey feel. We took to calling the stool/lamp/whiskey setup “Grandma’s Nightstand.” Even with some consulting of Grandma’s Nightstand, things weren’t going smoothly. Whiskey may have lit us up, but it didn’t light the way! After an anxious scratched take on some song or another, we sat in our chairs making exasperated, despairing sounds. Then, out of nowhere, Erik called an audible! He shouted, “Alright, guys! ‘St. Phillip Street Breakdown!’ One, two three…” You can hear him on the recording counting it off. Matthew told us later he had to lunge for the record button, almost missing the beginning of the tune. But he got it! It’s one of my favorite Aces recordings, despite a couple of rough edges, because of the spontaneous, shake-off-the-nerves nature of the moment. We didn’t completely get over ourselves after that, but the evening definitely improved.

Dave brought eight different snare drums to change between songs. You’ll have to ask him about that. Dave also split his pants one of those nights. Probably all that bending over to change snares. Speaking of pants, Henry Blackburn came in there with his alto on the second night and kicked the Aces in the collective seat of ours. I am not exaggerating too much to say he saved the recording. He is fantastic on our cuts of “We’ll Understand It Better By and By” and “Four Or Five Times.” He brought sweet melodies, fire, and swing. Through his playing he reminded us that we weren’t doing surgery, so we should just relax, have a good time and swing hard. 

The rest of 2006 brought some great times. There was the famous “June Blizzard Job.” June 10^th found us down in southern Minnesota for the Windom Riverfest. It had all the shenanigans a town festival could muster. Scott Anderson played sousaphone for us on that one. Our duties were to be twofold: first, play on an outdoor stage in the middle of town square, secondly on a flatbed truck in the parade that would wind around said square. As soon as we started to play on the outdoor stage, however, the snow came down! Big, wet, June snowflakes. Fortunately, the stage had an eave that protected us, so we were able to play on, but there was no way we could fulfill our agreement to play uncovered for the parade. 

                                                  Windom on a normal summer day

During break, Dave went to a local video store in the town square that was having a close-out sale and bought a batch of horror movies. Like a guy does on his break. We finished our last set and packed up quick to get out of there before the parade started, which would pin us in the middle of the town square. Dave’s drums take longer, so he and Scott, who was riding with him, actually did get caught. Dave was desperate. He had already bought as many horror movies as he needed, and he wanted to get out of there. So he just eased his truck right into the parade! He and Scott were waving and smiling to the crowd as his truck slowly made it’s way around a portion of the square. Then it was time to make his escape. He jumped a few curbs, and soon they were on Highway 71 out of town. The rumors about him accidentally dragging the Miss Riverfest float for six blocks are entirely unfounded.

July saw us in Albert Lea for the Doc Evans jazz fest, and at the Plymouth Music Series in front of thousands of people. The end of the month was one of my favorite jobs ever. The guys came out to the Loring Playhouse and not only played, but were groomsmen at my wedding. 

Robert and Zack help me figure out my bowtie. 

Note Zack's left hand holding the instructions.

Before the ceremony, the guys and I were staring at this huge pipe sticking out of the wall. In my memory it was as large as one of those ship vents you see in movies with stowaways. We were wondering what it did for the building. Steve laid us low with this one: “It’s not too late, Tony. If you slide down that pipe, I have a horse waiting for you at the bottom which will take you to the river where you’ll find a change of clothes and you’ll be able to get away on a barge.” The Aces switched sets with the Bill Evans Band throughout the night. One of my favorite all-time memories of my life happened just after I’d seen my mom to her ride. I walked back into the building, and stood alone for a few minutes at the bottom of the long stairway that led up to the theater. The party was still going on, and the Bill Evans band was in full swing. The jazz floated down those stairs blending with echoes of itself. I don’t recall the song, but it was a sweet, medium-tempo melody. I stood there in my loosened tux leaning on the bottom newel post marveling at my life. The cover photo for A Big Fine Thing came out of that night, but here’s one of all the men in loosened tuxes:

In September, we released our second album, Bucktown Bounce. A wonderful night back at Patrick’s Cabaret, where we recorded it, and two shows the next day at the Times. We actually sold enough CDs to pay Dave back, so maybe there is money to be made in the traditional jazz recording business! Tony, wake up! Tony?! Wake up!!

We played at the Varsity for Midwest Lindyfest where the setup allowed for some of the audience to actually sit on a red velour sofa behind the band; a wedding at the Walker where Zack inserted a bit of the melody to the “Chicken Dance” into his “Stardust” solo, after I told him I refuse to have the band do the “Chicken Dance” at weddings; and hosted a huge, three-band Thanksgiving Extravaganza back at Patrick’s Cabaret, with the Twin Cities Hot Club and the Brass Messengers.

It was a good year. But it ended on a melancholy note. Zack wanted to be in a band that could actually give him enough work to be a working musician. And so far, even through to today, nobody should quit a day job solely on the promise of Southside Aces income! So Zack put most of his eggs in Davina and the Vagabonds’ basket, giving his notice to us. We had a last throw-down at the Times in December. This was the time when Tom Surowicz extolled the “big, delicious sound of the sousaphone” in the paper. That garnered Erik one of his many nicknames, Big Delicious.

But back to the melancholy. There we were before the show, standing on the stage kind of uncomfortable, not saying anything. A bunch of men. Zack, Dave, Steve and I were waiting for Erik and Robert. Robert had just arrived when Zack folded up his phone and said, “That was…you know, the Big Man, the one who sits here.” He pointed at the chair where Erik would sit. I cracked up a little and said, “He’s not even done with his last show, and he’s already forgetting our names.” We all laughed. We didn’t bust a gut or anything, but at least the ice was broken, and we could settle into a good time.

Do you remember my reference to the drink called The Haymaker from A Decade Of Aces, Part One? Well this was the night. The melancholy turned a little wild and farcical, with some hot jazz thrown in. The bar actually set records for sales of The Haymaker. One patron, herself very drunk on the concoction, showed up to the stage with a tray of them for the band. “So!” she barked, “See that table over there?” She swung her arm in a dangerous, karate chop arc, her body following a second later. “Thaz the Hudzon Map Company! Every one of ‘em! They bought the drinks!” She stared at her table for a few seconds before turning her body back to face us. “Wethinki’s fair…thatchoo…PLAY a song!” she slur/bellowed. She requested “Limehouse Blues.” I had to give her the bad news that we didn’t have that one in the repertoire. “Fuck off!!” she yelled, but in a nice way, I want to hasten to add. She and her friends were having a great time, she was really friendly and garrulous, and under more sober circumstances she might have only said, “Really?” At any rate, she was not to be deterred. “Wait a minute,” she says, holding up her finger. She swerved to her table, and in a couple minutes right back to us, clambering up on the stage, somehow stepping into the middle of the sousaphone without breaking anything. Our alcoholically ataxic newfound friend encircled by the big brass bass. “Alright. You HAVE to know ‘Sweet Georgia Brown!’” I tell her we’d do it. Robert, standing there, mischievously asked, “So we dedicate this song to the Rand McNally Map Company?” She pointed at us with a fiery look in her eyes, “Watch it!” she warned. But she belied her intimidation with a big, happy grin. She very gingerly stepped back out of the sousaphone and back to her table. I was impressed, given her condition, by the adroitness with which she completed this maneuver. So the Southside Aces ended 2006, and Zack’s first run with us, by playing “Sweet Georgia Brown” for the Hudson Map Company.