Skokiaan—Or—How A Motion Picture Influenced The Southside Aces

Watch The Impostors. I’m not normally given to issuing commands, but this is highly important. I’ve mentioned this 1998 movie in a previous post, Recognizing DCD.

The Impostors was written and directed by Stanley Tucci, and starring himself along with Oliver Platt. I’m talking about a fantastically funny farce that tells the story of two starving actors who find themselves accidental stowaways on a cruise ship. You need every single one of your digits plus a few of your cat's to count up all the shenanigans, which begin the moment the movie opens, and don’t end until the credits are done rolling and you start watching Terms Of Endearment just to balance out all the laughing. I’ve hurt my gut from the laughter each of the eight times I’ve seen it so far. Laughter hernias. Plus, I say PLUS, it’s all accompanied by a soundtrack that knocks me out every time. This is how I was introduced to one of my favorite Louis Armstrong recordings, “Skokiaan.” From the movie to my brain, my brain to the Southside Aces book, and now what do you know, we’ve recorded it ourselves.

But first let’s head back to 1947, when The African Dance Band of the Cold Storage Division of Southern Rhodesia released the original, the B-Side of which was a rough but spirited version of “In The Mood,” By the way, I’m serious, that’s the name of the band. I mean, it would be like if the Southside Aces were called The New Orleans Traditional Jazz Band of the Men Who Are Aces Department of South Minneapolis. I’m not here to criticize marketing choices, but just imagine the band stationery! How much you’d have to pay to make teeshirts! In 1954, the same recording was released under the band name Bulawayo Sweet Rhythms:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1RFfQBfULA

Doesn’t that feel better to your tongue? Can you imagine there must have been some days before the name change when someone asked one of the musicians what the name of the band was, and they started, “The African Dance Band of…oh, forget it.” Sometimes a man can’t be buggered to finish a sentence. The leader of the band, August Musarurwa, published his tune in 1952—

This is the sheet music I have...Secret Weapon!

—and the 1954 release became a nice hit for the Zimbabweans. The melodies and rhythms really are great. I mentioned "rough but spirited." The rough playing may have had something to do with the source of the title. Skokiaan is a type of African homemade liquor. It’s usually pretty harsh stuff, a single-day brewed moonshine concoction that can sometimes include ingredients like kerosene or battery acid…for flavor. When you listen to the Bulawayo fellas play it, notice how the trumpet enters at about 1:08 and only lasts about twenty seconds. Like a barstool debater, who interrupts with slurry eloquence to say what's already been said, and subsides shortly afterwards when he forgets he's the one talking. Spirited indeed. Too much skokiaan will do that to a person. I imagine him tipping out of his chair. I don’t have any proof of the high proof—the session may have been a sober affair—but I may or may not have personal experience with how a horn sounds after an unwise amount of imbibery. 

The record reached the ears of the western world that year, and several diverse artists decided to cash in:

But my favorite, of course, was by Louis. His All Stars recorded it with the Sy Oliver Orchestra. If you compare the original instrumental’s great rhythms and melodies to the Armstrong recording, you can really tell Louis absorbed the Bulawayo Sweet Rhythms version. But he also sings! Where’d those words come from!? Now, here’s the thing about the lyric. An American, Tom Glazer, added words during the 1954 American craze for the tune. It comes off like an African tourist bureau song. 

Oh, ho, Far away in Africa, happy happy Africa, (nonsense, nonsense, nonsense)…

Oh, ho, Take a trip to Africa, any ship to Africa, (nonsense, nonsense, nonsense)…

You get the idea. As far as I can find out, nobody consulted August to see if any insult was brought about by what I like to call “racist fluff.” “Skokiaan” was from that era of song when it was considered harmless popular diversion to write lyrics with minority stereotypes. But don’t underestimate Louis! He never was one to let a silly lyric get in the way of a superb performance:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6YTS9jFB084

Now here we are sixty years later about to put it on the next Southside Aces record! It was one of those where we go, "Eh, if we get a good take, we'll put it on the record." If it didn't make the cut, we wouldn't have exactly been despondent. As it turns out, it's becoming one of my favorites. It's a strong cut! We, however, dispensed with the singing. The Zimbabwe tourist office never got back to me. My arrangement, though, is obviously influenced by the Louis version; Zack even nails the high B-flats at the end. We’re in the mixing and mastering stage right now, so you’ll have to wait a little. In the meantime, get your hands on that movie, The Impostors. Do it! And if you can’t find it, let me know and I’ll have a screening over here at the house. 

A Decade Of Aces: Part Nine '13

This is the Ninth and final installment in a series of historical retrospectives covering the first ten years of the Southside Aces, in celebration of their tenth anniversary.

It took a while for me to recover from our big tenth anniversary party last month and find my way back to the last chapter of this story. According to the people who make this stuff up, a tenth anniversary is often celebrated with aluminum. I tried to get the Aces an Alcoa sponsorship, but my “Does your local jazz band shield their homes with aluminum?” ad campaign fell on deaf ears. So did my offer to change the band’s name to “South Siding Aces.” Some ideas take time to gain acceptance.

It took a few weeks before we touched down in 2013. We re-entered that hallowed hall of ribs-and-such called Famous Dave’s. We were offered more money and a year’s worth of dates. Our previous negative experience was just enough in our past for us to say yes, so there we were. I decided we would go in there as the “Southside Aces Big Five,” always as a quintet, to make the money slightly better for each man, and to give guys the option of not always playing. Famous Dave’s didn’t exactly come off firing on all cylinders for us this first night back, advertising us as “Jack Knife and the Sharps.” A bemused band, we. At the end of the first set, Erik introduced Zack as “the brass knuckles of the band,” me as, “the Secret Weapon of the band,” Robert as, “Mr. Class,” Dave as being “all the way from St. Paul, Minnesota,” and himself as “Santa Claus on the Santaphone.” The legend continued.

Our appearance at the Eagles was considerably classier than usual. And Robert wasn’t even there! A satellite looking down on that portion of the earth would have detected a huge surge of sophistication beaming from the south ballroom. A Johnny Mercer flare. Maud Hixson and Rick Carlson joined the Aces to feature the music of that Savannah legend, from “Moon River” to “I’m Old Fashioned,” to “That Old Black Magic.” Maud and Rick were incredible, as were the raffle prizes. Mercer’s hometown is also famous for it’s hushpuppies, so one lucky fan walked home with a $1.99 package of hushpuppy mix. Like I said, classy.

Some hot oil away from deliciousness!

The jazz was played on the first Monday of February at Famous Dave’s, with Steve Pikal on bass and Reid Kennedy on drums. We launched with “Under The Bamboo Tree,” and stuck a fork in it with Kermit Ruffins’ “Goodnight.” How’s that for a 95-year span of jazz? In between we comported ourselves well on tunes such as “Blue Again,” “Comes Love,” and a very hot “China Boy.” 

Check out Kid Ory on that 1901 classic, “Under The Bamboo Tree.”

The following Sunday found us the unfortunate recipients of a huge, wet snow storm, which fell right on top of our Mardi Gras Tea at the Sokol (Czech Hall) in St. Paul. Not enough folks emerged from their hibernaculums to ensure the Sokol a profit that day. I believe I still take issue with the people who were scared off by the snow, on account of the example our good friend, Mimi, set by driving TWO HOURS from Wisconsin so she could get her second line on. Let that be a lesson to you people! A good ol’ time was had nonetheless. The Southside Aces with New Orleans caterer Cajun 2 Geaux in a beautiful 1897 hall made sure things were done right. From “If Ever I Cease To Love” to “Mardi Gras In New Orleans.” Jim, one of our fans, gave us one of the best compliments a performer can receive. “You guys! You could have folded up your spirits with this small crowd. Back in my younger days, I played in a crummy scab band and we couldn’t hack a small crowd. But you guys just shined, played all out!” It’s my blog. I can let you know when someone is patting me and my band mates on our respective backs if I want to.

One of six stage backdrops at Sokol Hall painted in 1932

Mardi Gras proper found us doing our “Thirty Minute Brass Band” routine in between Cajun bands at the Eagles again. The Aces with Chuck DeVore on snare, and Wittacee on sousaphone. Six musicians, twenty-seven minutes, three hundred dollars. Wittacee had received the call to sub for Erik less than an hour before we played. I met him at the bar, handed him a PBR Tallboy and $60, ten dollars more than everyone else received. “You get the twenty percent bonus for the rush job,” I told him.

I entitled our Valentine’s dance at the Eagles, “Sweethearts On Parade.” Unprecedented in our history was our online auction of a romantic night for two. Peg and Emily won this unbelievable prize package: two entries, a table for two up on the stage with the band, pizza from bartender Royal’s toaster oven, two vending machine deserts, $2 in quarters for the skill crane (Peg actually won something called a “Love Bear”), ten song requests, with the band committed to honoring two of them, and three opportunities throughout the night to yell “Hit it, boys!” All of that was beside the raffle! A heart-shaped tin of strawberry lollipops with Yoda on the lid, Valentine-colored peanut M&Ms, chocolate-covered dried Bing cherries, an oinking Valentine pig that pooped candy into a tray by it’s butt, and a pair of predominantly red Popeye boxers that said, “Thinking of you” across the butt. Oh yeah, and we played some music.

On March 1^st, we traveled to Des Moines to play the Heartland Swing Festival. I recommend Velma’s homemade rhubarb pie that she sells out of the second story of the red barn that is the rest stop part of Diamond Jo’s Casino and rest stop off of 35. I had that with some Dr. Pepper and Cheetos. I bought the Cheetos so I could get some protein in my lunch. 

We featured the music of Fats Waller at the Eagles, with pianist Steven Hobert subbing for Robert. Before the show, Dave tells me a clove of garlic fell out of his suit when he took it out of his closet. This from the late night pizza we had after the last job. There’s where a fella can be happy he didn’t have his suit pressed between shows. We began the feature set with “Ain’t Misbehavin’.” Erik wanted to announce it as Waller’s “most popular hit.” I told him it wasn’t necessarily true, and Zack made sure I remembered how much of a nerd I am. Erik announced it as, “arguably his most popular hit.” I washed my hands of him, saying, “I ain’t protecting you from the Charlies out there!” referring to how Charlie DeVore was sitting fifteen feet away, and would probably know exactly which tune topped the Fats Waller hit parade. He and Zack laughed at me. Erik displayed mock fear, “When we’re done, I’m just going to run out of the building, talk to no one!” The very next song, “Honeysuckle Rose,” he also announced as, “arguably his most popular hit,” thus diluting his original declaration, and perhaps saving him from the wrath of historians.

In April, Henry Blackburn gave us what for on our show, “The Alto in Jazz.” Captain John Handy, Joe Poston, Harold Dejan, and “Singin’ The Blues,” Frankie Trumbauer’s famous recording. I know Frank was technically on a C-Melody saxophone, but who—except for you three people who sent me emails— is going to argue? Among many greats, the crowd heard “You Can’t Escape From Me,” “Ice Cream,” and “Curzon Hall Boogie,” a tune I got off of an album Henry did with Kid Dutch. Henry told the story of how I had asked where Curzon Hall was in New Orleans. The piano player on the date with Henry was named Andrew Curzon Hall. Not a place but a man! Erik said, “I hope someday someone names a song ‘Owen Jacobson Boogie.’”

We played Famous Dave’s in May with Keith Boyles on bass. Zack wanted to dig deeper into our book, so I took him at his word and called several that don’t usually come across our desk. A couple of Irving Berlin numbers, including “The Song Is Ended.” When I sang my high E flats on that one, it sounded like someone was cinching me too tightly. “Jazz Me Blues,” Bix style. A King Oliver “Riverside Blues.” In the second set, I called three from the A.J. Piron repertoire, “Red Man Blues,” “Bouncin’ Around,” and “Mama’s Gone Goodbye.” Keith admitted that he’d been liking the repertoire, but he begged, “Tony! Can we play something I know?” Zack chimed in, seconding the motion. I looked at them, perhaps a bit too triumphantly, and said, “I broke you guys! I broke you!”

The Guitar in Jazz was our feature at the Eagles. We added guitarist Dean Harrington in order to hot club it up. We played “Montmartre (Django’s Jump),” and a great version of “Nuages” with the stormtrooper introduction. Our instrumentation on “Minor Swing” was Zack on rhythm guitar, Dave playing brushes on HIS guitar, Dean, Robert and Erik. Four guitars and a sousaphone. That can’t have happened before. Robert did the famous Santo and Johnny solo, “Sleep Walk.” 

“Sleep Walk”

For the raffle, I had done my research. One of Django’s favorite foods was roasted hedgehog, or as he knew it, “niglos.” I even found a recipe for it’s traditional preparation. Needless to say, however, I didn’t have time to find, kill, herb up, roll in clay, throw in a fire, de-quill and package one of the little darlings, so I settled for a large bag of in-the-shell peanuts and a best of Django recording. The peanut bag was at least in the shape of a hedgehog. Erik told the crowd I had made a mistake not calling him first. He said, “I have hedgehog.” Then he added, “I’m not saying it’s fresh…”

Uncooked hedgehog

The Aces played at the Dakota on Mother’s Day. Craig Eichhorn told me “It’s not a performance, but it’s not a background job either.” Somewhere between the spotlight and the potted palm, I guess. I remember the incredible grits they made that day. We had Matt Peterson on bass both for that one and the June Famous Dave’s. Matt and Robert spent every non-music moment talking feverishly about their other shared passion, bikes. 

On the sixth we played at the Harriet Tap Room over on Minnehaha Avenue. We were able to partake of their beer, and Chef Tim from Cajun 2 Geaux brought his food truck out and was very generous to the band. It was a bit cool and damp for June, but not unlike most of the nights by this halfway point of 2013. Steve said with a straight face, “This winter isn’t going too bad.” We had a regular sound check. “Kick,” said the soundman, and Dave played his bass drum. “Set for the overhead,” said the soundman, and Dave flailed around on the rest of the drums. “Oboe,” said the soundman for me, and the band cracked up. Zack called me “Kid Oboe” that night. Outside of the comedy highlight, we knocked out a sweet version of “Smoke Rings,” like you do when you play in a brewery.

The Minnesotan legend, cornetist Doc Evans, is whom we featured that month. We recreated the record that was made of his 1953 appearance at the Walker Art Center. We began with one of Doc’s quotes regarding how he was happy to play anywhere: “Jazz doesn’t know where it is, and it doesn’t care.” Then we launched with “Under The Double Eagle.” Doc tended to play with West Coast Dixieland tempos, meaning that they really stepped on it. Be careful not to fall off the back of the truck! But the Aces are the Aces, so we marked the difference between Doc and us right off the bat. Our “Double Eagle” had a groove, despite it being an 1893 march. Charlie DeVore came right up to the stage upon the last note to shake my hand. “That was the perfect tempo!” he extolled. “None of that racehorse business with you guys!” In response, Erik said on mic, “You have to feel pretty good about the way you played a song when Charlie DeVore comes up and shakes the band’s hand!” As an introduction to “Muskrat Ramble,” Zack had Erik tell this story to the crowd:

“We’re all adults here right? So, the other day Zack was standing on a bank doing some fishing when he noticed a couple of Muskrats, well, in a romantic situation.” I said in an aside to Zack, “A ramble, so to speak.” Zack got up to finish the story. “When they saw me, the male muskrat ran back into its cave, and the female was so mad at me for the interruption!”

Muskrat, perhaps angry, I'm not sure

We had a rehearsal at my house for an upcoming big show at the Old Log Theater in July. With twenty tunes to get through, I set the bar low for what passed for moving on to the next song. “That’s my goal,” I told Rick Carlson, “a minimum of familiarity. That way, when the band has entirely forgotten about the music by next month’s show, they can open the books and experience déja vu.” 

July Famous Dave’s featured the Southside Aces Big Four Brass Band on account of Robert being in Wisconsin at the start of the night. I, too, once received that phone call that gives you that terrible sinking feeling, when someone tells you that you aren’t where you signed up to be. But we rolled with it just fine. At the Eagles the next week, we featured the music of Benny Goodman, with Keith Boyles on bass and Rick Carlson on piano. My personal pantheon of clarinetists tends toward the New Orleans men, but the King of Swing has been impressing my listening ears as of late, especially his small group recordings. We performed tunes like “Shivers,” “Pick-a-Rib Part 1,” the trio version of “Oh, Lady Be Good,” with the four key changes, and “Slipped Disc.” I had a ball! 

"Slipped Disc"

The Southside Aces Big Four—this time Zack, me, Robert and Steve Pikal on bass—made our way down to New Ulm to please the denizens of that famous German town at the Grand Café. Steve is the nephew of a legend in those parts, Wally Pikal. Wally was famous for being able to play three trumpets at the same time while on a pogo stick. When I told Zack this, he sort of frowned and said, “Why would you do that?” I also remember how we couldn’t fulfill five requests in a row. FIVE. The crowd still liked us that night, but I’m not sure if they trusted us.

On July 15^th, we went into the Old Log Theater with Maud Hixson and Rick Carlson to do it up in large fashion on the music of Johnny Mercer. This was one of the last shows in which owner Don Stolz involved himself. He had sold the theater after 73 years of running things! Maud and I began collecting what we called Don Stolz Hangups. Don is great to work with, but we had to accustom ourselves to his way of using a phone. The second he obtained whatever information he needed from us he would hang up. No wasting time on the usual niceties. For instance:

Me: “So do you write up a contract, or would you like me to put one together?” 

Don: “Could you do that?”

Me: “Sure. Where…” 

Click, dial tone

Or the time Don called Maud to ask her to change the date:

Maud: “I’m looking at our calendar, and that looks fine with us.” 

Don: “You’re a good girl! And I love you for it!”

Maud: “Thanks, Don, I lo…”

Click, dial tone

We would always find ourselves finishing sentences to a dial tone. We sort of became perversely proud of these. “I got another one!” we’d say when reporting in to each other. At any rate, we were very grateful to Don for having us out there. I really felt like it was a magical night, and a perfect place to present that music. Maud sang beautifully, Rick made you go “Dang!” and the band proved we belonged in a concert hall just as much as we do a joint. Charlie DeVore made an appearance as well, laying us all low with his rendering of “Strip Polka.” This was one of my favorite nights as a musician.

At the end of July we played for Abbot Northwestern Hospital in what’s become an annual occasion. The beginning of August had us at the Social Dance Studio on 23^rd Avenue and 38^th Street and, of course, Famous Dave’s. Steve Pikal subbed for the rib joint hit. I think Erik is going to drop in on that job maybe only once every four months or so, like a retired uncle who comes back into town from his travels once in a while to tell stories and hand out souvenirs. 

Speaking of stories, this wraps up ten years and brings me up to the actual anniversary show. I’ll have to tell that one another time. For now, I want to thank all the fans who’ve made it out to a decade’s worth of the Southside Aces. I am always grateful that I get to play this music I love so much, and that there are people who want to hear it. And I want to thank my fellow musicians for being such good Aces. To another ten years! Cheers!

A Decade Of Aces: Part Five '09

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

The first time the Aces reconvened in 2009 was at the Nomad. A customer walked up to tip us, but claimed not to have any cash, “Could I write a check?” he inquired. We didn’t see why not. Peter wrote it for $25, and on top of that, the bank took it! An auspicious beginning.

But not so much for the Times Bar and Café. Though we didn’t know it until later, January 17^th would be our last appearance there. Within a month the venerable jazz club would be closed for good. That still lay in the future, however, so I’m glad in the meantime we could have a good night. We had a crowd full of dancers and listeners. Our night included a bachelorette beer bottle solo, Karen Vieno Paurus singing “Minnie the Moocher,” and dancers Lisa and Stan showing up with baby Zander. I think it might have been the first time I saw their little potato. Claudia said, “Maybe he wants to be here because he was here while he was in the womb.” “Washboard Wiggles” was requested—Mrs. Butler always has liked that one—featuring Dave. I introduced him with the same sobriquet Walter Winchell used in 1929 to describe Duke Ellington’s drummer Sonny Greer. “Here’s our Ace of the symbol dusters, Dave Michael!” We gave the crowd “The Sheik of Araby” for an encore. Maybe a band should always be careful choosing their last song of the night, just in case it ends up being the last one you ever play in a joint! The band experienced great glee in derailing Andy’s vocal. Instead of the usual “With no pants on!” as a response to every line sung, we began singing, “With a mustache.” We broke him up. Imagine this: Andy—“Into your tent I’ll creep.” Band—“With a mustache!” 

Bill and Shannon. I can’t hear the song, but it looks like “Washboard Wiggles.” 

Near the end of the month we were the house band for the second annual Best of Midwest Burlesk. Local rapper/singer/songwriter Omaur Bliss appeared with us that weekend in his capacity as a singer. He’s a handsome fella who keeps track of his physique (I’m more of a man who keeps track of the donuts). But Robert could relate to his exercising ways. During rehearsal Robert and Omaur were showing each other different types of pushups. My favorite acts from the weekend included the Ladyslippers—Gina Louise, Ophelia Flame and Fanny Tastic. I just report the names; I don’t make them up. Who hasn’t experienced the dilemma of getting too hot shoveling snow? Their solution was to go from Parkas to Pasties…like you do. 

In February, we and a few of the ladies from Lili’s played at the W Hotel at the bottom of the Foshay Tower for VitaMN’s Hotness Party. I’d like to be able to accuse Lili’s of stalking us, but who’s the more likely follower in this scenario? Anyhow, it’s intriguing when we the people take it upon ourselves to determine who is the hottest man and woman in town. Before playing, Erik and I were leaning on a railing overlooking the bar. Lili’s Nadine Dubois and Christian, the man who hired us, approached. Nadine joked, “I guess we just get two musicians tonight.” I said, “Yep. Sousaphone and clarinet duets. Now that’s Hotness!” Christian excitedly said, “That IS hotness!”

February 24^th saw a hodgepodge band with a quorum of Aces back in the same house in which we had to try so hard to avoid electrocution the previous year. They had repaired and made beautiful, and wanted to celebrate. Robert, Erik, Steve and I were there. Nik Bortolussi gave us the drumming, and the role of Ben Webster was played by tenor man Paul. Charmine Michelle laid us low when she sang “Solitude,” in honor of Duke Ellington, whom it was announced would adorn the Washington D.C. quarter. It was the first time an African American’s image was on American currency. As we liked to say that night, “Duke’s on the money!”

The PBR Brothers. That was my affectionate nickname for Bob and Carl, twin brothers who helped out around the Nomad. I loved those guys. They would always be willing to lend a hand, and never failed to compliment us. I never saw either of them without a Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboy within arm’s reach. I had just recently taken pains to learn how to tell them apart. I bumped into Carl after the show that day. “Great music today,” he said. “Thanks, Carl,” I smiled, “It is Carl, right?” He nodded. I said, “It took me two years, but I finally have it right.” Carl forgave me, “That’s all right. It took me thirty.”

Bob and Carl on the patio

March 25^th was a sad day on account of it being the memorial of Erik’s grandfather, Jack. In case you didn’t know this, Erik plays his grandfather’s sousaphone. I want to say that horn turned 80 this year. Claudia and I were standing with him beforehand, and he asked, “How many times through do you think I should play ‘Just A Closer Walk With Thee’?” He was going to do it as a solo, and was worried about how many times people would want to hear the sousaphone render the melody. We thought maybe two times, but that he should feel it out. When he asked Tonya a few minutes later, however, she was definite. “Two times. The sousaphone is just kind of a unique instrument for soloing.” We laughed, and Tonya worried she gave offence. Erik assured her that we had just come to a similar conclusion. Then he teased, “It’s like if you told someone, ‘I really think it’s neat that you color outside the lines.’” As it turned out, two times was all he could make it through. Later in the service, I had the honor of joining him on “His Eye Is On The Sparrow.” Just the two of us played it twice down. He ended on his low Bb, and I on my lowest D. The held chord reverberated throughout the small, otherwise silent chapel. Tonya said afterwards, “I just wanted you guys to put that last note in a box so I could take it out later.”

The April Nomad landed on Easter. We provided ham sandwiches, Jelly Beans and Peeps. Eric Johnson subbed for Erik on sousaphone. I began introducing him as Eric “With A C” Johnson. Eric and Erik. Get it? Erik was away that weekend in France lending a brass bass hand to the Youngblood Brass Band. He returned by the 20^th to join us in a foggy, jet-lagged way at Famous Dave’s. About the only thing he could say, and say often, was, “Oui, oui! I’m Erik Jacobson on the sousa-moi-phone!”

Le Jazz Hot

In May we played Mother’s Day at the Nomad. Erik and I decided casseroles would be the appropriate food for the occasion. Claudia made a cheesy potato thing that was actually called “Mormon Funeral Potatoes.” Erik called his mom, listed the ingredients he had in his larder, and was able to fashion a beef noodle dish of some sort. He decided to call his “Lutheran Funeral Noodles.” That day, David West blew us away for the first of many times with how he could make with the Al Jolson on “5’2” Eyes Of Blue.” 

In June we played over on Raspberry Island in St. Paul. Erik changed into his suit at the job, but forgot to bring socks. We called him “The Huck Finn of Jazz.” Over at the Nomad, Eric Johnson subbed for Erik again. It was on that day that Andy refined my “With-A-C” to “Wittacee.” Doesn’t it sort of sound like a nickname you’d pick up down south?

Out at Friendship Village Senior Living, I warned Steve before we started that if anybody came up to him to bring him to his room, he should say, “No. I don’t live here.” During break, I traded my steak for Wittacee’s potatoes. The crowd kept requesting “It Had To Be You,” which we didn’t have in the book at the time. “We have another request for ‘It Had To Be You.’ So we're very happy to play ‘Bill Bailey.’” I asked Wittacee afterwards if he could wait to receive one check for two jobs; he’d be on another one with us in a couple days. “Are you going to starve,” I asked compassionately. He answered, “Nah. This was a two-steak job. If it was only one steak, I’d need my check.”

Wittacee!

June was busy. Folks in Mears Park got to hear us on the Bix version of “Old Man River” and Armstrong's “Skokiaan” for the Twin Cities Jazz Festival. My mom was there, so I told the crowd they’d have to answer to her if they didn’t buy a CD. This being our third year trying, we finally got great weather for a Harriet Bandshell appearance. Charlie DeVore was subbing for Andy. Parking was at a premium. Charlie walked up and said, “I had to buy a parked car over there, just so I could be close enough to make it.” 

July brought four of us to a Summitt Avenue mansion to play for friends Chef Zander and Emmy. Zander’s brother roast/toasted him by saying he couldn’t believe Zander could land someone like Emmy. So I called “I Can’t Believe She’s In Love With Me,” and “She’s Funny That Way” before I became paranoid that an alert member of the wedding party might think we were making comments with our song selections. During break, Erik and I discovered that that wonderful chef had made sure there were blueberry, peach and strawberry rhubarb pies weighing down a table in the dining room. He and I literally had seven pieces between us before the night was through! Jazz in a Fitzgeraldian setting, good friends in love and lots of pie. What more could you ask for?

In August, Robert, Andy and I drove out to the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum for some shenanigans. It was 11:00 in the morning. We’re standing there when Robert asked, “Have you guys been drinking?” We hadn’t been, and aren’t known to be morning imbibers, so the question struck us strange. We shot quizzical looks at him. “Maybe it’s mouthwash,” he tried to explain. I maintained my puzzlement and asked, “Does Makers Mark count as mouthwash?”

At the Nomad we celebrated the band’s sixth anniversary. Inside, the Fringe Festival staged a mini-rock opera, the actors in cat and dog costumes belting it out. That wasn't for us, though. Outside, three trumpets, two clarinets, two tenors, an alto, flute, rhythm section and four trombones chewed up “St. Louis Blues.” I conducted a music and meat raffle, while Erik borrowed a razor from Andy so he could shave a missed spot on his chin. Raffles and shaving on the bandstand!

Whenever I look at the Nomad patio wall, it reminds me I need a shave.

Two of my favorite Aces stories happened in August. On the 14^th, Robert, Dave, Zack, Matt Peterson, Patrick Harrison and I flew out to Denver for Lindy On The Rocks. Dancers can be frugal. I’m not going to go too far into that, but it will give you some answers if you were wondering about the above lineup. Friday night the Robert Bell Hot Swing Combo would drive the dancers into a frenzy. On Saturday, the EXACT SAME BAND would perform as the Southside Aces. We kept joking on mic how much the two bands hated one another, how we had huge humbugs going on for years. I know for a fact some of the dancers were worried.

I remember the first night at the hotel when Zack asked Patrick and me, “Do you smell cake?” We did, and at first we couldn’t figure it out. Was there a bakery in the next room? I think it was Patrick who figured out. He had just been ironing out the travel creases from his recently heavily starched white shirt. Mmm…shirt cake! I think we did a great job that weekend. Late night Saturday at the after hours dance spot, Bauer’s, all six men of the band stood outside in our black suits with ties loosened, holding fine bourbons and scotches, four of us smoking cigars. It cut quite the scene. A job well done. At the Denver airport on the way home, Patrick told me he noticed me in the mornings doing yoga out on the balcony of our hotel. He described briefly wondering what was going on, “I thought you were praying to Mecca.” I replied, “I was facing south, not east.” After a pause, “Praying to New Orleans, I guess.” Patrick suggested that if that was the case, I should pour out a little Abita beer before each prayer. “And whiskey on the major holidays!” I added. We decided the major holidays would be Mardi Gras, Louis Armstrong’s birthday, and Halloween. 

On the 21^st, we had a high-pressure set to perform for the International Association of Jazz Record Collectors. It was high-pressure, because all of the people at this convention knew all the recordings ever made by anybody. We were scouted two years previously by Chuck Sweningsen. He’s a small man, but has more jazz inside of him than any three other people. It wasn’t a “Bourbon Street” and “Bill Bailey” day, for sure. I worked up a bunch of history on the tunes I selected. Not too much, for fear of running into a pack of sixteen sharp-fanged historians out in the hall of the conference room. But enough that at first Erik called me “History Hank,” and later, “Freddy Fact.” We were introduced by the wonderful Leigh Kamman. He has the type of poetic, extemporaneous introductions that even if you think they might be too long, you never want them to stop! Then we launched my list: 

The Mooche

Back Room Romp

Kansas City Stomps

I’m Walkin’ This Town

Blues In The Air

Mushmouth Shuffle

Ol’ Man River

Perdido Street Blues

Red Man Blues

Have A Little Dream On Me

Snag It 

E. St. Louis Toodle-oo

The band actually witnessed folks in this crowd lip-syncing to my history! Leigh and Chuck praised us. I was pretty proud, but then I got my head back out of the clouds. Andy and I met a married couple who belonged to the Toronto Ellington Society. I bravely asked her how we did. She said, “We love it whenever we hear Ellington, no matter how it’s played.” Andy and I began to grin. The husband added, “Not whenever! Some bands murder him!” I smiled more broadly. “Hopefully,” I said, “we just put him in the hospital.” 

Here’s Chuck scouting the band at the Nomad, dressed as always in his Jazz Scout uniform.

September brought us out to Omaha for another Cowtown Jamborama, this time with Wittacee in tow. This is the one when Robert broke his toe rushing to retrieve the band van after our Po’boy dinners at a restaurant called Jazz. He played the first set while his body settled into shock. He wasn’t going to make it if we didn’t do something. Fortunately, one of the dancers was a Dr. Joan “I Trained In A Bronx E.R." Bonesetter. Backstage, I threw Robert’s leg over my shoulder and pinned his foot down. Joan walked up without hesitating and reset his toe, snap! just like that. He stated he was at least 72% better immediately. He did great after that, even if he only could wear one shoe. 

We played the after hours dance at the 6^th and Cuming art gallery from the previous year. The MC there asked us if we wanted to be called something else for the night. Not a bad idea if you want to avoid litigation. The band huddled and came up with “Count Hakula and His Mustache Troubadours.” We left at 4 a.m., some of us thinking food, some of us thinking bed. Before we had to step out of the van and settle the argument like men, Dave spotted an open sign under the freeway. I put the van on two wheels making the turn into Pettit’s Donuts and Rolls. It was 4:10, and they had been open all of ten minutes. Six jazzmen in six suits and eleven shoes ate the freshest donuts ever!

On a gorgeous October evening, good friends Julie and Claire got themselves all hitched up in a ceremony on the Andiamo riverboat out of Stillwater. The girls had a bubble machine and the Southside Aces out on deck to greet passengers as they boarded. We played for the dance as well. Julie had asked us to surprise Claire with Taj Mahal’s “Queen Bee.” Outside of the New Orleans book, right? Well, since New Orleans is famous for folding in as much of the world as possible, we held up that part of the tradition. Steve sang marvelously. He said later, “I looked out on the floor, and Julie and Claire were so happy I really got into singing it for them.” Those two lovebirds inspired us on our other surprise, a cover of Harry Connick’s “Come By Me.” Erik said, “I noticed it took them about twelve bars before they recognized it. But when they did they were so happy, jumping for joy—I almost starting crying!” Indeed, a joyful boat ride.

We were at the Dakota in November with Lili’s. playing all the music, not just the interludes. It was exhausting, but great fun. Our December was quiet but for a couple. Famous Dave’s and the Nomad. The only other one was when the Southside Aces Big Four went into Honey Lounge on December 12^th. This was the new incarnation of Jitters, below Ginger Hop, the new incarnation of the Times. There was no longer music upstairs, but Honey was trying this and that. Robert, Dave, Liz Draper and I...and life goes on.

A Decade of Aces: Part One '03-'04

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

Nobody can really believe it. When the Aces slouch into the Eagles on August 8^th, it will have been ten years nearly to the day from when Erik and I first met to discuss the possibility of getting a band going. How often do you hear about a band getting to celebrate a ten-year existence? Some people have shorter relationships with their spouses. Or even their cars! Well, we intend to do it up proper. Over the next few weeks, I will put on record the salient features of our decade as a band. Secrets revealed! Dark, sinister dealings brought to the light of day! Ok, sinister is a tad strong. If there had been a deal with the devil along the way, we’d be playing our anniversary show at the Fitzgerald or some other high tone spot. Not that I don’t have warm fuzzy feelings about the Eagles…oh, you know what I mean. Anyhow, the most sinister dealing we ever had was the night at the Times when we kept handing cash to the bartender for a drink called “The Haymaker.” Erik also cajoled the crowd into buying them. I think he told the crowd “Buy ‘The Haymaker’,” more often than he told them to buy our CDs. The Times didn’t sell enough of that lime and whiskey and something-or-another drink to stay open, obviously, but it wasn’t through lack of trying on our parts! But I do get ahead of myself.

Fate

Somewhere near the beginning of 2003, Erik found himself at a party talking to a man named Adam Fesenmaier. Both being musicians, they talked about their respective musical experiences and wishes. Something Erik said reminded Adam about a guy from his distant past with whom he used to work in a furniture warehouse. It had been a handful of years or more, but what the heck, he tracked down his number and called:

“Tony?” he asked. After inquiries about health and happiness, Adam said, “Say, the reason I called you is I ran into this guy at a party who plays sousaphone. He told me, and I quote, ‘I’d really like to play in a New Orleans dance hall band’ whatever that means. But it made me think of you, so I got his number. He told me you should call him.” It was that tenuous thread that sewed Erik’s and my fate together. Thank you for following up, Adam! 

The Name

It took a few months of living our lives before we managed to get together, but on August 10^th, 2003, Erik and I met. A week later, on August 17^th, was the first rehearsal of what would become the Southside Aces. It took a couple weeks to name the band. “Southside” was going to be part of the name right from the get-go. Both Erik and I make our homes in South Minneapolis, and Erik always wanted to name a band “Southside” something. “How about ‘Southside Six’,” he suggested. “I’m uncomfortable naming bands with numbers,” I said. Friends will tell you I can be a worrier. “’Cause then you sometimes have to play with four or five guys, and some smartass comes up to you and says, “I see you are a quartet; how come you call yourselves the Southside Six?” I had been listening to Jabbo Smith that week. He was a trumpet man of the thirties who once ran a band he called The Rhythm Aces. “What about the ‘Southside Aces’?” I asked. We liked it. It stuck.

First Days

On September 20^th of that year, we had our first job. We played out in an Apple Valley parking lot on a stationary flatbed truck for the Ring Around The Arts festival. This was not the type of propitious beginning that would cause you Nostradamus types to predict tenth anniversary shows. But at least the truck was stationary. The lineup was me, clarinet; Zack Lozier, trumpet; Erik, sousaphone; Robert Bell, guitar; and Joe Steinger, drums. See?! There were only five of us! Southside Six, indeed! Steve Sandberg would be our trombonist, but he couldn’t make it out to Apple Valley that day.

The band went through their first handful of months without officially hiring a drummer. Different guys cycled on and off the drummer’s chair, through jobs with Le Cirque Rouge at First Avenue, where we wowed ‘em with “The Mooche,” and our first job at the Times on December 20^th. Finally, in February of 2004, Dave Michael and the Aces tried each other out. He first played with us at Jitters, the basement below the Times. Each guy received $20, food and beer. If any of you remember Jitters, you’ll recall it had a tile floor and corrugated aluminum flashing for a stage backdrop. Dave recalled, “It was like playing in a Chipotle.”

The Ted

We played the Times a couple of weeks later, on February 21^st. This was the first time we had a sub. I hired Ted Schryer to play tuba in Erik’s stead. When we all gathered for rehearsal after that show, we gave Erik hell—“Oh, Erik! You should have heard Ted! I just loved how he played “Hindustan!” Ted really knows what he’s doing! It was just great to play with Ted!” We went on and on. Finally, Erik had had enough. “You wait ‘til you guys get your Ted!” he warned. For a few years, whenever we needed a sub we’d say, “Did you get a Ted for that job?” 

KGC Records

In May, we played for Longfellow Elementary over in St. Paul. This job is famous for being the source of the name of our production company. When I say “production company,” I mean to say that we’re still waiting to move into our first office. But if you notice on all our CDs, it says KGC Records. Around about the middle of this gig, we played “The Mooche.” All those elementary school age rugrats running around the place. Erik announces on mic, “Kids go crazy for ‘The Mooche’!” Kids Go Crazy. KGC Records.

The First Release

We’d recorded a demo in Robert’s attic in the fall of 2003, but our first real effort wouldn’t happen until a year later. In the autumn of 2004 we brought engineers out to two live shows. All Aboard!, our first record, was made from the best songs of those batches. On October 2^nd we recorded at the Times, and on the 23^rd at Lili’s Burlesque Review. Well, it was Lili’s space. That night there weren’t any dancers, just microphones and a crowd. If you were at those shows, you are an indelible, audible part of our history. Our traditional jazz CVs were kind of meager at that point. But even when I listen to that recording today, I’m comfortable with the amount of wincing I experience. This brings me to the end of 2004. There'll be more in the days to come, but for now I'll leave you with this image. Weren’t we just cute?