trb@drutx.UUCP (BuckleyTR) (06/18/85)
(When it was hip to be hep I was hep...)
NOTE: I was asked by a couple of people to repost this. I
originally posted it a year ago, as you will note in the
musician list (Trummy Young & Zoot Sims are now both dead).
***
For the last twenty-two labor-day weekends, jazz impressario Dick
Gibson has been throwing a private jazz party for musicians and
friends. This world-renowned event has been held in Aspen, Vail,
Colorado Springs, and lately in Denver.
Each year about 60 big-name jazz musicians are invited to play at the
party, and party-goers and musicians alike are treated to over 28
hours of actual playing time. A sampling of the musicians invited
this year are:
Clark Terry Red Rodney Warren Vache' Urbie Green
Bill Watrous Trummy Young Zoot Sims Al Cohn
Buddy Tate Scott Hamilton Flip Phillips Kenny Davern
Roland Hanna Dave Frishberg Ross Tompkins George Duvivier
Ray Brown Butch Miles Jeff Hamilton Barney Kessel
Milt Jackson
...just to name a few
Anyway, each year with the invitation, Dick writes some anecdote(s)
about jazz musicians - many of them are good friends of his. The one
he wrote this year was especially funny. Full of Gibson's subtle, dry
humor, here it is as it appeared on my invitation:
***
A long time ago, the hour-long Lucky Strike Hit Parade was the biggest
show on radio. Each week the fifteen most popular tunes in America,
determined by record sales and juke-box play, were played on the show
along with two "extras."
The Lucky Strike Orchestra was the best show band in existence,
stocked with such jazz musicians as Charley Shavers, Billy
Butterfield, Ben Webster, Johnny Guarneri, Cliff Leeman, et al. The
band required great players because with only two days rehersals it
had to learn 17 completely new arrangements each week.
One day the sponsor decided the orchestra needed a new leader and
knowing almost everything there was to know about cigarettes the
sponsor hired Raymond Scott.
Scott was a nice fellow but not a flawless musician. Although he had
a strange, extra-terrestrial sense of melody he had a poor sense of
musical time. To the tunes he composed in the 30's, Scott affixed
such catchy, whammo-socko titles as Twilight in Turkey, Huckleberry
Duck, Powerhouse, and Polite Conversation at a Diplomatic Function.
(How about that last dazzler as the jackpot question on a Name That
Tune kind of show for a sponsor reluctant to part with the prize
money?)
Scott's musical gifts were only a part of the fascination he held for
members of the orchestra. Of equal interest to them was his obsession
with washing his hands. To most jazz musicians, who sleep where they
fall, make a trade for a different pair of pants when the ones they
are wearing become transparent with use and who often as not wash
their hands in the perspiration which forms on the outside of highball
glasses, Scott's obsession with keeping his hands clean was
noteworthy. When Scott would interrupt rehersals, which were not long
enough in the first place, three or four times an hour to go wash his
hands with the special microbe-lethel, silver-foil- wrapped soap he
filled his pockets with, the band members would, of course, experience
a feeling of pride in the clean habits of their leader.
Now most band leaders launch their bands into a tune with three
counts. Even Lawrence Welk energized his fiery legions with uh-one,
uh-two, uh-three before leading them over the burning coals of swing.
Scott beat off 60 counts to the Lucky Strike Orchestra as it began the
show. 60 counts. He would take out his pocket watch, turn on the
piano bench to face the band and chopping the air in synch with the
second hand would get everyone ready, "One, two, three, four, five,
six ---." Just before "sixty", he would swivel on his bench, poise
his hands over the keyboard and await the magic words, "Your Lucky
Strike Hit Parade is on the Air." Down would crash his hands on the
first chord. The band had instructions not to jump in until that
first chord was struck.
Band members were enchanted by Scott's unique downbeat method,
displaying their enthusiasm in various witty, subtle, musicianly ways
such as nose picking, ass scratching, yawns, belches and fingernail
inspections. Finally, Bunny Berigan decided to improve the system.
The show was about to go on. Scott's countdown was in the 20's.
Bunny suddenly nipped over to the piano, unzipped his fly, squeezed
between Scott's back and the keyboard and began rubbing his member
side to side across the piano keys, hopping from side to side, swab,
swab, swab.
Scott, still counting down, turned to look. His eyes bulged. Bunny
grinned at him. "How about that, Ray baby?" he said. Swab, swab,
swab. Then Bunny zipped up and darted back to his place in the band
as the stage curtain began to part.
The announcer cleared his throat. Millions of music lovers across
radioland anticipated the magic words. The orchestra awaited the
downbeat.
"Your Lucky Strike Hit Parade is on the Air!" The curtains opened. A
burst of applause faded away. Silence. Raymond Scott sat at the piano
staring at the keys, a look of horror contorting his face, his hands
frozen into claws above the keyboard. Seconds went by. On the huge
stage there was no movement, no sound. The control booth resembeled a
kicked over ant mound. "We're on the air. We're on the AIR!" Oaths
and other comment began leaking into the mikes. Butterfield said
later, "The racket in the booth sounded a little like one of Scott's
tunes."
Cliff Leeman finally gave a drum roll mustering the band for the
theme. The rest of the show, without piano accompaniment, went off
o.k.
Scott never did touch the piano keys, He never even tried. He walked
off the stage into the washroom during the first commercial break.
When the show ended, the director barrelled onto the stage. Amid a
barrage of unkindly remarks he fired Bunny, "Forever, or whatever
comes last."
Bunny shrugged and turned to Billy. "Farewell to Mairzy Doats, eh?"
he said.
************************************************************************
Tom Buckley
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