I'm Alright, Jacques

       

Me at last year's Andernos-les-Bains Jazz Festival

    Well, here we are again. Once more, some shit-heads trying to make themselves right with the god of Abraham (one killing randomly and prolifically and a couple more singling out some poor old priest) because some other thugs applying the logic of the criminally religious helped them to believe it was just the thing that would please said deity. Ironically, the first poor soul, plus 30 others, run down by the not theretofore particularly observant killer in Nice turned out to be not infidels but other Muslims.

    After all of these incidents going back to Charlie Hebdo, Cynthia and I have gotten messages from friends in the States worried about us and, while I appreciate the concern, I usually respond the same way. I thank them then tell them that no matter what happens over here, we’re still probably a whole lot safer than they are considering we don’t have to worry about anyone nearby stockpiling weapons and ammo for future use in dealing with whatever petty grudge he’s been harboring. In any grievance related occurrence here, the worst cast scenario I anticipate is something like an old 1930s comedy - Henri the chef of the restaurant we’re patronizing, having endured his insults long enough, chases Jean-Luc the maitre d’ around the dining room with a meat cleaver until getting brained with an empty wine bottle by Geneviève the serveuse as the gendarmes arrive in time to carry his unconscious carcass into the night.  In short, I don’t plan on changing a thing about the way I go about life. This, by the way, is not false bravado but reflects the realization that, on both sides of the Atlantic, we’ve all got a better chance of being struck by lightning than becoming a victim of terrorism.

Carol Jarvis

       Once again I’ve found myself overtaken by sloth. I started this post a few weeks ago while in the States, laying around my mother-in-law’s, waiting for the UPS truck while she and Cynthia shopped.  I thought it’d be a good time for a Trombone Hero so it’s about time I finished it. 

Back in July, 2015, I was lucky enough to be able to go to the International Trombone Festival in Valencia, Spain. Even luckier, I got to sit next to Abbie Conant during a performance by British trombonists Mark Nightingale and Carol Jarvis, this post’s Hero. The ITF is one of the few opportunities trombone hacks like me get to rub elbow more or less on a even footing with the masters.

My Tribe

    This blog’s been neglected for months now, mainly because there wasn’t much I felt like writing about and coincided with an acute case of who-gives-a-shit-what-I-think-anyway. Last month, I hauled my wife and trombone to Valencia, Spain, to hang with my sister and brother trombone players at the International Trombone Festival, put on every year by, not coincidentally, the International Trombone Association, of which I’m a member and a part of the staff of it’s quarterly Journal. (That could be the longest sentence I’ve ever written.) This festival has been held every summer since 1971 and I’ve been to three of them. The first was in New Orleans in 2005, which was particularly special, coming right before Katrina and I made it to Austin in 2010. For four days it’s all trombones, all the time and now I’ve got something to write about (though the jury’s still out on the gives-a-shit part)

    For me, one of the perks, come to think of it the only perk, of being able to write for the Journal is that I get to freely associate, even if only by email or telephone, with some of the finest, most well-known trombone players in the world. At the festival this year I got to do that in person and (allow me to name-drop) my hang-mates included Abbie Conant, Branimir Slokar, Andrea Conti and Bart van Lier. If these names are unfamiliar, all I can say is that these folks are on bass clef Mt. Olympus.

The (not quite) Universal Language

            It's probably about time I put some time in on this blog but lately I've been feeling like I didn't have much to say. This, however, has never stopped me in polite conversation so I ought to be able to think of a fairly benign topic now that the vitriol of the last post has dissipated (somewhat). So I thought music might be a nice benign topic.

            Music has been easing the transition to life here, at least for me. Because I can play an instrument with some degree of competence, I've been able to get involved in the local music scene on a couple of levels. One outfit calls itself "TubaBones" and, as you might expect from the name, is made up entirely of lower brass. There are probably around 25 players, the youngest of which looks to be about 9 and the oldest is whatever it says on my passport. The players range from professional to near beginners and the object seems to be just to get together every few months to play and enjoy the company of brother and sister musical outcasts.

Harold Betters

            

            Not only is it about time I wrote something but way past time for another Trombone Hero. I might have mentioned before that Pittsburgh was a great place to grow up for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that it was such a great place for jazz. Just off the top of my head I can recite the names of Roy Eldridge, Mary Lou Williams, Slide Hampton, George Benson, Stanley Turrentine, Billy Eckstine, Errol Garner, Dodo Marmarosa and Billy Strayhorn as all being from the Pittsburgh. And if you played trombone, Matty Shiner, the low brass teacher at Duquesne University was world famous and a lot of his former students ended up teaching in the area. I was lucky enough to have been taught by one of them, Jack Lapato.  When Maynard Ferguson started touring the States again in the early '70s he came to Pittsburgh a lot, possibly because one of his trombonists was a local, Randy Purcell - a fabulous player who, sadly, died fairly young a couple of years ago. But one of the undisputed kings of the local Pittsburgh jazz scene was a guy named Harold Betters whose trombone could be heard for 17 years at a club in Shadyside called "The Encore." Like most jazz clubs it's long been closed and I read it's now a lingerie shop, which eases the pain somewhat.

Duke's Place

Duane "Duke" Wareham

            This is a post I've been meaning to do for a long time. If you've read my "About Me" page, and made it to the end, you would know that at Springdale, Pennsylvania, High School I played in a jazz big band that was then known as the "Mellowmen" and for every member it was the musical equivalent of being a star athlete. I made it into this group my sophomore year and by the time I graduated in 1970, the continued presence of females meant the band would eventually have to find a new name since "Mellowpersons" just wouldn't cut it so later editions were known simply as the Jazz Ensemble.

            It's not a stretch to say that being a part of this outfit is what got me through high school. (Most memories of these years that don't involve music cause a state that can only be relieved by judicious applications of medicinal spirits.) Of all my life's experiences, playing in the Mellowmen has probably had the most lasting and profound effect, except for the ones that filled me with bitterness and resentment so I guess I should say it had the most positive effect. It helped to create a passion for music, particularly jazz, that's never left me and was a big part of the reason I retired early to earn the music degree I'd wanted all along. Most of this was thanks to one guy in particular.

Steve Turre

           

           When we lived in New Jersey in the early '90s, I got to hear Steve Turre a lot since he played all the time at a club in Montclair. Being around New York and all the jazz clubs was one of the big reasons I starting thinking about getting back into my horn and Steve was a big part of that. It wasn't just that I dug his playing or that he's, to me, a direct descendant of J.J. and Curtis Fuller. Possibly because of his gig on Saturday Night Live, he was pretty visible at the time and was always being interviewed. In one of these he talked about the history of the instrument and how important players like Vic Dickenson, Lawrence Brown and Dicky Wells were. These were guys I'd never heard of before so I started checking them out which sparked an interest in the trombone's place in jazz that hasn't diminished.

Phantom of the Apero - Pastis

  

          My last post dealt with the results of drunkenness, so it seemed appropriate to segue into a good way to get blotto in France. I probably should have done this one a couple of months ago since it's about pastis, a drink traditionally served cold and popular in summer. Come to think of it, though, the first time I ever saw anyone drinking it was in the fall ten years ago when Cynthia and I spent a week near St. Tropez. She had a subscription to a magazine called "Fluent French" and every couple of months she got a CD of conversations with native French speakers along with a booklet with the  translation. Coincidentally, the one she got right before our trip had conversations with some kahuna from Ricard, one of the most well known brands, along with some pastis enthusiasts who provided ringing endorsements. So the whole time she bugged me to try this stuff, which I resisted because I knew there was some kind of process involved and didn't want to look any more like a foreign rube than I already did.  

O Llama, Where Art Thou.

            Well, things are finally getting back to normal here in Bordeaux.  You might be aware that last week 5 fêtards ivre (drunk party animals), as Le Parisien called them, made off with a llama from a travelling circus and took it for a ride on the tram. English language accounts passed on just the basic story, plus a few of the photos and videos. They generally maintained the French media's lighthearted attitude with only the CBC using the word "hooligans" and mentioning calls for punishment. So Canadians have little tolerance for drunken debauchery and boorish behavior, unless, of course, you're the mayor of Toronto. The past week here it's been all Serge, all the time and yesterday was the first day he was missing from the local newspaper, Sud-Ouest, website. He will, however, be making a personal appearance at Le Girondins soccer match on Sunday so Sergermania might not have abated.

      

LAWRENCE BROWN

            While writing the post about "Tricky Sam" a few weeks ago, I was looking something up in "Duke's Bones", Kurt Dietrich's book about Ellington's trombonists, and got sidetracked rereading the section on Lawrence Brown. That made for a further sidetrack to listen to some recordings that reminded me of what an amazing player Lawrence Brown was.  

            One of the first CD's I remember buying was a trombone compilation that I'm too lazy to go and find the title of right now. Anyway, one of my favorite cuts was Lawrence Brown's "Blues for Duke" from his album, "Slide Trombone", which was out of print at the time. I played whatever it is you can play instead of grooves off that CD. Sometime later, I read an article about Steve Turré in which he talked about the importance of some of the swing era masters like Lawrence Brown and Vic Dickenson. When I discovered the album "Everybody Knows Johnny Hodges" had the entire contents of "Inspired Abandon", Lawrence Brown's only other album as a leader, I picked up a copy and played the shit out of that one, too.

So, as the sun sinks slowly in the West...

         

           We just got back from a couple of weeks on the road, which, in addition to inherent sloth, is why I haven't posted for a while. After spending a week on Îl de Ré, enroute getting my first speeding ticket, we came home long enough to entertain a friend from the States then spent a week in Alsace. The speed cameras are one of the most frustrating aspects of life here and something I'll take up in the future but, for now, let's just say I'm ready to help man the barricades.

Tricky Sam

              Well, summer is over here and the local bands are starting to rehearse again. A new friend hooked me up with another big band, so now I'll have two groups to play in. What I like about the new band is the challenge of some of the charts (Mingus and Frank Zappa for a start) and some classic Ellington, Ko-Ko and Oclupaca.

Fred Wesley

Photo by Ray Ellis

            Having missed him, not only at Marciac but also during his recent European tour, it might be appropriate to do a Trombone Hero post on Fred Wesley whose autobiography, "Hit Me, Fred!", I just finished. This could be the best, most honest book about a musician's life that I ever read.  Anyone who wants to know what that life is like and every musician who's ever supported a "star" at any level (and that's most of us) ought to read this book. Fred, who made his name and reputation by working for James Brown, then George Clinton and Bootsie Collins, tells his story with humor and candor.

Our 1st Annual Marciac Festival

                  If a person played the trombone, wrote about the trombone and had trombone in the title of his blog, that person would reasonably be expected, as part of his first trip to the jazz festival in Marciac, France, to attend a concert that featured trombonist Fred Wesley and the New JB Horns. So when this person reported that his attendance at said festival did not, in fact, include Fred and the JBs but instead aging rock star Joe Cocker, one could reasonably respond, "WTF?"

Festival Swing*

          

              One of the best things about France is the huge number of jazz festivals. Although most of the biggest happen in summer, there's something going on here all year long. Jazzfests.net provides links to festivals in Europe and in France alone, I counted 183. By contrast, the most extensive list I was able to find for the U. S. counts 57.  And what's cool is that a lot of them are free and provide a showcase for local musicians, something else that's hard to find in the States. So if you're someone who spent years struggling to learn their scales and modes, listening to the masters, transcribing solos and can play through "rhythm changes" in all 12 keys just to live with the knowledge that some douchebag with a knock-off Stratocaster he bought at a pawn shop, who can't read music, knows 4 chords, maybe a couple of pentatonic scales and hacks his way through some blues and the Lynyrd Skynyrd canon yet scores more gigs and chicks - you should have been born over here. So far this summer we've been to two concerts of the Bordeaux area Jazz and Wine organization and heard American jazz royalty against the backdrop of a vineyard and free wine. Unfortunately you have to drive to these places, putting something of a damper on the bottomless wine glass idea.
             *hip reference to obscure Django Reinhardt tune

Jimmy Knepper

           

Cover photo of Cunningbird

  

            While practicing the other day I got a look at myself in the mirror and thought, "Jesus, I'm starting to look like Jimmy Knepper."  The cover photo of Cunningbird, the only CD of his I have, could easily be me, if the hair was grayer. And he's dressed as I would if left to my own devices. Now, if I could just play like him.           

            Jimmy Knepper is another trombone player who ought to be a household name. I learned about him only after moving to New York and, sometime in 1989, playing hooky from work by going to a concert at nearby Pace University. The performance, dedicated to the great Ellington trombones, was led by Art Baron and included people like Craig Harris and Doug Purviance. As I remember it, a guy named Jimmy Knepper was supposed to have played as well but some sort of health problem prevented it. So when I ran across Cunningbird (an import from Denmark), probably in J&R Music or Tower Records on Broadway (where I spent a considerable amount of time and money) I remembered the name and bought it.

Beyond Le Mer

           

The 4th of July at Chez Hinson/Gunia

  

            For the past week or so, the temperatures here have been in the high 80's and low 90's (high 20's, low 30's if you're reading in Celsius) and the last thing I've felt like doing is putting an old MacBook on my lap. But we've been here 10 months so now might be a good time for a summary and progress report.

Confessions Of A Jerry Lewis Fan

            The Cannes film festival was a couple of weeks ago and I was not invited for the 6oth consecutive year. They did, however, give Jerry Lewis some kind of award and an article in the New York Times had the obligatory quote from a French critic, miffed at America's failure to recognize his genius. France's love for Jerry Lewis is another stereotype for which I've yet to see much evidence. Months ago I saw a poster for Docteur Jerry et Mister Love ("The Nutty Professor") but this was in a movie memorabilia shop in Bordeaux so I'm not sure that counts. I've asked a couple of people here but their answers always fall a bit short of unbridled enthusiasm.  In fact, they usually give you a look that says, "Why would you ask me this?"

Fête de la Musique

            Every June 21st the Fête de la Musique, the Music Festival, goes on all over France. It's an anything goes, amateur/professional celebration of music where anyone who can play an instrument is encouraged to play in the streets and everyone else is invited to the party.  This all got started in 1982 after one of François Mitterrand's Ministers (the political not the religious kind) came up with the idea. Maurice Fleuret was a composer, music critic and in 1981 Director of Music and Dance in the Ministry of Culture (Do we have anything like that?). He read in a government report that around 5 million people in France had been taught to play a musical instrument and, being also a music festival organizer, thought a day of free music would be cool.  It's now one of the biggest events of the French summer and you can read all about it here in clumsy but at least not Google Translate English.

How I Got Jack Teagarden's Autograph

My father, George Gunia, is on the left. Damned if I know the others.

       My father's 96th birthday was the other day so I guess it's fitting to post this today. He died in 1998 and about a year later my mother moved permanently into assisted living. After my sisters and I realized Mum was never going to be able to live in the house again, we made plans to sell and it fell to me to start cleaning it out. One of the many benefits of working for Uncle Sam is the Employee Assistance Program and through this, I was temporarily reassigned from New York to Pittsburgh, near my hometown.