Posts tagged ‘musician’
It was late Friday night, sometimes early Saturday morning, and Mac was closing up his club he would pause and listen. Lately, he always made sure he was alone when he locked. For those nights were special. Just before he turned the key in the door he would stand there, with the door slightly ajar, and listen. From afar, he could hear the sweet sound of Sweats playing his sax. But it wasn’t just Sweats playing. There was also a tenor sax, drums and more. The music was the sweetest Mac had ever heard. Mac lived for closing on those nights.
Hope you enjoyed the story. There will be more posts coming. Short stories, poem, both published and nonpublished along with some thoughts and observations. Hope you stay tuned.
March 4, 2024 at 5:43 pm
The following Friday night the air was the same – electric. Everyone in the band was smiling, joking and having the time of their lives. They were “on” again, their boss, Mac, knew it and the audience knew it. Halfway through the evening, during a piano solo, Sweats once again scanned the crowd. He blinked his eyes in disbelief. There sat Miles Davis again, out in front. Beside him was someone Sweats also recognized. The man wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. Sweats could easily hear his gravelly voice. It was Satchmo. Louis Armstrong was watching Jerome Connelly play. Sweats was numb with excitement and fear. He had no doubt that he was looking at two dead men. They were his idols, but they were dead. When it came time for Sweats’ sax solo, he flubbed the piece. His playing was terrible. There was no way he could concentrate on playing his sax with Miles Davis and Louis Armstrong in the crowd.
When the night’s work was over, Leroy walked over to Sweats and said, “Don’t worry kid. No one is on all the time.”
There was no way he could tell Leroy why he was off. He avoided all contact with Joe. Sweats walked home doubting his sanity.
Another Friday night and Sweats was living up to his name. He usually calmed down after he arrived at the club. But now, even the club wasn’t his sanctuary. There were dead men watching him play and he couldn’t tell anyone about it. He always found solace in his music. Now even that was gone. If dead men kept showing up to hear him, his only sanctuary would be destroyed.
The band began to play. Sweats didn’t dare look to the front of the audience but couldn’t help himself. There, at Miles’ table, sat Louis Armstrong, along with Duke Ellington and one of the greatest jazz drummers of all time, Gene Krupa. Sweats could tell they were enjoying the music. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he played his heart out. They were part of the audience and deserved to be entertained. He never mentioned the patrons of the ghost table again. He just played as well as he could for them.
The next Friday was the last Sweats ever played with the band. The ghost table had a new member. It was John Coltrane. He sat deathly still, just staring at Sweats, his gaze never wavering. When the band was done for the night, the ghost crew was still there. Sweats was totally unnerved. John Coltrane was motioning him to the table.
As Sweats left the stage, the lights of the club dimmed, and a milk-white haze enveloped all but the ghost table. Sweats sat down in the only empty seat.
In a quiet voice, no more than a whisper, Coltrane said, “We’ve been following you Sweats, not only your music, but also your life. We want you to join our group. It will be the gig of a lifetime. We have an audience that spent their whole existence loving jazz, living it. Say yes, and the fears, the streets you dread will be gone forever.
Sweats agreed and was never seen again.
March 3, 2024 at 8:13 pm
When Sweats arrived home, his mother was waiting for him. She waited every night he worked with a hot meal. As he sat eating, she said, “You know, honey. I was reluctant to let you quit high school, but then you got your job, and the extra money is helping out. And you seem to be happier than I’ve ever seen you. You’re a man now, and I’m proud of you.”
Sweats sat quietly eating, thinking. How could he tell his mother that his life was still a nightmare while he lived in this neighborhood? How could he tell her that all he wanted was to play his music? Nothing else mattered.
There was an uneasy quiet as his mother watched him eat. Sweats decided to tell her what happened at the club. “Mom, tonight I thought I saw Miles Davis in the audience. Joe said that he’s dead. Is that true?” He knew his mother loved jazz, had been to the club a couple of times to hear the band play. Then she would walk him home, talking about his music and how proud she was of him.
“That’s true, baby. Miles died a few years ago. It had to be someone who just looked like him.”
Sweats just nodded and went on eating. He was sure it was Miles.
March 2, 2024 at 7:39 pm
The following Friday night, the band was setting up when Joe turned to Sweats and said, “Can you feel it, Sweats? The air is electric. We’re going to be right on tonight.”
Sweats looked at Frank, Fats and Leroy, who nodded in agreement. As soon as he walked into the club that night, he had felt it too. He just didn’t know what “it” was.
As soon as the band began to play, Sweats knew that Joe was right. All five members of the band found their groove and inhabited their own musical heaven. During Frank’s drum solo, Sweats looked out at the audience. They were clearly enjoying the band. His eyes drifted to a table in front. There, sitting alone was a man he recognized. The man smiled broadly as his head bobbed back and forth and his hands rapped on the table, keeping time with the music.
After the performance was finished, backs were slapped, and high-fives passed around the band. Frank said to Joe, “Man, were we on tonight, or what?”
Joe said, “Shit, man. We were beyond on. We were on holy ground!”
Frank, Fats and Leroy walked to the bar to celebrate. After they left, Sweats approached Joe and asked, “Say Joe, did you happen to get a good look at the audience tonight?”
“Sure, kid. I gave them a look. There were some sweet women out there. That what you talking about?”
“No,” answered Sweats. “There was a man sitting out front. I recognized him. I can’t believe he came to hear us play.”
Joe asked, “You mean a friend of yours came to give us a listen. He sure caught us on a good night.”
“No, Joe. It wasn’t a friend of mine. Sitting there in the front row was Miles Davis.”
“Shit, kid, you must be crazy.”
Sweats insisted, “No, Joe. I’m sure it was Miles Davis. I recognized him from his CD cover.”
Joe stepped back and looked at Sweats, then said, “I don’t know who you saw, but it wasn’t my man Miles. He passed away about two years ago.”
“But, Joe, I’m sure…”
“Go home and get some rest. And next week, if you see Satchmo in the crowd, let me know.”
March 1, 2024 at 5:11 pm
Sweats had been playing with the band for a few weeks when Joe approached him, as he was getting ready to head for home. “Hey, Sweats. Good session, man.”
As he packed up his instrument, Sweats said, “Thanks, Joe. I love playing with you guys. The best time I have is when I’m up here on the stage.”
Joe said, “I’ve got to tell you, kid. When I first laid eyes on you, I had my doubts. Shit, they were more than doubts, but you proved me wrong. Telling you honest, we all play better since you joined the group. Hell, Mac hired us to provide background music while folks sit out there and drown their sorrows. But you notice something about the people now?”
“No, sir,” Sweats said. “Can’t say I do.”
“They’re listening to us play, Sweats. When we start up, the room quiets down. You’re good and playing with you is making us better.”
Sweats responded, “Thanks, sir. I appreciate that.” But he was embarrassed by the praise, and deep inside, knew he still had a ways to go.
He made for the door, then turned and said, “Thanks, Joe, for the encouragement.”
As soon as he left the club, he broke into a heavy sweat. The excitement of playing with the band initially blocked out the fact that he would still have to walk the same dangerous streets he walked to school, but now at night. His mother’s words came back to him. He felt a new level of terror as he walked the streets past midnight. On the way home, men he knew by reputation had approached him. During the day, they were around but kept a low profile. Nighttime was the time they owned the streets, when the fears that gave Sweats his name became reality. The only time Sweats felt alive and safe was when he played his music. Feeling the frustration of his life, he shouted into the night, “I just want to play!” He was tired of his life bouncing between the deepest fear and greatest ecstasy.
What Sweats didn’t know was that his plea was heard.
February 29, 2024 at 3:23 pm
The four band members began filtering in at eight o’clock, nodded to their boss, and began setting up the stage.
Mac walked up to the stage.
“What’s up, boss?” asked Joe the piano player.
“Might have a sax player for y’all.”
Frank, the drummer, said, “That’s great! About time somebody saw your damn sign.” The other band members laughed as they nodded in agreement.
“Don’t get too worked up,” said Mac. “He’s just a kid. I’m sure he lied about his age. But there aren’t many musicians in this part of the city, and those that wouldn’t work in a dive like this. Hell, by this time of night, there ain’t many sober folks of any sort in this part of the city. He’ll be here at nine. We’ll see if he has anything.”
At nine sharp the door to the club opened and Sweats walked in carrying his sax in a beat-up case.
Joe took one look at Sweats and muttered, “Shit.”
Sweats walked to the stage.
“So they call you Sweats,” Joe said. “Does your mom know you’re here, little boy?”
Sweats’ forehead instantly grew a glistening sheen.
After studying Sweats’ face, Joe said, “I take that to be a no. Well, boy, I’m sure it’s going to be a waste of our good time, but we’ll give you a try.”
Sweats hurriedly took out his sax and scanned the sheet music handed to him, while Joe introduced the band. Pointing to each member, he said, “This here is Frank. He plays drums. Leroy, over there, plays brass and Fats plays bass.” The musicians looked Sweats up and down. He could see the ridicule in their eyes.
The band began to play the first set. Sweats was nervous at first and made some mistakes, causing Joe to wince. But halfway through the second piece, Sweats fell into his groove and took off. The rest of the band had to work to keep up with him. One by one, the band members stopped playing and listened. The conversation in the club died down. Only the sweet sound of Sweats playing his sax filled the club. Sweats was lost in the music. He was at a level the band members tried for but never attained. At that moment, his entire world consisted of his sax and the notes it produced. When Sweats was done, he was drenched; the club was silent. Slowly, the audience began to clap. The enthusiasm of the crowd picked up with shouts for more.
Joe handed Sweats more music and the band played until one. As they were packing up, Joe said, “See you at eight tomorrow night, kid. We play Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. That okay with you?”
“That’s fine sir.” Sweats was getting ready to leave when Mac called out his name and motioned him to the bar. “Looks like you got yourself a job, kid. I got to tell ya’, kid, you fooled me big time.” He handed Sweats two twenty-dollar bills.
He had totally forgotten that he would be getting paid to play. However, his euphoria ended when he thought about going home and facing his mother. He knew she would be home before him, probably waiting for him now.
Sweats made his way home on the darkened streets to the apartment he shared with his mother. Entering quietly, he locked the door behind him. He put down his instrument in the hallway and walked into the tiny kitchen. His mother sat at the beat-up table drinking coffee.
“Where in the hell you been, boy?”
“I got the job, Mom,” Sweats said as he laid his pay on the table and pushed it across to her.
“What kind of job, and where you working?” she said as she looked down at the money.
“Playing my sax, Mom. I’m getting paid to play. Shit, I’d play for nothing if I had to, but they’re paying me.”
“Watch your mouth, boy”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Listen, Jerome, the streets around here aren’t safe during the day, never mind at night.”
“I’ll be careful Mom. I’m playing with a band, and I love it.” As he said this, Sweats pushed the money closer to his mom. She looked at the money. Sweats knew they were barely making it.
“Oh, Baby,” said his mom.
Sweats knew he had her, again.
February 28, 2024 at 6:44 pm
Sweats dropped out of high school with his mother’s reluctant permission. He still poured sweat, but now it was the perspiration of passion and emotion while playing his sax, not from fear of his surroundings.
One day, while darting through the neighborhood on an errand, Sweats saw a sign hanging in the window of one of the local run-down clubs. JAZZ MUSICIAN WANTED, proclaimed the placard. Sweats went inside.
It was eleven o’clock in the morning and the place was mostly empty. There were a few customers sitting at the bar nursing their drinks, behavior born from hopeless lives. About a dozen tables were set up, and across from the bar, was a small stage. Behind the bar stood a man washing glasses and preparing for the day’s business. His name was Mac Shorter, a tough looking man who had evidently led an equally tough life. He was the bartender and owner.
Sweats approached him and said, “I’m here about the musician’s job.”
Mac looked up at Sweats, and asked, “How old are you, boy?”
Because of his height Sweats looked older than his sixteen years. “I’m eighteen,” he replied. Eighteen was the minimum age to work in a place that served liquor.
Mac was a keen observer. He rubbed his whiskered chin in disbelief. “What instrument you play?” he asked.
“Alto sax sir, and pretty damn good,” was Sweats response.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Come back with your instrument tonight, about nine o’clock, while the band’s here. We’ll see if you have anything.”
Sweats knew his mother would be working the night shift at the café.
“I’ll be back tonight, sir,” Sweats responded as he made for the door. He knew that tonight he would have to play like he had never played before.
As he was leaving, Mac yelled, “What’s your name, boy?”
“Sweats Connelly, sir.”
Sweats went home and practiced more intensely than ever. By the time he was done his fingers were stiff, but he knew he was right on for the audition. He left a note for his mother saying he would be out late and headed for the club.
February 27, 2024 at 9:30 pm
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before but I run two writers groups.
One meets every Thursday (strange for a group) at the Paoli Library in
Pennsylvania from 12:30-2:30. The group has been in existence for about
three years.
One of the writers is Emmet Robinson. He is a very talented writer and
entertainer in coffee houses with his guitar and vocals.
Here is a newsletter he produces which I fee is worth a read.
He also runs a studio for voice overs and recording books.
AUDIBILITIES
By Emmet Robinson King Street Recording Company
Professional Audio Services for Any Purpose You Can Think Of
Video and Photo Too!
610-647-4341
http://www.kingstreetrecording.com kingstreetrecord@aol.com
Blog: http://www.emmetrobinson.com/wp/
Celebrating Fifty-one Years in Business!
Volume 72, Summer, 2019
Small Body, Big Voice
The tiny mandolin is yet one more descendant of the lute family, with ancestors dating back to Mesopotamia three thousand years ago. Although roughly the size as a ukulele, the modern mandolin has a few interesting differences:
• For each single string on the ukulele, the mandolin has two, tuned in unison.
• Instead of gut or nylon, the mandolin is strung with steel.
• The abrasive nature of the steel strings requires the use of a pick rather than the fingers.
• The tuning is very different from that of the uke – more like that of the violin and viola. As a result, different chord formations are used.
Like most other stringed instruments, the mandolin is found in a variety of shapes and sizes.
• The body of the Neapolitan or round-backed mandolin is quite deep, and shaped something like a gourd. Difficult to play while standing, it’s generally held on the lap of a seated musician.
• The carved-top or arch-top version is much shallower, with a gently curved top and back. A simple shoulder strap allows this version to be played while standing.
• Also playable standing, the flat-backed mandolin is made from thin sheets of wood, with internal bracing added for strength. Its construction is similar to that of the guitar.
Mandolin soundboards – the fronts or tops of the instruments – may vary widely. As there must be an opening to allow the music to escape, some sound holes may be round or oval in shape. Others take their design from the violin which has two sound holes, each shaped like a stylized letter S.
While the development of this instrument can be traced over much of the world, the modern design appears to have been developed by the Viniccia family of Naples. The raised, extended fingerboard and geared tuning pegs were accredited to Pasquale Vinaccia in the late 1800s.
The versatile mandolin, and its relatives, has been used over an extraordinary range of music. There have been mandolin orchestras dedicated to the performance of classical music. Chris Thile plays superb mandolin solos of complex Bach compositions. Much of the music I’m personally familiar with is in the related fields of country and bluegrass. Bill Monroe, known as the father of bluegrass music, played a Gibson.
A highly versatile instrument, the high, crisp tone of the mandolin allows it to project well, even without the aid of a microphone.
IN THE STUDIO
VOICES
In producing musical recordings since 1967, I’ve heard a lot of singers. Many were quite good. Just recently, however, I was delighted to work with a young professional new to the area who is quite extraordinary and needs to present herself to agents with a current demo.
Professionally trained, with Broadway experience, Kelly Briscoe has every quality I admire in a singer. With accurate intonation and perfect vibrato, she presents wonderful warmth of tone – even at the top of her extensive range. As a self-described “Belter,” when emphasis is
needed, she has power to spare. Best of all, she lends genuine emotion to the lyrics – she means every word she sings!
As she was able to provide her own pre-recorded music tracks in a useful format, we began by importing them to the recording system in the control room.
Then, in the studio, she put on headphones while we adjusted recording levels and the volume in her headphones.
With the experience of many hundreds of live performances behind her, she was easily able to begin with minimal warm-up.
Her first song had an interesting history. Written in 1920 for a French musical revue, “Mon Homme” was eventually translated into English under the title, “My Man,” and performed by Fanny Brice in the 1938 Ziegfield Follies. Ms. Brice’s recording eventually earned a Grammy. Many major vocalists have produced their own interpretations of this classic ballad since then, but my absolute favorite is Kelly’s version recorded here.
Two more tunes were recorded in quick succession with revisions recorded on parallel tracks and carefully blended in. The result was an audio CD and three mp3 files that should attract the attention of any intelligent talent representative. Watch out world, here she comes!
It’s a Wrap!
After several months of extensive recording and editing, the audio version of Pax Tandon’s new book,Mindfulness Matters, now appears to be complete. In listening to her warm voice, you’ll have the sensation that she’s speaking directly to you.
All that remains now is duplication and packaging of the eight-disk series. For details, contact Schiffer Publishing at 610-593-9292.
Note: The printed version is currently available on Amazon, and is well worth the small investment. Pax simply makes the point that a positive view leads to more positive experiences and a fuller, richer life.
The Artist’s Voice
A Philadelphia artist brought in a PowerPoint presentation needing narration to accompany her powerful original images. Rather than use a professional narrator, she chose to lend her own voice to the production and did very well. Working from her original script, she spoke softly, quietly, but with sincerity and heartfelt emotion. In a world of so many pleasantly glib voices, she was a refreshing change of pace.
Interesting…
All of the voices I’ve recorded this year have been those of women. Where are the guys?
FROM THE ATTIC
Grit and Determination
In processing a recorded biography, I heard the inspiring story of a woman who managed to rise to success from very humble beginnings.
Born in Pittsburgh in the 1920s, the African-American daughter of a steel worker and a domestic, she lived with her family in a two-room third floor apartment where the beds were shared and the building’s single bathroom was shared with other tenants.
Developing a love for reading at an early age, and inspired by a sister, she did well in school and decided to attend Tuskegee College in Alabama.
Although both her neighborhood and her schools had been ethnically mixed, her bus trip to the South was a very different experience. The long trip required many transfers from one bus to another and, beginning in Wheeling, West Virginia, the buses were rigidly segregated with black passengers often ushered off to make room for whites.
On arrival at Tuskegee, she found herself without sufficient funds for enrollment and had to call on a brother for help.
At last, with grit and determination, she completed her courses and graduated in 1948 with a degree in commercial dietetics.
Considering the challenges she faced, earning her degree was an astounding achievement. Every time I think my life is too difficult, I’ll think of her and her triumph over adversity!
A New Record
Some restoration projects are more complex than others and require the creation of many individual sound files. The previous record of sixty-four, set by a local university, has just been broken by an overseas client with an order for more than 120! Can you beat that?
Family Reunion
The tape I received wasn’t playable due to a missing pressure pad in the cassette shell. So, I carefully opened the shell and transferred the tape to a new one. With that out of the way, I could then digitize an entertaining recording of a family reunion held in New York in 1960.
The client provided text, so the CD labels were easy to produce.
More interesting was the photo for the CD covers. At first glance, it seemed fine. On closer inspection, it was clear that the upper left hand portion of the photo had somehow been tapered off. Well, now, we can’t have that!
Using appropriate software, it was possible to re-create what was missing. As there are no single buttons to push for this kind of photo restoration, it was done with hundreds of tiny strokes with the equivalent of tiny digital paintbrushes. As all of this could be done within 30 minutes, it fell under the standard rate for custom CD covers of $24.95 for processing, plus $2.75 for each cover printed. The restoration allowed including the entire photo, not just most of it.
A Lucky Save
Although I normally retain digital audio files for only a year, some instinct borne of decades of experience leads me to save some of them even longer. A recent request for a single copy of a piano recording proved that to be a useful practice. With the file still in the system, no processing was required and the extra copy was ready in just minutes!
Word Gets Around
Because the menu of services available here is diversified far beyond the norm, happy clients tell their friends and word gets around. This results in inquiries and orders from beyond the immediate neighborhood. For example…
• A call from Oklahoma City developed into an interesting restoration project. An old tape of a musical family get-together had gotten mangled in the recorder and needed repair. In the absence of a suitable local provider, a search of the Internet led to the tape arriving here.
Opening the cassette shell, I found the damaged portion of tape to be quite short – only two or three seconds of music would be lost.
Using a precision splicing block and special adhesive tabs, the damaged portion was carefully removed and the remaining ends joined.
The repaired tape was then reinstalled in the cassette shell, tested, digitized and transferred to disk. Once all was processing was completed, two CDs and the original tape were sent to the client by certified mail.
HINT: After playing a cassette tape, wind it completely to one end or the other. This will prevent a loop of loose tape being caught in the machine and damaged.
• A caller in North Carolina provided a challenge in the form of a poor quality video file of what appeared to be a talent show. The file was made from an original source, which had then been discarded. Somewhere in the middle of the video was a five-minute segment needing improvement.
Since the file I received would not import directly to any useful application, I resorted to trickery and deceit to fool the computer into accepting the file anyway. The requested improvement proved to be possible and, along the way, I had an interesting learning experience.
• From a client in Colorado I received a VHS tape of an original school performance of The Sound of Music for transfer to disk.
•A client who makes his home on the island of Maui keeps rummaging through his garage and finding more tapes of his original concerts. The two newest were recorded in Grand Rapids, Michigan and Panama City, Panama respectively. I wonder what he’ll find next?
NOTE: For safe delivery in sending original recordings here, please send by Certified Mail with a return receipt request.
June 26, 2019 at 5:51 pm
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