Johnny Reininger - New Orleans Clarinet

I have such a large record collection that I occasionally get surprised by something I put on the turntable, even though it's a record that I have played before. A week or so ago I pulled an album called New Orleans Dixieland Express off the shelf. It's a collection of tracks by three traditional New Orleans bands, recorded and issued some time in the 1950s by Joe Mares' Southland label. (Southland started issuing 12" LPs in 1954, so around 1955 seems like a reasonable guess for the issue date of this one, catalog number 233.)

I was in the mood to hear some good New Orleans clarinet playing, and two of my favorite clarinetists are on this record. On the three tracks by trombonist Emile Christian's band, the very individual Raymond Burke is in the clarinet chair. Tony Almerico, a trumpeter who was very popular in New Orleans in the 1950s, gets four tracks; a young Pete Fountain is his clarinetist, and I've always loved Fountain's early, Irving Fazola-inspired work. That leaves three tracks led by guitarist Joe Capraro, and I remembered nothing about the clarinet playing on them, by one Johnny Reininger. Then I cued up the first track on side two....

It's a tune called "Blues from New Orleans," credited to Jess Stacy (presumably the renowned jazz pianist) and producer Joe Mares. And the clarinet playing knocked me out. After the short arranged introduction, Johnny Reininger plays two lovely blues choruses in the low and middle registers - with a beautiful, distinctive New Orleans sound. Then, after trumpet and piano solos, Reininger plays a searing high-register ensemble part that reminds me very much of Harry Shields, another of my favorite Crescent City clarinetists. The clarinet is also featured in the short coda, so we get another chance to enjoy Reininger's pretty sound.

Reininger doesn't solo on the next Capraro track, a "remake" of Lil Hardin Armstrong's "Sweet Loving Man" (recorded in 1923 by King Oliver), but his ensemble work is excellent. The final Capraro track, "Three Shades of Blues," is a guitar feature, without the wind instruments.

The excellent clarinet playing on "Blues from New Orleans" let me to wonder, "Who was Johnny Reininger, and what else did he record?" The answer to the second part of the question is, "Not much." Reininger apparently never recorded again after the Joe Capraro session, and was only in the studio once before that, as part of Ellis Stratakos' New Orleans dance band in 1929. (The fine cornet player Johnny Wiggs was also on that date.) Reininger played mostly alto sax in the Stratakos band, and there is a nice alto solo (basically a "hot" paraphrase of the melody) on "Weary River," but I have no way of knowing whether it's played by Reininger or Joe Loyacano, the other alto sax player on the date.

Johnny Reininger may be practically unknown to the jazz world at large, but he was well known to several generations of New Orleans nightclub patrons, dancers and radio listeners. Born in New Orleans in 1908, he lived an impressive 91 years, passing in 1999. After his stint with with Stratakos, he played with the Dawn Busters, who had a morning radio show on WWL. He then began a long career as a bandleader, with lengthy stints at L'Enfants Restaurant near City Park and the My-Oh-My, a pioneering drag club.

Reininger rehearsing for a WDSU television program with Pete Lauderman on piano, Johnny Senac on bass, and announcer Fritz Paul. This picture is probably from the 1950s.

Because of Reininger's obscurity outside of New Orleans, here is his entry in New Orleans Jazz: A Family Album by Al Rose and Edmond Souchon:

Reininger, Johnny (s, cl) b. N.O., Aug. 19, 1908. Popular dance-band leader, he was one of the Dawn Busters on New Orleans radio station WWL for many years. During the early thirties, he played with Ellis Stratakos at the Jung roof, and frequently with with Leon Prima. Had house band at L'Enfant's during the early fifties.

And here is obituary in the Times-Picayune, September 17, 1999:

Johnny Reininger was the band leader at the My-Oh-My Club on the Lakefront for more than 20 years.

Mr. Reininger -- remembered, according to jazz historian Jack Stewart, as one of the city's truly great clarinet players...

John "Johnny" Reininger, a popular mid-century dance-band leader, clarinet and alto saxophone player, died Tuesday of pneumonia at Memorial Medical Center. He was 91.

A lifelong resident of New Orleans, Mr. Reininger gained early prominence in the 1930s playing with the Ellis Stratakos band at the Jung Hotel Roof, a Canal Street establishment popular with Gov. Huey Long. Long would give the band members $20 each for playing "Every Man a King," his political slogan.

Mr. Reininger also played with the Dawnbusters Orchestra, whose morning show on WWL Radio was remembered by former band member Margie O'Dair as an "early 'Laugh In,'" with news, music and skits.

In the late 1940s and early 1950s, Mr. Reininger fronted his own orchestra at Lenfant's Seafood Restaurant and Cocktail Lounge on Canal Boulevard. Tony Dalmado, who played trumpet in the band, recalled Mr. Reininger as one of the best musicians and arrangers he knew. "One night a customer at Lenfant's asked Johnny to play 'That's My Desire' by Frankie Lane, so we played our version. But the customer said he wanted it just like on the record, and during a 20- minute break Johnny writes an arrangement for the band straight out of his head, not using a piano. That takes talent."

Mr. Reininger also was the band leader at the My-Oh-My Club on the Lakefront for more than 20 years.

Mr. Reininger -- remembered, according to jazz historian Jack Stewart, as one of the city's truly great clarinet players -- was a member of the American Federation of Musicians Local No.174-496.

A master Mason, he was a member of George Washington Lodge No.065 for more than 50 years.

Johnny Reininger's playing on "Blues from New Orleans" was stunning to me the first time I really noticed it last week - possibly because he was such an unknown and surprising figure. On further spins of the record, I hear that, while it's solidly in the New Orleans clarinet tradition, it perhaps isn't as original or individual as I first thought. But it's excellent improvising, and makes me a little sad that Reininger didn't record more. Raise a glass to a fine New Orleans clarinetist and enjoy his best recorded moment by clicking below.

Blues from New Orleans

Joe Capraro - guitar
Johnny Reininger - clarinet
Mike Lala - trumpet
Bubby Castigliola - trombone
Mel Grant - piano
Bob Coquille - bass
Paul Edwards - drums

Recorded for Southland Records in New Orleans, c. 1955

 

So Long, Donna's

Music has been a part of life on New Orleans' Rampart Street at least since the beginnings of jazz. On South Rampart one could hear Bunk Johnson and Sidney Bechet playing at the Eagle Saloon or young Louis Armstrong holding forth at the Red Onion. (Both of these buildings are still standing.) The ballroom of the Astoria Hotel was a popular spot in the 1920s and 30s; you could catch Lee Collins and David Jones with their Astoria Hot Eight. Heading downtown to North Rampart, Luis Russell led the band at the Cadillac before moving north to Chicago. The Boswell Sisters were "discovered" while singing at the New Orleans Athletic Club. Cosimo Matassa opened his first recording studio at the corner of North Rampart and Dumaine, the corner immortalized in Professor Longhair's "Go To the Mardi Gras." In the 1970s, Lu & Charlie's featured Ellis Marsalis, Alvin Batiste, and James Booker. More recently, Big Sam Williams' Funky Butt was one of the best places in the city to hear music, but the club never reopened after Katrina hit. And now an era has ended: a couple of weeks ago Donna's, the last music club on North Rampart, closed its doors for the last time.

Music clubs come and go all the time; none of them last forever - although it looks like the Village Vanguard has a shot at immortality. So why does the closing of Donna's affect me so much?

From the time that it opened in the early 1990s (I don't remember the exact year), Donna's was something special. Even to an introvert like me, who mostly just wants to be left alone, Donna's was warm and welcoming. It's kind of a cliche, but you felt like family as soon as you walked in the door.

And, of course, the music was often amazing. In the early days, Donna featured brass bands; there weren't really any other clubs featuring this amazing New Orleans hybrid music at the time. The bands would stand at one end of the room, and if you wanted to use the restroom, you had to walk through the band. The first time I heard a New Orleans brass band in the flesh was in Jackson Square, where the young Rebirth Brass Band was playing for tips, but my second exposure to this incredible sound was at Donna's, where I heard the Algiers Brass Band. It was such a stunning experience that I went back a couple of nights later to hear the Pin Stripe BB. I was also fortunate enough to catch Tuba Fats' Chosen Few, the Mahogany, Treme, Hurricane (from Holland), and Hot 8 Brass Bands there.

Later, of course, they built a bandstand against the windows facing Rampart. And expanding from brass bands, Donna booked a variety of New Orleans music (mostly jazz) into the club.

Memories from Donna's:

The Tom McDermott Quartet had just played a version of "Blues My Naughty Sweetie Gave to Me" which took all sorts of unexpected and unusual turns. I remember one passage in which drummer Shannon Powell was playing in a different, but related, tempo than the rest of the group. As they played the last note, a police car zoomed down North Rampart, sirens blaring. Bassist Matt Perrine laughed and said, "Oh, no - the trad police!"

Uncle Lionel Batiste coming into the club, dressed as sharp as a tack, and dancing with all the young ladies to whatever band was playing.

Speaking of Mr. Batiste - standing near him as the Treme Brass Band was playing and realizing just how interesting and creative his bass drumming is.

Hearing Kermit Ruffins and the Barbecue Swingers' dark, spooky version of "Light Up." One young man took the message of the song to heart and lit up a joint in the middle of the floor. Donna, who was sensitive to illegal shenanigans in her club, came over the bar like some sort of action hero and had the guy out the door in seconds.

The sitters-in: you never knew who was going to show up to play - Leroy Jones, Nicholas Payton, David Torkanowsky, Kermit, visiting musicians from Europe or Japan. One night Tom McDermott was playing with the young band Loose Marbles when veteran trumpeter Jack Fine came in and sat at the bar. He stayed there all night with his horn on the bar, and whenever he felt like it, he'd pick up the trumpet and join in from his barstool.

And on a couple of occasions, Donna's was where I experienced some of the best music I have ever heard in my life. I can think of at least two evenings when Evan Christopher and Tom McDermott, playing either with a quartet or as a duo, "lifted the bandstand," as Thelonious Monk put it - they played music that transcended "good music" and touched another level.

Donna's husband Charlie manned the kitchen. I still think his barbecue ribs were the best I ever had.

Donna and Charlie decided to close the club for a variety of reasons. Charlie has had health problems, and Donna has been commuting to and from Florida, where she has a teaching job. But the primary reason seems to be the condition of the building; the landlord has been unwilling to make repairs, and the building has been slowly falling apart. Incidentally, this was one of the reasons for the demise of the Funky Butt - and that building was owned by the same landlord.

I don't live in New Orleans; I was a couple-of-times-a-year visitor to Donna's. I doubt anyone associated with the club would remember me. But I owe some of my most cherished memories to that little club on the corner of North Rampart and St. Ann. So long, Donna's - I'll miss you.

Love Letter

It's been a few weeks since I've posted here. I've written parts of several posts, and ended up rejecting them all - none of them were turning out right. Part of my problem is that it's been a strange, stressful month or so, personally and professionally speaking - more about that later, perhaps.

So I'm going to write something short and simple: a love letter.

A couple of weeks ago I visited New Orleans for the 27th time. (Yes, I have kept track.) I've never lived there, but it feels almost like home to me. I've considered moving to the City That Care Forgot at several points in my life, but there was always something that prevented me from taking that step: family, friends, a job, a band. Perhaps that's a good thing. I sometimes think that if I had moved to New Orleans 15 years ago, there's a good chance I would be dead by now - my early demise brought on by excessive intake of food and alcohol, coupled with lack of sleep brought on by fear of missing some music.

I won't give a detailed report on my latest visit, except to say the Tim Laughlin has the most beautiful clarinet sound I've ever heard, Matt Perrine is still the most amazing tuba player on the planet, and Ben Schenck and the Panorama Jazz Band just get better and better. This visit, like most of them, was a mixture of the familiar and the unexpected. I always learn something new in New Orleans - something about the city, something about music, something about myself. And damn - the music! People ask me if I visit during Jazz Fest. Due to my work schedule, I've never made it to the Jazz and Heritage Festival, but incredible music can be heard in New Orleans every night of the year. A night spent exploring the clubs on Frenchmen Street will provide enough musical inspiration to sustain body and soul for months.

But one can't eat, drink, and listen to music 24 hours a day (although some New Orleanians seem to be trying). What else do I do in the city? Well, I wander, I walk, I explore. The architecture, the history, and just the feel of the city are extraordinary - like nowhere else. You never now when you'll come across something amazing - and in New Orleans the ordinary is amazing enough. I love wandering through the Lower Quarter (the quiet, mostly residential side of the French Quarter, near Esplanade). Such a walk is usually the first thing I do when I hit the city and the last thing I do before I have to leave.

And leaving New Orleans is always hard. Even if I miss my wife; even if my body is rebelling from the quantity and richness of the food; even if I have worn myself out and crave the routine and peace of home, it's hard to leave. I feel a pang in my heart as soon as I hit the entrance ramp for I-10 East. I know it will be months before I see my favorite city again, and it always hurts.

New Orleans is definitely a city that doesn't live in the past; it lives for today. But the past is never forgotten; as William Faulkner might say, it's not even past. Tradition, memory, possibilities, and the present moment all exist at the same time. The city keeps its traditions, even as it changes them to fit the moment. No matter how many times I vist, I never quite know what to expect. I love New Orleans.

Matt Perrine

New Orleans is full of incredible musicians who are hardly known outside the Crescent City. One of these remarkable musicians is bassist/sousaphone player Matt Perrine. With all due respect to Kirk Joseph, etc., Perrine is my favorite New Orleans tuba player, and with all due respect to James Singleton, etc., he is my favorite NOLA acoustic bassist – I try to hear him play every time I visit the city. On my recent trip (only four days long) to New Orleans, I heard Perrine play three times. That seems about right. Perrine plays regularly with several different bands and always seems to be playing somewhere with somebody. He is a member of the Tom McDermott/Evan Christopher Danza Quartet, the New Orleans Nightcrawlers brass band, Bonerama, and the Tin Men, which of course is “New Orleans' premiere guitar/tuba/washboard trio.” As busy as he is, Perrine doesn’t seem inclined to coast - whoever he’s playing with, and whatever kind of music they’re playing, Perrine's playing is imaginative and fully involved.

About a year ago I picked up the first CD under his name, Sunflower City. The cover actually put me off for a minute – it’s features a close-up photo of a large sunflower. I thought, “Great – this is just good-time happy music.” But then I looked at the picture again, and saw that in the background, to the right of the flower, you can see an “X” and some numbers painted on the front of a house. This, of course, is the code sign used by the search and rescue teams after Katrina; the “X” shows that the house was searched, and the numbers indicate how many living people, bodies, and pets were found in the house. Perrine has explained in interviews that sunflowers were the first wild plants to grow in post-Katrina New Orleans. It’s a great cover, symbolizing rebirth and renewal after disaster.

The music is, for the most part, joyous rather than happy, if that distinction makes any sense.* There is traditional jazz, straight-ahead jazz, Caribbean music, and even a touch of avant-garde. The opening track is the most elaborate arrangement of the hoary old New Orleans warhorse “Muskrat Ramble” that I’ve ever heard. The instrumentation and color of the track is constantly changing. But it works – it's one of the most enjoyable “Muskrat Rambles” I’ve heard. Perrine plays a stunning solo on this track; the range, technique, and conception of this tuba solo must be heard to be believed. I played it for a friend who is a low brass specialist, and he was convinced that it must have been played on a higher, four-valve tuba in E flat or F. He actually wrote Perrine to ask; MP confirmed that it was played, as were all of his tuba parts, on a standard double B flat sousaphone.

I definitely recommend hearing on of Matt Perrine’s bands when visiting New Orleans. He shouldn’t be hard to find.

*To me, “happy music” is mindless music. Much New Orleans music, however, is full of the joy of life, but seems to have an underlying awareness of how short that life is.

So Long, Snooks

To those of us who don’t play it, the guitar can be an intimidating instrument in the hands of a master. The best guitarists always sound to me like they have at least three hands. I seldom listen to Robert Johnson or Joe Pass without thinking, “How do they do that?” New Orleans R & B guitarist Snooks Eaglin, who died Wednesday at the age of 72, was one of those frighteningly accomplished players. To a non-guitarist such as myself, Snooks’ solo versions of “High Society” (complete with the clarinet solo) and “Pinetop’s Boogie Woogie” are jaw-dropping.

It has always amused me that Eaglin was “discovered” playing on the streets of New Orleans by folklorists, who recorded him and issued several albums (including an amazing set on Folkways) by Blind Snooks Eaglin, the unspoiled folk/blues guitarist and singer. What his “discoverers” didn’t realize was that he was recording rhythm-and-blues singles for Imperial around the same time. If you can find his early Imperial recordings, listen to the first session, the one with “Nobody Knows” and “That Certain Door.” Snooks is accompanied only by bass and drums; the songs seem modeled on Ray Charles’ gospel-tinged R & B style, but Snooks’ raw vocals and impassioned guitar playing make Ray sound positively slick in comparison. This is great New Orleans music.

I was visiting New Orleans in 1995, when Snooks’ version of “Josephine” was a local hit; it seemed like it was on the radio every time I turned it on. Instead of the genial bounce Fats Domino gave it, Snooks set the song over one of the deepest, nastiest New Orleans second-line grooves I’ve ever heard. The bass line is extremely spare, and no less powerful for that. Halfway through the song, Snooks unleashes a choppy, intense, somewhat out-there guitar solo which raises the groove to a positively ecstatic level. Although nothing else on the Soul’s Edge album reaches the heights of that amazing opening track, the entire disc is worth hearing.

I was fortunate enough to hear Snooks several times at the Rock-N-Bowl in uptown New Orleans. He sounded great when paired with Eddie Bo, as he often was, but he was at his best stretching out with a trio, like on his early Imperial recordings. To fans of New Orleans music, it seemed like Eaglin had always been around and would always be around. That, of course, is not true of any of us. So long, Snooks.

New Orleans Brass Bands

Writing about Frog Joseph's funeral and burning some of my brass band singles onto CD got me thinking about New Orleans brass band music.

In the second half of the 19th century, concert and marching bands were all the rage in the U.S. – every little town had its band, and cities often had several. New Orleans was no exception, but, as usual, the black and Creole citizens of the city put their own spin on the standard brass band. In addition to the standard marches and funeral dirges, they started playing ragtime and improvising, until the street band music of the Crescent City didn’t resemble that of anywhere else. New Orleans brass band music developed hand in hand with the jazz, and the two streams of music greatly influenced each other. The brass bands of New Orleans have continued to grow and change; each new generation of musicians adds its own spice to the gumbo.

New Orleans brass band music has killed me since the first time I heard it. It’s the kind of amazing blend of cultures that you find so often in New Orleans: European marches and dirges, black and white Protestant hymns, jazz, and R & B all thrown into the blender. Often a band will contain younger and older musicians, which makes for some interesting stylistic clashes. These differing styles, along with a pretty loose sense of pitch and rhythm and a lack of well-defined instrumental roles (often several guys on different instruments are vying for the same musical space) results in music which should not work. But it usually does. It’s like the popular conception of the bumblebee – aerodynamically unable to fly, but it flies. The Young Tuxedo Brass Band playing “Bourbon Street Parade” or the Rebirth playing “Talk That Shit Now” should sound like a jumble, but it’s such a glorious noise that you don’t care if it’s kind of messy.

Not only do I love the sound of these bands, I love their history, their sense of pride, and even their names. I have recordings by:

Bunk Johnson’s Brass Band (The first NO brass band to record, in 1945)
The Original Zenith Brass Band (recorded in 1946)
The Eureka Brass Band (Perhaps the greatest of all New Orleans brass bands. They were proud of their reading ability and musical skills and could play a dirge like no other band, then turn around and swing their butts off on a jazz tune. Eureka Brass Band: 1920-1971. R.I.P.)
The Young Tuxedo Brass Band (Only a step below the Eureka. The band contained young beboppers alongside musicians who started their careers before 1920.)
The Algiers Brass Band
Coolbone Brass Band
The Onward Brass Band
The Olympia Brass Band
The Original Pin Stripe Brass Band
The Rebirth Brass Band (Maybe the most exciting band playing in NOLA today.)
The Dirty Dozen Brass Band
The Li’l Rascals Brass Band (Stupid name; great band. These young guys can play the traditional stuff very well, but they are also about the funkiest band in NO.)
The High Steppers Brass Band
The Magnificent Sevenths Brass Band
The Young Olympians Brass Band
The Chosen Few Brass Band (led by the great Tuba Fats)
The Forgotten Souls Brass Band (An all-star band led by the mighty Kirk Joseph on tuba.)
George Williams’ Brass Band
The 6th Ward All Stars
The Gibson Brass Band (A rough, tough, non-union band recorded in the 1960’s.)
The New Birth Brass Band (Another one of the best current bands on the scene - at times they seem as good as the Rebirth.)
The Treme Brass Band
Doc Paulin’s Brass Band (This rough and ready band provided apprenticeship for generations of young NOLA musicians, including Dr. Michael White, about whom see below.)
The Paulin Brothers Brass Band (Doc’s sons in their own band. Their one album features three saxophones, which makes for some lush harmony not found in any other brass band.)
The Society Brass Band
The Soul Rebels Brass Band (A little hard to take at times because of their “keepin’ it real in the ghetto” attitude. They might follow a tune called “Let Your Mind Be Free” with “Shut Up, Ho.”)
The Hot 8 Brass Band
The New Orleans Nightcrawlers (The only one of these bands founded by a pianist. Tom McDermott wrote a brass band arrangement for the Dirty Dozen; they didn't want it, so he formed a band to play it.)
The Hurricane Brass Band (A groundbreaking band that grew out of Danny Barker's Fairview Baptist Brass Band in the seventies. Led by trumpeter Leroy Jones, it was the precursor to the Dirty Dozen, the Rebirth, the Chosen Few, and all of the younger bands that revived the scene in New Orleans.)
The Imperial Brass Band (led by trumpeter Alvin Alcorn)
The Mahogany Brass Band
The Excelsior Brass Band

From a record collector's standpoint, my most prized brass band records are the Hurricane's one album (which is scarcer than hens' teeth), and the two singles the Dirty Dozen put out on their own label. These predate their first album and are almost totally unknown outside of New Orleans. I've never seen them listed in any jazz discography.

Some of these bands play(ed) “traditional” NO brass band music, others tend(ed) toward Dirty Dozen-style funk. Most of the currently active ones can play both. But I like what the late Allan Jaffe (longtime owner of Preservation Hall) said: “You can pass a tradition down to the next generation, but you can’t control what they do with it.” I saw the excellent NO clarinetist Dr. Michael White (who is my age) on TV a few years ago. He was decrying the music of the Dirty Dozen and Rebirth and explaining that the Young Tuxedo, with whom he played, was keeping the traditional music alive. I thought that was pretty funny. In the 1960s, trumpeter Peter Bocage was saying the same thing about the bands then: they weren’t playing the traditional 6/8 marches – all they wanted to play was jazz. That is, they were playing in the style that Michael White identified as traditional 35 years later. It’s doubly ironic because the Young Tuxedo’s first album, from 1958, has a tune called “It Feels So Good.” The producers of the album weren’t familiar with it and assumed it was an old, jazzy brass band standard – the composer credit on the label just read “traditional.” Well, the piece was a 1955 R & B hit by local favorites Shirley & Lee. The Young Tuxedos weren’t worried about preserving a tradition; they just wanted to play some good music.

As good as the records are, this is music that makes its maximum impact when heard live. I've been lucky enough to hear:

The Dirty Dozen
The Rebirth
The Olympia
The Treme
The Mahogany
The Pin Stripe
The Algiers
The Nightcrawlers
The Chosen Few
The Hot 8
The Society
The Soul Rebels
The New Birth
and several pick-up bands, like the huge one that played for Frog Joseph's funeral.

All these have been wonderful experiences, but the most memorable have involved the Rebirth. Hearing this band in full cry is an incredibly intense experience; they are the loudest unamplified band I've ever heard. The impact of their music is positively physical. On their regular Tuesday night gig at the Maple Leaf, the sound hits you in the face, and you either retreat or stand up to it and dance. Hearing one of these brass bands on parade is also amazing - I once jumped up from a sidewalk cafe and left my plate of red beans and rice for almost an hour as I followed a parade. (The band was a combination of the Algiers and the Pin Stripes.) My food, as well as a stack of records I had gotten at the Louisiana Music Factory, was still there when I returned. I left the waitress a really big tip.

I wanted to end by listing my favorite half-dozen NOLA brass band recordings. I couldn't quite manage it - I had to cheat a little.

Bunk Johnson - Bunk's Brass Band and Dance Band (1945 - American Music) It finally gets on record. A great little pick-up band, and one of the few recordings we have of a brass band with alto and baritone horn instead of saxophones.

Eureka Brass Band - New Orleans Funeral & Parade (1951) This is the first recording of s working brass band; it's been on several labels over the years, but is now available on American Music. Strange and majestic.

The Young Tuxedo Brass Band - Jazz Begins (1958 - Atlantic) The dirges are deep and the uptempo playing is abandoned to the extent that the music sounds as if it's going to fly apart. And John Casimir's archaic E-flat clarinet wails above it all.

Eureka Brass Band - Jazz at Preservation Hall, Volume One (1962 - Atlantic) Some of the finest polyphonic playing I've ever heard. The Humphrey brothers (Percy on trumpet and Willie on clarinet) reign supreme.

The Dirty Dozen Brass Band - Voodoo (1989 - Columbia) and/or Funeral For a Friend (2003 - Ropeadope) The band that made the style popular again has never stuck to the "correct" brass band instrumentation or style. Of the many albums by the DDBB, these are my two favorites - pianos, guitars, and all.

The Rebirth Brass Band - The Main Event: Live at the Maple Leaf (1999- Louisiana Red Hot Records) Close to what you'll experience live. Turn it way up.

And two for lagniappe:

Onward Brass Band - Last Journey of a Jazzman (1965 - Nobility) Recorded on the street at Lester Santiago's funeral by Cosimo Matassa, who carried a 50-pound tape recorder for miles in the rain. It's an amazing document, but it is flawed by the overdubbed narration. I wish we had the unadorned music.

A New Orleans Visit Before Katrina (2005 - Arhoolie) Three tunes on this anthology capture the Treme Brass Band on parade. In my opinion, these 20 minutes or so represent the finest New Orleans brass band recordings for years.

I love this music.

Jeffery's Danny Barker Story

Danny Barker (1909-1994) was a guitarist, banjoist, singer, writer, composer, raconteur, and jazz archivist from New Orleans. He was probably best known among casual jazz fans for his seven-year stint anchoring the rhythm section of Cab Calloway’s big band in the late thirties and forties. But when he moved from New York back to New Orleans in 1965, he was all over the city’s jazz scene, as a performer, teacher, and as the first curator of the New Orleans Jazz Museum.

Among his other talents, Barker was one of the great rhythm guitarists in jazz. His style was somewhat different from that of Freddie Green, who is often held up as the best rhythm guitarist of all time. Danny tended to use richer chords than Green (who had kind of a minimalist approach) and his beat was strong and springy, often interspersed with triplets and syncopations. His Save the Bones album, recorded late in his life, is a great illustration of his rhythm style, as well as being a very entertaining record. Barker made hundreds of other recordings; particularly interesting is the series he did in the thirties and forties backing up his wife, singer Blue Lu Barker, in a series of sometimes risqué, bluesy songs, usually of his own composition. The most famous of these is “Don’t You Feel My Leg,” which was a hit for Maria Mauldaur back in the seventies. He also wrote “Save the Bones for Henry Jones,” which sold lots of records for Nat King Cole and the Pointer Sisters. He recorded with both Louis Armstrong and Charlie Parker – one of the few musicians to do so. And, although he is not generally credited as such, I consider him to be the father of New Orleans R & B – hear his 1945 recordings of “Indian Red” and “Chocko Mo Feendo Hey.”

Every time I visit New Orleans, I make it a point to stroll to the end of Chartres Street in the French Quarter and look for the plaque marking Danny’s birthplace. It’s on a typical French Quarter townhouse built in the early nineteenth century. His mother was a Barbarin – any fan of New Orleans jazz will recognize that name.

This is all background to my Danny Barker story. I’ve told this story a few times, but here it is with all the details:

It starts around 1990; I had just visited New Orleans for the first time, and the Dirty Dozen Brass Band had just issued their New Orleans Album, with several Crescent City guest stars. One of the tunes on the album was “Don’t You Feel My Leg,” with Danny Barker playing guitar and singing. It’s a great version of the song, with a hilarious spoken intro by Danny. Well, my ex-wife and I were driving around with The New Orleans Album in the tape player, and she was very taken with that song. So I had a plan: take her back to New Orleans and surprise her with a visit to the Palm Court to hear Danny Barker.

During that period Danny played every Sunday night at the Palm Court with his Jazz Hounds. I booked us a room in the Quarter over Memorial Day weekend of 1992, when neither of us had to work on Monday. A week before the trip, I called the Palm Court, “Danny Barker is playing there on Sunday, right?” “Yes, Danny plays here every Sunday.” Well, we had a nice trip, ate some great food, and had a good time. Then we headed to the Palm Court on Sunday night. As we got close, we could hear music, but it didn’t sound like what I was expecting. When we got to the door, I could see a young band on the stage playing bebop. I asked about Danny and was told that he was visiting relatives in Chicago.

As you can imagine, we were pretty disappointed. We didn’t stay to hear the band, and we left town the next day. But before we left, I took a look in the phone book, and sure enough, there was a listing for Danny Barker on Sere Street. I copied down the number and put it in my wallet.

That summer, I screwed up my courage, dialed the number, and explained the situation to Danny, offering to pay him for a gig if he would play a little private concert for us when we returned to New Orleans. He was very gracious, and said sure, just give him a call. So we went back over Thanksgiving of 1992 and rented a house on Dumaine Street for a couple of days. It was the coldest I’ve ever been in New Orleans; I don’t think I was really warm for three days. When I called Danny, he asked directions and said he’d come to our place. I didn’t want to put him to any trouble, so I said we could come to his house. He agreed and gave me directions to a small bungalow up past the Fairgrounds.

We rang the bell about 10:00 in the morning and were given a warm greeting by Danny and Blue Lu. After some small talk, he pulled out his guitar and played and sang “The Second Line” by his uncle, Paul Barbarin. For the next hour and a half, we were given an incredible private concert – it was just amazing.

Without meaning to, we put Blue Lu into a bit of a bad mood – we had been talking about how much we enjoyed Danny’s music while forgetting that Blue Lu was a performer herself, although she had not sung professionally for several years. I quickly picked up some hints from Danny, and asked Lu to sing. She refused at first, but soon forgot the slight and was singing along with Danny. I remember “Basin Street Blues,” “Save the Bones,” and, of course, “Don’t You Feel Me Leg.”

After they had played and sung for awhile, Danny reached behind an end table and pulled out a Mosaic Records box set – the Blue Note recordings of Herbie Nichols – and started talking about what a genius Nichols was. I took the opportunity to clear up a discographical mystery – the guitar player on Nichols’ first session as leader (for Savoy) is always given as “probably Danny Barker.” I asked, “Didn’t you record with him?” Danny looked puzzled and said no. When I got home I listened to the session more carefully, and it is obviously not Danny on guitar.

Before we left Danny and Blue Lu each autographed a publicity picture for us – Lu’s was from her Capitol Records days (c. 1950), while Danny’s was more recent. They invited us to stay for lunch, but we didn’t want to wear out our welcome. It was one of the great days of my life. I have always regretted not being able to attend Danny’s funeral a couple of years later.

Footnote: My friend Scott Hooker, the great traditional jazz pianist, is a frighteningly good voice mimic. He heard enough of Danny Barker’s voice from recordings to have it down. About two or three years after Danny’s death, I was living alone in an apartment in the Buckhead area of Atlanta. One evening my phone rang; when I picked it up and said hello, a voice said, “Hi, Jeff; this is Danny Barker.” Every hair on my body stood up – it was uncanny. Since I was unable to speak, Scott let me know it was him. His imitation was so perfect that it was Danny Barker on the phone – there was no doubt in my mind.