Discussions expand jazz potential in Topeka

By Tony Rager

Attorney for the Berman Music Foundation

TOPEKA, Kan.—On July 22 Butch, Grace and I headed down to Topeka for a mid-summer meeting with our friends at the Topeka Performing Arts Center.

The TPAC group had an especially busy day, as they were preparing for a Ron White Blue Collar Comedy concert that night. Mark Radziejeski graciously took the time to stop by for a nice dinner and relaxed conversation about status of the 2005 Topeka Jazz Festival and the Berman Jazz Series. Butch plans to meet again with TPAC just prior to the first concert of the Berman Jazz Series in September.

The following morning we met with Bill Leifer and Scott Henson. Bill and Scott are committee members for the Coleman Hawkins Neighborhood Festival. “Hawkfest,” as it is known, is another jazz festival in Topeka that plays the weekend following the Topeka Jazz Festival.

Our preliminary discussions centered on exploring ways that the two festivals could benefit each other and establishing a relationship that has never existed in the past between these two festivals. Although we are only in initial discussions, we all agreed that an open dialogue should ultimately benefit the Midwest and the promotion of jazz as a truly American art form.

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Opinion

Jazz deserves a patriotic response

By Joe Klopus

The Kansas City Star

It’s been said before, and in a time when the meaning of “patriotism” becomes twisted, it bears saying again:

No America, no jazz.

Art Blakey used to say that very thing as he circled the globe evangelizing for this great American music.

Oh, and Blakey was a Muslim. Make of that what you will.

The elements of this creation come from all over, just like the people of this country.

Listen to the beat that they say is a living link to Africa. Listen to the horns and the piano and the bass that were designed in Europe. Listen to the scales and keys that have been used in classical music for centuries then listen to the bent notes and blues inflections like those you’d hear in Africa or Asia or India.

And in modern jazz, listen to the rhythmic and harmonic intricacies that were brought to perfection by Charlie Parker, a guy from Kansas City. Make of that what you will.

Trace it anywhere you like. Still the roaring, funky final product is nothing but American.

America didn’t make anything easy for those who created jazz. But in conditions of poverty and Jim Crow oppression, they somehow found the fire and spirit that made these musical elements sing together in a courageous new way.

And in doing that, they created Western culture’s most durable system for improvising music.

The genius of it is its simplicity, its adaptability. It’s universal. And the whole world knows it now.

Sometimes it’s called America’s classical music, as if everyone here knew it well. (Only in our dreams.)

Sometimes it’s called America’s only original art form. (We’ll leave it for others to debate the truth of that.)

Tourists come to America from every part of the globe to hear the music. Chances are someone from a faraway land is in Kansas City this weekend, looking to hear jazz. Often these travelers go away amazed and frustrated that we don’t pay enough attention to this cultural treasure right under our noses.

The rest of the world knows the true value of this music. It’s too bad that so many American’s don’t.

Other nations might hate us for other reasons, but we still have this powerful export called jazz, and they still look to us for leadership.

Jazz shows the beauties of the American spirit even as it shines a light on many of our faults.

From those African roots and those European building blocks, we’ve built something that’s American through and through. To write it off as a relic of the past, to ignore it when it needs our support, to do anything that pushes it further from the mainstream, would be more than simply stupid.

It would be unpatriotic.

Reprinted with permission of the author.

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Tomfoolery

Duke Robillard deserves wider recognition

By Tom Ineck

God bless the Zoo Bar for 31 years of introducing and educating the unsuspecting residents of Lincoln, Neb., to the joys of live music in an intimate setting, especially the many diverse forms of the blues.

Almost single-handedly nourishing an audience for a style of music that otherwise languished in near obscurity, original Zoo Bar booker and owner Larry Boehmer established a worldwide reputation for excellence that continues to this day, under the guidance of current owners Pete Watters and Larry’s sons Tim and Jeff Boehmer.

But they can’t do it all, folks. It is up to people who appreciate high-quality music to continue to patronize the Zoo and its top-rank artists. That brings us to the subject of this column.

To coincide with the recent celebration of the bar’s 31^st anniversary, a week of indoor performances were booked at the club in the week preceding the two-day outdoor festivities. Among the longtime Zoo Bar favorites who made appearances were rock-heavy guitar player Jimmy Thackery and harmonica wailer Rod Piazza and the Mighty Flyers.

But for my money, the show not to miss was the July 5 performance by guitarist Duke Robillard, who hadn’t set foot in the club for almost two years. His ample credentials include more than 20 recordings under his own name, as well as four with Roomful of Blues, two with the Legendary Blues Band and one with the Fabulous Thunderbirds. He has toured and recorded with Jay McShann, Johnny Adams, Ruth Brown, Jimmy Witherspoon, Ronnie Earl, Pinetop Perkins, John Hammond and Bob Dylan (on the 1997 Grammy winner “Time Out of Mind”). He won the W.C. Handy award for best blues guitarist in 2000 and 2001.

Hoping to beat the rush before the tiny venue sold out, I visited the club Friday afternoon to buy an $8 advance ticket for the Monday night gig. I was unable to persuade anyone else to join me on a “work night,” so I went alone, certain I would encounter a packed house and hook up with plenty of friends and Zoo Bar regulars when I got there.

To my disappointment, only 40 or 50 people showed up all evening for Robillard’s typically astonishing display of tasteful guitar mastery, showmanship and stylistic variety ranging from straight-ahead blues to swing and r&b. Duke was armed with a Stratocaster, a Telecaster and a big hollow-body Gibson to achieve the perfect sound for any occasion. He was backed by a quartet of thorough professionals capable of shifting gears on a dime. Saxophonist Doug James switched from tenor to baritone horns, the bassist was adept at both acoustic and electric instruments, keyboardist Matt McCabe adapted well to any tempo and the drummer laid down a monster groove.

They played several tunes from Robillard’s new release, “Blue Mood,” a tribute to T-Bone Walker, including “T-Bone Shuffle,” “You Don’t Love Me” and the great “Love is a Gamble.” Drawn from his wealth of previously recorded material were such classics as “Buy Me a Dog,” “I Live the Life I Love” and the instrumental "Tiny's Tempo." He even pulled one out of his hat, granting a request from a woman near the bandstand for “Just Kiss Me,” a Robillard composition from the mid-‘80s that he hadn’t played for a long time.

During a break, I bought two of Robillard’s jazzier CDs, “Conversations in Swing Guitar,” with fellow fretmaster Herb Ellis, and “Duke Robillard Plays Jazz,” a wonderful compilation from his years with Rounder Records. Both immensely talented and extremely modest, Robillard nearly blushed when I later told him that he is the best. “You do it all, man!” I raved.

“Well, I do some of it!” he replied with a grateful smile.

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Memorial

Claude "Fiddler" Williams dies at age 96

Personal notes on a humble hero and friend

Claude "Fiddler" Williams died April 25 at the age of 96. Russ Dantzler was a longtime friend and professional colleague. In the following article, he shares some of his memories of the jazz legend.

By Russ Dantzler

Claude Williams entered my life when I was turning 20. It was astounding that this vibrant man over 40 years my senior, now the last known active musician to have recorded jazz in the 1920s, was always so open minded and curious, so completely alive. Until recently, I had always thought of him as younger than myself.

I first heard him in 1972 at the Legionnaire Club in my hometown, Lincoln, Nebraska, where he was tripling on violin, electric guitar and electric bass with pianist Jay McShann and drummer Paul Gunther. Days later, he was having lunch at a favorite long-gone hole-in-the wall called the Soul Food Kitchen. I introduced myself, and was warmly and graciously received, even though it didn't seem we had anything in common but a love for music and perhaps good greens. In the following years, I found that he was warm and gracious to nearly anyone who wanted to speak with him. He never failed to be surprised if someone he didn’t know knew who he was, an indication of a humble man.

Claude and Jay came to my Lincoln home in 1972 to tape some song lyrics Jay wanted to re-learn from records. I was nervous and excited, as I considered them both to be nothing less than walking jazz history books. I picked them both up, Claude first, and found he wasn't staying in a very nice place. They shocked me by being cool, calm, and so much fun it was hard to believe. Soon Claude stayed with me whenever he played Lincoln, and I got to visit him on many memorable weekends in Kansas City. In KC, we’d often hear the Frank Smith Trio at the Phillips house, The Fabulous Five Scamps at the Sni-Blue Lounge, or whoever was jamming at The Mutual Musicians Foundation. He’d sit in, never failing to raise the level of the music a couple of notches.

Wherever Claude was, he would, any and every time he felt like it, play a 4-hour-or-more club gig, then come home and play until all the musicians who came by were worn out. One night, after one of those long Zoo Bar gigs in Lincoln, he went through three young guitar players in my living room into the wee hours, not even considering packing up his instrument until all other musicians had first done so.

For six months of 1989 we were roommates in a little 4th floor walkup apartment in New York City, my home since late 1987, where we packed in a capacity crowd for his 80^th birthday. This was just one of many times that Blanche cooked up enough mouth-watering beans, rice and cornbread to feed an army. On that evening, with pianist Sir Roland Hanna, vocalist Carrie Smith and bassist Al McKibbon among the guests, the food had to be relayed from the stove to the living area, as it was not possible to move in that space.

Claude’s time in New York City was the result of his signing on with “Black and Blue, a Musical Revue.” This major Broadway production was a celebration of the greatest Black dancers, musicians and singers available, including vocalists Ruth Brown and Carrie Smith, very young hoofer Savion Glover, and Claude as the senior member in the big band. With spectacular musicians, some from other cities, and Mondays off, an opportunity presented itself. On three consecutive Monday nights, Claude was able to make his first recordings as a leader since the 1970s, and the first to be released as CDs.

Claude’s relaxed endurance on the road was impressive. He traveled light, and didn’t seem to understand what jet-lag was, even when flying as far as Australia and Japan. He would happily work any number of consecutive days in a row, working more than one job each of those days! The lesson I still wish I could have learned from him was his ability to remain relaxed under nearly any circumstances. He seemed to let things that would disturb me just roll off his back. I believe his lack of perceived stress was a genuine key to his healthy and long life. He was repeatedly asked his secret, and his answer was not at all complicated. “Don’t worry ‘bout nothing.’”

He gave me, and I know many others, some wonderful moments. Claude came to my mother's hospital bedside in Lincoln with his violin in 1982 when she was in bad shape in an intensive care unit. We snuck in that fiddle, knowing it would be against hospital rules to do so. Claude had a mute on his instrument, and asked my mom for a request. As he softly played "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head," a nurse parted the curtain to speak to us. Busted, we thought. The nurse smiled and asked Claude if he could please play louder, so patients and staff could hear him better. My mom recovered, and went on to proudly tell this story to just about every person she ever knew. Both of my sisters wanted him to play at their weddings. A swinging entertainer off stage as well as on, he once, in his 80s at the time, swung upside down from a clothesline pole just to get Blanche, his host Bruce Cudly and myself laughing.

Claude was not being hired often as a bandleader in the 70s and 80s, and this was a frustration. When possible, bands were hired and gigs created for him to front in Lincoln, most often he played the Zoo Bar. Preceding one such engagement in 1992, some Lincoln friends voiced frustration that their young sons never had an opportunity to hear Claude. I told them that that if they brought steaks and Courvoisier to the place he was staying, we might work something out. The result was a memorable, spontaneous, children’s music workshop. My niece played a song for Claude on her violin, and he then asked if he might borrow it. When he played, the rapt attention of even the youngest of the children there was something to behold.

Each musician lucky enough to have played with him under any circumstances was given a lesson, often none of it spoken. In the form of the most inviting challenge, he'd get the very best out of everyone he played with. When first approached about teaching lessons, he told me that with little formal training, he wasn't qualified, again displaying his modesty. He eventually allowed me to bring him students anyway. We set the format that they would play something for him first, and he would answer. Before you knew it, they were jamming together and getting the education of a lifetime. Matt Glaser, String Department head of the Berklee School of Music and an important supporter of Claude's, told me he has at least 200 students who can play Fiddler's arrangement of "You've Got to See Your Mama, Ev'ry Night, or You Can't See Mama At All." Claude also admired Matt, once proudly telling me that his violin “sounds more like me than me.”

It was such a pleasure to not just hear Claude work with his esteemed peers, but to witness their amazement at his spontaneous inventions as they shared stages. I think in particular of pianists Roland Hanna and Barry Harris, bassists Earl May and Keter Betts, saxophonists Bill Easley and Kim Park, guitarists Gray Sargent, Joe Cohn and Bucky Pizzarelli, every vocalist he worked with, including Etta Jones, and drummer Jimmy Lovelace. Off stage, it was equally gratifying to see his first private meeting and jam with violinist Regina Carter in mid-1997, and countless students, including cellist Akua Dixon and violinist John Intrator of France.

Touring Japan briefly in 1997 with The Statesmen of Jazz was fascinating. Not only did fans typically know more about his history than Americans ever will, but they also revere age as we never have. Claude was treated like royalty, yet remained as unassuming as ever.

Fiddler went to Washington, DC, and the White House to accept a National Heritage Fellowship Award in 1998, along with “Pops” Staples of the Staples Singers. It was a delight to witness Pops’ first sighting of Claude in the lobby of the Willard Hotel. His first words were, “How old are you?” Fiddler was a very young 90 at that time. Pops looked Claude over for a moment and then asked, “And you don’t hurt or nothin’?”

To Claude Williams, each performance was more than music, it was being respectful to an audience. He always presented himself to his audience well-groomed, smiling, and on time. In the smallest of joints he might play, he dressed as if to meet heads of state. It was part of the job of his sidemen to have shined shoes.

By the late 1980s, Claude may have had a thousand people in Lincoln who considered themselves to be his friend – and who he honored by treating them as his friends. By the late 1990s, he had the same sort of family of friends in New York City.

Claude played his accessible swing and entertained in a way that made his fortunate audiences grin and tap their feet --  he would often say he didn't like to play music "over people's heads." Sorry Claude – we can still hear you, and you are definitely over our heads now.

History on Claude “Fiddler” Williams can be found at www.hotjazznyc.com

©2004 Russ Dantzler

Claude "Fiddler" Williams

Selected Discography

As leader:

"Swingin' the Blues" (Bullseye Blues & Jazz division of Rounder, 2000, recorded 1999)

"King of Kansas City" (Progressive Records, 1997, recorded 1996)

"SwingTime in New York" (Progressive Records, 1995, recorded 1994)

"Live at J's, Volumes 1 & 2" (Arhoolie, 1993, recorded 1989)

"Call for the Fiddler" (SteepleChase, 1976. CD released 1994)

"Fiddler's Dream" (Classic Jazz 135, 1980, recorded 1977)

"Claude Williams' Kansas City Giants" (Big Bear Records, Bear 25, 1980, recorded 1979)

With other bands and leaders:

The Lighting Bugs, "Stretchin' Out" (Buzz Music, 1996)

Karrin Allyson, "Azure-Te" (Concord, 1995)

Karrin Allyson, "Collage" (Concord, 1996)

"Statesmen of Jazz" (American Federation of Jazz Societies, 1995)

James Chirillo, "You Have to Know How to Do That" (Global Village, 1991)

"Jive at Five: The Frankfurt Swing All Stars featuring Claude Williams" (Bellaphon, 1989, recorded 1988)

"The Count at the Chatterbox" (LP, Archives Recordings, 1974)

"Man From Muskogee with Jay McShann" (Sackville, 1972, CD released 1994)

Count Basie, "The Complete Decca Recordings" (GRP, 1992)

"Andy Kirk and his 12 Clouds of Joy" (Brunswick, 1930 and Classics 655)

Compilations:

"Masters of the Folk Violin" (Arhoolie, 1995)

"Eastwood After Hours" (Malpaso/Warner Bros., 1997)

"Kansas City Joys" (LP, Sonet, 1976)

"Black and Blue," soundtrack (DRG, 1989)

"The Blues. . A Real Summit Meeting" (Buddah Records, 1973)

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