I have always felt very lucky, to have had parents that exposed me to music, and art. Although, on the surface they were ordinary working class, they both had talents, that they passed on to me.
My father, was an accomplished pianist. He played classical, jazz of the 40’s, light classical, and would try any new music genera, that came along. He also studied history, philosophy, literature, and psychology. My mother, was a housewife. But she was also, an excellent artist. She started painting water colors, landscapes, and subjects that interested her. As her skill grew, she studied Japanese Watercolors, and became very accomplished, even having her works displayed in their local museum. Unfortunately, Alzheimer’s ended her career.
Having been exposed to a wide variety of music, Modern Jazz is still one of my favorites. There was an article in the Wall Street Journal entitled “Cool Jazz, Warm Memory,” about the piece “But not for me,” played by Chet Baker. After reading it, it brought back memories of my introduction to modern jazz.
I was a senior in high school, and a friend and I, started listening to modern jazz. We were really getting into it, buying records, and trying to find it on the radio, which was difficult then, and still is today. First, we started exploring the jazz clubs that were uptown in Manhattan. Birdland, and the Metropole. Then the clubs downtown in West Greenwich Village. The Village Vanguard, the Blue Note. We found out, that on every Monday night it was Birdland’s swing night. The regular booked show, ended on Sunday night, and the next show started on Tuesday night. Monday was when any jazz artist in town would come in, and just jam for a while.
So, every Monday night we traveled from Brooklyn to Manhattan, getting to Birdland about 10PM. The admission was $1.50, which wasn’t too expensive for us. Since we were minor’s they seated us in the back, in a non-drinking section. If we wanted a coke, well that was a dollar, which was too expensive. We usually stayed until 2AM, and then traveled the one-hour ride back to Brooklyn. It was great, listening to the new, up and coming jazz artists, as well as the stars that would wander in, and just get up on the bandstand and play.
We did this for a year. How we ever got through high school, keeping those hours, is still a mystery.
