“When we think of him, he is without a hat, standing in the wind and the weather. He was impatient of topcoats and hats, preferring to be exposed, and he was young enough and tough enough to confront and to enjoy the cold and the wind of these times, whether the winds of nature or the winds of political circumstance and national danger. He died of exposure, but in a way that he would have settled for — in the line of duty, and with his friends and enemies all around, supporting him and shooting at him. It can be said of him, as of few men in a like position, that he did not fear the weather, and did not trim his sails, but instead challenged the wind itself, to improve its direction and to cause it to blow more softly and more kindly over the world and its people.”
published in the 30 November 1963 issue of The New Yorker magazine.
In November of 1961, cellist Pablo Casals played at the White House at the invitation of President and Mrs. Kennedy. His encore that night was his composition “El Cant del Ocells” (The Song of the Birds.)
In 1967, Marine Lance Corporal Villec, stationed in Vietnam, wrote a fan letter to Louis Armstrong. What’s reproduced here is the jazz great’s amazing reposnse to that piece of fan mail — at once intimate, heartfelt, and wonderful. You see in its pages (it’s five handwritten pages) a breezy familiarity with a man, we can only assume, Armstrong had never met in person, and a willingness to be frank and thoughtful about his own life’s work and its challenges.
Armstrong’s unique punctuation, with unexpected capitalizations, underlinings and quotation marks, is preserved here.
Corona New York’
Dear L/Cpl, Villec”
I’d like to ‘step in here for a ‘Minute or ‘so’ to ”tell you how much—I ‘feel to know that ‘you are a ‘Jazz fan, and ‘Dig’ ‘that ‘Jive—the ‘same as ‘we ‘do, “yeah.” “Man—I carry an ‘Album, ‘loaded with ‘Records—’Long playing ‘that is. And when I am ‘Shaving or ‘Sitting on the ‘Throne with ‘Swiss Kriss‘ in me—That Music ‘sure ‘brings out those ‘Riffs’ ‘Right Along with ‘Swiss Kriss, which I ‘take ‘every night or when I go to bed. ‘Yeah. I give myself a ‘Concert with those ‘records. ‘Music is ‘life it’self. What would this ‘world be without ‘good music? No matter ‘what kind it is.
It ‘all came from the Old ‘Sanctified ‘Churches. I can remember—’way back in the ‘old days in ‘New Orleans, La—’My home town. And I was a little Boy around ‘ten years old. My Mother used to take me to ‘Church with her, and the Reverend (‘Preacher that is’) used to ‘lead off one’ of those ‘good ol good ‘Hymns. And before you realized it—the ‘whole ‘Congregation would be “Wailing—’Singing like ‘mad and ‘sound so ‘beautiful. ‘I ‘being a little boy that would “Dig” ‘Everything and ‘everybody, I’d have myself a ‘Ball in ‘Church, especially when those ‘Sisters ‘would get ‘So ‘Carried away while “Rev” (the preacher) would be ‘right in the ‘Middle of his ‘Sermon. ‘Man those ‘Church ‘Sisters would ‘begin ‘Shouting ‘So—until their ‘petticoats would ‘fall off. Of course ‘one of the ‘Deacons would ‘rush over and ‘grab her—’hold her in his ‘Arms and ‘fan her until ‘she’d ‘Come ‘to.
Then there were those “Baptisms—that’s when someone wants to be converted by Joining the ‘Church and get ‘religion. So they have to be ‘Baptized. ‘Dig this—I remember ‘one Sunday the ‘Church had a ‘great big Guy they had to ‘Baptize. So these ‘Deacons all ‘Standing in this ‘River—in ‘Water up to their waist in their ‘white ‘Robes. They had ‘Baptized ‘several ‘women and a few ‘Men—’saved their ‘Souls. When in ‘Walks’ a ‘Great ‘big’ ‘burly ‘Sinner‘ who came down the line. So—’these ‘Deacons whom were ‘very ‘strong ‘themselves, they grabbed ‘hold of this ‘Cat and said to him as they ‘ducked him down into the water, as they let him they asked him—”Brother ‘do you ‘Believe?” The Guy didn’t say ‘anything—Just looked at them. So they ‘Ducked him down into that ‘River again, ‘only they ‘held him down there a ‘few minutes ‘Longer. So when the ‘Deacons looked in the guy’s eye and said to him—”Do you ‘Believe?” This Guy finally ‘answered—he said “Yes—I Believe you ‘Son of Bitches trying to ‘drown me.”
P.S. I guess you think I’m ‘Nuts. ‘Nay ‘Nay. I only ‘mentioned these incidents because it all was ‘built around ‘Music. In fact, it’s ‘All Music. “You ‘Dig? The ‘Same as we did in my ‘Home Town ‘New Orleans’—those ‘Funeral Marches etc. “Why ‘Gate” ‘Villec, we ‘played those ‘Marches with ‘feeling from our ‘hearts. ‘All the way to the Cemetery—’Brass Band of course. The ‘Snare drummer would put a ‘handkerchief under the ‘snares of his ‘drum to ‘deaden the ‘Sound while ‘playing on the way to the Cemetery—”Flee as a Bird.” But as ‘soon as the ‘preacher ‘say “Ashes to ‘Ashes—’Dust to ‘Dust”—the “Snare Drummer Commence ‘pulling the handkerchief from his ‘drum, and make a ‘long roll’ to ‘assemble everybody, including the members of the ‘dead man’s ‘Lodge—or ‘Club. ‘Then we’d ‘return ‘back to the ‘headquarters ‘playing “Didn’t he ‘Ramble” or “When the Saints Go Marching In.” You ‘See? ‘StillMusic.”
I said ‘All of that to Keep ‘Music in your ‘heart the ‘same as ‘you’re ‘doing. And ‘Daddy—you ‘Can’t ‘go ‘wrong. ‘Myself and my ‘All Stars’ are ‘Playing here at the ‘Harrods ‘Club (Reno) for ‘Three weeks. My ‘wife ‘Lucille as ‘joined me here. The ‘rest will do her lots of good. She was ‘operated on for a ‘Tumor, about the ‘Middle of ‘July. She’s improving ‘very ‘Rapidly. Her ‘Doctor who ‘operated on her at the ‘Beth ‘Israel Hospital’ in New York told her—’She could go to ‘Reno and ‘spend some time if ‘you (Lucille) + your ‘husband (Satchmo) ‘promised to ‘behave ‘yourselves and ‘don’t try to ‘do the “Vonce” (“meaning ‘Sex). I ‘Said—”Doc I ‘Promise—But I’ll ‘Just ‘touch it ‘lightly every ‘morning—to see if it’s ‘still ‘there. ‘Ha ‘Ha. ‘Life’s ‘sweet. ‘Just the ‘thought that ‘Lucille is ‘through with her ‘little ‘Hindrance—and “soon “be well and ‘happy—’be ‘her ‘lil ‘ol ‘cute ‘self ‘again—’Just “knock’s’ meout.
‘Well ‘Bre’r ‘Villec, I guess I’ll ‘put it ‘down, and get some ‘shuteye.” It’s the ‘Wee ‘hours in the ‘Morning. I’ve ‘Just ‘finished ‘Work. I am too ‘tired to ‘raise an ‘eye ‘lid. Tee hee. So I’ll leave this little message with you. “Here goes’.
When you ‘Walk—through a ‘Storm—
Put your ‘Head—up ‘high—
And ‘Don’t be Afraid of the ‘Dark—
At the ‘End of a ‘Storm—
Is a ‘Gol-den ‘Sky—
And a Sweet Silver ‘Song—
Of a ‘Lark—
‘Walk—’on—through the ‘Wind—
‘Walk—’on—through the ‘Rain—
Though your ‘Dreams be “Tossed and ‘Blown—
With ‘Hope in your heart
And ‘You’ll ‘Nev-er ‘Walk ‘A-‘lone—
You’ll ‘Nev-er ‘Walk A-lone—
(one more time)
‘Walk—’on—’Walk—’on—with ‘Hope in your ‘heart—And ‘you’ll Nev-er ‘Walk ‘A-lone—’You’ll ‘Nev-er ‘Walk—’A-lone—. “Savvy?
Give my regards to the fellows that’s in your company. And the other fellows too. And now I’ll do you ‘Just like the ‘Farmer did the ‘Potato—I’ll ‘Plant you ‘Now and ‘Dig you ‘later. I’ll ‘Close now. It’s a real ‘Pleasure ‘Writing—’You.
This letter is taken from Louis Armstrong, In His Own Words: Selected Writings. For more on “Swiss Kriss,” a brand of herbal laxative, see this story from NPR.
We want to take a moment to acknowledge the service of the women and men who have served the US in the military. The veterans of any war remind us that military service exacts a huge price from those who serve in uniform and those who remain at home and await their return.
We honor that service and that vigilance. And voice our earnest hope that — someday — men and women and their families will no longer be called upon to make those sacrifices.
As you examine photojournalist Lucian Read’s portraits of some of the veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan, listen to the music of Alex McMurray — and his song “1914.”
All Saints Day is a time when many of us consider, with gratitude, those who have gone before us. Here’s the 1938 recording of “When The Saints…” made by Louis Armstrong or, as he calls himself, “the Reverend Satchmo.” When The Saints Go Marching In
Recorded May 13, 1938
Track Time 2:44
Written by “Traditional”
Recorded in New York City
Louis Armstrong, trumpet, vocal; Shelton Hemphill, trumpet; J.C. Higginbotham, trombone; Rupert Cole, Charlie Holmes, alto saxophone; Bingie Madison, tenor saxophone; Luis Russell, piano; Lee Blair, guitar; Pops Foster, bass; Paul Barbarin, drums.
Originally released on Decca 2230
George Murphy “Pops” Foster was a master of slap bass. He was born in 1892 near Baton Rouge, and died on this day in 1969. Through the years, he played with all the greats: Louis Armstrong, King Oliver, Sidney Bechet and Earl Hines among them.
Here’s a recording of the Muggsy Spanier’s band in 1964 — featuring Pops on bass, with a solo that begins at 3:46.
Born in California, his family (the Breauxs) moved to New Orleans when he was five. He says his early musical influences include the jazz CDs his mom would listen to in the car. And he saved money washing cars and walking dogs to rent studio time as a young man.
He enrolled at the University of New Orleans just before Katrina. And it was Katrina that would send him back to California.
They stayed at the Congress Inn.
They held a press conference which was filmed.
The opening act was Frogman Henry.
Tickets cost five dollars.
And 700 teenage girls met the police at the barricades in City Park.
On September 16, 1964, The Beatles came to New Orleans.
McCartney said the concert in City Park, “was the closest we’ve come on the tour to getting worried. When I saw them coming for the stage.” He added, “I wondered, would they stay at the barricades or rush the stage and we’d be massacred?”
“It really was like a football game,” said Frogman Henry. “I mean, they were running from the policemen and the policemen were tackling them. I really enjoyed it because it was so comical. And those policemen, man, they were laughing the whole time.”
Here’s a recording of Frogman Henry singing “Ain’t Got No Home.”
In 1915, “The ‘Jelly Roll’ Blues” was published by one Ferd Morton, a guy just about everyone knows as Jelly Roll. It was the first time somebody published a piece of jazz music, and it went to prove that a music whose very soul is improvisation can survive notation.
You can publish and not perish, in other words.
Morton’s piano playing was born of ragtime and he often played the melody with the thumb of his right hand, allowing him to play harmonies above the melody as well as below it, with his left.
Here are two recordings of the song. The first is a solo piano recording of Morton, and probably dates to 1915.
Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown never heard a song he couldn’t sing or an instrument he wouldn’t play.
Blues, rock, jazz, country, folk, cajun, R&B — there wasn’t much music that didn’t move him to pick up an instrument and play. And those instruments were just as varied: guitar, drums, mandolin, viola, harmonica, and fiddle. He is regarded as perhaps the finest blues fiddler of the past century.
The Grammy-winning multi-instrumentalist died on 10 September 2005, in Orange, Texas, where he went following Hurricane Katrina.
Here’s his recording of “Going Back to Louisiana.”
More than anything, Troy “Trombone Shorty” Andrews wanted to have enough time to work on his new album, “Say That to Say This,” which premieres today on Speakeasy. So he made time.
“On the previous two records, we were touring, and we’d go in for a day or two, go back on tour for two weeks, then go back in for a week,” Andrews told Speakeasy. “This time, we were able to do three, four weeks straight and just comfortable, get in creative mode instead of being in creative mode and performing mode.”
We go to the movies. Gwen is joined by NPR film critic Bob Mondello, composer Terence Blanchard, and director Benh Zeitlin for a discussion of the art and craft of matching music and film. Join us on WWNO at 7:00p Thursday or at Noon on Saturday. We’ll save you some popcorn.
That is Art Kane’s photograph taken the morning of August 12, 1958 at 17 East 126th Street. There is much to commend this picture, including that it documents Marian McPartland’s place in the pantheon.
Legendary Jazz Pianist Dies Cedar Walton Had A Long Career As Bandleader & Composer
He was known the world-over as a ‘hard bop’ pianist and was recognized by the National Endowment for the Arts as a Jazz Master. Cedar Walton died Monday, at his home in Brooklyn, at the age of 79.
Born in Dallas, he studied for awhile in New Orleans. As he told the NEA:
NEA: When you went to Denver, did you go specifically intending to study music?
Cedar Walton: Yeah, I’d gone to a school even prior to that, a small school in New Orleans named Dillard University. And me and Ellis Marsalis, the father of Wynton and Bradford, we registered the same day. He wasn’t even playing piano then. I mean, not as much as I was. He was, like most of the musicians I met there, amazingly playing three or four instruments. He might have been studying piano too, but he played bass on a little gig we had there, the one gig I had in New Orleans as a college student.
Piano player Tom McDermott is our guest this week.
He has a sweet style when he plays the piano: every song’s a set-piece, a memory, a love. His repertoire stretches back to the 1870s and the ragtime of his hometown of Saint Louis, to the rhythms of Brazil and their influences on the music of his adopted home of New Orleans.
Tune in to WWNO 89.9 FM Thursday at 7:00p or Saturday at Noon.
photos: Gregg Goldman
video: Jason Rhein, Elephant Quilt Productions
On this week’s show, Terence Blanchard tells Gwen about growing up in Pontchartrain Park, a neighborhood built around a golf course designed by Joseph Bartholomew. It turns out Gwen and Terence grew up a stone’s throw from one another. And they shared many experiences — including childhoods spent under the watchful gaze of other people’s mothers.
During the interview, Blanchard tells the story of his father — who worked two jobs — waking him up before leaving the house for his night job at the hospital. Father and son would watch “The Honeymooners” together.
It’s just such a sweet and wonderful story. You can imagine the kid Terence, curled up on the couch in his PJs, laughing along with his dad at Norton’s antics. We though you would get a kick out of this scene.
Emile Griffith died earlier this summer. He was a boxer — a welterweight and middleweight world record holder. He battled his sexuality, too. In 1962, after Benny “The Kid” Paret used a Spanish vulgarism to refer to Griffith, he beat him to death.
The fight was a slugfest, and Paret nearly ended things in the sixth round. But after six more rounds, things ended for Paret as Griffith punched him senseless against the ropes, sending him into a coma from which he never emerged. He died ten days later. Norman Mailer, who was also in attendance that night in a ringside seat, wrote, “As he took those eighteen punches something happened to everyone who was in psychic range of the event. Some part of his death reached out to us. … As he went down, the sound of Griffith’s punches echoed in the mind like a heavy axe in the distance chopping into a wet log.” Mailer summed things up with the following words: “Paret died on his feet.”
Jazz trumpeter and composer Terence Blanchard talks with Gwen about his career, including the early days with Lionel Hampton and Art Blakey, and the exciting work that debuted his summer: Champion, an Opera in Jazz.
In September, the Public Radio Program Directors (PRPD) will meet in Atlanta for their annual conference. It’s like any industry get-together: except it’s much more… public radio.
For Music Inside Out, it’s our first opportunity to get this radio program on the radars of the men and women who do a good deal of the gate-keeping at public radio stations around the country.
Long before you ever hear a radio show on your station, a staff member of a public station has heard it, and liked it, and has bugged their program director about it. And it’s that program director who makes the decision to air the program in a local market.
So, we have been debating: Which shows should we highlight for the PRPD? If we were going to press a thumb drive into the hands of a potential champion of the program, which three shows would we like them to hear? What programs should we have them audition?
Let us know what you think. Which three hours would best highlight the scope and mission of the show? Do you have a favorite or two?
Dr. Michael White is Gwen’s guest this week on Music Inside Out. White is a really delightful guest who is able to put his playing into the context of both New Orleans music and also the broader social fabric of New Orleans as well.
Remember, the show airs on WWNO at seven o’clock Thursday evening now, with an encore broadcast at Noon on Saturday.
Dr. Michael White, besides being a champion of traditional jazz, is also (apparently) a fan of The Turtles. Here’s his version of their 1967 song “Happy Together.”
Happy Together from Dr. Michael White’s album “Adventures in New Orleans Jazz, Part 2″
Listen to Music Inside Out on WWNO 89.9 FM
Thursday at 7:00p
Saturday at Noon
Without Joe “King” Oliver … perish the thought. Louis Armstrong said he would never have left New Orleans for anyone but Oliver and thank goodness Oliver called. What makes King Oliver stand out is not just his musicianship, but the fact that he would talk to young musicians and show them what he knew about playing the cornet. In his autobiography, Armstrong says this was a rare quality among the best of the best players in New Orleans. Most established musicians kept their secrets to themselves. But Oliver, Armstrong said, would stop on the street and blow his horn to teach youngsters what they should be doing. As music lovers, we are still benefitting from Oliver’s remarkable generosity. We are also benefitting from Oliver’s remarkable foolishiness. He once turned down a gig at the Cotton Club in New York that ultimately went to a young’un call Duke Ellington.
It was my ambition to play as he did. I still think if it had not been for Joe Oliver jazz would not be what it is today. He was a creator in his own right. (Louis Armstrong)
Shortly after Hurricane Katrina, my friend Sarah Oliver and I flew down from NPR in Washington, DC to report on what was left of New Orleans.
I had a particular knowledge of the city because it’s my hometown. And after many years in Washington, my home ties were intact. My house was here, my dentist, my favorite restaurant, my favorite, well, everything. Except THEN, of course, because nothing was here.
Among the people we interviewed were my neighbors, Elmo and Gilda Dix. For as long as I could remember they lived in the big orange house in Pontchartrain Park on the corner of Press Drive and Mithra Street. Mr. Dix is an electrician and he and his friends built most of the house themselves. For the price of a bowl of gumbo, fried chicken, potato salad and whatever else Miss Gilda would make, the workmen laid tile and bricks and hung sheet rock and screens.
“My house didn’t cost a lot of money,” Mr. Dix said. “It was built on favors.”
One of the goals we set for ourselves in the redesign of the website was that it be easily usable when accessed on a desktop computer or a mobile device, like a phone or tablet.
The reason for this is simple math: more and more people are using phones to get web content. And if you design a website that looks gorgeous on a big screen, but is illegible on a small one, you are shooting yourself in the metaphorical foot. With a metaphorical gun. Which is metaphorically crazy.
The buzzword for this idea in web design circles is “mobile first.” In other words, the designer is encouraged to think of the mobile (small-screen) user first and build up and out from there.
To that end we’ve done out best to make navigation easy on a phone and to make text legible on small screens. You may have to do a bit of scrolling, but that’s why God invented thumbs. We have employed the HTML5 web standard throughout the site to make our content accessible to modern browsers, both mobile and desktop versions.
Years ago, long before I joined the church of radio, I was a Benedictine monk living in a monastery in Missouri. I spent five years in the community. We looked after a parish church and ran a prep school, and some monks served as chaplains for nearby convents and hospitals.
Some of the monks were scholars. Some were gardeners. We had a few artists and musicians in the community, a scientist or two, and a greater than average collection of philosophers, theologians, linguists, and poets.
It was, perhaps, thanks to the poets that a piece of art was hung in the refectory, the room in the monastery where we took all our meals. (We didn’t talk during meals. One of the monks ate later and read to us during supper.)
The art on the wall contained this line of text: “These I have loved: wet roofs, beneath the lamplight; the strong crust of friendly bread; and many tasting food.”
I stared at those words month after month, year after year.