Mike’s Drumming Adventures

Picture an idealic sunny Sunday afternoon at the prestigious Wellesley Country Club just outside of Boston. Spending breaks walking around the beautifully landscaped grounds, enjoying a cold beer on the deck overlooking the golf course…. I thought it odd that all day long people were asking, “Is John going to play?” “Hey are you guys going to let John play?” Now, every professional musician will tell you that there are many possibilities that can occur as the result of letting someone sit in. The possibilities range from harmless fun to embarrassing. It can often ends up being the equivalent to what’s known in baseball as a “rally killer.” I kept redirecting ’sit in’ inquiries to other topics such as the Red Sox or the weather.

Finally it’s time to have dinner and standing next to me in line at the buffet is the bride’s mom. She asks, “Are you going to let my Johnny sit in?” It’s the bride’s mom so reluctantly I say, “Sure, what instrument does your Johnny play?” She raised her eyebrows and with an incredulous look said, “Guitar!” “Ok, geez… just have him come up right after dinner and introduce himself.”

With a smirk, I inform the band with an apology that some guy is gonna come up and sit in and play his guitar. With a typical roll of their collective eyes they mumble something like, “Mmmm yeah, ok,,,, whatever….” After the first song of the first set ends, a gentleman steps up to the band stand holding a crying baby… “Hey man, sorry about this, my mom and sister want me to sit in…but I’ve got to get out of here…my baby just won’t stop crying so I’m going to split like right now.” The entire band stands and stares like a pack of deer blinded by headlights…our mouths agape…finally I hear the bass player, a young kid studying at Berklee pipe up, …”Oh my God, Sco…that’s Sco… I can’t believe…it’s John Flipping Scofield.” With a wave of his hand, the monster guitarist known as John Scofield vanished as quickly as he had come. The band was humbled.

In the early ’80s when I was studying with Alan Dawson, the mayor of Boston held a dinner in Alan’s honor and dubbed the day, Alan Dawson Day. Alan was given the key to the city and a dinner was held at Anthony’s Pier Four. Present were many jazz and music industry dignitaries. At the time I was listening intently to as many jazz records that I could get my hands on, especially “Now He Sings Now He Sobs” by Chick Corea featuring some amazing drumming by jazz drumming icon and Boston native, Roy Haynes. Around the same time I was also giving much attention to a trio album by Oscar Peterson. I was very excited to be sitting next to Mr. Haynes at Alan’s dinner especially after Alan had just introduced us. Wanting to make conversation with the drumming legend, I turned and said with a huge smile, “I loved the stuff you did with Oscar Peterson.” Mr. Haynes turned to me with a scowl and said annoyingly, “That was Louis Hayes.” My red face turned to see Alan Dawson keeled over with his face in his hand’s laughing his head off.

In over 30 years of gigging I can count on one hand the number of minor problems I’ve had dealing with subs. Most musicians in the New England area that do this kind of work are proud professionals that take their role seriously. There was one sax player who subbed on one gig. He had come highly recommended by a “friend.” His one-night association with our band became a Gig Nightmare of such proportion that whenever I see members who have left the band since then, one of the first things said is, “Hey, you ever run into that sax player guy who…..” One requirement for a horn player to sub in our band is that they have to be a decent reader.

It all started like this. I got in touch w/ Mr. Sax, gave him the details of the gig and after listening for what seemed like an eternity of him dropping the names of every major star in the business that he’s worked with and wrote charts for, he agreed to do it. I got his email addres so I could put everything in writing for him. It’s always good to create a record. He called me several times to ask me the same details that I’d emailed to him saying that he lost it or deleted it or this or that……. I emailed it to him again detailing the pay, that he would be paid by check and that the check would be mailed, start end time, directions, attire, accommodations etc….

A red flag should have gone up when he continued to call me and ask me for the same details I had emailed him. The venue was almost 4 hours north of our homes in Boston. I’m very detail oriented and there’s always a little extra detail that goes into planning even a short road trip such as this one. The event was a very hip, high-end wedding under a tent at a huge private estate in coastal Maine on a clifftop overlooking the ocean. It was a beautiful summer day. The weather was perfect, not too hot, not too cold, but I was sweating bullets. We were minutes away from our hit and still there was no sign of Mr. Sax. My anxiety by now was riding very high. Finally one of my guys pokes me in the back and says, “Hey man, is that the sax player?” To my amazement and horror, I spied him way down in the parking area getting dressed into his tux (pants included) while around him guests were still arriving …..the band took the stage and began our first set without him. Mr. Sax made his way up the walk accompanied by a large woman. He finally got to the stage and while we were playing began to set up his mic and music stand.  Smiling, he turns and yells, “Hey where do I plug in?” I yelled that we’d hook him up after the first set. He began overplaying from the get-go. It was obvious that he was a terrible reader and he tried to overcompensate by blowing as many notes as possible in the least amount of space. The set went ok in spite of his rambunctious playing and we finally got a break.

I wanted to have a talk with Mr. Sax by now because I was still sick to my stomach that he was late and that he got dressed in the parking area in front of guests and that he brought an uninvited female friend. I was additionally horrified to learn that while we were working, members of the band observed Mr. Sax’s huge woman companion helping herself to the buffet before the poor guests even had a chance. I was going nuts and thinking my reputation is going to be mud. I was very anxious to have a chat with Mr. Sax. I went outside the tent and saw a table. On the table were 1/2 empty liquor bottles that the caterer had used. At one end of the table was Mr. Sax. He was pouring himself a few beverages from the bottles. He was already trashed by the time I got to him. I had no idea how to handle it. I simply told him to get himself together and get through the gig…. oh, yeah, and I also told him that it wasn’t proper protocol to invite spouses and girlfriends to private affairs. I rarely lose my cool but when he began to protest, I screamed in his face,  “Send her on her way!” He wouldn’t tell her so I had to. Then he developed an attitude toward me!

We’d only done one set by now and had another three hours to go. As the evening progressed I observed more shocking behavior. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, my peers and I looked on helplessly as booze breath put his arms around the bride and was overheard saying, “Wow, you’re really beautiful, congratulations …blah, blah blah…” He then proceeded to try to kiss her as she tried to wriggle out of his smelly grasp. I was thinking to myself, “I am so screwed.” It was a miracle that she never said anything to anyone about the incident. She just let it go. Thankfully it was becoming quite a wild party and much of this horror show was beginning to pale compared to some of the guests behaviors…like the whole bridal party skinny dipping in the pool…but I digress.

The point is, much of his shenanigans was going right over their collective heads. Finally the gig ended and somehow we made it through, miraculously unscathed. After the gig, we rode back to our rooms together. Now, all night, in addition to his bad behavior, he was bragging to us and dropping the names of all these greats that he supposedly played with, telling us what a great reader he was, and how he wrote horn charts for this guy and that guy. As I said earlier, it was so obvious that he was not a good reader to put it mildly. He then made one fatal mistake. Mr. Sax complained to our bass player about our horn book, “Who wrote those charts?” “Those Mother f’ng charts suck. I couldn’t even read those charts….when I was working w/ Dr. John, we’d never have bad charts like those….” etc, etc.

The bass player, a very refined man, who was also an amazing cellist, had written the charts. The charts were impeccable. I had never seen him angry. Well, he exploded on the guy and because I’d like to keep this clean, I will refrain from writing the dialogue that took place but let’s just say, it was kind of like a Buddy Rich tirade. We headed now very quietly into the dark night toward our destination, the very quaint and beautiful seacoast town of Darmiscotta, Maine. Now after telling the guy 20 times in emails (that he kept saying he didn’t get or lost even though he responded to some of them) that he would be mailed a check……he still had the nerve to send his very obnoxious girlfriend, (yes, the one that was pigging out at the buffet) to my door at the Darmiscotta Inn around 2 or 3 a.m. looking for cash. She’s banging on our door, “Mr. Sax is going crazy…he wants his bread.” We could hear him screaming from his room, “Tell those mother *&^%$ er’s I want my money.” I told her, go back and tell him if he doesn’t shut the (fill in the blank) up, I was going to come back there and have a little talk with him (only I wasn’t as polite as that).

This went on for awhile, back and forth she comes and goes, “He’s really angry, he’s going crazy in there….” I didn’t want to call the desk because he was staying under our name. He finally calmed down or passed out and things settled. We got up around and exhausted but happy to be free of him had a good story to laugh about over breakfast down the road. Mr. Sax called me a few days later to apologize and explain that he was off his meds or something…. I told him that every time someone calls me to recommend a sax player, I’m going to give them his name and say, “Don’t use this guy under any circumstances.”

To me sometimes,  certain people seem bigger than life.  There is something special that separates them from the rest of the pack.  I’d bet that anyone who’s met or known Elvin Jones would say that about him.   I’m estimating it was around 1995, Jumpstreet was working a wedding at the Charles Hotel in Cambridge, MA.  Inside the Charles is a great jazz club called The Reggata Bar.   Members of Jumpstreet at the time included Peter Calo  on guitar and a wonderful saxophone player and friend from Boston,  Myanna.   Everyone was being stoic but my excitement was visibly boiling over because Elvin Jones was playing in the Reggata Bar!  I was chomping at the bit to get a chance to see Elvin live.  Knowing the staff at the Charles, we were allowed to sneak in and catch some of Elvin’s show.   I had never seen him play and it was so cool to hear and see those signature licks and a-bombs come to life (and that was with brushes) .  The band finished their first show and Ravi Coltrane turned to us and said, “Hey Myanna.”  I never asked Myanna how she knew Ravi.  They struck up a conversation.  Meanwhile,  I had stepped out into the elevator area where I knew Elvin would be heading.   Elvin came strolling over and it was just he and I.    A white towel wrapped around his neck and the steam coming off his body added to his giant aura.  I mean the guy had a presense about him.  I knew deep down that he was just a mortal like me,  but there was something, an energy,  almost like an invisible light around him.   I didn’t want to bug him with something so trivial,  but I knew I would never get a chance like that again to get a keepsake of that moment .   He was a big guy and I stood there like a little boy looking up at him.   He was smiling at me. I think he sensed that I was a little uncomfortable.  It was a welcoming smile. He was so unpretentious.      “Elvin would you sign this for me?”  I held out one of my business cards and a pen.   He took it from me, kept smiling and asked me my name.  “Mike” I told him.  Still with the big grin he wrote, “To Mike, Elvin Jones”.    What a treasure.  This coming Sunday (May 18th) will mark the fourth year since Elvin left us.   He had a long life and his contribution to jazz is unmeasurable.     Year’s later, I remember driving to Dave Mattacks’ house for a lesson.  During the 26 mile drive I was listening to something Coltrane… I think it may have been ” A Love Supreme”.  When I arrived at Dave’s I said (looking for some insight) , “I dunno man,  I’ve been listening to Elvin on the way down here and I can’t even visualize what’s going on…..I have no idea what the heck he’s doing… “  Dave just laughed and said,  “MIke, no one does.”