ORSON VIDEO OF SONG FOR MY FATHERS E-EDITION

Richard Mason and Benjamin Morse, creators of the Orson interactive e-edition of my book Song For My Fathers, have just posted a short video about it on youtube. It's an excellent introduction to the new world of interactive books that Orson has invented. I was thoroughly bowled over by what they and their tech people did with my book. They took it from a static print version to a multidimensional experience combining musical performances, interviews, videos, and dozens of rare photos--not to mention an audiobook track synched to the text. The Orson edition of Song for my Fathers is currently on offer for half price ($12) throughout the summer. Have a look: https://youtu.be/YwEsCFqOdFc

SONG FOR MY FATHERS --THE INTERACTIVE E-BOOK VERSION

 AT LAST! The new improved interactive e-book edition of SONG FOR MY FATHERS is now available for iPad downloads. In addition to the full text of this coming-of-age-in-New Orleans jazz memoir, there is an audio narration, some 100 vintage photos, musical performances, interviews, plus rare video footage of jazz funerals, parades, and recording sessions from the 1950s and 60s. Anyone who liked the print edition (and has an iPad) will get a real kick out of this multidimensional you-are-there version.

Here's how to get it: 1) go to Apple App store, 2) find and download "eLume" app from Orson and Co., 3) go on the app and choose SONG FOR MY FATHERS among their offerings, 4) pay and download the package--takes about 10 minutes, 5) enjoy!

For inquiries and download help: info@orsonandco.com

NEW ENHANCED E-BOOK EDITION OF SONG FOR MY FATHERS

Announcing the launch at the end of April 2015 of the "eLume" (enhanced e-book) edition of SONG FOR MY FATHERS, featuring the complete text, audio narration, 25 musical performances, 100 vintage photos, archival videos, interviews, etc. Available soon on the Apple App store and through orsonandco.com. Here's the whole story:

GREETING "THE JAPANESE GEORGE LEWIS" - 1966

I just ran across a picture that brought back memories of the first time I met Japanese clarinetist Ryoichi Kawai. Ryoichi came to town in 1966 with his Osaka-based New Orleans Rascals and impressed local jazz aficionados with his phenomenal ability to copy his idol George Lewis. George had toured Japan in 1963, playing to packed houses of adoring fans, and making friends with Ryoichi and his band. When Ryoichi and the Rascals arrived at New Orleans airport, George was there to greet them with an impromptu brass band. I was at George's side, playing my Albert system clarinet as he had taught me to do it. The Rascals were thrilled by the jazz serenade and broke out their instruments as soon as the exited the plane. This photo shows me (at about age 17), George, and a partially obscured Ryoichi. The Rascals played concerts at Tulane's Dixon Hall, at Preservation Hall and other venues and charmed everyone not only with their music but with their polite reverence for the  jazz tradition that they were spreading on the other side of the world. I met up with Ryoichi and the Rascals years later at the Ascona Jazz Festival in Switzerland. In 2010, Ryoichi and I crossed paths again at the Rapperswil Festival, also in Switzerand, and teamed up on a couple of numbers that have since found their way onto youtube. Check them out if you're curious to hear what two George Lewis-inspired clarinets from opposite ends of the earth sound like when they get together. I think George would be pleased by the tribute.

Burgundy Street Blues:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pgCkhJJKu14

St. Philip Street Breakdown

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WSRGV__3hiM

CLOSING THE CIRCLE WITH SAMMY RIMINGTON

June 1962: Jim Robinson, George Lewis, Sammy Rimington
Photo by Tom Sancton (Sr.)

In the summer of 1962, a young English clarinet player appeared in Preservation Hall, instrument in hand, and sat in with the George Lewis band. He had learned to play by copying George's records and he did it so well that all the veteran jazzmen at the Hall were amazed by his playing. So was I. I was in the audience that night, all of 12 years old, recently introduced to this music by my father, and enthralled with the whole scene. Sammy was about 20, but looked younger. My father befriended him and showed him around town. When Sammy returned to London, he sent me one of his old clarinets. I hadn't thought of playing an instrument before that, but Sammy's gift put me on the road to becoming a jazz musician myself.

May 2014: Me and Sammy at Economy Hall tent. Photo by Turk Enustun

Sammy and I have met up many times over the intervening years, but our latest encounter, at Jazzfest 2014, was special. Sammy told me he was having trouble with the clarinet mouthpiece he has had for some 20 years. He suspected it had warped and it had a small chip on the edge. Over dinner at our apartment last week, I gave him one of my extra mouthpieces, a Vandoren 5JB model that many jazz players use. Sammy tried it and liked it. When I heard him play at the last day of Jazzfest, I was thrilled by his tone and volume. I was especially pleased by the idea that Sammy had given me my first clarinet and I was able to reciprocate more than half a century later, closing the circle.

Sammy's set at Jazzfest, May 4, 2014: (l to r) Chuck Beatty, Seva Venet, Sammy, Ronell Johnson

TRADING HORNS WITH WOODY ALLEN

Continuing the series of posts prompted by photos and documents discovered in my attic near Paris:

I'm not Jewish. I didn't grow up in Brooklyn. I don't make movies. I'm not even very funny. But I do have one thing in common with Woody Allen: a passion for traditional New Orleans jazz and for the antique Albert system clarinets favored by the old players we admire. I can't claim to be a pal of Woody's and I don't hang with him, but this shared passion has brought us together on several occasions.
     I first met him in 1989 at Michael's Pub in New York, where he held sway every Tuesday with a band led by banjoist Eddy Davis. Eddy introduced us and we had a brief chat between sets. The conversation quickly turned to Albert system clarinets, now obsolete but far superior to the modern Boehm system for reproducing the fat sound of the legendary jazzmen like George Lewis, Johnny Dodds, Sidney Bechet and countless other long-departed greats. It turned out Woody and I both had large collections of old Alberts.
     In both cases, the collecting began with the realization that you can't just walk into a music store and buy a new Albert system if a bus runs over your favorite horn, or it gets blown up by airport security while you're off having a coffee in the departure lounge (this actually happened to a friend of mine). So you start buying Alberts whenever you come across one. The problem is that a lot of them are in bad shape, or out of tune, or otherwise defective. So life becomes an endless search for the perfect Albert (named after Belgian instrument maker Eugène Albert).
     The photo above shows Woody and me comparing clarinets in October 1989 (okay, we both look a little older now). It was taken for TIME magazine to accompany my profile of Woody as a musician. (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,958826,00.html)   My clarinet was a Buffet-Crampon, once owned by the great Lorenzo Tio, Jr. Woody's was an Italian-made Rampone. The combined age of these horns was probably 150 years. Woody was unhappy with his horn, which was considerably out of tune. That didn't really bother him, because he thought being out of tune made you sound more authentic, like the old records, so he would make his band un-tune before they played. But his Rampone had leaks and cracks and the keys were worn out.
     Tired of trekking through pawn shops and flea markets in search of a good horn, Woody finally approached the Buffet factory in Mantes-la-Jolie, near Paris, and asked them to make him a brand new Albert system. They had not made one since the 1930's, but Woody was a star, so they got out their old templates and made him a matched pair of Bb Alberts in elegant leather cases with brass fittings.
     When Woody's band toured Europe in 1996, he called and asked me to meet him at the Buffet factory. He was going there to make some adjustments on his new horns, and the Buffet folks offered to show him their collection of antique clarinets. I met him there and we had a ball examining and trying out the vintage horns, all in beautiful condition. Woody fell in love with a metal instrument and kept playing the same riff over and over. He asked if he could buy it, but the Buffet folks said it was part of their history and they could not sell it at any price. Woody persisted in his offer, but finally gave up. (You can see this sequence in Barbara Kopple's 1997 film "Wild Man Blues.") As we were leaving the factory, Woody handed me one of the two custom-made Buffets. "Consider it a long-term loan," he said. I was delighted, and sent him a vintage horn from my collection to reciprocate.
     Several months later, his secretary called me in Paris and said Woody's main horn had problems and he needed the other one back. I Fedexed it to him and he returned the horn I had loaned him. Some years later, he invited me to his Fifth Avenue apartment to see his collection. It filled a walk-in closet. There were probably 30 or more horns in there. He gave me two of them that he said he was not interested in. I kept one and traded the other to a French musician for the marvellous instrument I play today: a 1900-vintage rosewood Selmer. Don't tell Woody, but it is perfectly in tune.