'Ain't that a bitch?' said Jay McShann


 

 

Jay McShann of Kansas City gets interviewed at the Vine Street Bar & Grill.

 

 

 

One of the grand old warriors of jazz passed through town one summer not long ago: Jay McShann, the rarely seen Kansas City pianist and band leader who gave Charlie Parker his first big break


Readers of album liner notes know the latter fact, just as they know that drummer Gus Johnson and bassist Gene Ramey played with McShann before they went on to better-known things — Johnson as the man who drove Count Basic's comeback band in the early 1950s and Ramey, who was also with Basic, as one of the hottest rhythm-section men in New York City.


McShann also had Al Hibbler, who later starred with Duke Elllington, on vocals, and Jimmy Forrest on tenor saxophone, who later wrote “Night Train.”


It was quite a pioneering outfit, this ensemble McShann led back when bebop was being born. The boys made a little splash in New York and won some fans in L.A., but when McShann entered the Army in 1945, they dispersed. Aside from a few fairly well-known records like "The Jumpin' Blues," their sound entered big-band Valhalla, where it holds ghostly sway with the Billy Eckstine band of the same period.


Since then, "I been gettin' older and uglier," McShann said as he sipped on a whiskey and water in his dressing room at the Vine Street Bar & Grill. He let out a big laugh that showed his gold front tooth.


The dental touch betrayed his game.


That and the performance he had just given with Ed Green, drums; Allen Jackson, bass; and John Bolivar, saxophones and flute.


Deftly, sweetly, but with a deadeye bead on the blues, he rocked through a set that began with "Willow Weep for Me’’ which he decked out with boogie-woogie interludes that never blocked its lyrical flow. He sang "Cherry Red" with authoritative intimacy and ended with his all time hit "Confessin' the Blues,” a wry ballad of humility.

 


This guy's game is being a world-class tickler of the barrelhouse piano-playing line that goes back to Jelly Roll Morton, who wore a diamond in his tooth; James P. Johnson, who was built like McShann but wore a derby when he played; and the impish Fats Waller, of which we all know what he looked like.


Now, in the dressing room, McShann turned to his vocalist, Priscilla Bowman, who had just shared the spotlight with him singing a memorably satiric version of  "Release Me."


"I'm puffin' and blowin' up there, so I know you tired," he said to her. "I know you tired. Hell, I'm twice older than you, what the hell you thinkin' about. She's 40. And I'm 80." And he let out an even louder laugh.


Is he as old as Benny Carter? "Well, I'm sure close, I'm after him. I'm damn near 80. Oh, I was out here to Los Angeles, in 19 — was it '43 or '44? Way back then.: played out here at the Plantation Club. I played out here in Hollywood. I played at NBC, did a lot of stuff with NBC. I had the big band then.


"And then later on, I got kids; You got to put them kids in school and take care of 'em. That shut it off after then. Now I got two great-grandkids, three grandkids. Ain’t that a bitch? Whoo-ee!"


He first met Bird, as Parker became known, when the immortal-to-be was toting his alto saxophone around his native Kansas City, Mo., after a trip to the Ozarks with George Lee's band. Parker was 17.


"I ran into him, heard him blowin' and we talked. So I said, 'Well, if we get a chance, we'll blow together.' So we did, it happened that way."


The veteran jazzman smiled wisely.


"At one time, Bird came to me and said, 'Man, this John Jackson (the other alto player) is readin’ rings around me.' We had a lot of new music at the time. He says, 'I gotta go in the woodshed for a couple of days. And when I come out the woodshed, if I don't cut that stuff by sight, you can fine me.' Bird came out and Bird cut it better than anybody."


Before he reached town on that rare 1987 visit, McShann had been playing at a club in Kansas City, Mo., where he still lives. Before that, he tore it up in Otter Crest, Ore., at the annual jazz festival there. He's on his way to Oslo, Norway, for another festival. "I'm just going over there and I'll be playin' with some guys over there. I don't know who-all's on the bill, you know. A lot of gigs I do are like that, I never know who I'll be playing with.


"And I do some of those things they have on television like MT, what is that?"


MTV?


"Yeah, and those things that they do, on, uh, PB ..."


PBS?


"Yeah, PBS.


"I've been moving around a bit more, these days. I'm kinda moving around quite a little bit more than I have been."


 

Text and photographs by Tony Gieske

Tony Gieske has been reviewing jazz and occasionally playing it on his cornet since the 1950s, when he wrote the jazz column for the Washington Post. Now he works for the Hollywood Reporter, where his reviews and photographs, such as these, appear regularly.The photographs are available as prints or as scans by sending an e-mail to grnskl@earthlink.net. More jazz stuff can be seen by clicking on the links beneath.

 

 

Jumpin' in the Boneyard: The prelude

The night they remembered Woody

Woody remembers Woody

Woodchoppin' for the old Woodchopper

The blue flame goes out

Riding with the boys on the Count Basie bus

A mockingbird sang on Citrus Place: Annie Ross

Melissa Manchester's voice does everything she asks

Earthy delights with the Bricktop of the blues

Uan Rasey: Play it reverently

Young Jazz Giants: Newsy and juicy

A taste of the new Brownie, Maurice Brown

Hank Jones: Not a minute to waste

Horace Silver becomes more spiritual

Take your time, Sister D

Gerald Wilson reveals the secret of bebop

Teddy Edwards: 'You ain't done nothing but play great.'

No sun, no day: Sun Ra

Tiny Grimes: 'I never could afford the other two strings'

'Ain't that a bitch!' said Jay McShann

Woof of melancholy, warp of jazz

'Pop, can you play this thing?' Stacy asks Jimmy Rowles

Hamp's last stand

Hamp's last stand: The outtakes

Final flight

'I never wanted a band,' said Marshal Royal

Twinkly but unblinking: Lorraine Feather

Pronounced john-gear-off

Miss Peggy Lee, 1920-2002

The real Count

'A little trumpet player from down in Dayton named Snooky'

Sweets Edison: Death of a Mainstay

Hubbard in the hood

With abandon but chops: DDB

Dwight Trible, kick-ass holy man 

'I'm Roy Haynes, Dammit!'

High kicks and belly blows: James Carter

The accursed Coltrane

Jazz Fusion Is Not Dead: Billy Cobham

Brookmeyer: Soft spoken but hard core.

Snakes in the Clover: Steve Lacy

Sam Rivers: Like Bartok rocking out

Les Paul, Solid Body

Billy Higgins: We're really blessed

A night full of deep things: Charles Lloyd

Death of the horse whisperer

Talking about Chet Baker

A visit from the Poinciana Kid

 Adieu to Art, a Euro-gentleman of jazz

Blues for Bags, 1923-99

A night with the Florence nightingales 

 An ancient afternoon with Dizzy

Bill Berry's Own Private Ellington

A Bowl full of bebop

A blessing blows into town

Blowing with Buckaroo Banzai

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