JazzWax

Adam Rudolph: Both/And

If you're looking for where jazz is heading, I urge you to take a listen to Adam Rudolph's Both/And (Meta), which is out today. The CD features Adam's Moving Pictures ensemble along with his Organic Orchestra Strings. What makes this album special are the textures Adam whips up with Western and Eastern instruments and improvised motifs. Not content to feature traditional jazz lines and eager to channel music and rhythms of many cultures, Adam has created a hypnotic and spiritual jazz fusion. What may seem far out at first is actually quite familiar, gentle and tender.

I'm not going to get into Adam's background or musical philosophy. You can catch all of that in my 2008 interviews here and here (scroll down a bit).

What is important is how he approaches music and arranging.  His passions range from the rain forest and African desert to urban street beats and big band horns. All of his feelings are here on one album. Rather than attempt to describe the music, let me tell you who's playing and the wide range of instruments, many of which may be unfamiliar to you:

Adam Rudolph—hand drumset, thumb piano, bata, mouth bow and percussion.

Ralph Jones—hulusi, bass clarinet, alto and C germanic flutes, soprano and tenor saxophones, bamboo trumpet and bamboo flutes.

Joseph Bowie (Lester Bowie Sr.'s youngest)—trombone, organic electronics, harmonica, congas, bamboo trumpet and percussion.

Graham Haynes—cornet, flugelhorn, bamboo trumpet and percussion.

Brahim Fribgane—oud, cajon, bendir, tarija and percussion.

Kenny Wessel—electric and acoustic guitars and banjo.

Jerome Harris—acoustic bass guitar and slide guitar.

Matt Kilmer—frame drums, kanjira, bata and percussion.

Now add 11 strings and put it all in an imaginative blender. You dig?

This is exciting music, especially when you factor in how Adam arranges his compositions and conducts the group. Within tight pens of structure there is enormous room for improvisation and self-expression.

To quote from an earlier interview with Adam:

"There are through-composed solos, duos, trio and quartets that I add orchestration around in a spontaneous way. How do the musicians know what I want them to play and in which keys? There are 10 cues, each indicated by my fingers. I can cue any of the 10, and they can then improvise freely within them using their imaginations and abilities to listen. In addition, I can use hand signals to give specific directions within each cue that includes held notes, staccatos, range and dynamics, and extended instrumental techniques. There are also 10 different ostinatos [continuously repeated phrases] and 4 orchestration themes."

I can't say enough about this organic-jazz album. It's on the cutting edge but doesn't seem to ever leave home. It's primeval in the most engaging way. And the music, though abstract, never overstays its welcome or becomes dead weight. What happens is that through this music you find your inner spirit. Hey, there's a rogue banjo here with dozens of percussion instruments, a hot jazz trumpet and an instrument that sounds like Bob Dylan's harmonica, all framed by strings on some tracks.

JazzWax tracks: You'll find Adam Rudolph's Both/And (Meta) at iTunes and here. His Dream Garden from 2008 is equally fascinating (here). For more on Adam, go here.

Tour: Adam will be at the Jazz Gallery with Moving Pictures in New York on July 29. For his full schedule, go here (scroll down).

JazzWax clip: Here's Adam Rudolph a few years ago...

 

Art Pepper and the Clarinet

Art Pepper recorded on clarinet sporadically during his career. He doubled on the instrument on his first recording session with Stan Kenton in 1943, in Charles Mingus' bebop big band in 1949 and in Kenton's Innovations Orchestra in 1950. As Laurie Pepper notes below, his decision to perform on the instrument in small groups in the years that followed often depended on whether the sound system allowed him to hear himself blowing.

Recording in small groups, Pepper can be heard playing clarinet on Rose Room from The Early Show in 1952, on Anthropology from Art Pepper Plus Eleven (1959), on tracks from Barney Kessel's Some Like It Hot (1959), Joanie Sommers' Positively the Most (1959), Helen Humes' Songs I Like to Sing and Helyne Stewart's Love Moods (1960).

Among my favorite recordings of Pepper on clarinet is Swing Lightly, Castle Rock and Charleston Alley from Henry Mancini's Combo! (1960). In the years that followed, he plays it on a few tracks recorded live at the Vanguard in 1977 and during his Galaxy studio sessions in 1979. There's also a live appearance in Japan that same year.

Pepper plays the clarinet on the new four-disc set, Blues for the Fisherman, recorded at Ronnie Scott's in London in 1980, newly remastered and released by Laurie Pepper's Widow's Taste label.

Here's Laurie on Art Pepper's clarinet playing:

"The 1980 trip was our first real European tour. We went everywhere—Sweden, Norway, Belgium, Switzerland and France. For this recording, we were in London for two weeks, which we all enjoyed.

"Art practiced clarinet a little every day, just around the house, and he doubled on it in Don Ellis' band and in a rehearsal band he sat in with pretty regularly. But he rarely brought it out for soloing in performance. Art just didn't have a lot of confidence in his chops, and he considered it the hardest wind instrument, not counting the oboe and bassoon, of course.

"Art did play it in Japan on tour in 1979 because the Japanese wanted him to, and the setup in Tokyo was perfect. Why? Because he could hear himself play. If I recall, under the applause for Anthropology on the new Blues for the Fisherman box, he said, 'I can't hear myself. It's just no good.  Never again."

"The problem always was with the mic-ing. He couldn't play the clarinet with conviction if he couldn't hear himself.

"I agree with you about the love shown to him. The warmth of the English fans was overwhelming and terrific.  Art just loved playing for them.

"My next release? It will probably be a concert from this same tour, up in Norway. And I even have video of the performance."

JazzWax tracks: Art Pepper: Blues for the Fisherman (Widow's Taste) is a four-CD box set that can be found here.

JazzWax clip: For those who haven't seen the tremendous 1982 documentary, Art Pepper: Notes from a Jazz Survivor, directed by Don McGlynn, here's Part 1:

Art Pepper: Blues for the Fisherman

Today Laurie Pepper, Art Pepper's widow, has released a four-CD set of Pepper performing in London at Ronnie's Scott's on June 27 and 28, 1980, two years before the alto saxophonist's death. It may well be the finest recording of late Pepper released on Laurie Pepper's Widow's Taste label.

There are two reasons for this: First, despite Pepper's history of frayed nerves on stage, he was remarkably at ease in front of this British audience, which is reflected in the softness of his tone and his patient delivery. Pepper dreaded playing to half-empty houses. He often had nightmares of showing up to a gig with three people half asleep at tables. On these two nights in June, Ronnie Scott's was packed, much to Pepper's delight.

Second, the quality of the live recording is astonishingly vivid. Professionally recorded by London's Mole Jazz Records in cooperation with Ronnie Scott's, the original analog tapes were transferred at 192 kHtz, 24 bit and remastered by Wayne Peet at Newzone Studio in Los Angeles. In plain speak, it sounds like Pepper is in the room with you.

As Laurie told me yesterday:

"This is the only professionally recorded material I've released so far. It cost me a lot more to transfer and edit at 192kHz, 24 bit, but I wanted to tell the audiophiles, truthfully, that such was the case. I have to say, that Wayne [pictured] did some remarkable work, because the piano apparently was recorded almost entirely in the right channel, while everybody else was over in the left.

"Working with two track, he moved it beautifully to the middle and brought the piano up as best he could. He also brought up the voice audio [during Pepper's stage banter] without distortion or hiss and that in spite of the room noise.

"This box has cost me five times more than any other set I've released. Ordinarily I wouldn't have done it, but fans have been persistent, especially Art's fans in Britain.

"Now I hope they justify me by buying it. I do agree with them that it's a classic—musically and emotionally. And it does sound so good." 

The Fisherman here is the late Chris Fisherman, who is referred to by Laurie in her liner notes as Pepper's best friend. Fisherman was a businessman, a lawbreaker and something of a conman. That last persona worked in Pepper's favor. After being arrested following a traffic stop that yielded a suspect straw, Pepper was jailed and released with a court date. But his lawyer was out of town.

So Fisherman filled in by dressing the part and convincing an assistant district attorney in her office that the case was flimsy and should be thrown out. Long story short, Pepper was released.

This London appearance came in the middle of his recordings for the Atlas label, which paired him on the West Coast with a series of marquee musicians, including Jack Sheldon, Sonny Stitt and Pete Jolly. Pepper's rhythm section at the time consisted of Milcho Leviev (p), Tony Dumas (b) and Carl Burnett (d), and they work together superbly throughout.

During the sets at Ronnie Scott's, Pepper's blowing was warm and inviting. The harsh, fearful phrasing we hear on other live recordings of the period is absent, replaced by long, interlocking lines. Sensing audience kinship, Pepper eases into songs, giving them a lilting quality, and his giving mood is reflected in his stage remarks. The audience response is tremendous.

We also hear Pepper on clarinet here on Anthropology and In a Mellow Tone. Pepper rarely played clarinet late in his career, mostly due to his discomfort with the difficult instrument.

Of particular note on this set are the gospel-funk Red Car; Gordon Jenkins' Goodbye, which is delivered almost like Parker's Mood; and Blues for the Fisherman, a mid-tempo tribute to Pepper's close friend and "attorney."

JazzWax tracks: Art Pepper: Blues for the Fisherman (Widow's Taste) is a four-CD box set that can be found here.

JazzWax clip: Here's Part 1 of a three-part series of mini YouTube interview clips between Laurie Pepper and pianist Milcho Leviev...

Interview: Marty Napoleon (Part 3)

It's hard enough to play jazz professionally. Now imagine you're playing with Louis Armstrong and musicians like trombonist Trummy Young, clarinetist Barney Bigard, bassist Milt Hinton, drummer Cozy Cole and vocalist Velma Middleton. That's jazz of the highest order. Plus artists who know a thing or two about entertainment. Pianist Marty Napoleon did just that, both in the U.S. and on foreign tours with Louis Armstrong's All Stars in the early '50s and late '60s. [Pictured: Marty Napoleon and Louis Armstrong]

In Part 3 of my three-part interview with Marty, he talks about Armstrong's distaste for deviation and bebop, as well as Armstrong's ego:

JazzWax: Did you replace Earl Hines in Louis Armstrong’s All Stars in 1952?
Marty Napoleon: Actually, I didn’t. Another guy, Joe Sullivan, followed Hines. But he drank a lot, and one day he fell off the piano stool. Louis told Joe Glaser, his manager, to get rid of him. Glaser called me and asked if I wanted to go with Louis. I knew Glaser from when he booked The Big Four.

JW: What did you say?
MN: I said no.

JW: Are you kidding? What did Glaser say?
MN: He said, “Marty, did you hear me?” I told him I did but that I had promised my wife Bebe that I wouldn’t go back out on the road. But Joe made me a financial offer I couldn’t refuse. The money was too good. So I went with Louis. I didn’t see my kids for seven months.

JW: What did your wife do?
MN: I used to have Bebe come out and join me, but she couldn’t bring the kids. I left the band three times. Each time, Joe would call and offer me more money [laughs].

JW: What did you tell your wife each time?
MN: “Honey, guess what…” She’d get ruffled momentarily but she understood. Louis loved being on the road. He had no kids, and his wife Lucille didn’t mind.

JW: Louis liked to listen to his own music on his phonograph and tape recorder, didn’t he?
MN: Every day he’d play the same records of himself in the ‘20s. Over and over and over again. In the summer, when we’d get to a hotel, if we were on his floor, we knew he was going to leave his door open and play those records. It got to the point that the guys in the band would ask in the lobby when checking in, “What floor is Mr. Armstrong on?” Then we’d ask for a different floor.

JW: Did Armstrong truly dislike bebop?
MN: He hated it. Louis wanted me to play the same solo on stage every night. He got annoyed at me a couple of times when I deviated. We were playing I Surrender Dear one night and added a bebop phrase. He’d say, “Stop playing that bebop shit, you’re playing the song wrong.”

JW: A bebop phrase?
MN: During my first two weeks with the band, we wound up in Honolulu. We were playing Big Butter and Egg Man. There was no announcer. Louis was announcing the songs. At the end of the song, I hit a C-9 chord. As I’m holding it, Louis came over and banged my hand, to tell me to stop playing anything that sounded like bop. He really hated bebop with a passion.

JW: Why?
MN: He never explained. I think he wanted everyone to play like he did, and he resented that bebop trumpeters were getting so much attention. I think he thought bebop was sloppy and for corner-cutters. Every time he did an interview and was asked about Dizzy and Clark Terry, Louis would say, “Man, they all doing me.” Louis had quite an ego.

JW: Where did you join the All Stars?
MN: In Reno, in 1952, I was downstairs meeting the guys. Louis was being dressed by his valet. Before the show, Louis ran down the program for me. He told me at which point I would do a feature piano solo. I told him I didn’t have a feature worked out yet but mentioned that I could sing. Louis said I could do anything I wanted for my slot.''

JW: What did you sing?
MN: Darktown Strutters' Ball, which I had done with the Big Four. When I finished, the house came down.

JW: What happened?
MN: Louis told Joe Glaser, “Get rid of that SOB. He gets too much applause.” After that I didn’t sing with the band. Louis didn’t want me to sing. He also didn’t want me to deviate on the piano. 

JW: Armstrong had some set of ears, yes?
MN: He could hear everything I was doing on my piano solo slot. When he heard me doing things differently that one night, he sat me down after to play tapes of the earlier band. He said, “This is what Earl Hines used to do.” I took the hint. That was the last time I deviated. [Pictured, from left: Louis Armstrong, Earl Hines and Billy Eckstine]

JW: Did audiences enjoy your piano solo segments?
MN: Loved them. When a band does a show, you save the best for the last. I was getting so much applause, Louis wouldn’t let me do an encore even though he let everyone else have one. Not only that, instead of occupying Earl Hines’ slot in the show for a solo spot, he started moving me down in the program.

JW: And yet you remained with Armstrong for some time.
MN: The first time I left the band, I left on April 17 and arrived home the next day. On April 19, I got a call from Joe Glaser asking me to come back, saying that the band wasn’t working out with Joe Bushkin at the piano. Apparently Bushkin didn’t get along with Louis. [Pictured: Joe Glaser, Louis Armstrong and Cork O’Keefe sign the contract for the Fleischmann’s Yeast Show in 1937]

JW: Why not?
MN: Bushkin used to put his leg out and play a million notes behind Louis. He also once waved to someone in the audience while Louis was playing a ballad. Louis didn't like that and let him go. Louis told me the first day I joined the band, “When it’s your spot, you do what you do. When I solo, I don’t want to hear any rambling back there." The third time Joe Glaser called, I insisted. I said, “Look, Joe, I really don’t want to go out on the road. My wife doesn't want me to be away from the family for such long stretches." To Glaser’s credit, he came up with a clever idea.

JW: What did he do?
MN: He said, “I'm sure your wife misses you. Here's what I’ll do. I’m going to send her a check every week.” And that's what he did starting in 1966, and I went back with Louis. We spent the entire summer playing locally at Jones Beach. I stayed with Louis until 1971, when he played the Waldorf Hotel. It was his last gig.

JW: What did your wife say about Glaser's idea to pay her the check?
MN: She said, “You mean I’m one of the All Stars now?” [laughs]

JazzWax tracks: Marty Napoleon recorded Jazz From Then Til Now in 1958 with Charlie Shavers, Sol Yaged, Paul Hubbell, Pee Wee Russell, Harry Sheppard, Dick Rath, Chubby Jackson and Mickey Sheen. You'll find it here.

Interview: Marty Napoleon (Part 2)

After playing with a series of big bands in the mid-'40s, pianist Marty Napoleon recorded in small bop groups in the late '40s. His optimistic, high-energy personality and keen ear endeared him to many of the top players on the scene. He got along with everyone, even Buddy Rich, though that was a close call. [Photo of Marty Napoleon courtesy of Betty and Chris]

Oh, by the way, today's Marty's 90th birthday. Happy birthday, Marty!!

In Part 2 of my three-part interview with Marty, the pianist talks about Charlie Ventura, Chubby Jackson, Carmen Leggio and, yes, Buddy Rich:

JazzWax: You recorded with Allen Eager in 1947?
Marty Napoleon: Yes. I got a call from Teddy Reig [pictured], the producer at Savoy. He asked me to play the session with Shelly Manne, Kai Winding, Allen and Eddie Safranski. Allen could play beautifully but he was a strange guy.

JW: How so?
MN: In the studio, he refused to play anything everyone suggested. He kept saying the stuff was too square. So we recorded four tracks that were based on the chord changes to other things. Like O-go-Mo was based on Idaho. Kai Winding was a doll. A great trombone player. People were always goofing around with his name, which was pronounced Kay. They’d say things like, “Here’s the gorgeous Kai Winding.” He was known as “Miss Kay Winding” in Bob Astor’s band. Kai took it all in stride.

JW: You played in Charlie Ventura's orchestra in the late ‘40s?
MN: Yes, I loved Charlie [pictured]. I was with his big band at New York’s Arcadia Ballroom. I was one of the singers with Lucy Reed. We used to do vocal duets. Al Cohn wrote an arrangement for me for a Sicilian song called Dicitencello Vuie. In English it means You Tell Them. I still can’t believe it. Al Cohn wrote an arrangement for me [laughs].

JW: How did you come to be in Ventura’s Big Four in 1951?
MN: That was me, Ventura, Buddy Rich and Chubby Jackson [pictured]. Chubby called me one night from a hotel. I was playing with my trio at a club called the Lampliter in Valley Stream, N.Y., just outside of New York City. At first I thought Chubby was kidding. He said, “Marty, I’m not kidding. I’m in a hotel with Ventura and Buddy Rich. You’re the guy we want on piano.”

JW: What did you think?
MN: I still didn’t believe him. Finally Chubby put Ventura on the phone, so I knew it was real.

JW: Where did you play?
MN: Joe Glaser [pictured] booked us into Martin’s Preview Lounge in Chicago for two weeks, and we wound up being there for four months. Buddy DeFranco was with a quartet across the street with a singer doing You’ve Changed. But they weren’t getting any business. So they came to see us. On the corner was the Capitol Theater. Next to it was the Capitol Lounge. Dizzy Gillespie was there with a small group. They used to come to see us and sit in. There was no business in their club either [laughs].

JW: How did you get along with Buddy Rich?
MN: Buddy was a piece of work. I sang with the group. But Buddy didn’t like that. He was a singer and wanted to be Frank Sinatra. On one of our Big Four sessions, Mel Torme came running over to Liederkranz Hall where we were recording in New York. He wanted to hear us in the studio. But Buddy said to him, “Mel, would you like to do this tune?,” holding out his sticks to him. Mel jumped at the chance and took Buddy's seat behind the drums while the four of us sang Love Is Just Around the Corner. But Buddy hogged the mike, and when the record came out, the papers said, "With vocal by Buddy Rich." He had achieved his goal. 

JW: Was Rich hard on you?
MN: He tortured me. Every time I sang a ballad, the girls in the audience would swoon. They’d put the spot on me when I did a ballad and subdued the light on the other guys. When the girls said, “Ohhh, Marty,” Buddy would imitate them in a mocking way. He couldn’t stand anyone else getting attention.

JW: What kind of beat did he play behind you on those ballads?
MN: That's the other thing. While I’d sing, he’d race the beat and then slow it down. I could see him smiling at me out of the corner of my eye. He'd also use a sock cymbal to try to mess me up. One night he irked Ventura for some reason. Charlie got so mad that he threw his sax down and walked off the stage rather than go after him.

JW: What happened after Ventura left the stage?
MN: Buddy said, “Let’s play Crazy Rhythm.” But he played so loud and hard. Chubby and I just made believe we were playing but we weren’t. Chubby was twirling the bass and everything, and I was making believe I was touching the keys, but I wasn't. People didn't know the difference because Buddy was playing so loud. At the end, the audience gave us a big ovation, even thought Chubby and I actually were laying out. Everybody thought Buddy was a drag.

JW: Even fans?
MN: Some of them. One night in a club, we were finishing Evolution of Jazz. It was a number we did in which we did musical impersonations of different jazz greats. After we were done, we left the bandstand on a break. I was standing against the wall next to Buddy. A girl came over with matchbook cover for an autograph.

JW: What did he do?
MN: He signed it for her. When she looked at his signature, she said she couldn’t believe that she had Buddy Rich’s signature. Buddy smiled and reached into his pocket for a pack of gum. He pulled out a stick and put it in his mouth. The girl looked at it and asked if she could have a stick, too.

JW: What did Rich say?
MN: Just like that, Buddy turned on her. He told her to get her own pack of gum. She said, “I can’t believe how rude you are.” He said, “Get out of here. I’ve been analyzed enough for one night.”

JW: What did the girl do?
MN: She tore up the matchbook with his signature right in front of his face and said, “You’re the lowest of the low.” Buddy blew hot and cold, just like that.

JW: What was Chubby Jackson like?
MN: Chubby was great. He’d get a job in a club and after a couple of nights he’d get fired. It happened all the time.

JW: Why?
MN: He’d always start telling the clubs' managers what to do. “You should have the bandstand over there, you should do this, you should do that.” The manager would finally get ticked and say, “Man, you’re telling me how to run my club?” But Chubby was full of fun and enormously inventive as a player. He was on the ball all the time.

JW: Did you enjoy playing with him?
MN: All the time. One time I had a record date and had lined up a bass player for the job. But when Chubby called me in New York, I gave the date to him. This was in 1958. We had Carmen Leggio on tenor, Joe Puma on guitar, me, Chubby and Mickey Sheen on drums. The tunes were all standards, but head arrangements. Even still, we all ended at the exact same place on these songs. That's how tight we were.

JW: How did Leggio wind up in the group?
MN: I was booked to play at the Metropole in New York and needed a horn. I asked my drummer Gary Chester if he knew anyone. He said, “I know a guy. He hasn’t worked in a while. He’s parking cars.” I asked, “Is he good?” He said, “Marty, he’s great.” Carmen came in and got up on stage. My Fair Lady had just came out on Broadway, so I asked him, “Do you know, On the Street Where You Live?”

JW: What did Leggio say?
MN: He said, “No, but play it and I’ll follow you.” So I opened up the tune, and he played the frigging thing with me note for note. I’m fooling around with the melody and everything, and he’s phrasing it just like I’m phrasing it. I kept telling him to take another chorus. He must have taken 40 of them, improvising on every chord change. Carmen was amazing.

JazzWax tracks: The four tracks recorded by Charlie Ventura's Big Four are available only on this import, Charlie Ventura: Quartet & Quintet, here. You can sample the tracks, Nos. 12 through 15.

JazzWax clip: Here's Marty Napoleon behind Frank Wess on Forget the Woman in 1992...

Interview: Marty Napoleon (Part 1)

Marty Napoleon is probably best known as the pianist in Louis Armstrong's All Stars, starting in 1952. That in and of itself would make Marty a superstar, considering who was in that band. But perhaps even more surprising is that Marty did not read music in the early part of his professional career. All of his jazz-playing skills came from his ear and a family thick with musicians, including pianist Teddy Napoleon and uncle Phil Napoleon. What also may be news to you is that Marty started as a vocalist—and something of a matinee idol.

In Part 1 of my three-part interview with Marty, the 89-year-old high-energy singer and pianist talks about growing up in Brooklyn, playing his first gig with Shelly Manne in 1941 (when the drummer was still a New Yorker), and working with Bob Astor:

JazzWax: You grew up in Brooklyn, didn’t you?
Marty Napoleon: I did. I miss the Brooklyn of my youth and my family. I cry every day. My family was so great. I grew up in the Depression, but all I have are pleasant memories. We lived in the Bensonhurst section, at 149 Bay 47th St.

JW: You had many musicians in your family, yes?
MN: Yes, and everyone played jazz. My father played the banjo and my mother played guitar. My grandfather, my great-grandfather and even my great-great grandfather all played guitar. My uncle Phil played trumpet. He led a big New York jazz band in the ‘20s called the Original Memphis Five [pictured]. My cousins and uncles could play, too. The only problem is I never had uncles who owned a clothing or furniture store, so I never could get anything like that at a discount [laughs]. All we did is play music and have fun. And eat.

JW: Did your parents emigrate from Italy?
MN: Yes, my parents were from Sicily—my mother from Palermo and my father from Agrigento. My father was a Good Time Charlie. If more than three people came into the house, he told my mother to put food on.

JW: Your house must have been a popular place.
MN: If a light was on, people would drop by. The neighborhood loved my family. Our home was like living in the country. In the summer, people who came over would sit under the thick grapevine that grew on a trellis over the garage and provided shade. We had a yard out back, too. There were three empty lots adjacent to our house back there but they were never developed. The man who owned them wanted $2,000 a lot, and nobody had that kind of money. So my mom used them for a garden. She grew everything—vegetables, tomatoes, corn. [Pictured: Brooklyn in the '30s]

JW: How many brothers and sisters?
MN: Three boys and two girls in our family. There was Teddy, Andy, Margaret, me and Josephine. Teddy played piano, Andy played the drums, Margaret sang, I played paino and my sister Joselphine sang. My brother, Teddy, of course, went on to play with Gene Krupa for about 14 years.

JW: Did your father feed everyone by playing the banjo?
MN: His sign-painting helped my family make ends meet. Sometimes he’d ask for a piano instead of pay. We had a  few pianos at home by the time I was interested in music. In addition to being a musician, my father was a sign painter. One summer, he painted a large country scene and we all took pictures in front of it. That’s as close as we got to going away [laughs].

JW: How did you learn to play piano?
MN: There was so much music in the house. I first was going to play the trumpet, but the doctor advised against it. I had a heart murmur, so piano was it. My older brother Teddy studied piano with a teacher. When I was 8 years old I started asking him questions. He was a big shot already, playing in a band with trumpeter Lee Castle. We knew I was going to be a musician. That was all we did at home and the only profession we knew. I had one year of piano lessons. [Pictured: Teddy Napoleon]

JW: When did you start playing professionally?
MN: I started playing when I was 17. I had a quartet, and we played nights at social clubs. The band was called The FAM Cats. "FAM" was an acronym that stood for the letters in the first names of the guys in the band.

JW: What was your first jazz date?
MN: You’ll never believe this. My first call was from a guy named Shelly Manne [laughs]. Can you imagine? This was 1941. I don’t know why he called me. I didn’t know him. Someone must have given him my name. Billy Shaw, the talent agent, hired Bob Astor and told him if he got a band together, he’d book him into the Wigwam Ballroom in Budd Lake, N.J. So Shelly [pictured] called me. I gave up my quartet that day.

JW: How was it playing in New Jersey?
MN: I loved it. You know who we had on first trumpet and alto sax? Les and Larry Elgart. They were a pair of nudniks. 

JW: Where was your first singing job?
MN: It was as a boy singer with Henry Jerome's band at Childs Paramount, a huge restaurant under the Paramount Theater in New York. I played piano as well but couldn’t read music.

JW: You also played in Chico Marx’s band around this time.
MN: Yes, I was with Chico for a year and a half. I was worried all the time that they were going to figure out I couldn’t read. Every week, all we did was play theaters, one after the next. The first time I played with the band I put the music up on the piano and pretended I was reading. On top of my lead sheet in red ink was the list of the songs they would be playing in show, so I could follow along. I would try to find out what they were playing by following along as best I could. By the time I got through with that band after a year and a half, I was reading music.

JW: In 1945, you were with Charlie Barnet. Nice guy?
MN: I loved it. I remember reading an issue of Down Beat magazine that said Barnet was in California. A week later, Jimmy Lamar, a sax player called and asked if I wanted to play with Charlie Barnet’s band. He said we’re going into the Strand Theater for 10 weeks. [Photo of Charlie Barnet in 1946 by William P. Gottlieb]

JW: Was there an audition?
MN: No. I got the job right away. On stage, they built an elevated platform, to showcase different members of the band. This was Charlie’s [pictured] thing, and it was very dramatic. The stage would be dark, and they’d have the spot on me at the piano. I’d play like Duke Ellington—very lush. Then the spot would click off me and another would go on the saxes who had climbed up on that stage. Then it would go dark again and back to me. Then back on the platform, but instead of the saxes, the trumpets would be there. It was very exciting from the audience’s view.

JW: Did Charlie use the platform?
MN: Oh sure, all the time. Except once. One day, we were at the Strand and Charlie didn't show up. We learned later he had gotten arrested after promising a hooker named Broadway Rose that he was going to marry her. Now, when we would open a show at the Strand, we’d be set back on this mechanized movable platform in the dark. The spot would hit Charlie playing Cherokee on that little platform. Then he’d step off and come to the front of the stage while playing. Our platform would slide forward to join him. Well, someone had to be Charlie that night, since he wasn’t there.

JW: Who played the part?
MN: Our lead alto was a little guy named Rae De Geer. When he played, he’d hunch over. So when we opened that night playing Cherokee, the spot hit the platform. Everyone in the audience was expecting Charlie. Instead, there’s Rae, hunched over. The problem is the light guy had the spot set for Charlie. So the light was hitting the top of Rae’s back. When he walked down to the front of the stage, everyone in the band was laughing so hard. He didn’t have any socks on and his suit was disheveled. The audience roared.

JazzWax note: This afternoon, Marty will be appearing with David Ostwald’s Louis Armstrong Centennial Band at Birdland in New York at 5:30. For more information, go here.

JazzWax tracks: To hear Marty Napoleon with Charlie Barnet in 1945, download tracks 12 through 20 from The Jubilee Shows No. 207 & 214. You'll find it here.

JazzWax clip: Here's Marty Napoleon playing St. Louis Blues in 1982...