“Once
the events on the evening of November 27th 1948 started, nothing
would ever stop them until sunrise.”
As I walk up to 52nd street between Fifth and
Seventh Avenue I think to myself “I wonder who is playing at the 3 Deuces Jazz club
tonight?” The night is frigid from the quick change of season in late November.
The leaves have fallen, the cold breeze skimming my face and the roads are
rather slick from the light dusting of snow we’d had the night before. I know I am close to the action as the
streets become dense with people. The well-dressed women and the men in their
newly tailored suits surely bring a sense of style to the New York Jazz scene.
Once I hit Fifth Avenue, I can see the presence of a nearly God like
atmosphere. Although it is nighttime, the neon club signs brighten the sky
around 52nd street. The strong smell of marijuana is also prevalent
throughout the clubs on Fifth Avenue. Continuing up the street I pass by one of
the hippest joints in town, the “3 Deuces” Club.
“Oh
good heavens! The Charlie Parker Quintet are playing, I have to go in, maybe I
can finally meet the great ‘bird” himself”; no one plays Sax like Bird. Charlie
Parker’s nickname was always “Bird”, whether it was his love of chicken that
gave him the name or not, we can’t be sure.
But it inspired many of his classic song titles such as “Yardbird”. I
enter the 3 Deuces and immediately feel a rush from the energy that permeates
the place. The people, both blacks and whites, are surprisingly in the same room
without conflict, why is it like that in here but total war outside? The room
is rather small and a thick layer of smoke has risen to the top. There are
people everywhere! Yelling, laughing and everyone is drinking. So of course, to
fit in, I light up a cigarette and go to the bar for a drink. The bartender, a
big man towering at least six foot three stands there “Cognac Hennessy please”,
before I look back to see if the musicians have arrived a voice interrupts
“Make that two, I need a good stiff drink!” I look back and it is no one other
than Bird himself. I do not know what to say? Do I start a conversation, should
I ask for an autograph? Or do I even have the audacity to ask to sit in with
these guys I am just a white boy who likes Jazz, but can I really play it? The bartender slams the drinks down “There you go
gentlemen”, and turning to me adds “No charge since you’re with Charlie.” I was
shocked to say the least. Me being associated with the great Charlie Parker, it
was indeed an honor just to drink the same as him. “Thanks Max” says Charlie,
he was not a very old man probably not even thirty yet, but up close I see a
very worn out young man. His eyes were red and he a rather gaunt look about
him, not the type of look you would see from such a precious musician. Despite
these changes, I hope his playing is as good as it is on the albums.
His
musicians walk in behind him, Max Roach on Drums, Miles Davis on Trumpet,
Leonard Gaskin on bass and Dexter Gordon on Tenor Sax, what a lineup! However,
I look at Max Roach and he looks very sick from withdrawal, almost yellow in
good light. These guys work hard, I suppose they are used to it.
As I sit
down in front of the stage, the band starts, the music is invigorating and the
effect these men have on the audience is outstanding. The first intermission is
after two hours of essentially improvisation. I finished my Cognac 20 minutes
in, but I could not get up, in respect for the musicians. I saw that Charlie
Parker’s drink was also empty what’s the least I could do for someone so great,
I might as well get him a drink since he “bought” me one. I go back up to the
bar, “Cognac
Hennessy please, could you make that two
I will buy one for Charlie.” The bar tender gives me a rather odd look, “You do
realize that Charlie ends up just drinking the bottle, right?” I was astounded
that someone can do that and still stand up. “Really? Well might as well
start.” I go back to the front and offer Charlie his new drink. “Charlie,
Here’s a new drink, now we’re even.” I felt that witty remark might start a
conversation of some sort. “Thanks man.” He responds. Before the second set
starts, Max Roach gets up and asks Charlie something, he got worse in the first
set, now his withdrawal has made him totally yellow.
I have
played Jazz drums for 15 years but when I finished university I felt I was not
suited to have a desk job. I have done a few Jazz gigs but nothing on the level
of these guys. Charlie’s response to Max
is rather sympathetic, “Man if you feel that bad, you should have told me, but
I bet we will find someone to sit in, go home and I will see you in the
morning.” Are they serious? Someone gets to sit in. This is the moment I have
been waiting for. Charlie asks “Can anybody play the drums?” everybody looks
around, I slowly put my hand up, “Cognac guy? Aright, might as well give you a
try.” The adrenaline was beginning to kick in, was I actually going to be
playing with Charlie “Bird” Parker. I got up onto the stage, shaking with fear
and excitement. What was going to happen? Would I do well? Or would I fail?
As I
started, Charlie looks back, “Start us off, just swing, we will follow”. I
began to swing on the ride cymbal, I was a tad fast but once I started “Bird”
was right there with my right hand. He was incredible; I was incredible, what
was in the Cognac? Maybe now I know why he drinks that. Throughout the entire set, Charlie kept
looking back at me and smiling, no cues, just playing with no intermissions for
two more hours. By the end I’m drenched and exhausted.
As soon as
we finish playing, I decide to leave; I was not part of Charlie’s band. Before
I get to the stairs that lead up to the cold nights of 52nd street’s
winter. Charlie yells my name, “Would you like to come to the other gig we have
lined up tonight? I understand it’s 2:30 in the morning, but the pay will be
even better than this place?’ How could
I resist? Even though I was tired, this may be my chance to shine and maybe
become somebody. I took the job and we headed out to the street.
The street
was very quiet, and even colder than before.
We head over to the Village Vanguard in Greenwich Village for the second
gig of the night. We hop in a cab to the gig, except Charlie and the band mates
were to take a detour. I already knew Charlie was a junky, but what I didn’t
know was that he was addicted to basically everything you could consume.
Alcohol, Heroin, Morphine, Marijuana, Women, and who knows what else.
When we
arrive at Charlie’s apartment I was surprised to see how large it was,
especially for New York. Charlie’ s
Apartment was at 5 Great Jones Street, an awesomely old-time loft building between Broadway and
Lafayette. He takes us up to his apartment, the stairs rickety and rotting as a
cold emotion flowed throughout the hallway. His apartment was rather clean for
a junky, but the examples of drug use were highly evident. The use of needles,
pills and alcohol were the main diet of this genius of a musician. I began to
feel uncomfortable, unsure and confused of what was actually going to happen.
Was I going to do drugs? If I do will I be cool? Of course “Bird” went to his
apartment for a quick session before the gig. It’s getting late and I’m
wondering what time we had to be at the gig. My watch said 3:00am; the gig was
at 3:30am, we had better get there quickly. “Just one minute” Charlie goes into
the kitchen and the rustling of silverware and opening and closing of cupboards
is quite easy to hear. Charlie returns
with one spoon, a needle, matches, and a bag of white powder. “What’s the sugar
for?” I said sarcastically, “You want some? It will keep you awake. “ I was not
used to drug use, I had smoked some marijuana in my as of yet eventless life of
24 years. “ What the Hell!” I thought I might as well stay awake. I stuck my
arm out, Charlie stuck himself, Dexter stuck himself, Charlie inserted the
needle into my arm and a huge warm rush went up my arm into my brain, I could
feel the drugs spreading through my veins like a cancer.
“Let’s get to the gig, I think we
are all on the same page now.” Charlie leads us to the door my head is
spinning. Walking down the stairs this
time is a Herculean feat, my balance is completely off and to me, and I felt
like everything was spinning. I cannot tell if the night got colder, or if my
senses were on a rush from the heroin, all I know is that once this night
began, I knew it would not end till morning.
As we looked for a cab to the show,
the cars drove by very slowly, yet I had energy. I was ready for anything, The
Street was quiet, dark and mysterious, yet the heavy sound of car engines was
highly evident. It takes a while for us
to hail a cab,” To the Village Vanguard!” demanded Charlie. I looked out the
window as we drove, I could see every last water droplet on the window,
streaming past as we drove through the cold, wet night. Was I seriously on a high given to me by
Charlie “Bird” Parker? When I walked into the 3 Deuces I had no idea that this
night would end up like this. How do I know this is even happening? Could this
be a dream? I tried to come to my senses before the gig. “How are we going to
do this?” Said Dexter Gordon. Dexter is a quiet man, rather introverted as a
personality but extroverted when given a tenor sax. I often wonder how hard
these men have worked to have a “steady” job. I was only 24 years old, how am I
in this situation? My mind was completely free, is this real world? Am I even
here? My mind was racing so much, I feel asleep.
The cab comes to a sudden halt.
Bright lights begin to go to my head, I see a large awning that says “Village
Vanguard”, and I was here for the gig. The doors of the cab open, and we slide
out. “You ready kid?” the band asks in
unison, “As ready as I every will be” I confidently reply. Why I was so
confident I have no idea, I am nobody is this large city of talented musicians.
How did I get this role? The doors of the Vanguard open and we enter.
Much larger than the 3 Deuces, the
Village Vanguard is a long roomy club; smoke filled with sharply dressed men
puffing on cigarettes and tobacco pipes. The women slink by, stunning and
elegant, they are the critics of Jazz, who we rely on for support and the
spreading of our reputation. I felt completely self conscious, that everybody
was judging me, “That’s not Max Roach!” I heard a younger, student-looking man
say. I knew I had to blow people away, or Charlie’s reputation would be in
jeopardy. “Please Welcome Charlie Parker and the Quintet” the crowd roared with
applause as we walked on stage. There is no better feeling than sitting behind
people to admire. Yet, I felt the fear of Charlie Parker counting you in
shudder through my body you know that after beat four your night begins. “1,
2…1,2,3,4.” The night starts with an extremely up-tempo swing. I have never
felt more alive.
By 6:30 am I’m returning home, after
a night of alcohol and drugs. Was going to the 3 Deuces worth it after all? Or
have I opened a door to a new way of life? I will have to wait and see until I
go next week. I hear Bird’s playing there again next week, I might just have to
drop in and buy him a drink.
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