Sunday, July 1, 2018

kool & the gang & all that jazz (sshhh ... ) the night pastor is about to appear

Kool & the Gang. A favorite. Are you thinking “Celebration”?


I like the song, sure, but that’s not it, not my favorite, my favorite is Kool & the Gang’s “Kool Jazz” album that I owned and loved until I no longer owned it, jiminy crickets who knows why, we gather and gather and then winnow away until oops, one day, wait a minute, where is that thing, that song, I loved it … and we go online searching for that thing, that song (that’s why the internet was invented), and all I remember about this one particular song on “Kool Jazz” that truly made the whole album worth it (even though the whole album = very good) is that it had something to do with night, no, wait a minute, it was “Dujii,” that’s it, “Dujii”!


One of my favorites.

Dave Brubeck on the way to the farmers market … Blue Rondo a la Turk jammin’ like walking down a street and all you’re doing is seeing face after face, each face passes by, young, old, middle-aged and pink and red and brown and black and ghostly white; no noise, just music, the groove, the beat, the riff, the storefronts, awnings, scraps of paper, a paper bag, sidewalk, bench, the side of a bus and kids jumping rope; like skimming along on train tracks, a lighted tunnel then over a bridge and woods and mountains flash by between wooden or rusty steel lines, beams and cross-beams, a glimpse of river, lakes, sun sparkling on water, going by, passing by, all in a groove, fish jumping, walking along, moving along, Blue Rondo a la Turk, Take Five.

I inherited from my dad “Sing Sing Sing” on vinyl as recorded famously live at Carnegie Hall in 1938 and I remember another Benny Goodman record and it’s on the hi-fi and I’m dancing in the living room pretending to play a clarinet which was all I could do when it came to playing the clarinet—pretend—and my dad is there and I still have that record, too. And at the farmers market almost every week now a jazz combo plays and I love these guys, just kids, talented, lucky kids playing “Take the A Train” and take everything else and it’s just music, kind and pure.


There’s a Ramsey Lewis Trio record I picked up somewhere, “The In Crowd,” recorded live at the Bohemian Caverns in Washington, D.C., 1965, and there’s a strange and wonderful record my mom had—had something to do with her P.E.O. affiliation, I think—called “The Night Pastor and Seven Friends Play Chicago Jazz.” I don’t remember ever hearing this record growing up. I discovered it as an adult when helping out during a move. No, Mom, I don’t want the china or those salt cellars old so-and-so gave you as a wedding present. But can I have this old record?

The Night Pastor was a real guy, an episcopal priest, The Reverend Robert H. Owen, and a minute or two into Track 1, Beale St. Blues, he says:
Hello. This is the Night Pastor. I’d like to visit with you for a moment, so please pardon me for cutting in on this fine music. First, a million thanks to the musicians who are recording this album and to Dave Remington who got them together. Secondly, thank you for your interest. The Night Pastor program aims at giving pastoral care and guidance to those who work or play at night, called by many “the people of the night.” They are the entertainers and the entertained, the lonely and the lost, those who serve and those who are served, the loving and the loved, the unloving and the unloved, the sleepless, and others who are active at night. Because of the late or strange hours, or for other reasons, many of them have been unable to get the guidance they might want or need. The Night Pastor program is one attempt at helping these people of the night to solve their problems. If you would like to know more about the program, please write to the Night Pastor, 30 East Oak Street, in Chicago. Again, thank you very much. Now let’s get back to the music.
But the music never stops as the pastor’s seven friends jam away quietly below his words turning his entire spiel into poetry. Side Two begins with Saints, as in when the saints go marching in, and this is the only other time the album is adorned with voice, the pastor’s voice, as he riffs along with the musicians starting with just the snare drum and cymbal and the pastor praising Him in all sorts of ways and then Praising Him in the sound of the trumpets (enter the trumpets!) … the lute and harpstrings and pipeswell-tuned cymbals … Well damn and jam. This is absolutely one of my favorite albums. It was recorded in 1965 in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, by Claremont Record Company.


(There is a second Night Pastor album, “Music to Lure Pigeons By.” You can listen to it on YouTube.)

I have a number of instrumental jazz albums and CDs randomly collected sans any real education or guidance, knowledge of what I was doing (though my mother would like to interject: “Leslie once took jazz piano lessons and she was very good. She could have been a jazz pianist.” And I will roll on the floor now, in agony.). Among these records and CDs are horns, pianos, marimba, bass, drums, vibraphone, mambo, Dixieland, ragtime, bossa nova, Tito Puente!, standards, classics, improv, the usual and the unusual, stuff I like. Stuff I haven’t yet given away. Stuff I think I will turn to for a while now, as long as it takes, as long as I need to, for pastoral care. Just line it up, let it play.