Having done a day job for 12 years before turning pro, I’ve always been impressed by and very proud of the fraternal attitude musicians show towards one another, (even, it would seem, if they’re none too keen on each other as people).  To be a freelance musician is a precarious existence, as I guess it is for anyone freelancing in a vocational profession.  If you’re unable to work through illness, injury or whatever, it’s possible that you’ll also struggle to keep a roof over your head.

I’m reminded of the story of a struggling muso who, following an argument in the bank, demanded that his account be closed on the spot.  The cashier did the necessary paperwork and then, smiling, looked up and said, “and how would Sir like the money?  Heads or Tails?”

Similarly, I remember talking to a drummer once who had been summoned to the bank for a meeting with the manager for getting himself £5000 in debt.  The manager was giving him a terrible hard time and the drummer stopped him mid-rant and said “Hang on, I owe you five grand and you’re giving me a hard time.  If I owed you five hundred grand you’d probably be giving me after-dinner brandy and cigars.”  The manager thought about this, burst out laughing and said “Do you know, you’re absolutely right”  and they came to some amicable repayment arrangement.

I’m also very proud of my membership of The Royal Society of Musicians which I joined a few years ago.  This society ‘for the benefit of decayed musicians’ was set up by one G.F.Handel when he was in London in the 18th Century and it exists for the benefit of all musicians whether or not they are members of the society.  So it would seem that fraternal benevolence is no new thing among musicians.   A former student of mine was recently unable to work through a hand injury and the RSM payed for a course of medical treatment.

And so it was that I found myself playing a benefit gig last week for a bass player who’s fallen ill and is unable to work.  I arrived at the venue in what I thought was plenty of time only to find the car-park full and the usually empty street full of parked cars for several hundred yards either side of the club entrance.  The venue was packed beyond it’s usual capacity owing to extra seating, and the punters were well entertained for more than four hours by a cast of somewhere between 20 and 30 players who gladly gave their services for nothing.

It’s always amused me that musicians can often be the worst behaved audience members at gigs, and when you get nearly 30 musos together, some of whom haven’t met in a while, they do tend to chat a bit.  Fortunately the audience at last week’s ‘do’ tolerated this and a good time was had by all.  The really gratifying thing about it all was that a four-figure sum was raised for the bass player and his wife.

And on to the sad bit...  In fact this blog entry is fast turning into an obit column.  I guess that’s ineviatable though as a generation of musicians from a kind of golden age enter the ‘coda’ of their lives. 

The jazz world lost a legend a couple of weeks ago in Allan Ganley the drummer.  Allan’s death came as a shock to us all as he was an indefatigable pro, very sporty, and an all round nice guy.  He even made it, along with the likes of Tubby Hayes, into a 1965 British horror film called ‘Dr Terror’s House of Horrors’.  He must have had a portrait in the attic as he still looked exactly like he did in that film and the ‘Jazz 625’ episodes I’ve seen from the early ‘60s.

I’m sure you’ll know that many drummer jokes have the punchline ‘what kind of sticks do you use?’  Well Allan, besides being a fantastic drummer, was a highly skilled composer and arranger, and we found ourselves in an animated conversation about arranging one night.  This led on to us talking about music preparation, and at one point we turned to one another and said in perfect unison, “What kind of pen do you use?”  I guess you had to be there but it was very funny at the time.  Actually Allan was really encouraging to me about my writing and after hearing my jazz septet CD a few years ago wrote me a really nice letter saying how much he dug it.  A lovely man and a great loss.

Another recent loss is clarinettist Dick Charlesworth who was an extremely likeable character who enjoyed a fair bit of success with his band ‘The City Gents’.  I feel really honoured that I’ve been asked to play at his funeral.  ‘Character’ is the perfect word to use for Dick as he was a very funny man and had more than a passing interest in tobacco and alcohol.  (I greeted the news of his demise with ‘How sad.  Still, he couldn’t say he didn’t get his money’s worth!’)  He was also the ‘Grand Poobah’ (for want of a better term) of The Brothers.  The Brothers is a gathering of like minded musicians who meet quarterly to ‘take the waters’.  I’ve always turned down invitations as I’m not a drinker, but apparently the whole thing is hilarious and I think I shall accept if I’m invited again.  The story below paints a nice picture of Dick.

Dick  Charlesworth’s band had been booked to play at a festival and Dick arrived very early.  He was greeted by an ebullient promoter who said stuff along the lines of  “Hello Dick, great to have you on board.  You’re really early, but don’t worry just make yourself comfortable.  You’re not on until eleven-thirty but there’s a bar over there and it’s free for artistes.”  Apparently Charlesworth laconically muttered, “Oh no, that’s torn it.”

As I write, the news has just broken of Humphrey Lyttelton’s death.  I didn’t know Humph and only met him a couple of times, but like millions of radio listeners felt like I know him and I’m very proud of my ‘Sorry I Haven’t a Clue Book of Limericks’ which the Good Lady got signed by the cast of the show.  I’m sure the media will be full of fitting tributes so I’ll just offer a bit of Humph trivia and a couple of stories:

Bassist Dave Green was listening to an archive BBC recording made outside Buckingham Palace on VE night.  He heard a reveller in the background playing a trumpet and, having spent a few years in his band, recognised it as Humph.  I’m sure Humph was pleased that his style was identifiable amongst the hubbub of VE night.

Whilst on the road once, Humph stopped at an extremely posh golf club, went into the clubhouse and declared that he was looking for a game.  On hearing this, a gent who was sat on a leather Chesterfield sofa reading the Times lowered his newspaper and looked Humph up and down.  Apparently the dialogue went thus:

“School?”

“Eton”

“Army?”

“Yes.”

“Regiment?”

“Grenadier Guards.”

“Rank?”

“Captain.”

At this point the gent folded his paper, stood up and said “Nine holes”.

Humph was once interviewed on local radio by an interviewer who very obviously had no interest in him and was just regurgitating his researcher’s notes.  He said something along the lines of “So, Humphrey Lyttelton, old Etonian, former Guards officer, jazz musician, broadcaster, writer, cartoonist, raconteur.  It says here that you’re also a keen orthinologist.”  Humph thought of the perfect retort to this.  The answer that would stop the smug, self-important little creep in his tracks.  His retort to ‘you’re also a keen orthinologist’ was ‘Yes I’m very fond of word-botching’.  Sadly it was esprit d’escalier - he thought of it going down the stairs when he was leaving.