The Manchester Sports Guild (M.S.G.)
By Jack Swinnerton
Reproduced by kind permission of Jack Swinnerton & Just Jazz Magazine

Jack Swinnerton died peacefully on 30th June 2008

Part 5 Pee Wee Russell on tour

by Jack B. Swinnerton  

Just how well Jenks had revived our renowned guest became apparent on the first public night with the Alex Welsh band. Enthusiasts of Pee Wee Russell will realise that the standards we all knew him by, such as Rose Room, Sugar, and I’ve Found A New Baby, appeared stimulatingly fresh every time, and the whole of the Welsh band were as astounded by the inventiveness as us humble listeners. I suppose we all make mistakes, but why I neglected Sandy Brown and the band for the weekend of jazz has often puzzled me In the event, Sandy Brown turned up on his own determined initiative, together with his family, and simply joined in. Appearing from the crowded room, he played a couple of duets with Pee Wee which somewhat dramatically appeared to leave the pair in genuine awe of each other. ‘Melody Maker’ carried a short piece by Sandy headed, ‘I played with Pee Wee Russell — and lived and remarking, '.... when swapping choruses with Pee Wee, I had an uncomfortable sense of identification with the heavy end of the Laurel & Hardy team. . . perhaps you remember Oliver Hardy’s plaintive catchphrase —well, here’s another nice mess you've gotten me into — it seemed particularly apposite to the musical situations I found myself in when my bits came round.'

Mention of the ‘Melody Maker’ naturally brings me round to its editor, Jack Hutton. A devoted jazz enthusiast, he managed to make it essential reading under his too brief editorship. The issue of October 24, 1964, was simply ecstatic in its reviews of Pee Wee Russell at the MSG: ‘From far and wide to honour Pee Wee.. .took the stand at the Manchester Sports Guild last Saturday... and for hundreds of jazz fans in this country a dream came true. There he was in the flesh.., he was rapturously received, possibly getting an even bigger welcome than Red Allen. And that one came in roof-lifting proportions:

The following night with the Johnny Armatage Jump Band gave us the well remembered trio Archie Semple, Sandy and Pee Wee playing Pee Wee’s Midnight Blue. One of the really good occasions in those MSG years, I don’t now recall anything more emotional than that. Was that the only time they ever played together as a trio of reeds? I think so.

Pee Wee told me later, enjoying an illegal (for him) drink, that he found it quite a challenge to stay on top, despite my assurances that they were devotees anxious merely to have the honour of accompaniment and, to quote: ‘Self preservation. There were a hell of a lot of clarinet players around there: Regrettably, all three have been dead for many years now, making our claim to be presenting these events, whilst there was still time, more genuine than we could have known.

On Sunday evening with the Freddy Randall band, Pee Wee was quite plainly delighted with Bruce Turner’s alto (he usually played much more clarinet with Randall than he did with his own band), and it seemed to encourage a wider repertoire than many other nights on the tour.

The personal company of Pee Wee Russell was as different from Red Allen’s more consistent temperament as one could imagine. As Jack Hutton observed,’.. .a blend of shy diffidence, which is completely disarming.. .a conspiratorial wink that could get him into a lot of trouble.. .a fierce belief that he has been playing worthwhile music for over forty years... His recent illness may have had an adverse affect on his temper, and he could be the very essence of charm. But there was a somewhat darker side.

The temerity to suggest that he had musical associations with the Chicagoans, for instance, would cause the heavens to come crashing down. I recall one young man at the Palace Hotel, Southport, an autograph hunter and devoted fan, receiving an earful for this offence, despite him carrying recorded evidence a the contrary. (In later years, my collection must include about seventy concerts of the Condon men, not many of which are without Pee Wee. Maybe he was thinking of a city, as opposed to a style?) In an attempt o pacify, Pee Wee threatened to report me to Jenks for his appalling intervention (as my time and efforts were purely voluntary, that would have been an interesting
confrontation), and yet, only moments later and all forgotten, we would be the best of friends. Probably discussing the music so far over a drink or five.

As the only driver on the jazz committee (these rich men in their smart Jaguars!), John Pye would be landed with a large amount of the touring chores and, some years later, related a Botley Jazz Club incident. In his own words: ‘Pee Wee, who appeared to be perfectly sober although somewhat uncommunicative, went on stage to a rousing reception when introduced. He played the first number, and with the subsequent applause ringing out, walked off stage. Fortunately I was standing in the wings and was able to grab him. He flatly refused to return to the stage, so, in desperation, I literally dragged him to the edge and gave him a hearty shove that left him near enough for Welsh to take over, and the show went on. No trouble at all from Pee Wee after that — nor any explanation from him re his action.’

I encountered a similar situation whilst joining Pee Wee for a wireless interview. Due to go out later the same day, and receiving nothing but monosyllabic and disinterested response to rehearsal questions, a despairing Keith Macklin turned to me with, ‘...he’s very difficult, isn’t he?’ And yet, just a little later on, the real interview was fine.

To write a series such as this, it is inevitable that one goes through some old clippings that still survive. Manchester Evening News ‘Teen Page', by jazz enthusiast and sports writer, Jack McNamara, has come to light. A half page article headed ‘Teen Page meets a boy at the jazz session’ reported that 13 year old schoolboy and clarinet student David Landau was ‘entranced’ during these MSG nights. How time passes — he will be over SO by now, of course. Old he continue to play, I often wonder? Interesting to my wife and I, as youngest son also played clarinet at a very young age but now concentrates on double bass at the ancient age of 23.

Following the Pee Wee tour, enthusiast Steve Voce in his ‘Jazz Journal’ column observed, ‘Rightly proud of their sudden ascendancy in the European jazz scene, the Swinnerton-Jenkins team presented the Pee Wee Russell tour in a blaze of publicity... Who’s next? Here we go again! I’d hope for Wingy Manone, Buddy Tate or Bud Freeman. Or maybe Ed Hall? But I think perhaps it’s best to leave it to Jack Swinnerton.’

If you could fairly describe anything as ‘our year’ at the MSG it was 1964 and, for the second time in about six months, we had attracted national acclaim. Our built-in advantage, besides being a sincere belief in the music (fairly important) was simply our own ideal premises. We were able to properly display these important originators, with a suitable string of backing talent, on several nights, including a press reception. The now emerging rival imports had no such benefit and would often rely upon us to be the central stopping-off point for their own attractions — a not unhappy situation for the Manchester jazz enthusiasts of 1964.

As we bathed in the applause, we were also facing a couple of problems. I suppose there is always the reverse side of the coin. First was the musical success and acclaim of our initial ventures. When you feel that you have discovered your own little niche, an area in which it is possible to specialise and develop carefully, larger organisations will notice and quickly move in. Watching our first tours carefully, noticing the musical triumphs despite our undoubtedly inexperienced efforts in promoting a full national tour, it was seen as the way forward. We were not going to control our cosy world of a couple of promotions a year — having had it to ourselves, the market was about to open. You can’t really argue against that, as enthusiasts would hear more, and rather quickly, of their idols. It is just that our commitment to the music and, one must confess, a certain arrogance, made us feel we were the people to promote with sympathy.

Given the benefit of hindsight, the other problem was avoidable and yet not one of us, I believe, realised that we had made a fairly serious mistake. Difficult to avoid hut one that should have been considered and worked around. In earlier episodes, I mentioned that Friday evening was by far the busiest night and the mainstay of the door takings. Members attending on this night were not, in the main, jazz fanatics — they simply preferred the sound and enjoyed the atmosphere. Never having even heard of Pee Wee, Red Allen or any of the rest, the noise was no different to them, and even sometimes not as pleasant as their local band. To make matters worse, the admission price was probably trebled and the dancing area abandoned. Naturally, they often drifted off elsewhere that week, probably somewhere which proved agreeable enough to keep going back to, in some cases. The very keen jazz fans brought in from far and wide to replace them, fewer in number, are not attracted to the ordinary events of subsequent Fridays. Coupled with the second rock era (now ‘beat’ music), this did not augur well.

There are many fine jazz occasions on the horizon, so let us not allow the above paragraph to cast a shadow. We were enjoying ourselves presenting good and, occasionally, distinguished jazz and that is what mattered. It is simply that one should show the full picture.

In between Red Allen and Pee Wee Russell came the Kid Thomas (Valentine) and Emanuel Paul duo. Save that one should remark that Allen saw the poster to promote their coming visit and scribbled upon it his own greeting to his ‘old friends from back home I intend to include this event in the chapter to be devoted to the MSG’s collaboration with The Promotional Society For New Orleans Music.

Champion Jack Dupree paid us the first of his visits about this time. His earthy humour and deft showmanship were very well received, although local writer Chris Lee reported that’. . . he battled against shocking amplification and completely insensitive accompaniment...’ I think that this was probably just a bad day, because our amplification, by contemporary standards, was not too bad. I must confess that we often had problems with the piano at that point. The damp air in the cellar was thought to make it difficult to keep in tune for very long and, in desperation at one point, a classified advertisement brought us an iron-framed pianola in lovely condition. I still occasionally feel a sense of desecration that Jenks quickly had the workings and rolls removed before I could properly investigate this fascinating toy, but the metal frame was thought to keep it in tune much longer.

Keith Smith’s second accompaniment of the year, following Champion Jack Dupree, was with gospel/blues singer Mae Mercer, and Chris Lee, probably the local expert on the blues in the press, remarked, ‘...1 don’t think I have ever heard singing so full of intense feeling. Mae gave herself completely to the music. With her eyes closed and her slim body shaking rhythmically (yes, we were all watching, Chris!), she overawed the audience with her aggressive, commanding performance.

Ex-George Lewis pianist Alton Purnell was the final visitor with Keith that year, and the New Orleans supporters were out in full force for that session. I think that the three visitors with Smith came via the London City Agency on whose books were not only Keith but the London City Stompers and the Original Downtown Syncopators, amongst others. Johnny Jones had originally been the trumpet player with the Stompers, forming the agency to promote his own band but gradually relinquishing his musical role as agency commitments absorbed his time.

A novel idea for a tour (well, I would think sol) which didn’t happen was a double by Mezz Mezzrow and Albert Nicholas. It would be an exciting prospect to create a different kind of texture, somewhat on the lines of the King Jazz records of Mezzrow/Bechet, for example, and I became most enthusiastic. Both Mezzrow and Nicholas were resident in France by now, and the proximity and coincidence was the cause of my idea. Writing initially to Mezzrow, I learned that he was not at all keen to appear here as a double with Nicholas, but more willing to come as a solo, telling me that he was more than able to appear and satisfy an audience on his own merit. I’m afraid that I was not inclined to agree — although keeping that opinion to myself— and the idea was reluctantly dropped. Mezzrow himself did not, as he told Ken Palmer in a ‘Jazz Monthly’ interview that he was coming to England next year. Actually, we did eventually see Albert Nicholas over here and, after my MSG years, recall presenting him to a Blackpool audience at the Pleasure Beach bar.

As previously mentioned, all correspondence was lost, and I can only rely on memory now, fading as it does with most of us in winter fuel allowance years. I still recall an overseas telephone call one evening from Timmie Rosenkrantz suggesting that Stuff Smith was ready and willing to play here. For whatever reason, and I really have forgotten now, this was not pursued — maybe I thought he was not quite well-known enough at that time.

From September 12, 1964, the dream we had of Britain’s Centre of Jazz being at the MSG became a brief undisputed reality, as Club 43 moved onto the first floor of our premises. Acting quite autonomously, of course, and specialising in the more ‘modern’ jazz stylists, as we of the MSG specialised in the traditional to mainstream performers, we really had now became the largest comprehensive jazz set-up under one roof in the nation. 

Part Four...
Red’s Final Night.. .and the Aftermath