The Manchester Sports Guild (M.S.G.)
By Jack Swinnerton Reproduced by kind permission of Jack Swinnerton
& Just Jazz Magazine 2002
Jack Swinnerton died peacefully
on 30th June 2008
Part 8: Earl ‘Fatha’ Hines.. .57 Varieties
by Jack B. Swinnerton
A year following our first importation of an American jazzman came the fourth and regarded by some as the most musically rewarding of our ventures to date. It is in no
way diminishing the often outstanding impact of those who preceded, but it is just that Earl ‘Fatha’ Hines was simply
regarded as one of the masters - many said at the very top in the Armstrong, Bechet, Hawkins league, no less. In common with some of those others with towering reputations, Earl firmly believed himself to he part of show business. “If I want respect from the audience, I must start by respecting them, by looking my best and playing my best.” In 1965,
Earl appeared a very fit, healthy and incredible 59 years of age (although less remarkable to someone of my current age group than it was to me in my twenties) only revealing his natural era by his on-stage behaviour and appearance. As a dedicated silent film enthusiast, I noted a somewhat irrelevant but striking resemblance to the twenties star, Douglas Fairbanks. His flashy grins to the audience, obvious toupee which none of us ever presumed to notice, and stage face make-up seem very reminiscent of the 20s130s band photographs we see on our record sleeves. (A pre-tour request to Earl for some publicity material produced photographs with a distinctly receding hairline
- much how he looked during his visit with Teagarden, Kaminsky and co. some years previously). I think Louis Armstrong made a comment on Hines’ departure from the All-Stars something to the effect of I miss his piano playing, sure, but I don’t miss the ego.” Well, ego there undeniably was, but Louis was in the presence of a fellow human being and we were listening to a god, naturally
expecting the behaviour of one. Suddenly leaping from the piano stool to ‘conduct’ an initially taken-aback Alex Welsh band during mid-number on a perfectly familiar arrangement, for example, was typical of the flamboyance.
There had been changes in the Welsh band by this time, and Roy Williams had replaced the abrupt departure of Roy Crimmins on trombone. (Much of the essentially discreet job of persuading Williams to leave Terry Lightfoot was conducted by Alex on the MSG ‘phone in the tense days just prior to the Hines tour, and I believe our press reception was about his debut with the band.) Roy was a local man, of course, well-known to us Mancunians from his days with Eric Batty’s
- later Dizzy Burton’s - Jazz Aces, as was reedman John Barnes of Zenith Six fame. Ron Mathieson has been replaced by yet another Christian name coincidence in Ron Rae. Criticism had been voiced in the press of even using band accompaniment at all, on the basis that Hines could perform more than adequately as a soloist. Almost as far removed as possible from a clock-watching,
uncooperative musician, I nevertheless could scarcely ask Hines to perform solo for a full session, and, in any case, that would not have been a sensible way of attracting the general public. Much of any evening performance was to consist of Hines with a rhythm accompaniment of Ron Rae and Lennie Hastings, and the two men acquitted themselves superbly in what must have been somewhat formidable circumstances.
The Bruce Turner band had been re-formed by now, and Ronnie Gleave (a stimulating vibes player but, in the presence of Hines, average pianist) had left Freddie Randall along with Bruce. For years I always thought it was Pete Strange on trombone, but glancing at a contemporary review, it was apparently Cohn Johnson. The efforts of the young Dave
Markee on bass and Johnny Armatage on drums, in similarly onerous roles as Rae and Hastings, remains a treasured memory. Their largely unrehearsed work as they formed a trio with Hines, was quite exceptional. Bruce displayed his customary expertise, drawing applause from Hines during a brief rehearsal for the evening performance. That was one of the great things about the MSG promotions. We could all just wander into the cellar and listen to the musicians assessing each other prior to the main performance.
Having someone of our guest’s distinction and leading him to our somewhat basic upright
would have been ridiculous, so we hired a grand piano from Forsyth’s on Deansgate for the duration. In between the opening and closing nights, whilst Hines was away on tour, it was a bit painful to tell visiting pianists to use the standard instrument, with the covered elegance in full view, but most understood the situation. The existing stage was too small to accommodate a full band alongside the grand, and so the carpenters came out and rebuilt it (the stage, that is!) constituting the Centre’s third jazz cellar stand.
The short-lived Manchester Comet, a weekly city centre newspaper, had a most experienced columnist in Frank Dixon. Issue No. 1 on the 7 April, 1965, led with... ‘Manchester this week sets the jazz scene for the whole of Britain.. .for it is a
Manchester organisation, the Sports Guild.. .that has sponsored the current British tour of one of the all-time greats, Earl Hines'.
“I never aspired to be a soloist, and never figured I had that much to offer as one,” a surprisingly modest Hines told Max Jones in ‘Melody Maker’ during mid-tour. Max wished to know how he found it playing in England. “I’m getting to like it. I’m playing with Alex Welsh and getting a kick out of that. And then I’ve played little places I’ve never been to before, and I’ll have met a lot of people before I’m through in Europe.”
That Hines demanded a thoroughly professional behaviour on stand is well illustrated by this quote from John Barnes. “After a gig at the Manchester Sports Guild with Earl Hines, he requested that the band assemble in secretary Jenks’ office. Just the band. No one else. We had no idea what to expect. Were we that inadequate to do the job of accompanying the world’s greatest pianist? We were totally mystified. The reason we had been called soon became clear. Nothing to do with our music. In fact, Earl went to great pains to say how much he enjoyed working with us, but objected strongly to us drinking and smoking on stand. ‘It’s so unprofessional he said. We were flabbergasted. It’s something we had always done at clubs; in a way it was part of our style. But bowing to the master’s admonitions, we didn’t smoke on stand for the rest of the tour. Once the tour with Hines finished we, of course, reverted to type.”
The above quote causes me to think back now, and I’m pretty sure that this must have been the occasion that Alex abandoned ‘novelty’ numbers, such as Lennie’s much enjoyed and regular monocled Adolph Hitler act. Thankfully, Lennie also refrained from such occasional late session tricks as tossing his own toupee into the air and taking imitation pot-shots at it with a drumstick as it flew over.
No one person ever did more on behalf of the later career of Earl Hines than distinguished critic and recording supervisor Stanley Dance. Recognising our own efforts, and, as one of Earl’s closest friends, Stanley journeyed from the USA back to his native Britain for the event and enjoyed his first night of jazz at the MSG at our press reception of Friday, 1 April, 1965. One of the many ‘behind-the-scenes’ tasks on these tours and, indeed, on any occasion, was to write down the title of each number and composer for passing on to the Performing Rights Society. After some years of this, and as jazz often relies heavily on standards when musicians are unused to playing together, I became able to hear the mention of practically any number and instantly jot down the name of composer. Unaware of this perfected little knack, Stanley saw this one night at a London concert, and commented with a “Say, you’re good.” Flattered by an undeserved compliment from such a prominent critic, the secret was not revealed.
The neglect of such a talent as that of Earl Hines through the 50s and early 60s was distinctly odd, and he was the only one of our American visitors to date not to be invited to record for ‘Jazz 625' for which series he would have appeared to be the absolute natural.
Yet, his playing on the tour was so magnificent as to simply astound with its sheer
resource and imagination. His music could he admired simply on the level of exceptional light entertainment too, should that be all that a casual listener demanded. The invitation to “imagine that you are in my living room and lam playing just for you,” the medleys of such as the immediately just deceased Nat ‘King’ Cole’s popular numbers, or the inevitable Boogie Woogie On St. Louis Blues bore witness to a sure-footed understanding of entertainment. At the other and more sensitive end of appreciation were those extremely involved passages defying the imagination that he would ever find a way back to the theme
- he always did. An entertainer for tastes.
“Virtuosity and genius beyond belief,” said Alan Stevens following our Houldsworth Hall concert. This was something quite special
- a big band concert in honour of Earl’s distinguished past. In the unlikely event that someone is unaware, Hines had been a big band leader from the late 20s until about 1947- a leader many place in the Basie/Ellington league. Changing musical tastes, economics and the revival of things traditional found him on the West Coast fronting a Dixieland-style small group. (Three of his colleagues of those days
- Pops Foster, Darnell Howard and Jimmy Archey - all visited the MSG the following year. Howard of course, was prominent in Hines’ orchestra as well.) It was natural to want to experience Hines in his earlier context, if only for one memorable night and, inviting him to post several of his arrangements in advance, the concert was planned for the evening of Tuesday, April 6,1965.
Following recent work with the Gordon Robinson Septet and the Art Taylor All Stars, local trombonist, pianist, arranger Alan Hare had formed a big band, making a Tuesday residency at the MSG. The strengths of the band were such that not only was there no hesitation in offering the Hines concert, it was actually conceived with them in mind. “We count it as a great privilege to play with a genius such as Earl Hines. All the boys have benefited from and will never forget this wonderful experience,” said an unnecessarily but understandably modest Alan.
Hines told me how well bethought the band had performed but, despite much advance publicity, the audience was somewhat sparse. Maybe the selection of a mid-week night was to blame, or perhaps the warmth and drinks in the jazz cellar were preferred to a concert hall. “Manchester jazz concert goers, I’m ashamed of you,” cried an almost personally slighted Jack Florin, in unusually strong tones for his Manchester Evening News weekly column,
whilst JD (Jerry Dawson?) in ‘Melody Maker’ said stiffly, “May! apologise to Earl Hines for the attendance at Manchester’s Houldsworth Hall last week..
On tour with the articulate Hines was a memorable experience. Leaving me with a little gift on his final night with us, an autographed photograph dedicated to ‘My Manager’ was a typical tongue-in-cheek incident, although it did have a pleasant ring to it. It is naturally much treasured to day. ‘The Manager’s’ attempts to force a way through to the stand for Hines to follow through was not always popular with the public at strange, often very crowded, venues. Persistently attempting to get Earl to his piano stool in some South of England club one night, I discovered that my apparently Northern accent had earned the unwelcome title of ‘Coronation Street’ for the evening. “Watch out, here comes Coronation Street again” was distinctly audible to me as the crowds parted. (Obviously, the early 60s Violet Carson days and hopefully not the unwatchable horror of today.)
Innocently requesting a pre-breakfast cup of tea in our London hotel one morning gained a contemptuous snort from Hines. With over thirty years between our ages, Earl was too busy alternating jogging on the spot with press-ups to indulge in the beverage. (“Like a baseball player in the peak of condition,” said John Stevenson in the Daily Mail.) The obligatory rest day was inserted into all contracts and this must have been one of them for, that same evening, Earl spotted in a London evening paper that Ella Fitzgerald was on a simultaneous concert tour. Unknown to me, they were close friends. Finding that she was staying at the
Dorchester in some considerable style, I was dragged along with Earl to a surprise visit. Attempting an unconvincing veneer of sufficient eminence to pass the reception desk (no problem for one of Hines’ majestic bearing, of course), my shoes sank into the carpet as we awaited a lift. Once in
Ella's luxury suite, I tentatively perched on the edge of a leather sofa as her maid tended her hair and did whatever other things maids do. Earl and Ella enjoyed an animated and nostalgic conversation about people and events from their personal lives, which meant nothing to me. Not wishing to eavesdrop and quite unable to contribute, it felt about as comfortable as I would no doubt feel at a morning’s shoot at Balmoral. I eased somewhat as a waiter appeared pushing a trolley laden with interesting looking decanters, but my hopes were dashed as he steered around the room adding to the trolley, silently departing after the circular tour.
Earl proved to be rather astonished by the English appreciation of his past and that of fellow creators. In what context could not now be recalled, but in a three way conversation with Alex Welsh, I brought up the name of Spencer Williams. With an incredulous glance at my relative youth, Earl demanded, “How can you possibly know anything about him
- even I don’t.” Although Alex himself, unlike most other British band leaders, displayed no overwhelming interest in jazz of yore, he explained that we take our jazz seriously in this country and any number of us would eagerly discuss jazz personalities of an earlier era. Touring the clubs and meeting all kinds of people, Hines soon recognised this, remained amazed but, I think, somewhat pleased about it all.
On his final night of the tour and with us in Manchester, Earl hosted a late night dinner to thank all at the MSG for their efforts.
Summed up by Eddie Lambert, “There is really no place like the MSG on a night like this. All seats were taken up an hour before the start and thirty minutes later, the ‘house full' notices went up. Yet during Hines’ solos the packed cellar remained completely silent.”
Yes, wonderful days indeed!
And yet, the whole story should emerge, warts and all. There were difficulties in presenting these tours, and readers should be aware of this. Naturally, the music and sheer nostalgia comes first and, not unnaturally, it often occurs to me that I was fortunate to be in the right place at the right time.
There were problems in setting up the Hines tour, and the coming New Orleans All Stars did cause some internal friction. Along with other celebrities, and there were many greats on the horizon, it is appropriate to spend some time next month in revealing the
difficulties
Earl appeared a very fit, healthy and incredible 59 years of age (although less remarkable to someone of my current age group than it was to me in my twenties) only revealing his natural era by his on-stage behaviour and appearance. As a dedicated silent film enthusiast, I noted a somewhat irrelevant but striking resemblance to the twenties star, Douglas Fairbanks. His flashy grins to the audience, obvious toupee which none of us ever presumed to notice, and stage face make-up seem very reminiscent of the 20s130s band photographs we see on our record sleeves. (A pre-tour request to Earl for some publicity material produced photographs with a distinctly receding hairline
- much how he looked during his visit with Teagarden, Kaminsky and co. some years previously). I think Louis Armstrong made a comment on Hines’ departure from the All-Stars something to the effect of I miss his piano playing, sure, but I don’t miss the ego.” Well, ego there undeniably was, but Louis was in the presence of a fellow human being and we were listening to a god, naturally
expecting the behaviour of one. Suddenly leaping from the piano stool to ‘conduct’ an initially taken-aback Alex Welsh band during mid-number on a perfectly familiar arrangement, for example, was typical of the flamboyance.
The Bruce Turner band had been re-formed by now, and Ronnie Gleave (a stimulating vibes player but, in the presence of Hines, average pianist) had left Freddie Randall along with Bruce. For years I always thought it was Pete Strange on trombone, but glancing at a contemporary review, it was apparently Cohn Johnson. The efforts of the young Dave
Markee on bass and Johnny Armatage on drums, in similarly onerous roles as Rae and Hastings, remains a treasured memory. Their largely unrehearsed work as they formed a trio with Hines, was quite exceptional. Bruce displayed his customary expertise, drawing applause from Hines during a brief rehearsal for the evening performance. That was one of the great things about the MSG promotions. We could all just wander into the cellar and listen to the musicians assessing each other prior to the main performance.
Yet, his playing on the tour was so magnificent as to simply astound with its sheer
resource and imagination. His music could he admired simply on the level of exceptional light entertainment too, should that be all that a casual listener demanded. The invitation to “imagine that you are in my living room and lam playing just for you,” the medleys of such as the immediately just deceased Nat ‘King’ Cole’s popular numbers, or the inevitable Boogie Woogie On St. Louis Blues bore witness to a sure-footed understanding of entertainment. At the other and more sensitive end of appreciation were those extremely involved passages defying the imagination that he would ever find a way back to the theme
- he always did. An entertainer for tastes.