Photograph taken at the Merseysippi Jazz Band's 60th anniversary
- Fred Burnett
Saxophonist John
Barnes has passed away at the age of 89.
Alan Barnes had written this delightful
tribute, capturing his ever-present humour.
Newport Jazz Festival
1968. Onstage, Alex Welsh and his band, concluding their set, have become
vaguely aware the Duke Ellington band are taking the stage behind them. One of
the band takes a baritone solo and cautiously looks round to see a beaming Harry
Carney giving him a thumbs up. The longest-serving Ellingtonian is only
confirming a fact that musicians and jazz fans have known for years: John Barnes
is one of the great baritonists in the world.
He played swinging, Zoot-ish tenor, Tab and Willie Smith inspired alto,
Bechet-ish soprano, booting Rollini-styled bass sax and a fruity-toned bass
clarinet, but on baritone he became a world contender and a unique stylist.
Starting out as a
George Lewis inspired clarinet player with the Zenith 6 in Manchester, John
graduated to the Mike Daniels band in London in 1955. A good example of his
style at this time is available on YouTube. In “When You and I Were Young,
Maggie” recorded in 1959, his driving swing, lovely sound, melodic invention and
sense of structure already indicate a mature stylist with a real sense of
‘presence’.
Gifted with a fine ear, he developed a wide stylistic range, as did fellow
Mancunian and frequent front-line partner Roy Williams. Influences of Gerry
Mulligan and Serge Chaloff were added to those of Harry Carney and Ernie Caceres.
John, as well as being a great soloist, was always a superb ensemble player
especially in the Condon style – something a lot harder to do well than might be
imagined. Already playing alto sax at this period, he added the baritone to his
arsenal in 1963.
In January 1967 his career was interrupted for 3 months by a serious band-bus
crash. John was thrown through the windscreen and hit a road sign. By lucky
chance the doctors on duty at A+E that night included a clarinet playing jazz
fan who recognised John and insisted that damaged teeth be painstakingly
re-inserted. They were to be enough for John to play on with the aid of a gum
shield. A steel frame was placed around his head to be tightened periodically to
stretch his face back into place over the following weeks. John loved to tell of
how it would reverberate with a definite note when he forgot and banged it on
the way out of the pub.
John spent 12 years with Humphrey Lyttelton’s band and freelanced with the
Midnight Follies Orchestra, George Chisholm, The Jazz Journal All-stars, Roy
Williams, Digby Fairweather and “Tenor Madness” with Spike Robinson and Bobby
Wellins amongst many others. He also led the “Outswingers” at Lords Cricket
ground and had long stints with the Alan Elsdon Band and Alex Welsh.
One of his proudest moments was being asked to perform Sidney Bechet’s “Blue
Horizon” at Phillip Larkin’s Memorial service in Westminster Abbey.
I first met John at the famous Sunday lunchtime Jazz venue, Merlin’s Cave,
behind Kings Cross. When I asked to sit in John was immensely gleeful to
discover we shared a surname. He set about imagining a series of events which
implied I was a long-lost son who had inherited his love of saxophones; a gag he
shared with the crowd that day and anyone else who’d listen in following years.
This myth persists and I’m still asked “How’s your Dad?” referring to John. Less
flatteringly, perhaps, others mistake us for the same person: “I used to see you
at the Fishmongers Arms in 1963”.
That first afternoon,
in the interval, he quickly taught me his original. “Boko’s Blues”. “Who’s Boko?”
I asked “That’s me, Boko Banana” was the reply and I got my first glimpse of his
unique view of things: all manner of cross references and bizarre juxtapositions
had built up in his mind into an amazing and very funny alternative world. In
this case, he was identifying with a long-forgotten comic book character from
his youth. We once looked up “Barnes” in a book about the origins of surnames
and learned that its first mention was in the ‘Great Boke of St Albans”. And so,
of course, for a while, John became “The Great Boke”. He also answered to
“Rossi” which originated with a Middle-Eastern TV producer mishearing “Barnsie”.
The mistake was apparently quickly taken up by the band who joined in with the
calls of ‘Come on Rossi”.
Things took a truly bizarre turn when he told me he was writing new lyrics to
well-known melodies, the words all being materials that shoes were made out of.
So far he’d fitted “Leather upper, man-made sole” to the last phrase of Froggie
Moore Rag and “Synthetic fibre, synthetic fibre” to La Cucaracha.
He had inherited his love of word play from Bruce Turner. But whereas Bruce’s
spoonerisms were smooth and slick (the Buck Clayton Jam Sessions becoming the
Jack Clayton Bum Sessions) John loved to make his puns as torturous, lumbering,
and impenetrable as possible. ‘Whats next?” I’d ask him. “Warm Banjo Skin”.
“What? “Warm Banjo Skin, Cosy Vellum, Kaiser Vilhelm… Echoes of Harlem…” He’d
roll the words around, just about making it work but also not quite.
One day he told me “Naive Lamb’ was one of his favourite bass players. “Hick
Mutton”-“Mick Hutton”, he explained.
Other names he made up for musicians in the Humph band were less well received:
Scots pianist Stan Grieg never warmed to being called “Kilty Mc Shite-y Breeks,
the Filth of Forth”. Adrian Macintosh had his name Chinese-whispered into
“Thunderin’ Crash ’n’ Bash”, and whenever Pete Strange was introduced John would
sing “Sweet Potato Pete” to the tune of “Honeysuckle Rose”- a reference to a war
time propaganda poster: Potato Pete says “I make a good soup”. My name was “Kemal”:
“Young Turk” became “Kemal Ataturk” after the founder of the Republic of Turkey.
John loved the theatrical. With his arched left eye-brow (probably the result of
the accident), and flamboyant dress sense, there was always something of the
last of the great actor/ managers about him. All activities were entered into
with gusto. Anyone who has witnessed him doing the full Jolson on “California
Here I come” will attest to this.One day Humph suggested the reed section pay
more attention during his announcements: “I know you’ve heard it before”, he
explained, “‘but just a flicker of interest and maybe a smile would help”. That
night Humph’s first bit of patter was greeted with a deep, diabolic laugh worthy
of the worst pantomime Geni, delivered with the full jutting and gurning
expression! “Oh God, what have I done”, muttered Humph, and in future John’s
taste for extensive conversation between numbers on stage went unchallenged.
On another night, when John was late back on the stage, his clearly identifiable
silhouette was outlined at the back of the venue in full anecdotal flow. Humph
felt that the show must go on and a point be made. “We’ll do a busker, then he
can come on second number and join us as if that’s what we planned” Humph
suggested. A silent movie ham couldn’t have given a better performance of a
panicking late arriver than Boko shooting through the audience when he realised
we’d started without him.
One of the set pieces in the band would get quieter and quieter until Humph was
almost inaudible playing in harmon mute with only pianissimo bass accompaniment.
It was quite a dramatic moment, completely ruined the night John dropped his
enormous, metal baritone reed cap at the softest moment. The cap bounced several
times, clanking loudly, and putting me in mind of the ping pong ball in Mr
Hulot’s Holiday. John suppressed his glee at this for about .5 of a second
before the full torrent of theatrical laughter. It was probably an accident.
We were always paid by cheque; a safer forum for the bandleader to make his
point. John would find his pay dated 1918, or made out with phrases such as:
“Pay John -gets pissed and keeps the bandleader awake-Barnes, nothing at all”.
At one Edinburgh Jazz Festival the band were billeted in a small stately home on
the outskirts of town. Late one night I staggered in to find that the tiger skin
rug had come to life and was propped up in my bed with Boko’s cap and glasses
on, reading the paper. Inspired by this, and by a bottle of scotch, we used half
a dozen newspapers to tailor him an entire new suit and identity as “the Paper
Man” (see illustration). On this trip John really bonded with Baldrick the house
boxer dog. Their final goodbye, facial expressions mirroring each other through
a giant glass window, was something to see.
John had an on-going stage banter with Bruce Turner, insulting each other’s
efforts (“How was that?” “Stinks!” etc,) and I was proud to inherit Bruce’s
role. “Baritone requires young lungs” I’d suggest. “‘Needs maturity” he would
counter. One night our host at the Jersey jazz festival suggested John and I
leave our instruments in the car as it was a quiet rural area. John was happy to
do so but I took mine in. “Why don’t you just leave them?” he asked in some
irritation. “Remember I have a future” I replied. He loved this and the story
became part of his regular repertoire. But our host, not realising how musicians
are, took this as a sign of gross disrespect for a senior man. He cooled towards
me and was appalled when, during a jazz blindfold test I managed to identify
Corky Corcoran and Dodo Marmarossa after eight bars. John did not give away that
he and I had listened to the track only 2 days earlier.
In the early 90’s, I found myself homeless due to a flat sale being held up.
John and his wife Pat, the kindest of people, insisted I moved in with them, a
sojourn that lasted about a year.
I was not always the best of house guests. In the first week, Pat drove us to
the 100 Club for a Humph gig. I became over-refreshed and on our return threw up
on the neighbours’ hedge. Pat actually cleaned the hedge with a bucket of soapy
water before going to bed, and never forgot that I blamed my illness on her
‘Wavy driving’.
John loved pretending to be the Northern landlord. On my first night, I came
back from a late gig and was creeping up the stairs and was startled to hear
“What bloody time do you call this?” – alarmingly like my own dad used to do.
At the time, my mother had bought me some underwear. “Seconds off the market”
she explained. These bright yellow underpants tripled in size on first washing
and I hung them sagging, shapeless and unattractive on the line in the garden.
Going to collect them in in the evening, I found a huge sign saying in large
letters ‘Neighbours: these are not my underpants – signed, John Barnes”.
I would practice sax and clarinet for hours, looking out of my bedroom window at
the garden. Inevitably, at some point a sign would rise slowly up in front of my
eyes nailed to the top of the wooden clothes prop, encouraging me with the
words: “Why don’t you f….ing shut up?!”
A loft conversion took place whilst I was in residence. John had a large
selection of dish-dashers and other eastern garb and some truly impressive
Bedouin headwear, picked up on his British Council tours. One morning he picked
the most elaborate costume and set off up the ladder towards the roofers whilst
I was sent upstairs to gauge the reaction. He was a bit disappointed, only
getting a lethargic Scouse ‘Hey, there’s an Arab coming on the roof” from one of
the lads.
Cricket was one of his great passions and he often tried to pique my
interest-and I did try and follow the ins and outs of the game. He was a member
at Lord’s and took great delight in putting Harry Gold up for membership at the
age of 80. It was a 15 year waiting list and Harry missed it by a few weeks. I
had to draw the line though at his taste for ending the evening listening to LPs
of great steam trains.
Each morning John, a lover of ritual, would stick his head round the door of my
bedroom and bark, with a pantomime laugh, “Morning young Turk!”
Then there was a game of “Where’s your mouse?” This was with “The Colonel” one
of the beloved cats-the others being Miss Matilda, Digby, and Larkin, a large
ginger Tom who, perhaps realising that I’m allergic to felines, made a point of
always sitting on my knee. The game consisted of a repeated soprano shriek of
‘Where’s your mouse” as a cat-nip-filled cloth rodent was hurled up and down the
stairs with the cat in hot pursuit. The nicknames even stretched to the cats and
“Colonel Versijyamouse of the Polish army” was invented.
This was followed by the making of the porridge, something he insisted on doing
in the microwave. Two times out of three he’d zap it for a second time and we’d
hear the dull thud of exploding oats coating the interior of the machine. At
lunch we would have a look in the ‘Magic Box” in the fridge, so named because it
had miraculously re-filled itself with goodies. The miracle, of course had been
performed discreetly by Pat of the “wavy driving”.
All during that period, John was generous and patient with me, teaching me a
whole bunch of tunes. I worked my way through his L.P collection and found some
truly wonderful examples of his own playing. His duet with Earl Hines on which
he plays clarinet is a classic. He made great records with Bruce Turner, Roy
Williams, Red Allen as well making contributions to many other bands, especially
Humph and Alex Welsh, Mike Daniels and the Midnight Follies. His only solo
album, which typically he invited me to guest on, is a gem- “It happened in
Monterey” is a superb baritone performance and the track on which he overdubbed
a whole sax section “Boko’s Bounce’ became the theme tune to BBC’s “Jazz Score”.
John himself was truly a Magic Box – of energy and humour, scorn for humbug and
love of good. His music was warm, humorous, clever, skilled, and inspiring.
Every day, as if by magic, he refilled and gave again to friends and audiences.
Now inactive, but never forgotten, he will always merit true respect, and a
beaming thumbs-up. Harry Carney was right.
Pat & John at The Half Moon in Putney September 15 2013
Artist Biography by AllMusic
b. 15 May 1932,
Manchester, Lancashire, England. Unusually, Barnes began his musical career as
both a brass and reed player, but quickly abandoned the flügelhorn in favour of
the clarinet. At first he played traditional jazz with the Zenith Six, Mike
Daniels’ Delta Jazzmen and Alan Elsdon. By the mid-60s, however, when he was
with Alex Welsh, Barnes had extended his stylistic range and had also started to
play alto, soprano, baritone saxophones and flute. Barnes spent a decade with
Welsh, and by the time he left, in 1977, he was widely regarded as the best
baritone saxophonist in Europe and one of the best in the world. Since leaving
Welsh he has worked with the Midnite Follies Orchestra, Humphrey Lyttelton, as
co-leader of a small group with Roy Williams and with numerous visiting American
jazz musicians.
28/04/22 - In September
2013, Barbara and went to London for the weekend. I had received an email
from John Westwood to tell me that Dick Laurie and the Elastic Band played
regularly at the Half Moon in Putney. Well it just so happened, purely
co-incidental you understand, that I'd booked for us to stay at the Premier inn
at Putney Bridge, which was lucky! It was also fortuitous that he told me that
John Barnes was to deliver a few monologues that Sunday. We arrived in plenty of
time, and our daughter met us there and we went into the dimly lit back room
where the band was setting up, and where I made myself known to Dick Laurie. He
confirmed that John would be coming, and at that very moment Pat appeared
wheeling John in his wheelchair. We had a lovely chat, and John fairly perked up
when I mentioned cricket at Lords and of course Frank Parr's name cropped up in
the conversation as well as Les Bull. We talked about Campbell Burnap and others
who are no longer with us, as well as a few more Northern names that were
familiar to John. We listened to some great jazz from Dick's band but
unfortunately something went wrong with the arrangements, as I think John was
expecting his pianist to be present, and so wasn't able to do his monologues
which was a little disappointing. John told me that he's definitely going to do
his monologues, and he's had his alto out of its case, but it's his right hand
that's stopping him playing. He's very positive and says he's definitely going
to beat it, and it just needs patience tinged with a little frustration. He's
due to start a new course of physiotherapy the following week, so we wished him
good luck with that. The one thing that John said he was immensely proud of, was
that he was an honorary member of The Merseys, and he said he went to bed every
night in the dark blue T-shirt! We had to leave at the interval, and John's
parting words to me were, "Give my regards to Lancashire".
28/04/22 - We used to see John
regularly playing at Lords Cricket ground along side Roy Williams in the Lords
Jazz Band. Great musician with a fantastic sense of humour. Bought us an MCC tie
one time, as he was a member. Will be sadly missed . RIP John. - Dee and
Rob Lamble
28/04/22 - I knew John
Barnes and this is a related story. I work as a Podiatrist in a Kingston Surrey
NHS clinic. One day a patient , new to me walked in , and completely out of the
blue he opened up with “Do you like jazz?” I explained my involvement as a
musician . He then said ‘ This morning I was listening to a very good Johnny
Barnes C D”. At that time John was very unwell and Christmas looming . We
decided to send John a card.
It was all extraordinary especially as John Barnes received a signed card from
the named patient who’s name was believe it or not Johnathan Barnes. !!! - Ken
Ames
30/04/22 -
That’s a wonderful tribute
from Alan Barnes. I don’t know Alan, but I did know his dad, who was an engineer
at BNFL Risley, and when his son was just becoming well known in the jazz world,
he said that Humphrey Lyttleton was very encouraging and treated him like a son.
Back in the late 1990’s, John
Barnes was guesting with Merseyside’s Savoy Jazzmen at the Globe Hotel (?),
Moreton, on the Wirral. It was a marvellous evening with the large crowd warming
to John’s reed playing (particularly on baritone sax.) and his humour. During a
break, drummer Robbie Foster cheekily remarked to John, “ I see you still have
the price label on your sax, John!” His reply, “Oh, no – that’s the instructions
!” Vintage John Barnes.
Terry Birkinhead.
03/05/22 -
"Hello Fred, my Brother came
across this snip of John Barnes
on YouTube . you may like it". says Peter Darwin. It features John on
baritone saxophone at the Constitutional Club, Lincoln back in 1987. "amateur
VHS video please excuse wobbly camerawork". says the person whu uploaded it.
I've heard John Barnes sing this number in German, and I'm
hopeful this is him singing with the Alex Welsh band
