It was the next day, and at Sweeney's Jazz Club the band was
preparing for another performance in the spotlight. Sitting at the bar
were two interesting characters, waiting for the music to start.
One of the men was trying to cut a steak. "I really like this new steak they're serving up here, Bob, but it's kinda tough to eat with just a fork."
"What're you talking `bout, Jim?" replied the other guy.
"I can't cut it!"
"Lemme see!" Bob picked up the fork and tried to cut the steak, but to no avail.
Jim grabbed it back. "You couldn't cut a piece of steak with a knife!" he insulted. Then he started thinking: "Maybe I could cut this thing with a knife!" Then he yelled to the bartender, "Hey! I need a knife!"
"Huh?" asked Sweeney, the in-house barkeep.
"The knife! Mack, the knife!"
"Oh."
As Jim was happily cutting his meat, Bob tugged his shoulder and said, "Hey, Jim, the music's starting!"
And it was.
King Oliver's band was one of the best around, especially with Louis Armstrong heading up the trumpet section. It's no wonder the fans loved them. They could play anything around. Of course, in the 1920's, there wasn't much to work with as far as jazz goes, so the Creole band did mostly originals by Oliver himself and some things by the small group of other Dixieland notables of the day.
It was common of the band to start with a big, up-beat song in a major or 7th key, just to keep the crowd interested. It usually works. After a couple of tunes like that, they might go on to some slow ballad, or minor key. This would keep the crowd interested. The crowd liked being interested. It kept them entertained. And when they're entertained, they stay and pay more money. And that makes the band members happy, because they get bonuses.
But, the plot has to thicken at this point, and that is why we have tragic things start to happen (note my clever use of foreshadowing). Actually, I think that you should think that the plot could use a little help by now. You're probably bored out of your minds.
SO... Joe was beginning to get really nervous because of the soon-to- occur "Big Show" that was coming up the next day because... well... let's face it, he only had a day to practice and, according to his standards, Joe wasn't ready.
Joe's un-readiness really showed when the music started, and Joe realized that it was the one song that Joe hadn't practiced the previous week. He had kept putting it off one more day... and now it was too late. Joe could fake the verses, he could fake the chorus, but he couldn't fake his solo. Not even his lucky reed could help him.
After the fact, Joe was told that he was supposed to be playing in Dm7 b9, but Joe had thought he was playing in F7+6, and everyone knows that there are nine worlds of difference between a Dm7b9 and F7+6. The moral of the story is, practice makes perfect.
But just because there's a moral doesn't mean there's an ending.
You read me correctly, this story goes on for at least ten more pages.
Sorry.
"Hey, Bob."
"Yeah, Jim?"
The two patrons were still watching the music (that's almost an oxi- moron).
"You noticed how that lead saxophone guy doesn't know what he's doing?"
"Yeah. It gives music a bad name."
"Hey! I got an idea! Let's leave without paying as a means of revenge for this... this... this noise!"
"Good idea Jim."
"Actually, it wasn't mine."
"Whose was it?"
"Everyone else's."
Because of Joe's horrendous playing in the first song, half of the entire audience left the bar without paying. The rest of the audience began to riot and spew naughty words at the band. Amidst the chaos, one of the floutists was picked up by the "mosh-pit" and thrown out the window. Luckily, he landed in a garbage dumpster. I just thought I'd say that. Anyway, after everyone else had left, the band members took the initiative and began to shun Joe. Mack Sweeney, the owner of the bar, decided not to pay the band due to the sudden flash of horridness that had robbed him of all his customers.
For Joe, who was the cause of this whole disaster, it was like salty- cheese frosting on a pickle cake. He left the jazz club with a downcast expression of depression on his face, and trudged slowly through the muddy streets to the Shoebox Speakeasy. There, he knew, he would be accepted for who he really was.
When he got to the speakeasy, Joe found that the weekly poker game had just begun, with Sly Sty, Jizzo, and a strange woman that Joe didn't recognize.
"Hey Joe!" yelled Sty. "Ya wanna join the poker game? There's only three of us, and we need four to fit the table."
After thinking it over, Joe realized that after that night's performance, he didn't have much to lose. He took his seat next to the poker champ and said, in a rather melancholy fashion, "Sure. Count me in." Then he leaned over and whispered to Sty, "Who's that lady?"
"That lady" was a tall, slender woman with an ugly haircut, lots of makeup, and a nauseatingly short dress. Joe figured right off the bat that she must be one of those flappers that were popping up everywhere those days.
"This," said George, proudly, "Is Dolly, my new girlfriend. Dolly, meet Joe. Joe, Dolly."
"Hi Joe," the girl half-whispered.
"Hello, Dolly," replied Joe, uncertainly.
"Now that we know each other," Sty announced, "Let's get this show on the road!"
So the game began.
The first deal consisted of Joe opening the betting with nearly a dollar in cash, because he strongly believed in his hand of two two's (like I said, he was new at the game.) Jizzo raised him two dollars, and George Steinbach matched it. Dolly just did like Sty did. After they traded in their cards, Joe wound up with another two, which was enough to make this rookie happy. He added ten dollars to the pool. The turn came to Sty, and he exclaimed, "Hey, Joe, I'm no Vanderbilt, but I'm pretty certain I could top that." He added twenty. Joe still had faith in his two's, so he matched Sty.
When the time came to lay out the cards, Joe proudly displayed his three twos. Jizzo countered with 3-pair. He was then disqualified for taking too many cards. Dolly had absolutely no idea of what was in her hand, so she folded at the last-minute. Finally it was Sty's turn. He jumped upon the table, holding the cards to his heart, and reciting French poetry, building up to the climax where he finally showed his hand of five aces, all of them spades. Of course, his opponents lacked the necessary experience (or the plain common sense. No one knows which) to suspect anything fishy.
This first hand was typical of the next twenty, with Sty getting all the good cards and occasionally letting Dolly win, at which point she would start crying about her luck, or lack thereof. He also promised to share his winnings with Dolly after they got married, and that usually shut her up.
And the gang played on...
One of the men was trying to cut a steak. "I really like this new steak they're serving up here, Bob, but it's kinda tough to eat with just a fork."
"What're you talking `bout, Jim?" replied the other guy.
"I can't cut it!"
"Lemme see!" Bob picked up the fork and tried to cut the steak, but to no avail.
Jim grabbed it back. "You couldn't cut a piece of steak with a knife!" he insulted. Then he started thinking: "Maybe I could cut this thing with a knife!" Then he yelled to the bartender, "Hey! I need a knife!"
"Huh?" asked Sweeney, the in-house barkeep.
"The knife! Mack, the knife!"
"Oh."
As Jim was happily cutting his meat, Bob tugged his shoulder and said, "Hey, Jim, the music's starting!"
And it was.
King Oliver's band was one of the best around, especially with Louis Armstrong heading up the trumpet section. It's no wonder the fans loved them. They could play anything around. Of course, in the 1920's, there wasn't much to work with as far as jazz goes, so the Creole band did mostly originals by Oliver himself and some things by the small group of other Dixieland notables of the day.
It was common of the band to start with a big, up-beat song in a major or 7th key, just to keep the crowd interested. It usually works. After a couple of tunes like that, they might go on to some slow ballad, or minor key. This would keep the crowd interested. The crowd liked being interested. It kept them entertained. And when they're entertained, they stay and pay more money. And that makes the band members happy, because they get bonuses.
But, the plot has to thicken at this point, and that is why we have tragic things start to happen (note my clever use of foreshadowing). Actually, I think that you should think that the plot could use a little help by now. You're probably bored out of your minds.
SO... Joe was beginning to get really nervous because of the soon-to- occur "Big Show" that was coming up the next day because... well... let's face it, he only had a day to practice and, according to his standards, Joe wasn't ready.
Joe's un-readiness really showed when the music started, and Joe realized that it was the one song that Joe hadn't practiced the previous week. He had kept putting it off one more day... and now it was too late. Joe could fake the verses, he could fake the chorus, but he couldn't fake his solo. Not even his lucky reed could help him.
After the fact, Joe was told that he was supposed to be playing in Dm7 b9, but Joe had thought he was playing in F7+6, and everyone knows that there are nine worlds of difference between a Dm7b9 and F7+6. The moral of the story is, practice makes perfect.
But just because there's a moral doesn't mean there's an ending.
You read me correctly, this story goes on for at least ten more pages.
Sorry.
"Hey, Bob."
"Yeah, Jim?"
The two patrons were still watching the music (that's almost an oxi- moron).
"You noticed how that lead saxophone guy doesn't know what he's doing?"
"Yeah. It gives music a bad name."
"Hey! I got an idea! Let's leave without paying as a means of revenge for this... this... this noise!"
"Good idea Jim."
"Actually, it wasn't mine."
"Whose was it?"
"Everyone else's."
Because of Joe's horrendous playing in the first song, half of the entire audience left the bar without paying. The rest of the audience began to riot and spew naughty words at the band. Amidst the chaos, one of the floutists was picked up by the "mosh-pit" and thrown out the window. Luckily, he landed in a garbage dumpster. I just thought I'd say that. Anyway, after everyone else had left, the band members took the initiative and began to shun Joe. Mack Sweeney, the owner of the bar, decided not to pay the band due to the sudden flash of horridness that had robbed him of all his customers.
For Joe, who was the cause of this whole disaster, it was like salty- cheese frosting on a pickle cake. He left the jazz club with a downcast expression of depression on his face, and trudged slowly through the muddy streets to the Shoebox Speakeasy. There, he knew, he would be accepted for who he really was.
When he got to the speakeasy, Joe found that the weekly poker game had just begun, with Sly Sty, Jizzo, and a strange woman that Joe didn't recognize.
"Hey Joe!" yelled Sty. "Ya wanna join the poker game? There's only three of us, and we need four to fit the table."
After thinking it over, Joe realized that after that night's performance, he didn't have much to lose. He took his seat next to the poker champ and said, in a rather melancholy fashion, "Sure. Count me in." Then he leaned over and whispered to Sty, "Who's that lady?"
"That lady" was a tall, slender woman with an ugly haircut, lots of makeup, and a nauseatingly short dress. Joe figured right off the bat that she must be one of those flappers that were popping up everywhere those days.
"This," said George, proudly, "Is Dolly, my new girlfriend. Dolly, meet Joe. Joe, Dolly."
"Hi Joe," the girl half-whispered.
"Hello, Dolly," replied Joe, uncertainly.
"Now that we know each other," Sty announced, "Let's get this show on the road!"
So the game began.
The first deal consisted of Joe opening the betting with nearly a dollar in cash, because he strongly believed in his hand of two two's (like I said, he was new at the game.) Jizzo raised him two dollars, and George Steinbach matched it. Dolly just did like Sty did. After they traded in their cards, Joe wound up with another two, which was enough to make this rookie happy. He added ten dollars to the pool. The turn came to Sty, and he exclaimed, "Hey, Joe, I'm no Vanderbilt, but I'm pretty certain I could top that." He added twenty. Joe still had faith in his two's, so he matched Sty.
When the time came to lay out the cards, Joe proudly displayed his three twos. Jizzo countered with 3-pair. He was then disqualified for taking too many cards. Dolly had absolutely no idea of what was in her hand, so she folded at the last-minute. Finally it was Sty's turn. He jumped upon the table, holding the cards to his heart, and reciting French poetry, building up to the climax where he finally showed his hand of five aces, all of them spades. Of course, his opponents lacked the necessary experience (or the plain common sense. No one knows which) to suspect anything fishy.
This first hand was typical of the next twenty, with Sty getting all the good cards and occasionally letting Dolly win, at which point she would start crying about her luck, or lack thereof. He also promised to share his winnings with Dolly after they got married, and that usually shut her up.
And the gang played on...
