Take Five, Dave!

If you make a mistake in jazz, you don't give up. You work it into the next line, so it isn't a mistake —Dave Brubeck, December 6, 1920 - December 5, 2012

Jazz musician Dave Brubeck thought he was going to be a cowboy when he grew up. He was born and raised on a ranch in Concord, and at age 11, his family moved to a 45,000-acre ranch in the Sierra foothills near Ione, Ca. He could ride and rope with the best of them. But his mother, afraid for his hands, wouldn't let him rope anything older than a yearling. His uncle had lost a finger that way.

While at school, Dave was studying to be a veterinarian, but music led him astray. No matter that he couldn't read sheet music. He memorized everything from Chopin to cowboy songs. One thing led to another.

Brubeck's mother, Elizabeth Ivey, was a classically trained pianist who had studied in London. "When Dave was 4 or 5, he would position himself under the piano while she was playing Chopin," Gloyd said. Because of poor eyesight, Mr. Brubeck had trouble reading (music), and "his mother gave up on trying to teach him." Mr. Brubeck learned by listening, and by the time he was a teenager, he was playing with adults in a local dance band. —SF Gate

Dave's family had a ranch and hotel on the east side of Honey Lake (Amedee). He had numerous relatives including the Gibson/Haley clan of Litchfield, Carol Doyle of the old Doyle Motor etc. His aunt is buried there.  —Tim Purdy

During the late 1950s, Dave used to hang out in North Beach and at the Sausalito Gate Playhouse theater, where my mom was an actress. I met him when I was very young. I thought the opening line to Take Five was like the rhythm of galloping horses. He liked that.

I remember asking my mom what the Off Broadway stage director Skip Rognlien meant when he said, "Take Five everybody!" during a rehearsal—I was still putting two and two together. I wanted to know what that had to do with Dave Brubeck's Take Five. She laughed and said it meant that they could all take a five-minute smoke break. I was disappointed. Dave's music was more exciting.

I was five-going-on-six, precociously collecting numbers. Quartet was four. Fourfivesix! This many? Two hands. She said: "jazz interlude."

Take Five  peaked at #2 on the Top 40 Billboard singles chart in 1961. It was a signature piece for that era. You heard it playing everywhere. Down Bridge Street to Caledonia in Sausalito. Take Five (with Blue Rondo on the B-side) became the best-selling 45 rpm record ever released. But Dave Brubeck had a heart as big as the wide open skies of California. He never forgot his roots. The album cover was signed.

To be viewed in 5/6 time. When I was young, I loved the album art on Brubeck's album cover by S. Neil Fujita, and probably embellished it with crayons. For some reason, I insisted that it was mine, and not my mother's, though the record was hers. It must've held some triggerpoint of memory of my meeting Dave. It was a half-pint's wild west standoff. Reasoning was not going to work. She finally relented, and let me keep it. 

“One of the reasons I believe in jazz, is that the oneness of man can come through the rhythm of your heart. It’s the same anyplace in the world, that heartbeat. It’s the first thing you hear when you’re born—or before you’re born—and it’s the last thing you hear.” —Dave Brubeck, NYTimes obit

Dave Brubeck was into collaborating with other musicians and poets. He didn't pull rank or status. My friend Ken Bullock said that there may be a tape—rare as a photo of Khrushchiev's shoe pounding the UN table—somewhere of poet Jack Spicer reading to Brubeck's combo. Herb Caen heard it & said it was good.

The Spicer-Brubeck tape—one of the great missing treasures. From his pre-serial poem period, as in The Collected Books. He was a great reader in those days. For all the wonderful collection of mostly serial poems—again, the real stuff—on PennSound, it lacks his finest extant reading, at the Poetry Center in '57, including great, even eerie readings of "Poem for Bird & Myself," "Imaginary Elegies" & "Psychoanalysis: An Elegy" to a crowd primed to the hilt. Can only begin to imagine what he would've sounded like with Brubeck. —Ken Bullock

Tom Pich photo courtesy of National Endowment for the Arts

After a long interlude indeed, I ran into Dave during the early 1990s, at the Russian River JazzFest—I was on assignment taking photos for The West Sonoma County Paper, and Dave and I got to talking about those days of Beat-Bohemia in the SF Bay Area.

Being painfully shy and also being at odds with being so out in the public as a photojournalist, I broke the ice by way of introduction, by giving Dave an anthology of my student art and poetry from my California Arts Council artist residency at Mark West School in Santa Rosa.

Dave thumbed through it, thoughtful, pausing here and there, then he asked me to read a poem or two (I chose Trevor Yeats—This Body is to Ask), and then he handed it back to me and said, "Now, sign it!" There was no early warning signal for paradigm change. There I was. There we were. Is-ness incarnate.

Because I was a poet-artist-photographer working in the schools, Dave introduced me to the musicians (Bob Dorough (Doboro sp?—I can't find a reference to him but I can sing you his song about an old mattress tag he once knew, "Do Not Remove Under Penalty of Law"). The incredibly sweet, Blossom Dearie, and Polish pianist Adam Mankowicz) were interviewing me! Tables turned. What did I know about jazz? Nada.

Not exactly sure what to do, I gave all the jazz musicians poetry books. For some reason, poetry was my ticket to ride. What I didn't know was the role that poetry played in jazz, or repressed nations—like Poland. (Bell learning curve ahead. I later wound up in Russia.)

Dave and I held other held themes in common. He wanted to be a rancher like his father, he grew up on a cattle ranch in Ione; my grand-uncle, Wild Bill Walsh, sold his truck for a bottle of bad whiskey and a good hand of cards in Ione.

Dave wanted to be a veterinarian. As did I. His first love was rodeo roping. I was a fan of All Things Horses—my religion was The Grand National—and rodeo champ Larry Mahan was an idol. But art hogtied us in 30 seconds flat and that was that.

We did not discuss Dave's myriad accolades, we just sat in the warm sun like a couple of cowboys and talked about other things that moved us, as the California hills cradled us, and the long silvered tongue of the Russian River played a riff toward the sea.

Perhaps my editor, Nick Valentine, was disappointed because I didn't mine Dave for pithy quotes. But Dave wanted to blur the boundary between subject and object. I was fine with that.

I found I didn't have the reporter's cold heart, I was no ambulance chaser, after all. The being at-one in the moment was more important than the storyline. Strange meadowlarks, indeed.

I wrote a little story of praise on Dave for The West Sonoma County Paper, and sent the clipping to him. Dave wrote ME a letter (to the editor) in praise of my story and photography. I have it somewhere, along with the photos.

Dave’s letter to the editor, The Paper, December, 1983

RIP Dave Brubeck, your heart never failed you. Take five, Dave. Take Five.

It's a staccato of horses hooves, pounding an opening heartline to the melody. Trust me, I'm not that intellectual, I suck at math. I never set out to find jazz, but jazz just keeps on finding, and outing me.

Take Five Etta and Johnny

I got to hang out backstage with Etta James at a music festival I was covering for The Paper. The Russian River Jazz Festival, I think. There was also a RR Blues Festival which I also covered. Paper editor Nick Valentine said to go hang out backstage and take lots of photos of musicians.

Gulp. I was shy and I hardly knew anyone—let alone, knew if they were famous. Or what for. I was a complete naïf. Lots of down time between sets. Lots of time to hang out and talk about poetry and music. I was working as an artist in the schools at Mark West School and I gave them some kid poetry anthologies I made.

I think Etta was headlining the same year Dave Brubeck and Blossom Dearie were on the stage. I remember chatting with pianist Adam Mankowitz, and Bob Doboro—he had me at Do Not Remove Under Penalty of Law. A song about a mattress tag, FFS, She did her famous song—what's it called? Not At Last, though she did sing it. The one that has the chiki-chiki bits in it—in Lebanese? No, that was Eartha Kitt, another fabulous musician I got to hang out with backstage. Crossed wires. Shows you what I knew about jazz musicians.

I knew zip and zilch about jazz, but Dave took me under his wing, and introduced me around as a poet. I was thrilled. It also made my job much easier with the camera, which can be intrusive. I am not interested in photos where people pose for the camera. I prefer catching candid images of them in action, that passionate moment where there is a rapport with them, their art form, between me, the camera, the film, and the photo. A marriage of light and shadow.

Somewhere I have a letter from Dave Brubeck commending my photos and story of the Russian River Jazz Fest in The Paper. Somewhere. And no, I don’t have a tear sheet of that story. but he did write to me personally as well, letting me know that he had sent the letter in to the paper. I was flummoxed and flabbergasted and proud as I got paid next to nothing for my work, especially my photos. I never could even pay for my supplies.

I remember when I was about 5 or 6, my mom explaining to me what Take Five meant—we were in the Gate Playhouse theater in Sausalito. After a rehearsal, the director, Skip Rognlein said: "Take 5." I guess she also must’ve explained the context for Dave Brubeck's piece too because I knew the two were inexorably linked. 

I remember the album cover from when I was four. Apparently, I loved that album cover so much I carried it around with me. Dave was from Concord, Ca., so, everybody knew each other in those days. It was a small world. When Dave played that piece, I was transported back in time. I told him later of that story, he threw back his head and laughed and laughed.

Take Five Etta and Johnny. Few know that Johnny Otis discovered and promoted Etta James.

https://mohurley.blogspot.com/1983/11/letter-from-dave-brubeck.html

https://mohurley.blogspot.com/2012/12/take-5-dave.html

https://mohurley.blogspot.com/2012/01/rip-johnny-otis.html

Famous People I once knew

On Facebook, someone asked me about the famous people I've met, and I replied in no particular order. Small fragments of stories began to appear, some are pasted here, in hopes I'll do something with them at a later date.

Some fragments I've already blogged on about, but I'll want to compare the language, to see if I have any fresh perspectives, or new leads...otherwise, it's merely archival, and maybe it should stay in draft form. Tho I don't think I ever wrote about the musicians or Scatman...

I've met Scatman Crothers, Kate Wolf, Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin and Grace Slick. I've met so many of the legends. Where to even begin?

Well, it WAS the 60s...and 70s and 80s...Janis lived on Arroyo Road at Camp Lagunitas, or Barbano’s. She'd be getting up about the time we walked home from high school...

Grace Slick—we wandered into her house in the middle of a drug deal...there were red roses on the piano and a sunken hot tub in the living room with a blue and green shag rug. She stumbled out of the bedroom around 4 PM, in a black ecru-hemmed babydoll negligeé (I kid you not), raccoon makeup caked under her eyes, and she was quite cross with us for being in her living room. But the guys were in the kitchen having a smoke.

Scatman Crothers was at the River Theater in Guerneville, after his concert, we all piled into a booth at a Guerneville coffeeshop (River Inn?) and gossiped the night away. He was a great storyteller. What I remember is Scatman imitating Cab Calloway's famous song, with a Heidi heidi hei. I took notes, it appeared in The Paper with photos. All my tear sheets have melted back into the earth after the biblical rains we had in the 1990s. I have the negatives somewhere. 

I met Kate Wolf there at the Rio Theatre too. Nina Gerber was on guitar. Man, that girl can play. It was a fundraiser for something—was it for Kate's own leukemia? I don't remember. Kate kept quiet about it. I remember she sang so drearily, I was bored to tears. It was only later that I found out about the leukemia and I felt so bad for panning her performance. But it was dreary. I'd seen her around before, at the Forest Knolls Post Office, in her white Ford station wagon. She lived up on Resaca.

Never actually talked to Janis, she was pretty hung over... We were shy high school kids, so we merely said hi as we went up the road home. She never picked us up hitchhiking. But I loved her Porsche with its mural.

Stan Getz,  Etta James, Dr. Maya Angelou, Irving Layton and Donald Sutherland. OK, Stan was the lie. No one caught it, though.

Dave Brubeck wrote a letter to The Paper praising my Russian River Jazz Fest photography. It was a thrill watching him from backstage playing Take Five, one of my mom's favorite theater sayings. And Stan was very approachable between sets, chatted with me about my work teaching lids poetry and art. I gave him some anthologies. (Note to myself: I have to find my famous people letters and scan them).

Steven Gross who also was working for The Paper, took pix also, I secretly think he coveted my job, and he coincidentally stole my negatives of Etta James. He was quite nasty about it too. Not on my list of people to reconnect with.

Maya Angelou and her son Guy Johnson, I read with them in SF for National Poetry Association. This was long before she got famous. Guy and I exchangeds letters for a while. 

I met Irving Layton and Donald Sutherland at his sister Boschka's wake. Never talked to Donnie. so I guess I didn’t meet him.  Irving was quite the charmer. I could see what she saw in him. That Newfie crowd got rather famous: Irving—Canada's Poet Laureate, Donald took some Oscars home—Ordinary People or Six Degrees of Separation? And there was Leonard Cohen. So I'm one degree of separation from Leonard. The wake was at Boschka's new home at Goat Rock so the events are inexorably intertwined.

I met the Bridges all at once at the Sacramento Music Circus: I think it was Guys and Dolls. We were all staying at the same motel. I wanted to know why Lloyd named Beau "Boy" as Jeff clearly was younger (closer to my age). Mr Sea Hunt himself gathered me up on his lap and roared with laughter.

Lloyd bought me a crystal star necklace. A prized possession that I lost down the back seat of a neighbor's car. I cried, and Agnes was too drunk to help—at 9 AM. Lloyd's crystal star slid down my neck, down into the void. Later, I would meet Leeta, my first boyfriend's  mother—who went to high school with Lloyd in Petaluma, so our worlds were all fairly intertwined.

Big bad Beau wouldn't let Jeff play with me in the pool. My feelings were hurt.

My mom was costuming the play. It took me a half a lifetime to figure out why Lloyd was laughing uproariously at my unconscious Beau/Boy "joke." I was pretty sure adults weren't to be trusted. Beau didn't want to have anything to do with me. I was 6, I was a girl, I couldn't swim so Jeff & I eyed each other in the shallow end, with Beau being the bossy older brother....they were so blond, they took my breath away. Even then.

Tommy Smothers used to babysit me at Gate 5 while my mom was at the Gate Playhouse theater. Dick Smothers never babysat me, he left it to Tommy who liked kids. And he was more fun to be around.

Bobby Darin was in Big Sur and my mom met him after midnight at the Esalen baths. She met lots of people: even Frank Sinatra bought her a drink once at the Cal Neva—she showed me where they sat. They drove up to Forest Knolls. Bobby showed me the chords to "If I were a Carpenter." Can you dig it? I payed badly for him on my palomino pony guitar, until my fingers bled, I was but a child. What did I know about fame?

Tom Waits, Joan Baez, Cheech Marin, Don Johnson, Dick and Tommy Smothers and Sterling Hayden. I've met them too.

I met Tom Waits at Ruth Mankin's 50th birthday party in Sebastopol but he was afraid of being bugged by fans, so we ignored him until he began to feel like a ghost of his own choosing. I felt sorry for him so we mostly just stood at the stove and ate sweet potato fries with lime & chili powder, talking of food and inanity itself. He hennaed his hair so his sideburns were sort of an auberge-eggplant color. I taught his daughter art and calligraphy one summer at LBC...she was sufficiently spoiled to be too cool for her own good.

I was an extra a few times on Nash Bridges. Cheech Marin and Don Johnson arrived on the scene, so I guess technically, I've met them as well. I was shouting out to them and taking photos like a good brash reporter. I took fake photos with my camera. On hindsight, I wish I'd had film in my camera. They blew up the VA hospital. It was quite astounding. My blue truck was an extra too, & it got paid more than I did. Tiny little checks from Universal Studios...almost not worth cashing. But I did. In those days, every penny counted. Still does.

Extras blend into the woodwork or wind up on the proverbial cutting room floor. Neil had a longer scene with Jeff Bridges in Tucker, that was reduced to a 30-second blip. You have to slo-mo it to see him.

Oh, we met Dame Edna too... We ushered at Theater on the Square in SF and met Barry Humphreys after the show...but I've already done far too many of these Famous People quizzes.

Seamus Heaney, Kenny Rogers, Carlos Santana, Robin Williams and Eric Idle.

I went to school with Robin way before fame came along...I ran into Robin later with Eric Idle at the Greek Theater, I was working backstage, Bread & Roses Festival. He remembered me...which shocked me. Nothing like getting a slippery, steamy bear hug from a very sweaty performer after a show... Once I was madly in love with Robin when I was 17, I used to follow him all around College of Marin, as he did his silly walks in green gym shorts and a woman's bathing cap on his head with the chin strap dangling.

Eric Idle looked like a cross-eyed Siamese cat up close, but was very kind. I mean what DO you say to a Python. When Robin and Eric revved it up back stage with Big Mikie, Michael Pritchard, I about died  of laughter.

I was asked to take photos of Kenny Rogers with some friends in the Green Room at the Luther Burbank Center for the Arts, in Santa Rosa, after a show. He was very nice. Lotta pancake makeup. I got to see the show too. I gained a new appreciation for Kenny Rogers, not formerly on my music radar screen.

Then there was Bo Diddly. It was at the Sonoma County Fair, I was taking photos, and Bo Diddly invited me into his trailer after the show for an interview (I was dancing up front, and taking photos during the show). I expected to do a story on him. What I wasn't expecting was to be chased around the trailer by him. He had his guitar, Lucille, strapped on, and nearly had me cornered, but I ducked under her neck. Made my escape. Needless to say, I was much more cautious around Chuck Berry, who was a perfect gentleman.

Redux list, 2021

People I’ve met or been within five theater.

Sheesh, I’ve met and chatted with so many famous people, it’s impossible to pick just 5. So it’s 5 categories. Actors, musicians, scientists /public figures, political figures, writers.

1. Robin Williams

Eric Idle

Lloyd Bridges, Beau and Jeff

Connie Stevens

George Lucas

Sterling Hayden

Tommy & Dick Smothers

Dame Edna

Cheech Marin

Don Johnson

Faye Dunaway

Ron Perlman

Brian Cox

Peter Coyote

2. Kenny Rogers

Pete Seeger

Joan Baez

Dave Brubeck

Bo Diddly

Eartha Kitt

Jesse Colin Young

Van Morrison 

Bob Dylan

Janis Joplin

Bobby Darin

Tom Waits

Carlos Santana

Grace Slick

Scatman Crothers

Kate Wolf

Mimi Fariña 

Tracy Chapman

3. Commander Chris Hadfield, astronaut

Dr. Al Baez, invented lasers

Bill Moyers

Noam Chomsky

Leonard Matlovich

Maria Shriver

David Brower

Famous Amos

Edwin Drummond, famous rock climber, ex boyfriend

4. Irish president Mary Robinson

Irish president Mary McAleece

Jerry Brown

Willie Brown 

Barbara Boxer 

Gary Giacomini

Robert Reich

5. Rita Dove

Seamus Heaney

Joy Harjo

Robert Bly

Maya Angelou

Lou Welch

Raymond Carver

Irving Layton

Isabel Allende

Joseph  Brodsky

Galway Kinnell

Alice Walker

Allan Ginsberg

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Robert Hass

Juan Felipe Herrera

James Patterson

Tim Severin, explorer, writer

Ken Kesey

I see I need to work on my politicians. George Lucas is the only lie. Chomsky and Clinton I was pretty far away from. Martin Sheen too.

Letter from Dave Brubeck NEED TEAR SHEET & PIX

Dave wrote another letter to The Paper praising my article and photos.

Dave’s letter to the editor, The Paper, December, 1983

The Scatman comes to town. DATE.

IN HONOR OF SCATMAN 
BY MAUREEN HURLEY

People crowded outside River Inn Friday night: "Hey look. I don't believe it, there's the Scatman eating dinner." The focus of the starstruck, 73-year-old performer and veteran TV and movie star, Scatman  Crothers—in town, hangin' out, havin' a bite to eat at the local diner before accepting The Jazz Note award from the Russian River Creative Arts Foundation at the River Theatre Centre next door.

Crothers, a Terre Haute, Indiana, native, best known as the Scatman, has been in film for over 60 years. 

Most of his fans know him as Louis from the TV series "Chico and the Man." He starred in "Roots"' and was the piano player Sam in the "Casablanca" TV series. Piano isn't one of the instruments Scatman is used to playing but he knows where the notes are. "I've been in the business long enough to know where my hands are supposed to be," he said grinning. Crothers sings and plays guitar.

Crothers was the first black to hit television, in 1948. Besides TV, Crothers starred in several dozen films as a character actor. Some of the films are The Shining, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, The King of Marvin Gardens, all with Jack Nicholson; Steven Spielberg's Twilight Zone, and The Shootist. He also appeared in five movies with comedian Jerry Lewis.

Scatman doesn't keep track of it all. His manager Ron Graham does. Graham is currently working on a documentary on Scatman for cable TV. Graham reminisced, "He didn't even know who (Director Stanley) Kubrick was when he was asked to act in The Shining. He's more interested in playing music. Music is his life." And that contribution to music is why the Russian River Creative Arts Foundation chose to honor the illustrious performer.

When asked after the show how he felt about receiving awards, Scatman's modesty was apparent. "It's nice always to receive anything," he said. "Of course, it's better to give than to receive. I ain't no better than you and you ain't no better than me. We're all God's children and everybody's a star."

SIDEBARS

They were hot. And cool. Brubeck, Viva Brasil, Morgana King, Cornelius Bumpus and 3000 people a day grooved at the 1983 post-Labor Day Russian River Jazz Fest.

Temperatures soared over 100 degrees and the KJAZ All-Stars greeted Saturday's crowd followed by Brubeck, Bumpus, Napata Mero, Kitty Margolis Cole. Sonoma County Sheriffs estimate Sunday's crowd was larger than Saturday's and ticket sales confirm it.

Though the Guerneville Fire Department made a few first-aid calls for heat exhaustion, saxophonist Stan Getz was the first real casualty of the 1983 jazz fest. Getz, scheduled to highlight Sunday's lineup, collapsed last week after doing a show with Brubeck at the Hollywood Bowl. 

Getz is under medical care at a Whittier hospital. Sunday's schedule was altered, and Brubeck returned and again teamed with Richie Cole, filling the Getz spot. The duo's 12-minute version of Brubeck's immortal "Take Five" brought the crowd to its feet. One jazz fan from Berkeley, a lawyer, told ticket takers Sunday he was going to sue the CAF because Getz failed to show; ticket takers smiled and gave him a refund.

*.      *.     *

Jazz was once thought to make one promiscuous, drink alcohol and take or smoke dope. Liking jazz meant one had fallen into the dark hands of debauchery and despair. That's changed. When asked why they liked jazz, robust and healthy festival fans said, "because it's intellectual-visceral-it allows you to think, unlike rock and roll."

As jazz moved closer to Main Street, rock and roll became the musical power of darkness. And as inevitably happened jazz and rock began to influence each other (fusion jazz). Now quite conservative, jazz purists were outraged

Clarinetist of the Dave Brubeck Quartet, Bill Smith said, "Fusion jazz is not two separate things. It's two different aspects of the same thing. Rock & Roll and the blues are two different dialects of the same tongue. Music.

Dave Brubeck said, "Jazz is strong all over the world. The Russian River is like the Mississippi of California bringing us jazz."

Brubeck's jazz is often dubbed "mainstream" or middle of the road. In the '50s it was "modern" or "progressive"way off on the road's shoulder. Fusion has crept into the Brubeck group via the presence of Brubeck's sons.

Scatman Crothers, actor and singer, doesn't dig fusion. "Sorry, but I love the true sound. Chemical sounds don't do anything for me. Fusion jazz is mechanical—-that ain't music."

Jazz pianist Don Haas said the definition of fusion jazz came from the audien-ce. "To the average lay person, Count Bassie may seem vanguard. With fusion jazz, it depends upon who's talking and who's listening." To define it lies within the ear of the beholder.

Note bene: I spent a memorable evening with the incomparable Scatman Crothers at the Guerneville Diner next to the Rio Theater. After his concert, we all piled into a booth at the coffeeshop and gossiped the night away. I don't remember why he was in town (an award). Before that night I had never heard of him. He was a great storyteller. Man, the stories he told—we were riveted to the booth until way past closing—3 AM. What I remember is Scatman imitating Cab Calloway's famous song, with a Heidi heidi hei. I took notes, it appeared in The Paper with photos. The waitress closed up around us, but the Scatman was on a roll. And she had the good sense not to mess with that.

My friend and neighbor, Jonathan London had a groovy poem, Hep Cat, he was working on. (Was he with us that night in Guerneville?) Around the time Scatman blew outa town, Jonathan got a nibble from the big publishers who liked Hep Cat, and could he turn it into a children's book? Suddenly hep was in. And so was Jonathan riding high on a long coattail wind. Elucidate. Elucidate, indeed. hep-hep-hurray. He gave me signed copies. I wonder where those books are now?