Klarinet Archive - Posting 000031.txt from 2008/01

From: John Smith <jacksmith7@-----.net>
Subj: Re: [kl] Could Benny be heard unmiked??
Date: Wed, 02 Jan 2008 21:00:33 -0500

Dan Leeson,
That's a wonderful story. Thank you.
Jack Smith
On Jan 2, 2008, at 7:09 PM, Daniel Leeson wrote:

> Since the question of Benny Goodman and how loud he played has
> arisen, I'd
> like to offer this brief story because it describes what it was
> like to hear
> Goodman at the Paramount Theatre in 1944. I heard him as plain as
> day, but
> then again, I was in the first row. This story originally appeared
> in The
> Clarinet, Fall 1986, under the title "Reminiscences of Benny
> Goodman," and
> was written in memory of the great player following his sudden death.
>
>
> THE KING OF SWING (1945)
>
> World War II was still being fought. I think I was 13 years old.
> It's
> hard to remember. At 5 a.m. I took the 45-minute, combination,
> train/bus
> ride from Paterson, N.J. to New York City, walked from the bus
> terminal to
> the Paramount Theater -- an enormous, art-deco monstrosity -- and
> got in
> line at 6 a.m. to buy tickets when the box office opened two hours
> later.
> The police did not permit the ticket line to start forming earlier
> than
> that. Barriers were erected that caused us to hug the walls
> instead of
> blocking the sidewalk. The line went down the street from
> Broadway, bent
> around the corner at Eighth Avenue and continued uptown for at
> least another
> block. I was in the front of the line. An aggressive, short kid
> who plays
> the clarinet can get to the front of a queue anywhere in the world,
> but you
> have to be short.
>
> If you were not in line by 6 a.m. you would never get tickets for
> the 9
> a.m. movie which was, in turn, followed by the first of five or six
> daily
> live shows with which the movie alternated. The shows were
> invariably big
> band spectacles that started around 10:30 a.m. The reason why I
> was at the
> Paramount that particular day was because Benny Goodman was playing
> there
> and I wanted to see and hear him live.
>
> For a fee, I would hold someone's place in line to allow them a
> break for
> coffee. I don't remember if it was summertime, or if I was playing
> hooky,
> or if it was inter-session vacation, or what. It's all a haze. But I
> remember Benny Goodman. Oh boy, do I remember Benny Goodman!
>
> Most of the attendees tried to get aisle seats between rows five
> and 20.
> Not me. I wanted the seventh seat left of center in row one. I
> had been to
> the Paramount Theater before and knew the ropes. While row one was a
> terrible place from which to see either the live show or the movie,
> it was,
> paradoxically, perfect for what I had in mind.
>
> The live show at the Paramount always began with the rising of the
> orchestra pit, the musicians in place and playing during their
> ascent into
> the audience's view. I had come to look into the pit as the
> artists set
> up -- out of sight of everyone else in the audience except those in
> row
> one -- before the live show began. And the seventh seat left of
> center was
> the one nearest to the pit entrance door that all the players
> used. For
> those 15 minutes I could look at Benny Goodman all by myself. I
> did not
> have to share him or the band with anyone. It was during those 15
> minutes
> that I was alive. The rest of the time was just waiting.
>
> The film portion of the show consisted of a "Movietone News,"
> "Selected
> Short Subjects," and then some turkey of a film where either Robert
> Taylor
> saved the world from the Nazi horde or John Wayne prevented a
> "Yellow Peril"
> assault on American womanhood. I forget. Besides, it was almost
> impossible
> to see the screen from the first row of the Paramount. The angle of
> perspective was too steep. (The scene of Benny Goodman's Paramount
> Theater
> success as seen in one of Hollywood's worst biographical movies,
> "The Benny
> Goodman Story," shows the theater as rather small with great lines
> of sight
> from all rows. Don't believe it. The Superbowl could have been
> played in
> that theater.)
>
> As everyone else looked at the enemies of America being destroyed
> in the
> movie's final scenes, my magic time began. I would lean forward,
> look over
> the rail and there, just a few feet below me, was Gene Krupa,
> perhaps, or
> Teddy Wilson, or Peggy Lee. Then, a few minutes before showtime,
> Benny
> Goodman would come in with his Selmer clarinet tucked under his
> arm, just
> like that, as casual as could be. And he carried it under his arm
> just like
> a salami. I imitated him for years by carrying my clarinet that way.
>
> When everyone was in place and the movie over, the lights went up
> and the
> pit began its slow ascent. To the tune of "Let's Dance," the stage
> and its
> players rose until the full glare of the spotlights were on them. But
> before that happened I was at eye level with Benny for an instant.
> Then,
> suddenly, he looked at me. He actually LOOKED AT ME!!! And the
> instant
> passed. The stage continued its upward rise and the show began.
> And while
> I could not see the show, I could hear it all quite clearly. I
> could hear
> Benny and Gene Krupa do their drum/clarinet duet in Sing! Sing!
> Sing! I
> could hear Benny, Teddy Wilson, Lionel Hampton, and Gene Krupa do
> Moonglow
> as a quartet.
>
> Benny talked a little and, on occasion, he even sang. It wasn't a
> vocal
> solo. He had a terrible singing voice. It was a tune where the
> whole band
> sang and Benny sang, too, but he was closer to the mike than anyone
> else so
> I heard him better. Peggy Lee sang, in a voice dripping with sexual
> innuendo, final syllables clipped, hands on hips, "You had plenty
> money,
> 1922. You let other women make a fool of you..."
>
> Benny punctuated her singing with ornaments that were cleverly
> conceived,
> brilliantly supportive of her artistry, and extraordinarily well
> executed.
> (If only my ornaments in the Mozart Clarinet Quintet were half as
> imaginative.) And I sat and listened, thinking of the instant that
> Benny
> had looked at me, while waiting for the show to end so the
> orchestra would
> begin its descent.
>
> Then maybe he would look at me again. Maybe he would even talk to
> me and
> say, "Hi kid. Enjoy the show?" Maybe he would ask me if I played the
> clarinet and I could tell him that I did play, though not as fast
> as he.
> And I would tell him about my metal clarinet and how I tried to
> play licks
> just like he did, but they didn't come out the same way as when he
> did it.
> And maybe he would tell me the secret of how to make it come out
> right. And
> maybe ...
>
> But when the show was over and the pit began its descent, Benny
> was off to
> the side talking to Teddy Wilson and did not see me staring at him
> with eyes
> like laser beams. That didn't matter too much because I stayed
> there the
> entire day and saw every show. But he never looked at me again.
>
> Benny Goodman died yesterday (dated from the writing of this
> reminiscence)
> and with him goes this magic moment of my childhood. Years later I
> met and
> played with him. He was soloist with an orchestra of which I was a
> member
> and we chatted briefly. I was still in awe of him.
>
> Today I have become somewhat jaded. A four-hour stint playing
> basset horn
> in Strauss' Frau Ohne Schatten is enough to make the performance of
> music
> something less than a joyous experience. It tires you. It jades
> you. I
> have a nice family, a big house, a bunch of clarinets, and a good
> portfolio.
> I play a lot of Mahler, Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Stravinsky, and
> Strauss.
> I have a very sweet life. But no other experience has ever matched
> that
> magic instant when I was almost a teenager and Benny Goodman looked
> at me as
> the stage rose in the Paramount Theater in New York City.
>
> Dan Leeson
> dnleeson@-----.net
> SKYPE: dnleeson
>
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>

------------------------------------------------------------------