Jazz comes to Lily Springs

Abelia loves her music.  The Harvard 1906 model "talking machine" sits during the summer months on the table on her back porch.  She loves sipping wine and listening to music at night, watching the insects swarm around the lamp on her table.

In 1917, a new craze was about to hit America.  The Original Dixieland Jass Band recorded the first ever jazz record.  The record was released on the Victor record label in May and became an instant hit.  Jazz had for the first time pushed into the mainstream.

Victor Records didn't quite know how to describe the music.  In one ad they described it as a "Brass band gone crazy."  And then admit quite frankly that they didn't know what a "jass" band is.

Last summer, I purchased an original copy of this album on Ebay.  So many were sold that they are relatively easy to find.  My copy is okay, considering the album is almost 100 years old.  I cleaned it up and recorded the song "Livery Stable Blues" into the computer, knowing then that this song was going to become a significant part of the narrative in Lilac Wine.

This album helps bring Abelia and Robert together in the novel.  Robert had already had a small taste of jazz while witnessing a performance from Fate Marable aboard the paddle wheeler Sidney with his new friend, Billy Miles.  Fate Marable was an African American bandleader who traveled up and down the Mississippi River on excursion boats.  Due to the mainly white clientele on the excursion boats,  however, he was never fully able in 1917 to perform the true jazz from his hometown, New Orleans.  He was like countless other jazz initiators who were not recorded until much later.

Ironically, the Original Dixieland Jass Band was made up of white musicians.  This, in a large part, was due to the inherent racism in the recording industry at the time.  Plus, jazz musicians from New Orleans were reluctant early on to have their music recorded for fear of imitation. 

Here is the first ever recorded Jazz song:  "Livery Stable Blues," by the Original Dixieland Jass Band:

In the novel, Abelia orders a copy of the album after seeing an ad for it.  Robert, working for the Lily Springs post office delivers it.

Robert walked into the back yard, a square package under his arm, calling out her name. She hurriedly wiped her hands on an old cloth, straightened her skirt and threw open the door to the greenhouse.
     “Oh, there you are,” he said. “It’s going to be a hot one again and I didn’t want to leave this on the porch. Another record, huh?”
     “Yes. Thank you,” she replied, taking the flat, heavy cardboard package from his hand.
     “You must be one of their best customers. Which one is that?”
     Abelia smiled. “I saw an ad for this one. Brand new. It’s like a ‘brass band gone crazy’ it said. Come on.” She turned and headed up the porch steps, untying the rough hemp string from around the package. Robert followed, removing his straw hat on the shade of the porch. Abelia offered him a seat and disappeared into the house. “How about some lemonade?” she called as the door closed behind her. She returned quickly carrying a tray with a pitcher and two tall glasses.
     After pouring the lemonade she started to sit---“Oh, the record,” she remembered. She soon returned, pulling the black disk from the sleeve. The Harvard was at its place on the table with “Ave Maria” still on the platter. “This is a record by the Original Dixieland Jass Band,” she said as she switched the disks, carefully setting Alessandro Moreschi on a stack of records next to the talking machine.
     “Jass band, huh?” Robert said, setting the glass that was already dripping with condensation on the table. “I read about a jass band playing at a café on the South Side last year. Never went, but I know they were very popular. Came up from New Orleans.”
     “I don’t know anything about it. This is called ‘Livery Stable Blues.’” Abelia placed the disk on the platter. She then cranked the machine and let go of the brake, the gold Victor label quickly becoming a blur. “Ready?” she said with a smile. “I have to warn you, the ad stated that this music can inject new life into a mummy.”
     Abelia let down the tone arm; static as the needle settled into a groove. Then: a cacophony of sound. Cornet, clarinet and trombone in a burst of noise; shrill and disorganized. Then the trombone took up the beat as the crowing coronet voiced the melody. Soon, the clarinet took up the tune, carrying it above the other instruments. It was ostentatious, full of life and energy. The pattern repeated several times, then a brief pause and the cornet whinnied like a horse, the other instruments following with a “moo” and a “cockle-doodle-doo.” Abelia smiled. Robert was tapping his fingers on the top of the table, his lips in a slight grin. He had short sideburns, but hadn’t shaved that morning. Stumble dotted his chin, but his cheeks were relatively smooth. His hair had been neatly combed, but his hat had left a slight crease along the hairline. He hadn’t used a pomade today and as he bounced his head ever so slightly to the beat of the music, strands of hair fell loose and rested upon the crest of his ear. Sweat beaded his forehead and when he casually wiped it with back of his hand, his eyes moved to hers and he smiled. Abelia quickly averted her gaze, the warmth she could feel in her checks.
     There were several more instances when the instruments took on the sounds of a barn. After each whinny and moo, the tempo picked up pace, the sound became more intense. The music was fun and lively, unlike anything Abelia had in her collection. More than the music, she enjoyed watching Robert. In light of everything that happened in the last week, it was good to see him smiling.
                                                       ---- Lilac Wine, Chapter 25

Fate Marable and Riverboat Jazz

Fate Marable was arguably the most important of the early jazz pioneers. It was Fate Marable who introduced jazz to the Mississippi riverboat culture outside of New Orleans. In fact, Fate Marable's band, which played for over a decade on the Streckfus Steam line, became the training ground for such icons as King Oliver and Louis Armstrong.

By the early 20th century,  the feasibility of riverboats as a means of commerce had been destroyed by the railroad. However, riverboats would continue on the Mississippi in the form of excursion boating, tenuously keeping alive the romanticism of Huckleberry Finn's world.   Day trips. Moonlight cruises. Overnight cruises. Riverboats became a popular place for young people to meet and such excursions were often sponsored by groups such as the Elks, the Red Cross, churches and schools.

In 1917, Fate Marable was playing aboard the S.S. Sidney on the upper Mississippi with a band he personally put together featuring African-American musicians from his native Kentucky. Captain Streckfus gave Marable much leeway in regards to the music aboard the steamer, but insisted that in addition to jazz, Marable had to play other songs as well, such as traditional waltzes and other popular dance music. Marable obliged, but most likely lived for those moments when jazz flowed through his fingers and ignited his piano.

Stealing aboard the S.S. Sidney in the summer of 1917 with his new friend Billy Miles, Robert Bishop came face-to-face with the music that would soon take Chicago by storm:

Muffled conversation filled the air. The stomping of hundreds of feet kept beat to the fast-paced music coming from the large orchestra up on the second deck ballroom. It was loud aboard the Sidney and young people moved and weaved around posts, hung over the railings and chased each other up the stairs. Most held bottles in their hands. And they weren’t drinking Bevo, that was for sure.
     “Isn’t this great?” exclaimed Billy.
     “I don’t know what to say. How much----?”
     “Don’t worry about it. It’s my birthday and this is exactly what I wanted.”
     “At least let my buy you a drink,” offered Robert.
     Billy wrapped an arm around Robert’s shoulder. “Never can I turn down a drink, my man. Let me lead the way.”
    Billy guided Robert into a flow of people moving up the grand staircase to the second deck. The ballroom was huge and newly refurbished. Now advertised as the “Mirror Palace,” the highly polished wood of the dance floor stretched 180 feet down the length of the steamboat. American flags hung from the low beams and the electric lights were turned down, glowing gently from several chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. Even so, the shapes of hundreds of people fox-trotting to “Walkin’ the Dog” reflected on that floor as if it were water. The large windows were open and a nice Mississippi River breeze drifted through the crowd.
     Robert bought two cold Potosi lagers and handed one to Billy. “Happy birthday,” he said as they clanked bottles together, foam running down the sides. It had been a week since he last had a real beer and the lager tasted good. Granted, it wasn’t Edelweiss, but it was good enough.
     Billy grabbed Robert by the arm, leading him down the dance floor so that they could get an unobstructed view of the Kentucky Jazz Orchestra. A redheaded Negro with light skin and freckles pounded the keys of the piano while several other Negroes played along almost oblivious to the large crowd dancing in front of them.
     “That’s Fate Marable on the piano,” said Billy. “I first saw him about ten years ago on the J.S.  He played ragtime back then. He personally put together this band.”
     Robert had heard this song before. It was popular about a year ago. However, he had never heard it quite like this. The tempo was faster, to be sure. But there was something else. There was a certain intensity coming through the rhythm. The musicians all swayed with the music, eyes closed. Sweat glistened on their faces and foreheads. The large bass player tapped his foot loudly on the floor, each time lifting his entire foot off the ground. The clarinet carried most of the melody and the man playing it moved fluidly, his entire body oscillating gently with the tune, his instrument a mere appendage. They played harmoniously together, each man doing his own thing in his own way but never losing touch with what the others were doing. There was no sheet music to be found; no music stands. They were speaking to each other in a language only they knew.
     Robert was mesmerized and found himself unwittingly tapping his own foot along with the beat. And before he knew it, the song was over. Roaring applause erupted from the dance floor. Someone whistled loudly.
    The musicians all took out white handkerchiefs and briefly dabbed their brows. Fate Marable then counted to three and soon a standard waltz filled the room. There was an audible groan among the dancers, which brought a slight smile to the piano player’s face. And Robert knew instinctively that Fate Marable and his band were not born to play waltzes.  (Chapter 14, Lilac Wine)

Unfortunately, not much is left of Fate Marable and his contribution to early jazz.  He made only one recording, well after jazz had already exploded onto the national scene.  Nevertheless, there is something magical about listening to Fate Marable on "Frankie and Johnny," recorded in the summer of 1924.  In that brief melody, one gets a sense of what it must have been like sitting aboard a riverboat on a warm summer evening, the sounds of jazz echoing among the cliffs and bluffs of the upper Mississippi.

Fate Marable's Society Syncopators, "Frankie and Johnny" (1924):