A recent Syncopated Times piece, in which the bagpipes played an ominous cameo, sent me thinking back to a steady gig, and one memorable Friday night.
In the early 1980s, I was playing trombone in a Washington, D. C., based ensemble known as the Picayune Cabaret Band, which specialized in early New Orleans-style jazz. It was a really nice, gritty-sounding band, co-led by the eminent jazz historian Thornton “Tony” Hagert, whose soulful trumpet often brought the likes of Tommy Ladnier and Bunk Johnson to mind.
Tony served as musical director. His co-leader was a fascinating gent, named Beale “Bill” Riddle, who played drums. With virtually no technique, he played well and made some lovely music. Beale loved the drumming of Baby Dodds. In fact, he and Baby had been close friends.
Beale Riddle was a Baltimore native who grew up in the ’20s, loving jazz, collecting records, and acquiring musicians as friends and acquaintances. Among his legendary pals was Jelly Roll Morton, whom Beale met in 1938, during the days at the Jungle Inn/Music Box nightclub in D.C. But that’s a story for another time.
The Picayune Cabaret Band played on Friday nights in Georgetown, at a saloon on M Street, known as …well, the Saloon. We played from 9 pm till 1 and somehow our renditions of tunes like Joe Oliver’s “Sweet Like This,” and Kid Ory’s “Savoy Blues,” Johnny Dodds’ “I Can
