Bill Sinclair & Fred Vigorito

Last month I shared a brief story about the early development of two key members of the Galvanized Jazz Band who passed away earlier this year: Bill Sinclair and Fred Vigorito. Both left a huge impression on me when I first met them, and I treasured our interactions as the years went by. Bill stopped playing over ten years ago due to poor health, but Fred was playing up until a couple of weeks before his death. I’m turning this month to some personal reflections of mine as well as those of musicians who shared their thoughts with me about these two amazing musicians and people. [N.B. anyone who read my previous installment learned of the early careers of these men and the stunning array of New Orleans greats they played and recorded with. I entered their names in Wikipedia and each had an entry, but NOT in the US: in Germany!]

I’ll start with Bill. He was always supportive of my piano playing, but when I was a snot-nosed brat soaking in the adulation of everyone around me simply because I could find middle-C, he never hesitated to give me a (sometimes pointed) pointer on how to be a better BAND pianist: on how to support the soloist and never overplay.

When I learned Fats Waller’s “Handful of Keys,” it was from the folio for the Broadway show “Ain’t Misbehavin’.” I heard that version long before I heard any of the original Waller recordings. I proudly debuted it at the Millpond Tavern one night when I was given a solo during banjoist Joel Schiavone’s sing-along on the third break, and after I was done, Bill came up to me bemused and asked “Why did you play it in G?” I looked confused and he said, “It’s in F.” You can bet I went home, threw away that folio and began learning it in F!!

Another time, Bill was sharing finer points of being an effective band pianist, and he said to me, his voice lowering so as not to be overheard, “Don’t tell Freddy this, but I know just what to do to make him take one more outchorus if a tune is going really hot.”

I shared the above with some friends and GJB colleagues. Pianist Charlie Freeman offered this response: “Bill set the standard for the piano chair in the Galvanized Jazz Band. He always knew the right chords and is the reason jazz piano players are often called ‘professor.’ I am honored to have known him, humbled by the heavy responsibility of subbing for him in the great GJB, and happy to have all those Galvanized recordings to steal what he played. And, Jeff, perhaps you could share Bill’s secret for getting Fred to take another chorus. My lips will be sealed.”

For the record, Charlie, I’ll share it with you when next we meet. It’s too good for cornet/trumpet players to learn about it.

Bill also played in other groups. When playing the piano, he was a “moaner.” A steady drone would emanate from him, more pronounced than Erroll or Oscar, more subtle than Keith Jarrett. During a recording session with a group other than the GJB, the leader of the band was very distracted by Bill’s vocal contributions and put gaffer tape over his mouth to quiet the sound. Bill couldn’t play!!

In the groups he led, Bill was always happy to hire young talents when a regular band member wasn’t available, For his Friday night jazz quintet gig, he would hire Molly Sayles on drums. She shares: “Bill was always so gracious in hiring me when Tom Palinko (a Bill’s Seafood legend) couldn’t make the gig. He was supportive, provided pointers when appropriate & helped shape my musicianship.”

My stalwart mate Jim Fryer recalls his relationship with Bill: “Bill wasn’t there my first time at the Mill Pond, so that’s when I met Jeffo for the first time, which was a happy start to a long and beautiful friendship. [Back atcha, my friend!] Whenever it was that I came down for my second gig, that was when I met and played with Bill. In addition to the Mill Pond I worked a lot of the “outside” gigs with Galvanized, including festivals. But I got to know Bill in a different way when I started playing in the Friday band at Bill’s Seafood, first as a sub, and then in 1995 as a steady member of the band. I played that gig for 10 years, and it ranks among the favorite gigs of my career. With Bill on piano, we played whatever kind of song we wanted, the way we wanted. It was freewheeling, spirited, and so exciting, week in and week out. We all loved that gig, and I think it occupied a special place in Bill’s heart. The GJB was the center of his musical life, no doubt. The guys in the band were his friends, and so were many of the regulars at the Mill Pond. But I think playing in a band that was away from the GJB, that was different, gave Bill a lot of pleasure.”

For me, I think my proudest moment was when Bill shared with me that he felt he’d hit a plateau with his technique and no longer had the energy to put in his daily three-hour practice session. I told him that my college professor had turned me onto a practice method written by Ernő Dohnányi that provided technical maintenance and improvement in about a fifth of the time.  He ordered the book, and months later, on an evening at the Millpond when I was in the audience, called me over and said “I don’t know whether to thank you or punch you! That method you shared really does the trick, but it’s kicking my ass!”

Just as you always did, Bill, when I needed it. Mentor, supporter, friend, TERRIFIC New Orleans Style pianist, my life was immeasurably richer because you were in it.

I was even closer to Freddy (it’s funny that for decades at the Millpond Tavern, everyone called him that—the band and the audience, everyone—but after the GJB moved first to the Chowder Pot and then to Aunt Chilada’s, he became Fred). Perhaps it was because whenever I was around him Bill wasn’t (being a piano player), so I’d see more of Freddy. I’d also hire him for jobs whenever I could (the greatest honor for a young musician is when a mentor accepts a proffered gig) and continued to do so until he passed.

As a result, I learned much more about Fred. He had two boys and a very active social life. In addition to music, he loved good food and drink, had a much lighter sense of humor than Bill, and fought for causes he believed in. I think the best way to embark on an exploration of Freddy Vigorito’s life is to share a few choice quotes from his obituary (beautifully written by his loving daughter-in-law).

In it we learn that Fred was “quite an upstart, taking various unique jobs as a kid: resetting the pins at a bowling alley, selling his fish to the neighbors, and delivering groceries door to door. Through his adventures he developed a lifelong interest in fine automobiles, music, and living the good life.” The obituary highlighted “his sense of fun, his capacity to listen, his wisdom, and his ability to mediate conflict and stay focused on the big picture.” Freddy was a man born to lead, and he did so for over 50 years with the GJB, all the while surrounded by “numerous cherished relatives, friends, musical collaborators, and philosophical sparring partners.”

Of course, testimonies and remembrances came pouring in, including this special one from drummer Molly Sayles: “I’ll always remember Fred giving me a seat on the bandstand. He had a way of making you feel like you belonged there. That took some generosity on his part, because every now and then I’d wander a little away from straight Dixieland and sneak in a second-line beat. Somehow he always made it work and kept the music rolling with his easygoing spirit & impeccable showmanship.

“Another memory that always makes me smile was the night my car battery died in the dead of winter. It was freezing cold and, without hesitation, Fred was out there with me trying to jump-start it. I remember feeling terrible that he had to stand out in the cold because of my lousy battery, but that was just the kind of guy he was-always willing to help and never making a big deal out of it.

“He brought so much talent, generosity, and joy to the music he played and to the people around him. I’ll always be grateful for the times I got to play with him.”

I’ll forever cherish this poignant one sent to me by my sister, Jennifer: “Freddy was such a mentor to you, in big and small ways. I remember how encouraging he was when you first started filling in on the set breaks at the Millpond Tavern, and then he would come up and join you, and bring the whole band up, too. I remember how proud I was, watching that, and how you just lit up. My heart overflows at the memory of it.”

Suffice it to say that when Freddy was on the bandstand, or at the table, or simply in the room, everything just sounded better; tasted better; was better. He left me-and all those blessed enough to know him-with the feeling everything actually would be OK; no, better than that.

Freddy craved action, sound, stimulation, meeting new people. He loved his music, his family and friends, good food and good drink. His obit concluded thus: “Go out with those you love to enjoy local live performances. He would want nothing more than to see the legacy of his life’s work recur in your connection to each other dancing, singing, raising a glass, and sharing a meal while the room around you fills with music and laughter.” A wiser philosophy has never reached my ears or eyes. In fact, what am I waiting for? What are you waiting for? Thank you for all the sounds, love, and laughter, Freddy.

Jeff Barnhart

Web

Jeff Barnhart is an internationally renowned pianist, vocalist, arranger, bandleader, recording artist, ASCAP composer, educator and entertainer. Visit him online atwww.jeffbarnhart.com. Email: Mysticrag@aol.com