When Connecticut Met New Orleans

This is the tale of two musicians from Connecticut who deeply influenced me, though in markedly different ways, as I was learning how to play traditional jazz piano. Over time I was honored to call them friends. At ten years old, I met pianist Bill Sinclair and cornetist Fred Vigorito on the same night when my father brought me to the Millpond Tavern to hear the legendary Galvanized Jazz Band playing their weekly Sunday evening session. [I also heard and met reedman Noel Kaletsky that night, and wrote about him in TST July 2023]. We sat almost directly in front of the baby grand piano and I could only see the top of the pianist’s head. Bill always looked at the keys as he played, glancing up only to see who would be soloing next. He was stage left, so to his right were the front line, bass, drums and banjo. I’d already heard jazz records from my Dad’s collection at home and particularly liked the trumpet/cornet; I’d even tried playing one at school only to be handed a trombone because I was the only kid who could reach seventh position.

My attention therefore was split that night between Bill on the ivories playing a rolling style with a steady left hand, and Fred playing a style I’d not yet heard: a tantalizing mixture of both Armstrong and Beiderbecke with bunches of other stuff thrown in. And what was he doing with that derby hat mounted on a mic stand? I knew I had a lot to learn.

Trial by fire came my way when a couple of Sundays later, my dad could no longer contain himself and proudly announced that I could play. The band members’ expected responses varied between eye-rolling, sneers, and abject terror, but turned to a growing wonder as I plowed first through “Maple Leaf Rag” and then into “Hello, My Baby,” not sounding too much like a ten-year old if I do say so myself. I obviously passed some sort of test, as banjoist/emcee Joel Schiavone (I wrote about him in TST June 2024) invited me to accompany him each night when he led a sing-along during the final break. More about that later.

So as not to keep those not on social media (is there anyone other than me?) in suspense, Bill and Fred passed away within two-and-a-half weeks of one another this year: Bill in late February and Fred in early March. Three years apart in age, they started on the jazz scene at virtually the same time, and up until today I had no idea about their early jazz careers.

It was Fred’s notifying close friends and colleagues about Bill’s passing in late February that inspired me to dust off a book I’d never read that had been given me by a dear fan and friend: an autographed copy of The Jazz Crusade by trombonist / drummer / concert promoter / record producer (“Big”) Bill Bissonnette. It’s in this book that I learned about the fledgling years of two of my heroes. Bissonnette was born in Bridgeport CT and fell in love with New Orleans Jazz in his teens largely due to a weekly half-hour radio program exclusively featuring traditional jazz called Rockin’ ’N Rhythm.

An opportunity to hear some of the N.O. greats at Jimmy Ryan’s in New York and Child’s Paramount Restaurant in 1955 led him to take up the trombone. When he enlisted into the army in 1959 he was offered a spot in the CIC (Army Intelligence elite Counter Intelligence Corp). Bissonnette accepted it and by doing so was able to request where he’d be stationed. He requested New Orleans. They put him in San Antonio, TX. Undaunted, he made many drives on leave to NOLA, eventually meeting and becoming protege to trombonist Jim Robinson in 1962.

Bissonnette returned in 1962 to, in his words, “A Connecticut devoid of jazz.” But NOT jazz musicians. One day after work, he was browsing in the jazz bins at a local record store, looked up and saw his old high-school mate, Bill Sinclair, staring at him. The two Bills got to chatting, and Sinclair almost fell over when he learned Bissonnette had been studying with Jim Robinson, an idol of both of them. Sinclair was a frustrated trombonist, but also played fine piano in the Alton Purnell tradition. Steeped in the sounds and tunes of New Orleans Jazz, he was the logical choice to be the first musician Bissonnette recruited to start his “Jazz Crusade” concert series and record label. By the end of that year, Bissonnette’s Easy Riders Jazz Band recorded an album of New Orleans Jazz as pure as could be accomplished by a bunch of white Nutmeggers, with in addition to Bill Sinclair on piano, Noel Kalet (at that time he’d chopped off the “sky”) on reeds.

Bissonnette arranged having some original New Orleans musicians come up to CT to record with the band, among them trumpeter Kid Thomas. Sinclair was elated, until he got drafted and shunted off to Germany for two years. In the meantime, Bissonnette couldn’t hope Kid Thomas would leave NOLA to permanently join his band in CT, so he started looking for another trumpet player to officially join the Easy Riders. He did this by putting a Help Wanted ad in the Bridgeport Post, to wit: Wanted; Trumpet Player for New Orleans Style Jazz Band. We will train you in the style. Little or no money. Lots of fun. Phone…

The second call he received (the first being from banjoist Dick Griffith who would become an Easy Rider) was from a 19-year old musician named Fred Vigorito. The short conversation is too good to paraphrase, so here it is directly from the book:

“Are you a jazz fan? I [Bissonnette] asked.

“I haven’t really heard much jazz,” he [Fred] replied.

“What made you call?”

“My mother made me call,” he said.

From this inauspicious beginning came Fred’s entry into the world of New Orleans Jazz. He soon proved eager to learn the style and repertoire of the music, as well as the stylistics of trumpeters who would become his heroes, among them Bunk Johnson, Kid Thomas, Alvin Alcorn, and Kid Thomas Valentine. Through his three-year association with the Easy Rider Jazz Band, he had many opportunities to hear and play with many early jazz greats. How good (and gifted) was Freddy? Less than two years after being introduced to the early jazz styles he played the second half of a Jazz Crusade album starring Kid Thomas Valentine and tenor saxophonist Emanuel Paul because Bissonnette didn’t have enough money to pay union scale for the whole session! Noel Kalet(sky) played alongside Fred, sitting in on clarinet for Emanuel Paul.

Bill Sinclair was back from Germany and was able to record with a group Bissonnette put together called The International Jazz Band, so he had a chance to record with Valentine and Paul. Both he and Fred played behind Victoria Spivey for a recording she did with the Easy Riders in 1964 of a live concert at the Palace Theater in Wallingford, CT.

Then, Sinclair was back in Germany and missed out on one of Fred’s crowning moments of his musical career: playing a concert in early 1965 (released in part on GHB 39 and Pearl Records PLP-2) at the Ambassador Restaurant—a venue next to a bowling alley in a strip mall in Hamden CT: MY hometown!!—with the immortal George Lewis! It’s debatable whether the next opportunity topped this one, although it would be hard to equal recording (as Fred and Bissonnette—on drums—did) at Preservation Hall with Jim Robinson, clarinetist Albert Burbank, Don Ewell on piano, Creole George Guesnon on banjo, and bassist Alcide “Slow Drag” Pavageau!!!

From the summer of 1965 on, both Bill Sinclair (back in the US to stay) and Fred Vigorito played countless gigs with the Easy Riders Jazz Band. Sinclair was the permanent pianist, but Vigorito would step aside if Bissonnette brought up one of the greats. So Sinclair had a few opportunities denied Vigorito, among them recording with Kid Thomas Valentine, alto saxophonist Capt. John Handy, and drummer Sammy Penn for Bissonnette’s group The December Band in 1965.

By 1966 both Bill and Fred, for one reason or another, were distancing themselves from the Jazz Crusade, embarking on successful music careers that would culminate in their becoming part of (and Fred soon leading) the Galvanized Jazz Band in 1971. The only remaining original member is tubist/bassist Art Hovey, but the band will continue. In fact, at the time I’m writing this, I am playing their monthly session tomorrow night (March 15) as a celebration of the legacy of all of the members, but especially of Fred, who we most recently lost just five days ago.

Bill Sinclair and Fred Vigorito, whose early backgrounds I featured this month, are too important to me to stop here. Next month I’ll provide stories of what they meant to me personally, observations of who they were on and off-stage, and share some testimonies from colleagues and friends. In the meantime, check out the recordings of Slow Drag’s Bunch (“Struttin’ With Some Barbecue” is on YouTube) and the December Band (everything the band recorded is on YouTube).

Oh, yes, I almost forgot: what was Fred doing with that derby hat mounted on a stand in front of him? He was leaning into it from time to time to create a subtle, supple, moaning, braying sound on the cornet: a cry of sadness and triumph, of heat and tension, of human suffering and joy in just a brief series of emotional notes.

In the moment. Perfection.