Lester Young anecdotes

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I have always been fascinated with anecdotal history, or at least anecdotal stories attributed to historically notable musicians.

Lester Young had a language unto his own, and I know there are countless quotes of his that I have never heard of. It isn't my interest to share embarassing tales, just ones that are classic, ones that hurt no one, and that are humorous in nature. I know this could go anywhere, so maybe it shouldn't be limited to Lester?

We all have probably read the Bill Crow anecdote book. Even then, if some from that book are shared here, what the hell.

Here are a couple Lester anecdotes I keep hearing.

1) He is at a jam session (or a club date?) and a particular ryhthm section player wasn't making it. Lester was seated at the bar, when the offending player walks over and starts to schmooze Lester.

He says "So Lester, when WAS the last time we played together?"

Lester replies: "Tonight"

2) Lester was playing at the club in NYC that Pee Wee Marquette emceed at (the Half Note or the 5-Spot?). Pee Wee was reportedly very rude to musicians, and one evening he had been giving Lester particularly major grief.

Lester lashed out at him saying: "Get out of my face, you half a mother-f***er!"

3) Lester turned to a drummer and advised him to play less on the crash cymbal and more on the ride cymbal, but in his own way. He asked him to give him more of the "titty cymbal" and less of the crash.

[mmilovan]

Something lesser known, taken from http://www.geocities.com/darvaksd/jazz_anecdotes.doc

"Lester Young had hired a drummer who wasn't playing what he wanted to hear.

During a break, the drummer tried making conversation: "Say, Prez, when was the last time we worked together?" "Tonight," sighed Lester.

Prez was a very earthy man. He could say things that would really hit home. They weren't very intellectual, but he had mother wit. No one could express himself like Lester.

Lester would quit the job if it didn't suit him. Money or no money. He was a very proud man and had funny ways. You could just hurt his feelings, and he would just walk off and quit.

You had to know him for him to open up to you. Actually, he was very shy every way but musically. He was very outgoing musically.

Prez didn't know chords, but he had an innate sense.

He had an ear that was just terrific. He would make an intro by himself and he would run some of the most intricate patterns. You would think that he knew the chords. And I would ask him, "Now, do you know what chords you're playing?" He said, "No." He would just hear them. I could play any progressions and he could play it right away, but he didn't know any chord.

One night in Birdland a jazz critic was complimenting Lester for letting the members of his quintet have so much solo space.

Lester squeezed his eyes together and smiled. He whispered, "Yes, Prez has to let his kiddies play, so when it comes time for Prez to play, his kiddies don't be stepping on Prez's toes!"

In those days jazz drummers were beginning to use the bass drum for accents rather than steady rhythm. Lester preferred the style of drumming he grew up with. "No bombs," he told his drummers, "Just chink-ty-boom for Prez."

Lester called a piano player who lived in Chicago and offered him a job in New York.

When he mentioned the low wages, the pianist said, "Prez, I'd love to make the gig with you, but I can't afford to live in New York on that kind of bread." Lester chided him, "Baby, you got to save up to be able to make these out of town gigs!"

At one of the first jazz festivals at Newport, Ruby Braff saw Lester one afternoon, sitting alone in the sun on a folding chair, not far from the festival stage. Ruby was horrified to see that Lester was publicly smoking a joint.

"Prez, what in the world are you doing?" cried Ruby. "Where are we?" countered Lester. "What do you mean, where are we! We're at the Newport Jazz Festival!" Lester half-closed his eyes and took another puff. “Then, let us be festive!”

Jesse Drakes played trumpet with Lester's quintet for several years:

There were a lot of people who said Prez should not have me or Roy Haynes or that type of player around him because we didn't fit. There was an interview once with Prez on a broadcast. They said, "Well, people say you got a bebop band now. Are you playing bebop?" Prez says, "No, I don't play bebop, but the kids that play with me play bebop." That's where that whole thing started.

Playing with him was an education - an education I never seemed to learn. Prez always had something that puzzled me and once I thought I had it figured out, he'd come and play it another way, and I'd go home and think about it again.

He never went into a restaurant to eat. I used to bring food to his room. He thought people were looking at him. But then, when you see a gentleman in a big black pork pie hat, long black coat down to his ankles, hair hanging down almost to his shoulder - people are going to look at you!

He wasn't like a bandleader. He hung out with all of us. He was so down to earth. When we came to New York, we lived at the Marden Hotel on 44th Street. Nothing but musicians lived there. Harold West lived there, Bird lived there. There were times when Prez would take off with Norman Granz for three or four weeks to go to Europe, and Prez would support us. He would leave money for us to make it until he got back, and wouldn't let us pay him back.

Playing with him, he was very generous with the solos, because he said, "We might be playing somewhere where they might not like me, but they might like somebody else's playing."

On the road he'd knock on our door every day to find out how we were. We'd go on long walks. He never talked about music. We never rehearsed. We just played."