Friday, December 18, 2015

An Old New Year

We're into that twilight week of the year known as the taint of the calendar. 'Taint Christmas and it
'taint New Years. Since it's the season to be jolly and the news is so grim, I'd like to tell you about one memorable New Years' Eve. I must preface the story by admitting that Isaac Tigrett and I have been friends since high school. My band used to drive up to Jackson to play at his fraternity parties. I say this both because the event occurred at Hard Rock Café, and it's not my intention to drop names until later in the column. The Hard Rock was Isaac's creation and I was invited to celebrate the New York restaurant's first anniversary and New Years festivities. I was invited to the opening, but I had an anxiety disorder and had trouble enough going to Kroger much less flying to a packed-out gala event with a bunch of strangers. But this time, I was given an offer I couldn't refuse- Isaac was sitting next to me on the airplane. We reached New York and headed for the car rentals where Tigrett tossed two premium credit cards on the counter, turned to me and said, "Do you have any cash? I don't have any money."  I was housed in the same building where Isaac had an apartment overlooking the Hard Rock's Cadillac entrance, so he could watch the lines outside and harass the doorman.

New York at Christmas is beautiful, with lighted ornaments dangling over 57th Street like giant snowflakes. When I first walked into the Hard Rock, I was so overwhelmed, I had to open my eyes wider to take it all in. Several of the old Soul Revue posters from the sixties that I'd loaned Isaac were duplicated and hanging prominently on the wall, and climbing up to second floor, there was a giant picture of Little Richard with the tiny inscription, "To Randy, with love." When I asked Isaac how he got away with making duplicates of what might be considered copywrited material he said, "I just keep doing it until someone tells me to quit." Ernest Wither's iconic photo of B.B. King and Elvis was prominently placed in a double-arched, gilded, antique frame with a plaque above that read, "The Two Kings." I began to feel at home. Even the Bar-B-Q was cooked low and slow. I linked up with a group of my Jackson buddies who had made the trip and joined their party for the celebration. There must have been about seven of us, all single men, and we were Isaac's guests for New Years' Eve. The problem was, we were guests at what turned out to be a private party.

We were seated at a large table on the main floor, while the entire upstairs, and the rest of the restaurant for that matter, had been rented to the actor George Segal and his guests for the night. I loved George Segal in "Virginia Woolf," but he had this other shtick where he'd go on the Johnny Carson show and play the banjo. That would be bad enough, but he played songs like "Alexander's Ragtime Band," and other favorite minstrel songs of the South including, "Rufus Rastus Johnson Brown," a real rib tickler. Unfortunately, Segal was the entertainment for the evening. He had hired a trio consisting of piano, bass, and drums. I was just hoping they were being well paid. I showed up in a suit and tie, but the Jackson boys were all in tuxedo. Isaac kept bringing different women over for introductions because every time he did, we all stood in unison like gentlemen. The New York ladies were goggle-eyed. Some laughed, some were bemused, and some stared at us like we were vestiges of some lost civilization. When George Segal began regaling the assembly with "If You Knew Susie," his guests listened in rapt attention while we decided it was time to start drinking heavily. I should add here that I don't drink. Lord knows I've tried to be a proper drunk, but it just doesn't work for me. However this time, the Champaign was flowing and I didn't want to be anti-social, which is another way of saying that I got lampshade-on-the-head, knocked-out loaded.

When Segal rejoined his party, the trio began playing some cool jazz and I was suddenly hoisted from my seat from behind and propelled toward the stage. The musicians eyeballed each other warily, but the boss wanted his buddy to sing. I ran through the rolodex of songs in my head and came up with Ray Charles' "I Gotta Woman," and the crowd woke up. The bass player said, "Hey man. That was great. let's do another one." He was sort of a goofy looking guy with a big smile, a childlike face, and a baseball cap that he wore backwards. I chose B.B. King's "Rock Me, Baby," because it only has three chords and I didn't want to confuse the musicians. We got such big applause that George Segal bounded down the stairs and told the band to take a break. My new musical pal turned to shake my hand and said, "I enjoyed that. My name's Jaco Pastorius." I was sitting next to the bassist for the jazz-fusion group Weather Report and one of the greatest innovators in the history of the bass guitar. He turned to the drummer, "This is Jim Keltner," who had only worked with everyone from John Lennon to Elvis. The frail-looking gentleman at the piano with the receding hair and braided ponytail was Bob Dorough. Only recently, a friend had given me a tape of his early be-bop music and I gushed, "Mr. Dorough, we sure know you in Memphis." He slipped his arm around my waist and asked, "Would you like to get to know me better?" I politely declined and somehow managed to crawl back to my room at sunrise, still amazed that George Segal had hired some of the finest musicians in the world to accompany him on "Ain't She Sweet." The following New Year's Eve, George Segal didn't play at the Hard Rock. I did. But that's another story.









5 comments:

  1. What a wonderful story. Best wishes for the holidays.

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  2. YOU were the star of that show, Randy. Ain't no two ways about it. Seems I missed that particular party, but I can only imagine with you, Isaac, Ernie, the rest of the Jackson crew.. And the "other" musicians what a great time it was!

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  3. You really are an excellent journalist and you have lived quite an interesting life. Have you considered writing a bio? It may sell well in Memphis. I will always say that you should be honored by a 'blues note' plaque on Beale Street for your contribution to Memphis music. One more thing, I really feel for you when you bring up your anxiety issue. That must be a very hard thing to live with, but you seem to have coped with it very well. Your biggest tribute will be all of the friends that you have. Like Clarence the angel said, 'No man is a failure who has friends'. Best wishes for a blessed New Year...your old buddy Jerry Wright. A final word, I always admired you, but had trouble with your politics. But, I have moved past all of that now. I now realize that politics is a lame game and I should never have delved into it. I now want to be your imaginary friend...and God bless you and your very charming wife. She was the first to win my heart and put me through some changes for the better. I'll check in every now and then...but with no political commentary. Those days are over.

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  4. I had something of an epiphany that I would like to share. This song best illustrates what I am referring to...
    'Sweet mystery of life at last I've found you.
    I know at last the secret of it all.
    All the seeking, striving, waiting, yearning,
    The burning hopes, the joy, and idle tears that fall.
    For it's love, and love alone the world is seeking,
    For it's love and love alone that can repay,
    It's the answer, it's the end and all of living...'
    Being a man of music I think that you may appreciate that. I have come to see that if God sees fit to invite all who live to His banquet of life, then we should return the favor of this miracle by overlooking our differences and appreciate what each one brings to life's banquet table. Randy, you have been tremendously gifted and you have parlayed your gifts into wit, charm, graciousness, and music (to name a few) with which you have blessed everyone. Dr. Gregg, though you have been seeped in medical science you have the heart of a poet. Melody, though when provoked you can assume a somewhat rough exterior, beneath that exterior lies a heart of compassion and mercy...pure gold, and you touched me once with your heart. What I am trying to say is that we all should put aside our differences and accentuate each one's positives during our brief sojourn in this life. Why not make it a chorus of mutual love, joy, and thanksgiving for this miracle that we know as life? We have only a little while, so why not promote mutual happiness rather than discord? Things like politics divide and create discord. What demon enticed me into such a loveless domain? I would rather spend my brief allotment of time in a more pleasant and blessed state of consciousness.

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  5. Praise! From CAESAR!

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