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68 •/ Remember Jazz been gone for a quarter-century, and I continue to think of this fine young gentleman with the same warmth and affection, wishingall jazzmen shared his personal generosity and sympathetic understanding . James P. Johnson There's a kind of piano playing I never could work up any enthusiasm for. I can't label it "stride," since I was alwaystransfixed by the performances of folks like Luckey Roberts and, later, Don Ewell. On the other hand, Fats Waller, Willie "The Lion" Smith, and Art Tatum, despite their unquestioned brilliance and dazzling virtuosity,always seemed to me more engaged in solving problems of their craft than in bringing to the audience the kinds of thrills that I think should be at the core of every jazzman's art. Even though my personal taste rebelled against it, I nevertheless frequently employed James P. Johnson to play in my concert jazz bands. I'm sure many will agree that James P. left a lot to be desired as a band pianist, but there's no doubt that, especially in solos, his proficiency was outstanding. I never could understand why, but Journeys Into Jazz audiences never seemed to get enough of James P. My musician friends, notably Eubie Blake and Luckey Roberts, had a boundless admiration for his pianistics. Irrespective, though, of my musical appraisal, I found James P. to be grossly unreliable. When I stopped hiring him it wasn't because of the way he played, but because I couldn't rely on him either to show up or to be in satisfactory condition when he did. But I've been in audiences that included Don Lambert, Luckey, Eubie, and Willie "the Lion"—all mesmerized by James P. at the piano. One night in Philadelphia in 1946, I had a concert going on at the Academy of Music. As curtain time approached it became increasingly apparent that I would have to face the crowd without a piano player. James P. was nowhere to be seen. I looked out through a slit in the curtain to see if I could see any competent keyboard star who might have come in as a payingcustomer. In the past, in similar exigencies , people from the audience like Frank Signorelli or Arthur Schutt had come to my rescue. This time I saw no musicians I recognized . Backstage, I told the members of the band what we were up / Remember Jazz • 69 against. There wasn't time to call the union and get a replacement sent over. Then Max Kaminsky, whom I had engaged to play the trumpet that evening, said, "I brought a friend along as my guest. He's not a professional musician, but he's a very good piano player. He can handle it." It didn't seem likely to me that there was anybody in the world who could "handle it" that I wouldn't already know about. I said, "My audiences expect to see the best jazz musicians in the world—that's why you're here. I just can't sit anybody on that piano stool. I don't want this to sound like a high school band." Max seemed a tad indignant. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't sure he was good enough!" So I asked Kaminsky to find his friend and bring him to me. In a few minutes he was back with a short, stocky, wavy-hairedlad who looked more like a freshman in accounting school than a jazz piano player. Max said, "Al, I want you to meet George Wein." I said, "Do you think you can play with this band?" "I think so," he said, matter-of-factly. "I've played with Max and some of his friends before. Not for money, though." "Well, here goes," I thought to myself as I went on stage to greet the audience and introduce the musicians. Among them that night were, I think, Brad Gowans and Pee Wee Russell. "And on piano," I heard myself saying, "in place of James P. Johnson [Groan], who was supposed to be here and isn't [Groan], a young man from Connecticut who has established himself, etc. etc. . . ." George Wein was sensational. As a band piano player, I found him infinitely superior to James P., though, naturally, he couldn't match the master's solo virtuosity.The crowd was extremely responsive , and I have to believe the young man was heartened by the enthusiastic acceptance. For my part, I...

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