I Remember Jazz: Six Decades Among the Great Jazzmen

Harry Shields

176 • / Remember Jazz middle one was a blindfolded Buglin' Sam. Guiding him were Monk and the trombonist Julian "Digger" Laine. AHthree had obviously been into the sauce. When they had confronted the "priestess," Monk said something in Sams ear, and Digger removed the blindfold. Lizzie managed some portentous tones as she pointed her finger into Sam s face and accused him of having masturbated on four successive Sundays. She explained that the voodoo law required that he take off all of his clothes and wade into the bayou playing "Basin Street Blues" on his bugle. He would be required, she explained, in order to avoid eternal damnation which might be scheduled to begin at that very moment, to play four complete choruses. He would then have to take an oath that he would never again masturbate on more than three successive Sundays. So Sam took all his clothes off, cavillingat removing his jockey shorts, but Lizzie commanded him to take them off, too. Quaking and embarrassed, he followed orders, then marched into the shallow bayou, which wasn't more than three feet deep, and began to play "Basin Street Blues." Almost immediately, a squad car appeared (by pre-arrangement, as we later learned) and arrested him for indecent exposure. As they dragged him off, he was screaming, "Fellas! I still gotta make three-and-a-half more choruses!" Harry Shields There's as much technique involved in listening to jazz as there is in playing it. Superficial performers attract hordes of superficial listeners. There are so many more of them. As one learns to really hear the jazz, ones interest in the ingeniousness and beauty of ensemble play burgeons as ones response to virtuosic solos ebbs. And as ones emotional and aesthetic satisfaction develop into a genuine understanding and appreciation of the original elements that qualify jazz as an art form, one's favorites are gradually replaced by others. The effect of all of this process, logically, is that the very greatest of the jazzmen are frequently among the least known. All of that is a prelude to explaining why Harry Shields hasalways been my personal clarinet choice for most record sessions and concerts . In the matter of improvisingcomplex and satisfying—and hot— harmonies to a great lead horn, he was without equal. He was the / Remember Jazz • 177 clarinet in the best jazz ensembles I ever recorded or listened to. He knew the secrets of where the excitement is hidden in every melody. He understood better than anyone I ever knew that it was the sound of the band that counted. There was no room for stars in his world—not even himself. The roster of clarinetists I've worked with is jazz's Who's Who on that instrument. Nicholas, Pee Wee, Omer Simeon, Baquet, Faz, Ray Burke, Bechet, George Lewis, Edmond Hall were each, in context, superb. But Harry Shields was in a class by himself. His horn was closer to the core of genuine jazz than any other clarinet. I have seen tears well up in the eyes of lead horn players like Sharkey, Alvin Alcorn, Wiggs, even as they played, when Harrys supporting web of harmony raised their own work to greater levels of intensity and beauty. Wiggs alwayssaid that "any cornet player is a genius with that behind him. I don't need to go to heaven if I've got that guy next tome." Harry had his problems, but they weren't musical ones. Something about him attracted women of unrestrained passion, and he had a jealous wife. It's true, too, that though he never had much to say and could never have been described as jovial or convivial, a pretty girl could always rivet his attention. His wife had him thoroughly trained to bring all his pay checks home. Then she'd dole out to him trivial amounts—never enough to keep him in cigars, let alone paramours. So he worked out a deal with me whereby I'd pay him half of his money in cash and give him the rest in the check he'd bring back to Mrs. Shields. So far as I know, she never caught him at this game. It seemed that every time Harry got through playing a job, there was alwaysa pretty lady with a fancy automobile waitingfor him. If it was my job, he'd say to me, "Al, I've got some important business to take care of but I don't...