Someone to Watch Over Me: The Life and Music of Ben Webster

Introduction

INTRODUCTION Ben Webster occupies a special place in my heart because the night I ‹rst heard him in person was a night of several ‹rsts: It was my ‹rst visit to the world-renowned Jazzhus Montmartre in Copenhagen, the ‹rst time I witnessed an impromptu jam session with professional jazz musicians, and the ‹rst—and only—time I was arrested. I lived in Roskilde, a little town situated at the bottom of a beautiful inlet twenty miles west of Copenhagen, famous for its cathedral. It was January 31, 1965, and I was in high school. My friends and I played in an amateur jazz band, and that particular Sunday we had two options: Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, or Ben Webster, both playing in Copenhagen. None of us had much pocket money, so we could afford only one concert. As Ellington used to visit Denmark every year, I threw in my vote for Webster, who reportedly was in great form. It was the last night of his two-week engagement at Montmartre—his ‹rst visit to Denmark —and no one knew if he would ever return. At that time I knew Webster only from his records with Ellington, and from the splendid LP King of the Tenors, which I had bought very cheap from a friend next door the previous year, but I was anxious to hear him, and my friends agreed. We took the train to Copenhagen and walked through the city to Jazzhus Montmartre at Store Regnegade 19. Inside, the nightclub had a wooden lattice under the roof and a series of large relief plaster masks on the wall to the left of the stage. We were disappointed to ‹nd that every seat in the house was already occupied, which meant we’d have to stand up all night. Harvey Sand, the stocky, red-bearded waiter, was pushing his way through the chairs and tables with trays loaded with beer, spring rolls, baked mussels, and tuna sandwiches. As Webster came on stage accompanied by Kenny Drew, NielsHenning Ørsted Pedersen, and Alex Riel, a burst of applause ‹lled the smoky room. As soon as the music began, I forgot about not having a seat. The steady beats of Drew’s improvisations were like pearls on a string. Webster’s huge sound ‹lled the room like a golden light. Every phrase swung, and his lines in up-tempo numbers were more rhythmically complex than anything I’ve heard before. We had planned to return to Roskilde on the last train out of Copenhagen at a quarter past midnight, which meant that we would have to leave Montmartre after the ‹rst of the two sets. But at intermission, a rumor began circulating that some of the musicians from the Ellington orchestra had arrived and were celebrating their reunion with Webster in the kitchen. We decided to stay on. When Webster returned to the stage in a cheerful mood after a one-hour intermission, he was accompanied by Cat Anderson, Ray Nance, Paul Gonsalves, and Billy Strayhorn, a short fellow with large horn-rimmed spectacles. I remember that Strayhorn played excellently. Webster and Nance, on the other hand, seemed more interested in joking around and talking than in the music. Usually the hours allotted the main attraction at Montmartre were from ten to one, while the night band, usually a trio, played from two to ‹ve, but on this particular night the Ellingtonians played for more than an hour. When we ‹nally arrived at the Copenhagen Central Station, the gates were closed. We went around the building and saw a mail train, which we knew would leave soon. We opened a small gate, crossed the tracks—which of course was strictly forbidden—entered the platform, and strolled right into the arms of a train guard. We were marched off to an of‹ce where another guard questioned us and wrote a report, after which we were discharged, having paid a ‹ne of ten kroner ($1.50). Back on the platform, we realized that the mail train had already left, and decided to share a taxi all the way home. We arrived in Roskilde four hours before school, broke, but with vivid memories for the rest of our lives. I visited Jazzhus Montmartre dozens of times before it closed in 1976, and I heard Webster frequently in other jazz clubs as well, but my initial encounter with that intimate, Kansas City–like atmosphere at the Jazzhus Montmartre is the experience I treasure the...