This is a chance to read or hear the first pages in the new book “Buddy Bolden’s Storyville Blues”, inspired by the dramatic events in New Orleans around the year of 1900.
Listen to the story:
Read a bit of the Story:
BUDDY BOLDEN’S STORYVILLE BLUES
I was sitting at my desk after putting in the final full stop of my manuscript wondering, which event in my youth that meant the most to me. In the end I decided on that Sunday Dora and I went to Lincoln Park, where I first met Charles “Buddy” Bolden, the love of my life.
It was around the year 1900. He was 22 years old and I, Nora Bass, had just turned 20 and was what you would call ”une creole belle”. I was only five ft. and five inches tall; slim with rather full lips and a small pointed nose. My skin was a light tan and not as it is now that it has turned almost gray. My eyes were dark brown, my hair frizzy and shining black. Back then, my teeth sparkled like mother of pearl but since then it has been a struggle to keep them reasonably presentable. Many men gave me compliments, and one of father’s business relations, Mr. Hall, wrote this to me: “Your wonderful smile and your radiant brown eyes have enchanted me. Your graceful moves and slender body are out of this world; you are a flowering rose, and no Spanish senorita compares to you. I would give anything for a moment of love with you”. You should not put too much emphasis on the words from a man in love, but I was beautiful once and a different sight from the present gray-headed Nora Bass. My twin sister Dora looked a lot like me, but she was not as gracious as I was, which I attribute to my frequent ballet dancing. Dora has a large birthmark on her right cheek that blemishes her face. She was ashamed of the mark and often covered it up with powder.
Back then, Lincoln Park and Johnson Park were the places the young folks met. One of the main attractions was watching the balloon captain Buddy Bartley ascend in his balloon. He was a daredevil, but Bartley did not have particularly good control of the balloon, so from time to time he landed in entirely the wrong places, much to the audience’s amusement. One Sunday, Dora and I had walked out to Lincoln Park to watch for ourselves as Bartley rose into the air. It was late in the afternoon, and he could not get the balloon to ascend. Just as we were about to leave, we heard a band start playing one of the great hits of that time, in the other end of the park. I think it was: If You Don’t Shake It, You Don’t Get No Cake. It was on that occasion that I saw the bandleader Charles Bolden for the first time. He always went by the name of Buddy Bolden, but the nickname apart, he had nothing in common with the balloon captain.
Some couples began to dance, and I have never seen anything like it. The girls went crazy and lifted up their skirts, to reveal their beautiful stockings and long legs. The dance band was called “The Buddy Bolden Band”. He played the cornet – a small trumpet – and sang and introduced the songs. Every time Buddy Bolden did something, the girls screamed and made signs and gestures at him. Even now after so many years, it makes me happy to think back on that afternoon. We knew many of the songs the band played, but the way they were played was new to us. The audience around us called the music ragtime, and it had Dora and me confused, as they played only very few real ragtime songs. Later, it dawned on me that what the audience called ragtime only referred to the way the band was playing. Whether it was a ragtime composition, a hit song of the moment, a two-step or cakewalk did not matter. Dora and I already knew the dance music that John Robichaux’s Band played at father’s parties at home. Their well-rehearsed music held was not anything like Bolden’s wild music. The highlight was when many of the women called up to Buddy begging him to play the Funky Butt. At first, Buddy shook his head, but the women persisted. Dora and I were so close to the stage, that we could hear him discussing with a couple of his musicians. The end of it all was that Buddy took of his bowler hat, bowed down at the girls, stamped his boot once and began to play. I later learned that the song was Buddy’s favorite and that it was known as both the Funky Butt and Buddy Bolden’s Blues. Because of the daring lyrics, he was not very keen on playing that song in big public places like Lincoln Park. It is one of those tunes that you feel like you have known all your life and everybody was yelling, whistling and cheering. Buddy looked wonderful as he stood there with one hand on his hip, pointing his horn to the sky as he was playing.
Some of the sounds were so loud that I was afraid for my hearing while other sounds came out almost whispering. Soon, pretty much everyone was dancing. There were mainly women present, and I later found out that this was common when the Buddy Bolden Band was playing. The dance was very unusual as, at a particular point in the song, the women would turn around and bump their behinds against each other. Later in the dance, some of the loudest women took each other by the hand and chain danced all the way to the edge of the stage and yelled, “Sing it King Bolden, sing it!” Bolden shook his head dismissively, but finally surrendered. I later discovered that the words differed slightly from time to time, but the lyrics went something like this:
FUNKY BUTT/ BUDDY BOLDEN’S BLUES
I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say,
You are nasty, you are dirty, take it away
You are terrible, you are awful, take it away
I thought I heard him say.
I thought I heard Buddy Bolden shout
Open up that window and let that bad air out
Open up that window and let that foul air out
I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say.
I thought I heard Judge Fogarty say,
Thirty days in the market, take him away
Give him a good broom to sweep with, take him away.
I thought I heard him say.
At the end of the song, Buddy noticed me. Suddenly he bent down towards me and played a couple of notes, and it seemed exactly as if the cornet was saying – Little girl, come to me. It was clearly directed at me, and with ill-concealed envy Dora remarked, “Well, aren’t you the lucky one!” I acknowledged with a gentle wave, after which he took the horn from his mouth, bowed slightly and smiled at me. Buddy could speak through his horn, and those who heard him in his glory days would agree with me. When Buddy played a wistful blues, everyone was affected, and some even started sobbing. At no time before or after, have I experienced anything like it. After the concert, he sought me out and asked me to come back the following Sunday. I nodded, and Dora and I made for the park exit.
Many Negroes have big lips, frizzy unruly hair and flat noses, but not Buddy; his hair was dark brown with a reddish hue and a bit curly. His eyes were slightly slanted and light brown. His nose was straight and well-shaped, and his face had a refinement to it, almost like an oriental prince. His voice was unique, because when Buddy spoke it sounded melodically and soft. Neither before nor after have I ever meet a person with such a warm smile as Buddy’s. If Buddy had been any fairer, you would have thought he was Creole. It is so unattractive when men slouch as they walk but Buddy held himself erect, and was supple as a cat. He was a beautiful man. Dora and I were talking about Buddy Bolden as we approached the exit, when a jet black, busty woman in a very low cut dark blue dress cut me off and hissed at me, that a little whore like me should not be making passes at her Buddy. And now I was going to get what I deserved. Then she opened up her purse and pulled out a razor. Fortunately, one of the musicians interfered. He gave her a resounding slap in the face, and as she fell to the ground, he kicked the razor out of her hand. He warned the woman that if she ever did that again, she would no longer be welcome among them. The woman started crying and walked away. I found out later that the musician’s name was Willie Cornish. He put his arm around me and explained that many women were trying to win Buddy’s affection, and a little girl like me could easily get hurt trying. Willie added that I should count myself lucky that he had been there today, and I could not always count on that. Therefore, he advised me to stay away
LÆS LIDT AF TEKSTEN:
BUDDY BOLDENS STORYVILLE BLUES
Da jeg havde sat det sidste punktum i min historie, sad jeg længe og funderede over, hvilken begivenhed i min ungdom, der havde haft den største betydning for mig. Til sidst nåede jeg frem til, at det var den søndag, da Dora og jeg tog ud til Lincoln Park, hvor jeg for første gang mødte Charles ”Buddy” Bolden, mit livs kærlighed.
Det var omkring år 1900. Han var 22 år gammel, og jeg, Nora Bass, var netop fyldt 20, og hvad man kalder ”une creole belle”. Jeg er kun 160 centimeter høj, spinkel og slank, med ret fyldige læber og lille spids næse. Min hud var lysebrun og ikke som nu, hvor den nærmest er blevet grå. Mine øjne var mørkebrune, håret kruset og gnistrende sort. Dengang skinnede mine tænder som perlemor, det har været en kamp siden at holde dem bare nogenlunde pæne. Mange mænd gav mig komplimenter, og en af fars forretningsforbindelser, Mr. Hall, skrev følgende til mig. ”Dit vidunderlige smil og strålende brune øjne har fortryllet mig. Dine yndefulde bevægelser og smækre krop er af en anden verden, du er en rose i blomst og ingen spansk senorita kan måle sig med dig. Jeg vil give hvad som helst for en elskovsstund med dig”.
Man skal ikke lægge så meget i en forelsket mands ord, men jeg var smuk engang. Det var et andet syn end den nuværende gråhårede Nora Bass. Dora lignede mig meget, men hun var ikke så graciøs som jeg, hvad jeg tilskriver min flittige ballet. Dora har et stort modermærke på højre kind, som skæmmer hendes ansigt. Hun skammede sig over mærket og dækkede det ofte med pudder.
Dengang var Lincoln Park og Johnson Park stederne, hvor ungdommen mødtes. En af hovedattraktionerne var, når ballonskipper Buddy Bartley steg op i sin ballon. Han var en vovehals, men Bartley havde ikke særlig godt styr på ballonen, så det hændte, at han til publikums moro landede helt forkerte steder.
En søndag var Dora og jeg gået ud til Lincoln Park for ved selvsyn at se Bartley stige til vejrs. Det var sent om eftermiddagen, og han kunne ikke få ballonen til at stige til vejrs. Netop som vi skulle til at gå, hørte vi et orkester i den anden ende af parken begynde på en af datidens store træffere. Så vidt jeg husker, var det ”If You Don’t Shake It, You Don’t Get No Cake.” Det var ved den lejlighed, at jeg første gang stiftede bekendtskab med orkesterlederen Charles Bolden. Han blev aldrig kaldt andet end Buddy Bolden, og udover kaldenavnet havde han og ballonskipperen intet til fælles.
Nogle par begyndte at danse, og jeg har aldrig set noget lignende. Pigerne var helt vilde og løftede op i skørterne, så man så deres smukke strømper og lange ben. Danseorkesteret hed ”Buddy Boldens Orkester”. Han spillede selv på kornet– en lille trompet – og sang og annoncerede numrene. Hver gang Buddy Bolden gjorde noget, jublede pigerne og gjorde tegn og fagter til ham. Selv nu så mange år efter bliver jeg i godt humør, når jeg tænker tilbage på den eftermiddag.
Vi kendte mange af numrene, men måden de blev spillet på var ny for os. Tilskuerne omkring os kaldte musikken ragtime, og det forvirrede Dora og mig, for der blev kun spillet ganske få rigtige ragtimenumre.
Senere gik det op for mig, at det publikum kaldte ragtime, kun beskrev den måde orkesteret spillede på, om det var en ragtimekomposition, en af øjeblikkets træffere, en two–step eller cakewalk var underordnet.
Dora og jeg kendte i forvejen den dansemusik, som John Robichauxs Orkester spillede til fars fester hjemme. Deres velindstuderede musik kunne slet ikke sammenlignes med Boldens vilde musik.
Højdepunktet kom, da mange af kvinderne råbte op til Buddy, at han skulle spille Funky Butt. Først rystede Buddy på hovedet, men kvinderne blev ved. Dora og jeg stod så tæt på scenen, at vi kunne høre, han diskuterede med et par af de sine musikere.
Enden på det blev, at Buddy tog sin bowlerhat af, bukkede ned mod pigerne, trampede en enkelt gang med sin støvle og begyndte. Jeg fandt senere ud af, at nummeret var Buddys yndlingsmelodi, og at den både gik under navnet Funky Butt og Buddy Boldens Blues. På grund af den vovede tekst var han ikke meget for at spille den melodi på store offentlige steder som Lincoln Park. Det er en af den slags melodier, som man synes, man har kendt hele sit liv, og alle råbte, piftede og kom med tilråb. Buddy så vidunderlig ud, sådan som han stod dér med den ene hånd i siden og spillede med sit horn pegende op mod himlen.
Nogle af tonerne var så kraftige, at man blev helt bange for sin hørelse, og andre toner blev nærmest hvisket frem. Snart begyndte næsten alle at danse. Der var kvinder i overtal, og jeg fandt senere ud af, at det var almindeligt, når Buddy Boldens orkester spillede.
Dansen var meget usædvanlig, for et bestemt sted i melodien vendte kvinderne sig og stødte deres bagdele mod hinanden. Senere i dansen tog nogle af de mest højrøstede kvinder hinanden i hånden og dansede i kæde helt frem til tribunens kant og råbte ”Sing it King Bolden, sing it”. Bolden rystede afvisende på hovedet, men gav efter til sidst. Jeg fandt senere ud af, at ordene var lidt forskellige fra gang til gang, men nogenlunde sådan var teksten:
FUNKY BUTT/ BUDDY BOLDENS BLUES
I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say,
You´re nasty, you`re dirty, take it away
You´terrible, you`re awful, take it away
I thought I heard him say.
I thought I heard Buddy Bolden shout
Open up that window and let that bad air out
Open up that window and let that foul air out
I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say.
I thought I heard Judge Fogarty say,
Thirty days in the market, take him away
Give him a good broom to sweep with, take him away.
I thought I heard him say.
Ved nummerets slutning fik Buddy fået øje på mig. Pludselig bøjede han sig frem mod mig og spillede nogle toner, der fuldstændigt lød, som om kornetten sagde ”Lille pige kom hen til mig.”
Det var tydeligvis henvendt til mig, og med slet skjult misundelse bemærkede Dora, at dér var jeg nok heldig. Jeg kvitterede med en forsigtig vinken, hvorefter han tog hornet væk fra munden, bukkede let og smilede til mig. Buddy kunne tale med sit horn, og de der hørte ham i hans storhedstid, vil give mig ret. Når Buddy spillede en vemodig blues, blev alle berørte, og nogle begyndte ligefrem at hulke. Aldrig før eller siden har jeg oplevet noget lignende. Efter koncerten opsøgte han mig og bad mig komme igen næste søndag. Jeg nikkede, og Dora og jeg begav os af sted mod udgangen af parken.
Mange negre har tykke læber, dårligt hår og flade næser, men ikke Buddy. Håret var mørkebrunt, let krøllet og med et rødligt skær. Øjnene var lidt skrå og lysebrune. Næsen var lige og velformet, og ansigtet havde noget forfinet over sig som en orientalsk prins. Stemmen var speciel, for når han talte, lød det melodisk og blødt. Jeg har hverken før eller siden mødt en person med så varmt et smil. Havde han været lysere i huden, ville man tro, han var kreol. Det er grimt, når mænd ikke retter sig op, når de går. Buddy var rank og samtidigt smidig som en kat. Han var en smuk mand. Dora og jeg talte netop om ham, og vi nærmede os udgangen, da en kulsort, barmsvær kvinde, i meget udringet mørkeblå kjole, spærrede vejen for mig og hvæsede, at sådan en lille luder ikke skulle lægge an på hendes mand. Nu skulle jeg få, hvad jeg fortjente. Så åbnede hun sin taske og trak en barberkniv op.
Til alt held var der en af musikerne, der blandede sig. Han stak kvinden en syngende lussing, og da hun tumlede om, sparkede han kniven ud af hendes hånd. Kvinden blev advaret om, at hvis det gentog sig, var hun ikke mere velkommen blandt dem. Kvinden begyndte at hulke og vaklede bort. Jeg fandt senere ud af, at musikeren hed Willie Cornish. Han lagde armen om mig og forklarede, at der var mange kvinder, der forsøgte at vinde Buddys gunst, og en lille pige som mig nemt kom til skade i forsøget. Willie tilføjede, at jeg var heldig, han var til stede i dag, men det kunne jeg ikke altid regne med. Derfor rådede han mig til at holde mig væk.
