This year, as a 60-turning-61 white man, I am going to highlight African Americans that have had some kind of influence in my life. Some are famous, some are friends, and others are just people. #blackhistorymonth
February 11th
Perry Kay
Houston in the late 70s and early 80s was a hotbed of jazz education. Every school in the area had a jazz band, sometimes called a stage band. I went to Lanier Jr. High, and Mr. Kay started the Lanier Stage Band my first year in 7th grade.
Mr. Kay was a graduate of the North Texas State jazz program, the best jazz program in the country. He was a great sax player. While he was not the most well-spoken man, he knew his stuff, and he knew how to convey it. He put all of the kids who played trumpet, trombone, or saxophone and had been through beginning band in the stage band. He also picked the best drummers, found some piano, bass, and guitar players, and we were up and running.
The band we had in 7th grade was usually in the worst time slot at jazz festivals. We were all just learning how to do this jazz stuff. In 8th grade, we were quite a bit better, and in 9th grade, we started winning.
Mr. Kay was passionate. He was really good at demonstrating what he wanted, on any of the instruments in the band, but especially saxophone. He encouraged me when I was interested in playing bari sax in 8th grade. He allowed me to check out a bass clarinet so I could teach myself how to play well enough to make Houston All-City Orchestra on two weeks notice, and hey, look, now he had a bass clarinet player for concert band!
One day, he spent one entire class period dedicated to the blues scale. I went home and noodled around with it, and stumbled on a lick which I thought sounded amazing. He also had copied some magazine article about what it meant to be a jazz musician and improviser. It was life-changing for me, and I decided I wanted to do this for a living.
When my parents bought me a shiny new tenor sax for 9th grade, he had me play it a lot, but he still let me play bari on the tune that I made my own, Neil Hefti’s “L’il Darlin’”, from the Count Basie book. I won awards at jazz festivals for that tune. I would watch my mother smile whenever I did that gliss down to low B.
He worked with my mother to make vests for the band on an extremely limited budget.
He brought in local players to work with the band. One day, he brought in a fellow on crutches who smelled of cigarettes and "old man". It was Arnette Cobb, who had been a star in Lionel Hampton’s band, but whose career had been cut short by a serious car accident. Cobb had started playing again, and was doing clinics all over town. He would stand there leaning on his crutches just holding him up at his shoulders, tenor hanging on the strap, and just wail out the most soulful sound you ever heard.
At one point, Cobb looked at me, and said, in his rough almost-whisper, “Young man, this is your band! You are carrying them on your back. Show them how it is done. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise!”
Mr. Kay did an incredible job with that band. I still play to this day, even though I do something else for my actual living.
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