George Avakian, 1919-2017

Artists in all disciplines depend on a variety of behind-the-scenes personalities who bring their visions to life. George Avakian, who passed away on November 22, was an integral part of the presentation and marketing of jazz for six decades. In addition to his role as a producer, George was a jazz historian, a talent scout, and a prolific writer of LP liner notes. Early in his career he made a significant contribution to the jazz canon by compiling and re-issuing historically important recordings by Louis Armstrong and other jazz pioneers.

There is some debate about when jazz changed from entertainment to an art form. George addressed this question during our interview:

MR: Yesterday I had asked you a question about if the early jazz musicians thought of their music as an art form. And you said probably not.

GA: No not really. They were just playing happy music that they had developed within their lives, and they were happy making a living at it as best they could in many cases of course. Because a jazz musician’s life has never been easy unless you happen to hit it big. But I don’t think musicians ever took it seriously as an art form until they were told it was an art form, and that probably started, I think it would have to be during the World War II years. Because before there weren’t any articles being written in magazines, God knows no books to speak of, but once that started, quite a bit of pretension did begin to creep in. And some of it spurred I feel the bop movement because that was something new and hard to understand compared to the relative ease of listening to the earlier music because that was, among other things, dance music, social music, good time music, popular songs were involved. Bop became something which for the most part did not depend on familiar standard selections, even though a lot of the earlier compositions were simply variations on the harmonies which were themselves altered along the way, of standard tunes by Gershwin and Cole Porter and so forth. So it became a kind of an inside arty thing. And this was encouraged by the people who wrote about jazz because more and more writing about jazz took place in magazines.

George’s expertise in production and marketing played an important role in moving jazz not only into the retail marketplace but also into the greater culture. His range of projects included work with Louis Armstrong and other innovators such as Dave Brubeck, Miles Davis, and Gil Evans. Notable LP productions included Benny Goodman “Live at Carnegie Hall,” “Ellington at Newport,” and “Miles Ahead.”

George was the co-founder of the National Academy of Recording Arts & Sciences, and was named a National Endowment of the Arts Jazz Master in 2011.

From the Fillius archive, here is a link to the full YouTube interview I conducted with George on April 21, 1998.

Marty Napoleon, 1921-2015

Pianist Marty Napoleon passed away on April 27 at the age of 93. He was born in Brooklyn, NY of Sicilian immigrants as Matthew Napoli, later legally changing his name. Marty came from a long line of musicians. His familial situation was atypical. In his case the scenario of the young musician who finds disfavor with his girlfriend’s father was reversed.

MR:    Can I assume that it was okay with your parents that you were going into this field?

MN:    As a matter of fact that’s funny you lead me into that. Because when I started going with my wife, I met my wife when we were both 18 years old. Obviously we were the same age just about. And we kept company for about two years. But after about a year, my father said to me, “you can’t keep company with that girl.” I said, “why not?” He says, “you’re planning on marrying her?” I said, “yeah.” He said, “well you can’t even think about that.” I said, “why?” He said, “she’s going to keep you away from studying the piano.” How would you like to have parents like that?

In today’s jazz world, the majority of musicians are well skilled in all facets of music, and are expected to be able to read the most complex arrangements. Such was not the case in Marty’s time, and he was well into a career as a pianist before he learned to interpret notes on a page. Marty landed a gig with Chico Marx of Marx Brothers fame, and literally learned to read on the job.

MN:    To get back to Chico, I couldn’t read. I hadn’t learned yet, because I was like scuffling. So when we got to Chico’s band and I was like playing these shows with comedians and dancers, I was lucky that we had an 18-piece orchestra. And fortunately I had what they called a piano/conductor part. And on the top, in red ink, was what the lead trumpet was playing, see? So now I would fake through the first show and from the second show on I would follow the red notes on the piano sheets see? And I would notice like whenever the band had an eighth rest and a dotted quarter, I know it always went [scats] and I said, hey that’s great, you know. By the time I left that band I was reading music.

MN:    The funny thing was, only about three years ago, my wife and I were sitting in the living room and I said, “well you know I scuffled during Chico’s band because I couldn’t read.” She said, “you didn’t know how to read when you were with Chico’s band?” She never even knew I couldn’t read.

Musicians of the 30s and 40s in particular seem to have played musical chairs throughout their careers. Marty played with a long list of well-known jazz artists, including Gene Krupa, Red Allen, Joe Venuti, Charlie Ventura and in bands with his uncle Phil and brother Teddy. Prominently listed among Marty’s credits are his multiple stints with the Louis Armstrong All-Stars. Marty was able to witness why Louis Armstrong had the nickname “Ambassador Satch” and how his God-like presence overseas did not always translate into the same respect at home:

MR:    Were there certain places that you’ve played that were particularly memorable overseas?

MN:    Mostly all the places because especially, like I say, I wrote everything down. So I remember every place. One of the most exhilarating experiences was when we got to Switzerland, the first time I played in Switzerland. The first time I went into Europe with Louis was in October of 1952. ’52 or ’53.

MR:    ’52 ’53 the first time around.

MN:    Yeah okay.

MR:    Sweden, Denmark, Finland.

MN:    Yeah the first place was Sweden, and we got into this town and the place was closed. There wasn’t a thing in town. I met a guy and he could speak English and he spoke to me, “you with Louis Armstrong?” I says, “hey where is everybody?” He says, “what do you mean?” “I don’t see anybody in the streets, nobody walking, the shops are closing.” He says, “Louis Armstrong’s here.” I said, “what do you mean?” He said, “they closed the whole town,” they were getting prepared to go see Louis at the concert. I swear to God, man. He said, “what do you mean, Louis Armstrong’s here.” I said oh, okay. So anyway it was Sweden, then we went to Denmark, then we were here and we traveled a lot, but it was so rough I’m telling you. Because we were doing not only like we’d play one country here today and then go to the next country, we would play two shows, one in the afternoon and one in the evening and sometimes a second one would even be in a different country.

MR:    Did you ever have any problems with the fact that it was an integrated band racially?

MN:    We were in Texas and we were playing in a place called the Seven something, and we had taken a break and I went outside to get some fresh air, it was very hot in the room even though it was air conditioning, you know it gets hot. So I went outside and while I was sitting like this getting some sun, it got dark and I opened my eyes and I saw about four big Texas guys with the big necks like this, and they said, “hey man.” I said, “yeah?” “How come you play with a nigger band?” I said, “what?” They said, “you heard me.” I said, “what the hell are you talking about, man?” I said, “you know who that is? That’s Louis Armstrong.” “So what?” I said, “what do you mean, so what? Didn’t you pay to come in to see him?” The guy says, “yeah.” I said, “how much did you pay?” I forget, ten dollars? I said, “I’m getting paid to work with him, you’re a bigger jerk than I am, aren’t you?” And just as I said that, Cozy [Cole] was coming out to call me or something, and he heard me say that. He says, “Marty, telephone.” So he came to grab me and he pulled me in. He says, “are you crazy?” I said, “what?” He says, “didn’t you see the size of those guys?” I said, “yeah but did you hear what they said, I mean, come on, Cozy.”

Like many musicians who made their living playing jazz-based music, Marty was mystified by the pop music of the 80s and 90s. The melodic elements and the rhythmic swing that he so loved was missing, and he never lost the belief that there was still a fan base out there, although it was more likely to be overseas.

MN:    I feel sad because you know how I know there’s a market for it? I went to Europe about five years in a row with Peanuts Hucko. We were doing a tribute to Louis Armstrong. We had Peanuts, Trummy Young, Billy Butterfield, Jack Lesberg and Gus Johnson. When I tell you we went to Portugal for one night, and we played opposite a kid who was a local hero, who had a hit record, he was about 23 years old, and he was fantastic. He had all kinds of amplifiers. Three guys they sounded like a whole orchestra. It was great. And he had a hit record and he was from that town, and they loved him. And we had to follow him. So now he breaks it up, I mean completely. Now to introduce us and we come out, and we get [sparse applause]. We started to play “Back Home Again Indiana,” well you never heard anything like that in your whole life. Clomping, Stamping, Cheering, Whistling, “hey you guys are great man.” They went crazy. We tore it up. We had to do four encores, they wouldn’t let us off the stage. I said man this is fantastic. These six old guys come on here and they say what’s going on. I was with the world’s greatest band too, the world’s greatest. Everybody in the band was great. People loved it. They were swinging. I mean when the band is swinging it gets to the people, I don’t care what you say.

Marty possessed excellent recall for details about his musical adventures, and we were fortunate to have captured a lengthy interview with him in New York City in 1999.

Iola Brubeck, 1923-2014

Iola Brubeck, in 2011

In the process of gathering 300+ interviews for the Fillius Jazz Archive, I have found myself in a number of memorable settings, none more so than the two visits to the home of Dave and Iola Brubeck. My interview with Mr. Brubeck took place on November 21, 2001, and we made a return visit on July 17, 2011 to do a session with his wife, Iola. This time my wife Romy accompanied me as cameraperson and for logistical support. Going to the home of a jazz icon can be intimidating, but both Dave and Iola put us at ease.

Iola Brubeck passed away on March 12, 2014. She was a wife and mother, and an integral part of Dave’s career, acting at various times as manager, critic and as creative collaborator. Iola wrote lyrics for a number of important compositions, and acted as a sounding board and second set of ears for Dave.

One of their important collaborations was the play with music entitled “The Real Ambassadors,” recorded in 1961 with a stellar cast, and performed only once at the 1962 Monterey Jazz Festival. I’m happy to learn that “The Real Ambassadors” will receive its first New York performance on April 11 and 12, 2014, in the Appel Room at Jazz at Lincoln Center. It’s bittersweet that the Brubecks will not be at the performance. Iola’s contribution to this work was lasting and memorable. My favorite composition from the production is “Summer Song” — an enchanting piece that features Louis Armstrong on the vocals. We wrote about this appropriately in the summer of 2012, and you can read that entry here. There is a gorgeous cover version of “Summer Song” (combined with “Summertime”) by Jackie Cain and Roy Kral, featuring Brubeck’s longtime saxophonist, Paul Desmond. Oddly, neither Dave nor Iola had heard this version of their own song, and I was pleased that I could play it for them and later send them a copy. Personally, if any of my compositions had been performed by well-known jazz artists, I would have been all over it.

I was pleased to learn that the late singer Joe Williams (who was instrumental in the creation of the Fillius Jazz Archive) played a role in the birth of “The Real Ambassadors.” Jazz people all seem to know one another, and we get the impression that everybody loves everybody else. Iola told this anecdote regarding Joe and Dave:

IB:    It’s interesting too, and I should have brought it up when we were talking about where did you get the idea for “The Real Ambassadors,” because Joe Williams was a part of that. That summer I was in New York and I went to Central Park and Joe Williams was with the Basie band, and he was just so great. And the night before I had gone to a Broadway musical. And I said to myself Joe Williams said more and reached more emotionally with the Basie band that night than that big production I’d seen the night before. And that was one of the reasons why I started thinking in terms of a Broadway show.

MR:   Well thank you Joe. He was a big help to us getting this started.

IB:    That’s what I understand. Well I loved Joe Williams. He was a wonderful, wonderful man. He was another example of a black man who, right at the height of the sort of division that was going on in jazz was not effected by that. And I can remember in Europe one time, Joe and some other musicians were sitting outside a hotel in the summertime, on a sort of patio, and our car pulled up and Dave and I got out of the van and Joe got up from where he was sitting with the other musicians and came over and they embraced, he gave Dave a hug and so forth. And it was just kind of a way of him saying “cool it guys.”

MR:   Another great story.

IB:    A lot of humanity.

In my house we have a certain back and forth about creative work, and I often wondered what a conversation was like between Dave and Iola when he presented her with his latest effort. I do know that she did not simply say “oh yes, that’s fine, keep going” if she didn’t like the direction in which he was headed. Iola addressed this in our interview:

MR:   I’ve gotten the sense over the years that [Dave] has used you as an opinion and a sounding board about some of his work. When I was here ten years ago he was working on a piece. Unfortunately it was the beginning of the Afghanistan war, and he was working on a piece that I believe he said the text encouraged women not have children because the times were so awful. And you told him nobody’s going to want to sing that, it’s too sad. And it made me think that you’re fairly forthright with your opinions about his work.

IB:    Well yes. If it’s in an area where I think I know something I’ve always felt that I was sort of like the audience. And if I think there’s something that an audience would really love I will tell him that, or if I think it’s something they won’t — musically I won’t step in that area at all. You know I’m not qualified in any way. But going back to the first recordings of the trio, I remember there is a recording on one side, in those days it was 78’s so you had two sides. “Body and Soul” with Cal Tjader on bongos. And Dave didn’t think that maybe that should go on that side. And I said “that’s the best thing you’ve done” because I was thinking from an audience standpoint. And sure enough it was something that really went over extremely well. So I guess a sounding board is maybe what you would call it.

MR:    Well it’s very valuable to have an outside ear I think, because sometimes musicians can’t divorce themselves from what they did personally on the performance.

IB:    It isn’t always an objective opinion perhaps, but at least it’s outside the actual creating of the piece itself. And then of course we’ve worked together on a lot of different projects, and that way we are — I was going to say critical of each other, but we’re not critical of each other, we’re just honest with each other.

I asked a question of Iola that I have never asked of anyone else. As I was talking to this gracious and charming woman, I was trying to picture her displaying a temper, and I couldn’t imagine what would make her mad.

MR:    I don’t know if you can answer this question, but you and Dave seem like such peaceful people. I wonder, is there anything that makes you angry?

IB:    Yeah. Injustice. That is something. It’s not a just world. You have to accept that fact, but I hate to see anyone treated badly, not even the right to be themselves, and the stereotyping of people, that’s an injustice, by the color of the skin or the way they look or the way they walk or the way they’re dressed or whatever. That I really can’t tolerate. That’s where I’m intolerant.

MR:    Are you an optimist though? Is Dave an optimist?

IB:    Oh yeah. Why not? The alternative is to be unhappy and not enjoy the day as it is. I think you know, at this point in our lives we have to accept each day as a gift and I think that being pessimistic and all that angst that one goes through one times in younger people, it’s okay. I mean that’s part of growing up and coming through it. I think we’ve all had those periods. But generally speaking Dave and I both, even at the worst times, have felt well we’ll get through this.

I’ve been fortunate in this work to converse with and stand close to a select group of people who exude a consistently positive and uplifting spirit. Simply being in their presence made me feel better. Dave and Iola Brubeck both radiated this quality, and I feel fortunate to have had the chance to capture them on camera during their later years.

Songs of Summer

The summer season has provided inspiration for both popular and classical compositions for centuries. One of the earliest examples, circa 1260, is the English Medieval round “Sumer is Icumen In.” The translation from Middle English shows us that thirteenth century songwriters were motivated by the activities of summer. Sly Stone was similarly inspired in his 1969 hit “Hot Fun in the Summertime,” and a verse from each song seamlessly spans the centuries:

From “Sumer is Icumen In”:

            Summer has come in, loudly sing cuckoo

            The seed grows and the meadow blooms and the world springs anew

From “Hot Fun in the Summertime”:

            Boop boopa boop when I want to, out of school

            County fair in the country sun and everything is cool.

Instrumental music has its share of summer songs as well. Vivaldi had his 1723 “hit” with the Summer movement of “The Four Seasons,” and two hundred plus years later organist Walter Wanderley gave us “Samba de Verao,” (“Summer Samba”).

The Internet is rife with lists of the hundred best summer songs, and at present they are in heavy rotation on the oldies stations. My vote for one of the most outstanding summer songs is rarely heard on the radio, and never makes the lists.

In the late 1950s, Dave and Iola Brubeck started to collaborate on a musical production to be called “The Real Ambassadors.” Their lofty aspirations were to bring together some of the greatest musical talent in existence and show the world through music that humanity could live together in peace. Louis Armstrong was to be the focal point, and the whole production was built around his irrepressible voice and trumpet. Amongst the songs from “The Real Ambassadors” was a beautiful ballad entitled “Summer Song.” The music was by Dave Brubeck, and the lyric was by his wife, Iola. Iola managed to combine lyrical poetry, with homespun Americana. Her first line offers a beautiful simile:

            Love to me is like a summer day

            Silent ‘cause there is just too much to say

And later in the song:

            I hear laughter from the swimming hole

            Kids are fishing with a willow pole

“The Real Ambassadors” was recorded in 1961 and performed only once, at the 1962 Monterey Jazz Festival. The festival was mostly filmed but “The Real Ambassadors” debut was not, reportedly due to a lack of $750 that would have kept the film crew working. The Brubecks had always hoped that it could be turned into a Broadway production, but at this date it has only been reissued on CD. Check out Louis’ rendition of “Summer Song.” The Brubecks certainly could hear his voice when they wrote the tune. Louis made the song his own, just as he did a few years later with the hit “What a Wonderful World.” The song can also be heard on CD on the Columbia release “Dave Brubeck/Vocal Encounters” where Dave and his quartet are matched with the likes of Carmen McCrae, Jimmy Rushing, Tony Bennett and Louis Armstrong.

I came through the back door with my association with “Summer Song.” As so often happens, the first version of a song you hear is not the original. I became enchanted with “Summer Song” from the 1972 LP “Time and Love” by Jackie and Roy. Along with arranger Don Sebesky they cleverly combined their version of “Summer Song” with the Gershwin classic “Summertime,” entitled “Summer Song/Summertime.” To make the connection with the Brubecks one layer deeper, they invited saxophonist Paul Desmond to guest on the cut. He weaves “Summertime” in and out of his improvisations, and the lush arrangement by Don Sebesky make this version the equal of the original.

I had the privilege of interviewing both Dave and Iola Brubeck on separate occasions in their Connecticut home and I took the opportunity to play the Jackie and Roy version for them. They were both enamored of the recording; in fact Dave actually jumped out of his seat at a moment in the song (at 2:25). After Desmond’s gorgeous solo, Jackie and Roy sing an overdubbed four-part harmony that made the composer of this song sit up and take notice.

No one sits at a higher pinnacle in the music pantheon than the Brubecks, but in true humble musician fashion, both Dave and Iola separately mentioned the significance of Louis Armstrong’s participation in their “Real Ambassador” production. They both made mention of Pops’ inscription on their original score of “Summer Song,” which read: “To Mrs. Brubeck, I am very happy, Satchmo.”

Check out both of these recordings of Summer Song. I think you’ll have a new favorite for the season.

Joe Muranyi: The Last All-Star

Clarinetist Joe Muranyi passed away on April 20, 2012, and was the last surviving member of the Louis Armstrong All-Star Band. Joe was born in Martin’s Ferry, Ohio on July 14, 1928. Joe was of Hungarian descent and the ethnic influence played a role in his early musical development.

JM:        Hungarians had a natural affinity for music like Italians, Irish, something like that. And in recent years, the past 20 years or so, I’ve gone there a lot and I find that I was basing my opinion of Hungarians on my parents and my family. But music was a very important part and you know I’m getting to the age where I’ve had thoughts and funny thoughts and I cheer up easily. And I’m an emotional being. Of course we all are. But the other night, there was something about “Pennies From Heaven.” The song came up. And I’m thinking about myself, you know, at what age did I start thinking about the music and considering music and whatever. And I remembered that I learned “Pennies From Heaven” [sings] every time it rains it rains — to this day I mean I know the words very well — directly connected back to when I was six or seven. And so I used to go to the movies on Saturday morning for a nickel in those days, you know, in Martin’s Ferry, Ohio, Bellair, Ohio, way far away like that. Steel mines and coal mines and a lot of the immigrant beau hunk you know and all that kind of stuff. Polacks and Italians. So I used to go to the movies. I might have seen it there, and maybe I heard it on the radio. My parents at that time didn’t have a gramophone, so I learned “Pennies From Heaven” because I liked it and by ear. And the words and all. And they used to stand me up, that’s the only one I remember, stand me up onto the chair, like seven years old, and I would perform.

Diverse influences continued as Joe progressed from a child musician to a working artist, where he found himself balancing education from the classroom and the bandstand.

MR:        Well in reading about you it seems like an interesting trip from balalaika orchestras to Lenny Tristano to Louis Armstrong to what you’re doing now.

JM:        Well that balalaika is one of those things, you know, you say something that off-beat or not in the normal events in the course of normal events, and that triggers up. Yeah. When I was going to college, you know, I went to Columbia and Manhattan School of Music, I sort of gigged around. I played with, I actually played with an old time Italian band, you know a street band sort of. We didn’t play in the street, but it was in Springfield, Mass. in some Catholic church basement. And that was an experience you know. You had no music, these old guys, it’s like New Orleans or something. And they played standard classical repertoire and they had flute, clarinet, oboe, you know, it was like, the balalaika were like the violins and the violas and all that stuff. And they played classical stuff and Glinka and things like that from the Russian days. And they also played Russian folk songs [sings] which was ethnic again. It was kind of fun.

MR:        Well it’s a great mix for your ears to be doing all that kind of stuff, right?

JM:        Oh yeah. I love so-called ethnic music you know. I used to have quite a collection of Klezmer stuff, which I like very much, and there again, the earlier the better. In the twenty-something it was just wonderful. The new Klezmer bands well they’re fun and stuff but they don’t have the level of anything like the old timers did.

One thing I love about interviewing veteran jazz artists is the anecdotes and offhand comments they make along the way. There’s a well-worn phrase in jazz called “every tub.” I’ve heard it used before, and the meaning never seems to stick with me. Joe reminded me of what the phrase means:

JM:        We were in this place and we go down, there’s a restaurant in the place, in the bowling alley, and we’re going to have something to eat. And it was Pops Foster. And I knew who he was, I loved him and I respected him you know. And he looks at the menu and he said “is this every tub?” I said, “Pops, what’s every tub?” “Oh,” he says, “don’t you know what that means?” I said, “no.” He said, “every tub on its own bottom, do we pay or does the boss pay?” And then you know there’s a King Oliver record called “Every Tub.”

MR:        Sure there is. And a Basie record too.

JM:        Yeah, yeah. And there’s — I think I heard Louis Armstrong say a couple of times, you know an ensemble when you start playing? “Every tub.” You know, it’d be every guy on his own, you know, going to improvise.

MR:        So he meant everybody was paying for their own food?

JM:         Everybody on his own.

MR:        Everybody on his own.

JM:         By every tub means every tub on its own bottom. Everybody on his own.

MR:        That’s cool.

JM:        Okay? And that could apply to paying or it could apply to improvising. You know we’re not going to read music or don’t play the melody, unison. Improvise, yeah.

While most people recognize Joe Muranyi’s name from his association with Louis Armstrong, he also had an association with other artists, including the Eddie Condon gang, the Village Stompers (of which he was a founding member), and also as a producer for RCA Victor. He had strong opinions about jazz education and what he saw as the unfortunate separating of jazz styles and the audience for jazz and its musicians.

MR:        You expressed some feelings about jazz education before we started today.

JM:        Oh yeah. Well I don’t think there’s anything wrong with somebody going to a conservatory to study music and to study jazz. But I’ve never yet met a program, I mean just consider what they produce. They produce people that know about Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker and Pops and everything like that. And I guess some courses they treat history. But forget it. And then they all play the latest thing — oh about the definition of jazz. It’s got to have freedom, yeah. And I like the idea of modern jazz and what they produce but I don’t actually like the music you know. It’s a very curious thing. As I said before, if somebody just asked me do I like jazz, I say no, because I know what they’re thinking and I don’t like it. And let’s put it this way: jazz is so compartmentalized. There are so many aspects. And America’s got this bad history of antagonism between the styles of jazz.

He treasured his stint with Louis Armstrong and the All-Stars, and added his opinion about Satchmo to the thousands of pages that have been written about America’s greatest jazz artist:

JM:        I thought about it and thought about it and thought about it and for me jazz is the music that Louis Armstrong plays. It’s very simple, you can understand, you know when I say that you know what I’m talking about don’t you?

MR:        I do until, but Louis Armstrong played a lot of music after the twenties and thirties also that may not have been really jazz. He jazzed it up.

JM:        Well his music, jazzing it up, what is jazz? Jazz is a feeling. You can play the straight — now Louis Armstrong, you know, he was the same man when he died as he was when he was young you know. That flame in him never died. And he could play the straight melody and melt your heart and that’s jazz. You could tell the difference between somebody very square and somebody swinging. Now this gets into the definition very much, you made a good point there. You say well “Hello Dolly” time is, you know, it’s certainly not as interesting as “Struttin’ With Some Barbecue” or “Potato Head Blues,” you know, naked creativity. The situation was completely different. But he never lost his fire. He always showed something. Louis, he was a saint. And it was the biggest thing in my life, and I’m going to get teary, I’m near to. He was a wonderful guy. And he could be a bastard and he could be, oh a terrible, he could hurt you so badly and nobody in the world could do that. But anyhow the point is I liked him and he liked me. And the thing is I’ve never yet, and you know I’ve talked to people for a hundred years, “you ever see Louis?” And you know you hear the most interesting things. And most everybody that got to know him or knew him a little, Louis was his best friend. You know Louis had this quality. He was very gregarious and very good with people and he liked people, and he would really go out of his way and you would think well the big man doesn’t have time for that, but he did make time.

And so we bid farewell to Joe, and thank him for his contribution to the uplifting music of the Louis Armstrong All-Stars.