September 2011 - Irish American News

September 2011 Irish American News “We’ve Always Been Green!” 19My Music – And How It Got That WayMy Dad, who had grown upin the middle of twelve brothersand sisters, viewed Irish music as‘Greenhorn’ stuff. He was 100%American, though all of his sistersstudied Irish Dance with Pat Rocheand Mae Kennedy Kane. He learnedthe Sax and could play a very tolerablesolo rendition of “Stardust.”His music was Jazz but later in lifehe grew to appreciate the soundsheard in his father’s basement. Mygrandfather was a Stationary Engineerwho helped found the ChicagoLocal 399 and always tried to helpthe many, immigrant Irish whoflooded into Chicago between theIrish Civil War up to the Presidencyof JFK. He was a Kerryman andlike his brother back home wassomewhat of a musician.My Grandfather, Larry Hickey,played button accordion and fiddle.He was an amateur basement playerwho filled that large damp roomonce a week or so with some of thegreatest Irish musicians in Chicago.Terry ‘Cuz’ Teahan (accordion),Tom Masterson (flute), Eleanor(piano) and Jimmy Neary and thegreat Johnny McGreavey (fiddlers)all played sessions with Larry, notso much because he was an artist;rather, as he was a gateway to employment.I am sure their complimentson his button and string workwere sincere.Every Hickey party featuredIrish music and dancing and veryoften the music was provided bythe genius of the people above whowould influence Fiddler Liz Carroll,Jimmy Keane, Sean Cleland andJohn Williams.My Dad with three older andthree younger brothers was themusical odd man out as far as jigs,reels, hornpipes, and polkas wereconcerned. He was a 100% jitterbugAmerican and that Greenhorn stuffwas for the birds.During WWII while in theMarines, he was tented with WestVirginia, Texas, and Louisiana fiddlers,banjo whackers and guit-boxplayers. Like his father they wereamateur country, cowboy and bluegrass artists, but the St. Rita HighSchool saxophone playing wiseguy from Chicago always equatedCountry and Bluegrass with theIrish Session Music that he grewup with in the house on 75thMarshfield—Greenhorn stuff. Heextended his contempt for stringbasedfolkish polyphony with theadvent of Rock and Roll which hecalled Hillbilly Music until the dayhe died. “Jesus Christ Almighty!Turn that $#%^ off!” He’d yellthrough his closed bedroom doorbetween shifts for Mom to geton me or my brother and sister.“Ginny, I got to go into the State inthree hours and I had more thanenough of that bull$#%^ on Guam.Craaaassh on the High waaaayyyy!Christ!”Dad’s sleepy imprecations notwithstanding,I grew up with thesounds of great music. Like mosthomes, we had the radio in the kitchengoing during waking hours—primarily for the great music thatonce aired in Chicago—MikeRapjack on the Voice of Labor inChicago (WCFL). Rapjack fromHammond, Indiana’s Robertsdaleneighborhood—a suburb of Whiting,as they say, gave all of us greatportions of the best in Americanmusic. Rapjack played the AmericanSongbook’s vocalists: EllaFitzgerald, Helen Whiting, KeeleySmith, Sarah Vaughan, Frank Sinatraand Tony Bennett, as well asorchestral arrangements by GlenMiller, Duke Ellington, Count Basie,and Chico Hamilton Quintet. Mr.Rapjack also featured the edgierReal Jazz which introduced so manyof us helot squares to Dave Brubeck,Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, ErrollGarner and the youngsters KeithJarrett and Ramsey Lewis.The radio dial was enchanted byMater et Pater intonations—“Keepyour goddam hands off it! You canwatch the idiot box; do not touch theradio.” With age and the arroganceof adolescence, I would slip the dialto WLS where Ron Riley, Dex Card,Fred Winston, and Dick Biondi spunstacks of wax for us Jills and Jacks:Mitch and the Detroit Wheels, TheKinks, The Yardbirds and The YoungRascals. Later, WLS was eschewedfor WVON; “You’re Standing’ TallWith The Butterball!” for the soundof The Four Tops, Marvin Gaye,Shorty Long, Edwin Starr, LouRawls, Soul Survivors, The FantasticJohnny C, and The Tempting T’sand the most religious man aliveThe Wicked, Wicked Wilson Pickett.Good Gawd!.Somewhere between the traditionalIrish session music, rock androll, Motown, the American songbook, the Latin Mass, and real jazz,I picked up a taste for high browsymphonic, chamber and choralmusic. My uncle Dan managed toget me a job working as a janitor atChicago’s Orchestra on and off between1969-1974—The Solti Years.Sir Georg Solti replaced the unfortunateIrwin Hoffman as musicaldirector of the Chicago SymphonyOrchestra. Poor Irwin Hoffman wassandwiched between the giants FritzReiner and Georg Solti.Solti was the Michael Jordanof music and brought the CSOits world renowned reputation asthe world’s most disciplined andcreative orchestra. I met some ofthe greats—Phil Scharf (SecondViolin), Victor Aitay (violin Co-Concert Master), Frank Miller(cello), Adolph Herseth (trumpet)Gordon Peters (percussion), MarySauer (piano), Maestro Henry Mazer(real great guy) and Sir Georgwho seemed to treat every otherhuman footstep with all of the welcomeof a leper in a hot tub.Along my plodding way throughlife, I somehow picked up the guitarand banjo (5-string C-tuning)and sang along with what I played.Honor bright; I even got paid to doso for about ten years, thus addingto my Catholic teacher pay and evenmanaged to cut a record. Musicsaturates our lives, but more so itleads us into the path of wonderfulhuman beings and even a few greatones who have the personalitiesof dial tones—like Sir. Georg. Webecome discerning creatures for themost part. With luck, we get introducedto the very best in sounds andhuman musical reproduction thatmakes us more aware of the soul inMan and heart of God.