Now Available: MAGIC CITY

Good news!

I’m thrilled to announce the publication of my book Magic City: How the Birmingham Jazz Tradition Shaped the Sound of America.

Officially the book is out on November 28, but pre-orders have already begun trickling out to mailboxes and stores. Please take a moment to order a copy, anywhere you get your books. (As always, I recommend your local independent bookstore, or else this good company: bookshop.org.)

If you happen to live in Birmingham, Alabama, please join us for the book release party at the Alabama Jazz Hall of Fame on Saturday, Dec. 2. I’ll also be speaking at a public event hosted by the Birmingham Historical Society on Dec. 3. In the meantime, I’m lining up some book events for the new year, here in Alabama and beyond; if you’d like to host an event in your town, please just shoot me a message: burgin@southernmusicresearch.org.

Here’s a synopsis from the publisher:

Magic City is the story of one of American music’s essential unsung places: Birmingham, Alabama, birthplace of a distinctive and influential jazz heritage. In a telling replete with colorful characters, iconic artists, and unheralded masters, Burgin Mathews reveals how Birmingham was the cradle and training ground for such luminaries as big band leader Erskine Hawkins, cosmic outsider Sun Ra, and a long list of sidemen, soloists, and arrangers. He also celebrates the contributions of local educators, club owners, and civic leaders who nurtured a vital culture of Black expression in one of the country’s most notoriously segregated cities. In Birmingham, jazz was more than entertainment: long before the city emerged as a focal point in the national civil rights movement, its homegrown jazz heroes helped set the stage, crafting a unique tradition of independence, innovation, achievement, and empowerment.

Blending deep archival research and original interviews with living elders of the Birmingham scene, Mathews elevates the stories of figures like John T. “Fess” Whatley, the pioneering teacher-bandleader who emphasized instrumental training as a means of upward mobility and community pride. Along the way, he takes readers into the high school band rooms, fraternal ballrooms, vaudeville houses, and circus tent shows that shaped a musical movement, revealing a community of players whose influence spread throughout the world.

While I’m here, I’ll acknowledge that this website and blog have been dormant for quite a long time now. I started the site in 2016, largely with the purpose of documenting the development of this book-in-progress. (In 2016, the book had already been five years in progress — so this thing has been quite a while in the making.) A lot has happened since I last posted anything here: for one thing, I started a nonprofit, the Southern Music Research Center, which officially launched this April with the debut of our website, a growing online archive full of rescued recordings, oral histories, rare photos, and other artifacts from a wide range of music communities and traditions. I hope you’ll take some time to explore our archival collections at southernmusicresearch.org. Among other things, you’ll find lots of material there related to my research on Birmingham jazz: photos, newspaper ads, recordings, interviews, funeral programs, magazines, ephemera, and more.

Basically, there’s a lot to celebrate and to explore. I hope you’ll check out the site, and the book. Let me know what you think, and thanks.

— Burgin

How Did You Build This Place?

A few months ago I went to a film screening at the wonderful Sidewalk Cinema in Birmingham. The filmmakers were on hand, and a Q&A followed.

From the back row of the theatre, a small hand reached up and a young kid shouted his question:

How did you build this place? There was obvious awe in his voice.

Confusion and amusement worked through the room. Audience members whispered or giggled among themselves. The filmmakers, visiting from Europe, conferred for a moment in French, then asked the kid to repeat the question — How did you build this place? he shouted again, emphatically, maybe a little frustrated and finally they had to explain: oh, no, we didn’t build this place, we just made the movie — but it really is a wonderful theater, isn’t it? (It is.)  Someone who works here, they said, may be able to tell you about …

No — this time it was a parent or grandparent calling out from the back — he’s asking how you made the movie.

The kid agreed, nodding, his frustration relieved by the adult translation. So the filmmakers offered a brief description of how to conceive and write and fund and shoot a movie.

A few months have passed since that exchange, but I keep thinking about that kid’s great question: How did you build this place? Despite the grown-up giggles, the kid knew what he was asking. Because a movie is a kind of place, and it’s not just “made,” it’s built. A good movie — any movie that’s good to or for you — is one you can step into, move around inside, even live in for a while.

The same might be said for any piece of art — music, writing, theater, whatever — that does its job well. And then to know that someone somehow built that place, created that space, that somehow someone spun out this whole universe for you to inhabit, inviting you to disappear into its insides — it really does inspire awe.

So I’m hanging onto this question for any Q&A with any artist whose work I’ve entered, explored, and perhaps not wanted to leave, and I pass it on also to you. If you ever find yourself emerging from some work of art and on the way out you’re lucky enough to meet its creator, don’t be afraid to stretch high your hand and shout:

(Seriously!)

How did you build this place?  

*

P. S. If you’re a subscriber to this blog, you’re probably surprised to see a new post in your inbox today: I haven’t written anything here since January of 2020, and even by then the posts had become fewer and further between. I guess there’s been a lot going on. Most of my writing energies have gone into finally finishing my book (more about that soon) or into the Patreon series of monthly mailings I created for subscribers last year. Then, too, I got a case of long COVID which slowed me down, hard, on all fronts. (I’m glad to say it’s much better now.)

And there’s this: a few months ago, I said goodbye to my teaching job of seventeen years, to pursue more creative endeavors full-time. I’ve had a good run in the classroom but am enormously excited about the next thing — and I promise to tell you more about that soon, too. For now, just know that I’m working on building a place. And I hope you’ll want to spend some time in it.

Thanks for reading. Stay tuned.

P. S. 2. If you’re in the area, I’ve got an art show up right now at Lowe Mill ARTS & Entertainment in Huntsville, Alabama. Lost Child Radio Visions: Pioneers in American Music includes numerous drawings created, over the last decade, for my radio show. Check it out if you can.  

Radio! Mail! Holiday giving & getting!

A quick advertisement, invitation, & pitch:

Since 2012, I’ve hosted The Lost Child radio show, a weekly hour of traditional, classic, historic, & downhome roots musics, spotlighting a wide range of sounds: old-time string-bands, rhythm & blues, field hollers, rockabilly, gospel, southern soul, & more.

In 2021, I’d like to invite you to support The Lost Child by becoming a Friend of the show. Every month for 12 months, you’ll receive something cool in the mail, including Lost Child art prints and original booklets / zines like the one below, featuring music history, writing, research, artifacts, & drawings. Here’s a glimpse of January’s gift to The Lost Child’s Friends: “Bright Glory: Voices of Sumter County, Alabama,” a tribute to the historic community of powerful singers from that region.

For more information, and to sign up, please visit The Lost Child’s new Patreon page. (You can also knock out some holiday shopping by giving a 12-month subscription to a friend or family member.) Please know that your contribution will directly support original, creative, fiercely local radio, helping cover the cost of bringing new(/old) music and research to the airwaves each week. I can’t thank you enough for your support, but I’ll try: it’ll be a good year of radio, and I’ll be working hard to make these monthly mailings something meaningful and unique. 

By the way / while I’m here — I apologize that it’s been such a slow year on this blog, with very occasional posts. Most of my writing time this year has been devoted to wrapping up my book, and the website has gone largely neglected. But hopefully there will be some good / big / long-awaited news on the book front in a few months — so stay tuned.

(When I say “long-awaited,” by the way, I really mean by me: this spring will mark ten years since I started writing this thing.)

In the meantime, here’s another piece of good news, and another worthy cause to support: a beloved magazine, The Old-Time Herald, has just launched its shiny new digital platform online. My (long!) story on the music of Alabama Governor “Big” Jim Folsom — a story which began with short posts on this blog, then led me down all sorts of rabbit holes, and finally appeared in full in The Old-Time Herald‘s print edition, last winter — is available to subscribers on the new site. There are several subscription options, both for the print and online versions; you can access the full site for as little as $15 a year, which is a genuine steal. The Folsom story is my own favorite thing I’ve written in a while, and I’m grateful to the OTH for allowing writers like me the space to tell complex, unlikely stories like this one.

That’s all for now. Once more, here’s the link for supporting The Lost Child; many thanks for considering. Until next time, keep yourself healthy, stay safe, and be kind. Happy holiday season to you.

Halloween Listening: Archival tales of ghosts, witches, & haints

Happy Halloween.

Today’s Halloween edition of The Lost Child is mostly made up of southern haunting and supernatural tales, with stories of ghosts, witches, zombies, and haints. A few spooky tunes for the season are scattered in also, along the way.

In case you missed it, or want to hear it again or share it with a friend, you can stream the whole episode anytime here

and I’ve got an extra 90 minutes of Halloween-themed music available for streaming here.

Many of the stories in today’s show come from the online archives of the Digital Library of Appalachia (Blue Ridge Institute and Museum, Ferrum College), the Library of Congress, and the Association for Cultural Equity: all excellent resources, and all searchable and streamable anywhere, for free.

Even better, perhaps, than the ghostly specifics of the stories themselves, the true highlight of today’s episode may be its gathering of warm and wonderful accents. I hope you’ll give it a listen.

Here’s the playlist and source info:

  1. Sandy Shelor: Giant cat ghost
    Recorded by Kip Lornell, Carroll County, Virginia, 1970s
    Digital Library of Appalachia
  1. Cora Jackson: Ghost story, ten-foot woman
    Recorded by Kip Lornell, Fairfax County, Virginia, 1977
    Digital Library of Appalachia
  1. The Phantom Five: Graveyard
    Skull Records, 1964
  1. Ed Harris: Haunted house
    Recorded by Kip Lornell, Chilhowie, Virginia, 1977.
    Digital Library of Appalachia 
  1. 11 and 12 year old girls: Conversation about ghosts
    Meadville, Mississippi, c. 1972-3
    Library of Congress 
  1. Bessie Jones: Ghost story about a haunted church
    Recorded by Alan Lomax, Greenwich Village, 1961
    Bessie Jones lived in St. Simon Island, Georgia. 
    Association for Cultural Equity
  1. Aunt Jenny Wilson: Witch Story #1
    Recorded by Fred Coon, Peach Creek, West Virginia, c. 1960s
    from Aunt Jenny Wilson: Recordings from the collection of Fred Coon, Field Recorders’ Collective, 2007.
  1. Kip Tyler: She’s My Witch
    Ebb Records, 1958
  1. Margarie Quinlin: Lamb of God story
    Recorded by Kip Lornell, Patrick Henry Community College, Martinsville, Virginia, 1985
    Digital Library of Appalachia 
  1. Burl Hammons: Turkey in the Straw (story)
    Recorded by Carl Fleishchauer and Alan Jabbour, Stillwell, West Virginia, 1972. From The Hammons Family: The Traditions of a West Virginia Family and their Friends, Rounder Records, 1998.
  1. Quincy Higgins: Hant tale and witch story
    Recorded by Patrick Mullen, Sparta, North Carolina, 1978
    Library of Congress
  1. Herbert Fulk: Witch stories
    Recorded by Patrick Mullen and Blanton Owen, Toast, North Carolina, 1978
    Library of Congress
  1. Lilia Huddie: Broom test for Liz Deavers
    Recorded by Roddy Moore, Wytheville, Virginia, 1970s
    Digital Library of Appalachia 
  1. Lou Rawls: Season of the Witch
    from The Way it Was — The Way it Is, Capitol Records, 1969
  1. Texas Gladden: Ghost story of Civil War soldiers and a haunted house
    Recorded by Alan Lomax, Manhattan, New York, 1946. Texas Gladden was from Saltville, Virginia. 
    Association for Cultural Equity
  1. Eartha White: A ghost story
    Recorded by Robert Harrison Cook, Jacksonville, Florida, 1940
    Library of Congress
  1. Lightnin’ Hopkins: Black Ghost Blues
    from Soul Blues, Prestige Records, 1964
  1. Zora Neale Hurston: Haitian zombies
    Mary Margaret McBride Show, 1943
  1. Bessie Jones: Ghost story about a haunted wood
    Recorded by Alan Lomax, Greenwich Village, 1961. Bessie Jones lived on St. Simons Island, Georgia.
    Association for Cultural Equity
  1. Lee Morse and her Blue Grass Boys: ‘Tain’t No Sin (To Dance Around in Your Bones)
    Columbia Records, 1930
  1. The Phantom Five: Graveyard
    Skull Records, 1964
  1. Kathryn Tucker Windham: Don’t be afraid of ghosts
    Alabama Folk Sampler Stage, City Stages, Birmingham, Alabama, 1998. Kathryn Tucker Windham was from Selma, Alabama.
    Alabama Folklife Collection, Alabama Department of Archives and History

Thanks for tuning in.

Medieval monsters by Sebastian Münster, 16th century.

Alabama Prison Swing

Through the 1940s and ’50s, the Draper Prison Band, sometimes known as the Draper Prison Swing Band, played across much of central and south Alabama, making music for a range of civic and social functions. They were scheduled to play a Valentine’s dance at an American Legion hall in Troy in 1953, but there was a last-minute change of plans.

“I regret to inform you that our orchestra will not be able to fill your engagement,” Warden B. R. Reeves wrote to the Legion’s dance chairman. “Several members of the band escaped last Saturday night and have not, as yet, been recaptured.” On the way back to the prison from a PTA-sponsored dance near Birmingham, two of the players — guitarist Clarence Watkins, who was doing six years for burglary, and trumpeter Steve Cooley, serving three for grand larceny — managed to disappear. The Valentine’s show would not go on, Warden Reeves explained. “We can not play without these members.”

Local newspapers found the whole thing amusing. “Those ‘homesick blues’ were just too much for two members of the Draper Prison Swing Band,” the Montgomery Advertiser reported. The Troy Messenger quipped that “When the band played ‘Good Night, Ladies,’ apparently they meant it.” At least a few papers across the country — in Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Vermont — picked up the story.

Draper Correctional Facility opened in Elmore, Alabama, in 1939, at the site of the old Speigner Reformatory, and within a few years it had established its popular band, by all accounts a top-notch group of musicians. The band covered a lot of ground. They played VFW halls, American Legion posts, and National Guard armories, and they set the mood at too many small-town high school dances to count. They entertained alumni associations and Jaycees clubs, played for Christmas and New Year’s dances and for at least one Halloween party. They helped raise funds at benefits for the Clay County Red Cross and the Coosa County March of Dimes, played picnics for the Chilton County Masons and a Farmer’s Day celebration in Luverne. They appeared at barbecues for the Wetumpka Rotary Club, the Clay County Farm Bureau, the Pike Road Methodist Church. They swung out patriotic tunes for speech-making, morale-boosting wartime rallies in Elmore County, paraded at the opening of an Alabama Cattlemen’s Association convention in Montgomery, performed at the Grove Hill Fireman’s Ball, provided backdrop to banquets for the Montgomery Boys Club and for graduating high school seniors in Lineville. The prison also boasted formidable baseball and basketball teams, and the band accompanied the athletes as they faced off against area competitors. They played square dances and round dances, entertained dancers and diners at the Greenville Steak House and the Cheaha State Park Hotel. They appeared again and again in the communities of Ashland, Goldwater, Thomasville, Marbury, Weogufka, Pintlala.

At the close of each year’s state legislative session, the Draper band performed for Alabama lawmakers at rowdy celebrations in the Capitol rotunda. One veteran legislator, Democrat Pete Turnham, represented Lee County for forty years, from 1958 to 1998, and as he approached retirement he remembered the old dances as reflections of bygone days. The Draper band “would set up in the rotunda … dressed in their white uniforms,”  he reminisced, and he added: “There used to be a lot of drinking on the final night in the old days. They’d dance a little and party a little.”

This 1953 photo by a Birmingham News photographer — the only photo I’ve seen of the Draper band — presents the musicians on one of those nights. “Prison band whoops it up,” the caption reads, describing the “music-makers … in prison garb, giving out with the merry tunes,” all “part of the fund [fun?] that marks the end of a long legislative grind.”

It’s possible that the previous year’s escapees, Steve Cooley and Clarence Watkins, can be seen in this photo, but I don’t know. A few days after their escape, they were turned in, both of them by their parents.

Soon they were back on the bandstand.

*

Postscripts:

If you or your family have memories or photos (or recordings??) of the Draper band, I’d love to hear from you; you can find me at burgin@bhammountainradio.com, or comment in the comments below. I’d especially love to hear from any musicians or their children.

I don’t know when the Draper Prison Band called it quits. Every newspaper reference to the band that I’ve found, except for one, dates to the 1940s and ’50s. In 1981, a band of Draper inmates performed at a farewell party for the retiring prison commissioner; whether the prison hosted a band in all the intervening years — and whether it continued to send such a band out around the state — I don’t know.

The Draper Correctional Facility grew to become Alabama’s oldest active prison, and like other Alabama prisons it came under fire for its inhumane conditions, deemed “deplorable” in an investigation by the Department of Justice. It closed in 2018, and the state Department of Corrections announced plans to repurpose the site as a Life Tech Transition Center, designed to assist parolees in their transition back into mainstream society.

Now Draper is back in the news. To reduce the spread of Covid-19 in Alabama prisons, Draper facilities were reopened as a space to quarantine inmates as they moved into state prisons from county jails. Descriptions of the current facilities are heartbreaking, and the ACLU and other civil rights groups have decried the conditions as unconstitutional, petitioning Alabama Governor Kay Ivey to terminate the facility’s use and provide adequate, humane medical care for the inmates. For more about this, please visit ACLU Alabama’s website.

*

P. S. New posts to this site have been scarce in recent months; life, as you know, has been full. To keep up with future posts as they happen, I invite you to follow the blog:

A quick overview, if you’re new here: A lot of what goes on at this site (today’s post, for example) has to do with fairly obscure corners of music history, especially in Alabama, where I live. Many of the posts are the extras, outtakes, bonus tracks, and asides from my music research and writing, and from my radio show, The Lost Child. Other times I write about writing itself and, more generally, about the creative process. Sometimes I write about teaching (I teach high school English, Creative Writing, and Film). Sometimes I draw pictures. If any of that sounds up your alley, I hope you’ll look around and come back often. You can support these endeavors by buying my book, Doc, about the late and great Birmingham jazz artist, Frank “Doc” Adams. (The link is to Amazon, but I encourage you to buy it from someplace local instead. If you don’t have, or can’t get to, a local bookstore, then check out bookshop.org.)

Thanks.

*

Sources for the above story include The Dothan Eagle, The Troy Messenger, The Centreville Press, The Prattville Progress, The Ashland Progress, The Alexander City Outlook, The Montgomery Advertiser, The Enterprise-Chronicle, The Wetumpka Herald, The Alabama Journal, The South Alabamian, The Union-Banner, The Cleburne News, The Clarke County Democrat, and other local, contemporary newspapers. I recently found, on eBay, the original Birmingham News press photo of the band and went down this rabbit hole from there.

Back to School: Creative Writing 2.0.2.0

Three years ago, I was asked to relocate to a new classroom in my school. I packed up ten-plus years of teacher things and moved to a more-or-less identical room in another part of the building.

This summer, in another shuffle of classroom assignments, I was asked to move again — back, it turns out, to 226, the room where I’d started out and taught for so long. I was happy to discover, when I returned, the ghosts of my old decorations — postcards, photos, bookmarks, bumper stickers, students drawings — still lingering on the big bulletin board at the front of the room, three years after I left, their memories imprinted into the cork. 

I’m a big believer in classroom decorations, not the mass-produced posters and banners you can buy from the teacher store, but decorations of a more personal and DIY sort. What’s on the walls can go a long way toward establishing the classroom as a safe and creative space, and the less one classroom looks like the next, the better. This year, things are a bit different: most of my decorations are still in boxes from this last, hurried move, and many of my students are learning from home, not in the classroom at all. The need for a safe and creative space is at least as important as ever, but that “space” is more metaphorical. For the moment, in Room 226, the ghosts of decorations past will do.

*

One Friday in March, we left school for the weekend and did not return until August. I swept through my room just once after that, to grab some necessary books and papers. I didn’t set foot in the school again until July, when I started the move to my new (old) classroom. 

In this last room, the one I packed up this summer, I’d made a mural of huge photos of writers, figures I imagined as some of the patron saints of our class. The students and the photographed writers had no choice but to gaze into each other’s faces all year, which I liked. Early on, I asked my Creative Writing students to warm up for their writing day by drawing, in their notebooks, one of the faces from the wall. Then they moved on to drawing the faces of their own creative heroes. (To see the original mural and a few student notebook drawings, see this blog post from last November.) Before the schools shut down, we started using the drawing time to learn more about the world: students would take about five minutes to Google Czech or Nigerian or Bolivian writers (for example), then choose an arresting face from the images that resulted, draw it, and finally surround the drawing with a few biographical facts, culled from a brief internet search. As an alternative, they could type in their own first names, followed by the word writer, and quickly research and draw a writer with whom they happened to share a name.

In February or March, students had started taking turns drawing their pictures on the classroom’s two whiteboards. I hoped to have every available whiteboard inch covered by the end of the semester. 

But then the virus came, and we went home, and the school stood empty for months. So when I finally returned to pack up the room, I was greeted by all these faces, each of which I still adore. Every one of them is somehow alive with the unique personality of the student who made the drawing:

I was reluctant for a long time to push my Creative Writing students to draw pictures — or even sometimes sing — which are decidedly not activities they signed on for in a writing class. But these whiteboard faces persuade me to believe that our drawing time is time remarkably well spent. If nothing else, the drawings have brought me enormous joy — I’ve looked at them so much it’s hard to believe they might never have existed. And it made me glad to know these figures stood watch over the classroom all spring and summer, when no one else was there. 

*

Our first assignment in Creative Writing this year had nothing to do with writing. It was inspired in part by Kurt Vonnegut’s now-famous letter to a bunch of high school students in 2006, the one where he implores them to “Practice any art … no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.”

I share the assignment here, in case you would like to do any of it yourself. I’ve also included, at the end of this post, a few student responses, which have convinced me that this, too, was time well spent.

Thanks for reading, y’all. Stay safe, and be kind.

FRIDAY, 8/21/20:

This isn’t a writing assignment, but more like an invitation to play. The purpose is to shake off some self-consciousness, to do something silly and pure, to open yourself up to art and accident and vulnerability, to express yourself by yourself, for yourself. I will not see the results of this activity, but I do want you to send me a short email after it’s done, telling me how it went. 

Do ONE of the following:

 1. If you have a driver’s license and access to a car: Make yourself a short playlist of the songs that give you the most life and the most energy and the most joy, the kinds of songs that are best if you play them loud, songs you know or can at least fake every word. Go for a 20 minute drive, by yourself, blasting those songs, signing along as loudly as you can.

2. If you don’t have a driver’s license or car access, skip the playlist and the driving. Just go take a shower and sing your heart out. If possible, do this when you are alone in the house, and really sing your heart out. Loud! Make it a long shower, with lots of songs.

3. Without consulting the internet; spend at least 10 minutes trying to do an impression of each of the following. Don’t worry if your impression is terrible. Don’t be afraid to laugh at how hilariously bad you are at impressions. But do make a mental note of which impression is your best. Spend at least a couple minutes each trying to imitate each of these:

+ a family member

+ a famous actor

+ a famous singer

+ a famous politician

+ a cartoon character

When you’re finished, consider: what would an impression of yourself sound like? Can you do an impression of yourself? 

4. Spend 10 minutes making funny faces in the mirror. For inspiration, you may want to first watch the first three minutes of this video, in which Patton Oswalt makes faces for the camera: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVNCm8lhB80 (The second three minutes may also be of interest, but they don’t include funny faces.)

5. Pour a tall glass of water. Spend a few minutes gargling some of your favorite tunes. Optional bonus challenge: after you’ve done this by  yourself for a while, invite a family member to join you. See if you can gargle in harmony or gargle a duet, swapping lines of the song. For best results, do this standing face to face.

6. Draw each of the following from memory, without consulting the internet: a giraffe, a koala, an orangutan, an ostrich, an owl. Don’t spend more than 5 minutes on any one of them. Live with (and celebrate) your mistakes. Only once you are finished, compare your drawings with online photos of the real thing. Revel in the differences. 

7. Find a place, maybe but not necessarily your bedroom, where you can be totally alone. Lock the door, if possible, and put on a favorite, high energy song. Play it loud enough to drown out the rest of the world. You know that phrase, “Dance as if no one is looking?” Do that. Don’t even watch yourself, because then you have an audience and it becomes a performance: avoid all mirrors. I ‘d recommend going a step further and finding a dark place, a closet or a bathroom, maybe. Turn off the lights and do your dancing in the dark, where all there is is your invisible body and the music. If you have trouble picking out a song, try this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMXBJW1PuU8. Whatever song you choose, dance to it at least twice, back to back.

8. Draw pictures with your feet, holding the pen, pencil, or marker in between your toes. A marker may be best because of the thickness; feel free to experiment to find the best writing utensil for you. Draw your own self portrait, first, and then at least 2 of the following, on separate sheets:

+ your home

+ your family

+ your biggest crush, if you’ve got one (either someone you know, or a “celebrity crush”)

+ your pet, if you’ve got one, but wearing a cape

+ Dracula

+  Spiderman vs. Batman, the ultimate showdown

9. Only if you don’t already know how: spend the weekend learning to juggle. Get as good as you can by Monday, even if it’s still pretty rough. Feel free to consult internet videos for help.

Okay, that’s the list. Do one of those things. If you want to do more than one, that’s fine, too, but make sure you do at least one of these, and do it whole-heartedly. Do it alone, and try your best to be as unself-conscious as possible. 

Immediately after you do this, email me a brief description of what you did, how it went, how it felt, etc. Just 3-6 sentences documenting the experience is all I need. 

*

That was the assignment. You’ll have to take my word that I received a bunch(!!) of inspiring responses. Here are just a few:

I took a shower and sung my heart out as you said, and really gave it my best shot! It was loud, ugly, and loaded with vocal cracks, and unruly shrills! It was … the most cringe-worthy and satisfying thing I have ever done! I butchered: Lewis Capaldi “Bruises” “Someone You Loved” “before you go” and many other great songs. And let’s say…I felt as powerful as a battalion, and that’s a statement!

I did the first option and made a short upbeat playlist and drove for 20 minutes. This made me feel energetic and I wanted to accomplish things after I got home, and I did the rest of the day I worked out did speed drills, and went to the park to play basketball.

During the weekend, I stayed in my bedroom singing national anthems of different developing countries. I didn’t dance because I don’t dance and dancing is not my thing. It made me feel extremely good while singing them because I feel like I want to help those countries.

So, I drove around with the music up pretty high. Higher than normal. It was after work and I was going home. I had a terrible, stressful day and I went on my favorite playlist and felt free. I took the long way home and I normally go under the speed limit, but I decided to go over. I know, so rebellious and scary. In that moment, I was as free as a bird with the world in my hands. I felt absolutely elated and when I came home, I was in a better mood than I had been for a week. 

I did the impressions option for today, and it was a funny experience. For the singer portion I tried to do Ariana Grande, and I was way off, though that was expected. But the funny thing about the whole thing is that my mom heard me from the other room and started laughing. She actually came in to try and help me with my impressions, but we just kinda sat there and laughed for most of the attempts. Then we went out and got ice cream and fries, because why not?

*

Why not is right. That right there is what I would call some homeschool at its finest.

Sun Ra in Birmingham: A Few Ear(th)ly Artifacts

One hundred and six years ago today, in the Magic City of Birmingham, a spaceways composer and bandleader arrived for the first time on Earth.

All his life, Sun Ra claimed to have come from outer space. He spoke of abstract other-worlds and alternate planes of existence, offering through his music a portal to other realities. For decades, he built around himself a personal mythology that rejected any earthly attachments. He may have grown up in that Alabama city of Birmingham, but he hadn’t been born there, he’d insist: he’d “arrived,” “combusted,” or “appeared,” sent from the cosmos to teach new truths to humankind. He left the city in 1946 and, as far as we know, didn’t return for decades. The place, it seemed, was irrelevant to his music and his mission.

His sister, Mary Blount Jenkins, balked at her brother’s refusal to acknowledge any earthly family or home. “He was born at my mother’s aunt’s house,” she told The Birmingham News in 1992, “over there by the train station. I know, ‘cause I got on my knees and peeped through the keyhole.

“He’s not,” she said, “from no Mars.”

For all his otherworldliness, Sun Ra was steeped in and shaped by the culture of his hometown. Herman “Sonny” Blount grew up in a fertile local jazz scene, a protégé of bandmaster John T. “Fess” Whatley, Industrial High School’s celebrated “Maker of Musicians.” By the time he graduated high school, in the spring of 1934, he was already leading his own band. Soon the Sonny Blount Orchestra was drawing acclaim across the Southeast.

Birmingham was full of musicians, many of whom would make significant marks on the sound and culture of jazz. Sun Ra’s generation of Birmingham players included the trumpeter-bandleader Erskine Hawkins and most members of his popular dance band; drummer Jo Jones, whose work with Count Basie remade the very rhythm and shimmer of swing; bandleader and businessman Teddy Hill, who turned Minton’s Playhouse in Harlem into the epicenter of the developing bebop sound. Other Birmingham instrumentalists worked in the bands of Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Earl Hines, Cab Calloway, Benny Carter, Billie Holiday. To make their careers in music, they left the South to find work in the jazz capitals of the nation—Chicago, New York, Kansas City—but all of them, even Sun Ra, were shaped first in the same thriving music scene back home.

Local newspaper clippings from Sonny Blount’s years in Birmingham offer fascinating glimpses into the ear(th)ly roots of an enduring jazz icon. Below are several discoveries from my ongoing research into this history, presented in celebration of Sonny’s “arrival day” today. I’ve divided the post into two sections: first, a couple of rare early photos, and a look at Sonny’s vocal quartet, the Rhythm Four; then, a very brief survey of some of the venues and events where Sonny honed his role as bandleader in the early 1940s.

Together, these snatches of information help flesh out a portrait of the man who would become Sun Ra.

Part One: The Rhythm Four — Making a Name in Radio World 

Sonny Blount and Ripple Rhyth,

This photo from October, 1940—and a similar photo from the same session, below—are among the earliest known images of Sun Ra. That’s him, second from left, in a quartet called the Rhythm (or Ripple Rhythm) Four. Between 1939 and 1943, the group broadcast five days a week over radio station WSGN, their fifteen-minute midday segments squeezed into a crowded, diverse line-up of news programs, “hillbilly” bands, society dance orchestras, and more. They were sponsored first by R. C. Cola, then by the Ripple tobacco company—hence the “Ripple” that was sometimes added to their name. I first discovered this image above while scrolling through old microfilmed issues of the Birmingham World, a local African American newspaper, archived on the third floor of Birmingham’s central library. The same photo appears, around the same time, in the Weekly Review, an entertainment weekly that served the city’s black community for a few years in the ‘40s. The photo below presents the band in another pose; again Sonny is second from left.

Ripple Rhythm Four photo 2

The quartet first appeared on the airwaves in the spring of 1939. On April 9th, an ad in the Birmingham News, the city’s leading white paper, announced that “Another outstanding local-live-talent program makes its debut over WSGN tomorrow…. The Rhythm Four, a Negro quartet, is one of the finest singing organizations in the South. Their blended harmonies are applied to currently popular ballads and Negro spirituals.” Another ad from the same paper, below, promises “Sparkling Rhythms!” and “Scintillating Harmonies!” in the group’s “distinctively-styled arrangements of popular ballads and folk songs.”

Great Rhythm Four ad 1939

Sonny’s contributions were central to the sound and success of the quartet, and his involvement with the group was only one part of his active creative output. The Weekly Review identified Sonny as “a composer and arranger of no little talent,” adding that “When he’s not working with the Ripple Rhythm Four, Blount leads his own orchestra.” By October of 1940, when the photographs above were published, the Review already considered the Four “Birmingham’s favorite quartet”—a bold statement in a town flush with quartets, and a sentiment echoed in advertisements that appeared in the Birmingham News (below). The group’s recurring appearances in both black and white local papers suggests the reach of their appeal.

Rhythm Four fave quartet ad 1942

Some context: for decades, Birmingham was a hotbed of African American a cappella gospel quartets, a history that’s been chronicled in depth by Lynn Abbott and Doug Seroff. The Rhythm Four, while more secular in its orientation, would have been unavoidably influenced by this distinctive homegrown tradition. In fact, bass singer and guitarist Clarence Driskell, pictured above, also belonged to a local gospel quartet, The Heavenly Four. According to Abbott and Seroff, singer Jimmy Ricks—“one of the most beloved figures in gospel quartet history”—had a brief tenure with the Rhythm Four as well, before moving to Detroit in 1941. After leaving Birmingham himself, Sonny settled for fifteen years in Chicago, where he legally changed his name to Le Sony’ra and, in addition to forming his own band, found regular work as a composer, arranger, manager, and producer for a variety of groups—including experimental vocal harmony acts like the Nu-Sounds and the Cosmic Rays. His work with the Rhythm Four would have inevitably informed those later efforts.

Rhythm Four narrow 39 ad

No known recordings exist, however, of the Birmingham quartet, and their photos raise several questions about the group’s repertoire and sound. The presence of two guitars, including a resophonic guitar, is intriguing: most Birmingham gospel quartets performed without instrumentation, and acoustic guitars are hardly associated with Sun Ra’s later work. A notice in the Birmingham News compares the Rhythm Four favorably to the nationally popular Ink Spots; the guitars and white dinner jackets reinforce that connection, hinting at the group’s possible sound. According to descriptions in the local press, Sonny’s piano (not pictured in the publicity shots, most likely for practical reasons) was a core feature of the group’s sound, along with the vocal harmonies and guitar accompaniment.

Sonny Blount Xmas 1940

By Christmas of 1940, Sonny had added a new feature to the Rhythm Four’s sound. The Solovox, introduced earlier that year, was an electric attachment that added synthesized effects to an acoustic piano or organ. It became a trademark of all of Sonny’s Birmingham groups and reflects his early forays into new technologies. Years before synthesized sounds entered the mainstream of jazz—or of popular music, more broadly—Sonny Blount in Birmingham was experimenting with their potential, even in the quartet setting.

Clearly, this was no ordinary quartet.

The Rhythm Four remained active in Birmingham through at least September of 1943. They were featured at a wide range of events, including society dances and charitable fundraisers in Birmingham’s black community. They performed for white audiences in variety shows at the Lyric and Alabama Theaters and in retail exhibitions at the Pizitz department store. All the while, their broadcasts over WSGN remained their steadiest gig, helping establish their reach in both the local black and white communities.

Rhythm Four at Lyric 2Rhythm Four at Lyric

Here’s one more shot of the Rhythm Four, from July of 1943. If this is Sonny, he’d again be second from left—but this time, I’m not so sure it’s him. Turnover was not uncommon in groups like this, the resemblance here is less clear, and no names are mentioned in the caption. Despite Sonny’s key role in the quartet from at least 1939 to 1942, it’s possible that by now he’d moved on, his hands too full with his orchestra work. Then again, it might be him. Sooner or later, I hope to confirm this detail in one direction or the other.

Either way, it’s a compelling glimpse into Sonny’s world. And the headline—“They Do Jive Differently”—is fitting hint of things to come.

Rhythm Four 4 (Sonny??)

Part Two: Live Wire Entertainment — Swing Sensation Sonny Blount

For all its popularity, the Rhythm Four was never Sonny Blount’s primary focus. What mattered most, above all, was his band. And local ads reflect the movements of a bandleader on the rise.

The Sun Ra of later years turned every live performance into a full-fledged spectacle, a musical happening replete with costumes, pageantry, dancing, parading, and audience interaction. In the early 1940s, Sonny’s standing gigs at Birmingham area nightclubs provided a kind of warm-up for those later events. Sonny was a popular regular performer at spots like Fourth Avenue’s “Colored” Masonic Temple and Eighth Avenue’s Elks Rest, where the most elite members of the local black community hosted lavish society dances. But at the Grand Terrace and Club Congo—two late-night clubs on the outskirts of town—his band could participate in spectacles more raucous. Night after night, Sonny Blount’s orchestra was central attraction in wild and wide-ranging line-ups that included not only musicians and singers but tap dancers, shake dancers, comedians, and female impersonators. An advertisement for Club Congo from July of 1942 promised “a Variety Show of Live Wire Entertainment Each SATURDAY and SUNDAY NITE.” Three times a night (at 9:30, 11:30, and 1:30) for 40 cents admission, Sonny Blount’s “Solo Vox Band” was joined by “Ace Comedian” Jazzbo Williams; Chick, “The Prince of Rug Cutters”; an “Exotic Shake Dancer” named Madame Sonja; and others.

Sonny Blount Club Congo 1942

A year later, Sonny was fronting similar line-ups at the Grand Terrace Café, located between Birmingham and Bessemer. Named for the famous Chicago ballroom, this Grand Terrace offered dining and dancing, a golf course and outdoor garden. Sonny Blount “and his New Rhythm Style Band” played Friday and Sunday nights in events whose casts included singer Fletcher “Hootie” Myatt (nicknamed for his signature performance of Jay McShann’s “Hootie Blues”); the shake-dancing “Madame Twannie”; Lillian Harris, a “Mammy Blues Singer”; and the “Fast Stepping Floorshow” of “Mess Around” Brown. Identified earlier as “Prince of Rug Cutters,” Chick—a staple of these shows—is identified now as a “famous female impersonator.” “Entertainers and band will play your request numbers,” the ads promise. On Sundays, dancing—prohibited during the day—commenced at midnight and continued until 2:30. Admission was fifty cents.

Recurring ads in the Weekly Review (see below, at right) included photos not of the entertainers themselves but of the Grand Terrace’s typical weekly crowds, urging readers to come out and join the scene.

Sonny’s band also appeared at other popular events of the day, the much-hyped “Jazz Battles” — fierce if friendly cutting contests which pit one group against the next, each trying to outplay the other. Some contests, like the one advertised below, doubled as fundraisers for important local causes. Here (from December, 1943), Sonny and his high school mentor Fess Whatley faced off—along with a third band, the Bob Harris orchestra—in a benefit for the Negro T. B. Association. This “Battle of Music” was one of many events designed to combat the spread of tuberculosis in the black community.

Sonny v Fess TB Battle

Finally, two advertisements from 1945—featuring one more early photo—reveal another kind of performance for the Sonny Blount band.

Fourth Avenue’s Masonic Temple was a central hub for Birmingham’s black social life in the age of Jim Crow. Its second-story ballroom hosted frequent appearances by local groups like Fess Whatley’s and Sonny Blount’s, and it brought to town major touring acts, including the Count Basie and Duke Ellington orchestras. Occasionally, the temple hosted special events for white audiences. This advertisement in The Birmingham News, from March of 1945, promotes such an event, a “Nine O’ Clock Barn Dance” and “Jitterbug Special Introducing the New Swing Sensation: Sonny Blount And His Orchestra.” Sonny had been well known for a decade already to black music lovers in Birmingham, and many white listeners would have heard his broadcasts with the Rhythm Four, even if they did not remember his name. Given the nature of segregation in Birmingham, Sonny likely remained a “new” phenomenon, indeed, to readers of the Birmingham News.

Sonny Blount Barn Dance 1945

The above ad’s instructions—“Come early, be patriotic, obey the curfew”—refer to the wartime policy instituted nationwide that February, which demanded all entertainment venues close their doors at midnight. In September, the second world war came to a close, and the Masonic Temple invited white Birmingham revelers to another performance by Sonny Blount, this one billed as a “Victory Jubilee Dance.” This time, the event lasted “until.” The curfew had been lifted.

Sonny Blount Victory Dance 1945

Readers of Space is the Place, John Szwed’s eye-opening Sun Ra biography, will remember the trauma and transformation the war years created for Sonny. That will have to be a story for another time — sorry! — but, suffice to say, Sonny’s feelings about patriotic victory dances must have been complicated. So were his feelings about Birmingham itself. Sonny left the city in January, 1946, a few months after that Victory Jubilee Dance.

He would create a new future for himself, and a new past.

*

Newspaper ads and write-ups offer invaluable hints about the past, but they only tell part of the story. For a more personal look at Sonny Blount’s Birmingham years, please check out my book, Doc: The Story of a Birmingham Jazz Man, an oral history of saxophonist and educator Frank “Doc” Adams, who played in Sonny’s band in the 1940s. In that book, in his own words, Doc Adams provides firsthand reflections of Sun Ra’s early days, helping fill in some blanks with intimate and visceral detail.

Earlier this month, I spoke about Sun Ra’s Birmingham years in a long interview with the Sun Ra Arkive. You can stream that conversation here for a deeper dive into Sun Ra history. Thanks to Christopher Eddy for hosting; I had a great time.

Meanwhile, I’m neck deep in wrapping up my second book, more than a decade in the making: a narrative history of Birmingham jazz, the culmination of all these years of researching and interviewing and writing and digging. It’s a great and important story, of which Sonny Blount is just one fascinating piece. You can follow this blog to stay in the loop—and you can support this next book by buying that last book (see above). Thanks.

Several posts on this blog have addressed Sonny Blount’s early years in Birmingham. You can scroll through all of them here. For further window’s into Sonny’s world, I recommend the stories about Sonny’s early bandleader, Ethel Harper, and about the popular Fourth Avenue venue Bob’s Savoy.

Two final notes: all Sun Ra researchers remain indebted to biographer John Swzed, whose groundbreaking Space is the Place was just reissued, a few weeks ago, with a new introduction by the author. That’s a great place to start if you want more on Sun Ra (including the story of his wartime clash with Uncle Sam). For Birmingham’s gospel quartet history, please see the extraordinary work of Lynn Abbott and Doug Seroff—in particular their book To Do This, You Must Know How: Music Pedagogy in the Black Gospel Quartet Tradition.

(The book links above, by the way, are to bookshop.org, an excellent alternative to Amazon. Bookshop.org gives a significant chunk of its proceeds to independent, local bookstores across the country and even allows you to pick which favorite bookstores you want to support. Of course, you can get all these books through Amazon, too. Support working writers however you can—but whenever possible, please support local booksellers in the process.)

Aunt Bertha Robinson

Here’s a photo of banjo player Aunt Bertha Robinson of New Market, Alabama. The photograph is by Rod Whited, likely taken for the Huntsville Times, circa 1979.

Aunt Bertha Robinson

Aunt Bertha was born in Jackson County, Alabama, near the community of Lem Rock, in 1904; the family moved to nearby New Market when she was seven or eight years old. She picked up and adapted her distinctive two-finger picking style from a local banjo player named John Benton, who’d himself learned the style from a pair of Mississippi brothers, John and Dink Clark. In the 1960s, Bertha became a fixture of the Tennessee Valley Old Time Fiddlers Convention, held annually in Athens, Alabama. She was a frequent winner and a beloved, dependable presence in banjo competitions across north Alabama and into Tennessee. Along the way, she carved out a unique role for herself as a champion and elder in a culture traditionally dominated by men. (In this distinction she was joined by the multi-instrumentalist Lena Hughes of Missouri, who appeared at many of the same competitions.)

Here’s Aunt Bertha in 1986, in a video posted to Youtube by Huntsville musician Bob White:

And here’s her “Soldier’s Joy,” with a little buck dancing on the side:

Aunt Bertha was a cherished older member of the Huntsville Association of Folk Musicians, founded in 1966. That group released one compilation album of music by its members — including one recording of Bertha, barely over a minute long, an old banjo instrumental called “Big Jim.” (I wonder if the tune had something to do with the Alabama Governor; the album notes indicate that Bertha didn’t recall anything about the tune’s origins.) Alan Lomax recorded a couple of her tunes at the fiddlers convention in Athens in 1969 and ’70. And you can stream some recordings of Aunt Bertha at Southern Folklife Collection’s digital archive, here. (The same reel-to-reel tape, digitized at the link, includes some good dulcimer playing, too — you may as well listen to the whole thing.) If anyone out there knows of other Aunt Bertha recordings, I hope you’ll let me know. And if anyone has memories to share of Aunt Bertha, I hope you’ll post them in the comments.

Bertha Robinson died in 1995. Here are a few more images in celebration of her legacy.

Aunt Bertha Robinson, Banjo Newsletter Oct 1979
Aunt Bertha Robinson, Banjo Newsletter (October 1979)

IMG_4107
Aunt Bertha Robinson, The Devil’s Box (March 1974)

thumb_IMG_4109_1024
Aunt Bertha celebrating the Golden Anniversary of her marriage with a banjo-shaped cake. From The Devil’s Box (March 1974)

thumb_IMG_4111_1024
On stage at the Tennessee Valley Old Time Fiddlers Convention. From The Devil’s Box (March 1974)

thumb_IMG_4089_1024
Aunt Bertha at the Sixth Annual Tennessee Valley Old Time Fiddlers Convention. From The Devil’s Box (December 1971)

An unrelated P. S.: In honor of Little Richard’s departure this week, here’s a short post I wrote a year ago this month, about Little Richard’s brief early tenure as “Princess Lavonne” on the Sugar Foot Sam From Alabam road show. I encourage you to check it out. This Saturday on The Lost Child, I’ll be playing an hour of Little Richard’s music, including some classics and some you likely haven’t heard, plus interview snippets and more. I hope you’ll tune in.

Remembering Mamie Brown Mason (1930-2020)

Earlier this year, we lost an icon. Mamie Brown Mason, one of Birmingham’s true civil rights heroes, died on March 17 at the age of 90.

I’ve just uploaded to The Lost Child’s occasional online archives the radio tribute I broadcast the week after her death. It’s now streamable anytime.

Mason was a founder of the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights Choir, which led the music that fueled the mass meetings and marches in Birmingham. She was among the first in this city (along with Martin Luther King and other members of the choir) to be jailed for defiance of the segregationist law. Her signature song, “On My Way to Freedom Land,” became a civil rights anthem. And she remained fiercely committed, all her life, to the cause of civil rights — and to the preservation of the movement’s history and music.

Speaking of that history — yesterday, May 2, marked the fifty-seventh anniversary of what was called D-Day: the day masses of Birmingham schoolchildren began to march in the streets, nonviolently protesting segregation. Hundreds were arrested. May 3, 1963 — fifty-seven years ago, today — was Double D-Day. This time, the children were met by firehoses and police dogs. Hundreds more were crammed into jail. And that night America witnessed the spectacle on TV, in images that would galvanize the nation. The Children’s Crusade continued through May 10, its eight days marking a turning point in the movement; what happened in Birmingham would lead directly to the passage, in 1964, of the Civil Rights Act.

In Birmingham, we’re still surrounded by many of the Civil Rights Movement’s unsung heroes, though we seem to lose a few more each year. I’m especially, eternally grateful to have gotten to know Mamie Brown Mason in recent years. Hosting her and the rest of the Carlton Reese Memorial Unity Choir on a 2016 episode of The Lost Child will always remain one of the greatest honors of my life. The radio tribute below, which aired after Mason’s death in March, includes an excerpt from that original show, plus excerpts from two interviews she and I recorded in her home. Also included are some inspiring recordings from 1963, from the front lines of the movement. I hope you’ll honor this history and this hero by giving it a listen.

Thank you, Mrs. Mason, for everything.

Music Under Quarantine

Here’s something: quarantined Italians, from their windows and balconies, joining their voices in song:

There are several of these videos cropping up. Journalist David Allegranti captured the moment below, adding this caption(translated here to English): “In Sienna, the city to which I am very much attached, you stay at home but you sing together as if you were on the street.” The song here is “Canto della Verbena” (“And While Siena Sleeps”), whose lyrics proclaim “Long live our Siena, long live our Siena!”

*

Meanwhile / FYI … if you’re under quarantine, you can stream today’s episode of The Lost Child anytime & often, here. On this episode: an hour of vintage country radio broadcasts, featuring Crazy Water Crystals, speaking in tongues, a musical saw, kid stuff, and cigarettes. The old country radio shows typically included a shout-out for “all our shut-in friends” at home. Now we’re all shut-ins, so this one goes out to everyone. In the days to come, I’ll be updating The Lost Child’s Mixcloud archive with additional shows to help fill your shut-in hours, including some just-for-the-internet specials.

*

For what it’s worth, here’s Henry Miller, from the second page of Tropic of Cancer. A bit out of context, maybe, but I adore this opening, and those singing Italians brought it to mind.

“To sing you must first open your mouth. You must have a pair of lungs, and a little knowledge of music. It is not necessary to have an accordion, or a guitar. The essential thing is to want to sing. This then is a song. I am singing.”

*

Y’all be safe out there (or in). Wash your hands. Don’t hoard all the toilet paper. Don’t be afraid to open your windows and sing.

P. S. If you liked that post, you might like this post