Cover art: E.J. Gold, "Harlem Blues", fine art print, Arches, pencil signed and numbered, edition 250.
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Harlem Daze
Accardi/Gold & Friends
 Click Here to Buy
-- Joseph Mallory, "Blues in the 50s"
First time I ever saw the Golden Apple on Broadway
between 108th and 109th was in fall of 1958, when
Mark still ran it as a coffee house. Shep
Sherbell brought me in there one day just to get
out of the oppressive late August heat.
Only a few weeks later, Mark sold out and we ended
up with the storefront and its few dismal chairs
and tables. We kept the beautiful antique
copper-and-brass 8-cup Italian espresso machine --
part of the bargain -- but added a stage, losing
two tables -- no big deal for us, since we were
going broke rather rapidly in any case.
Mark got out of the whole thing, but his other
shop, Serendipity, is still alive and well today
as Serendipity III, although with new owners...and
Shep Sherbell, who'd kept his day job as a Life
photographer, went on to become the cover
photographer for Mandrill and other great
groups.
Fool that I was, I stayed with the club until it
went entirely down the drain in December,
1960.
Right up until that time, it was filled with
people from opening time at 4 PM to closing time,
which was usually shortly before or just after
dawn.
Then we went out in search of clubs that were
still open after we were closed. There were many
after-hours places in those days, barely tolerated
by upstairs neighbors, and kept from closure by
payoffs to cops and firemen and whomever else
wandered in looking for graft. We paid protection
from three different sources, but that's the way
it was, and it was part of the downside of being
in that business.
I also kept my day job, working first at
Oppenheim-Collins as assistant personnel director,
then at Hammacher-Schlemmer's first as
sales-clerk, then assistant buyer, and finally as
store trouble-shooter to avoid paying me enormous
amounts in sales commissions, after I sold the
Cherrywood-lined bomb shelter and the private Long
Island bowling alleys.
Yes, that's right...two of them. I also designed
a rather fun home security system for Dr. & Mrs.
Lars Schmidt who were, along with Pat Buttram, Eva
Gabor, and the incredible Victor Borge, some of my
customers.
Meanwhile, I had been living with my girlfriend
Renee (pronounced, for some strange reason,
Ree-Knee) Rosenberg. Renee had four roommates;
Sammi Claire (Helayne Pacincus of Paramus, New
Jersey, as I recall); Judy, one of the first
Bunny-Mothers at the Playboy Club; Rita, an
up-and-coming operatic soprano, and Gabrielle
(Gaby) Martin, whose current boyfriend was a new
horn player freshly arrived after the closure of
the Byrd House, Donald Byrd.
Renee and her roommates, and therefore mine also,
moved from the east 80's down to the Chelsea
Apartments over on 26th Street, which was about
the time Renee was working at BBD&O.
It was Renee who had brought me to the Cedar Bar
to meet artists Franz Kline, Jackson (Jack the
Dripper) Pollack, Bill deKooning (am still in
touch with family after all these years) and many
others of the New York School, with which I am,
incorrectly, associated. I am a deeply committed
figurative artist with associations more along the
lines of the Ashcan School, if anything.
It was also Renee who brought me, kicking and
screaming, to all those art films at tiny strange
midtown theatres (if it was spelled "theatre", you
knew the tickets were at least double) and it was
her interest in jazz that sparked mine.
We began hanging out at all the New York hangouts,
starting with the Blue Note and ending with the
Living Room, where Nancy Wilson had what was, I
believe, her debut.
Donald Byrd was a frequent visitor to the Chelsea
Apartments and as a result, so were other
musicians, most of whom are now legendary, and
about half of whom were -- honest -- named
Johnson. Related? No. I asked, of course.
It was during those years that I became friends
with Philly Joe Jones and through Donald and Gaby,
met Herbie Hancock, whom I first encountered at an
apartment-painting party in the East 20s, as I
recall. All I remember is being handed a reefer,
looking up at them tall ceilings, listening to
Byrd on the horn two rooms down the hall, and the
next thing I knew, it was 1962.
When I heard they were going to call my number, I
ran downtown and enlisted in the Army Security
Agency (there were no ASA in Viet Nam, I was
assured and reassured) and after that I moved out
to L.A. to try my luck at the TV, recording and
film industries, in which I worked until 1974.
Meanwhile, Jimmi was living in Brooklyn, a place
to which no self-respecting Manhattanite would go,
so we saw little of each other except when we
jammed or did a gig together, which was
seldom.
Jimmi was busy backing up B.B. King and many other
R&B greats, formed a rock band called the Laughing
Dogs which rode the charts for three years, and
ended his last tour doing a gig with the
Monkees!
Meanwhile, Bob Canatsey, our sax player, was
working out with Stan Kenton and other great Windy
City bands! We were amazed at his playing on this
session and even more amazed when we found out
that two weeks after this "Harlem Daze" session,
he had a triple-bypass (he's okay now,
thanks).
The music isn't really our own; it's a blend of
jazz and blues, maybe fusion is the right word;
something that just grew out of the wild genetic
sporting that took place in the 1950's and early
1960's.
One of the earliest musical influences on me,
besides sitting right next to Herbie Hancock,
unarguably the most brilliant keyboard artist in
his field, and seeing Miles Davis' face, was the
rock-solid bass work of the great, Milt
Hinton.
It was in hopes of following in his footsteps that
I embarked on the bass, and it was he as role
model whom I held steadfastly before me while
trying to get a Checker Cab (the only one in which
my huge double bass would fit) in the rain,
heading crosstown fifteen minutes before a gig.
If not for him, I wouldn'ta known.
They called me "Chalky" and laughed when I plucked
bravely away at my clunky old German bass, and
tolerated me when I sat in...those few times I
felt sufficiently daring to risk those looks that
newbie white musicians get when they hesitantly
try to get in the elusive jazz/blues groove, not
realizing that it never comes easy, a fact which
the old-timers keep smilingly to themselves. It's
yours to discover.
Hell, Herbie dreamt of composing classical pieces;
he helped me overcome my shyness and feelings of
being out-of-place, reminding me that there were
plenty of times he felt very definitely out of
place. If he could transcend the limits imposed
on him, why couldn't I? Sure, I'd get some
stares, some unpleasant, even racist, comments. So
why not a New York Jew jazz bassist?
I still didn't consider art as a dependable source
of income, and so continued in the music field for
almost twenty years.
In Hollywood, I met the legendary Ray Brown at, of
all things, my buddy Harry Nilsson's first RCA
session, along with a few other guys who proved
longtime friends -- Mac Rebennack, Bob Segarini,
Van Dyke Parks, my bestest buddy Bill Graham, Jr.
and, a few sessions later, the great Jim
Keltner.
Through all of the later years of rock and roll
with Jimmi and Bob and our drummer Bob Bachtold
about whom you notice I have said almost nothing
(he is a man of mystery, with strange connections,
possibly a MIB in hiding) and Oz (The Great)
Fritz, Bill Lazwell's fabulous engineer, the fifth
in our RatPack, I have never forgotten those
nights in Harlem, and neither have the other guys
in the band.
It was hot, muggy -- air-conditioning was
something you only got in major theaters -- and
the sidewalk was swarming with people out for a
late-night summer stroll from the Apollo all the
way down to 86th Street. I know, because I walked
it, many times, with singer Annette Washington and
her roommate Shirley, a model for Jet and Ebony
magazines.
I loved it; Jimmi loved it; Bob Canatsey loved it,
and even our younger members of the band are
fascinated by the memory, fabricated in them
through song and story, film and book, newscast
and fable.
Thanks to all those who enriched our lives with
the tales of theirs. It was Donald Byrd who
explained to me how to get the most out of my
instrument -- "Your ax is your voice, it's how you
sing."
I'd like to close with a quote from my dearest
pal, Norma Dolores Egstrom:
"I would pay to play this role!"
Songs include:
- 1. Slidin' Through the Night
- 2. Night After Night
- 3. On the Move
- 4. After Hours
- 5. Feelin' the Blues
- 6. In the Spotlight
- 7. You're on My Mind
- 8. Charity
- 9. Tribute to a Stormy Soul
- 10. Rough & Tumble
- 11. Straight Shooter
- 12. The Golden Apple Revisited
- 13. Harlem Daze
- 13. Not Long for This World
All songs © 1997 Accardi / Gold (BMI)
Published by Union Label Music
Produced by Accardi / Gold
Engineered by Oz Fritz
Cover by E.J. Gold, "Harlem Blues," © 1998 hei
© 1998 Cloister Recordings. All rights reserved.
Recording Artists:
Bob Canatsey - sax
Bob Bachtold - drums
Jimmi Accardi - keyboards, guitar, percussion
E.J. Gold - bass
Accardi / Gold - brass
Menlo Macfarlane - percussion
David Christie - didgeridoo
Bob Canatsey appears with the kind permission of The Union Label.
CD-M105
$16.97
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