Sho 'Nuff

City Light Orchestra; David Basse, Alaadeen, Tim Whitmer, Laverne Barker

I played a lot of shows at the Lyric Theater in Kansas City, like Bubblin’ Brown Sugar, The Lena Horn Show and others. This was in the late 70’s. Horace Washington got a band together and said “Let’s go play some shows”.  So, I played clarinet, alto, and tenor.  Horace played soprano and let me have an old soprano of his at a pretty good price. It was silver, and gold plated on the inside; a sweet sounding horn with a tone to make a baby cry. It was real fragile and I fell in love with it. That was my incentive to play the soprano.

I started playing with the City Light Orchestra at the City Light Restaurant in Kansas City in the 80’s. I played tenor, flute and soprano.  Carmel Jones hooked me up. David Basse (drums and vocals), Tim Whitmer (piano), Laverne Barker (bass) and a percussionist by the name of Jano Mossman were in that band. Later, Sonny Kenner (guitar) joined. The band played 50’s R&B and copied Louis Jordan’s stuff.  David and Tim had a Country Music background, so I did the arrangements for them and showed them how to get through it. While performing with the City Light Orchestra, I took a lot of ridicule from my peers, because the band did not perform serious jazz. They put me down, “What are you doing playing with them!” Well, I also recorded with them: Raised Spirits in 1984 and Tain’t What Cha Do, It’s The Way How Cha Do IT in 1986.

The City Light Orchestra played all over, from New York to California. We were on a show with Ben Vereen at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego. I think that place was haunted. We played a lot of festivals including the New Orleans Jazz Festival. The Kansas City Jazz Ambassadors  chartered some train cars and we all traveled  down there together. The band also got booked in Switzerland but I was having passport problems and couldn’t make the trip. When the band arrived, they had to refund some of the presenter’s money because they were expecting my saxophone.  Once on a gig in New York at Hanratty’s, 91^st and Second, I was taking a solo when this dude in the audience kept beating on his glass, keeping time. It was irritating us. But at the break, he came up to me and told me that he really liked my music. We talked  and he said he was on his way downtown to hear a famous clarinet player. I found out that I was talking to Bennie Goodman.

I played baritone, 1st alto and tenor (at different times of course) in Eddie Baker’s New Breed Jazz Orchestra, an 18 piece big band that played a lot of Basie arrangements. We were called The Jr. Basie Band. Eddie thought he was the cat, even wore a captains hat.  We backed up singers like Della Reese, Ella Fitzgerald and Nancy Wilson, and  played some pretty good gigs which included playing opposite the Basie band for the governor. We even performed in Atlanta when Jessie Jackson ran for president.  I remember Max Roach was there in Atlanta and refused to play with David Newman or Nate Adderly, saying “They ain’t no Jazz masters”. One time, I met Oprah and asked for her autograph. She scorned, “Shame on you. I don’t give autographs.” 

Later, Eddie was instrumental in getting a few sub gigs for me with the Count Basie Orchestra. My most memorable gig was the first time I played for the Basie band. It was really something.  This was when Frank Foster had the band. He called me to sub for Kenny Hing, who was the first tenor player. It was weird, the first tune they played was  A Train… and this is the Basie band…and I had the first solo! I guess I played all right, because the trombone player, Mel Wanzo, sitting behind me, hit hit hit me with the slide when I was done. So I figured I got past that. The night just went beautifully.  I remember that the music called for tenor solos quite a lot. I kept jumping up for the solo called for on the chart, but later found out that everyone normally took turns with the solos. 

After I was discharged from the Army in 1959, I again attended The Conservatory of Music (now known as the University of Missouri-Kansas City). Saxophone was still not offered so I studied flute and theory. 

Later in the early 60s, I moved to New York, and performed there. I was kind of a character back then, not too stable. Sometimes things get a little fuzzy, because of the bad habits I had at that particular time; I was not always pristine and clean like I am now. I had to leave New York to clean myself up. So In 1965, I moved to Chicago and joined The Nation Of Islam, under the leadership of the Honorable Elijah Mohammed. Mohammed Ali was also there. One time when we were in Kansas City, he threw a punch at me. I caught it, and he remarked, “You’re fast!” While in Chicago, I also attended  DePaul University.

When I first met Lester Bowie, he was married to this R&B singer, Fontella Bass. We were on the road and backed her up.  Lester was the bandleader.  In Chicago, he stayed across from the Masjid. We would sneak out and hang at his place. The Captain knew we were doing something wrong but they just couldn’t catch us. We were Kansas City Slick.  Lester was working on getting the Art Ensemble together with Malachi Favors and guys like that… Joseph Jarman. The Art Ensemble was not really an influence to me because I was still into the melodic thing; it wasn’t my cup of tea.  I still love melody.  

I also played in a program led by pianist-composer, Muhal Richard Abrams. They had this organization that met on Saturdays. It was the beginning of the Association of Creative Musicians (AACM). Other members included Lester and Malachi.

My long-time friend, Sonny Kenner originally formed the group Quartet Shahid that included drummer T. Fillah, pianist/vocalist Luqman Hamza and me. We performed all over the East Coast from New York to Florida and were the house band at the Salaam Restaurant on the Southside of Chicago.  Lester would come hear us play at the Salaam Restaurant and we would hire his bass player to play with the Shahid. In 1968, when Martin Luther King was assassinated, riots broke outside the restaurant while the Shahid was on stage. When the whole sky lit up with fire, the Captain told us to go home; it wasn’t safe. Luqman drove, but we had to drive through the riots. We were scared to death. It was also at the Salaam Restaurant that The Shahid played for Jesse Jackson’s First “Operation Bread Basket”.   After the death of Elijah Mohammed, his son Wallace Deen Mohammed guided the followers into the true meaning of Islam. I followed his leadership and gave up the old racist attitudes. Then in the early 70s, I lived and performed in Denver and St. Louis.

Mutual Musicians Foundation, 18th & Highland Kansas City Missouri

During the early fifties, I spent hours hanging out at the Mutual Musicians Foundation in the 18th & Vine Jazz District. At that time it was the Local 627 Union.

I first met Trane there. I was upstairs playing poker and he came in looking for a drummer. I said “John Coltrane!” And he said “Yeah, what’s left of me.” Eddie Saunders and the band were practicing Have You Met Miss Jones. Trane said he didn’t know that tune, but he took Eddie’s horn and started playing. If you listen, the bridge is similar to Giant Steps harmonies. Later that night we were hanging out at the Mardi Gras, on the corner of 19th & Vine and Trane played that tune. The next day I asked the drummer who sat in with him, Marvin Patillo, what Trane told him. Trane had told Marvin to build naturally and not to force the drumming.

Actually, some of the best memories I have occurred at the Union, (what we now call the Foundation)…. like hearing the Basie Band rehearse with Billy Eckstine, or hearing a session with Sonny Stitt and John Jackson.

I remember rehearsing at the Union and who should walk in the door but Ben Webster wearing a big white beaver fur hat. Another time at the Foundation, Ben threw a punch at Joe Lewis. Lewis punched him back so hard that Ben started choking and vomiting.

I met Quincy Jones at the Union. He was the trumpet player for Lionel Hampton’s band, which was in town at that particular time. There was a tenor player named Joe Thomas and I was playing in his band. Quincy had written out one of Joe Thomas’ solos as a composition, and brought it to the rehearsal. Quincy kept asking him, “Man do you remember this?” And Joe didn’t. Quincy said: “This is your solo off of (such and such).” That blew Joe away. I was still in high school back then.

One time, while playing All The Things You Are with Willie Rice’s band, we made a modulation from the original key to another key and Jay McShann came up the stairs and Willie asked him, “Hey Jay, what key is that?” Jay said, “Yeaaah… F sharp.” That’s when I discovered Jay had perfect pitch.

I also hung out at Parker’s Show Bar at 18^th & Garfield for the sessions from 7 am till noon, the Blue Monday Breakfast. I missed school every Monday morning until the teacher called home and talked to my mother.

Miss Brown’s was another joint that musicians would come by and jam. Miss Brown ran an after hours joint where she bootlegged liquor and sold food. To get into Miss Brown’s, you had to be 21. So I would go to a movie every Saturday night and sneak into Miss Brown’s.

My college was the streets. I was learning improvisation on the bandstand. One of my early rude awakening experiences was at a jam session at Miss Brown’s. Some of the top musicians around town were there including Eddie Saunders. I got up enough nerve to go down and play. I took out my horn, acting hip and slick, and asked “What key, man?” They said key of G. I thought… one sharp. I got that covered. After I started playing, I found out that what I was playing didn’t match up with what they were playing. Eddie Saunders eased up on me and said, “Man, you’re playing in the wrong key.”  I answered, “You said the key of G”.  “G concert!” he said. “You should be in the key of E which is 4 sharps.”  (At that time I was playing alto). Needless to say, I was crushed and embarrassed and slinked off the band stand.

When I was a kid I used to practice soldiering. I loved playing military.

On April 8, 1957 I was inducted into the United States Army, where I played oboe in the 4^th US Army Band, Fort Sam Houston, Texas. I never registered for the draft, so they just came to my door and got me. I grabbed my tooth brush and left. I took my physical and left straight from there. Never got to come back home. I spent 2 years in the Army. During that time I attended St. Mary College in San Antonio, Texas where I studied oboe.

The Military became integrated in the early 50s. Before that, the African American units wore brown boots with buckles and brown shoes. But in 57, the band wore black boots with laces and black shoes and a blue uniform.

At Basic Training, I couldn’t do many push ups and I was awful at target practice. The drill sergeant cussed me out,  ”God dammit – you shot the other target. You didn’t even shoot your target! God dammit – you’re the sorriest soldier I ever seen in my whole life.” I loved the Military but I knew that if I were a good shot I would be put in the Infantry. They passed me as a marksman just to get me out of there.

When I first went into the Army, I was a medic, but the sight of blood was enough to make me pass out.

The 4^th Army Band needed an oboe player and sent for me to join the band. The soldiering was over once I got there. When I first arrived, I saluted an officer and he waved me off with “Don’t worry about that stuff, it’s too hot for that.” The 4th Army Band was an arrogant band with some bad musicians from New York and all over. We played ceremonies in the Quadrangle for the big wigs, like President Eisenhower, Vice President Nixon, the Secretary of State, and visiting Generals including Maxwell Taylor. We looked sharp with gold braid all over and figured out to use Arrid deodorant pads to make our shoes really shine. That way, we didn’t have to waste our time shinning them. We played for Generals’ retirements and even concerts for nursing homes, and united with Lackland Air Force to play festivals including the River Walk Festival.

I used to practice that oboe in the building behind the furnace. They were shocked that I could play and read music. They would ask me, “Where did you study?”  I guess I wasn’t supposed to be able to play. In High School, I used to listen to Classical players to get that oboe sound. Later I got to hear DeLancey and tried to get his sound down. And I learned to read music in High School. I could read fly paper. I didn’t make any mistakes reading.

I played alto in the Marching Band, but it was while I was playing in the Army Jazz Band that I picked up the tenor sax. We would play and jam at Felix’s and a place called The Cabana Club in San Antonio. When I walked into the Cabana they would clap. I was so arrogant in those days. At the Cabana I played with other enlisted men including Bobby Bradford who was in the Air Force.  Roland Ashby played piano in the Jazz Band and cymbals in the Concert and Marching Band. He was real bad. The guy could play.  Whenever he came into the Cabana, if another piano player were playing, he’d slide them off the piano and start playing. We had that place rockin’.  I don’t know what happened to him. I didn’t keep up with anyone after I left the Army.

To get me to reenlist, I was offered a move up in rank from Private E1 to E2. I almost did it. It was a pretty good life. All I did was play music. The rest of the time I’d practice, listen to music, play pool … but I left in 59.

Swearing in of New Officers; Mutual Musicians Foundation

Some of the best memories I have occurred at the Union, (what we now call the Mutual Musicians Foundation)…. like hearing the Basie Band rehearse with Billy Eckstine, or hearing a session with Sonny Stitt and John Jackson. I remember rehearsing at the Union and who should walk in the door but Ben Webster wearing a big white beaver fur hat.

Recently I had the privilege of swearing in the new officers of the Mutual Musicians Foundation. Will Matthews is the new President, Jayne McShann is VP, Joyce Johnson is Treasurer and the Secretary is Pam Hyder Johnson. It’s always good to get fresh ideas in our institutions. 

Last night I got to hear Logan Richardson and Harold O’Neal perform at Kansas City’s Blue Room. It was a good feeling to know that I played a small part in the development of such talented young musicians and to hear them play at the top of their game. They are getting national respect from other musicians and the trade magazines. In my own playing, I make it a habit to keep up with what the current tend in music is. I listen to the youngsters and always try to hire them in my band. It helps to preserve the intensity, the energy and the creative fire in the music.

This makes me realize how important it is to engage the young musicians and to encourage them to be involved in the Foundation. Among other things, this can be done by offering private lessons in Jazz technique and teaching standard Jazz repertoire. Small and large groups could be formed. We could have Sunday afternoon showcases and Jam with the youngsters.

I wish the new administration of the Foundation immense success as they keep the legacy intact and at the same time move forward.

I came alive in the fifties.

Jay McShann was most influential to me. I have great memories performing with him in the early 1950s in small groups, casual engagements, not night clubs, and playing tenor with him on a local TV special. I also played with him at Johnny Bakers II at 55th & Troost in Kansas City. I played baritone sax and would sit in. They called me “baritonski”. I was his next horn.

On another gig, Jay played “Josephine” in several keys. I didn’t know the tune and each time someone would request it, Jay would play it a different key. I told myself that if I got a band we would play Josephine. And I did and I recorded it on my first CD as leader, Blues For RC and Josephine, Too.

I learned a lot of good but also some bad habits from Jay. He taught me a lot about the music, the essence of how to swing. He was a powerful figure in how he wanted his music played. It was either Jay’s way or not all. But he also taught me much of the life style back in the day. I learned Jay McShann cuss words in the Jay McShann style.

He had a trash route. A lot of the guys in the band also worked on his trash route, but I didn’t.

I have great respect for Jay and his music. He practiced daily and maintained his independence until he passed in December of 2006. Through all the years, I kept performing with him. He called me “Prof”. Later in his life, If I tried to help him down concert stage steps, he would pull away from me and comment “Naw, naw Hoss, I got it.” But one time on an out of town gig, I knocked on his hotel room to get him. When he answered, I noticed he was having trouble with his suspenders. This time he let me help him. When we headed out the door, he commented; ” Gettin’ old’s a son-of-a-gun, ain’t it Hoss.”

 I now have the Conn alto sax that belonged to John Jackson who was second alto in Jay McShann’s band. That alto is an historical alto. This is the same alto that Bird used to borrow. When John died, his wife gave it to The Charlie Parker Foundation, and Eddie Baker gave it to me, so I’ve had it ever since. Every year, when we have the Twenty-One Sax Salute out at Bird’s gravesite, I take it out and play it.

In the 50s, I played in several of Willie Rice’s bands. Rice arranged for big bands and combos and was well respected on the Kansas City scene. I remember, Rice had a bad incident and then he went downhill. I’m not sure what happened but the night he died someone looking for him called my house by mistake.

I also played in Joe Thomas’ band. Thomas was Jimmy Lunceford’s star tenor and had one major hit, Jumpin’ Joe. Taswell Baird, Jr. was playing trombone in the band. He used to harass Thomas when he played a tune, touching Thomas on his butt with his trombone while he was playing. One time, after a festival performance at The Municipal Auditorium in Kansas City, Little Willie John and Big Joe Turner came to the Orchid Room and traded 4s. I was in the band when Little Willie John tore his old ass up.

I remember hanging out at The Bowl with Dexter and those guys. At 12th and The Paseo there’s like this median, but it’s up high. That was called The Bowl. You go up those steps—not anybody could go up there! They’d run you off. But they let me come. I’d be up in The Bowl hanging with the cats. Like royalty. I couldn’t ask for anything more in wanting to be a jazz musician; I’ve had it, education-wise, word of mouth. There was sweat equity in acquiring the knowledge. Now you go into the classroom and the knowledge is given to you.

After graduating from High School, I played baritone and alto sax in the house band in The Orchid Room at 12th & Vine, Kansas City, Missouri. I worked with Celester White, Claude “Fiddler” Williams, Jimmy Keith, Willie Rice, The Ravens, Little Willie John, Pete Diggs, Teddy Stewart, The Four Topps, The Drifters and T-Bone Walker. I remember hearing the George Sherring quintet. Sherring was very fussy and didn’t want any noise going on. They had to turn off the air conditioning and couldn’t serve any drinks. He had them call in 2 or 3 different piano tuners. That’s where I learned the original Honky Tonk solo. Bill Dogget along with Clifford Scott played Honky Tonk there 2 or 3 times a night. That famous solo on Honky Tonk was Clifford Scott’s. I learned it from him cause I heard him play it every night. I was playing in the same band with Claude “Fiddler” Williams. I was playing a tune and felt that I really tore it up, turned it inside out. Claude said, “I didn’t know that you didn’t know that tune. You need to be practicing more.”

I met and performed with Billie Holiday in the 1950s.  I was scared to death of her. I would see her coming down the aisle in the club and I would go the other way. She had been unkind to herself when I knew her. I was in my late teens, early twenties maybe. We were playing a set early one morning and the piano man was busy looking at the women in the club. Billie cussed him out for playing the wrong cords. She rode him terrible.  She said: “Play the right cords mf-er, and quit looking for some p**sy to …”  Well, I made sure that I played the right notes.

Alaadeen @ Kansas City's Orchid Room, 12th & Vine, 1950

I came alive in the fifties. The first Jazz gig I got paid for, I think it was with a guy named Richard Smith who was also Secretary/Treasurer of the Union. They had 2 unions back then. That was Local 627. We would go out and play jobs at the country clubs or wherever. I think that was my first professional job, made about $13. Not much, but it was nice.

Eddie Baker got together a kid’s band while I was in High School.  The band included Donald Dean, “AC” Evans, Donald Parson, Dorothy Davis, and Logan Walker. We played professional gigs, but had to have chaperones with us. We would play the Orchid Room, at 12^th & Vine, at Midnight on Sunday to 1:30 am. That way, we weren’t actually playing on Sunday. We were the sensation of the town, these little kids, you know, playing James Moody arrangements, stuff like that. So that may have been my first gig. I think I might have made ten dollars off of that! I was still performing with Baker in the seventies and eighties, backing up singers like Della Reese, Ella Fitzgerald and Nancy Wilson.

Butch Berman

Last year, a good friend of mine passed. Butch Berman was one of my best friends in the jazz biz. He established the Berman Music Foundation in the Spring of 1995 in order to protect and promote unique forms of American music during his lifetime and into the future. Tony Rager, Tom Ineck and Grace Sankey-Berman are now busy carrying his mission into the future.

Grace came down for my book signing party at the Mutual Musicians Foundation and wrote a feature piece in the Berman Music Foundation’s Newsletter. Here ya go…

Alaadeen book tells “The Rest of the Story”, By Grace Sankey-Berman

KANSAS CITY, Mo.—Ahmad Alaadeen has written a jazz instruction manual called “The Rest of The Story,” which the Berman Music Foundation helped to publish. It is a collection of music and lessons the Kansas City saxophonist compiled over many years, with fascinating stories about his music career. On Aug. 2, I attended a book-signing event at the Musician Mutual Institute.

It was also a celebration of Alaadeen’s 75^th birthday. A cross section of the Kansas City arts community was in attendance, including Stan Kessler of the Sons of Brasil and Sharon Valleau of Kansas City Barbeque and All That Jazz, which provides hospitality services for visitors who want to combine the food and the music that have made this city famous.  

As I walked into the room, Alaadeen was sitting at the back of the music room with his saxophone sitting on a stand next to him. He was dressed to the nines—black suit, gold tie and handkerchief and a fedora hat. His appearance was very distinguished and the whole atmosphere of the room reminded me an old jazz club.

Alaadeen credits his family for pushing him to write and practice music from an early age, but said that he could not have published this book without the persistence of his long-time partner and manager, Fanny. His face lit up when he spoke of Fanny, whom he refers to in his book as “the heartbeat next to mine.”

He also credits her for saving his life. He had met Fanny after a gig when she asked him if he could introduce her to someone who could teach her how to play the saxophone. He volunteered to be her teacher and they’ve been together ever since. At that time he was sick and wouldn’t go to the doctor, but Fanny insisted that he go. The news was not good. When he finally got to the doctor, he found out he had bladder cancer. She helped to nurse him back to health.

His goal for writing a jazz manual is to encourage upcoming jazz musicians to play from the heart and to be more creative. Most of them train at “jazz factories” where they learn to play technically well but, he asked, “Where is the beef?” The music usually lacks feeling, he said. Yet, he remains excited about the future of jazz because of the many young musicians—like former Alaadeen apprentice Logan Richard, a senior at the Paseo Academy of Visual and performing Arts—who are producing great jazz.

His earlier influences include Charlie “Bird” Parker, John Coltrane and Miles Davis. He first met Bird in 1951 at a night club in Kansas City. He said the alto saxophone master was a big guy who could play any song with any band without practice. That night Bird played with Woody Herman and when Woody asked Bird about what songs they should play he replied, “Whatever you want to play.” And they went on to play great music.

Alaadeen plays tenor and soprano saxophones, but alto mastered the flute, clarinet and oboe. He was overjoyed to play with old-timers like Ella Fitzgerald, Billy Holiday, Rufus, and Jay McShann in Kansas City. Over the years he played in Chicago, Houston, New York, Denver and San Antonio. While living in Chicago he became a Muslim, which he credits for changing his life for the better. He even had a chance to play with Miles but turned it down because of his new-found religion.

A great band consisting of some of Alaadeen’s students and Roger Wilder on piano played throughout the evening. Alaadeen sat in with the band and played two songs from his 2005 “New Africa Suite” CD. The band continued to play with various KC musicians sitting in while Alaadeen autographed books.