By Bob Powers

Every jazz aficionado has memories of the first time he or she heard jazz. It’s a moment of sublime excitement for those who continue to attune their ears to jazz as the years accumulate.

For this grizzled jazz fan, the memorable moment came in the living room of a high school friend, Lyle Blackwell, and his cousin, Luther Bolen. We all were high school students in Gauley Bridge, W.Va. during the final years of the ‘40s. Lyle’s family had acquired a console record player/radio, back in the days when vinyl LP’s were new. After demonstrating the various functions of the nifty new contrivance, Lyle put on a 78 rpm single by Woody Herman’s Herd. “Lemon Drop” roared through that living room, its bop arrangement by Woody’s hugely talented collection of musicians sending chills traveling rapidly up and down my 15-year-old spine.

Although I’d been introduced to good pop music by my mother, who taught piano to neighborhood children, this was really my first encounter with the glories of jazz, in this instance, the peculiar strange sounds labeled bebop. It was a true revelation, one of those epiphanies that forever changed my notion of music.

Lyle was a year older and already was a “star” in high school in his role as drum major for the high school band, where I had started out on tuba, switched to bass drum because no one else was available, and finally -- in my senior year -- played snare drums. Lyle was proficient on piano, even composing a piece of music that wowed ‘em at a school function. Luther, who also was my age, lived across the street from my parents’ modest two-bedroom house crouched precariously on one of those gorgeous West Virginia mountains. He was a multi-talented musician, playing drums in the school band, and devoting many hours of study to the accordion. His talent on the cornet continues to today, nearly a half-century later. He plays every Thursday with a Dixieland band that’s had a 25-year stand at the Crosskeys Tavern in downtown Chillicothe, Ohio, where “Kooch” was high school band director for many years.

As the months of my junior year passed, the visits at Lyle’s home were frequent. New artists came to my attention. The blaring, soul-stirring sounds played by Stan Kenton and his brass-heavy orchestra carried me on a wave of pleasure. Jazz was unique in its ability to stir emotions. In the next few months, I was introduced to more artists and gradually began to assemble my own collection of albums, both on 78s and the relatively new 33 1/3 long-playing albums, which offered the ability to listen to 40 minutes of music with only a single change of the record’s side.

While in college at nearby West Virginia Tech, I saw an ad in the Charleston newspapers for an upcoming appearance in Charleston by three big names: Woody Herman, Ella Fitzgerald, and (don’t ask me why) Frankie Laine, then a major star because of his recording of the theme from a Gary Cooper western called “High Noon.” Seeing Woody and Ella standing on stage not 20 feet from my seat was one of the big thrills of my life to that point. Not long afterwards, I got to see Billy Eckstine, in vogue as a smooth vocalist with a number of hit recordings to his name. In the space of a couple of years, I managed to save enough money to buy tickets (concerts generally cost about $3.50 to $4 in those halcyon days) for such stars as Louis Jordan and the Tympathy Five (subjects of a Broadway show a few season ago) and I even got back stage to talk with Jordan’s guitarist, who was a relative of Nat “King” Cole.

My tastes branched out around this time to what was then called “race music,” and later designed as rhythm ‘n blues. Performers I saw included the magnificent Ruth Brown, the again-in-vogue Charles Brown, and the underappreciated Johnny Otis Orchestra. Then there was a memorable show by the Buddy Johnson band, who combined jazz and blues in a unique style.

The highlight of those years came when I was hanging out in the studios of a Charleston radio station when Lionel Hampton showed up to be interviewed by the “Night Mayor” of the West Virginia capital city, Hugh McPherson. Hampton was charming and even offered me a ride in his limousine to the performance site.

When I entered the newspaper business after leaving West Virginia Tech, one of my first encounters with music (I was working near Cincinnati) was the chance to attend a Kenton concert at Taft Auditorium, where I chatted with Roy Hamilton, who was appearing with Kenton and had a hit record at the time. Tragically, Hamilton died before reaching his full potential as a performer.

My love for jazz continues to this day, a full 50 years from the day when Lyle and his cousin Kooch introduced me to the best brand of music of all. Jazz, wonderful jazz.

Over the coming months, it will be my aim to interview jazz stars of today and to delve into the history of some of today’s major jazz record companies. I hope you, gentle reader, will be along for the ride.