Adventures In Jazz In Wales and Beyond In The 1960s

School Days

"So are you coming tonight, Barry?" Phil Adams asked his colleague.

"No, I think I'm going to give tonight a miss. It's so cold out there and I can't face the walk back here after the gig again. I doubt we'll get a lift tonight."

"Well, I can't miss it. My namesake Phil Seamen is on drums for the visit of Art Themen."

"Oh, he's the doctor guy, isn't he?"

"Surgeon and saxophonist—strange combination."

"I hope he's not in the operating theatre after a late night at the Wash!"

"He wouldn't do that. Are you sure you won't come?"

"Hey, man, it's so cold the ground is still frozen and we can't play rugby in case the little dears graze their knees..."

"Or break a leg. It's been freezing for so long. Silly game, rugby—I hope it thaws before the cricket season. It seems I'm to be the first-team cricket coach this year."

"I'm sure it can't last much longer, although the papers are calling it 'The Big Freeze of '63.'"

"Did you see that someone drove a car across the Thames in Oxford? It was completely frozen over."

"No way!"

"Yes, my dad sent me a photo from the Mail. Coldest winter since records began, apparently."

Phil Adams and Barry Porter were discussing these important matters in the staff room of Conway View School. They were employed to do sports coaching and a little language teaching in this preparatory school. Prep schools typically took children from the ages of 5 to 13 before they went on to public schools—the confusingly named sector where parents paid to have their offspring given what they hoped would be a superior education. At least they expected it to be better than what they would receive in a state school, where education was free. Back in the '60s, school leavers couldn't afford the present-day trend for "gap years" between school and university, which are spent in exotic travel, albeit often backpacking and staying in cheap hostels in the Far East. The early alternative was to spend time in these schools fulfilling a number of roles.

After supervising an hour's worth of evening "homework"—the pupils were all residents or boarders at the school, released twice a term for a weekend at home—Phil put on his warmest clothes and strode down the drive to catch the once-an-hour bus into Llandudno. This was where the Wash, the Washington Hotel, held weekly jazz nights with some of the country's leading jazz musicians. Phil was really into jazz, Barry a little less so, although he did often string along. Barry had advocated strongly for The Beatles, the new pop music phenomenon who had just released an album in January of that year. Phil was sceptical of this music, which for him lacked the depth and variety of the jazz he loved. While he had started gathering a small record collection whenever his meagre wages allowed, he felt there was no substitute for live sessions, hence his weekly pilgrimage into Llandudno.

Jazz At The Wash

The bus dropped Phil off near the Wash and he dashed inside through a flurry of light snow. He found a seat in the music room at the back of the hotel and listened to a local group warm up the room for the main event. Almost every week, a "big name" player from London would grace this North Wales outpost. It was quite a trek from London, where most of the musicians were based, and they were usually greeted with very good crowds. The twin attractions tonight were saxophonist Art Themen and Phil's namesake, Phil Seamen, who was a drummer associated with the biggest names in UK jazz at the time, Ronnie Scott and Tubby Hayes. Ronnie Scott had recently opened an eponymous club in London's Gerrard Street and had managed to attract some great American jazz musicians, leading to an explosion of interest in jazz in Britain. Themen's Dexter Gordon-influenced tenor playing moved through ballads, standards and some new compositions, all driven along by Seamen's inventive work at the drum kit, well supported by a pianist and bassist whose names Phil didn't catch. In between tunes, he got chatting to some other fans and tried hard to gain the attention of the organiser's daughter, Angela. She was away from the town, as she was in her first year of studies at university in Manchester, but came back to help her dad out on big nights like this. Phil had managed to chat with her on a few visits and had high hopes of making further advances.

Drinks were many, mostly beer and whisky, and cigarette smoke filled the air. The audience was predominantly male, with a few women braving the scene with gin and tonics or a port and lemon, strangely popular at the time. As the gig ended, he said, "Bye, and see you next week," to a few regulars and, of course, to Angela, and the club's atmosphere and his hormonal hopes meant that Phil forgot how cold it was outside. But that realisation came all too soon. The gig had ended just after midnight, by which time all public transport was long gone, and Phil was faced with the long walk back to CVS. The school was two hours on foot from Llandudno. Sometimes he'd get lucky and hitch a lift, but drivers were a bit wary of lone figures in the dark. At least tonight, the threat of snow had passed and his brisk pace kept the worst of the night's icy tentacles at bay.

Reality Bites

Four hours' sleep was all that was possible before his appearance as the breakfast supervisor in the school dining hall at 7:30. Then he had an English lesson and a couple of PE classes before he could retreat to the staff room and hope to snatch forty winks before the afternoon lessons. No such luck.

"How did it go last night?"

"It was a brilliant night. It's hard to believe Art is a surgeon. He blows a mean tenor. And Seamen was an inspiration on the drums."

"Who's up next?"

"You have to come next week. It's the Tubby Hayes Quintet. He's bringing his regular band up, so it'll be a brilliant night. I know he has Jimmy Deuchar on trumpet and Alan Ganley on drums. Not sure about piano and bass, but probably Gordon Beck and Gordon Beck, like on his new record. I think it's part of a promotional tour for the album Down in the Village."

"I'll definitely come for that. I've never seen anyone playing vibes in the flesh. Meet anybody interesting? Was Angela there?" Barry couldn't resist a smirk as he asked the last question.

"I did have a brief chat to Angela. She's having a great time in Manchester, but her dad likes her to come back to help him out on jazz nights."

"Getting serious, are we?"

"Come off it, Barry. She's already at university and probably has a steady boyfriend. I just enjoy her company."

"Yeah, right. But I can tell you fancy her."

"Yeah, and I've seen how you follow Sue, the assistant matron, around like a puppy."

This banter was cut short by the bell for the afternoon's lessons. Teenage boys will be teenage boys, and hormones and mickey-taking are prominent at that age. The week passed with the usual mixture of engaging and frustrating interludes with their young charges and slightly disdainful treatment from the permanent staff, who had all worked for teaching qualifications and resented their temporary colleagues, whom they regarded as cheap labour.

Tubby Hayes Goes to Wales

The Tubby Hayes concert was all they had hoped for. Lengthy solos from Hayes and Deuchar, occasional ones from piano and bass, and a couple of blinding drum solos from Alan Ganley really set the Wash on fire. Barry was impressed by his first sight of the vibraphone under the mallets of Hayes, who also amazed on both tenor and soprano saxophones and one number on the flute. Quite the star of modern British jazz, with good cause.

"How did you like that, Phil?" Angela had caught up with the boys as they made their way out in the very early hours of Friday—there had been many encores and a few local players joined in for a jam.

"Absolutely brilliant, Angela. Your dad is a genius to be able to bring bands like this all the way up here."

"He has a good reputation in the business—he pays them on the night, which helps—and you can see that the bands enjoy themselves. We could hardly get them off the stand tonight!"

"Are you here next week? It's fun to chat with you," asked Phil tentatively, and he received a nudge in the ribs from Barry.

"Shall I leave you two alone to have a private chat?"

"Don't mind him, Angela, he's an idiot. You know so much about jazz that it's good to share with you."

"Dad did play jazz to me in my cradle, I think. Mostly American record imports like Duke Ellington, Lester Young, but also the new bebop stars like Charlie Parker. He loved the drummer Max Roach."

"That'll be why Phil Seamen plays here so much then."

"I guess so. Did you hear that Dizzy Gillespie is coming to the Manchester Jazz Festival in June?"

"No, I didn't know that. I'd love to hear him live." Barry wandered away to leave his mate to chat up Angela and watched from a distance as a spirited exchange continued. Finally, looking at the time and the prospect of the trudge home, he decided to interrupt.

"Sorry, mate, but I think we'd better get on the road. The crowd was so big tonight we might get lucky with a lift if we go now."

"Where do you have to get to? I know you work in a school, but I don't know which."

"Conway View School out at Llechwedd."

"Gosh, that must be a two-hour walk. You are real devotees."

"Phil is into jazz and I keep him company sometimes, but I'm more into blues and I love the new Mersey Sound."

"Yes, that kind of music is fun, but it hasn't got the same soul."

"There's a place for all kinds of music as long as people keep coming to see it live," said Angela, only subtly promoting her father's business. Seeing an opportunity, she added, "In a couple of weeks we have the Brian Auger trio. They are a really swinging blues band and they have a great young saxophonist as a guest—a guy in his twenties called Alan Skidmore. Dad says he's really good."

"I've heard of Brian Auger. I'll make sure Phil brings me along for that. Goodnight now, Angela. See you soon."

At this farewell, Phil was rewarded with a brief hug and a peck on the cheek, which dominated the conversation on the long walk back to the school. Despite Barry's optimism, no vehicles slowed at their beckoning thumbs, and they collapsed into their beds exhausted but buzzing with music of the highest quality.

Waiting For The Washington

The next weeks dragged by with their moments of trying to interest pupils in Latin and English grammar indoors and forward defensive shots and seam bowling on the cricket fields. At last, in late May, it was time to get the bus into Llandudno to hear Brian Auger at the Wash. While Barry had never seen a vibraphone until the Tubby Hayes gig, neither of the boys had experienced at close range the power of the Hammond organ under the speedy hands of Brian Auger. This instrument fascinated them with its dual keyboards, spinning tone wheels and pedals, and the huge sound it produced. The music of the band was a kind of crossover between jazz and pop, and Barry really got into the groove. Phil was more taken with the extended solos on the tenor saxophone from the young Alan Skidmore, whom Auger introduced as a "twenty-year-old rising star of British jazz."

"That was a great gig. I really enjoyed the whole evening," said Barry as the band started packing up their gear.

"It was a good night, wasn't it?"

"I hope you enjoyed that, boys," said Angela, coming over to join them. "I thought the saxophonist showed an influence of bebop and it reminded me that you said you'd like to hear Dizzy Gillespie. It's three weeks to the Manchester Jazz Festival. My dad's helping out with some of the arrangements and I've got some free tickets."

"I'd love to come," said Phil.

"What's the date?" asked Barry.

"Second weekend of June—Saturday and Sunday. And Dad said he'd heard that another great trumpet player, Clark Terry, is coming too."

"Brilliant! I just heard a track from his latest album, Color Changes (Candid Records, 1961), on the radio. I loved his sound. I don't want to miss that. Thank goodness it's an exeat weekend so there are no matches. Will you be going, Angela?"

"Exeat? What's that? But yes, I live in Manchester for college and Dad got me tickets."

"Exeat is one of the times when parents can come and take their kids out of school. There are two each term. But I won't be able to make it as I'm on duty that weekend and have to look after the kids whose parents can't come to collect them."

"That's a shame, Barry," sympathised Angela, while Phil had an inner jolt of joyful anticipation.

"Would it be OK if I met up with you then, Angela? Unless you've got other plans."

"No, it'll be fun to go with you. Most of my university friends are not into jazz at all."

"Lucky I won't be playing gooseberry then," Barry couldn't help quipping.

"Leave it out, Barry. We just enjoy the music together."

"Yeah, right!"

"And you'll be in clover as I believe Sue is also on duty with you for the exeat weekend."

On The Road

The next weeks seemed to take months until it was time for Phil to set off for Manchester. He got up bright and early on Saturday morning and got the first bus to Llandudno Junction, where he had decided to try his luck hitching along the A55 coast road to Manchester. He got lucky with a good first ride with a chatty driver delivering goods to the Woolworths department store in Rhyl. That got him about halfway, and then a series of shorter lifts with more taciturn private car drivers got him to Urmston on the southwest side of the city. The final leg took him a long time as people are less likely to stop for hitchhikers in more built-up areas. But he was picked up by a couple who were going to the Whitworth Art Gallery and dropped him off there after an interesting discussion about culture in all its forms. Phil then walked the last mile and a half to Belle Vue, where the festival was being held. Fortunately, Angela had given him a ticket at the last evening at the Wash, so he entered the park and wondered how he would manage to find his young benefactor. He was hungry from his long journey, so grabbed a sausage roll and a beer from one of the food stalls. Sitting on a bench, he was surprised by a pair of hands pressing down on his shoulders.

"Needles can be found in haystacks then!" exclaimed Angela, and then came around to sit beside him. "How was your trip?"

"Slow but free—I got a lot of good lifts, mostly from nice people and one or two who hardly spoke. And I'm here, which is what matters. But I was ravenous. Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks, Phil, but I think Ronnie Scott is playing in the Lincoln Hall in about half an hour, so let's head over there."

"Your inside knowledge is a great help, Angela. Thanks for looking after me. I'm a bit out of my depth in the city after a year in the sticks with only slate quarries and sheep for company."

"And your mate Barry! Manchester is an exciting city. I'm glad I came here to study."

"Maybe you could show me around a bit tomorrow before the jazz starts up again?"

"I'd love to. Come on!"

The Two Ronnies

The pair picked their way through the throngs of day-trippers visiting the zoo, the roller coaster and other attractions of this big amusement park, and some who were heading for the music venues. Phil was delighted to find that they were holding hands but couldn't be sure whether this was so they didn't lose each other or for a more romantic reason. Hormonal teenager! They found a spot near the stage where they recognised Alan Ganley setting up his drum kit, and Malcolm Cecil walked in with a double bass, and Stan Tracey went to the piano, and finally the two Ronnies appeared. For this set, Ronnie Scott was joined by Ronnie Ross, who played the baritone saxophone, which had never featured at any of the Llandudno gigs. Its deeper sound made the floor rumble under their feet as the group played some jazz standards and a couple of original compositions. In his introductions, Scott made sure people were aware that there was only one place to be when they visited London—"My club in Gerrard Street. Surprisingly, it's called Ronnie Scott's. Do come and see us."

"My dad's been and says it's amazing. It's in a basement in the middle of London's Chinatown. He said it's a tiny, narrow room where you are up close to the musicians. I can't wait to go."

"It sounds brilliant. I'm spending a few days in London after I finish at the school in July. I'm going to be looking for digs as I start my course at University College London in September. I'll try to make it to the club if it's not too expensive."

The Main Event

The evening progressed with an eclectic mix of British "trad jazz" bands like Acker Bilk, Chris Barber and Humphrey Lyttelton, and the more modern John Dankworth Orchestra. Then eventually, what they'd all been waiting for happened, as Dizzy Gillespie walked onto the stage with his trumpet with the bell at a 45-degree angle and started in on "Night in Tunisia." The place was jumping as Bud Freeman joined him on tenor saxophone. They played for nearly two hours without a break and towards the end were joined by Ronnie Scott and other British musicians in a giant jam session. Finally, the lights were switched off and on a few times and the Tannoy told everybody to leave as local byelaws prevented the venue from being open after midnight. By a stroke of luck, Angela's father found the pair as they made their way to the gates.

"Hello, Mr Barnes, wasn't that brilliant?"

"Hello, love, Phil. Yes, it was and it's not over yet. I had a word with Ernie Garside, and Dizzy, Bud and Buck Clayton and lots of our friends are heading down to Club 43. Do you fancy joining me there?"

"Can we? I'd love it," said Phil.

"I'm up for it too. I couldn't sleep now anyway. I'm still buzzing."

"Let's go then. I've got the car over there in the staff compound."

Club 43

Martin Barnes drove them into the town centre and found a spot to park close to Amber Street, and the three were soon making their way down the narrow steps into the smoky, noisy basement that was the 43 Club.

The tiny stage saw a rotation of famous American musicians, jamming British players from the festival line-up, but also local Manchester jazzers still making their way in the music business. A highlight for both the youngsters was when Clark Terry brought his lucid tone and lively improvisations to the jam session. Phil would miss his set tomorrow, but his appearance here made it a night to remember. At some point, Martin left, saying he had to be at Belle Vue quite early on Sunday to help set up. Phil and Angela stayed until the whole room was exhausted, and they emerged to find the first hint of colour in the sky in the east.

The Night Is Young

"Did you book anywhere to stay, Phil?"

"No, I thought I'd find a park bench or something and hope it doesn't rain."

"I'm pretty certain one of my flatmates is away, so you can probably stay at our place. It's not too far, about fifteen minutes' walk from here."

"If you are sure, that would be great. There's so much to talk about after that evening—the festival was brilliant, but being right up close down in the club was just incredible. Hearing Clark Terry was brilliant, and I even had a conversation with Dizzy Gillespie about his bendy trumpet."

"You didn't! What did he say?"

"It was all an accident to start with. He was at a dance session and one of the spectators got a bit overeager, tripped and fell onto the trumpet on its stand, and it bent it up at 45 degrees. He picked it up, gave it a try and he said he liked the sound of it. He could hear himself better. So he now has them specially made like that."

"Wow, that's amazing! I'm glad you could come, but sorry you can't stay for tomorrow's gigs."

"No, I have to be back at school for six in the evening to check the kids in after their exeats. Given my journey here, I'd better leave around midday to be safe."

"I'm afraid Dad's not going back until Monday or he could give you a lift. Here we are. Quiet, please, as Millie is probably asleep."

"Church mouse," whispered Phil, just a little bit squiffy on the evening's booze, adrenalin and the proximity of Angela.

"Come on in then." Angela guided him into a living area with a kitchen, a table and a sofa. "It's been good spending time with you, Phil. I've had a lovely day. One last drink before it ends? I have some red wine here."

"I'd like that. I don't feel ready for sleep yet. I'm still buzzing from all that great music. I never thought we'd get that close to them in the club."

"Yeah, me too. It was awesome. Cheers!"

FADE TO BLACK

Feel free to devise your own ending.