I never cease to marvel at the power of music to affect not only our moods but also our whole outlook on life. Particularly our attitude about aging. Musicians, composers and conductors seem to live extraordinarily long lives, often remaining productive well into their ’90s.
Two events last week reminded me of this: the weeklong celebrations for composer David Raksin’s 90th birthday Sunday, and the centennial remembrance of Rosy McHargue at the Costa Mesa/Orange County Classic Jazz Festival.
Though their styles of music were different-Raksin a noted film composer and McHargue a jazz arranger and player of clarinet, piano and C-melody saxophone-both men were gifted teachers, encouraging several generations of young musicians. Raksin, the only living composer of the Golden Age of Movie Music (“Laura,” “The Bad and the Beautiful,” “Separate Tables,” “Forever Amber,” “Carrie”), still teaches at USC. McHargue, who died two years ago at 97, taught in a less structured way, sharing his experience as a reed player on recordings with the orchestras of Frankie Trumbauer, Ted Weems, Kay Kyser and Benny Goodman, and later, with small groups led by Pete Daily, Red Nichols and Pee Wee Hunt. For decades he held sway Fridays and Saturdays at Sterling’s in Santa Monica, where he encouraged young players to sit in.
Popular music has always been a generational thing. We remember the music we played as teenagers and often return to it after exploring other styles. Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald sang the popular tunes of my youth. And the film scores of Raksin, Alfred Newman, Max Steiner, Franz Waxman and others enthralled me.
Though we’re from the same generation, my friend Dick Miller grew up with traditional jazz. A fan of the legendary Bix Beiderbecke, he played cornet with a jazz group during his college years. When he took it up again later, he played at Sterling’s with McHargue, who inspired him to continue. It was at Sterling’s that he met Dan Levinson, a budding clarinet player, whom McHargue mentored. A decade later, the two were playing jazz together in Paris.
Last year, Levinson’s group, Eleven Sons of Rosy, recorded 17 tunes using arrangements written by Rosy McHargue during his long career and a few by Levinson. All were popular songs of the day written by the likes of Irving Berlin, Gus Kahn, Harry Warren and Scott Joplin, and published between 1899 and 1931. The CD “Where the Morning Glories Grow” was released in conjunction with the 2002 Costa Mesa/Orange County Classic Jazz Festival, where the turnout for the centennial celebration of McHargue’s birth was huge.
Players on the CD all took part in at least one of the three sets on Saturday. Most were playing with other bands at the festival. Dick Miller and Corey Gemme on cornet; Keith Elliott, trombone and C-melody sax; Robbie Rhodes, piano; John Reynolds, guitar; Larry Wright, drums; Westy Westenhofer, string bass; Geoff Nudell, alto sax and C-melody sax; and Levinson on clarinet and C-melody sax.
On the third set, by far the loosest of the three, trombonist Conrad Janis sat in. He had befriended McHargue and often played in the group at West End Saloon, McHargue’s last regular gig after Sterling’s closed.
Toward the end of the evening, while the brass players were resting their lips, Elliott took over the piano and Levinson sang a marathon medley of old-time favorites, just as McHargue used to do during intermissions at Sterling’s. The audience knew every one and sang along with gusto.
I looked over the crowd and recognized many whom I had seen at the first such festival I attended in the early ’80s. I thought then they were all so, well, old. At the time I was into modern jazz and seemed to be the only one still blonde. This wasn’t the music of my youth. It was the music of my father’s youth. He had played clarinet with his own little jazz group when he was in college. That was before he went on to orchestrate film scores. Before David Raksin became his friend.
Anyway, what amazed me last weekend was that these same folks had to be 20 years older. But they looked so, well, young. Dancing was rampant, on small dance floors beside the bandstands, in the aisles, in the bar, on the elevators. People who might otherwise be sitting on chairs in a home somewhere were really moving. Singing, laughing, foot stomping joy. Oh, a few were on wheels or using walkers, but even they moved in time to the music. If there’s a fountain of youth, this must be it.