Chapter 13 Ballroom Chronicle

"Probably needs no explanation; and for people who are not fans, it is difficult to convey the exact charm of this name." "Savoy"-the extremely short honeymoon of jazz and the public, the most famous music in the 1930s Brilliant Ballroom. At the beginning of radio recordings and video discs, many of you must have heard the voice: "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Savoy Ballroom..." The location is a residential area, and it's that Reynolds Street.From nine o'clock Saturday night to eight o'clock Sunday morning, just dance there.Take a name called Breakfast dance (breakfast dance), in short, is Swing.Weeknights, no, not always even Saturday nights.Both bands broke up at two or three o'clock, but not tonight.There are a few special nights (special nights) every month, just skip to breakfast time.All four bands play together, and as long as you're dancing the pipes are going to sound -- as long as you're at breakfast, and you don't know how long it takes.

Even so, it is not an authentic shop.Everything is quite satisfactory.Not a cheap bar, not an underground casino.A true ballroom.It costs seventy-five cents to enter and climb the wide staircase.Be it the boss or the guests, they are all well-mannered, so you can rest assured.Drinks are reserved at the crowded bar above the tables.Beer was ten cents, California wine by the bottle twenty-five cents.Some of the guests brought in whole bottles of spirits.In short, this group of people just want to go to the bathroom, and get drunk.Fortunately, the bathrooms are next to each other, so don't worry.

twelve o'clock.You can enter smoothly.rain.There are still vacant seats, and the boss looks unhappy.The guests should have been much more right than a "ladies' night," but the rain thwarted their wishful thinking. The ballroom was about seventy-five yards long and twenty-five yards wide.The ceiling is low and the lighting is dim and bright.In the few seconds between songs or when changing bands, everyone will talk about "this is ridiculous", "what about the girl", "shut up, shut up" and so on.As soon as the band started, the clerks and customers blended together, beating the beat like drums, and the joyful rhythm rose and fell like a tide.

It is impossible to see everything at once.There were the band guys, and there were guests who had drinks.One day, I fell asleep lying on the table with a beer in one hand, and someone vigorously performed the extremely personal farce of a romantic song.There are also bands that have finished, or make loud noises, or gobble up the ready-made meals in an almost mischievous manner. "Bastard!" A man who sat down heavily and looked like a bed with a roof spoke rudely.The man known as "Yu" was one of our first generation of American tenor saxophone artists. "Bastard, there is no meat at all! This bastard, what a mess!" Qiu said, poking back and forth in the dishes.Now there is no room for guests on the dance floor to go in, kick their feet, turn and bow their backs.It was a sight to behold.Let's dance, let's dance!Everyone is yelling, everyone is sweating profusely, everyone is jumping like a tiger, no matter what happens tomorrow!

How to put it - the atmosphere is hard to put into words.It is impossible to see everything, but it is possible to feel it at the same time - it is like a burst of energy that is ready to go, and it is burning at this moment.Its hot spot is on the bandstand anyway.Although the wood used by Tai is rough, it is extremely strong.Lights and music are there to complement each other.The bass drum rests on the floor, the string stand is tenoned in place, and the tired keys of the grand piano resemble worn-out stairs. The bandstand, on which the two bands could go, was about sixty feet long and not so wide, and backed against the inner wall.Although almost all the lights are concentrated here, it is still dark.Due to the blue spotlights, the color of the wall behind always looks like a thin cloud.The band below it is condescending, looking forward to the bear, almost like a truck showing a pile of steel and steam majesticly.Both the dance floor and the tables were packed with people, maybe hundreds of people.There are even fifteen or six hundred people on a full night.In the corner stood a line of dancers who charged twenty-five cents for three pieces.Under the rose-tinted lights embedded in the ceiling, everything is alive and well.However, the heart is, after all, a bandstand.The musicians stood in two rows and stomped their feet "Tong Tong", blowing their instruments desperately like tearing their livers and lungs apart.The light from the large curling hole shines on the dancer's head like a moonlight, and what restrains this unstoppable energy in vain is naturally the accurate grasp of the rhythm of the dance point.Guitar, piano, double bass, drums—Teddy Hill's band kicks off with the final chorus of "Christopher Columbus," one of its forte.The steel pipe instrument is lifted upwards, leading the section and outlining the five lines of the melody.As expected, the dancers forgot to dance and gathered around the bandstand, competing to beat the beat with their bodies.Looking up, the melody flows on the head like a river.Dance has completely conquered all people.What a waltz, to hell!The floor shook and the ballroom became a powerhouse.The gray air trembled up and down.Quick, twist it!jump!Go crazy!No, it's better to have fun!This kind of music is not heard with the ears, but felt with the body.

Such an atmosphere is not only created by certain musicians, it has penetrated into every corner of the dance hall.This ballroom does have such an atmosphere, it can be said that it goes hand in hand.The bandstand sucked all kinds of great music: Fletcher Henderson's big band, the fanciful trumpeter Louis Armstrong (Master Satchmore), Duke Ellington (Duke, the great dusky), Muyin frontman Cab Calloway (who also made his debut here), McNeze Kettonpijas, Chocolate Chip - who else?Mention the name of a band you like in front of the teacher, and the boss boasted that if you can find a band that has never been here, you are considered capable, even Paul Whitman has performed.Indeed, there is something in the air of this bar.The guests also want to accept something.This is the only thing that creates the atmosphere.So, if there is any band that wants to be cohesive, and wants to be united, here it is.

However, the atmosphere here is not all about the kind of menacing things that make the windows slam with a "click" when the fire is fired.At the same time, it also has a rather delicate side, quick-witted, flexible, and caring, and it will not fight for the cliché art anti-war, anti-fascist artist fronts to saliva spatter.The musicians just played, just played with the girls, just recorded music for the "Victor" radio station and the ball, talked to each other in whispers and proudly as usual.It looks like a few of them (a few of the best ones) are also trying to cheer themselves up in order to tenaciously maintain their individuality and not let it be damaged.This is easy to see.The elusive beauty of music sets them apart from the rest.It is in vain to look for Lombardo, Duchene, Barry, and Raisman in them.For example, even if they have both the showmanship and the unscrupulous guts, there is a line between them.If an impulsive tenor saxophonist blows powerfully and beautifully, it simply means that he uses his own flesh and blood as an instrument to express his passions and sorrows as they are.Anything that departs from this principle, from the never-ending stream of true creativity (even Bach was no exception), and above all from the spin that is characteristic of jazz - no matter how stately, virtuosic, or popular it may seem, All are fakes.Losing creativity is counterfeiting. "Boys playing tenor saxophone," said Yau, coming down from the stage, "doing imitation of Coleman Hawkins or something. But imitation is not enough, there is no soul! Understand? There is The guy doesn't know the technology. No soul, just spit in it. It's a mess, it's outrageous! Me, I just want to make a beautiful sound - as long as the instrument allows - and don't think about anything else. That's my pride. But Those guys...don't understand."

After muttering like this, there was a shy silence for a while. "Bastard, that bastard!" he said. "Disgusting! As long as I can eat meat tonight, I'll..." But forget it, this kind of thing doesn't matter anyway.No one knew the exact time, whether it was three o'clock, four o'clock, or five o'clock.The number of guests who fell asleep on the table increased, and the number of people dancing on the dance floor decreased.Still, the sweltering, warm air in the bar remained the same, as did the energy exerted in the dim light.The players in Teddy Hill's band, which ended the night, watched the other bands for a while, then disappeared in one and three, five and five.Rocking the ballroom at the moment is the genial Cheekweb Band.The little hunchbacked man in the raised chair beat a set of drums covered with extremely elegant white heads, sending earth-shattering rhythms to the band and beats to the still-swaying dance floor.

Ah, this is Harlem.I walked down the stairs and went out to see that it was already dawn, and the faint morning light told me that this was Harlem.ghetto.There are very few people.A few people just came out of the ballroom and were going to have breakfast.The rest were those who failed to get in the door. "Hey, buddy, you don't smoke?" A man who didn't get through the door walked towards me and said, walking like he said that he could buy the whole street when he was happy. "Just give me one!" He didn't even bring a match. "How's it going inside?" he asked. "It's too crowded to get in, isn't it?"

"That's true—but it's still possible to get in, right?" "It's too crowded, I heard. Didn't you go in too?" "Ah, it's interesting enough. But you can sit." "Yeah? Thought it was crowded. . . Actually," he said nonchalantly, taking the cigarette for himself, "don't have a dime left? If there's any left, buddy, you can have a beer. It's a mess. , I thought they couldn’t get in when they were full! Do you understand?” So that’s how it was, and I understood the meaning.Greetings are a feint, but behind the words are envy and poor self-esteem.It was a barcloth that a man of his class could easily move in and out of.After asking for ten cents from me, he waved his hand to me who was leaving, waving very gracefully: "Come find me again next time. This area is like my yard. If you mention my name, you can do nothing." It's done. Find a good girl and wrap it on me. Remember."

Confetti and newspapers rustled in the dusty streets in the early morning.As if trying to carve a way through the frayed hem of his cheap trousers, he walked briskly away and disappeared into an alley.It was full of dirty, shabby rooms, empty shops, and simple dormitories.I'm a little confused: what exactly is Breakfast dance?Where did it come from and where did it disappear?What came into view was the ragged streets of Harlem, the black American slums where everything was played.Standing on the empty street, the drums of Chekweb's band can only be heard a little.Still, the strong beat of jazz evokes something quite different in me—it's always in the music, and the eye is always out of sight.Yep, it's what made the blues come true. "We got up together this morning and took our shoes to the pawn shop"—that was the sort of dark commotion on Lenox Street.The lights were flickering and people were chattering.Exactly.But this is only one side of the coin.It was the hearts of the people in the streets of Harlem that produced that music.Standing on this ground, I feel it now, the highs and lows, the fullness of the noise and the depth of its sadness.

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