Anything For A Gig, Part 2

"The only thing worse than the music business is boxing." Sonny Rollins

Read Part 1

Following the second set on Monday evening at Bookie's, a West Village establishment known for its eclectic offerings, the band convened in the club’s dressing room, roughly the size of a postage stamp, to deliberate on their current predicament. Just before they began, Caleb Monroe, a previously unknown tenor saxophonist, had rushed the stage right after the music ended to ask Elijah if he could sit in with the group during the third and last set of the evening.

That same afternoon, Val Parnell, who managed the club, had delivered an ultimatum—the band would need to accept reduced wages to continue their engagement, due to rising expenses. During this conversation, Caleb, who had been listening in from the back of the club, came up to Val and announced that his band, a quintet, would be happy to play regardless of the payment terms.

And here he was again, six hours later, asking for a moment in the limelight with Elijah’s group.

"He tried to steal our gig and now he wants to sit in? No fucking way." Emerson Sutherland was furious. Having been the drummer for Elijah Coleman's Quartet since their Monday night residency began at Bookie's over two years ago, he was deeply invested. The club was now threatening to slash their already modest pay, with a new act waiting in the wings, ready to pounce. Emerson, a seasoned percussionist in the tradition of Max Roach, had navigated the ruthless terrain of the music industry numerous times, where survival meant fighting for every beat and melody. When threatened, he had to respond.

“Number one, I don’t think we should work for less than scale, that’s ridiculous, we’re hardly beginners. Number two, just because some kid from Tulsa thinks he’s the second coming doesn’t mean he’s going to get the gig. Has anyone actually heard him play?” asked Tobias Eldridge, the Quartet’s pianist, usually a somewhat reserved fellow but in the face of what he perceived as injustice, he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. “How many tenor players come to New York every year to try and make here, and how many actually succeed? One or two, maybe?”

Elijah was open to their opinions. Despite being the leader, he saw the group as a unified entity. The prospect of forfeiting a steady job due to a reduction in salary troubled him deeply.

Bassist Vance Carter had another idea. “I don’t think we should look at this as an either/or situation. We have no problem drawing an audience. People like what we play, otherwise they wouldn’t show up every week.”

“What do you suggest, Vance?” Tobias asked. “A voluptuous vocalist?”

Everybody broke up.

“That’s a different kind of gig,” Elijah reminded them.

“We have to think like businessmen,” Vance explained.

“The jazz business? That’s an oxymoron if there ever was one,” Tobias injected.

“I know,” Vance replied. “The business sucks. That’s no secret, always has, always will. But we shouldn’t allow ourselves to be manipulated like this. I say we negotiate.”

Emerson agreed. “He’s right. Although it was presented as a take it or leave it offer, we don’t have to play the game by their rules. We’re the ones who bring in the audience. If they cut us loose, the club is going to end up losing money. And let’s face it, they’re only here for the bread. The management of this club could care less about the music.”

“You’re right, Emerson. What do you suggest?” Elijah asked, hoping for a solution that would make everyone happy.

Vance thought for a minute and replied. “We could tell the audience that we need their support. The club seats about one hundred people. We play three sets, and some stay for all three, so let’s figure we have two hundred people passing through the club while we’re playing. At five dollars a head, that’s a thousand a night. More than double what we’re getting now.”

“You really think people will pay five dollars for something they’re used to getting for free? I mean, all that free music on the internet from the comfort of your living room. Why bother going to a club?” Tobias wondered.

“To get laid,” Emerson’s prompt response. For him, the prospect of discovering a new intimate connection was the best reason to leave the house.

“I can dig it,” Elijah said. “People don’t think they should pay for music anymore.”

“We’re not worth the price of a large coffee at Starbucks?” Vance stated. “There are people who come here every week to hear us. They love our music.”

“True,” Tobias explained. “But from their perspective, there’s a big difference between buying a couple of drinks, and spending twenty five or thirty dollars. Remember, some of them just don’t have it.”

Emerson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you kidding? People don’t think twice about dropping a C-note to hear some smooth jazz saxophonist at the Blue Note.”

“We got about five minutes before the last set,” Elijah reminded them.

Tobias quickly offered, “We could change suggested contribution to cover charge.”

“Val won’t go for that. He had a shit fit when I mentioned it,” Elijah told him. “Let’s just play then figure it out after the gig.”

"This is exactly why you're in charge of this group," Vance remarked, his tone laced with humor yet carrying a hint of sincerity.

“And what about letting the kid sit in?” Elijah wondered. “Let’s just take a vote. All those in favor, raise their hands.”

Emerson was the only dissenter. “If that’s what you guys want, fine. But if this hot shot thinks he can keep up, let’s not make it easy for him. "How about we tackle 'Giant Steps' at our maximum speed?" he suggested, then tapped out a rhythm on the table that appeared to surpass the speed of light.

“Time to separate the men from the boys?” Vance wondered.

“Sooner or later the kid is going to have to face the music. Might as well be now. Otherwise, I’m going to pull a Jo Jones on him,” Emerson threatened in a joking sort of way.

Emerson was referencing a famous incident in jazz history, which occurred in the early 1930s when Charlie Parker, still a teenager and relatively inexperienced, decided to participate in a jam session at the Reno Club in Kansas City. Parker, eager to prove himself, got on stage to play with established musicians, including Jo Jones on drums, who was part of Count Basie's band at the time.

Parker chose to play the song "I Got Rhythm," but during his solo, he lost the beat. The story goes that Jo Jones, frustrated with Parker's playing, stopped the music and, in a gesture of disdain, either threw a cymbal at Parker's feet or, more commonly reported, dropped a cymbal on the floor to signify Parker's metaphorical "crashing" performance. This act was not meant to physically harm Parker but to embarrass him and signal that his skills were not up to the standards of the musicians he was attempting to play with.

Far from deterring him, this humiliating experience is often cited as a significant turning point for Charlie Parker. Motivated by the incident, Parker dedicated himself to rigorous practice, developing his skills and eventually pioneering a new style of jazz that would come to be known as bebop. This style, characterized by fast tempos, complex chord progressions, and virtuosic improvisation, would radically transform jazz and cement Parker's legacy as one of its greatest innovators.

“Shit man, today a musician might sue you for something like that,” Tobias offered.

"Ever attempted to squeeze money out of a rock?" Emerson appeared to have a retort for everything.

“It’s time guys, we gotta play,” Elijah declared. “If he’s here, I’ll invite him to play. But instead of Giant Steps, let’s play Cherokee as a tribute to Bird, uptempo.”

As they made their way out of the dressing room, Emerson commented, more to himself than anyone else, "this is going to be quite the interesting experience. I only wish Papa Jo was here."