Goodman and Miller in the Cafe Graf
Music is part of
our life. My father played every string instrument extant. He was best on the
Cello and the guitar. There is a story, that he and his brother got musical
instruments one Christmas. Franz, my father, got a violin and his brother Felix
got a guitar. They also were enrolled in lessons. Franz would study his violin,
but every chance he got, he grabbed his brother’s guitar and taught himself.
Before long he played the violin quite well, but the guitar even better. Much
better, they say, than his brother Felix. My mother played the Zither and she
sang beautifully. She had a light, silvery voice. When we did the dishes after
dinner, Irmgard would wash, I would dry, Inge would sit by the kitchen table
and knit fancy table cloths with a huge round knitting needle, mother would do
something else, but we all sang. Doing the dishes and singing went hand in
hand. Often, the dishes long done, we’d still be singing. We sang excerpts from
Operettas, we sang Folk Songs, we sang Schubert’s “Trout quintet “
“In einem Baechlein helle, da
schoss in froher Eil, die launige Forelle, vorüber wie ein Pfeil. Ich stand an
dem Gestade und sah in süßer Ruh des muntern Fischleins Bade im klaren Bächlein zu.”
I still remember
the lyrics. More than sixty years later.
The Americans have
just come to Braunau. I don’t yet quite understand it, but I will in the
future: they bring us
“freedom liberty
and bread.”
I am shortly to
discover one other thing they bring:
I bum around in
the Main Square, the Stadtplatz.
A few houses down
from City Hall is Café Graf. As you walk
in you come to the sales section. They sell rich home made chocolate torte,
delicious pralines, bon bons,
juicy fruit cakes. This is what we call a “Konditorei” At the back is a
glass door, which is always open. It leads to the actual “Caffehaus” where you sit at a small round marble topped
table and can have all the sweets from the Konditorei, together with strong
coffee or tea. You may also have Cognac, various liquors, or a glass of good wine.
All this is
hearsay. I am too broke for the Konditorei and too young for the Cafehaus.
Every time I pass by, I glance in, because I know, someday I’ll sit in there and eat and drink anything I like.
The Americans seem
to like the atmosphere of this little place. They take it over as their club.
Now I have friends who will take me there. Richard Keegan for one, but several
others too. They bring an electric record player and stacks of records.
This is the place
where I first hear Benny Goodman play
“Sing Sing Sing” and Glen Miller’s “In
the Mood,” and the
“String of Pearls” and “Chattanooga Choo Choo” with the lush
Tenor Sax and vocals of Tex Bennecke. Never, ever before have I heard a voice
like Billy Holiday’s.
I am certain I have
just arrived in musical heaven.
That’s what music must
sound like.
I can feel the
pulsating rhythm in my whole body.
I not only hear
the melodies but remember them at first hearing.
I hear Music with
a capital M.
I know that I have
been secretly waiting for this Music.
They tell me it’s
called "Jazz."
My American
friends teach me how to pronounce this beautiful word, so it does not sound
like a board game.
I hang around
there for days and listen to “Stompin’ at the Savoy”, “Down Under Camp Meeting”
I fall in love with Louis Armstrong’s silvery trumpet and his gravelly voice.
I listen to Harry
James play the “Trumpet Blues” and Tommy Dorsey’s rich trombone.
Who ever heard
anything better than Louis Armstrong’s Hot Five.?
I learn the
meaning of “Dixieland” and on first hearing I understand that they are all
playing around the same chord structure. Everybody improvises like crazy and it
comes out sounding beautiful.
But not to my
mother’s ears. She declares it: “unmitigated
noise”.
“They are not even
playing the same tune” she fusses.
My pleading to
listen carefully and she would know that this is beautiful music falls on deaf
ears, figuratively speaking.
***************
This is the End of this story. There could be many more!
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