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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 44: Brown 297
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Cooper 14
Alfonso had introduced the Mayor of New Orleans, Claude Devault. He stepped up on the platform and began, “Bon soir.”
Derek’s French was good enough to make out ‘good evening’, but he thought it might be divisive to address a crowd in a language that would not be well known to parts of the audience. However, having just been chided for being a Yankee he decided just to listen. The rest was in English, but it was just a political feel-good speech, really, trying to associate the elected official with the good music and such here at the dance hall. It lasted only a few minutes, and then Alfonso returned to the stage.
“Thank you, your honor. Ladies and gentlemen of all races, we come to celebrate tonight the gift that God Almighty has given us. That’s right: music. I will be your humble Master of Ceremonies tonight. First, I’d like to thank our generous patron, Mister Pascal Beaufoy.” There was applause, and the older man stood for a second from far in the back at a table. Alfonso’s rolling voice captivated the audience, and promised wonders as it resounded in the long rectangular room. “We have some old and familiar players, and we have some new ones. But first, let’s kick this off with The Entertainer, that great song from the King of Ragtime, Scott Joplin.” He slipped off his gloves, sat down, and began to play. Derek was stunned. The man was good, very good. He had charisma, and talent, and despite how easy he made it seem, Derek could see the hard work.
Finishing that, Alfonso waited only briefly for the applause, beginning his next song before it subsided. It was something familiar to Derek, a quiet but intense piece he thought might have been a famous song by someone like Beethoven. He played two more pieces, one a fast complicated piece that genuinely showed off the man’s talent, and the last another ragtime piano song.
“Ah, but enough of me,” Alfonso said, then added, “for now. Right now we have--” and Derek’s mind wandered away as the emcee introduced a white woman who was going to sing a couple arias from Mozart operas, which Alfonso skillfully accompanied on the keys. After this he introduced two older black men who did what Derek would have called hillbilly music with a banjo and a guitar, both singing. At this point, the pianist descended from the stage to sit with the other musicians, and Derek shifted closer.
“I wanted to tell you,” Derek said, “you’re very good.”
“Thank you, sir. I look forward to hearing you; word is your band is worth hearing.”
“Well, I hope so. We practice quite a bit, and so we’re getting better, but we just added our new bass player, so we’re all still adjusting a bit. I don’t know much about New Orleans--my wife and I just arrived a couple weeks ago--but with how good you are, why are you playing in a music hall instead of, I don’t know, concert halls?”
“Well, one thing is it’s a secure income. I get paid every week and can play what I want. That’s another thing. Concert halls expect you to play only European music, Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin. I could never play Joplin in the same place I could play Mozart. Here the audience will listen to all of it. There isn’t a lot of alternative entertainment around. I mean, there’s the theater, and we’re not the only music hall in the city, but people who come here expect variety, and that’s what I give them.”
He bent closer, as if being conspiratorial, and added, “Besides, there are a lot of cities in this country that wouldn’t welcome a black piano player to their stages, and particularly not if he was good, because it would make them lose some of their feeling of superiority. I don’t need to be a crusader. I need to make a living, and I do that here just fine.”
He suddenly turned away. “It looks like Frank and Earl are about done. I’ve got to introduce you.” With that he leapt up, clapped, cut through the noise as he called upon the audience to give them a big hand. Then, “Let’s see, who’s next? Oh, right. I know many of you have come especially to hear this next group, Derek, Vashti, Maurice, and Pierre, the Brown, Dixieland, Quartet.”
“We need a better name,” Derek said as the foursome ascended to the stage and arranged the seats and small table provided to be more to their liking. He wondered whether to say something, but decided against it, checked that everyone was settled and ready, and played the opening notes of When the Saints Go Marching In. The others joined him, and they were off.
There is a behind-the-writings look at the thoughts, influences, and ideas of this chapter, along with eleven other sequential chapters of this novel, in mark Joseph "young" web log entry #503: Versers Progress. Given a moment, this link should take you directly to the section relevant to this chapter. It may contain spoilers of upcoming chapters.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
