tubasâAnthony Lacen, Steve Parker, and myself. This was just before the start of Leroy Jones and the Hurricane Brass Band. We did this performance out at Chalmette, with four tubas in the band. We were all playing great. Danny came to the back and signaled me to stop playing. Then he said, âPlay.â After the performance, he said to me, âYou have the fattest sound Iâve ever heard on tuba.â
We didnât read at rehearsal. Leroy practiced every day, and we would practice at his house. I had learned most of the tunes from the albums I had borrowed from Danny .
Then Danny told me he was going to be out of town too much to give me lessons, and I had to get another teacher. As time went on, I started venturing away from the traditional New Orleans jazz, because there was so much more out there .
I went to lessons with Mr. Frank Murray at Houstonâs. I was a little bit arrogant when I went inâI really didnât want to be there. Mr. Murray said, âPlay me something,â and I did. He said, âWho was your teacher?â and I told him. Then he sort of sat for about five minutes with his head in his hands. Then he said, âYou sound like shit, but when you leave here, youâll be a very good guitarist. A reading musician is a working musician.â I went to lessons with him for three and a half years, every Saturday at exactly twelve oâclock. It was good disciplineâhe drove me nuts. By knowing the bass clef, I played the bass charts with Kid Johnsonâs big band .
I first met Al Carson when I was fourteen years old. I was playing at a friendâs wedding, and they had a nun singing a pop version of the Lordâs PrayerâI sang the middle part, because they couldnât quite get it. Afterwards, at the reception, at the Bricklayerâs Hall on Galvez Street, I was the first one out of the carâall of us looking real cool in our suits. I said, âHey, listen, theyâre doing âMighty Mightyâ by Earth, Wind and Fire.â I ran up to the door and said, âHey! They got this big dude on the bandstand, sound just like the record.â I didnât know him, but I was mesmerized. In the front of the Bricklayerâs Hall, there was a champagne fountain. We got some cups, I went to get the drinksâIâm the biggest of my group. Who should be standing up there but Big Al Carson. He says, âHey, boy! Put that champagne down, you got no business drinking that! Iâll tell your momma on you!â I remembered him for years .
Four years later, I was applying for a scholarship at Xavier University. We hadnât had the results, and I went up there to see what was going on, just as they were having a concert band rehearsal. I looked to my left, and Big Al was playing tuba. I went over there, and said, âHow you doing? Remember about four years ago, you played with a band called Better Half? You played at Irwin Johnsonâs wedding at the Bricklayerâs Hall.â He said, âYeah, I remember that.â I said, âRemember that kid you told to put the champagne down?â He said, âWas that your little brother?â I said, âNo, that was me.â We became the best of friends. We didnât start playing together until around 1980 .
We got together to rehearse and record some songs I had written when I was in the hospital for a month. He sang lead, and three of us sang backing. Al named the band Sterlyn Silver. We recorded some stuff, but we didnât do anything with it, because we didnât have any money, and Al was on the road with One Moâ Time. Heâs got about three and a half octaves, and all in tuneâheâs disgusting!
The Fairview band basically broke up because everyone was getting older and getting into other musical things. So then Danny Barker started the Younger Fairview band and brought in Michael White and myself. I was still in college, and so was
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