Russ Spiegel
(This is the third and final part of this series)
Getting Ready for the Big Move
My (now ex-) wife and I came to New York from Germany mid-October, 2001. 9/11 had just occurred and New York City was still deeply in shock. As we were learning our way around, the city seemed hushed as people shuffled about, keeping to themselves with dazed looks on their faces. American flags flew or were posted everywhere – windows, doors, on cars, even on trees. The fetishization of the twin towers tragedy had just begun.
We had been living in Frankfurt, Germany, and had gotten married in August of that fateful year. On the day of our wedding we had requested of our friends and family to simply give us cash as opposed to the usual gifts of tableware, household items, and the like. We had made the decision to come to New York and, with an unfriendly exchange rate at that time and no job prospects for the near future, we were going to need all the money we could get our hands on to survive the first few weeks and months. Apart from financial concerns, we were prepared insofar as my then wife, who was German, and I had gone to the American Consulate in Frankfurt and had taken care of all the paperwork so she would have her Green Card and be able to work right away.
The Turmoil of Terror
Then came the terrorist attacks. We had actually just come from the travel agent’s office seeing about our tickets to New York and had gone to a restaurant for lunch (Germany, along with most of Western Europe is six hours ahead of the East Coast). My cell phone rang and my best friend Andreas, whose girlfriend worked in the newsroom of one of the local newspapers, called and told me someone had flown into one of the towers. We both dismissed it as some idiot who had probably lost his bearings or control. A little while later my friend called again and with greater urgency in his voice told me about the second attack. Things were starting to get strange. A little while later Andreas called once again, this time deeply distressed and told me one of the towers had fallen. By this point we were convinced something indeed very unusual was going on and rushed home to get more information.
As the events unfolded I basically camped out in front of our television watching the various news channels for the next four days. We were in a real quandary as my wife wanted to know if we were still going to go to New York, as our flight was set for the middle of October. After a very long time mulling over this decision, I said, “Yes, let’s go.”
Arrival in New York – The Great Apartment Hunt
October came and we boarded the plane to New York amid conflicting feelings. Once we had arrived and taken a day or so to acclimate ourselves, my wife and I would venture out and travel all over the city, after having made phone calls to various numbers listed in the New York Times and the Village Voice about prospective apartments (not having internet access, Craigslist wasn’t an option at this time). As the search for employment, etc., relied on having a permanent address and the only way to prove we had a residence to employers and banks was to have actual bills sent to us, finding an apartment as not only a full-time job, but also a nerve-wracking necessity.
After roughly two weeks of full days traversing up and down Manhattan and from the far ends of Queens to East Williamsburg we finally managed to find a small one-bedroom apartment in one of the trendiest areas of Brooklyn known as Park Slope.
Some Time Later….
A year and some change later I had slowly established myself as a guitarist in the city. Through luck and connections I had been from time to time filling in for a friend of mine in a group called the Harlem Renaissance Orchestra, which was a formation specializing in the big band music of the swing era. My buddy Steve Bloom gave me the head’s up that I would be getting a call from the bandleader for a gig. A couple of minutes later my phone in fact rang and Ron, the leader of the band, spoke with me and booked me for a concert.
Ron gave me the particulars about the job – where, when, what to wear and bring, and, in the course of our conversation, he mentioned something that made me prick up my ears. What made this event extra special was the fact there were going to be two big bands performing that evening.
Some Big Band History
Back in the heyday of the big bands, it was a not uncommon occurrence in the dance halls to promote a happening known as a Big Band Battle (also referred to as a Battle of the Bands). These events were notable in that two or more complete jazz formations, oftentimes consisting of 16 or more musicians per group, would on an evening play sets in turn at the sponsoring locale. The bands were loosely adjudicated on their success by the number of dancers they got on the dance floor and applause their performances generated. For the venues, these special evenings were for a time guaranteed winners as a dance-crazy public would flock to the clubs for an evening of nonstop swinging bands, having the added pleasure of watching the two bands vying for the audiences’ favor. For the bandleaders, as for the musicians themselves, there was the added motivation of proving themselves the better ensemble and thus a matter of pride.
Probably the most celebrated of these battles occurred at the Savoy Ballroom in New York City on January 16th, 1938. The fabulous and deformed Chick Webb, the most renowned drummer of his time, and his big band were the headliners. That evening the Savoy had booked the upcoming Count Basie Band to duel with Webb and his cohorts. According to an article in Downbeat from February, 1938, “The affair drew a record attendance and hundreds were turned away at the box office, with the crowds tying up traffic for several blocks.“
With the demise of the era of big bands, the Big Band Battle became another victim of the public’s changing tastes. No longer could the nightclubs afford to employ one, let alone two jazz orchestras and this unique form of competition disappeared from the scene around the mid-1940s.
A New Battle
The evening of the gig I donned my tux, strapped my guitar to my back, and affixed my amp to the small, heavy-duty two-wheeled cart I had brought with me from Germany, and headed to the 7th Avenue subway station up the street to make the long trip up to Harlem. Once I emerged from the underground 125th Street station I quickly found the address the bandleader had given me.
The club was situated on the second floor of a swanky restaurant and as the two bands set up side-by-side in the large performance area the place quickly filled with guests. It turned out we were playing opposite George Gee’s big band, and, probably not unlike the old days of the big bands where musicians often crossed paths, I must have known three quarters of the musicians of that ensemble.
It was quite a night, as our band would play a set and then George’s. The dance floor was full of dance-crazy patrons the entire night and, as the evening climaxed with a good old, Basie-style blues performed by both bands at once, the evening was registered a success by all attendees. Afterwards, a quick vote was tallied and by the raising of hands, it appeared our band was the more appreciated of the two. The performance over, I packed up my equipment, thanked the bandleader for the gig and headed back to Brooklyn. I hadn’t been paid for the concert as the proceeds were given to Ron in the form of a check and he would send the musicians their money as soon as the check cleared.
An Unfriendly Encounter
Arriving back in Park Slope at around 2:30 in the morning I lugged my amp up the subway stairs. As it was summer, I wasn’t wearing a jacket and, since I didn’t want to be weighed down with extra baggage, I hadn’t brought a change of clothes and was thus still in my tuxedo. When I made the turn down my street I noticed two people walking behind me but didn’t really pay much attention – this being New York, people are always out, day or night, and, since Park Slope is a fairly upscale neighborhood, I had up to this time never been in any way hassled there.
Turning to my apartment building’s front door I saw the two figures pass by. With my back turned towards them, I didn’t notice that they had doubled back. As I started to put my key in the lock, they suddenly came up on either side of me and one of them put a gun to my side and said, “Don’t move.”
In my mental imaginings, I had dreamily considered how I might fight off would-be attackers should just such a moment arrive. However, when actually faced with a gun barrel pressed against my stomach, doing a quick calculation of what damage a bullet could do to my innards, I came to the conclusion that it was in my best interest to acquiesce to my assailants’ demands and let them take whatever they wanted. Besides, as I still had my guitar on my back and my amp was sitting there, my options were severely limited.
“Have a Good Night”
The two began rifling through my pockets, relieving me of my wallet and watch. Although upset and nervous about this attack on my person, I was strangely detached as well, the thought, “I am in the process of getting robbed” going through my head. During the rummaging of my pockets, I glanced at the taller of the two attackers, who, intelligently enough, said, “Don’t look at me,” in a menacing enough manner that I immediately turned away.
After finishing with my pockets and watch, the taller one started tugging at the marriage ring on my left hand. I realized this was not going to do anything besides ruin my finger so I offered, “Let me do that,” removed the ring and handed it to my assailant. Seeing they had successfully relieved me of all the contents of my pockets they made to leave. Flustered and shaken by this attack as I was, I had the presence of mind to say, “Could you at least leave me my keys?”
The two laughed, “They’re in the door.” And then, as an afterthought, one of them said, “Have a good night!”
I realized I still had my guitar (worth well over $3000) on my back and my amp was sitting on the ground next to me. There had been a total of six dollars in my wallet and I was unharmed. As I shakenly made my way up the stairs to our apartment, I pondered my strange luck and added it as another bizarre experience in this crazy city.
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© Russ Spiegel, 2010
www.russguitar.com
russ@russguitar.com
Russ Spiegel was born in Los Angeles, and raised in Santa Monica, California. He studied Composition, Arranging and Guitar Performance at the Berklee College of Music in Boston on a scholarship, and went on to get his Masters degree in Jazz Performance at the City College of New York. Russ is a commissioned composer who has released several CDs, written music for film, TV, and musicals, toured Europe and Asia, and much more.
From my recollection, the Harlem Battle of the Big Bands was a “draw” as decided by the audience. At least you guys got paid, the promoter bilked us out of our money and skipped town…..
Hi George, thanks for your comment.
That’s how I recalled it. Just for the record, I haven’t played with the band for a couple of years.
Sorry to hear about you guys getting screwed. I guess that’s another side to the music biz.
Be well & hope to catch up with you one of these days.
Russ