Spiffin’ little jam session, The Captain on the poop deck, and several familiar hands swingin, from the yard arms – Ben, Keef, Rear Admirable Curtis, and others.. Celeste and her sister leading the massed choir of tonsil artistes, Sam Izzo, Elliott and Ruiz turned up, Ali did his saxophone thing, Bob and meself having the occasional foray on keys, Uncle Kevin and Ann the floot turning up later, as they are won’t to do, Danilo, Dean, James and Sebastian on drums.
And then there was Sebastian mark 2, blues piano player – hope he comes again, sang and played a great little set: and a neat little stint from John Martin, purveyor of fine Wertheims to the landed gentry, on drums.
Marg (Princess of Cool, Keeper of the List) turned up and turned 193, or 47 or something in between.
David Ruiz complained bitterly that he had not had a mention in the previous newsletter. We all know what that means…
This week, he was at his finest on trumpet. We have never heard him play better, and I can honestly say he didn’t play a bum note all afternoon. We asked several members of the audience if they had ever heard a trumpet played quite like David does before – they all said no, although one subsequently suggested a label on the trumpet marked “trumpet” could help clear up a deal of uncertainty.
Getting to first Bass? We didn’t. Not one of the lugubrious society of Basso Profundi, all afternoon. Society is to blame.