Central Avenue Sounds: Lee YoungInterviewed by Stephen L. IsoardiDepartment of Special Collections
|
Copyright Law
The copyright law of the United States (Title 17, United States Code) governs the making of photocopies or other reproductions of copyrighted material. Under certain conditions specified in the law, libraries and archives are authorized to furnish a photocopy or other reproduction. One of these specified conditions is that the photocopy or reproduction is not to be used for any purpose other than private study, scholarship, or research. If a user makes a request for, or later uses, a photocopy or reproduction for purposes in excess of "fair use," that user may be liable for copyright infringement. This institution reserves the right to refuse to accept a copying order if, in its judgement, fulfillment of the order would involve violation of copyright law.
Restrictions on this Interview
None.
Literary Rights and Quotation
This manuscript is hereby made available for research purposes only. All literary rights in the manuscript, including the right to publication, are reserved to the University Library of the University of California, Los Angeles. No part of the manuscript may be quoted for publication without the written permission of the University Librarian of the University of California, Los Angeles.
Biographical Summary
Personal History:
Born: March 7, 1914, New Orleans.
Education: Jefferson High School, Polytechnic High School.
Spouse: Louise Franklin Young, two children; Geraldine Young.
Career History:
Played drums with the following performers:
-
Played drums with the following performers:
- Count Basie
- Papa Mutt Carey
- Benny Carter
- Buck Clayton
- Nat King Cole
- Duke Ellington
- Benny Goodman
- Dave Grusin
- Leon Herriford
- Les Hite
- Billie Holiday
- Oscar Peterson Trio
- Quality Serenaders
- Ethel Waters
- Lee and Lester Young Band (bandleader)
Studio work:
-
Studio work:
- Staff musician, Columbia Pictures Industries.
- Freelance work at Hal Roach Studios, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Paramount Pictures, RKO Radio Pictures, 20th Century-Fox Film Corporation, and Warner Bros. Pictures.
Film soundtracks:
-
Film soundtracks:
- Cocoanut Grove
- The Jolson Story
- Skirts Ahoy
- The Sky's the Limit
- Strike Up the Band
Record industry positions:
-
Record industry positions:
- Artists and repertoire administrator, Vee-Jay Records, 1965-66.
- General manager, Sunset Records, United Artists Records, 1967-68.
- Artists and repertoire administrator, ABC Records and Dunhill Records, 1969-77.
- Vice president, creative division, Motown Records, 1978-83.
Affiliations:
President, National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, 1971-72.
Interview History
Interviewer
Steven L. Isoardi, Interviewer, UCLA Oral History Program; B.A., M.A., Government, University of San Francisco; M.A., Ph.D., Political Science, UCLA.
Time and Setting of Interview:
Place: BMG Building, Hollywood, California.
Dates, length of sessions: June 14, 1991 (92 minutes); September 27, 1991 (71); October 4, 1991 (84).
Total number of recorded hours: 4
Persons present during interview: Young and Isoardi.
Conduct of Interview:
This interview is one in a series designed to preserve the spoken memories of individuals, primarily musicians, who were raised near and/or performed on Los Angeles's Central Avenue, especially from the late 1920s to the mid-1950s. Musician and teacher William Green, his student Steven Isoardi, and early project interviewee Buddy Collette provided major inspiration for the UCLA Oral History Program's inaugurating the Central Avenue Sounds Oral History Project.
In preparing for this interview, Isoardi consulted jazz histories, autobiographies, oral histories, relevant jazz periodicals, documentary films, and back issues of the California Eagle and the Los Angeles Sentinel.
The interview is organized chronologically, beginning with Young's early life and musical training and continuing through his years performing on Central Avenue and his career as a studio musician. Major topics discussed include clubs on Central Avenue and elsewhere in the Los Angeles area, bands Young played with, discriminatory hiring practices in the motion picture industry, and Young's employment in the record industry.
Editing:
Alex Cline, editor, edited the interview. He checked the verbatim transcript of the interview against the original tape recordings, edited for punctuation, paragraphing, and spelling, and verified proper names. Whenever possible, Cline checked the proper names of nightclubs against articles and advertisements in back issues of the California Eagle. Words and phrases inserted by the editor have been bracketed.
Although Young did not read the entire transcript, he reviewed a substantial portion of it with editor Susan E. Douglass, verified proper names, and made extensive corrections and additions.
Douglass prepared the table of contents and interview history. Cline assembled the biographical summary. Derek DeNardo, editorial assistant, compiled the index.
Supporting Documents:
The original tape recordings of the interview are in the university archives and are available under the regulations governing the use of permanent noncurrent records of the university. Records relating to the interview are located in the office of the UCLA Oral History Program.
Table of Contents
- TAPE NUMBER: I, Side One (June 14, 1991)
-
Father's musical background -- Family performs on the road -- Young learns to play a number of musical instruments -- More on performing with family on the road -- Brother, Lester Young - Performs at the Apex club in Los Angeles -- Central Avenue in the late twenties and early thirties - Playing at dance marathons with sister, Irma Young -- Performing at the Lincoln Theatre -- The musical comedy act Buck and Bubbles -- Lives on Newton Street in Los Angeles -- Thomas "Papa Mutt" Carey hires Young.
- TAPE NUMBER: I, Side Two (June 14, 1991)
-
Plays with various bands and fills in for musicians -- Travels with Ethel Waters's band - Works at Paramount Pictures on Cocoanut Grove - Teaches Mickey Rooney to play drums for Strike Up the Band -- Dispute over payment for recording Strike Up the Band soundtrack -- Strike Up the Band -- Accepts staff position with Columbia Pictures -- African Americans who worked as studio musicians -- More on staff position with Columbia Pictures -- Tediousness of studio work -- Marshal Royal's influence on Young.
- TAPE NUMBER: II, Side One (June 14, 1991)
-
Buck Clayton's band, Fourteen Gentlemen of Harlem -- C. L. Burke's musical style -- Joins the Fourteen Gentlemen of Harlem -- More on Marshal Royal -- Competition between Les Hite's and Leon Herriford's bands -- Lloyd Reese -- Musicians obtain gigs in outlying areas of Los Angeles -- The Apex and the Club Alabam.
- TAPE NUMBER: III, Side One (September 27, 1991)
-
Becomes a bandleader -- The Lee and Lester Young Band -- The band breaks up -- Working as a studio musician -- The band's sound -- The Lee Young Band - Charles Mingus -- Plays for Skirts Ahoy at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
- TAPE NUMBER: III, Side Two (September 27, 1991)
-
Recording the Strike Up the Band soundtrack - Attends after-hours jam sessions despite union strictures -- Plays with Nat King Cole -- Invites Jimmie Lunceford's, Duke Ellington's, and Count Basie's bands to play together at Billy Berg's - Sunday jam sessions -- Jimmy Blanton -- Plays for Andy Williams -- Art Pepper -- Begins working in the record industry -- Learns the business at ABC Records -- Stevie Wonder -- More on Young's work in the record business.
- TAPE NUMBER: IV, Side One (October 4, 1991)
-
Clubs and club owners in Los Angeles -- Leon and Otis René -- Young strikes deal with Curtis Mosby to be paid up front -- Frank Sebastian's Cotton Club -- More on Lloyd Reese -- Billy Berg's clubs - The Famous Door club -- Young performs with Duke Ellington's band -- Playing with Count Basie -- More on playing with Ellington -- Art Tatum.
- TAPE NUMBER: IV, Side Two (October 4, 1991)
-
More on Art Tatum -- The Camel Caravan show's discriminatory hiring practices -- The amalgamation of the American Federation of Musicians Locals 47 and 767 -- Union regulations regarding hiring standby musicians -- World War II aggravates racial tensions on Central Avenue -- East Coast jazz musicians perceptions of West Coast jazz -- Working with Berry Gordy at Motown Records.
Tape Number: I, Side One
June 14, 1991
Isoardi
We begin with your roots, where you were born, your family environment. Now, you came from a very famous family, and I know much has been written on it and is available, but it still might be helpful to go over that at least briefly in terms of your roots, family life, your early musical beginnings, and then maybe how you came to settle in Southern California.
Young
Okay. Firstly, I was born in New Orleans, Louisiana, 1914, March 7. My father, his name was Willis Young. They called him Billy Young. I came from a musical family. My family, they were really musicians and schoolteachers.
Isoardi
On both sides?
Young
On both sides. My mother [Lizette Jackson Young] was a schoolteacher and my father was a principal of a school—I think it was in Bogalusa, Louisiana. And they moved around. I think they taught in Mississippi also, because that's where Lester [Young] was born, in Woodville, Mississippi. They taught school there. And then Irma [Young] was born in Thibodaux, Louisiana, and I was born in New Orleans. I was the youngest of the three.
Isoardi
Can I ask you where your parents got their
Young
Well, yes. My dad played all the instruments. But that's a good question you ask me, because I never really thought of it until I saw the Civil War series that they had on television. [tape recorder off] When they had The Civil War on, I looked at all the series. They were talking about those years and that kind of piqued my interest. Talking about 1865— I was born in 1914, and Lester was born in 1909. So I am saying to myself after I saw this series, "Where did my dad get all this musical knowledge?" And not only that, he was well educated. I know we used to look at his handwriting; his handwriting was like script. And when we were kids and he would put the notes on the blackboard—that's the way he taught us music; he always had his ruler and the notes on the blackboard—he would write the notes and the staff, the bars and the spaces, and it would look like something out of a book. As a kid you don't realize any of that. But when they start talking about what year the Civil War was, then I went back, and I was trying to figure out how old he was then, and I couldn't figure out where he got the musical training. Because I had seen and heard him, when we were kids— He would play the instrument in the band and if someone missed the night or didn't play— If the trumpet player didn't show up, he would play trumpet. If
Isoardi
He must have had some kind of training. Otherwise he was the greatest natural musician in history.
Young
No, no, there's no question about it. He had the training.
*. Young added the following bracketed section during his review of the transcript.
As kids, we were always on shows with him. We'd travel a lot. We'd travel with carnivals. And we were on stage on the circuit that most of the other black people were on at the time. It was the circuit called the TOBA [Theatre Owners Booking Association]. The name the show people called it was "Tough on Black Actors." So you didn't have a lot of home life where you would sit and talk normally like my kid and I would sit around and talk about things that— He knows more about our family life than I knew about when I was a kid, because we were always working. That's not a normal life when you're with a carnival and then you work in theaters. And that happened ever since I can remember, since I was four years old.
But the three of us, we all sang and danced before we really got into playing music. He was teaching us music all the time. We were a trio. We would sing and dance, and pretty well, too.
I had some good teachers. I remember the guy that taught me to dance at first. He was supposed to be one of the best tap dancers. His name was Jack Wiggins. He used to get me up at eight o'clock in the morning and take me to the theater. And what he used to do, he would go under the stage to listen to the taps for the clarity. Those people were smart.
But talking about my father, he taught a lot of our great musicians when we were in Albuquerque, New Mexico. For instance, Ben Webster came to him as a pianist.
Isoardi
A pianist?
Young
Yes, he put an ad in the paper for a pianist. So Ben Webster came. He had another fellow named Clarence Lee, who was a violinist. They came. And Ben told my dad he played piano.
Isoardi
How old was he then?
Young
Ben? Oh, gee, I don't know. That was probably 1927 or something like that, or '26. But he only played in one key. So my dad, he said, "You can't play piano in this band. I'm going to teach you to play saxophone." So between my dad and Lester, they taught him.
Lester would practice all day long—saxophone—when he was a kid. They had to lock me in a room to make me practice, because I wanted to go play sports. I did learn to play other instruments because of that. I started off with saxophone.
Isoardi
You, also?
Young
Oh, yes. We had a family that played saxophone. My mother played saxophone. I had two cousins, and both of their wives played saxophone. We had ten of us who played saxophone.
Isoardi
Ten?
Young
We have a picture of me someplace. And I was playing the soprano [saxophone] at the time. When I was a kid, the soprano was made like the saxophone; it wasn't straight. I think at the time my sister played C melody [saxophone]—that's another of the family—alto [saxophone], and my mother played baritone [saxophone].
Isoardi
Bari? Really?
Young
She played bari, yes. And one of the cousins played bass saxophone. And it's a funny thing. When I got into the record business and I worked for Vee-Jay Records, I told Benny Carter I wanted to do an album with him with ten saxophones. He got all the best saxophone players in town. We had Marshal Royal, Buddy Collette, Plas Johnson. And we did an album on Vee-Jay Records.
No kidding. I've never even heard of that.
Young
No, I didn't either. It never did come out. It never came out because they went belly up. It was really interesting. But then it dawned on me why I wanted to do the album; that was because of my childhood. We had done that as kids. But you should have heard this band.
Isoardi
Oh, I can just—
Young
You should have heard this. Benny made all the arrangements.
Isoardi
Gee, I think if those masters are around it would be worth releasing.
Young
We recorded right down on Sunset [Boulevard] at United [Artists Records] studios.
Isoardi
Did you use a bass sax in that, too?
Young
Yes, sure did.
Isoardi
No kidding.
Young
I don't think Coop was on it, but— When I say Coop I mean Bob Cooper. I don't think he was on it. But I'm sure Willie Schwartz was on that date. Willie Schwartz, there's another great saxophone player. But anyway, that's probably enough about that.
Isoardi
Saxophone. Why the focus on saxophone in the family? Your father played all these instruments, but he didn't try to diversify everyone?
Young
No. He wanted you to play piano and he wanted you
The other thing about the family is— I did tell you we traveled on carnivals.
Isoardi
What kind of music were you playing then? Just backups for carnival acts? Or did you have your own act?
Young
No, no. We were the act. The three kids. And we could put on a show. My dad always had the entire show. He had the comedian, he had the chorus girls—about five or six chorus girls—and he had the straight man, and they had what they called the soubrette. She's a step above chorus girls. The time that he had a chance to take the show on the Orpheum circuit, he wouldn't do it. We were living in Minneapolis then. He had a nine-piece band, but they wanted him to cut the band to seven pieces. We could have been on the Orpheum circuit, but he wouldn't go because these guys had been with him, and he said, "You have to take all or none." So we didn't go.
Now, where we lived— Talking about our migration. I don't know anything about New Orleans. I was there until I was like three years old.
Isoardi
Then you were on the road.
My parents were separated, and my dad came back and he got the three of us. Then he took us on the road, and that's when the musical education started. I imagine by the time I was eight years old I had been to about thirty-some states, because we traveled all the time. And then from there we moved to Minnesota. That's what I remember mostly, Minnesota, the lakes. And there was another family there, the Pettifords. There was a great bass player who came out of there named Pettiford.
Isoardi
Oh, Oscar Pettiford?
Young
Oscar Pettiford. They lived in Minneapolis. I went to school in Minneapolis until I was in the fourth grade; that will give you an idea about what my age was. And then we went on the road again. We would come in for what they call winter quarters. We didn't work all winter, so we would be home for winter. But then my dad started taking everyone and leaving me at home at the time. Then we traveled all around, and we went to Albuquerque, New Mexico. I'm jumping to where Ben Webster and Clarence Lee came. This was when I started realizing that we had the band. We would play in parks, and we would play these Latino dances up in Albuquerque, New Mexico. We'd play dances, because dances were in vogue then. We'd play about four dances a week close to, around, and in Albuquerque. And from there we came down
Isoardi
Yes, definitely.
Young
Because I don't know if this is—
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
Because we better get to the thing about Central Avenue. But anyway, just to give you a little history of the thing, we came from there, and we went to Arizona. We stayed in Arizona about a year and a half.
Isoardi
A long time.
Young
Yes. About a year and a half in Phoenix, Arizona. Then my dad and I came to Los Angeles, just my dad and I. Lester had run off again. Dad had trouble with Lester because— My dad was a hard man.
Isoardi
A real taskmaster?
Young
Very much. If you spare the rod, spoil the child. He believed in the rod. Lester was a kid that you could not put your hands on, because you could talk to him. I know that now, having been a parent myself. And that's what my dad did wrong. Lester was the firstborn. He was crazy about him. They really loved one another. But every time he would say, "I'm going to whip you," he'd whip him, and you'd look in his bed the next morning, he didn't sleep there that night. He had gone out the window. As they say, "gone over the wall." He did that. The difference in the two kids— I mean, he'd tell me he
Isoardi
It was all they knew, probably.
Young
That's right. "You do what I say," and that's it. So that was why they had a big, big problem. But Lester, he just was not going to allow anyone to hit on him. And I'm glad they hit on me, because—
Isoardi
You needed it. [laughter]
Young
Oh, I needed it. I would have been awful. [laughter] It's just like breaking a wild bull. I'm thankful for it, really. But Lester didn't need it. He shouldn't have had it. But they didn't know at that time. I think it was the thing of timing.
Isoardi
Can I ask you, why did you spend a year and a half in Arizona? Was your father just taken with the place?
Young
No, we were working.
Isoardi
You had a solid gig there.
Young
Oh, yes. We had a gig there. Yes, at some park. It was all summer there. And then we played like four and
He [Lester] left the family there, and my dad and I came to Los Angeles. By that time I was really a good dancer and singer. Now we go to Central Avenue. Okay?
Isoardi
So this was about the late twenties?
Young
Yes, this is like '28. We came here, and they had a guest night at the Apex club on Central Avenue, which later became the [Club] Alabam.
Isoardi
Ah.
Young
It was the Apex.
Isoardi
Now, was the Dunbar [Hotel] there then?
Young
Oh, certainly.
Isoardi
So the Apex was just right there.
Young
Yes. And Ivie Anderson was working there when I was there. Eddie "Rochester" Anderson was working there with his brother and another guy called Gus Jones—they had a trio. And I was trying to think of this drummer that was so good [Baby Lewis]. Lionel was working in a band, Lionel Hampton.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
In the house band at the Apex?
Young
Yes. Anyway, I came one night at guest night, and I sang, and, like you say, "You broke it up." So they
Isoardi
Wow.
Young
Well, I closed the show because you couldn't compete with kids. There's a saying in show business: "You don't want to follow dogs and kids on the stage." You don't. I worked there several months. And California was different than anyplace else we had been at the time. They found out I was working there—"they" meaning the labor commission—and they came down and said they had to get a permit for me and I couldn't work after ten o'clock at night in California.
Isoardi
Because of your age.
Young
California used to be very, very strict.
Isoardi
How old were you? You must have been—
Young
Thirteen or fourteen.
Isoardi
Thirteen or fourteen?
Young
Something like that. I was going to Lafayette Junior High School. I went to school here. Anyway, they made me quit. But they didn't make me quit before we had sent for the family. It seemed to me like I worked there about five or six months before they found out about it. I agree with their laws. They had these laws here because of what happened to Jackie Coogan—wasn't it?—and some of the child stars.
Right.
Young
They were very, very strict here where they weren't strict in other places.
Isoardi
Can I ask you just to give me an overview of what Central was like then?
Young
What Central Avenue was like?
Isoardi
Yes. Were there other clubs? Was the Apex a big club in the late twenties?
Young
Yes. I would say the Apex was the only club there then. When we came here in the late twenties, Central Avenue was mostly white.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Oh, certainly, yes. It was mostly white. The whites owned all the businesses. That may have been the only place that the blacks really owned on Central Avenue at that time. Well, let me see now. The Golden State [Mutual Life] Insurance Company, you know about that, right?
Isoardi
Sure.
Young
Well, Golden State— Where were they located? They were on the east side at first before they bought the building on Adams [Boulevard] and Western [Avenue]. They moved there. It seems to me that the Golden State Insurance Company was someplace in the forties. That's where they were, somewhere on Forty-first [Street] or
Isoardi
Around there.
Young
Yes. They were someplace on the east side before they bought that building on Adams Boulevard. Golden State Insurance. Oh, I know where it was, the other side of Vernon [Avenue]. So it may have been Forty-fifth [Street] or Forty-sixth Street where Golden State Insurance was. A very small building.
Isoardi
Was that one of the few black-owned businesses on Central then?
Young
Yes, yes. As a kid I just don't remember any, because— They had a lot of poultry places on Central Avenue. And, as a matter of fact, our family doctor was at Twenty-second [Street] and Central, and he was a German guy. And Jefferson High School at the time, that was predominantly white, okay? That was in the twenties.
Isoardi
The Dunbar then, though, was a primarily black hotel?
Young
Well, I don't remember the Dunbar then. But I think the Dunbar— I don't really know. That's a real good question. I think you could find out if it was there in '28 or '29. I kind of think it was, but I don't— Oh, yes. It had to be. Yes, it had to be, because I think that Duke Ellington came out to do a movie in '29 or '30,
Isoardi
That's where the musicians union [American Federation of Musicians Local 767] was.
Young
Right. It's just a block down. Later on they had an annex on the west side of the street. The hotel proper was on the east side of the street, on Washington, and then you crossed Washington going south, and the [Clark] Annex was over there on the west side of the street. But, no, all the businesses were white. Florists and everything. Most of the clientele at the Apex were white. And when most of the black people would come out would be on weekends, because they were working. The Apex used to be packed every night. So I really imagine it was like the same thing that was happening in Harlem with the Cotton Club.
Isoardi
It sounds like it.
Young
Because I know that the white clientele really supported the club, and it was always packed.
Isoardi
Well, on the weekends when black people would come in, where would they go for entertainment if it
Young
I don't know.
Isoardi
You were at the Apex all the time.
Young
But, being a kid, I wouldn't even know. You don't pay attention to that. To be truthful with you, I don't know what was happening there then.
Isoardi
Right.
Young
Then we're going to move to the thirties, like '35 and '36. Then I know what started happening. That was a great time, I think, because you didn't have all of this "you couldn't go here and you couldn't go there and be afraid of something." The people that came there, they were movie stars, directors, and others. I really believe it was just probably the same thing that was happening in Harlem. You were never bothered by anyone. And the people— Well, I will say this: we've really retrogressed as a city and probably as a country. I don't want to become political, but I really believe that, because people were all right with one another. It didn't make any difference if you were white coming to Central Avenue. The days that you're probably interested in—
Isoardi
Well, let me ask you one or two other things. Did the whole family come out?
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
Except for Lester, then?
Yes.
Isoardi
Your sister and—?
Young
Oh, yes. My sister and mother. Everyone but Lester. When they left Phoenix, Lester had gone to Oklahoma to play with a band called the Oklahoma Blue Devils.
Isoardi
Oh, yes. Great band.
Young
Yes, Oklahoma Blue Devils and— You probably know the history of that.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
So he played with Fletcher [Henderson], and you know the story about Fletcher and Fletcher's wife [Leora Henderson] and all that.
Isoardi
Can I ask you a little bit about that?
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
So the whole family came out here.
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
And you're certainly working as an entertainer, or you're going to be in no time at all once you get a little older.
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
What about your sister who played in the family band?
Young
My sister started working also when she came here.
Isoardi
As a musician?
No, as a singer and a dancer. I almost forgot to tell you this. She and I started working together as a team. At that time they had a lot of marathons going on in California.
Isoardi
The dances, you mean?
Young
Yes, the dance marathons. The dance marathons were big things. We'd get our jobs at those places, because they would have entertainment also at the dance marathons.
Isoardi
Oh, while the people were dancing in the marathons, you guys were entertaining.
Young
Yes, and the dancers were asleep on the floor, because they'd fall out. They might start with twenty-five or thirty couples, and they would fall out and couldn't go any further. But they still had entertainment there. I used to call them sleepwalkers. [laughter]
Isoardi
After two days on your feet—
Young
It really was sad, though, to see these people do that. They did it much longer than two days. I can't tell you how long, but I'll bet you— In Maywood was the last one that I remember. You know where Maywood is? Maywood's out by Vernon, over in that direction. You know where Vernon is?
Isoardi
Yes, I know where Vernon is.
Young
Okay. Not Vernon Avenue. The little city.
Yes, the little industrial city.
Young
Right. That's right. Maywood is right next to it. That is where they had the biggest one that I can remember.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
The biggest. And they had a band. And the guy that ended up being the walking delegate of the musicians union, he had the band in there. That's when I got to know him. His name was Elmer Fain. Has anyone said anything about Elmer Fain?
Isoardi
Oh, yes. He sounds like quite a character. That's how you met him?
Young
Yes, when I was a kid. He used to call me "Feis" because I was running all over the place, I was feisty. He'd say, "Where's Feis?" But it was good for me to know him, because when I started playing music I used to work with him all the time, because he got all the gigs.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
One thing I can say about Fain: Fain got all the gigs. [laughter] Because he was the first one there at the union. He stayed at the union. He was there all the time. So when they'd come in for jobs, he would get in and get the band together. But the marathon was really interesting when you're a kid and you see these people. It seems rather silly now, but that was the vogue then.
Isoardi
I read a great book about those. It was made into a movie about twenty years ago called They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
Young
They Shoot Horses, Don't They? Yes, I saw it.
Isoardi
Which I think showed how sad it can be, tragic.
Young
I'm telling you, it really was sad to see them.
Isoardi
It's almost like a measure of people's desperation that they're going to put themselves through this.
Young
But they really didn't show all of it the way I had seen it, I don't think, because I went to see the movie. It was worse than that.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
It was really worse than that. These guys and women, one would be dragging the other one sometimes. He had the strength, and she would want to give up, and he wouldn't let her, and he was just dragging her around the floor. Yes, it was a sad thing.
But anyway, then my sister and I started working, and we worked the Lincoln Theatre together. [tape recorder off]
Isoardi
Okay. You just talked about the marathons and how you and your sister were entertaining.
Young
Yes. We started working all over town. We used
Isoardi
So that was a big thing then.
Young
Yes, it was a big thing. We would always stop the shows, because we'd been performing since we were kids.
Isoardi
It was natural.
Young
Well, we were good performers, because we were brought up in show business, and we could really dance. We didn't just dance like the kids learn to dance nowadays.
Isoardi
Was it tap mostly?
Young
Yes, tap. And then I did a little acrobatics. As a matter of fact, that's how I hurt my back. I used to do what they call knee drops. I used to jump from the balcony. You know the theater where they have the balcony where the box seats are?
Isoardi
Just by the stage?
Young
Yes, by the stage. I used to jump out of the balcony and do spins. That's what I used to do. Something like the Nicholas Brothers did. And after you're tap dancing, that's hard. But then you've got to have a flair. You've got to have something that will excite the people. So that's why I did that.
Then I started playing my drums. I had been playing drums with my dad's band—I've left that out—over in Phoenix and Albuquerque. I was playing drums in the band then.
That's when you started playing drums?
Young
Yes, probably in Albuquerque. After the trombone, I started playing. Well, I'll tell you—you may be interested in this—when we were in Albuquerque, there's a theater in Albuquerque called the Kimo Theatre. And Buck and Bubbles— You've heard of Buck and Bubbles?
Isoardi
No.
Young
Oh, big act.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes, a big, big act. They were one of the few black acts that was on the Orpheum circuit.
Isoardi
Oh, I see.
Young
Buck was a real good jazz pianist. He didn't do anything but play piano, and Bubbles danced, and that's the type of act they had. They did a little comedy in it. But they would push the piano on the stage— I never will forget, because when you're a kid you remember everyone's act. The big guy has one finger—Bubbles is the big guy—on the piano, and the little guy with the cap would turn around, and he's pushing, and he's saying to him, "You're not helping at all." He says, "You just push. My end will follow." [laughter] So, you know, yuk, yuk, yuk. But a good musician, the guy was. So he found out about our family, and they used to spend all the time over there jamming, he and Lester would, because he'd come over and
So back to the Central Avenue scene; I'm going to try to talk to you about that.
Isoardi
Where were you living when you first moved out here?
Young
When I first moved out here I lived on Newton Street. That's so funny; I lived on the same street that Tom [Thomas] Bradley lived on.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Tom Bradley lived three doors from us. And everyone on the street was so poor. They really were. But a lot of guys— You may have heard guys talk about the Goodlows, a big family. The Goodlows and the Terrells and the Youngs and the Bradleys lived on Newton Street. The reason Newton Street was so popular, that's the Newton Street Police Station. Most of the kids that lived on that street, they became policemen. All but me. All the rest of them did become cops and sheriffs and marshals. You know Tom was a cop too.
Isoardi
Yes, I heard he at one time walked the beat on Central.
Young
He did. Well, all the guys used to walk the beats
Isoardi
Oh, going back to walking the beat?
Young
Sure, because the people know you in the neighborhood then. You don't view them as a villain so much as the people do now.
Isoardi
I thought at one time you lived next door to the musicians union.
Young
I did, yes. But I haven't gotten there yet. [laughter]
Isoardi
Okay, I'm jumping ahead of you. Sorry. [laughter]
Young
No, I'm not there yet. We lived on Newton Street for quite some time. I'm trying to get it in my mind. Where did we go? Okay. Our next move was to Twenty-third Street. We lived on Twenty-third and Naomi. That's just about two blocks from the Lincoln Theatre. At that time— My sister and I were no longer working together. She was doing comedy with a guy named Napoleon Whiting. They started working together and I started gigging with different bands.
Isoardi
As a drummer?
Young
Oh, yes. Drummer and vocalist. That was my real thing, because I sang all the time. That's what I was doing at the Apex. Singing was my forte. I could get
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Oh, yes. That's right. You know anything about Les Hite's band?
Isoardi
Oh, yes. I've heard a lot about him.
Young
Yes, well, the vocalist was Peppy Prince.
Isoardi
I didn't know that.
Young
You know he was the drummer, though, didn't you?
Isoardi
No.
Young
Peppy Prince was his drummer. And when I replaced Peppy Prince I sang all the things that he was singing. I'm trying to see if I can get myself into— Twenty-third Street. I'm trying to think what we were doing. When I first started, the person that I worked with first was Papa Mutt.
Isoardi
Papa Mutt Carey?
Young
"Papa Mutt" [Thomas] Carey. He had a band down on Pico Boulevard. He was from Louisiana. My dad was from Louisiana. For some reason, the people from Louisiana are very clannish, very, very clannish. And I told you I didn't know anything about Louisiana; I left there when I was three years old. So he was holding this audition for a drummer. He wanted a drummer. This was my first gig. So I went down there for the audition. A guy played, and
He said, "Hey, boy, what is your name?"
I said, "Lee Young."
"Who is your dad?"
I said, "My dad's Billy Young."
He said, "Willis Young?"
"Yes, that's him."
"You got the job." [laughter]
There was one guy, I really didn't think I played as well as that guy at the time. But I got the job.
Tape Number: I, Side Two
June 14, 1991
Young
I think we were talking about Papa Mutt.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
Okay. Who was in that band? I was telling you how clannish I found the people from Louisiana were. There was a banjo player in that band named Bud Scott. Martulie? Tulie? Tulie something, the bass player— he's very well known among the Louisiana players. Then Papa Mutt ended up hiring my sister as female vocalist. So we worked on Pico [Boulevard] near Georgia Street.
Isoardi
What kind of music was it? New Orleans?
Young
Oh, yes. What happened with me is [I did] everything you do in show business—I always refer more to show business than I do just to straight music. You learn so many things, and I had been around all types of music. When I became a drummer here, I didn't frown on the Dixieland music they played because that wasn't primarily what I liked to play. At the time I liked to play jazz, but to work I would play anything the job called for. So I worked with Papa Mutt for quite a little while there. And then Mr. Howard, Paul Howard—
Isoardi
Oh, yes.
Remember Paul Howard? He was in the union.
Isoardi
He was the financial officer of the union?
Young
Yes, of the union there. Well, he like adopted me. I was like Mr. Howard's kid. You see I still call him Mr. Howard. I can't get out of it. [laughter] They let you know about that respect thing when I was coming up. So I started working with Mr. Howard out in Glendale.
Isoardi
Was that with his group? The Quality Serenaders?
Young
The Quality Serenaders, right. And I worked two or three gigs with Mrs. [Edith] Turnham, Floyd Turnham's mother. They had a family band, and I worked with them some.
I'll tell you a funny thing that I did, though, when I first started. You know they had separate locals here, [Local] 767 and [Local] 47. Like they have separate locals, you could bet they had double standards; they had different rules. The black musicians, they worked for their money. They worked seven days a week when they worked clubs. The white musicians, Local 47, they were not allowed to work but six nights a week, but they got seven nights' pay. That's the way it was. We had to work seven. A lot of the guys that had families, they wanted to be off a night and that type of thing. And I just loved to play so much, I went to different clubs at that
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
Tyree Glenn and I left together. I'll never forget on the front porch my dad told Tyree, "I want you to really look out for my son because he's never been away from home before." So he said, "Yes, Mr. Young. Yes, Mr. Young. I'll really take care of him. I'll really take care of him."
Isoardi
So you got an education.
Young
I'm saying to myself, "Whoa," because I already knew him. I was a teetotaler. I didn't drink. I didn't smoke. They couldn't get me to smoke a joint or nothing. I wouldn't do it. I just never did. But these guys were wild, and he's turning me over to the wildest bunch of
So anyway, I went there, and here I'd been going with my future wife [Louise Franklin Young]. She was from Kansas City. Our first stop was Kansas City. She'd call, we'd be talking on the phone, and "Well, I'm supposed to go to New York with them." She came to Kansas City, we got married, I quit the show and came back home. I came back to Los Angeles.
Now, when I came back— Oh, I could play then. I was there.
Isoardi
Yes, I would think so.
Young
Because I'd play the show. That's when they had these lindy hoppers.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
And the drummer couldn't play fast enough for them because everything was up like this. [claps rapidly] They had to hear that four-four on the bass drum. And I had that, because I was a dancer. I'm playing like that. Just [sings very up-tempo shout chorus while clapping time]. They're flipping and they're turning and all that. But Kansas City was it.
When I came back I got a job at Paramount [Pictures] studio.
Isoardi
As soon as you got back?
Young
When I got back. What it was, they were doing a
Isoardi
Harriet Hilliard?
Young
Yes. It was a picture called Cocoanut Grove. And in this picture they had a kid about seven years old; his name was Billy Lee. They wanted him to play drums in the band, because, whatever the story was, he was supposed to be some type of prodigy of the drums.
Isoardi
Right.
Young
I worked over at Paramount, and I had to teach him.
Isoardi
To play drums?
Young
Yes, I had to teach him. But I would do the recording.
Isoardi
Oh.
Young
So I did, because he was a dancer, and I could teach a dancer how to do enough to make it where it would be right.
Isoardi
Right.
Young
I worked on that picture about three months. And so that's why I helped get all the family straight. At that time I made quite a nice sum of money.
Isoardi
This was about the late thirties?
Young
Yes, this is probably '38, something like that. And then MGM [Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer] did a picture with Paul
I said, "Can you dance, Mickey?" He said, "Yes." I said, "Do the time step." He did the time step. I said, "Okay, now do the time step with your hands." He said, "What?" I said, "Do the same thing. Do the same [drums
I said, "I can teach him."
Isoardi
[laughter] They probably looked around and said, "We think you just did." [laughter]
Young
Yes. They did, too. So I got the job. I worked on that movie forever. And you may want to know this. I had one problem. They hired me to do the recording, so I had to do the recording. They said, "What do you charge to do the recording?" Because I taught him everything about the routine. I had to stay on the set with him every day, and everything I gave him to play during this movie I knew. I knew exactly what I taught him, and I said, "Well, I'll record it." Five hundred dollars was a
Isoardi
Yes, no kidding.
Young
Oh, yes. But I got $15 an hour. So "Okay, you'll get $500 for recording it." But I had to record it first.
Isoardi
Right.
Young
I recorded it first, right? So here the snag came. I recorded it, and they gave me a check for a double session. For a recording session at that time you only got $33 a session. That was for three hours. You know what you get now, about, right? So the contractor gave me $66. This was my check. I never will forget.
And I said, "Why are you giving me $66?"
He said, "Well, you've done it already. You're finished."
I said, "My agreement with you was that I would get $500."
He said, "Oh, Lee, look." He gave me the story, "You've made a good showing, and you're going to get a lot of work at MGM."
I said, "I don't care if I never work for you again in life if you don't give me my $500."
Isoardi
He was the guy who initially promised you the
Young
Oh, yes. He was the contractor. They have contracts at the studios.
Isoardi
Oh, man.
Young
But I knew what he was doing. He was saying, "Look, you've made it. Now we're going to have you on sessions over here and bam, bam, bam, bam." But I've always been that way. If you lie to me, that's the end. I said, "No." I said, "Okay, you're not going to pay me my money, right? Okay, well, get someone else to teach him what I did." That's what I did. Then I got lost. I really did. I did it intentionally. I told my mother I was going to play somewhere called Val Verde [resort]. And Jimmy Blanton and I went to Val Verde. He was bass player with Duke [Ellington]. So they came by my mother's, and this guy was telling them that "I'm going to lose my job if I can't find the guy." He finally told her and told her, so she told him where I was, at Val Verde, way up there in the swimming pool. He's been looking for me. They can't move with the picture. Now he's getting the devil. So my mother told him, "Well, he's not going. If you don't give him his money, he's not going." He said, "I'll give him his money. Just tell me where he is!"
So we see this big black limo coming up, and we're in
I said, "I don't want to deal with you. I don't even want to talk to you." That's the way I was. I was young. I said, "Uh-uh. Nothing you say would I believe."
So he says, "Will you believe Louis B. Mayer?"
Isoardi
Oh.
Young
I said, "Yes, but I won't believe you. I don't want to work for you. You wouldn't pay me my money. You gave me $66." Sixty-six dollars and you're supposed to get $500— Because he said I did it so fast. But I'm supposed to do it fast. I know it already. I know what I'm doing.
Isoardi
Yes, they're paying you for what you know, not how long it took.
Young
That's right, not how long it took. And do you know, they got me up there the next day. I'll never forget going to Louis B. Mayer's office, because where I used to always go in there the entrance was on Washington. You go through there, and you have to check in with a card. I had to do that. But this time I came around this way, and he was always in this big building over here,
I went up there, and he said, "Young man, what's the matter with you?" He talked to you like a kid, anyway, because I was to him. And I told him that I didn't want to do it because I had been promised something I didn't receive. He said, "Well, I'm going to tell you. I have the rest of your money here." And he had the rest of my money in cash. He said, "We want you to come on, and we want you to work." I said, "Yes, I'll do it." You know, he was real nice. He said, "What have you been getting?" I said, "Fifteen dollars an hour." He said, "Well, you've got $20 an hour from the time we're shooting the movie for the rest of the time. Does that make up for it?" It did make up for it.
I don't know if you've ever seen that movie, Strike Up the Band. They show it all the time on the TV.
Isoardi
Jeez. You didn't get any on-screen credits for anything, did you?
Young
No, no. I didn't get any on-screen credit for anything, but I played the soundtrack. I just really made a lot of money on that. And that really got me started, because—
Isoardi
In the studios?
Young
Oh, yes, in the studios. I started working the studios. I would have three and four calls a day. I
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
I worked all the studios. And then eventually I was on the staff at Columbia [Pictures Industries] studios. But that was later. I had really accepted the job with Stan Kenton. It's so funny. Stan Kenton came on Central Avenue. He was looking for a drummer. He had heard about a drummer down there.
Isoardi
Was this the early forties when Kenton was getting his band together the first time?
Young
Yes. This was when he had his band together, and he wanted to change drummers. And he heard about Johnny Otis. Johnny Otis was working at the Alabam. But I was working next door at the Downbeat [Club]. So he came over and he heard Johnny. I don't know if I should put this in. Stop that a minute. [tape recorder off]
Isoardi
Okay, so—
Young
Okay, so anyway, Stan heard me playing at the Downbeat, and he said, "That's the drummer I want for my band." And we went round and round about the money.
Oh, boy, I left out about Lester and the band, about the band that we had out here.
Isoardi
Well, we can go back to that. You can finish
Young
All right. Anyway, he hired me, and I took the job, because he's got the money that I wanted. Now I'm supposed to go to work with him in two weeks. For some reason it was two weeks. Maybe it's because he has to give the other drummer two weeks' notice, but whatever it was— In the meantime— You know of Manny Klein, the trumpet player?
Isoardi
Uh-huh.
Young
Well, his brother was one of the biggest contractors in town—Dave [David] Klein. So Dave Klein called me and told me that he had a job for me at Columbia studios. And I said, "What is it?" And he said, "No, I mean to be on the staff. You know, a year's contract and then a year's contract." So I said, "Well, I just told Stan that I would go with his band."
He was the guy that was really for progress, Dave was. I left a lot of that out. All these sessions I told you about I was making, getting studios—
Isoardi
Were most of those as a drummer?
Young
All of them were as a drummer. Dave Klein had gotten me all of these jobs at the studios and all of the recording dates I got.
Isoardi
Now, was this unusual for a black musician then?
Young
Yes, I was the only one.
You were the only one?
Young
I was the only one, yes. The other guy that was working at the time that I'm saying, when it first started— Like when I tell you when it was Strike Up the Band and this other movie, oh, yes, I was absolutely the only. After Strike Up the Band, MGM hired a black arranger who was a great pianist. His name was Calvin Jackson.
Isoardi
Oh, yes, I've heard a little bit about him.
Young
But you should have heard a big bit about him. You just hear a little bit about him because he was ghostwriting for those people over there. But most of the big things that came out of there during that time, it was Calvin Jackson. He did get screen credit.
Isoardi
Oh, really? As composer?
Young
Yes. Yes, he did. He was a great player, but he was a very good arranger. And— Let me see. How can I do this? Sequentially it is important to know this, because if you don't get it straight— During that time, there is no question, I was the only one that was playing in the studios. And it got to the point when they were using more black musicians but not on staff, to augment it. At MGM I used to call other black musicians, because when [Jimmie] Lunceford was here I had Snooky [Young] and Trummy [Young] and Lester. But the guy who was really
Isoardi
His position was at MGM?
Young
At MGM.
Isoardi
As head of their music department?
Young
He was their musical conductor, yes. The other guy that really helped the black musicians enormously in the film business was Ray Heindorf over at Warner Bros. Most of the black musicians you talk about, they wouldn't even know about this. Ray Heindorf was a Jimmie Lunceford nut, so when they would have anything and Lunceford would be around, he would always get part of Lunceford's band and put them in the studio band at Warner's. Most of the guys don't even know about this. His name was Ray Heindorf. I don't know how I remember that guy's name. He was the counterpart of Georgie Stoll over at MGM. They both loved jazz music. They loved musicians if they could really play, and they had very good taste for them. But as far as being on the staff, I was the first on staff.
The guy that really had a chance was Benny Carter. He used to do a lot of work at Fox, and they wanted him on the staff as an arranger. He didn't take the job there; he formed his band. That's when he formed the Benny
Isoardi
That big band?
Young
Yes, with Savannah Churchill, that was the vocalist's name. But they loved him over there. The Newmans. They had three brothers [Alfred, Emil, and Lionel Newman] over there, and they were crazy about him. He could have written his own ticket. But he went with his band.
Isoardi
What did they put you on staff for? What was your responsibility?
Young
I was a percussionist.
Isoardi
As a percussionist? Oh, I see.
Young
I was a drummer. I played timpanis and xylophones and bells.
Isoardi
So you weren't getting called on a freelance basis, then. It meant whenever they did recording with the band, that was a regular gig for you, then, right?
Young
Oh, that was a regular gig. I was doing all the motion pictures. While I was there they did some big pictures. I did The Jolson Story there with Parks.
Isoardi
Larry Parks.
Young
Yes. And Rita Hayworth in— What is it? To the Ends of the Earth, or something, with she and Claude Rains. And Ann Miller was there at the time, the dancer.
Isoardi
Yes, tremendous dancer.
We did all kinds of things. Whatever the motion picture was, the music was what I did. They didn't have any jazz to play there. I was playing legit now.
Isoardi
Right.
Young
But I had studied so long after I really got into the instrument, I knew what I was doing.
Isoardi
Well, you must have been busy then, because presumably you were in the studios during the day mostly.
Young
Oh, that's right.
Isoardi
And then at night you were playing clubs?
Young
At night I would play clubs. Yes, sure I did while I was working there. But that was my gig. I couldn't do anything, because once in a while they'd have a night call. I still worked record dates during the day.
Anyway, I started to tell you how he got me to not go with Stan. It was really important. He told me, "Lee, you know how hard it is to break down the barriers, and you have a chance to break down the barriers." And I said, "But I really want to go with Stan because I love this music." And he said, "But someone has to be the pioneer." And what he was saying to me, it made sense. It did, yes. "There's this chance." He said, "It's all set for you. All you've got to do is say you want the job." He said, "They just want to interview you."
I went out for the interview. The guy at Columbia
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. The one that I did over at RKO, that was a Fred Astaire movie. That was where he was singing "One More for the Road" and dancing on the bar and all that. As a matter of fact, most of the people on Central Avenue really didn't know what I was doing. The musicians union knew. The musicians that were there knew because that was the talk, because I was kind of leading the pack and trying to make the way. That's the reason.
The hardest thing for me to do was to tell Stan that I wasn't going to go with him. But I told him face-to-face, and I told him exactly why. And he was one of the nicest people you've ever met, really understanding. He said, "You know, Lee, if you'd asked me which choice you should take, I would tell you to take that one, because you've got to find some way to break the barriers down. And so if they're willing to put you on the staff, you've got to think about the people coming behind you."
Isoardi
Was it Ray Heindorf, then, who encouraged you?
Young
No, no. It was Dave Klein.
Isoardi
Oh, Dave Klein, right.
Young
That's the contractor.
Isoardi
He must have picked you specially, then. I mean, he must have watched you for a while to see if you could take it.
Young
They always do watch you.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
Because I will tell you, when I got the job at the time, I didn't think that I was better suited for that. I thought Oscar Bradley was better suited for the job than I was.
Isoardi
Temperamentally you mean?
Young
No. I think I got it because of the temperament.
Isoardi
You mean as a musician?
Young
I think at the time he had played more of what you were going to have to play than I had. Because I had to cram. As soon as I got the job, I bought a set of marimbas, I bought timpanis, I put them upstairs, and I started going through all the books. Because the first date that I had, I had to play five timpanis, because they gave the melody to the timpanis, and I'll know the melody until they take me away from here. It was the Ann Miller picture I was telling you about. The thing went [sings
Isoardi
How did it go? Did you have any problems?
Young
With the studio? God, no.
Isoardi
Once you got the job, I mean, was there any problem for you breaking down barriers?
Young
No.
Isoardi
Any hassles?
Young
The only thing that I remember of what really happened that would probably interest you— And this is history; people should know this. Columbia studios is at the same place it was. It's right at Gower [Street] and Sunset. Right?
Isoardi
Right.
Young
Okay. You come out of Gower and Sunset and you go down to the next block, and there was a big restaurant sitting there on this side of the street. We all went in there to eat, about fifteen of us from the band, and they wouldn't serve me. So all of the band walked out. It's something to really know. As far as having any problems
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
Remember the motion picture Picnic?
Isoardi
Yes, right.
Young
The theme for that was "Moonglow." And see, he did that, Morris Stoloff. The only problem I ever had from him is the studio had a baseball team. They used to play at night at Griffith Park, and I was the shortstop. He came over, and he saw me sliding, stealing bases, and throwing the ball, and he tells me, "You can't play baseball anymore." He said, "You can't play it." And I said, "Wait a minute." [laughter] He said, "You're going to hurt yourself. I saw you." I said, "I've been doing it all my life. I'm not going to get hurt." And he really tried to make me quit. That's the only problem I had. We argued about that because he didn't want me to play ball. And I played ball every night. But he came over one night; he thought I was going to kill myself. He saw me sliding and diving. "You can't do that! You may break an arm." As far as having any trouble with the musicians, no. We had three drummers there at—
Isoardi
On staff?
Young
Yes, me and two others. And usually the fiddle players don't ever talk to the drummers. [laughter] The
Isoardi
[laughter] That's good.
Young
I didn't know that they weren't— Because it's not that way with jazz musicians. Everybody's a musician.
Isoardi
Right.
Young
So the guy told me, the first time he saw me going over to talk to the fiddle players, he said, "Oh, [mumbling]." Ah, everything was fine. They were nice. [laughter] That was a big thing. And, as I tell you, it looks like when you have one gig, you get another. Then when I was there, I wanted to leave after eight months because Bob Crosby had the Chesterfield show right across the street at CBS [Columbia Broadcasting System], and he wanted me to do the show. They did the show six days a week, and it paid twice what I was getting over here. But Dave again—Dave Klein—was telling me why I couldn't leave. "Lee, you can't leave in the middle of your contract." And I didn't. He had the right thing. He knew how to get to me. He was a good person, and I didn't
Isoardi
A lot of clout.
Young
Oh, he had a lot of clout. He had so much clout— When I would leave town, I would call him and tell him, "Dave, I've got a gig." I left town with Oscar Peterson for three weeks, the Oscar Peterson Trio. I said, "Dave, I'm going for three weeks. Where are you going to put me when I get back? Where will I be on your call sheet?"
Isoardi
In the doghouse or—? [laughter]
Young
He said, "You'll be number one when you come back. Go ahead and have a good time." He was a good man.
Isoardi
Yes, he liked you.
Young
About them liking you, you have to produce, number one. There's more than playing the instrument that goes with the recording dates. I was never late for a date. If the date was at one o'clock, I would get there at twelve and set up and then go down to the corner and get a malt or something. Most of those guys would lose those dates. They lost their dates from being late. They allowed you to be late once, and if you're late the second time, you didn't get any more calls, because there are guys out there that are never going to be late. They'd always tell you that there was a big clique. "Well, we can't get in there. We can't get in there." There was a
Isoardi
How long did you stay in that studio setup?
Young
In the studio setup? I think I stayed two years. It began to bug me, because when I was there, Benny Goodman came to town, and he was going to do about six concerts, and he came and asked the studio permission if they could let me off those six days to do the concerts with him. And they did, because to them, "Oh, Benny Goodman asked Lee." So that pushes Lee's stock up at the studio, three times as much. I did the dates with him there. But I wouldn't take anything for what I learned at the studios. The studio really rounded you off. It's a job more or less for legit musicians. There's not enough creativity there. You do the same thing. You just have to be a sight reader. When they bring it in, they just put it up in front of you, and then you read it. Some of the music is only like four bars long, some of it's just eight bars, just cues. And then maybe you get a chance to play something. But most of it's just spots and spots, and that will drive you up the wall if you want to play.
Isoardi
Was that what it was doing to you after two years?
Young
Yes. No, after four months. [laughter] After four months I said, "Jiminy!" Because of the sameness.
Isoardi
Yes, really.
Young
But that was the gig. And it opened things up.
Isoardi
Did you see them hire more blacks after you?
Young
No. I've wondered how well I did. [laughter] Because that didn't seem to— Nothing opened up like that. I think the reason for that is the guys I'm telling you about, Heindorf and Georgie Stoll, they were gone. You have to have someone on that side fighting for the guys when they want to— I know that's what you have to have. And I don't know who was carrying that torch anymore. I think the Newmans would have where Benny was concerned, but then most of them have been gone for a while. I think all three of them are gone. There was another— What's that guy's name who put himself on the line for the black musicians here? Jerry someone. Jerry Fielding?
Isoardi
Fielding.
Jerry Fielding.
Isoardi
Oh, he was just— Yes, he was—
Young
He put himself out there.
Isoardi
He hired Buddy on Groucho Marx [You Bet Your Life].
Young
That's right. He did. He was that way, because I've kept up with him.
Isoardi
And he caught hell in the late fifties with the [Joseph] McCarthy people [House Committee on Un-American Activities].
Young
Oh, I know he did. And Plas did television work. And you know Snooky's been on Johnny Carson, the Tonight Show, for ages now. It was always like one or two. Because the guy that I'm going to see when we finish, Marshal Royal— Marshal had a heart attack yesterday.
Isoardi
Oh, no. I didn't know that.
Young
Yes, the day before yesterday. Marshal was a musician who should have been on staff. Marshal should have been on staff years ago. He was a great, great musician.
Isoardi
Yes, tremendous, distinctive tone.
Young
Yes, but I'm saying he was legit, too. You should hear him play legitimate clarinet. Right. Marshal was a violin player.
Isoardi
That's how he started out.
That's right. He was a violinist. And he has relative pitch. He was really helpful to me when I started.
Isoardi
How was he helpful?
Young
He was helpful to me because I— A lot of people don't like arrogance in people, but I do. I like a person that is arrogant and can back it up. If you're arrogant and you're a fool, then I just think it's awful. But he was cocky. He was cocky and he was good. He knew he was good. He walked like he was good. I learned a lot from him that he doesn't even know that I learned from him. But I told him about it. What I learned from him was preparation. The guy was never late. When you're a younger guy coming up, you've got to watch someone that's been successful. Because that's the way you're going to go. I ended up having a band here. [Count] Basie had been here, and they wanted a big band to follow Basie, and I got the band together. One of the first people I got was Marshal Royal playing lead alto [saxophone] and Maxwell Davis, tenor [saxophone]. I got all the best players: John Simmons on bass, [Gerald] Wiggins on piano. I had everybody you could think of. But Marshal was always the guy to rehearse the band. The best band to me that Basie ever had was when Marshal was there. That's right.
In the fifties.
Young
That was the best band he had, because they were [snaps fingers] that.
Tape Number: II, Side One
June 14, 1991
Isoardi
You were saying about Marshal [Royal]?
Young
Okay. Let me go back now and tell you about Buck Clayton's band. I skipped over that.
Isoardi
In Southern California?
Young
Yes, in L.A. That's why I was telling you I was trying to get it sequentially so then it would flow better for me. But that's all right if I can get it. Now it comes upon me that I didn't tell you anything about Buck Clayton's band. That's the first big band I played with. That was the reason that Ethel Waters's band got me to go, because they'd heard—
Isoardi
They'd heard about you.
Young
—about me playing in Buck Clayton's band. There's always a reason for everything. It doesn't make sense because I didn't tie it in. Now I see what it was. Okay.
Isoardi
This is early '32, '33? Something like that? It's before Buck Clayton goes to—where?—Asia, right?
Young
No. It's after he came back from China.
Isoardi
Ah, okay.
Young
You hear me say some funny things but I believe that so many people had something to do with my being a
Isoardi
Yes, they have, but I think mostly in passing. I couldn't tell you much about him now.
Young
He's a guitarist. He was really on the scene, because he ended up having a band at a place called the Bal Tabrin. Have you heard about the Bal Tabrin?
Isoardi
Yes, I think Buddy [Collette]'s mentioned the Bal Tabrin.
Young
That was in Gardena. Now, Buddy mentioned it, but
Isoardi
Oh, okay.
Young
He worked at the Apex nightclub when I was a kid singing there. And he looked like a Hawaiian. They said that he was mixed with Hawaiian. He was fair, and he had wavy hair like that. And on the head of his banjo he had drawn pictures of the different islands. So naturally that took my eye in. And when he played banjo he used to have a flicker light and it would go on and off, so then the banjo would look beautiful. That's the way the drummers used to have it. They used to have flickers in their [bass] drums, and they'd have big pictures on the outside.
Isoardi
Patterns on the— Yes.
Young
So I could say "I can't play very well, but look at this." [laughter] That's what it probably amounted to. "Don't look at me, look at these pictures, because I'm not playing anything at all," right? Anyway, I don't recall what happened to Baby Lewis, but when they came back from China, they were going to a club called the Club Araby. That was up at Fifty-fourth [Street] and Central [Avenue]. This is before Buddy and these guys, because I was a young punk then. So I had worked with the guitar player that he had. His name was Frank Pasley. Has
Isoardi
No.
Young
Frank Pasley was really a good musician. They had Bumps Myers in the band, because he was one of the mainstays.
Isoardi
He must have been pretty young then, I guess.
Young
He was, yes. Caughey Roberts was in the band. You know the name?
Isoardi
Oh, yes, sure. He played with [Count] Basie, and he taught Jackie Kelso [also known as Kelson] to play the clarinet.
Young
That's right. As a matter of fact, Marshal's wife [Evelyn Williamson Royal] said yesterday Kelso was there the first day.
Isoardi
Oh, when Marshal [had his heart attack]—
Young
Marshal, yes.
Isoardi
He talks about him like he's his big brother.
Young
He's his idol.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
Because he set the stage for those guys playing his horn. So Frank Pasley told Buck about me. And Herschel Evans was in Buck's band.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Certainly. Yes, sure. Herschel was in Buck's band, because he was out here when he went— He and Buck
Isoardi
Because of his older brother?
Young
Oh, Marshal would eat him up when we were with Les Hite's band and he got him in the band. At the time, Ernie was just a high-note player, and Marshal was trying to make him a well-rounded musician. He didn't want to do anything but whistle [sings high note] on the end of the songs. Marshal wasn't going to have that then. But he helped so many guys. He got me the job with Les Hite.
Isoardi
What can you tell me about Les Hite?
Young
Les Hite?
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
Les Hite was a forerunner here. Well, there was a Les Hite and there was a Leon Herriford. Did anyone tell you about that?
Isoardi
No.
Young
You've been talking to some kids. [laughter]
Isoardi
Yes. [laughter] They're the ones who kept saying, "You've got to talk to Lee Young about that." [laughter]
Young
These are guys who were really on the scene, and they're the forerunners of it. Les Hite and Leon Herriford, they were adversaries for the gigs with the big bands they had. Leon Herriford was a good musician, a
Isoardi
Les Hite.
Young
With Les Hite, because Les Hite played the Cotton Club, and then they broadcasted twice a night on KHJ [radio].
Isoardi
Two broadcasts a night?
Young
Two broadcasts a night. So I used to just sit up and just listen and just have a ball. Because you could listen to them, and you could listen to Earl Hines from the [Grand] Terrace in Chicago, and you could listen to everybody from the Meadowbrook [Ballroom], like Glenn Miller. The radio was really something.
Now, when you first came out here, then, these were the two major bands?
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
Late twenties and early thirties it was Les Hite's and Herriford's bands.
Young
Yes. These are the guys I remember. There's another fellow. His name was Charles Echols. Has anyone mentioned Charles Echols to you?
Isoardi
Gee, I think the name may have come up once or twice, but that's all.
Young
Okay. Charles Echols, he had a band, and he was another one in front. He played trumpet. That's prior to most all of these other things. These guys were here before "Papa Mutt" [Thomas Carey] came out here.
Isoardi
Oh, jeez.
Young
You understand?
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
And Les had it locked up as far as Sebastian's Cotton Club was concerned, because he had the band out here. He had Marshal Royal, Lionel Hampton, Lloyd Reese. Did anyone say anything about Lloyd Reese?
Isoardi
Oh, everyone. He seems like a god.
Young
He was probably the best trumpet player in town. And I said in town; I didn't say on Central. Because I had worked with Manny Klein and Raphael Mendez at MGM, and
Isoardi
Gee, someone had told me that he didn't even start out as a trumpet player. He was a sax—
Young
Saxophone player.
Isoardi
And he taught himself trumpet just to prove a point to the other guys in the band.
Young
That's right. He had a lot of ego, too. But you can't do those things unless you have a certain amount of it, because you always have to prove yourself.
Isoardi
Right.
Young
"I can do this." "Okay, well, let me see you do it." Then he ends up playing better than— George Orendorff was in the band; he was another good trumpet player. Les had a good band, though. He really did.
Isoardi
Did Hite do any of the writing or arranging? None of that? Nothing musical?
Young
Nothing really.
Isoardi
Amazing. He'd just count off. [laughter]
Young
And tell everybody, "Are you having a nice time tonight?" That kind of thing. [laughter] Oh, yes.
Isoardi
Nice work if you can get it. [laughter]
Young
Yes, I always thought of them like they were maître d's. [laughter] But he was a good salesman. He was a really likable person. And he was a good person.
Isoardi
I believe it. I believe it.
Young
He always made the band better. And I'm telling you, when I had the band, "You rehearse the band, Marshal." And everyone would respect him for that.
But the Fourteen Gentlemen of Harlem, I don't know how long the engagement was. It was not over three months. The Club Araby didn't stay open too long. I think when that club closed is when the band broke up. I think that's when Buck and Herschel went back to Kansas City and joined Basie. I'm pretty sure that's what happened then.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
Mr. [Paul] Howard, he had a little four-piece band that was called the Quality somethings.
Isoardi
Quality Serenaders?
Young
Yes. He would get the job and stay on the job for three and four and five years. I think he stayed to work out there in Glendale I don't know how many years.
Isoardi
Jeez.
Young
Oh, yes. It was a woman's name, the club. Virginia's or something in Glendale. And Glendale was a very prejudiced place.
Isoardi
Yes, some of the kids, as you call them, told me
Young
They can call it "Big Mississippi" now. [laughter] Oh, yes.
Isoardi
Did you have any run-ins out there?
Young
No. It's a funny thing. That's why it really fools you. We used to work on a pier at Long Beach.
Did anyone ever mention Alton Redd? He was a drummer.
Isoardi
No, I don't think so.
Young
His daughter is Vi Redd. You've heard of Vi Redd, the saxophone player?
Isoardi
Oh, sure. Sure.
Young
That's his daughter. He used to get a lot of gigs. He was like [Elmer] Fain. He could get a lot of gigs, because he worked at the union.
Isoardi
But he knew people? He knew how to sell himself?
Young
Yes. He got a lot of gigs. But you're talking about did I run into any problems. We used to work on the pier in Long Beach. And Jack McVea and I worked down there with someone. You must have heard Jack McVea's name.
Isoardi
Oh, yes.
Young
Jack McVea's dad [Satchell McVea] was here when we got here in '29. Mr. McVea was telling my dad, trying to
Let's see if I can take you away from Buck. That's how I went with Ethel Waters because she heard me play with Buck Clayton. That was '37, I know, so the Gentlemen of Harlem may have been '36, something like that.
Isoardi
Before you leave it, maybe you can tell me a little bit about what the Club Araby and maybe the Apex were like back then when you first encountered them. What they looked like or— I mean, you mentioned that the Apex attracted, I guess, a mostly white clientele.
Young
And so did the Araby.
Isoardi
So it was kind of a fancy place like the [Club] Alabam was?
Young
Yes. Oh, the Apex was nicer than the Alabam.
Isoardi
Oh, really?
Young
It even was the same room, but it was much plusher. It was very, very plush. When the Alabam was there, the Alabam was just an ordinary club.
Isoardi
Oh, really?
Tape Number: III, Side One
September 27, 1991
Isoardi
Okay, Lee. I believe last time we left off with you talking about the clubs on Central [Avenue], the [Club] Araby and the Apex.
Young
The Araby and the [Club] Alabam it must have been, because the Apex was before the Alabam, okay?
Isoardi
All right.
Young
The Alabam and Araby were at the same time. One was on Forty-third Street, and the other was on Fifty-fourth [Street], I think, Fifty-fourth and Central. Did I tell you that that was with Buck Clayton? Did I get that far?
Isoardi
Yes, right.
Young
Then we come to when I started leading the band on the avenue. I had a band at the Alabam at one time. I think we had probably ten pieces. Did I tell you about that?
Isoardi
No, not at all. Why don't we go back to your beginnings as a bandleader. Why did you decide to become a bandleader?
Young
Okay. During these times in Los Angeles, sometimes it wasn't in your best interest to become a bandleader. It took me a long time before I decided to be
Isoardi
And when was this?
Young
Oh, that's where you get me with those years, I tell you, every time. [laughter]
Isoardi
Approximately.
Young
I would say maybe '38, '39.
Was it your first band?
Young
Yes, I think so. I think the reason I got it together was to get the gig. Because I didn't have the band. And I think that was the first one, because then that's when I had the arrangements made, because you had to play dance music. I bought a lot of stock arrangements. You could do that in those days.
Isoardi
Could you talk a little bit about that band? I mean, you mentioned two people, Jack McVea and Art Pepper, both fine musicians. How did you put the band together? How did you get these guys?
Young
I don't really know, because there's something about musicians— I always tried to get the finest musicians. I knew who the better players were all the time. If you know the better players and then you get a job and they're not working, then you go after them, and you would get them. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure if it was Gerald Wiggins playing piano at that time with me—
Isoardi
Really?
Young
—yes—or Dudley Brooks. I don't know which one; it was one of the two. It was Dudley Brooks or Wiggins.
Isoardi
I don't think Gerry Wiggins had come out to L.A. in the late thirties. So maybe it was Dudley Brooks.
Young
But then I was there again with a band when Wiggins was here, because Wiggins and I worked together
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Oh, yes. So I think that it must have been Dudley Brooks. You've got me stretching now, because those things, when they become gigs, it's not a thing that really sticks with you, because you say, "Well, we've got eight weeks here," so you've got to get ready to try to find six weeks someplace else.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
And then you had to cut the band down, as [Count] Basie did at one time. Remember when Basie cut the band down one time?
Isoardi
In the early fifties, yes.
Young
Yes. He came out here with six pieces, I think, once, playing at the— It wasn't the Casbah [Supper Club]. It was the one on Central where I worked, where I was the house band for a long time. But anyway, to stay on Central Avenue, I had the band at the Downbeat [Club]. That would be later. Did I ever tell you the part where Lester [Young] and I had the band together?
Isoardi
No, you haven't talked about that yet.
Young
Okay. Then we'd better come up to that. After the Alabam and those places and Long Beach, where else did we work? [We] worked on the [Long Beach] pier. Then I'll come up to 1940, I think. This is when I organized a real
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
Where was Billy Berg's?
Young
Billy Berg's was at Pico [Boulevard] and La Cienega [Boulevard], where the Bank of America is now. That was Billy Berg's. And with us when we were there at the time was the Three Spirits of Rhythm. Leo Watson was one of the Three Spirits of Rhythm. The guys played, they looked like mandolins, but they were instruments called tiples. Tiples. And he was a scat singer. He was one of the best of the scat singers. So we worked at Billy Berg's on Pico. And then Billy Berg built a new club at Beverly [Boulevard] and Fairfax [Avenue], right across from CBS [Columbia Broadcasting System] now. Real plush. Gorgeous place. That's when Billie Holiday worked with us. But at this time, I had hired Jimmy Rowles. Jimmy Rowles was in the band now instead of Arthur Twine. And we worked at the Trouville. Billie Holiday, the Three
Isoardi
Oh, yes.
Young
So they really had continuous entertainment. That's what it was. And we went to work at ten o'clock at night. This was like a position we had then, because heretofore at the other Billy Berg's we used to have to go to work at eight o'clock and work until two [o'clock]. But when we hit this next place over here, we went to work at ten, and we went on at ten, eleven, and one, and we were off. We played three sets a night.
Isoardi
About forty-five minutes?
Young
Yes, forty-five minutes. We played three a night. Because they had Slim and Slam. But it was continuous entertainment. And we played for Lady Day [Billie Holiday], and then we would do our numbers in the show. We stayed there quite some time. And then we went to New York, the Cafe Society.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. That's 1941. Barney Josephson heard the band on one of the armed services programs we played. We went to do a couple of those, and he heard the band. And the band sounded like a huge band; it was a seven-piece band, but it sounded like twelve because of the way the band was written for. Everyone thought when Lester came out that I was going to fire Bumps. So the union
Isoardi
As a guest performer, something like that?
Young
That's right. And so he would stand in the middle of the floor and play his horn. But they wouldn't allow him to come in the band because they thought that Bumps was going to be canned. You had to put your card in if you came from another place, and you couldn't take the job until that. As he said, "I did my time on the box." All the while he was doing that, I was having arrangements made for the band. When he came in the band, that's what gave us our bigger sound, because we used two tenors and put the guitar on top. See, that's electric guitar; that gives you a lot of sound. And the trumpet. So we had four parts, but we had a heavy bottom because of the two tenors.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
And they would spread the voicing so it really sounded big. That band was very, very unique. Lester was out there on the box for six months, but we rehearsed six days a week, and we learned one arrangement per day.
Really?
Young
One arrangement per day. And we never did read music on the bandstand.
Isoardi
Wow!
Young
And the band always stood up. That was the uniqueness of the band. The only people that sat down were the drummer and the pianist. The guitarist stood up, because he was on the front line with the horns. We played arrangement after arrangement. And musicians would come from all of the studios to hear [us]. They said, "These guys don't ever read any music." But we learned one arrangement per day every day. Every day at twelve o'clock we'd go to rehearse.
Isoardi
How would you characterize the sound of the band? Aside from being big.
Young
Do you remember John Kirby? He was supposed to be the best little band then.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
The reason we felt as though we knocked them all out is because of the sound we had, because Kirby was using trumpet, rhythm section, and they didn't use that amplified guitar. And he had [Buster] Bailey with him on clarinet. Clarinet and trumpet— Who was it? Was Charlie Shavers with them? Yes, I think so.
Isoardi
Really?
Yes. Oh, a great trumpet player.
Isoardi
Yes, fantastic.
Young
But that gave them a very thin sound, with clarinet and trumpet. It's the high register. And they did some marvelous things, marvelous things. But it was like we were cheating if you called us a little band, really. Because of the people that we had doing these arrangements for us, it was— Like Andy Gibson was one of the real great arrangers at the time. As a matter of fact, he wrote our theme song. He and I were friends, and he called it "The Great Lee." But I was always kind of sensitive to that, so I changed the title to "The Great Lie." Jimmy Mundy made arrangements for us. Jimmy Mundy wrote a lot of things for Benny Goodman. Billy Strayhorn did arrangements for us.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Oh, yes. Strayhorn did "Flamingo" for us. We played the same arrangement that Duke [Ellington] played.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
But Billy made the arrangement. You know, [sings melody], that thing? We could do all that. We could do everything.
Isoardi
Jeez.
Young
It was really a great band. We were at the Cafe Society, and we broke up. I mean, after there we were
Isoardi
Right.
Young
He became ill, and my brother was here, so I left. So the band broke up. And another thing: before we went to New York, just two weeks before we were going to the Cafe Society, Benny Goodman took Rowles from us, Jimmy Rowles. And when we got to New York, then we got Clyde Hart to play with us. Are you familiar with Clyde?
Isoardi
I know the name but not much about him.
Young
A great pianist. We didn't record because nothing was going on in that regard. But I think that was the best band.
Isoardi
Too bad.
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
Why did Lester come out here?
Young
Because he left Basie. They had a misunder-standing. A lot has been written about it. But we have a family that, as we say, "You don't put your business in the street." And Lester told us what happened, but that's not what the writers said that happened.
What else is new? [laughter]
Young
Yes. So that's why I never even discuss it and tell anyone why. Naturally I believe him, because he's anything but a liar. So whatever he told me, that's what I believe happened. But anyway, that's not significant even. That was why he came out, because he left. I had had the band for a long time. So he called me and said, "What's happening out there?" And I said, "Do you want to come out?" He said, "Yes, I want to come out." So I sent for him to come out, and by the time he got here— He didn't even know I was going to put his name up there. I used one L, because it said Lee and then Lester Young, so— Just trying to be creative, whatever.
Isoardi
Sure.
Young
Because they had the big banner out front, and so we used a big L, Lee and Lester Young. It was really a great band. I think everyone, like Jimmy Rowles— If you talk to Jimmy Rowles, I think he would tell you what a band it really was, because we were pretty tight. It was a pretty good band.
Isoardi
Had you played together much with your brother before?
Young
No.
Isoardi
This was your first real opportunity since you were kids, then, to play together.
No. We did some Jazz at the Philharmonics [concerts] together. I played with him on Jazz at the Philharmonic.
Isoardi
But that was later, though, wasn't it?
Young
Yes, Jazz at the Philharmonic was later.
Isoardi
It was after the war [World War II].
Young
Yes, it was after the war. Because the first five records I did were with Jazz at the Philharmonic.
Isoardi
I've got some of those.
Young
Then I did the jazz concert with Gene Norman at the Pasadena Civic Auditorium.
Isoardi
Oh, yes.
Young
That was really a good one, too. Lionel [Hampton] was on the date. [We played] "Star Dust" and that type of thing. After I came back, I think that was when I started doing and continued to do a lot of studio work and a lot of recording work. Recording is really what kept me going, because I would have five and six dates a day.
Isoardi
Wow!
Young
Yes. And the contractors would have it so I could be there to play. I think, as far as my playing was concerned, the biggest compliment I ever had when I was recording was from Victor Young, whom I think is one of the great musicians we've had, a great conductor. He called me on a date where Vic Damone was singing nothing but waltzes.
Waltzes?
Young
Yes. But, you see, they always try to type you. They really wanted a black drummer, because supposedly he had better rhythm or whatever they think about it. But what always stuck to me, is that I really did appreciate him [Victor Young] recognizing me as an all-around musician and not typing me. I was crazy about him for it. I went in one day to do a session with him, and it's nothing but waltzes. So that said that he perceived me as being a good musician, and I wasn't one-dimensional. That's what happened when I was on staff at the studio. Over at Columbia [Pictures Industries] studios, we did so many big pictures, I can't remember. We did The Jolson Story over there. At MGM [Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer]— You know about Strike Up the Band.
Isoardi
Yes, yes, you talked about that.
Young
But after the bands— I think the band with Lester was the one. I had a lot of them. Then after that, I worked on the avenue again and—
Isoardi
As a bandleader?
Young
Oh, yes. Oh, I'll tell you—
Isoardi
That's the only way you were working.
Young
Oh, that's it. [laughter] Once you get in that water, you're in there.
Isoardi
No choice.
No. No choice. They're not going to hire you. This will probably surprise you. The band at the Downbeat I had then was— What's Illinois's brother's name?
Isoardi
Jacquet?
Young
Yes. That's his last name, Jacquet. He was a trumpet player.
Isoardi
Yes. Oh—
Young
Anyway, I had Jacquet on trumpet, okay, Lucky Thompson on tenor.
Isoardi
Fine tenor.
Young
The guy that came out here from Chicago was really a great pianist. I'll never remember his name, but he was great. Charles Mingus was the bass player.
Isoardi
Wow! Oh, was it Russell Jacquet?
Young
Russell. Russell Jacquet. And Marshal Royal and Lucky were the saxophones.
Isoardi
So Marshal was playing alto [saxophone], I guess.
Young
Playing alto, and Lucky was playing tenor.
Isoardi
Gee, what a group!
Young
I tell you, I always got the best musicians. So it was a good job.
Isoardi
This was when? Mid-forties?
Young
Probably. It had to be the mid-forties. So this was at the Downbeat. And where they had the big pillars
Isoardi
[laughter] That sort of fits from what I've heard of both of them. [laughter]
Young
I was going to say it fits them, because that's the way they were. And that's no kidding. Every night they're trying to get— "Now, move over! I've got to then—" But that was a good band.
Isoardi
Oh, great lineup. Jeez!
Young
That was a good band. But we didn't play the same type of things that we did when Lester and I had the band. This was more jam with them. We had just a few charts, and then everybody would solo and solo, and then you'd come back and you'd have the last chorus. But just as far as playing charts and that, no, because these were all great soloists too. We used to keep the place packed.
Isoardi
Yes, every one of those people—
Young
This was during the time Stan Kenton came on the avenue.
Isoardi
He wanted to hire you for his first band. Is that the period you're talking about?
Young
Yes. And I had told him, "I'm taking the job." But then here comes Columbia's [offer] to be on the staff.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
And you go so long without working. But you're getting paid by the year. So it makes it good for your family. But the musician is kind of a different animal.
Isoardi
You were hanging out at night, though, I assume, weren't you?
Young
Oh, yes. But that's what made it worse. You'd go out at night and say, "My goodness. This is what I should be doing," instead of— You go in the studio, you open the book, and you have twenty-six pieces of music, but they're all cues. You're playing like eight bars. [sings short melody] Now turn the page, and you go [sings new short
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
That kind of got to you a little. Anyway, that's what happened with the studio.
Isoardi
So then you went back and formed another band, I guess.
Young
Oh, yes. I'm sure I did. [laughter] That's been established. Let's see if I can think of another band. Oh, yes. Yes I did. This is the other band. Another one I came up with is another good band [the Lee Young Band] that was playing— There was the Casbah and there was the Oasis. That's the name I was trying to think of earlier. Okay. Now I go to the Casbah. The Casbah was out on Figueroa [Street] by either Manchester [Boulevard] or Florence [Avenue], one of them. Oasis was near Rodeo [Road] and Western [Avenue], right in there. So the Casbah— This was another very, very good band. This is with Wiggins; this is with John Simmons, great bass player; this is with Maxwell Davis, tenor player; this is with Marshal; this is with a trombone player, bad trombone player—he was with Lionel—and a trumpet player called Parr Jones. He was like Harry Edison with that Harmon mute.
Oh!
Young
We played all big-band arrangements. Like we played "The Four Brothers."
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
At the time, Dizzy [Gillespie] was hot, too. [sings melody] What's the name of that? That was a big record for him. We played that. So we played all the big-band arrangements. Les Brown and his band, they used to come in, because they wanted to hear us play. [laughter] You know, "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm" and those things. It was really a good band. And out at the Casbah, June Christy, she was one of the acts that came in, and Sarah Vaughan. That's when Sarah Vaughan was singing "Black Coffee." That's the big record she had during that time. That was a real good band. The reason why I remember about that band was— Something about Benny Carter, too. I did work that room with Benny Carter's band, too.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes, I did.
Isoardi
You sat in with him?
Young
No, I worked in his band out at the Casbah.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. But he was different; he wasn't from here. [laughter]
Well, he could probably get away with hiring bandleaders and still come out on top. [laughter]
Young
That's right. That didn't bother him at all. [laughter] That was just for the local yokels. [laughter] They would never touch you.
So then I had a smaller band to take into the Oasis. This is when Nat [King Cole] used to play at the Oasis, Louis Armstrong would play the Oasis, Al Hibbler would play the Oasis, Sarah Vaughan, Lady Day. We had all the big names coming through there. And now I only had five pieces. I had Wiggins, Mingus, Maxwell Davis, Parr Jones, and myself. And we played a lot of dance music then, because they danced. So we played the dance music and we played the show.
And the funniest story about Mingus— They talk about Mingus. Mingus was always a character. I'll never forget when Billy Eckstine was there, and Billy was singing "Old Man River." He wanted to do this free, with no instruments. The band was supposed to come in when he started singing, "Old man river, that old man river." And "People all work on the Mississippi—" That's the verse. So Mingus decided he'd help him. Mingus pulls out his bow, and he starts. "B" is singing, and Mingus is [mimics slow arco bass notes]. "B" looks back; he looked back at the man and said, "What's the matter with you?"
Isoardi
[laughter] Oh, God.
Young
So I think that's a funny story. But that actually happened. [laughter]
Isoardi
Oh, no.
Young
We stayed there quite a while. We were the house band. And I remember I was working there, and then I'd get off at two o'clock, and then at three o'clock I went to an after-hours place.
Isoardi
Where would you go to?
Young
It was called the Flame. It was over on Jefferson [Boulevard]. Jefferson and Raymond [Avenue] was the after-hours place. After two o'clock you'd go in there, and there would be piano and drums and a singer.
Isoardi
What kind of a place was it?
Young
It was nice. It was really a cute little place. It held maybe fifty people. [It had] the same people practically, the rounders that go out, that didn't get up until that time, and that's their night life.
During that time, the reason I remember this so well, I got a studio job at MGM. I had a call from MGM. So now I'm working the Oasis, and the Flame from three until six, and then I had a call to work at MGM at nine o'clock. This picture was with Esther Williams called Skirts Ahoy.
Isoardi
Oh.
Young
When I'd get off the studio lot, I'd get off at five o'clock. I had to be at the Oasis at eight o'clock. And then I'd be off at two, go over to the Flame at three, have to be at the studio at nine. So I was trying to get four hours' sleep, but I couldn't refuse the jobs, because that's the way it was at that time.
But they held me in good stead, because after that job on Skirts Ahoy I started working with [the choreographers] Gower and Marge Champion. I became their drummer. Because the dance directors then, they used drummers to rehearse, and they paid you really good money. Like $15 an hour then was good money. That was for rehearsal, for you to help them set their routines. And what you had to do is you'd be there for days with them, because it would take them maybe four or five weeks to set the routines that they were going to do. What the drummer had to do is get their routines and write out the part where all the accents were.
Right.
Young
So I did about three or four movies with them. Actually, most of my success I think was at studios, because I just really did so many movies and got a chance to play a lot of music then.
I'll tell you a little story about Strike Up the Band.
Tape Number: III, Side Two
September 27, 1991
Young
Okay. I told you about the teaching of Mickey Rooney, but I don't think I told you about the recording part of it.
Isoardi
Right.
Young
When you're a young guy you want to attract some attention, and I had never recorded with a forty-five-piece orchestra before. So I was sitting down in front, as I told you, right in front of the conductor. And they rehearse for about an hour. So if you go over the music with me that much, then I'll commit it to memory. And they had seven pages up there for me. We must have rehearsed for an hour or an hour and a half, and they said, "Let's take ten." So they take ten. I take the music stand down. I take the music and put it under my seat.
And they come back. So the conductor says, [tapping] "Let's go." He said, "Lee! Let's go."
I said, "I'm ready."
He said, "Where's your music stand?"
I said, "I've taken it down."
"Well, no, get it. We've got to go."
I said, "You can go. I'm ready."
He said, "Where's your music?"
I said, "I'm sitting on it." The band just fell out. [laughter] They said, "He's sitting on his music, he says, but `I'm ready to go.'" I said, "I'm ready to go."
He said, "What do you mean `I'm ready to go'?"
I said, "I'm ready."
He said, "You remember it?"
I said, "Yes, I remember it. Let's go."
So he gave me the downbeat, and then I played all of it note for note, didn't make a mistake. And when it was over, the orchestra said [claps]. [laughter] So then he just thought I was just very, very in. In retrospect, after I got a little smarter, a little wiser, I thought about that, and I did that to get attention, like a little kid around the house. "I've got to get some attention."
Isoardi
It worked. [laughter]
Young
I'll tell you, with all these strangers, and I'd never been involved in that size band before.
Isoardi
Was that your first studio gig, then? Just about?
Young
No, the first one was with Billy Lee.
Isoardi
Oh, I see. That's right. Okay.
Young
That was with Billy Lee at Paramount [Pictures]. And that's what got me this one. "I know a guy who can do it." Georgie Stoll, the conductor, was really in my
And the other little band that I think I told you about, yes— I was there at the Oasis.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
We stayed there a long time. In '53, what was I doing? That brings us up to then, because it was the Oasis and the Casbah. Then I was off for a while, and Nat [King Cole] called me a couple of times.
Isoardi
Did you guys play together?
Young
Nat? I thought I told you about all that.
Isoardi
No, I don't think so.
Young
That was in the thirties and the forties. I didn't tell you that?
Isoardi
No. How did you guys meet and everything?
Young
Oh, when he came out here— I think he came out in '38. Everybody used to jam all the time, and we used to jam all the time. You were aware they had separate [American Federation of Musicians] locals?
Isoardi
Yes, right. But at this time you were living next to [Local] 767?
Young
Yes. Local 767 didn't allow you to jam. But I thought that went for everyone but me. [laughter] So I
Isoardi
Oh, yes.
Young
Nat, Jimmy Blanton, and myself became really running buddies.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. And we used to jam all the time.
Isoardi
Did you guys ever form a trio?
Young
No, I played with Nat's trio. When Nat had a job at the Swanee Inn, I was playing with the trio. That's when he had Oscar Moore and Wesley Prince. That's the first bass player. The reason I left the Swanee Inn was because it had a real small room, and the only thing that I was playing with him was brushes and a sock cymbal and a snare drum. That's all. But I had bought a huge set of drums.
Isoardi
You wanted to use them all. [laughter]
Young
Because in those days you had everything. You had
Isoardi
Oh, really?
Young
Oh, yes, doing things like "I Like to Riff" and "[On the] Sunny Side of the Street." You'll hear more than one voice on that; you'll hear four voices on that singing. But I left to go with Les Hite. That's how I got with Les Hite, when I left Nat. I quit because I got all these drums. I must play my drums. I can't play brushes all night. It's just the sock cymbal and the snare drum. It was driving me up the wall. I loved to play with him, but I wasn't really doing it the way— Because I bought these—
Isoardi
You wanted the power of a big band.
Young
I had everything you could think of, all the goodies.
Other than that, before we went to work together, we did a lot of jamming together. As a matter of fact, they fined me every week for jamming. I had to go before the board every week. They fined me $50. I never payed a dime. But it was just like, "Why don't you stop doing it, Lee?" Because I was kind of the pet because I lived next
Isoardi
I didn't know he was hanging around then.
Young
Oh, yes. Charlie Christian was here. Charlie Christian, Don Byas. I remember the group.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Nat. I just don't know who was playing bass unless it was Johnny [Miller] or Wesley. But we went up to the union and we jammed every day.
Isoardi
All these guys?
Young
Yes. Oh, but then trumpet players would start coming in, because now everybody was hearing about the session.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
And Blanton was jamming up at the union. The people downstairs are trying to work, and we're just tearing the place up. We'd get in there at noon, and when they'd come back from lunch, the building would be shaking. [laughter] That's without amplification. We didn't have any of that. But they came up and told us to
But Nat was really a great jazz pianist.
Isoardi
Oh, yes. You know, I heard a story about him.
Young
What?
Isoardi
He made a trip to Europe. This was after he had tremendous success. He was a more popular singer. He was appearing somewhere, Switzerland or whatever, and he started singing, and the crowd didn't like it.
Young
It was in Sweden.
Isoardi
Is that where the story is from?
Young
Yes, I was with him. Quincy [Jones] was traveling with us on that. Quincy's the one who told it.
Isoardi
Really? The crowd wanted him to play piano. They didn't want him to sing.
Young
Yes. Then he sat down and started playing, because over there they are really into jazz. They're something else.
Isoardi
You spent quite a bit of time with him, then, after the days on Central.
Young
Oh, yes. I was with him nine and a half years. I ended up being his musical conductor.
Oh, really?
Young
Yes. I joined him in '53, and I left him in '62. But the other things that went on then— I think I may have told you about this. Did I tell you about the jam sessions we used to have at Billy Berg's?
Isoardi
No.
Young
I didn't?
Isoardi
No.
Young
Oh, that was the big thing in L.A.
Isoardi
This was the Billy Berg's on Pico and La Cienega [Boulevard]?
Young
On Pico, yes. I really got in trouble for this. Jimmie Lunceford was in town, and Duke Ellington was in town, and Basie was in town. And I didn't see how anything was wrong with this, I really didn't. I wasn't trying to be smart. But I invited Duke's band, Basie's band, and Lunceford's band. This is when it was the Lee and Lester band.
Isoardi
[laughter] What? Did they all show up?
Young
So everybody showed up. [laughter] But what it was, you could not get in unless you were a performer. It was nothing but musicians and performers. And I didn't see anything wrong with that, because you didn't have to pay to get in, you didn't have to do anything. It was a night that we were going to have for just the musicians.
Isoardi
Right.
Young
So Billy Berg was selling drinks, naturally. If you didn't know, you couldn't come in there. It was just for performers. The union fined me $500 for that, because they said, "You had no right to do that." But that was like a historical thing, because how many times were Duke, Basie, and Lunceford in the same locale?
Isoardi
Do you remember who played that night? Anybody stand out in your mind?
Young
I remember that Rex Stewart was playing because of a funny thing that happened. Sonny Greer played. He played with the rhythm section. They used the rhythm
Isoardi
From Basie's band?
Young
From Basie's band. And Lunceford's band, I know [Jimmy] Crawford played, and I forget the bass player. I forget the whole rhythm section there. But it was Willie Smith and Joe Thomas, the tenor player, and one of the trumpet players, and I don't know which one it was— Anyway, it was just something to behold.
Isoardi
Boy, I'll bet.
Young
It really was. Then we started having jam sessions on Sundays legitimately then.
Isoardi
Where at?
Young
At Billy Berg's. And then after Billy Berg's, we had them at the Trouville. This was when we really had some great jam sessions. In all these sessions, Nat [King Cole] was the pianist, I was the drummer, and I think by then it was Johnny Miller who was playing bass. Les Paul was playing guitar most of the time. Sometimes Oscar [Moore] would play and sometimes he wouldn't. When Oscar wouldn't play, it would be Les Paul. The rhythm section remained the same. But one Sunday there would be four tenor players in town. I remember once it was Prez [Lester Young], Ben Webster, Don Byas, and Bumps
Isoardi
[laughter] Oh, boy.
Young
They played with nothing but a rhythm section. Then next week it would be four trumpet players and the rhythm section, and the next week it would be trombones, and then the next week it would be altos. I remember Johnny Hodges and Willie Smith.
Isoardi
Jeez.
Young
Those were really some great things that were happening here.
Isoardi
And were these also sort of closed, musician-only kind of jams?
Young
No, not these.
Isoardi
Oh, these were open.
Young
These were on Sunday, yes.
Isoardi
But the union approved these.
Young
Yes. So then, this is when Norman Granz started doing this. I did them first.
Isoardi
So he kind of got the idea, then, from—
Young
I did them first, and I knew Norman. We used to play tennis together. And I got tired of doing the jam sessions. And Norman, he said, "If you get the musicians for me, I'll do them." I haven't told anyone else this before. But that's really the way it happened. But I was
Isoardi
Well, it's a whole different career.
Young
Yes. Either you're going to play music or you're going to be a businessman.
Isoardi
That's right.
Young
The two, it doesn't work too well with them.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
So that's what I can remember about those things.
Isoardi
You mentioned so many people. Lee, maybe I can just throw some of the names back at you and see if you have any particular memories or stories about them. Like Jimmy Blanton.
Young
Jimmy Blanton?
Isoardi
How did you meet Jimmy Blanton?
Young
Oh, I met Jimmy Blanton when he was with Duke. I think I met him through [Billy] Strayhorn. We just hit it off. We became the best buddies you can be. When he was out here, I think the longest time was when he was rehearsing for that show. What's the name of the show they did out here, Duke Ellington did? Sid Kuller wrote the show. Not Lucky Day.
It wasn't Jump for Joy was it?
Young
Jump for Joy. I used to go to rehearsal every day because I wanted to hear the band all the time. And I just hung around and hung around. We would go play basketball together. We would play baseball. And he was with me when I had a little problem at MGM.
Isoardi
Oh, you told me that story last time. [laughter]
Young
I told you about that, didn't I?
Isoardi
You were sort of hiding out from them.
Young
Because they wouldn't pay me. Jimmy was with me. That's when Jimmy found out that he had tuberculosis.
Isoardi
Oh, what a tragedy.
Young
But he was a genius on that bass. He died so young.
Isoardi
Just from the few recordings, what a sound.
Young
I think he was twenty-five or twenty-six when he passed. Yes, a young man. But a lot of good things, like I think I may have told you this story about Slam Stewart and Jimmy and what Prez thought. I didn't tell you about that session?
Isoardi
No, no.
Young
Oh. That's that session that I'm telling you about where all the musicians were there. Prez and Slam were really good friends. And I kept telling Lester, I
Isoardi
[laughter] Perfect song.
Young
Yes. And Prez is funny about music. When he first heard him and he heard him playing all these things, Prez said, "Give me a double drink." [laughter] He said, "Little P"—he called me Little P—"Little P's man has kicked my man all over the stage." [laughter] But he did. He was something else. He was in another world. The man was doubly great.
Isoardi
He called you "Little P"?
Young
Yes, "Little P." Whatever that meant. [laughter] It was an endearment, though.
Isoardi
Yes, sure.
Young
He said, "Give me a double. Lord, he's killing me." He was awful, because Slam would say [sings bouncy phrase], and so he's humming everything he's playing. And
I took Blanton to—I never did think this place would be that big—the City of Hope, out there in Duarte. I took him out there when he became ill. I took him to [Los Angeles County] General Hospital first and then went and got him and took him out to the City of Hope. You think about those people now, he would have been alive if it had been today.
Isoardi
Oh, yes.
Young
Yes. At that time tuberculosis, once you had it, you were gone.
I think that was about the extent of my jobs on the avenue, because when I left with Nat and when I quit Nat in '62, I had one job after that. Andy Williams was trying to get me to come to Chicago to do his show with him. And I kept saying no, I didn't want to go. "No, I don't want to play any drums. I don't want to go." "Well, I've got to have you." And Dave [David] Grusin was his pianist, so Dave got on the phone. He called me and said, "Hey, Lee." "What do you want?" He said, "Andy said that he'll give you twice what you want, and he'll pick up your golf bill every day." I said, "What time is rehearsal?" [laughter] So I got on the next plane, and I went to Chicago.
He knew how to get to you.
Young
Oh, he got to me. When he said golf— So that was straight. And that's the only other job that I ever played after Nat. I didn't want to play anymore. Then I went into the record business.
Isoardi
Yes. Let me throw some more names at you. You mentioned Art Pepper earlier.
Young
Art Pepper?
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
Let me tell you a funny thing about Art Pepper. Art Pepper must have been eighteen or nineteen when I hired him. Okay? I told you I always hired good musicians. I always did. He was a good, young musician, and he played in that section that I was telling you about with Jack McVea. And things were not on the avenue about color the way it is today. So we have really retrogressed, I've got to tell you, because it was not dangerous for white people to be on Central Avenue. But a funny thing about how people— And I forgave him because he was young when he first played in my band. I think he was only eighteen years old, and all the guys were young then. He was the youngest, and he was around nothing but black people, because that's all there was in the band.
Isoardi
Well, he used to hang out on Central, I think.
Young
Sure he did. It was nothing for any white person
Isoardi
Yes, Straight Life: [The Story of Art Pepper].
Young
Yes. His wife wanted me to have the book so badly. She sent me the book. And when I read the book, I just couldn't believe this was the way Art Pepper perceived me. He gave me the biggest compliments to him that you could. "Lee Young was different. He was really a gentleman." He said, "I can see him now. He had a big diamond ring, and he had a stick pin." I said, "Who did you see?" [laughter]
Isoardi
I was going to say, that doesn't quite sound right.
Young
I said, "Who did he see?" I absolutely hate jewelry! But you know what he had been looking at? He had been looking at these pimps with the big diamond ring, big stick pins. You see here? This is penicillin [indicates medic alert necklace hanging around his neck]. This is what this is. [laughter] But I said, "How did he see that?" Then I started thinking, and I said, "Well, he was like seventeen or eighteen, and he's around all these people." They had guys named like Sonny Howard, [Elihu]
And that's why I think I was successful in the record business, because it's colorless to me. Either it's a good song or it's not a good song. I don't care who wrote it, just let me hear the song. When I got into the record business, I used to choose all the singles for the companies that I worked for.
Isoardi
You were an A and R [artists and repertoire] man for when Motown [Records] started, weren't you?
Young
I wasn't with them when they started. I went to them later. I worked at Vee-Jay Records first, the one I told you about.
Isoardi
Vee-Jay had a good catalog.
In '63 I was working for Vee-Jay. I knew nothing about the record business, and they made me head of A and R. But I'm a musician, and I've always been great with figures. Music is nothing but figures anyway, the way I look at it. I've always been great with figures. So they put me under the gun. I made up budgets and looked at the budgets, because before I got there, Vee-Jay was being robbed because they never made up any budgets. The record business is different than any other business. So, yes, I worked for Vee-Jay Records. From Vee-Jay I went to United Artists [Records], and I ran a budget label [Sunset Records] at United Artists.
I left there, and I went to Dunhill Records. And at Dunhill Records I ran two publishing companies. Then Dunhill was sold to ABC [Records], and I ran the publishing company. Then I was assistant to the president [Jay Lasker] at ABC. I really wanted to learn the business.
And this funny little joke you may want to know about: the president made me his assistant, but he was a real cranky man. If the truth were known, I didn't care for him at all because of the way he talked to people. I'm still a musician, and when I got into the record business I was really pro-artist. I was pro-artist because the record people talk down to them and beat them
So what I didn't understand— I knew something was wrong with him, because I would come to work at nine o'clock— I always sat over in the corner, and he let me hear everything. I would listen to every deal he would make, everything he would say. Being in show business really helps you, because you're a little more observant than just the average Joe. You really are. So I went to his secretary. I said, "What time does he get in in the morning?" She said, "He gets in at seven o'clock." "Seven o'clock?" "Yes." So he's teed off with me because
After that, he made me head of A and R. He said, "Now you've learned everything about the record business." I had been through everything then. And I didn't want a promotion in marketing and sales. I didn't want that. But I had all the publishing, and I'd listen to all the deals he made. He said, "Now, what you should do is be head of A and R, because that's where you are. You're a music man." So he put me in A and R. I was really sharp by then.
I could take what I learned from him about the business and then what I know about treating artists, and it really worked wonders for me, because by the time I went to Motown, Stevie Wonder would never come in the building before I got there. Never. He said he didn't
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Just holding my hand, he'd be right. And then he'd get to the next one, and he's holding my hand. I'm trying to say, "What am I doing—?" because I'm crazy about this one. And on about the second chorus he says, "Killing you, eh, Music Man?" He called me "Music Man." "It's killing you, eh?" I said, "It is really bad." I said, "But how can you tell that?" He said, "That's all right." He said, "I'm right, aren't I?" I said, "Yes, you're right."
Isoardi
Sensitive.
Young
Very sensitive. Well, I've always heard that they lose one, they get other—
Isoardi
Yes, you develop other senses.
Young
They develop other senses. He did, too. I went
Music will take care of you through it. I never did loose my musicianship, because I was a musician first. I was sitting behind a desk, but I learned as much from this guy what not to do as I did what to do. I really did. Because he knew the business inside out. But you don't have to take away— In the record business, there's so much money to be made, there's enough to pay these people the right amount of money. You don't have to stiff them. So the problem that I had from being on the inside, which they accused me of rightly, was that I was pro-artist. Because I'd get in the meetings, and if you were an artist, I would argue for you, and you may be in Japan
I think that's what's wrong with the business now, too. You don't hear much new music now. Every record company says, "Oh, Columbia [Records] put this out; make me a record like this."
Tape Number: IV, Side One
October 4, 1991
Isoardi
Okay, Lee, I have a few items remaining to ask you that I don't think we've covered yet. I wonder if we can begin with a subject that's come up but that we haven't directly addressed, and that's who owned a lot of these clubs and what these people were like. How were the clubs run from a musician's standpoint or from a bandleader's standpoint? Because I would guess in that role you probably had to deal with them more than most musicians. So maybe if you can give us some insight as to who owned these places and how the clubs were run.
Young
The clubs on Central Avenue that I played, for instance, were the Club Alabam and the Downbeat [Club]. The Club Alabam was run by Curtis Mosby. That's the larger-sized band I had. When I had the small group, and I was telling you about Lucky Thompson and Marshal Royal and those guys, that was the Downbeat. A very small club. Maybe seventy-five or eighty people could get in there. And the fellow that actually owned the club was a Caucasian. His name was Hal Stanley. The fellow who fronted the club was a real nice man. They called him "Black Dot" McGhee. Everyone called him "Black Dot." Some knew his name was really Elihu McGhee. He ran the
There was a club across the street that was very palatial. It was called the Last Word [Cafe].
Isoardi
Palatial, really?
Young
It really was. That's where it got its name, I think, because there was a message they were sending, like this club is the last word.
Isoardi
What did it look like? Do you remember?
Young
I'm not too good on that. I can see the club. I think palatial would be as much as I can say about it. At the Last Word, they could seat about twice as many. And they had a larger bar. At the Downbeat they had a bar where it would seat about ten people. It was very intimate.
Isoardi
Sort of a small stage at the front?
Young
No, no. Remember, as you would come in the door, it was right in the center up against the wall, and I was telling you about the pillars where they had the mirrors. This was where Lucky and Marshal used to fight to play in front of the mirror.
The Last Word was a much larger club. And they had shows over there. But where we were, we just had the music at the Downbeat, because people would just come in
Isoardi
Right.
Young
They had real good shows over there. You didn't have the same clientele. If people went over there, they wanted to see a show and—
Isoardi
As opposed to the real hardcore—
Young
And they could dance there.
Isoardi
Oh, there was room to dance?
Oh, yes, they had a small dance floor about as big as the Oasis up on Western Avenue. The Oasis had a floor, maybe it was about ten feet. They could get maybe eight couples on the floor. It's because that particular club— Oh, what's his name? Howard Duff. He was a jazz hound.
Isoardi
The actor?
Young
Yes, Howard Duff. And Ida Lupino. Was that her name? I think he ended up marrying her. They would come in the club at least three or four times a week—that's before they were married—and they used to dance on the floor and smooching all over the place, because he was the guy that was just really out. She'd say, "Oh, Howard. Oh, Howard." We used to say, "Oh, Howard. Here comes `Oh, Howard.'" That's what we would call him. Because she'd say, "Oh, Howard," and he'd be smooching. She was rather refined, and he was just kind of loose out there. That was at the Oasis.
And a funny thing about the Oasis, right there just off Rodeo [Road], which is Exposition [Boulevard], really— it becomes Exposition when it's that way—in the thirty-something block. Afro-Americans or Negroes or coloreds or blacks or whatever we were being called, they didn't go to that club. They were not allowed in that club even though it was on Western Avenue. That club made all their money off of USC [University of Southern California], because
Isoardi
You could perform but you couldn't—
Young
No, no.
Isoardi
Oh, not even perform.
Young
They didn't even do that then. No, they didn't even perform then. But then business became so bad for some reason. You know how college kids are, that may be their place now but in a couple of years that may not be it. Maybe it was Dolores's [Drive-In] or someplace [else]. Dolores's over on Figueroa [Street], I think, became the real place for all the kids at 'SC to go. So they took their clientele and they went someplace else, and it wasn't because of anything. So the guy at the Oasis didn't even know what to do. And he was the guy that— I can't remember his name. He owned the furniture store on Western Avenue. So this black guy that worked for him that he was very fond of told him he should try to book black acts in there. In that particular club, all of them did play there, and I had the house band there. I think I did tell you about that.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
That's the one I told you about where Billy Eckstine was there and [Charles] Mingus.
Isoardi
Yes, what a great story. [laughter]
But I hadn't told you how this place came about, because you couldn't go in there at one time.
Isoardi
Who owned the Last Word?
Young
That's what I was trying to think of. I was really trying to dig that up. I don't know whether it was Sonny Howard or not. There was a guy on the avenue, he used to open clubs, and he had a pool room, and his name was Sonny Howard. I don't know why that kind of sticks out to me. It could have been him.
And then the Casbah [Supper Club]. I think I told you about the Casbah, didn't I?
Isoardi
Yes, you did, a couple of times.
Young
It was out on Figueroa. You know who played out there. But at the Oasis, everyone came in there after it was no longer segregated. Because Nat [King] Cole played there, Louis Armstrong played there, [Count] Basie's six-piece band played there. And a lot of people may have wondered, how did they pay the people acts? But what this guy did is he would give them a small guarantee and give them 50 percent of the door and he kept the bar. The place would be packed every night. When Nat came they were packed every night. And they would make more that way than they did on a lot of other gigs.
Isoardi
I'm sure.
Young
It seated about 125.
That sounds like an unusual arrangement. I would think most club owners wouldn't want to do that.
Young
During that time, some club owners would do it, just splitting the door with you and not guaranteeing you anything, just what you could draw.
Isoardi
So it wasn't unusual, then.
Young
No, it was not unusual. As a matter of fact, it's a good deal, because if you know those type of acts— They'd be lined up around the corner to see Louis [Armstrong], to see Lady Day [Billie Holiday]. Anita O'Day also worked there.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. Oh, most everyone you can think of. All of them worked that club. But that was the spot in Los Angeles at the time, because they would do three shows a night. It's not a case of where you could stay for the second show. It's in and out. You could stay for the first show, then you'd empty the house. Then they'd be out waiting, then they'd come in. So they'd do three shows a night, and they'd fill the place up.
Isoardi
Yes, and you could make some good change.
Young
They made good money. They really did. So that's about the size of that, I think.
There was another very prominent bar on Western down by Twenty-ninth [Street]. There was never entertainment,
Isoardi
Curtis Mosby, I think, began as a musician, didn't he?
Young
Yes, he was a drummer.
Isoardi
He was a drummer?
Young
A very bad drummer. [laughter] And I can say that because I saw him play when I was a kid. He was what you called a one-hand drummer.
Isoardi
It may be just as well he went into the business end of it, then.
Young
It's a funny thing about him. Most of those guys really end up on the business end of it. He ended up with a nightclub and—
Isoardi
Well, he had the Alabam.
Young
Oh, yes. But the Apex [Club] was the club.
Isoardi
He didn't run the Apex, then? That was before his time?
Young
No, no. Curtis Mosby was connected with the Apex, too, unless I'm missing something. I don't think I am,
Isoardi
Yes, when you first came out.
Young
As a singer. And that may be vague to me. But I remember everyone who was in that band at the time when I was there, when I was going to school. And the labor commission made me stop working, because I was singing and dancing. And it certainly seems to me that Curtis Mosby had something to do with the Apex.
Isoardi
So he was around then.
Young
Oh, yes. No question about him being around. And I know he wasn't the drummer in the band. [laughter] That was a guy named Baby Lewis that I told you about. That was the drummer that I really liked. And C. [Cecil] L. Burke, the banjo player. I used to hang around him when I was a kid because he could really draw. He's the guy that wrote "When the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano."
Isoardi
Really? I thought that was— Wasn't that René? One of the Renés?
Young
Leon René? I think he wrote it with him.
Isoardi
Oh.
Young
I think that he cowrote it. I think it was Leon and his brother. What's his brother's name?
Otis [René]?
Young
Otis and Leon. And I'm pretty sure it was C. L. that wrote it with them, because I remember him singing it all the time. But you can check that out. I may not be exactly right on that, as on many other things. In retrospect, it seems odd to me for them to let him be part of writing the song, because they were very close. And they did write their own lyrics most of the time.
Isoardi
Did they write music? Or were they mostly lyricists?
Young
No, Leon was a pianist.
Isoardi
Oh, so they would write music and the lyrics.
Young
Yes. So that's why I'm saying, in retrospect maybe—
Isoardi
What would his role have been?
Young
Sometimes people collaborated. In those days many did. But I don't know. Maybe in my mind at the time, maybe there's something that made me think that he wrote it also. I know he didn't write it alone, because I know Leon and Otis René wrote it.
Isoardi
What was it like to work for Mosby? I guess you must have had to deal directly with him since you had your band in the Alabam.
Young
Oh, let's see. This is a funny story, but I don't want it to seem derogatory about him, because he treated
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Oh, he treated me great. I think he ended up practically owing every musician but me. I worked for him with Byron Moorehead's band. There was a trombone player named Byron Moorehead. As a matter of fact, he and Mosby looked somewhat alike. They'd been friends for years. And he did have a reputation, and I can understand now that I know more about what was happening then. He always had a large payroll.
Isoardi
I would think so at the Alabam.
Young
He had about eight or ten chorus girls, he had singers and comedians, everything you can think of. Big payroll. The musicians always thought that they got their money last, and if anybody was short, the musicians would be short. But I don't know if that's true or not. I would tend to think that maybe other people were short too, but at least they had someplace to work. If they didn't get all their money then they got part of it, because it was the only game in town. Where else were they going to work? But this is me now; that wasn't me then. Because me then, when Moorehead wanted me to come to work for him, I would not go to work for him unless I was paid in advance every night before I went on the bandstand. Now that's a fact.
[laughter] Did he do it?
Young
I would go to the ticket office every night, and he'd go there and he'd take my money out and he'd pay me. I don't think it was over $6 or $7 a night. But that was $6 or $7 that were very, very important.
Isoardi
That you were going to get.
Young
I had made up in my mind that I would not let anyone owe me or beat me out of any money. I was really adamant about that. And he never broke his word with me. He didn't think anything was wrong with that. He didn't give me a long lecture about "Who do you think you are?" and all that. He said, "that's what he wants?" He said, "You've got a deal." But he was late one night. Moorehead's trying to get me to get on the stand, and I said, "Nope." Wouldn't budge. So he came in, and everybody is angry with me. The world was angry with me.
Isoardi
I'll bet. [laughter]
Young
So we couldn't go on. But I was that type of person. A deal's a deal. "Now, don't get angry. I didn't make no deal with you; I made it with him." I said, "He should have phoned to tell somebody something, but he didn't." So when he came in and he saw this, they said, "He won't go on because—" He said, "Well, he's right." And he went and he got my money, and he paid me. But I never did have any problems with him. He did an
Isoardi
He ran that for quite a few years.
Young
Yes. But it wasn't like when he had the Apex. When he had the Apex, you were getting most all the movie stars out on Central Avenue. Because the amount of black people that lived in the community then, they couldn't support a club six nights a week. We could not. It was impossible. So they would [come] Saturday and Sunday in all probability. But you had to get it from the other side of town, and that's where they got it from. That's how the Apex ran. The Apex had Ivie Anderson, as I told you about. "Rochester" [Eddie Anderson] worked there. All of them, big bands worked there, and that place was always loaded. Because I remember it as a kid. They even had an upstairs to it. And then, in later years, [Frank] Sebastian's Cotton Club I think helped cause the demise of the Apex or the Alabam.
Isoardi
Out in Culver City?
Young
Culver City, right. Sebastian's Cotton Club. He brought in all the big bands. He brought in [Jimmie] Lunceford. They had the big shows with them. They had a dance team there; they were choreographers named Broomfield and Greeley. It was a man and a woman, and they were just it. They put on just fantastic shows.
It must have been a big place, then.
Young
Oh, this was a big place. The Cotton Club must have seated about 350 or 400.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Oh, yes.
Isoardi
Plus a dance floor?
Young
Plus a dance floor. It was a big bandstand. This was a big nightclub. He did it up right. And it ran for quite a while. And then that went under, and someone else bought it and called it the Casa Mañana.
Isoardi
Aha. Yes, I've heard that. What was Frank Sebastian like? No one's said anything about him.
Young
Frank Sebastian was a guy, as I remember him— Women said he was a very handsome man. I don't know why I thought he was Italian, but whatever he was, he was salt-and-pepper gray. He was about six feet tall, and he always wore a boutonniere, no matter what he had on. He dressed very well. I think he knew all the movie stars, and he was like the greatest host in the world. He met everyone at the door.
Isoardi
Did he have a background in music or anything like that?
Young
I don't think so.
Isoardi
Or was it in the movies?
Young
I don't know. But I don't believe so. I never
Isoardi
Oh, right, right.
Young
That's when it was a big band, and Lionel was in the band. They used to broadcast from there on KHJ [radio] twice a night for fifteen minutes. "Coming from Sebastian's Cotton Club." I know I used to sit up and listen to these guys every night. Because that was the place.
Isoardi
You know, I heard a story—I can't remember who told me now—about Lloyd Reese playing in the Les Hite band.
Young
That's right.
Isoardi
I had always thought of him as a trumpeter, and then somebody said, "No, no. Early on he was playing saxophone."
Young
He was.
Isoardi
And he apparently asked the trumpeters if he could try and play a trumpet line or something. They just gave him a hard time, so he said, "I'll show them," went out and taught himself trumpet, came back, and just blew everybody away.
Young
He was one of the great trumpet players. And he was equally good on saxophone. Sure, he played saxophone
Isoardi
Sounds like it.
Young
He could kill that trumpet. He just murdered it. I think he was a natural, really, because he was a good saxophone player, also. Anything he would have played musically, he would have been all right at. But the trumpet, when he— I had heard about that, too.
Isoardi
What about Billy Berg?
Young
What about him?
Isoardi
His name comes up so much, owning so many clubs.
Young
He did.
Isoardi
All the way from Billy Berg's, I guess, at Pico [Boulevard] and La Cienega [Boulevard]—
Young
That's where it started.
Isoardi
The Trouville, all the way through, I guess, Billy Berg's up in Hollywood, when Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker were in town.
Young
You mean the one on Vine [Street]?
Isoardi
I think so. It's when they had that famous gig.
That was the last one.
Isoardi
At the end of '45, '46?
Young
Yes, that was his last one.
Isoardi
Who was he? Do you know?
Young
He was just a—
Isoardi
Just another club owner? He wasn't a musician?
Young
Just another club owner. No, he wasn't a musician. He must have been about five foot four. I think he was a New Yorker, because there is a certain aura about the guys from New York. You can just tell. Really. He had that swagger. I worked in his first place, and I stayed there as long as we wanted to stay there.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. The Billy Berg's at Pico and La Cienega. I told you the story about Lester [Young] and I. We stayed there until he got ready to move. When he moved, he moved from there to the Trouville. A lot of people missed this one. A lot of them think that he went from the Trouville to Billy Berg's on Vine Street. He did not. He went from the Trouville to a place he called the Swing Club on Hollywood Boulevard.
Isoardi
Aha.
Young
It was on Sunset [Boulevard] on the north side of the street. The Swing Club he called it. It was a big barn-like place. That wasn't the type of place that he
Isoardi
That was his last club?
Young
That was the last club, yes. There is another club that's pre-Billy Berg's, and I would have to go back. I did tell you about Fats Waller, didn't I?
Isoardi
No, you haven't mentioned him.
Young
No? Oh, okay. I even know the year, because that's the year my son [Lee Young Jr.] was born. It was 1937, so that's way before this. There was a club called the Famous Door on Vine Street. It was on the corner of Willoughby [Avenue]. You know where the musicians union [Local 47] is?
Isoardi
Sure.
Young
Okay, that place right there at Willoughby, there was the Famous Door. Stuff Smith played there, all of the little groups played there.
Isoardi
So it was a small club?
Young
Yes, like a little castle there. A lot of people didn't know this. The guy that used to work on Bob Hope's show, was it? Jerry— With a mustache?
Isoardi
Colonna?
Jerry Colonna.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. Jerry Colonna's brother [Red Colonna] ran the Famous Door. Jerry Colonna was a trombone player. A lot of people were not aware of that. A pretty good trombone player, too, because we would have sessions out there and he would sit in on the sessions.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. I don't know why I thought of this. I guess I thought of it because of Billy Berg's being on Vine up near Fountain [Avenue]. His was near Fountain, because that's where the Hollywood Ranch Market was. But before that [there was] the Famous Door, and it was built like a little house right there on Willoughby. And I don't believe that they could get over sixty or seventy people in there.
Isoardi
It was a musician's club, it sounds like.
Young
It was. It was jazz people that came there, because Fats Waller, when he came to town, he came out looking for me. He knew I was going to be the drummer, and I didn't know it. But I had met all the other musicians. I was the guy that— I think I told you that. If Duke [Ellington] was coming to town by bus, or if Lunceford was coming to town by train, the first person they would see when they hit town would be me. I would
Isoardi
You told us about the band, and you told us about the jams you used to do, but I don't remember a story about Sonny Greer becoming ill.
Young
Okay. The night that Lester and I were going to open— I think this must be our second time around at Billy Berg's, because I know it was our opening night. It had to be our second time, because the first time we had been working there when Lester came out, because before Lester came out it just said "Lee Young." I think I called it "Lee Young and his Esquires" or something. Then we had the banner changed to "Lee and Lester Young"; this banner by then was saying "Lee and Lester Young." So it was our opening night there. And the same night, Duke was opening
Ben Webster and Jimmy Blanton and I were real good friends. So they called me and told me that Sonny Greer was sick, and "Come on, you've got to play opening night with us." So I called Lester, Red [Callender], [Arthur] Twine, Louis Gonzalez, and told everybody they had to get a drummer, because I was going to play Duke's opening night. They couldn't talk to me. They said, "Well, this is our opening night, and you're the leader!" I said, "I'm not the leader tonight. I may not ever get another chance to play with Duke. I don't care. It's only one night. I want to play with him, and I may not ever get a chance." You know how when you're young you think, "I may not ever get a chance to play with him in my life."
Isoardi
Oh, yes. What an opportunity.
Young
And they said, "Well, what about us?" I said, "Get somebody else!" So they've got to hustle to get a drummer. And I was through with it. [laughter]
I went to play with Duke opening night at the Trianon. Biggest thrill of my young life then, because I had studied the band so long, and I always wanted to know how he started the band. I don't know if you ever heard people talk about that.
Isoardi
No.
Young
The band always started playing, and there was
Isoardi
So tight that they—
Young
Anyway, that was a big, big thrill.
Isoardi
And it went fantastic that night.
Young
Yes, but I let my band down. [laughter] I didn't want to be a bandleader anymore. That was the end of being a bandleader, a co-bandleader, whatever you want to say. I was through.
Isoardi
Did you ever want to go on the road with one of those big bands?
Young
Oh, yes. I wanted to go on the road with a big band. As a matter of fact, when I went to the studio— I told you that story though.
Isoardi
The story about Stan Kenton?
Young
That was Stan Kenton, yes. Then I was going to go, that time. And then another time I was going to go with Duke. But my kid and I, we lived alone for quite a while. I had him from the time he was eight till he was fifteen. So I couldn't go anyplace. That's when this came up. Not with the Kenton; I could go with the Kenton, because his mother [Louise Franklin Young] and I were still together. I told you about Dave [David] Klein. And
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
When I went to New York, though, I got to play with Basie's band over at the Roseland Ballroom. And then another time out here, Basie and them were getting ready to go to San Diego. They were going to play in San Diego for one night. So I was down at the Dunbar to see the guys off. I'm down there, it's summertime, I'm in my shirtsleeves. I told my wife, "I'm going down to see Basie off." I come then, and Snooky and them said, "Boy, we've been trying to find you. Where have you been?" I said, "What happened?" Jo Jones's wife was very ill and he had to go back.
Isoardi
Oh, boy. [laughter]
Young
So I said, "Well, let me make a telephone call. I can call home." He said, "No, no. The bus is leaving. We've got to go." Boom, they put me on the bus.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. And I go down to San Diego, and now my family doesn't even know where I am until I get to San Diego. I called and told them I'm down there with Basie.
Isoardi
What about your drums?
Young
I used his.
You used Jo Jones's drums?
Young
Yes, I used Jo's drums. That was a real, real thing, because Duke didn't have any charts for me because Sonny Greer didn't use any. As long as you've been with the band, you don't use any book, because you know everything in it. But Basie and them had a lot of new arrangements, and they brought them out that night, and reading was my forte.
Isoardi
Oh, good thing. [laughter]
Young
Oh, yes. That was my element. I worked the studios. They didn't have nothing for me. That's real simple. So it just killed them, because most of the jazz drummers at that time, we used to say they couldn't see, meaning they didn't read. But they didn't have to. They really didn't. Those were some really great things that happened to me, I thought. I really loved it.
I think the funniest story is if I sit up and think about you're a bandleader and you tell your band, "I will not be there for opening night." [laughter] That's what I told them. And I only worked one night with them. Sonny was all right the next night.
Isoardi
Yes. Well, that's a once-in-a-lifetime shot.
Young
Yes, but at that time—
Isoardi
They couldn't hold it against you?
Young
No, they didn't. Every musician that I knew at
And I knew most of their arrangements, too. They couldn't play anything I hadn't heard, because I was a record collector. Because I lived out here I bought everything that you could think of. You could play most any record you wanted to. When I started, I could tell you who the soloist was, and I could always tell you who the drummer was. Talk about blindfold tests, you could blindfold me to death, but I knew every drummer. Because a lot of people, unless you play, they don't pay that much attention.
I found even with pianists, you can tell the
Isoardi
[laughter] That's what they thought.
Young
Wiggins would probably tell you this. The first guy that played was Eddie Beal, to my recollection. Eddie Beal started off; he played. Then came Wiggins. He played. Now, they're warming the piano up.
Isoardi
[laughter] Gerry would agree.
Young
Then Oscar. Oh, yes.
Isoardi
He worshipped Tatum.
Young
Oh, yes. I know it. Then Oscar Peterson played. "Oh, he's going to burn him up." And then Tatum played. When he finished playing whatever he was playing— He may have been playing "Liebestraum," because I loved to hear
Isoardi
Oh, yes.
Young
That's what he played. He was playing that for Oscar like "I have killed you. I have washed you away." He was unbelievable. He was just an unreal musician. And just this Tuesday I played golf with Ray Brown, and he was telling me— I played with the trio at one time, Brown and Oscar. And he said, "You should hear O. P. playing." He's in a wheelchair, you know.
Isoardi
Really?
Young
Yes. I wasn't aware he was in a wheelchair. He can't walk to the piano. But he said, "He gets to that piano now—" He said, "If you think he used to play, you should hear him now." He's the boss now. No question about it. No one can fool with him, because he burns it up. But Tatum burned it up, also.
Isoardi
I've heard so many stories from Gerry and Bill [William] Douglass. They worshipped Tatum. I can't remember which one—maybe it was Gerry—said one time they were in a club, and these friends had come down from San Francisco and they were sort of snooty, socialite types. Tatum came over and sat down, introduced them around. And
Young
Oh, talking to the wrong man.
Isoardi
Tatum just sort of smiled and said, "Oh, a little." Then he walked over to the piano, and apparently he sat there for an hour—
Young
That's the way he is, though.
Isoardi
From memory. Just playing and doing inventions and variations.
Young
That's right. That's him.
Isoardi
Then he came back an hour later, and she just said, "Now I know when to keep my big mouth shut!"
Young
That's right! [laughter] Oh, he would close you up. He was an amazing man. I used to go to track meets all the time with him.
Isoardi
Track meets?
Young
He loved track meets.
Isoardi
Really? Why did he like them?
Young
He wasn't totally blind in one eye.
Isoardi
Yes, that's what I've heard.
Young
When we would go I would always wear a white shirt. You would never lead him by his hand or nothing; you'd just put on a white shirt and walk in front of him, and he could see that. I never will forget, we went to— It was years ago when they were only pole vaulting— I
Isoardi
[laughter] Yes, really! [laughter]
Young
That's right. You can look that up, because that's right.
Tape Number: IV, Side Two
October 4, 1991
Young
The amazing thing about him at the track meets— I know he could not see that far. He could see like this, because he used to play cards.
Isoardi
Yes, just a few inches.
Young
Yes. And the moment when the guy would make it, he was the first one to jump up and say, "He made it!" Like the hundred-yard dash and the two hundred meters, he knew when they hit the line. He did. And when he played cards— He used to love to play whist and bridge. He would get his thirteen cards, and this is what he always did, he held them like this, shuffled them out. [recreates Tatum's movements] Never looked again.
Isoardi
He just memorized them all.
Young
Thirteen cards he had placed in there. He never looked again. And he'd say, "What is that?" We'd say, "That's a king." He'd say, "Bam!" and put his ace on your king.
Isoardi
So he'd see them, memorize them, and organize them in his hand, as well, so he'd know—
Young
That's what he did.
Isoardi
Oh, boy.
Young
All the guys who played cards with him will tell
Isoardi
Yes, sure.
Young
Because they're always great. In his time, no one could touch him. I think like, at the time now, I don't think they can touch Oscar Peterson. That goes back to it's still a matter of taste.
Isoardi
Lee, let me shift gears a little bit. We haven't touched on this. Well, we've talked a little bit about [American Federation of Musicians] Local 767, but I guess one of the most significant things in the late forties, early fifties, was the amalgamation of the two unions, Local 47 and Local 767. Were you involved in that at all? Did you have a position in that or were you active in that? Did you support it or oppose it?
Young
Oh, no, I supported it.
Isoardi
You supported it.
Young
Didn't I tell you about me being hired at NBC [National Broadcasting Company]?
Isoardi
I'm not sure.
Young
I was hired at NBC. There were separate locals at the time.
Isoardi
Right.
Okay? So one morning they called me, NBC. It was Camel Caravan. The leader, his name was Fisher. He was a Russian guy. They called me because the drummers couldn't play their show for them. That's scraping the bottom of the barrel, because you're in separate locals.
Isoardi
So they normally went to Local 47.
Young
But they knew. This was a Local 47 contractor that called me to work. So I rushed out, got there right at Sunset and Gower [Street]. I went out to set up my drums, and I played the show. It was all over, the guys were applauding, and the leader told me that I had the job for thirteen weeks. I was really glad of that, because that's breaking down something.
Isoardi
So you were the only black in the band?
Young
The only black in the band, yes. So I came back next week, and I was setting my drums up, and I saw another guy with his drums already set up. I said, "I'm still going to set mine up," because you don't know, maybe someone's going to play a solo or something. But the contractor came over to me and said, "Lee, what are you setting your drums up for?" I said, "I'm setting my drums up because you told me I had the thing—" He said, "Oh, no, that was just for last week."
Now, Nick Fatool had just come out from New York. You know Nick Fatool? Nick Fatool was the drummer with
Isoardi
That's when he had to sit out.
Young
Six months he had to sit out. But because of the separation of the locals, they didn't think I had any rights, because I was from the black local. So they figured if a white guy comes to town, he's supposed to take that job, because he put his card in. But it's still a national local, and the rules should apply, whatever it is.
So they told me that I didn't have the job. The guy said I wasn't hired. That's what the contractor said. So I asked the conductor, I said, "Didn't you tell me I was hired for thirteen weeks?" He said, "Yes, I did tell you that." So he wouldn't back down. He said, "I did tell you that. And you're who I wanted."
Anyway, I took my drums down, and I went to the 767 to file charges. The president, his name was Mr. Bailey, he was a gentleman, very good education, but he was from the South. He was a nice man, but wasn't thinking right as far as I was concerned. And so I filed charges with [James C.] Petrillo, with the national, after they didn't let me work the second week. I know when it happened. It
Isoardi
How did they get the story?
Young
The musicians told them. I didn't tell them.
Isoardi
The guys in the band.
Young
The guys in the band that I had worked with.
Isoardi
So they didn't like it, either.
Young
No, no, they didn't like it. You know musicians.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
You're talking about the arts. I mean, they don't think that way.
Anyway, when that story hit, then it was a big thing. Now we had to go to Local 47, before the board. So Mr. Bailey, I never will forget him, he had his hat in his hand, and he was telling them why, "I really think"—very articulate, you know—"I really think that Lee is one of our young musicians, and he may have misunderstood exactly what you said."
Isoardi
He took their side?
Young
Absolutely. But that didn't matter to me.
Isoardi
Were you surprised?
Young
No, not really. Because he's got his hat in his hand, and he's kowtowing. So that didn't matter to me, because if you do it to me— I was fortunate enough to
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
"My first date was at Hal Roach [Studios]. Hal Roach is up on Washington [Boulevard], also. From Hal Roach I went to MGM [Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer]; that was my next date. My next date was at Warner Bros. [Pictures]; and the next date was at RKO [Radio Pictures]." So he said, "Yes?" So I said, "I didn't go to RKO when I was supposed to go to Warner Bros. I didn't go to MGM when I was supposed to go to Hal Roach." I said, "I've been doing this all the time and I do know when I've been hired. And I'll tell you," and I told him what was said to me and what I asked. Ben Barrett I think was the contractor's name. "After the contractor said that to me, I went to the conductor and asked him if he didn't say
They said, "Well, we can make sure of it. Let's get him on the phone." So they called him on the phone.
Isoardi
The conductor?
Young
And he told them, yes, I was right. He was bitterly against it, and he was angry at the manner it was done. He talked to them for a long time on the phone. When they hung up, they said I won the case.
Isoardi
So you got the gig then for thirteen weeks?
Young
No, they paid me. They didn't give me the gig.
Isoardi
They paid you out for thirteen weeks?
Young
For twelve weeks because I had played one week. I thought I had told you that. I didn't tell you that?
Isoardi
No.
Young
So to answer your question about if I was for the amalgamation, I was a thousand percent. And then when you see things like more guys at 767 were against it than were for it— The reason that I think they were is because now they'd be in the mainstream of things. And you have to be ready. Because a lot of guys had jobs working at the union, and they would be absorbed, and they wouldn't have these jobs over there. Because you're going in with [the other]. Maybe they had five to one against what we would take in there. You know when it would go to a vote,
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
And they had different scales. They had a scale for us. If we worked the same clubs they worked—
Isoardi
You got less pay.
Young
We got less pay, yes. I wanted amalgamation. But I was working all the time. There were other guys that were not as ready, not quite, say, as qualified. And the more musicians that are around, the bigger the competition becomes. But it was a great help because they had so many things that we didn't have. And then when you come under that umbrella, then you have to be treated in a like manner. So that's what happened with that.
I lived next door to that union for years, 767. The union was right there; my house was here. So I knew a lot about the union. I didn't think that it should have been separate. I never did think that, and I never did like it.
Isoardi
Was it an effective union on Central Avenue?
Young
Oh, yes, it did. Remember when I told that they had a rule where they didn't allow you to jam?
Isoardi
Right.
Young
That was Local 767. I think I told you at the time, they were right, because we were giving our talent away, because the people at the after-hours joints, they didn't have to pay for music. And they always kept a piano there because they knew I was going to bring some drums. [laughter] I didn't want to be paid. When you live at home with mama and papa, you don't have no responsibilities. I wanted to play; that's all I had in mind.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
They were right putting out the fines and everything. They just ran out of fines on me. [laughter] But no, they did function and they did a good job for what they did. They were never going to be competitive. You can't do that and really be competitive.
Years ago, when the bands would come to town and the bands played the Paramount Theatre, the union always had a rule: if an outside band comes to town, if they had
Isoardi
To cover all the chairs?
Young
Yes. You were never going to play. If Benny Goodman comes, and they had fourteen pieces, you'd send fourteen guys there to get that scale, and they had to pay them scale.
Isoardi
No kidding?
Young
That's right. And that was all over the country.
Isoardi
Why was that?
Young
It was like you taking money away from our players.
Isoardi
From local people.
Young
Yes. And it worked. And they didn't get that many squawks on it. But when you have separate unions, you never get a chance to do that unless Basie or Lunceford or Duke comes to town. Nothing changes. The same people would be the ones that would get that.
Isoardi
Would get the cover—
Young
Would get the standby jobs, because that's when the political stuff comes in. We only had about four bands that would ever come out and play the theaters, and so that's once a year.
Isoardi
How would they work that, I mean, jurisdictionally, when a big band would come to town? If it was a
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
No matter where they played. Is that how it worked?
Young
No, it was really theaters. It wasn't like at the [Hollywood] Palladium and the Palomar [Ballroom], the one that burned down. You didn't have to have standbys for that.
Isoardi
So it would just be for big theater performances.
Young
All the theater performances, yes.
Isoardi
Oh, I see. So if Basie or Lunceford was playing down at the Plantation Club in Watts, they wouldn't be covered. You wouldn't have to pay for—
Young
No, no.
Isoardi
Okay, so it was just the big theaters. I see, I see.
Young
That went on for a long time.
Isoardi
Really? I didn't know about it.
Young
Right. It just dawned on me the reason why. This will make more sense to you now. There was a guy named Rube Wolf. He had the house band at the Paramount Theatre. If Glenn Miller or the Casa Loma [Orchestra],
Isoardi
Oh. So they're off for a week.
Young
They're off for a week. But they would get paid. And they became the standby band. That's the point that I missed. Then it makes more sense that way.
Isoardi
Yes, I see.
Young
Because they always had that band in the pit, because they always had showgirls and everything.
Isoardi
So they were literally putting them out of work for a week, then.
Young
They were putting them out of work. So I finally came up with the right thing to tell you, because I remember that's who had it, and that's what would happen.
Isoardi
I see.
Young
So that was a good law.
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
The big problem about me at NBC was I would have had no recourse. It would have been tough for me if the musicians had not told Down Beat, also. That was the clue to everything, because they told Down Beat, and Down Beat just splashed it all over, about three pages telling why it happened. They quoted me, what I said. And the guys in the band said that it wasn't fair. I didn't get the gig, but I got the money. I did make enough noise, and I think that did help the amalgamation.
Your winning? Or the publicity? Or both?
Young
Yes, both. I think that really helped.
Isoardi
When did that happen? When did that incident happen? Do you know?
Young
It was '41.
Isoardi
That early? Let me ask you—
Young
You've got something else?
Isoardi
Yes, actually, and then we'll wind it up, Lee.
Young
Okay, go ahead.
Isoardi
What I've got left are two big questions.
Young
Oh, big ones. I'm waiting for the big ones.
Isoardi
Yes. First is why did Central Avenue decline, do you think, looking back on that?
Young
Oh, I think Central Avenue declined because of the war [World War II].
Isoardi
How so?
Young
Because that's when you could see it change. I don't know if you're aware of this or not, but the black soldiers, if they were from California, when they were drafted, they would send them to Mississippi, Georgia, or Alabama.
Isoardi
For basic training or whatever.
Young
Right. And the black soldiers from the South, they would send them to California, New Jersey, and New York. They'd send the guys from Jersey and New York back
Isoardi
He went to Alabama, didn't he?
Young
Yes. I know where they sent Jo Jones. I've always thought they did that by design. Because they had the Santa Ana air base out here. I don't know if you know anything about the Santa Ana air base. They had Fort Ord. All the white musicians from here that were drafted, they went to the Santa Ana air base. And they came home on the weekends, because I used to go out and play for the drummer so he could be with his family. That's why I think it was by design. Because they didn't move. Right in California. They stayed in California. Back there in New York, the white musicians that were drafted, they stayed there.
To answer your question about the decline is you had different types of people. It's like the freedom that you had out here, and when the guys come from the South, then they see it like this. They bring something else with them. The reason I say it's a political statement is because I've always noticed that people that come from the South—and this is for white, black, or whatever—when they come from the South, they bring it with them. Such as the neighborhood where you have garages and the lawns
Isoardi
Sure.
Young
I really believe the war changed it, but I do believe the army did that by design. I think it was a terrible thing to do. It was like saying that you haven't tasted any of the South, so we're going to expose you to what it's really like. That's the way I took it.
Isoardi
Yes. Certainly what happened to your brother was criminal.
Young
It was. He wasn't the only one it happened to, though. It happened to a lot of them. Guys that had never been South in their lives, they're down there, and they treat them like dogs. But if they had kept the guys that had been used to it, they know one another. They know how to act. I was reading the [Los Angeles] Times
Isoardi
What?
Young
They had a big picture in the paper with a man going to the back window in yesterday's Times.
Isoardi
Something going on now?
Young
That's now. And the guy that owns the bar, he said he knows it's against the law, but he said they'd rather be back there. He said, "I've got one room back there they can go in." You're talking about— You thought this was over with. No. The idea is to see this picture of this black guy there at the back ordering his food. So it's a different mentality. I'd starve first. You would think they would. But no, they don't. You didn't get to everyone. It didn't get to all of them.
Maybe it doesn't sound good, but those are my thoughts about it. And it did change. It did a flip-flop. Then the white people that used to come on Central Avenue, they were afraid, because you had a different type of black person here now. They'd probably snap their heads off and this, because they're angry with the people where they came from. That may not be the reason, but that's the one that I would give, because it was such a
Isoardi
One other big question. In looking back on Central Avenue and, I guess, the decades that it contributed so much great music and great musicians to jazz, how would you assess the importance of Central Avenue both to you as well as looking at the history of music and jazz in this country? How important was Central Avenue? And why? What did it contribute?
Young
Oh, I think it contributed an awful lot. I think it gave many and most of us the opportunity to earn while you learn, if you will, because a lot of guys really started on Central Avenue. When you think about the Woodman brothers [William, Britt, and Coney Woodman], they were from Watts, but Watts didn't mean what Watts means now. Watts was really all right. Central Gardens was really all right. [Charles] Mingus lived out that way. And the way I see it is that without Central Avenue, there would have been no musicians, I think, because really that was the only place you had to work at the time, the only place, the only outlet. From that then came getting jobs in Long Beach and— By the time you played in Long Beach, you could really play. A lot of the people went through your growing pains with you on Central. So I don't know whether that's a very good assessment, but that's about the best I can answer it, because I believe that it really
Isoardi
Well, when I first started finding out about Central myself and I started putting together lists, it's an incredible list of people who came out of Central Avenue.
Young
Oh, yes. And they came out of there because there were some good things happening there. As I said when I was talking about being paid up front, I would bet you it wasn't over $6 or $7. I know it wasn't anything like $10. It may have been $4 or $5. But that still gave you a chance to play your instrument and to have someplace to do it.
I haven't even named half the clubs on Central Avenue; it's just because I can't remember them all because I didn't play them. They had places on Central Avenue where there was just piano and a girl singer, just piano and a male singer, in the smaller bars, and they had their clientele. For instance, they had the Clark Hotel
Then it started branching out. For instance, like when Paul Howard was working out in Glendale. You see, that's the step over. Then we worked on the pier in Long Beach. Then Cee Pee Johnson worked the Rhumboogie [Club] out on Highland [Avenue]. You heard about that place?
Isoardi
Yes.
Young
The guy that owned that place was the same one that I told you that owned the Downbeat. His name was Hal Stanley.
Isoardi
Oh.
Young
So he was the guy that had the Rhumboogie on Highland. You see what happened, though, was he had been on Central with the Downbeat, and then when he got the Rhumboogie, he used—that's why he called it the Rhumboogie—he used all black entertainers and black musicians. It wasn't an easy transition, because the
I think without Central Avenue, I don't know what would have happened. I don't have any idea. When you talk about the list of names, when I start thinking of them, you must have a huge list of names of people who came out of there.
Isoardi
Oh, yes. It's amazing. I mean, people know a little bit about jazz, a little bit about New York and New Orleans and Chicago and Kansas City, but we should take a look at Central. Boy, Central Avenue deserves a place up there.
Young
But they never wanted to do that. When I say "they"— We out here in California were never really accepted at first, because the jazz musicians didn't want to accept us because we were the guys out West. You remember when they had the Lighthouse and things like that, they called it West Coast jazz. Remember?
Isoardi
Yes, the cool school and all that.
They wanted New York and Chicago to really be the place. But music is music. Right? So they used to even say, "Well, the West Coast musicians can't improvise. All they can do is read."
Isoardi
[laughter] Yes!
Young
So you say, "Okay, all you can do is not read." [laughter] That would be my answer to that. That's what it was. That's what was going on then. It finally broke itself down, because we sent some mean people.
Isoardi
Oh, some fine people. [laughter]
Young
You can't keep the music to yourself if it's like that. Like Jazz at the Philharmonic, that started out here. A lot of good jazz people.
Isoardi
Do you have any final thoughts? Anything else you want to mention or bring up before we turn the tape off?
Young
No. It was a pleasure working with you.
Isoardi
Lee, it was an honor for me.
Young
I really have enjoyed it, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get with you.
Isoardi
[laughter] Hey, better late than never.
Young
That's just the way I am. I have to go by my moods, now especially.
Isoardi
You were rolling.
Young
I'm best if I don't prepare. That's why I say I
Isoardi
It's like improvising.
Young
Yes. I equate everything to music, anyway. When I was in the record business, that's what really helped me. This has nothing to do with [Central Avenue]. I'll just tell you this little funny story of Motown [Records]. You may not even want this.
Isoardi
Yes, sure.
Young
I left ABC to go to Motown. And at my first meeting with Berry Gordy, there were about nine executives, and everybody walked in like little soldiers with their legal pads and pencils. Everybody's taking notes, and I'm sitting there with my arms folded. And this is my first meeting with them. But I came from ABC [Records] and Dunhill [Records], and I'm used to these meetings. I used to chair most of them. And everyone is looking at me. Even my son. My son is in the meeting, and he's looking at me too. Everybody's writing, and I'm not writing. I'm just looking, sitting up there.
After it's over, Berry said, "Mr. Young, I want to see you." So everybody knows what it is.
"Oh, yes." And I don't have a clue what it is.
He said, "How did you like the meeting? How did it go?"
I said, "I thought the meeting was well done. Yes, I
He said, "Did you notice anything at my meeting?"
I said, "No, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."
He said, "Well, did you notice—? Were you different in the meeting?"
I said, "All the meetings I ever go to, I'm the same way." I didn't have a lot to say because this is my first day. I do a lot of listening.
He said, "Well, in my meetings, you must bring a note-pad. You have to take notes at my meetings."
I said, "I don't take written notes."
He said, "No. But I'm saying in my meeting you have to take written notes."
I said, "I don't take written notes. I take mental notes."
He said, "What do you mean you take mental notes?"
I said, "I take mental notes. I know as much what was said in here as anyone who was writing it down."
He said, "Oh now, come on."
I said, "Okay, when you came in, you started the meeting, you said `Where is the head of [the] creative [department]?' And you said because you pay them too much money, that they've got to get their butt in here on time, and that they shouldn't do that to you. Then the door
And he said, "You win."
And I'm telling the whole thing. I was. And I wasn't showing off.
Isoardi
Yes, sure. He asked for it.
Young
I did take mental notes. I never would write anything down, because I'm really interested in what they're saying. I kind of hook it together, too. And that comes from music. Remember what I told you about—
Isoardi
That story about memorizing, yes—
Young
Right.
Isoardi
With the forty-five-piece band.
Young
Yes.
Isoardi
Sure. That's what I was thinking when you started saying that.
Young
I've always done that. So that was a funny story. He always used me after that. When I was in charge
Isoardi
Do you want to finish that up? Your thought? Or was that it?
Young
We were talking about Motown?
Isoardi
Berry Gordy and cutting the budget.
Young
Oh, yes. It's short. So he gets on the phone and he calls me. This is what he used to do to me all the time. "Lee, come up here right away, will you please." He's sitting up there, and he's got these dark glasses on, and these guys are sitting there, and you can't see his eyes. And he says, "I've got all these people here I'm paying all this money to. Do you have any idea where we can cut the budget? We're trying to find a million dollars. Do you have any idea?" Because I'm good with numbers. And I keep it in my head. I said, "We have a studio here and last year we spent something like $767,000 on outside studio costs. If we'd send out a memo and tell the artists that we want them to use our studio this year,
Isoardi
Thanks again.
Young
It's been nice.
Index
Courtesy of Dept of Special Collections/UCLA Library, A1713 Charles E. Young Research Library, 405 Hilgard Ave, Box 951575, Los Angeles, CA 90095-1575; http://www.library.ucla.edu/libraries/special/scweb/
http://content.cdlib.org/view?docId=hb4w1009p9&brand=oac4
Title: Central Avenue sounds oral history transcript : Lee Young
By: Young, Lee, Interviewee, Isoardi, Steven Louis, 1949-, Interviewer
Date: 1991
Contributing Institution: Dept of Special Collections/UCLA Library, A1713 Charles E. Young Research Library, 405 Hilgard Ave, Box 951575, Los Angeles, CA 90095-1575; http://www.library.ucla.edu/libraries/special/scweb/
Copyright Note:
Transmission or reproduction of materials protected by copyright beyond that allowed by fair use requires the written permission of the copyright owners. Works not in the public domain cannot be commercially exploited without permission of the copyright owner. Responsibility for any use rests exclusively with the user.
UC Regents
Department of Special Collections, Charles E. Young Research Library, U.C. Los Angeles