Buddy Bolden's Storyville Blues

By Peter Nissen

In the USA around 1900, the blacks in the South are robbed of the rights they were granted after the Civil War, and New Orleans is like a powder keg. The young beautiful Creole girl Nora Bass, living with the charismatic jazz pioneer Buddy Bolden, candidly narrates about those days, her childhood and relationship problems. Buddy has mistresses around town, and Nora loves to dance naked in Storyville, the Red Light District. One July day in 1900 the black man Robert Charles rebels against the abuse of power by the police, and the powder keg explodes. During the following days, a white mob tries to catch all the black people they can locate and a huge massacre is a real threat. Then Nora takes a fatal decision that brings her own life in danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312514829

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Buddy Bolden's Storyville Blues

Title page

Buddy Bolden’s

Storyville Blues

Other books by the author

Rytmisk plan (in Danish), 1998

Sømandens hemmelighed (in Danish). Top Danmark, 2001

Blues for Degas (in Danish). Hovedland, 2005

Peter Nissen

­

Buddy Bolden’s Storyville Blues

A drama about greed, lust, racism and jazz

Storyville Life

Publishing information

Buddy Bolden’s Storyville Blues

© Peter Nissen, Storyville Life

Printed at www.lulu.com

1st edition, 2014

Cover design: Mikkel Jersin Nissen

Web design: Jens Andersen

Author’s home page: www.storyvillelife.com

ISBN: 978-1-312-51482-9

Mechanical, photographic or other reproduction of this book is not allowed according to Danish Copyright Act.

Disclaimer

This book is a piece of fiction and not a biography. I have tried to be truthful to verifiable facts about the main characters, but wherever necessary for the story, I have used my imagination.

Any similarity to actual persons is purely coincidental.

Peter Nissen, October2014

Preface

I dedicate this book to all musicians playing in the New Orleans tradition. While I wrote this book I realized how much the late Milton Batiste, trumpet player and band leader from New Orleans, had in common with Buddy Bolden. In his heyday he was like Bolden the king among the crowd and the musicians in New Orleans. He was charismatic, blowing with enormous strength and not forgetting to look at the pretty girls. Milton always reminded me to have fun, and I am sure Buddy Bolden would have told me the same. Now Greg Stafford and Leroy Jones carry the Bolden torch.

Milton Batiste in front of Preservation Hall, where he performed for almost thirty years.

Photo: Peter Nissen

Map of Buddy Bolden’s and Jelly Roll Morton’s Storyville.

Buddy Bolden’s Storyville Blues

I was sitting at my desk after putting in the final full stop of my manuscript wondering, which event in my youth that meant the most to me. In the end I decided on that Sunday Dora and I went to Lincoln Park, where I first met Charles Buddy Bolden, the love of my life.

It was around the year 1900. He was 22 years old and I, Nora Bass, had just turned 20 and was what you would call une creole belle. I was only five ft. and five inches tall; slim with rather full lips and a small pointed nose. My skin was a light tan and not as it is now that it has turned almost gray. My eyes were dark brown, my hair frizzy and shining black. Back then, my teeth sparkled like mother of pearl but since then it has been a struggle to keep them reasonably presentable. Many men gave me compliments, and one of father's business relations, Mr. Hall, wrote this to me: Your wonderful smile and your radiant brown eyes have enchanted me. Your graceful moves and slender body are out of this world; you are a flowering rose, and no Spanish senorita compares to you. I would give anything for a moment of love with you. You should not put too much emphasis on the words from a man in love, but I was beautiful once and a different sight from the present gray-headed Nora Bass.  My twin sister Dora looked a lot like me, but she was not as gracious as I was, which I attribute to my frequent ballet dancing. Dora has a large birthmark on her right cheek that blemishes her face. She was ashamed of the mark and often covered it up with powder.

Back then, Lincoln Park and Johnson Park were the places the young folks met. One of the main attractions was watching the balloon captain Buddy Bartley ascend in his balloon. He was a daredevil, but Bartley did not have particularly good control of the balloon, so from time to time he landed in entirely the wrong places, much to the audience's amusement. One Sunday, Dora and I had walked out to Lincoln Park to watch for ourselves as Bartley rose into the air. It was late in the afternoon, and he could not get the balloon to ascend. Just as we were about to leave, we heard a band start playing one of the great hits of that time, in the other end of the park. I think it was: If You Don’t Shake It, You Don’t Get No Cake. It was on that occasion that I saw the bandleader Charles Bolden for the first time. He always went by the name of Buddy Bolden, but the nickname apart, he had nothing in common with the balloon captain.

   Some couples began to dance, and I have never seen anything like it. The girls went crazy and lifted up their skirts, to reveal their beautiful stockings and long legs. The dance band was called The Buddy Bolden Band. He played the cornet - a small trumpet - and sang and introduced the songs. Every time Buddy Bolden did something, the girls screamed and made signs and gestures at him. Even now after so many years, it makes me happy to think back on that afternoon. We knew many of the songs the band played, but the way they were played was new to us. The audience around us called the music ragtime, and it had Dora and me confused, as they played only very few real ragtime songs. Later, it dawned on me that what the audience called ragtime only referred to the way the band was playing. Whether it was a ragtime composition, a hit song of the moment, a two-step or cakewalk did not matter. Dora and I already knew the dance music that John Robichaux's Band played at father's parties at home. Their well-rehearsed music held was not anything like Bolden's wild music.

   The highlight was when many of the women called up to Buddy begging him to play the Funky Butt. At first, Buddy shook his head, but the women persisted. Dora and I were so close to the stage, that we could hear him discussing with a couple of his musicians. The end of it all was that Buddy took of his bowler hat, bowed down at the girls, stamped his boot once and began to play. I later learned that the song was Buddy's favorite and that it was known as both the Funky Butt and Buddy Bolden's Blues. Because of the daring lyrics, he was not very keen on playing that song in big public places like Lincoln Park. It is one of those tunes that you feel like you have known all your life and everybody was yelling, whistling and cheering. Buddy looked wonderful as he stood there with one hand on his hip, pointing his horn to the sky as he was playing.

Some of the sounds were so loud that I was afraid for my hearing while other sounds came out almost whispering. Soon, pretty much everyone was dancing. There were mainly women present, and I later found out that this was common when the Buddy Bolden Band was playing. The dance was very unusual as, at a particular point in the song, the women would turn around and bump their behinds against each other. Later in the dance, some of the loudest women took each other by the hand and chain danced all the way to the edge of the stage and yelled, Sing it King Bolden, sing it! Bolden shook his head dismissively, but finally surrendered. I later discovered that the words differed slightly from time to time, but the lyrics went something like this:

FUNKY BUTT/ BUDDY BOLDEN'S BLUES

I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say,

You are nasty, you are dirty, take it away

You are terrible, you are awful, take it away

I thought I heard him say.

I thought I heard Buddy Bolden shout

Open up that window and let that bad air out

Open up that window and let that foul air out

I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say.

I thought I heard Judge Fogarty say,

Thirty days in the market, take him away

Give him a good broom to sweep with, take him away.

I thought I heard him say.

At the end of the song, Buddy noticed me. Suddenly he bent down towards me and played a couple of notes, and it seemed exactly as if the cornet was saying - Little girl, come to me. It was clearly directed at me, and with ill-concealed envy Dora remarked, Well, aren't you the lucky one! I acknowledged with a gentle wave, after which he took the horn from his mouth, bowed slightly and smiled at me. Buddy could speak through his horn, and those who heard him in his glory days would agree with me. When Buddy played a wistful blues, everyone was affected, and some even started sobbing. At no time before or after, have I experienced anything like it. After the concert, he sought me out and asked me to come back the following Sunday. I nodded, and Dora and I made for the park exit.

Many Negroes have big lips, frizzy unruly hair and flat noses, but not Buddy; his hair was dark brown with a reddish hue and a bit curly. His eyes were slightly slanted and light brown. His nose was straight and well-shaped, and his face had a refinement to it, almost like an oriental prince. His voice was unique, because when Buddy spoke it sounded melodically and soft. Neither before nor after have I ever meet a person with such a warm smile as Buddy's. If Buddy had been any fairer, you would have thought he was Creole. It is so unattractive when men slouch as they walk but Buddy held himself erect, and was supple as a cat. He was a beautiful man. Dora and I were talking about Buddy Bolden as we approached the exit, when a jet black, busty woman in a very low cut dark blue dress cut me off and hissed at me, that a little whore like me should not be making passes at her Buddy. And now I was going to get what I deserved. Then she opened up her purse and pulled out a razor. Fortunately, one of the musicians interfered. He gave her a resounding slap in the face, and as she fell to the ground, he kicked the razor out of her hand. He warned the woman that if she ever did that again, she would no longer be welcome among them. The woman started crying and walked away. I found out later that the musician's name was Willie Cornish. He put his arm around me and explained that many women were trying to win Buddy's affection, and a little girl like me could easily get hurt trying. Willie added that I should count myself lucky that he had been there today, and I could not always count on that. Therefore, he advised me to stay away.

As I wrote, my name is Nora Bass, and I was born in New Orleans in January 1880, a couple of minutes before my twin sister, Dora. We were a total of six children in our family, and Dora and I were the youngest. Our childhood home was a big, beautiful, white house in Esplanade Avenue. My family is Creole. My father’s family descended from a noble family in France. Of my mother’s family, I only know that she was of mixed blood. During my childhood, we never spoke of our ancestors and frankly I did not care. Only much later did I realize the great importance of our ancestry. My father Rene Bass was a wealthy entrepreneur, who was usually working on constructions out of town, and as a result traveled a lot. We grew up with servants, and this may sound luxurious, but for Dora and me it was bad. To us, work was something that others did. We were naive, and paid the price later.

Not many words came from father’s strict mouth, and on the odd occasion when he did speak, it was rarely directed at us. We were tolerated, and that's all. One day, father came home unexpectedly early from the inauguration of a construction, and gave us all a kiss and a hug. This is my only recollection of tenderness from him.