I was brought up on the mother’s milk of Jazz. Well strictly speaking it was my father that raised me jazzy. He was a tenor saxophonist, playing swing with the big bands of the time, the 1930/40’s. I listened to Ben Webster, Lester Young (who he once stood in for) and the other greats from before my first memories. My early life was lead to the tap and accompaniment of their riffs. I am the daugther, wife and mother of musicians, so can I play? Well, no is the answer, I can just about hold a tune although the key wavers far to regularly to allow me to sing anywhere other than in the solitude of the bathroom. It’s a great sadness to me, but, hey, I can appreciate and for me that’s enough. It’s just as well as my life is still lead to the harmonic and sometimes cacophonic background of music. Above is my Dad in full flow in a now forgotten band, third from the right, below a couple of sweeties, so natural, that as far as the photo shoot is concerned, could be sitting out on their stoop in New Orleans, the every wonderful Louis and Ella, bless their cotton socks.
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