I am a retired physician, amateur piano player and longtime friend of Dave. Before I knew him, we used to host jazz parties at home in Huntington, Long Island, NY–with even older friend Ralph Sutton,along with Bob Wilber, Milt, Buzzy, others–players no doubt well known to you. In 1991, I was lucky to get Dave here for a Sun aft gathering of some very lucky folks. A DVD of this was taken, and though far from studio quality, captures the essence of Dave, and happily shows lot of closeups of the famous fingers at work( or was it play?)I sent a brief bit about this when contributing to his eulogies online.

A friend sent me your posting on Dave which is wonderful. I loved the end with several versions of the great song “Lucky To Be Me”.

If you haven’t guessed, I am hoping we might be able to pull off a win-win, by swapping a copy of your stuff (CD or DVD) for mine. I would hate to lose this if it became unavailable online.

If this would interest you, and if possible, please let me know

Many thanks,

Tom Morley

Very nice to hear from the man who played that ravishing “Skylark” with Dave.

While I’m working on the iTunes issue, Scott, I can mail you a CD of the McKenna treasures if you’ll send me a good address.

Very best wishes to a favorite musician!

Chris Lydon

I would love to download this to my computer or iPod, but iTunes will only allow me to get programs done since March 2009. Any way around this? I would love to have this souveneir of Dave.

Thanks very much,

Scott Hamilton

Certaldo, italy

The house party at Chez Lydon has been in circulation for awhile, and I’ve often gone back to it to hear Dave’s rendition of “Blue Skies,” a tune I heard him play often, but rarely with the interpolation of Thelonious Monk’s “In Walked Bud,” that he offers here. Man, that knocked me out the first time I heard it! And it underscores something about Dave’s background that gave his approach to the popular songbook, to the gigs with traditionalists like Bobby Hackett, Eddie Condon, and Ruby Braff, and to the countless nights he spent playing solo piano in saloons of every description a fresh and unique flair: Dave’s background was in bebop. Surely Nat Cole and Tatum and Teddy Wilson were formative, but so were Bird and Bud, Dizzy and Miles, and it’s terrific to hear Dave calling their names along with Red Garland and Wynton Kelly, Bill Evans and Herbie Hancock in the conversation with Chris.

I recall Whitney Balliett describing Dave as a “time warp of a pianist,” playing bebop in his right hand and stride in his left. He also began his affectionate New Yorker profile of the pianist by writing that “Dave McKenna’s life pivots on paradox.” Here’s one that comes to mind for me: When I began seeing Dave in my teens, I was amazed at how little attention nightclub patrons paid to his playing, and dismayed at how difficult it often was to hear his powerful attack over the din of conversation. (This was well before Bradley Cunningham began insisting on silence for the performances at his legendary nightclub on University Place.) But when Terri Gross interviewed Dave on Fresh Air years ago, she mentioned this same annoying phenomenon, and asked if it bothered him. “Not really,” he replied. “When they’re quiet, I get nervous.” Indeed, one need only compare performances like these to Dave’s countless studio recordings to appreciate the fact that he preferred the soft lighting of a nightclub to the intense glare of the studio and concert hall.

I used to see Dave on a regular basis on the Cape, at the Copley Plaza in Boston, with Ruby Braff at the Regattabar, and at Bradley’s, where I’d hang till the last note was struck and sometimes get a lift down to Spring Street from Dave and his driver. Especially memorable were the times when Zoot Sims would arrive at Bradley’s around 2 a.m., mount a barstool, and play duets with Dave. I also ran into him a few times at Fenway Park. And most memorably, when I was visiting Paris in January 1991, I ran into Dave on the street where I was staying; he’d played some holiday gigs in Germany and then come to Paris for sightseeing.

The last time I saw Dave was on his 70th birthday, May 30, 2000, at a church in Belchertown, Massachusetts, where he played a Sunday afternoon concert. His playing was as brilliant as ever, but he was in no mood for celebration. When the emcee proposed that we sing “Happy Birthday” to welcome Dave back for his second set, he shot us a ray that said, “Don’t dare!” And no one did. Afterwards he attended a reception at the producer’s home and talked about the ever-promising Red Sox. (It was heartening to learn from Dave’s sister Jean that he enjoyed the BoSox historic come-from-behind victory over Tampa Bay in Game 5, two days before he died.)

I first heard Dave at The Columns on Rt. 28 in West Dennis around 1970. I was a 17-year-old passing for 21, already fanatical for Ellington, Mingus, and the jam sessions I’d catch every week at the Kitty Kat Lounge in my hometown of Worcester. But seeing Dave, Dick Johnson, Lou Colombo, even Bobby Hackett at these Cape Cod roadhouses was a revelation. To discover music of this caliber played with such beauty and passion by master musicians working far from the limelight gave me a whole new insight into the workaday nature of the jazz life. Speaking of which, I once asked Dave to confirm that he was playing a regular Thursday night gig at the opulent Chatham Bars Inn on the Cape. “Oh yeah,” he replied, “That’s my corned beef.” Back in the early 70’s, Dave and his colleagues impressed in me an understanding that the ritual of music making was a grand reward in itself, and that riches and fame were of secondary importance. In many ways, the relative obscurity of these players was one of the things that fueled my desire to pursue a career in which I might bring a little exposure to their great work. Now, with all due respect, I can tell you that it’s been an honor to play Dave McKenna’s music on the radio for the past 30 years.

Tom Reney

“Jazz à la Mode”

WFCR

NPR News and Music for Western New England

Amherst, Mass.

http://www.wfcr.org

I am here!

McKenna makes the very difficult to play very easy to hear and enjoy.

Can anyone listen to his music and not get lost in it?

I can only imagine a bar full of Bobbleheads; all bouncing in unison with the beat of the magic slipping off his fingers.

When asked about his next gig in NYC, Dave described it as “A good barroom, an honest barroom, the kind of place I like.” When I heard Dave utter these words, I knew all I needed to know about the man.

A friend of mine who is an accomplished New England folk singer has played the same old wooden tavern every Thursday and Sunday night for 25 years. I asked him once the same question Chris asks Dave about people talking during his set. He told me that he looks at every night as a challenge to make them stop talking and listen. And I thought, what a fulfilling feeling it must be for him – and Dave – to hold court on those special nights. A disparate smattering of private confabs huddled over tiny cocktail lined tables transforms almost hypnotically into a gleeful communal submission.

Last night I sat on a barstool in the old divey Cantab Lounge in Cambridge MA. It was way past midnight and the Tuesday night bluegrass band were still putting their hearts into their fiddles – or maybe they were pulling the fiddles out of their hearts – but now it was the end of the night and the guys on stage outnumbered the crowd. For the last song one guy took the lead and sang as soulful a sad country song as I’ve ever heard in my presence. At one point I thought why is he giving so much when there is only a few of us listening. And then I thought maybe it’s precisely because there is a few of us listening.

And then I thought of Dave McKenna – a man I never had the pleasure to see – and all those intimate evenings he must of presided over throughout the years, recorded by nothing but the few appreciative souls in attendance.

I have no doubt that Dave McKenna was a good jazzman, an honest jazzman, the kind of jazzman I like.