I’ve played at thousands of parties since I started out in
1980 as a musician. When a few musicians
are gathered together invariably the conversation turns to some of the more
hair raising and hilarious moments they’ve experienced in their efforts to keep
the public entertained, out of the bar and hopefully on the dance floor. There are inevitably certain stories which
have become favourites over the years and in the hands of an expert raconteur
over the years the yarns can get more exaggerated until they are side
splittingly funny but bear little resemblance to what actually happened.
Ronnie Corbett - The Parrot Joke
One of my favourite examples of this was a story about a
World War Two theme party where the bandleader of the Glenn Miller style
orchestra was running way behind time and raced into the local theatre where he
had arranged to borrow a set of American Air Force uniforms. In his haste he grabbed the wrong baskets
and ended up with the costumes for an amateur production of The Mikado. That story took around five years of
telling to get to that point – yes the gig was a complete disaster but alas Chattanooga Choo Choo wasn’t performed by Nanky-Poo (more’s the pity).
One of the oddest events I played at was in 1991 with my
band the Rio Trio. The agent asked if we
could play music from The American Civil War – at that point in my career I
would say yes to anything so we got the job.
On arrival we were kitted up as Union and Confederate soldiers and hung
around waiting for the guests to arrive.
What struck me was how extravagant it all was. A huge film crew were present, numerous
horses were being exercised, vast arrays of caterers, bar- staff and waiters
all dressed up like it was 1865.
Then the dribble of guests arrived – about 30 in all and
shortly after the girl whose party it was arrived on horseback into the
marquee. She looked thoroughly miserable
as if she were five years old and had been forced to do this by her doting
parents. She was in her 30s and the
agent told me she was in the habit of throwing ever more elaborate parties with
ever more extravagant budgets.
The following week I opened the newspaper and there was a
large picture of the woman who the week before had been pouting on
horseback. She was “Lady” RosemaryAbadour - a charity worker who had
fleeced her charity for £4 million to pay for her wildly indulgent
lifestyle. It didn’t look like it had
made her very happy (or perhaps a week before she was rumbled she now knew her
party days were numbered). She got four
years and acres of newsprint over the following weeks (she fled the country
before being apprehended by Inspector Knacker of the Yard).
Dinner For One - 1963 HQ
Of course, whenever a bunch of musicians got together down
the pub they had their own “Lady” Rosemary Abadour party stories to tell. One trombonist I knew had gone to Wales with
a group of fanfare trumpeters to play in the guests to a ball held at a Welsh
Castle. The guests came by helicopter
and comprised Lady Rosemary Abadour, her secretary and the secretary’s dog. Must have been one hell of a night.
The Party Jazz Agency - All our drama stays on stage
