Memories of “Playing for Money”

“Playing for money” is a strange term for professional musicians to use. But I remember, playing in a 17 piece big band that, if we did not play as if “we meant it”, the band leader would stop us and say, “It sounds as though we’re playing for money!” 

For me. Money is definitely not the “root of all evil”.

It allows a path to a better way of life and I have never shirked from doing all sorts of things to earn it. I have made radio sets, been a statistician, forecasted the weather, sold toffee popcorn, run amusement arcades, worn a coloured jacket at Butlins and even remained a marksman, the only way that I could earn money at school. 

But how about playing for money? 

The first time I earned money was by forming a jazz band and doing local gigs at school. Unfortunately, we spent all the money we earned on music. My only reward was returning a few years later and being hailed as ”the founder of our jazz band”. 

But a couple of us managed to escape some evenings and play in pubs in the locality. We didn’t get much money but we scored a lot of beer. But the word went around and I managed to get into an established jazz band in the area. After the gigs, the band would push me through a window into my dorm after driving me to my house. This was well before any sort of security surrounded the place. 

When I went to university, some people approached me to play in a local jazz club. I was very reluctant to accept their rather lucrative fee which seemed to increase each week I refused their offer. In the end, I accepted and actually enjoyed my evenings playing. Unfortunately, I am not a gifted jazz performer but I could play anything faster and higher than anyone else. They had a good rhythm section which hammered the chords through our heads so it was impossible to play anything really awful but I was never really satisfied with my playing although a few drink seemed to allay that feeling. 

But I still continued to play music for love elsewhere. I even joined an orchestra which toured the French Riviera but hardly paid us more than out accommodation. We were entertained royally everywhere we went. The most devastating entertainment was by the Major of Nice who persuaded us all to drink champagne until we were all totally drunk. When we said we could drink no more, he produced freshly squeezed fruit juice and mixed it with the champagne. 

Eventually we emerged totally “out of it” and wondered how we could possibly give a concert that evening. 

Then back came my memories of travelling around the Mediterranean at minimal cost. I used to meet a lot of sons of American servicemen travelling around from base to base which cut their costs of travel. One of their ports of call was the USO where curiously a lot of very nice English ladies speaking French with a very upper class English accent would serve food to any American sailors who ventured in. Of course not many Americans bothered to come after weeks at sea. But they were always very happy to supply me with as much food and drink as I wanted.

So I said to our drunk gathering, “I know where we can go to sober up! Follow me!” And I led the whole orchestra along the road and into the USO where slightly amazed nice ladies plied us with strong coffee in a desperate attempt to make us suitable to play our instruments. I have no memory of that concert except of our rugby playing viola player tackling a concerto with apparent great success. 

I normally used to play for operatic societies for no fee but, when my finances became more scarce, I announced that I would need to charge for my services. Strangely, this resulted in a slight change in my relationship with the conductor. I arrived and was treated with some sort of respect and my parts were fully marked up by the conductor with every change of tempo marked with a large eye so I had no need for rehearsal which I never had time to attend anyway. 

I learned a lot by playing next to a friendly bassoon player who had a long history as a gigster. When the orchestra was in the middle of a very loud furious finale, I heard him playing fast scales and arpeggios. I asked him, “What the hell are you doing?” He replied, “This is when the pros do their practice!” 

At another gig he said, “Watch the conductor’s face” as we played the last chord in a piece. He then played the same note an octave below quietly at first gradually becoming louder towards the final seconds of the that final chord. The face of the conductor was a picture of contentment. Small things can give pleasure to a tired conductor. 

My biggest money earner was in a big band playing sax. But the way in which I acquired this job was, as many things are, an example of good luck more than design. 

I was working in theoretical physics late one night when a porter came round the building checking security. We had a chat and I discovered that he had a job in a big band in the evenings playing in a large ballroom. When he learned that I played the clarinet, he said that he would bring a couple of his saxophones with him the following night. 

Sure enough, he arrived and we jammed a bit and enjoyed ourselves. He was obviously not devoted to his work to any great extent. I told him of a possible way to increase his income in a rather exotic occupation. I suggested he apply to one of the bands of the Queen’s household brigade; the cream of the army’s bands. He was still young and could easily survive basic training before changing the guard at Buck House. In fact this was my “Plan B” if I was ever to face conscription. 

He seemed interested so he attended an audition and was invited to join a Guards Band on clarinet as I expected. He had a council house in the university town so was able to do a house exchange with a family in London. He was able to do gigs there in the evening and increase his basic salary and pension. A happy move. 

Meanwhile, he suggested that I take over his job in the big band. I then bought a sax and joined the band. I was what was known as a “reader”  so I had no problem with the music much to my surprise as there was a lot syncopation which I had thought would be difficult to read. 

We played many contemporary types of arrangements which the manager simply did not like. “I can’t hear the tune!” he used to say as he dumped a pile of “Lallys” on the stage. “Lallys” were the most simple arrangements available. They could also be played by any combination of instruments which made them useful for small bands but not for big professional bands as Miles Kingston makes clear in this article.

https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/columnists/miles-kington/miles-kington-dance-band-days-of-a-teenage-trombonist-516497.html

My biggest fee was when the Conservative Party conference was held in the town. Union fees took account of the hours for which we played. Extra hours were paid at a higher rate and we could make a fortune playing for late extra hours. True to form, we waited for hours for the participants to emerge from their dinner with speeches and drinking until the early morning. At last, the few that were still able to stand emerged blinking at us playing music for them. Some even managed to dance. 

Now I was a sax player, I grabbed what gigs I could when I didn’t have work with the big band. One day, I had a call from a band who needed a sax but wanted me to be ready in the afternoon. I assumed that the gig started early but, as soon as I got in the car, it turned out that the gig was ninety miles away through the mountains of Wales. Such was life for a gigster. 

But I enjoyed life in the band. In the interval, the band used to go to the bar and drink “to cope with the back pressure” the brass used to say. I would then eat almost all the dinner which was provided by the management while our place was taken by a Liverpool pop group.

It was usually during the first number of the second half that the playing, especially of the brass, seemed to lack any sense of purpose. This is when the band leader would look at us and say, “Sounds as though we’re playing for money!”