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The artists I’ve met during my running experience fall into a few different categories. Sometimes I work for those who I’ve respected for years, such as David Grisman, and working for them furthers my adoration. Some times my opinions change upon meeting an artist turning a once ill-favored judgment around or vice-versa and then again there have been a few occasions when I’ve gone in blind or skeptical only to find an artisan where I’d least expected it. Bruce Hornsby definitely gave me that experience last year at the Tennessee Theatre and just a week ago Harry Connick Jr. left me with an equally substantial lesson on rushing to judgment.
Admittedly, it was the circumstance of my job that day which propelled me to my skepticism of Harry. My alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. on the Saturday morning beginning my “spring break,” I jumped up with no snoozes, took down coffee #1, and quickly got my things together. I arrived at about 7:15 to find load-in already in progress. Four tractor-trailers and three tour buses ranked among the biggest productions I had ever worked in. His tour manager had already installed a portable office into the backstage area of the Civic Auditorium and after a trip down to catering for a little breakfast and coffee # 2, Rebecca, the other runner for the day, and I reported for duty. Harry’s tour manager handed us a printout of all the days runs and contact info, proving he'd been doing this long enough to have the whole thing down to a science. I won’t bore you with any recounts of the majority of the day’s runs as they were mostly of the standard (laundry, grocery, etc…) variety, but I will share one run I did with Harry.
Early in the afternoon, Harry’s assistant told us that he wanted to go to the driving range, so we naturally started calling country clubs and such to try to find somewhere to go; after a few “members only” responses, we were tempted to drop the name to gain admittance but Harry told us, “Any old driving range will do.” And with that Harry, myself and two others (I believe a driver and a musician) headed down Chapman Highway to one of the most “quaint” establishments I’d ever seen. This place consisted of a shack, a tractor, some nets and a kindly old gentleman running the show. There was definitely something amusing about watching a movie star out amongst some east Knoxvillians hittin’ a few buckets. Nobody recognized him and I wouldn’t have either - Harry looks and acts just like a down-to-earth, average guy talking with an authentic New Orleans drawl. I didn’t speak much to him on the way down as he was catching up with family on the phone, but on the way back I put on a classic Miles Davis recording from the beginning of his second great quintet. When Harry and the guys ended their golf conversation the music caught his ears. As soon as the first piano solo came along he reached over and cranked up my stereo. “Herbie man, Herbie” was all he needed to say to let me know he knew exactly what was being played. That jumpstarted a short conversation on jazz that left me thinking, this guy really knows what he’s talking about. And with that I decided I would check out as much of his show as my schedule would allow.
Unfortunately, I was busy when Harry’s set began. He had drawn over two thousand people into the auditorium and an Ice Bears game was happening simultaneously in the Coliseum, so as you can imagine the scene was hectic. About thirty minutes after the start I able to sneak into the show. The first thing I saw was Harry striding around the stage in mid-rant. “You see what we have in New Orleans is a musical society based on respect and heritage.” He went on to talk of the past generations of musicians, some he knew the crowd would recognize and others he talked about as being legendary but only to those in and around New Orleans. This I came to realize was the theme of his tour, raising awareness and money for the rebuilding of New Orleans. When Harry’s talk was over, he sat down behind his Steinway and got down to business. He snapped his big band, similar in size to our KJO, into a 32-bar tune that reeked of New Orleans swing. The melody was extremely catchy and then Harry and the tenor-man exchanged blistering solos. When the tune ended, Harry announced that it was a brand-new original that he had just finished the charts for that very day. Damn - here I was thinking he was just a crooner who made a living making housewives swoon. Don’t get me wrong: Harry definitely does some crooning, but in the hip style reminiscent of Frank Sinatra, and once he started singing he projected with dexterity and intonation that at least rivaled (if not surpassed) Sinatra.
I only saw the middle chunk of his set, but I was left with the feeling that Harry is an honest jazz musician from New Orleans with a pure musical heart and absolutely none of the mass-produced pop appeal that my skeptical ignorance had allowed me to envision. I worked until just before 1 a.m. doing mostly routine driver pick-ups and food delivery. The day ended at 17 hours long and I was a little delirious from the half-dozen cups of coffee I had consumed, but it was definitely worth it to get a little supplemental income and to meet a guy who exemplifies that it’s possible go through the rigors of Hollywood and TV and still maintain a good-heart and give back to the city you're from.