My Man, Big Sid - Rex Stewart

Recollections of a Great Drummer by Rex Stewart

Recollections of a Great Drummer by Rex Stewart

© Introduction Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

Rex Stewart, is the author of Jazz Masters of the 1930s, from which I excerpted this piece on drummer Sid Catlett [1910 - 1951]. 

Rex played trumpet and cornet with Fletcher Henderson and Duke Ellington and he knew personally all the giants of jazz in the 1930s and thus his judgments on their achievements come with unique authority and understanding. As a good friend, he never minimizes their foibles; yet he writes of them with affection and generosity. His chapters on Fletcher Henderson, Coleman Hawkins, Red Norvo, Art Tatum, Big Sid Catlett, Benny Carter, and Louis Armstrong mix personal anecdotes with critical comments that only a fellow jazz musician could relate. 

A section on Ellington and the Ellington orchestra profiles Ben Webster, Harry Carney, Tricky Sam Nanton, Barney Bigard, and Duke himself, with whom Rex Stewart was a barber, chef, poker opponent, and third trumpet. Finally, he recounts the stories of legendary jam sessions between Jelly Roll Morton, Willie the Lion Smith, and James P. Johnson, all vying for the unofficial title of king of Harlem stride piano. It was the decade of swing and no one saw it, heard it, or wrote about it better than Rex Stewart.

“My Man, Big Sid” also appeared in the November 17, 1966 edition of Downbeat magazine.”

This piece underscores the normality of musicians' lives in Harlem between the World Wars. In addition to working late hours in the Jazz joints, we find them getting together to swim, ride bikes, play pool, share car rides, shoot basketballs and enjoy the social camaraderie and good natured rivalry of being in one another’s company. Commenting on the Jazz Life the late author Richard Sudhalter, himself an excellent Jazz trumpeter, noted:

“Jazz musicians are their music. Absent that, they’re just people making a living, eating meals, paying bills - no different from cops or politicos. But that’s just the point: the music can’t be subtracted; it’s the defining essence, which sets musicians apart, makes them special and ultimately a little mysterious. Makes their various complexes and misbehaviors interesting to writers, chroniclers, and fans.”

© Copyright ® Rex Stewart, copyright protected; all rights reserved, the author assumes no right of copyright usage.

“ONE AFTERNOON, while en route to the Rhythm Club, I paused at the corner of 132nd St. and Seventh Ave. where I saw the sage of the Harlem musicians engaged in serious discussion with a fellow who was a stranger to me. The sage was Chick Webb, the alert, gregarious little drummer from Baltimore. The stranger loomed like a mountain over Chick, who was asking the fellow questions (as he usually did with everyone), and at the time, I supposed that he was merely passing the time of day with some truck driver fresh out of “Bam” (as Manhattanites called all the area south of New York's South Ferry).

As I drew closer, I was surprised to gather from their conversation that the big man was a musician, "Probably a bass player," I thought to myself, but having a date to play pool at the Club, I forgot about the stranger until a few days later. Then, somebody mentioned that Sammy Stewart had brought a good outfit in from Chicago and that the drummer was great. I didn't connect this with the man I'd seen until I fell into Small's Paradise one morning and found a drummers' session in full swing.

I don't remember everyone who was there, but I recall seeing Walter Johnson; Manzie Johnson; Nightsie Johnson; George Stafford, drummer for Charlie Johnson, who had the house band (and, incidentally, none of these Johnsons was related); Chick Webb; Kaiser Marshall from Fletcher Henderson's band; and Kid Lips Hackette. It seemed as if every drummer in Harlem was there, standing around eying the stranger, Sid Catlett.

As daylight broke, Catlett not only proved to have as fast and skilled hands as anyone around town, but he also took one of his rare solos (Catlett didn't really like to solo). I suppose he sensed that this was his debut in the Big City, so he performed like a champ—not the usual drum gymnastics coming on like thunder, either. On the contrary, Sid gassed the house by taking a medium, relaxed tempo and working his snare and bass drum in conjunction, as if they were kissing cousins. Then he topped off the sequence by doing a stick-bouncing and stick-twirling spectacle that caused the entire house to burst into applause.

Such an artful exhibition delighted and bedazzled the audience, including me, despite my having witnessed several drummers doing the stick-bouncing and twirling tricks previously. However, Catlett's performance was the epitome of grace and beauty. Beads of sweat coursed down his mahogany-colored jaws as he chomped chewing gum in perfect rhythm with his drum beat.

As I watched, completely absorbed, I was quite aware that what Big Sid was doing was not unique, but the ease with which he recovered a far-flung stick or the comic twist he projected with a glance toward a cymbal — as though it were a naughty boy over which he had no control — was sheer genius.

Actually, such slick performances went way back to Buddy Gilmore, the drummer who starred with Will Marion Cook in 1919. I also had watched Rastus Crump, another sterling old-timer, feature this sort of technique with, as I recall, Gonzella White, who had a revue on the Columbia burlesque wheel. Count Basie later left the East Coast to go on the road with this group. Basie's cousin, Sonny Greer, was another great exponent of drum stickery. He created a sensation when he hit Washington, D.C., with this crowd-pleasing effect.

Today's tub thumpers perhaps would frown on such a simple method of communication with drums, since they are so busy creating a self-image and playing melody on drums, of all things. No doubt, I am a fuddy-duddy, but I regret that most of the current crop never had the pleasure of hearing Bid Sid and what he was putting down. In that context I must mention Kid Lips Hackette, who might be considered Big Sid's alter ego. While Hackette never hit the big time, and only played with territorial bands, like those of Frank Terry, Chick Carter, and Zack White, and although he did not resemble Catlett physically, he played very much like Sid and also did the drumstick solo in just about the same fashion, without missing a beat.

Big Sid was never ruffled, always alert, with a quick mind and perfect coordination. These qualities made him very popular with all the theatrical acts from Bill (Bojangles) Robinson down to dance teams like Tip, Tap, and Toe and Buck and Bubbles, as well as with chorus girls.

Aside from his talent, Sid was a big fellow in many ways. He was so big in heart that he made others, who's standing in the profession was more exalted, seem small by comparison. His generosity matched his size —a brawny 6 feet, 2 inches — because he would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. Usually relaxed and courteous, there still were occasions when the broad grin that customarily adorned his face would disappear, and a roar of anger would serve as a warning of impending violence — and the offender had better watch out!

CATLETT WAS BORN IN Evansville, Ind., on Jan. 17, 1910. He told me years later, jokingly, that his parents were concerned about his tiny size at birth but that the doctor reassured the anxious parents that the 7-pound child would become a big fellow. These words were prophetic as little Sidney Catlett grew until he outgrew the town of Evansville and went on to Chicago.

There he acquired the nickname of Big Sid. By this time, he also had begun to acquire some reputation as a drummer — nothing spectacular, but the portents all pointed toward greatness. This embryo giant started his move, happily stretching his huge limbs, practicing drums, listening, watching, and learning.

Though he would slip away from home to venture into some joint on Chicago's south side, where perhaps Jasper Taylor or Baby Dodds was playing, he was always careful to get home before daybreak. As he later explained to me, he didn't want to worry his mother. But there did come a time when he begged, pleaded, and nagged her until she reluctantly gave Sid permission to leave home to become a professional drummer. There was one stipulation — he must return home from wherever he might be at Christmastime and spend the holidays with her. As far as I know, this promise was sacred to Catlett, because he always headed home at Christmas time. In any case, however, once he had his mother's consent, Big Sid put Chicago behind him.

I calculate that Sidney must have been probably 16 when he started out in the profession and had about four years of seasoning around Chicago before he arrived in New York with Sammy Stewart. That Would make Catlett about 20 years old at the time I met him, in 1930.

As a youngster, Sid loved all sports, but he was most partial to swimming. Together, in our youth, we used to frequent the Lido pool, which was located on Seventh Ave. at about 148th St. Lots of the musicians went in for a swim, and most of the time one could find Louis Armstrong, Buster Bailey, John Kirby, Chu Berry, Don Redman, and sometimes Fats Waller among the throng who were on the spacious veranda where cooling potables were served. The popular drinks were mint juleps, Singapore slings, and Harlem's favorite, "top and bottom," which was a concoction of gin and port wine, which would make you high quick and cheaply.

Although we were not working together in the same band at the time, Sid, tenor saxophonist Ben Webster, and I, for some unknown reason, used to find ourselves always together at the pool. We started calling each other by number. "Hey, No. 1"—that would be Sid. No. 2 was Ben, and I was No. 3. In the hubbub that accompanied the antics of more than 100 musicians and show people, this proved very effective, since each of us was able to whistle loudly through our fingers. One loud whistle signaled to Sid, and three whistles always alerted me to look for my buddies.

Another thing that held us together might have been Ben's car. He had a new Buick and could always be counted on to drop Sid and me off at our homes after a swim.

When Catlett arrived in New York City, several of us musicians had just finished roller skating as a pastime, and everybody had gone in for bicycle riding. I remember how drummer George Stafford had all of the cats drooling when he bought an English hike. Assembling for our customary morning outing in front of Small's Paradise one early June day, we were all surprised when Big Sid spurted around the corner, coattails flying and all grins. Up until then, he had not joined the bike riders. But there he was in all his glory with his new bicycle. True, it was not a British Sportster complete with gear shift, but we could tell it was a premium wheel, and Sid was proud of it.

The setting was too perfect to avoid the good-natured rivalry that existed in those days. Here were two of Harlem's top drummers, one a veteran and the other a newcomer, so the air was charged with excitement as Stafford said to Catlett, "That's a pretty machine you've got there, Sid. How about a race around the block? Let's see which bike is the fastest."

They agreed to race three times around the block and the loser was to buy drinks for the gang. They started off, and George was leading all of the way until the very last time around when he made the mistake of turning his head to wave at the bunch and ran smack into a laundry truck. Luckily for him, the bundles of clothes absorbed the shock, and no bones were broken. But Sid won the race.

Later, Sid told us that he really didn't want to race George, because the difference in ages amounted to a handicap in his favor, even though George's bicycle had gears and his did not.

Another sport that the Big Three — Stewart, Webster, and Catlett — liked to fool around with was basketball.

Bob Douglas, who operated the Renaissance Casino (which at the time was the home of the famous Renaissance semi pro basketball team), knew and liked us. Often, we'd go up there in the afternoon and work out, mostly throwing balls into the basket. This was fun, and all went well for a while. Then Ralph Cooper, a popular emcee at the Apollo Theater and a pretty good amateur athlete, decided to pit his team of performers and musicians against the Renny [Renaissance] learn for a benefit performance.

Naturally, being great tavern talkers, the Big Three announced they were going to play on the Cooper team. We all bought shoes and went into training, cutting down on our smoking and limiting our drinking to getting only half-loaded at night. I must say that Cooper was a good coach. He made Sid the center and Ben the left guard. But with me there was a problem in fitting me into the proper spot, and I wound up as the official waterboy.

The big night arrived, and the Casino was crowded. Cheers greeted each announced name, even mine. It was no contest, of course, although I had that water bucket swinging. Webster managed to steal the ball once from the pros, and Sid really starred. He sank a basket, scoring for our team, and was going great guns until somebody accidentally stepped on his foot. Then, the air turned blue, as Sid limped off the court cursing and yelling, "They fooled me!"

It was not too long after the basketball fiasco that I became afflicted with “leaderitis” and put together a big band of 13 pieces for a Broadway ballroom, the Empire. The band was distinguished by the fact that all the saxophones doubled violin. The 13th man was Sonny Woods, whom I had brought into New York from Pittsburgh to do the vocals (later, he was featured with Louis Armstrong's big band). My drummer? Big Sid Catlett, of course, a fact that has escaped some historians.

The year was 1931, the depth of the depression, which. worked to my advantage, since I was able to assemble a talented bunch of musicians. Sid sparked the band and was the No. 1 crowd-p!easer. On the occasion of our first radio broadcast, he really saved our necks. I was supposed to give the downbeat for the theme but froze with nervousness. Sid came in with a rhythmic succession of beats, which filled the gap until I recovered my wits.

Sidney's tenure with us ended when Christmastime came around, as, much to everyone's dismay, he cut out for Chicago and his mother. While he was in the Windy City, we lost the gig. Still, we had had a 13-month engagement after originally being booked for only two weeks. While the band broke up a couple of months later, Catlett went on to greater heights.

Paramount among his gifts was his sense of fitness in a group large or small, which projected Sid into the limelight. He intuitively chose a particular rhythmic pattern or beat that enhanced the soloist of the moment.

On the East Coast, during the '30s and ‘40s, there was a group of four colored theaters (the Howard in Washington, the Royal in Baltimore, the Pearl in Philadelphia, and the Apollo in New York City) left over from the ancient Theater Owners Booking Association (TOBA) chain. These houses were called "the round the world circuit" by show people, including musicians, which is one indication of how low the business had sunk for the profession (the Harlem members, that is).

Each house maintained a resident chorus line of 15 or so girls, with the girls vying for the reputation of constituting the greatest dancing line. The chorus girls' jobs really depended on how well their dance routines went over with the audiences, and this resulted in the drummer's being the key figure. If he was not adept and quick to accompany those intricate dance steps, the routine would bomb, and the girls would star! cursing the drummer and the band.

Catlett's ability to catch the dancers' steps and emphasize every tap just as they performed them made him the favorite of all of the chorus girls. Ristina Banks' best chorus soon discovered Sid's talent, and that was important, because she had the group at the Apollo in New York. To her, there was no drummer like Sid.

Bandleaders who were fortunate enough to have Sid in their orchestras agreed. He was the No. 1 drummer where ever he went, and he played in a variety of bands. Personally, I remember his playing with Sammy Stewart, Benny Carter, McKinney's Cotton Pickers, Jeter-Pillars in St. Louis, Fletcher Henderson, Don Redman, Benny Goodman, Louis Armstrong, and Teddy Wilson, in addition to the stint with my band. There must be some groups that I have overlooked, but any way you figure it, that's a lot of bands to have played with.

In 1947 I went to Europe and didn't see Sid again until I returned in 1950. Taking a hiatus from playing, I bought a farm but soon found that this was a money-losing proposition. So I packed my horn and retreated to New York. After devoting a few evenings to looking up old cronies and trying to extract a possible job lead, I ran into Sid. We got to talking about the stale of the business. We thought that things were tough then (in 1951), but little did we know that it was going to get tougher.

Sid was in a good position, as far as I could see, because he could play with the swing groups as well as the bop groups. However, Sid was feeling uneasy, and we spoke about the evils existing in the business, agreeing on every point.

Right then we decided to get together an all-star band. I am sure that the idea sprang from Sid's telling me that one of the biggest bookers had assured him of steady bookings if he put together a good group. This we proceeded to do, with Ken Kersey, piano; Benny Morton, trombone; Buster Bailey, clarinet; Lloyd Trottman, bass; myself, cornet; and Catlett, drums.

After a bit of woodshedding [practicing] to set the routines, we opened at the Hurricane at 49th and Broadway, and I led the group. We had a two-week engagement there, followed by a week at the Showboat in Philly. Then, we got a week in Boston, playing the Hi-Hat Club. By that time, the handwriting was on the wall.

Busier Bailey left and was replaced by Edmund Hall. Sid and I were becoming disenchanted, since we had promoted the gigs ourselves, and, after we closed Boston, Catlett started haunting Mr. Big's anteroom, hoping he would keep his promise about booking Sid's group. But he was never "in." Then, I got the idea of sending him telegrams (in Sid's name), and still nothing happened. So after a month, I returned to my farm, saying goodbye to the fellows.

It was then late fall, and I suppose that Sid went home to mom in Chicago for his usual Christmas visit. He never came back. Big Sid, only 41 years old, had a heart attack after the holidays and died early in 1951. If he were still around, he could show some of these modern drummers a thing or two about communication, both with his fellow musicians and the audience.

Fortunately, Sid did a lot of recording, and his easy style lives on, to be heard, studied, or just enjoyed by a new generation who have lost the opportunity to evaluate this great man in person. For my money, Sid Catlett was the greatest.”