MITCH DALTON
The studio guitarist's guide to happiness and personal fulfilment, as related by our resident session ace. This month: Dance Band Days, Part 2.
Iwas sitting at home, torn between checking my overdraft or contacting the phone company to see if I'm still connected, when the contraption in the hall finally sprang into life. 'Twas an offer of employment that very evening at Park Lane’s Dorchester Hotel. I was to deputise for the guitarist in the Terrace Restaurant house band. Presumably, he’d been taken suddenly indisposed with a better offer. I dropped everything and whizzed off to the joy of a single yellow line parking space outside. George D’Souza greeted me on stage, a dapper, softly spoken gentleman who’d given up the saxophone for health reasons and now played bass guitar, some occasional flute and sang quite beautifully in the style of Nat King Cole. But for less money. He introduced me to the evening’s co-conspirators - Hugh Ledigo (piano), Gary Jones (drums), Cedric ‘Pedro’ Manuel (sax) and Tony Uter (percussion). It became apparent within minutes of our 8pm-1am engagement that I was punching way above my weight. “Okay, let’s start. You Stepped Out Of A Dream. In C.” “Er, George is there a part? I don’t know it.” Cue laughter and the unforgettable rejoinder, “Well, you will in five minutes’ time…”
And so I discovered that the second chord of said standard
Db moves to before weaving its
Ab way through the keys of and F. The very real fear of an early bath loomed large at the conclusion of our opener. George’s expression remained sphinx-like as he announced “Missed The Saturday Dance. C Major!”
“Oh my word”, or phrases of a similar despairing nature. I didn’t know this ditty either. But, wait. “George, do you perchance mean Don’t Get Around Much Any More?”, which contains the opening lyric which you have just recited? I happen to know that tune. I gave it my best shot.
George’s face seemed to evoke a combination of relief, surprise and reassurance that an evening of embarrassment might yet be averted. He then directed my attention to a huge collection of files containing the band’s arrangements. “How’s your sight reading? Well, I guess we’re about to find out…” And with that he launched into Let There Be Love, the Nat Cole/George Shearing chart, complete with unison piano/guitar/vibraphone lines. And rather lovely it was too.
At its conclusion I interpreted the look of a man reprieved as he walked across the stage and whispered “You know he’s leaving, don’t you? Do you want the job? Six nights per week and some (if not all) of the guinea fowl you can eat, if you make friends with our chef, Anton Mossiman.” “I’llhavetothinkaboutitI’lldoit“was my reply, after two or three nanoseconds of reflection. And so began three years' apprenticeship during which I learned 100s of tunes and how to harmonise them with the ‘right’ changes. I kept a pad and pencil on the stand and wrote down the names with which I was unfamiliar. I remember Hugh teaching me a superb method of re-harmonising Cole Porter’s Every Time We Say Goodbye. George would let me play some solo things. Many superb deputies would come in as required, each with their own approach which repaid serious attention. Princess Margaret would appear with her chums on a regular basis. Sheikh Yamani of Saudi Arabia hired the restaurant for his personal use on one surreal occasion and proceeded to pay us £20 a time to play Strangers In The Night. All night long. We didn’t complain.
Years later, I found myself hired to perform at a prestigious reception in a private mega-pile somewhere in the Midlands. The client had booked one of the UK’s most renowned orchestras. It soon became apparent that our programme was drawing to a close way too soon. Someone had severely underestimated the capacity of the guests to maintain a relentless regime of heavy drinking at the reception, despite anguished requests for them to sit down to dinner. We were done even before the amuse bouche had been served. A concerned orchestra manager approached the conductor’s rostrum. And then me. “Listen, can you play some background music through dinner?” “Of course. Everything is financially possible.” And that's what I did, accompanied by my friends in the rhythm section. I strutted two hours worth of my Dorchester-tastic repertoire of bossa novas, light swinging jazz and excerpts from The Great American Songbook. I did however refrain from launching into a reprise of You Stepped Out Of A Dream! But boy, did I want to turn that musical wheel of my life full circle…
For more on Mitch and his exploits go to: www.mitchdalton.co.uk
"GEORGE'S EXPRESSION EVOKED RELIEF THAT AN EVENING OF EMBARRASSMENT MIGHT YET BE AVERTED"