One night in 1983 I found myself in the long-since defunct Indigo’s Bar and Grille. Honestly, I can’t even recall where the place was — some old hole in the wall so lost it isn’t even recalled in folklore.
Despite its anonymity, that night is so indelibly burned into my mind that I am still inspired by even a glancing memory. And I have one man to thank for it — Johnny Gimble.
Now, I’ve never shared one word with the legendary fiddler — who helped define Western Swing — and calls Dripping Springs home. But I thank the good Lord every day that I was the stupid lucky witness to a night of sweet genius all whipped up by a very mischievous Gimble.
I spent much of my teens and early 20s hanging with my surrogate father, Gene Ramey, an Austin native who returned home after making his mark as the second exponent of the upright bassist in the Kansas City “Swing” movement of the 1930s. His lifelong friend and fellow Count Basie alum Claude “Fiddler Williams, had come to Texas to visit and plug a new album. But judging from the three of us in the audience that night, no one in Austin seemed to have a clue of his essential roll in the history of jazz.
Except, of course, Gimble.
What would become memorable started off forgettably as the two geriatric musicians simply “went through the motions” of the evening’s entertainment. It must have been disheartening musicians on the stage than in the house. After all, these are men who had spent 50 years played venues like Carnegie Hall and the White House with musicians from Miles Davis to Charlie Bird Parker.
Fiddler’s visit to Austin should have at least drawn a house full of academics. After all, he had been on the scene at the dawn of Swing. While violin was his primary instrument, he, and not Freddie Green, was the guitarist on the first of Basie’s landmark Decca recordings, contrary to popular belief.
But nobody showed. Legends deserve better.
The atmosphere made for a slow, laborious evening that was only rescued by Gene and Fiddler’s colorful stories that they peppered me with during breaks.
Then Gimble showed up unannounced, wandering into the abandoned watering hole shortly before midnight. No faster than he arrived, it was obvious Gimble’s chops were as hot as a south Dallas sidewalk on an August afternoon.
Gimble knew exactly what that old man was capable of, and he also understood just how to get him out of his hole. He would “bait and switch” the old man, as we Texas boys like to say.
Gimble whipped out his fiddle and blazed out some vicious licks, making it clear the old man had been put on notice. Fiddler was being challenged. Such is the way of musicians. Gimble was calling him out like Gary Cooper called out Frank Miller in High Noon.
But he didn’t was slow to bite the hook. But Gimble was unphased and furiously ripped out notes. Finally, Fiddler set his instrument aside, acting as if he couldn’t keep up. Word’s cannot do justice what happened next.
First, Fiddler just glared at Gimble. The he walked over to me, looked me in the eye, and said “I’m gonna cut him.” But he didn’t smile. He was dead serious.
With that, he picked up his fiddle, and it was the Shootout at the OK Corral from there on out. Gimble never let up, but there was no stopping the Fiddler as he morphed from tired old man to super nova. Astounded wouldn’t even begin to describe the three of us in the audience who knew full well we were seeing one of those” once-in-a-lifetime moments. Simply put, that was the most incredible night of music I ever witnessed.
When it was done, Gimble left the place with the biggest smile I ever saw on any one man’s face. The only words I heard him utter the entire night came as he packed up his axe and headed for the door: “That old man is just pure magic.”
I know more now than I did lo those many years ago. So when a friend popped a copy of Gimble’s new CD into my car’s CD player, I quickly realized something about Gimble’s greatness — he has a rare quality few musicians possess — for all of his prowess as a soloist, this guy brings out the very best in all those who perform with him. The CD wrests some of the top-notch performances from Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard and Ray Benson. His inspirational licks also stokes up his band to a fevered pitch. That’s why he’s a master.
If musician lives long enough, the world tends to “rediscover” you. It was true for Fiddler, who experienced an amazing rebirth in the 1990s, finding a new audience of listeners who could truly appreciate his genius. His virtuosity burned bright right up until his death in 2004 at age 96. When he passed, he was the last living jazz musician who had recorded in the 1920s.
And so it is with Johnny Gimble. Now 84, he remains a singular player who can catch lightening in a bottle — the last original exponent of the Western Swing movement.
His fabulous CD — which the record company appropriately calls “America’s Greatest Fiddler, Celebrating with Friends” and he, more modestly, calls “Still Swingin’,” can be ordered online at www.johnnygimble.com.