The same complexity applied to audiences, for an interest in jazz did not appear to be the special preserve of any one section in Milton Keynes. Certainly it was not confined to a single age group and included women as well as men. ‘From babies to OAPs’ was the T-Bone Boogie Band’s boast, and this was probably the picture for other bands too, perhaps with particular emphasis on middle-aged groups. There was also the complication that some jazz clubs attracted audiences enthusiastic about one camp of jazz and unwilling to listen to others (‘trad’ as against ‘modern’ jazz in particular). Some bands, like the Original Grand Union Syncopators, Momentum or the T-Bone Boogie Band, built up their own fan groups who followed them from gig to gig and made up a large proportion of the audience when they appeared as the resident band. As with other kinds of performance, of course, such groups were probably attracted not only by the particular type of music offered but also by the company and social occasion, the dancing or talking in a pleasant atmosphere, or because of some link with the players. As one band member put it, you couldn’t expect all the audience necessarily to be ‘mad on jazz’; for another – as he explained not unappreciatively – his wife quite liked jazz, but really went along ‘to chat with the other musicians’ wives, laugh at us, and have a good chin-wag’.
Jazz in Milton Keynes, then, was more a fluid and impermanent series of bands and venues than an integrated and self-conscious musical world. There were not strong historical precursors in the area, and the local players never managed to set up a permanent venue where they could be sure of regularly hearing jazz by local and regional players over a matter of years. In addition, apart from the (general purpose) Musicians’ Union, to which few local players belonged, there was no national association to which local groups could affiliate (unlike the classical, folk, operatic and brass band worlds) – or, if there was, it was apparently of little interest to Milton Keynes players. In all, there seemed to be a less distinctive view of what ‘jazz’ was and should be than with some of the other forms of music in Milton Keynes, and the experiences of jazz players and enthusiasts were defined more by the actual activities and interactions of local bands that labelled themselves as ‘jazz’ than by any clearly articulated ideal model.
Despite this, there were shared perceptions and experiences – unformulated though these were – of what it was to be a jazz player and to play jazz. This was shown most vividly in the way jazz players, far more strikingly than rock musicians, went in for membership of more than one jazz group and moved readily between bands; it was easy to ask guests to come and jam, from named stars from outside or ex-members who happened to be around to a ten-year-old boogie-woogie pianist from the audience. For though both the form of music-making and the constitution of the groups were in a sense fluid, there were definite shared expectations about the jazz style of playing, the traditional formulae, and the modes of improvising within recognised conventions: ‘all jazz lovers know the tunes already’, as one player expressed it. Players in other groups were recognised as fellow experts – more, or less, accomplished – in the same general tradition of music-making, and bands engaged in friendly rivalry with each other, going to each other’s performances ‘to smell out the opposition’ or – on occasion – to look for a new player themselves. Similarly they were prepared to help out other bands, filling in at short notice if they were in difficulties.
Even though for practically all the players discussed here jazz was only a part-time leisure pursuit and not widely acclaimed throughout the city, both the musical activity itself, and the shared skills, pride and conventions that constituted jazz playing seemed to be a continuing element in their own identity and their perceptions of others. Once involved, ‘as a musician, you need to play … something you’ve got to do’; for, as another player put it, ‘it’s a blood thing, it’s in your veins’.
9
The country and western world
Among certain sections of the Milton Keynes population the music labelled ‘country and western’ was extremely popular, and country and western events attracted a large and regular following. There were two established bands with regional – even national – reputations as well as local engagements; other more fluid bands; a flourishing country and western club with a healthy bank balance, known in the region as well as the immediate locality; several pubs putting on country and western evenings; ‘Wild West’ groups whose shows added variety and glamour to country and western musical performances; and a pool of regular attenders, based on family rather than just individual loyalty.
As with folk music I will start with the club organisation, before going on to explain the background and wider ramifications. In this case there was just one leading club, so a description of one of its events can provide a good introduction to the country and western world.
The Milton Keynes Divided Country and Western Club had been going strong since the mid 1970s, when it was founded by a small group of local enthusiasts in Bletchley. It held fortnightly Sunday meetings in a hall borrowed from the local football club next to the large sports fields on the edge of Bletchley. It was not easy to find for the newcomer – off the bus routes, across a narrow hump-back bridge over the canal, and past the playing fields – but, once known, the path was familiar to its many regular attenders who came on foot, bus, cycle, or (most frequently) in a shared car or taxi.
On this particular occasion – typical of many – the visiting band was due to start around 8.00 p.m. with the doors opening at 7.00. By 7.45 the hall was already well filled with 80 or so people (it rose to about 120 later on). Music was coming from records on the stage at one end, where the band members were setting up their instruments. The bar was at the opposite end and a table set up by the entrance for committee members ‘on the door’ to take entrance money, greet old and new members with a flourish and sell club mementoes. In contrast to rock and jazz events, the audience sitting round the tables was family based, with roughly equal numbers of men and women, several children, and people of every age from the twenties upwards, including middle-aged and elderly people; only the late teenagers were absent. It was a ‘family night out’ with most people in groups rather than singly, a policy encouraged by the club’s organisers.
The club’s name – the Divided Country and Western Club – indicated certain options. One of these was in dress: ‘divided’ between those who chose to come dressed ‘just as you like’ and those who preferred ‘western dress’. Either was acceptable, and around half had opted for one or another version of ‘western’ gear. Some had only a token cowboy-style hat or scarf, but many of the men had elaborate costumes – a leather-look waistcoat, large leather belt with a holster and replica revolver on one side and bullets on the other, coloured neckcloth, jeans, badges (a star marked ‘Sheriff Texas’ for example), leather boots, a decorated cowboy hat, and sometimes a long coat which could be pushed back with a swagger to reach the belt and holster. Some women too were wearing hats or jeans, or in some cases leather jerkins or guns. The men in particular showed off their finery, strutting around in their long coats with hands on holsters. One strikingly smart group were dressed in matching black neckcloths and decorations: they were the local ‘Wild Bunch’, western enthusiasts who took a prominent part in local country and western events.
The band was introduced soon after 8 p.m. by the compère, the club secretary. It was an all-male group who had been to the club before and were known to many members; coming from Aylesbury, about half an hour’s drive away, they were regarded as nearly local.