Polka King Read online

  POLKA

  KING

  Copyright © 2013 by Jimmy Sturr

  Foreword © 2013 by Willie Nelson

  Foreword © 2013 by Bobby Vinton

  Foreword © 2013 by Bill Anderson

  Introduction © 2013 by Jimmy Sturr

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  BenBella Books, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Sturr, Jimmy.

  Polka King : the life and times of polka music’s living legend / by Jimmy Sturr.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-937856-35-9 (e-book) 1. Sturr, Jimmy. 2. Musicians--United States--Biography. 3. Polkas--United States--History and criticism. I. Title.

  ML419.S83A3 2013

  784.18’844092--dc23

  [B]

  2013001227

  Editing by Erin Kelley

  Copyediting by Lisa Miller

  Proofreading by Chris Gage and Kristin Vorce

  Cover design by Sarah Dombrowsky

  Text design and composition by Elyse Strongin, Neuwirth & Associates, Inc.

  Printed by Berryville Graphics, Inc.

  Distributed by Perseus Distribution

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  CONTENTS

  Foreword by Willie Nelson

  Foreword by Bobby Vinton

  Foreword by Bill Anderson

  Introduction: An Irishman in Poland

  1.The Beginning

  2.Jimmy Sturr’s Brief History of Polka

  3.A Yankees Interlude

  4.Sturr-ing It Up in the Studio

  5.Book It!

  6.Military Man

  7.Radio Days, Part One

  8.Radio Days, Part Two

  9.Cousin Brucie & Robert F.X.

  10.If You Want Something Done Right . . .

  11.Hey, Niekro!

  12.Polish Hall Madness

  13.The Grammys

  14.Causing More Trouble

  15.Rounder and Rounder

  16.Country and Polka: The Perfect Marriage

  17.More Special Guests, Part One

  18.How to Polka-ize a Non-Polka, or More Special Guests, Part Two

  19.The Music City

  20.Boots, Myron, & Whispering Bill

  21.Don’t Look for the Union Label

  22.Teammates

  23.Meet the Orchestra

  Afterword:Polka Today and Tomorrow

  Appendix:Jimmy Sturr Selected Discography

  Acknowledgments

  FOREWORD

  by Willie Nelson

  I was in sixth grade when I landed my first professional gig, and it might surprise you that it wasn’t with a country band or a blues group or a gospel ensemble. No, my first paying job was with John Raycjeck’s Bohemian Polka Band. That’s right, folks. Willie Nelson made his debut with a polka band . . . and I’m proud of it. Playing those waltzes and polkas all around Texas wasn’t a particularly lucrative endeavor—I earned the less-than-princely sum of eight dollars per night—but the many crowds’ love for the music more than made up for the small paycheck. Little wonder that there’s always been a big place in my heart for polka music.

  Fast-forward to 1996, when I received a call from Mr. Jimmy Sturr, a polka man from the great town of Florida, New York, in the great county of Orange. Now, being that I had an affinity for polka, I was well aware of who Jimmy was. (If memory serves, he’d won seven of his eighteen Grammy Awards by then.) When he asked me to guest on a record that came to be called Polka! All Night Long, I said, “Absolutely,” without a second’s hesitation. Turned out, that session was a blast. Jimmy’s adoration for the music, his band’s passionate energy, and those inimitable polka beats brought me right back to my childhood. Thus began a musical friendship that endures to this day.

  I recorded four more albums with Jimmy and the band, each more fun than the last; I’m proud to say all of them won Grammy Awards. Naturally, I had to get Jimmy on the Farm Aid bill; he graced our stage in 2005, 2006, and 2007, and I had the distinct pleasure of performing with him all three years. I say pleasure because as much of a blast as it was to record with Jimmy and his Orchestra, it was that much more fun to sing some polkas live, in front of tens of thousands of fans. Brought me right on back to my tenure with the Bohemian Band.

  All of this is why I’m thrilled that Jimmy has finally put pen to paper to tell his story. The Polka King is the tale of a small-town boy made good—that’s something I personally can relate to—a man who brought the music he grew up with and loved to the masses, simply because it was in his blood. Jimmy has traveled the world and has probably played more gigs for more people than any other polka musician in the history of mankind, so if there’s any gentleman who understands that life and those sounds, it’s Jimmy.

  Even if the only thing you know about polka is rolling out the barrel and having a barrel of fun, you’ll enjoy Jimmy’s book, because it’s not just about music. It’s about working hard and bringing your dreams to fruition. It’s about the ups and downs of making your living as an artist. And, most important, it’s about people . . . and Jimmy Sturr is good people.

  FOREWORD

  by Bobby Vinton

  Like me, Jimmy Sturr is a workingman.

  He works with his band. He works with his record label. He works with his television show. He works with his radio show. He works with his multitude of business ventures. However, the one thing he works at the hardest is keeping polka alive. And this particular work is crucial, because polka has been slowly fading from the mainstream for years now. I couldn’t tell you why—after all, it’s party music, and parties will always be in fashion, right? But if it wasn’t for Jimmy’s tenacity, commitment, and talent, I don’t think polka music would have even the level of popularity it does today. Thanks in part to the force of his personality, I’m certain that polka will live on forever.

  I first heard about Jimmy when I was performing up at the Concord Resort Hotel in the Catskills, a venue that I’ve always enjoyed for its great stage, great sound, and great audiences. Jimmy came to the show and somehow sweet-talked his way backstage. After he introduced himself—it’s possible he referred to himself as “The Polka King,” but don’t hold me to that—he told me how much he’s always enjoyed my music and then reeled off the names of his favorite songs of mine, one right after the other: “Roses Are Red,” “Blue Velvet,” “There! I’ve Said It Again,” “Mr. Lonely,” “My Melody of Love,” and so on. But then he started naming some of my lesser-known tunes, tunes like “Petticoat White,” “Red Roses for Mom,” “Why Don’t They Understand,” “I’ll Make You My Baby,” and “Let Me Love You Goodbye.” And then he blew me away when he began to dissect my 1981 LP, Polka Album. He explained that the way I approached turning pop tunes like The Beatles’ “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” and the standard “That’s Amore” made a huge impact on him, and he mentioned that he had a couple of the tunes I recorded in his repertoire, specifically “Pennsylvania Polka,” “Too Fat Polka,” and “Hoop-Dee-Doo.” Then, best of all, he told me how much he loved what I called my “Polka Memories Medley,”
because several years back he himself had recorded a couple of albums filled with similar medleys. He then went on to explain that one of those albums had seventy-seven songs, and the other featured sixty-six. Finally, he told me how important my style of entertainment was to his style of entertainment and how he appreciated my ability to reach the people while staying true to my musical roots. I couldn’t help but be impressed with the extent of his knowledge, his intelligence, and his warmth. That was about thirty-five years ago. We’ve been friends ever since.

  I feel that the main reason Jimmy Sturr has been able to keep the polka industry thriving is that he’s added a dash of contemporary showmanship. Yes, Jimmy Sturr and His Orchestra is a polka band, but it’s not just a band that plays polkas. Jimmy offers his listeners—believe me, the man has a lot of listeners (if you’re buying this book, you’re probably one of them)—a whole bunch of variety, the kind of variety that you don’t get from many bands, regardless of their chosen genre.

  Unlike the majority of the gentlemen who make a living performing and recording polkas, Jimmy is smart enough to invite musicians from other styles to join him in the studio. (That may seem like an obvious route to take, but if it’s so obvious, why is Jimmy the only one taking it?) He’ll incorporate rock and roll and country and Cajun and pop and jazz and bluegrass and folk, yet he’ll never lose that two-beat polka sound. This, I think, is why Jimmy’s records are so interesting to the voters who have bestowed upon him all those Grammy Awards. That he displays this unique skill on a weekly television show, which is watched by hundreds of thousands of people, speaks further to his musical and business acumen.

  I’ve been lucky enough to join Jimmy and his band on a number of his polka cruises. His audiences are unbelievably fun, respectful, and happy, and it’s always wonderful to see these folks getting intoxicated by music rather than alcohol. Not that there isn’t alcohol present—after all, it is a polka cruise, and polka is, for many people, music to drink by—but the libations weren’t necessary to make the cruise special. A good time would’ve been had by all, even if the strongest drink on the ship had been Coca-Cola.

  When Jimmy retires—and hopefully that won’t be for many, many years—I honestly don’t know how the polka industry will survive. He’s the only one I know of who moves the music forward with every recording. Young musicians need to note that because the polka torch must be carried on. Polka wasn’t born in America, but it is of America; if it fades into the sunset, the music world will be worse off for it. But as long as Jimmy Sturr is on a stage or in a recording studio, I’m confident that polka will continue to thrive.

  FOREWORD

  by Bill Anderson

  Jimmy Sturr is one of those people whom I don’t remember not knowing. There are people in your life you feel like have been there forever. That’s Jimmy.

  Early in our relationship, he booked Porter Wagoner and me to play at a fair in Pennsylvania. Or maybe New Jersey. Or possibly New York. But it doesn’t really matter where. He must’ve been about fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years old, just your average teenager, booking big-time country music shows. Years later, he told me that he made a good bit of money from these things. If you had to describe Jimmy in one word, that word would be “entrepreneur.”

  The next time I recall our paths crossing was at Newark Symphony Hall in Newark, New Jersey. Jimmy came down from his home in Florida, New York, just like any other fan. I would’ve gotten him a ticket, but I guess he wanted to support me. That night he sealed our relationship with his fascination for my top-of-the-line Silver Eagle tour bus. Right there, standing in front of the bus, Jimmy said, “Someday, Bill, someday I’m gonna get me one of those. I’m gonna have my name right on the side of a tour bus, just like you.” Sure enough, he ended up with his own Silver Eagle, and his own sign. He loves that bus so much that sometimes he’ll pick up his fans and take them to his shows. How can you not like that?

  The thing that impressed me about Jimmy’s approach to polka was his ability to introduce all types of music into the mix. It was still polka, of course, but there were touches of Cajun, bluegrass, and country music. It has a broader scope than I ever thought a polka band could have. Before I heard him, while I liked polka music, it wasn’t something I wanted to listen to for hours on end. But the way Jimmy’s band members play it, with their sharp arrangements and their ability to connect with an audience, well, give me a few Jimmy Sturr records and a cool drink, and I’ll see you tomorrow.

  Not only are we great friends but we’re great musical associates. Aside from our trips to the studio, I joined him and the Orchestra for three of their infamous Christmas tours. He was always open to collaboration. One year I brought both the steel guitar player and the lead guitar player from my band, and he didn’t even blink. There are a lot of artists out there—especially artists of Jimmy’s stature—who’d feel threatened if one of their special guests tried to toss his musicians into the stew, but not Jimmy. It was a wonderful melding of our respective styles, and, as far as he was concerned, if it made the crowd happy, he was happy.

  Jimmy’s the kind of guy who ends up in odd situations. One time, I recall he booked both of our bands to play an outdoor festival in his hometown. Now Florida is not a booming metropolis by any stretch of the imagination, something of which Jimmy was well aware. Knowing there might not be a restaurant to our liking, he told me, “Listen, the show starts at six, so after your soundcheck, bring the band over to my place and we’ll have a nice lunch. I’ll throw some steaks on the grill, and we’ll have a great time.”

  That sounded wonderful, so when we were all done, I hauled my five band members—two girls and three guys—over to Jimmy’s house. He got us a few drinks, sat us down in the backyard, and we started yakking. And yakking. And yakking some more. I looked at my watch and, noticing it was getting close to show time, I started getting nervous because there wasn’t any food being cooked. For that matter, the grills weren’t even lit. I said to Jimmy, “If we’re gonna eat, we’d probably better start moving in that direction.”

  He said, “You’re right,” then got up and walked over to a freezer that was situated in his garage, reached in, pulled out a dozen steaks, tossed them to the girls in my band, and said, “It’s getting late. You’d better cook these. We’ve gotta go to the show.” The girls looked at the steaks, which were frozen and as hard as a rock. After a second, he started laughing that laugh of his, and we all followed suit. I don’t think those grills ever got lit.

  Jimmy and I also played together on several of those luxury cruises of his. I loved those things. (In case you didn’t know, Jimmy owns his own travel agency and, every so often, packages polka cruises . . . just like every other eighteen-time Grammy winner.) One day we docked in Cozumel, Mexico, and once we hit land, Jimmy said, “We can’t go to Cozumel without me showing you Carlos’n Charlie’s. That is one wild and crazy place.” Carlos’n Charlie’s is the kind of bar where there’s a pitcher of margaritas on your table before you even sit down. And if there’s not a pitcher on the table, it’ll be one of the waitresses, dancing her pretty little head off.

  I have to mention that in Cozumel, the ships don’t dock right on the shore because the water’s too shallow. They weigh anchor about fifty feet from the mainland and ferry you to the beach in little boats called tenders; when you’re ready to get back on the ship, they ferry you right on back.

  It turned out that on the day of our trip to Carlos’n Charlie’s, there were two cruise ships anchored out in the water. One was ours. One, naturally, wasn’t.

  Now I knew we had to perform that night, so I went easy on the margaritas. Jimmy, on the other hand, had one more drink than he should have, which is probably why, after our afternoon festivities came to a close, he got into the wrong tender. Jimmy later told me that when he got onto the wrong cruise ship, he thought, “Wow, nothing here looks familiar,” and it took him a few beats to realize that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

  I don’t know
how he did it, but he sweet-talked one of those tender drivers into paddling him over to his ship. But that’s Jimmy Sturr for you: a guy who appreciates a good time, but will do whatever is necessary to get to his show, because for Jimmy, it’s all about the fans—and the polka.

  POLKA

  KING

  INTRODUCTION

  An Irishman in Poland

  When I made my first trip to Poland in 1985, the country was still under Communist rule, and it showed. Martial law had been lifted less than two years before, but you could still feel the sense of oppression on every corner. The economy was a disaster, and the badly stocked stores, dirty streets, and empty restaurants reflected that. Warsaw in particular was under a cloud of despair.

  But I was invited there to play some American-brand polka for the people, to make the country’s music fans feel good, and nothing—nothing—was going to stop me.

  As had been the case for the past five or so years, I liked to put together polka travel packages. For one flat rate, a fan could get transportation to and from the city we were traveling to, a hotel room, and tickets to all the shows, plus the opportunity to hang out with Jimmy Sturr and His Orchestra (that alone was worth the price of admission, if you ask me), but the majority of those shindigs were in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut; once in a while, we’d make our way up to Massachusetts. This trip to Warsaw, Poland, was far and away the farthest and most expensive tour we’d ever put together. I was hopeful that it would be fun and fruitful for all, but I was aware of the problems Poland was going through, so I had a sense of trepidation during the airplane ride over, tempering my sense of nervous but excited anticipation.

  When we landed at the Warsaw Chopin Airport—an unsightly place that made LaGuardia look appealing—we proudly had 550 American polka fanatics in tow. (It took three airplanes to haul us across the Atlantic, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the biggest United States-to-Poland polka transport of all time.) I was the first person off the airplane on that cloudy, rainy Saturday morning. When I set foot on the tarmac, three little girls met me, each holding a giant bouquet of roses, each wearing their prettiest dress and a warm, hospitable smile. Behind the beaming children stood several stern-looking government officials, clad in crisply pressed, nondescript suits. After the girls handed me the flowers and gave me their sweet little greeting in Polish, the government types wordlessly led me into the airport and down a long hallway, a hallway that, disconcertingly enough, was nowhere near the customs area. They took me through a side door, stuck me in a disturbingly ordinary car—and I say “disturbingly” because their silence and seriousness made me feel as if there was the tiniest chance I’d be kidnapped, and an ordinary car would be harder to identify than, say, a Polski Fiat—and carted me through town. Sitting beside me in the backseat was a frowning, matronly looking woman, who ended up shadowing me for the entire trip. As it turned out, I wasn’t kidnapped or thrown in jail or sold off to the highest bidder, but rather brought to my downtown hotel. It wasn’t the prettiest building I’d ever seen, but it was warm, dry, and safe, and that was all I needed. I wasn’t there to vacation. I was there to entertain.