Polka King Page 11

  For too long of a time those of us who enjoy polka music had neglected to bestow proper honor and recognition to performers, deejays, and others who have rendered years of faithful service to the polka entertainment industry. Through the years there was considerable discussion and research among our polka leaders to formulate an institution that would honor deserving polka personalities. Although there always was complete agreement as to the purpose and objectives of such an institution, there also existed the reluctance of any group to accept the challenge and responsibility.

  To rectify this omission of duty, the delegates to the 1968 International Polka Convention voted and approved the establishment of the Polka Music Hall of Fame. The institution of the Hall of Fame serves to honor outstanding polka personalities who have made significant contributions to the advancement and promotion of polka music. After many months of research and development, the much talked about and long overdue Polka Music Hall of Fame became a living reality. The following year Frankie Yankovic and Li’l Wally Jagiello became the first Hall of Famers elected. They were honored in Chicago at a banquet and special installation ceremony.

  The Polka Music Hall of Fame is administered by an eleven member Board of Trustees. Since originally being established it has undergone several changes. Recipients of this coveted honor are determined by the votes of an academy of over 165 qualified electors. Each year they elect two prominent living polka personalities and one deceased polka personality, who have made outstanding contributions to the advancement and promotion of polka music. Another personality is elected in the pioneer category. Candidates must have been actively engaged in the polka field for a minimum of twenty years. They are selected from all sections of the United States and Canada regardless of ethnic origin, locality or style preference of polka music. The nationally known Institute of Industrial Relations of Loyola University of Chicago has been retained yearly to conduct the election and certify the winners. In conjunction with the Polka Music Hall of Fame, the IPA also presents the annual Polka Music Awards for the favorite performers of the year.

  In compliance with the commitment to establish the Polka Music Hall of Fame, the International Polka Association has provided continuous financial support for the improvement and expansion of the Polka Music Hall of Fame and Museum—a dream that became a reality. A suitable and functional building to serve as the depository for the Polka Music Hall of Fame, Museum and administrative office of the Association was purchased.

  Later, due to changing circumstances, the building housing the Hall of Fame and Museum was sold and the associated memorabilia is now housed at 4608 S. Archer Avenue, Chicago, in property owned by Polonia Banquets, where board and general membership meetings are also held.

  In addition to its function of honoring deserving personalities, the Polka Music Hall of Fame and Museum also serves as a historical and educational medium for polka music. The Hall of Fame and Museum provide a means for people to learn about the origins and development of polka music in all its styles and forms. It also provides an historical record of events and occurrences in the polka field. The institution also contains an unparalleled collection of artifacts, sheet music, recordings and memorabilia associated with polka music that not only provides an educational resource for the general public, but is also a research tool for scholars, the media and historians.

  That all sounds good, doesn’t it? Sounds like IPA really has a lot of love and respect for its inductees, right? So if IPA were offering honorary lifetime memberships to certain current Hall of Fame members—one of whom had managed to win a Grammy Award or two—it would jump at the chance to hitch its wagon to his star. Well, in the early 2000s, the names of ten polka greats were submitted to an IPA special committee as deserving of this lifetime membership, one of whom was yours truly.

  I heard through a reliable source that one of the committee members looked at the list, then said, “Jimmy Sturr? What did he ever do for us? Everybody’s in except for him. All in favor?” The vote against me was unanimous.

  And that, my friends, is the true meaning of “Chicago style.”

  15

  Rounder and Rounder

  The majority of my albums that were honored with Grammys were waxed and distributed by one of the great record labels of its time, Rounder Records. It was an ideal place for a guy like me to be, because Rounder knows its music and has a superb collection of people. The folks there are professional, they’re kind, and they have a rebel spirit about them; they don’t care what genre you perform in, what you look like, or how many records you’d previously sold. If Rounder likes your music, it’ll sign you and promote you to the best of its abilities.

  The sheer number and stylistic range of artists Rounder has had on its roster since it was founded in 1970 is staggering: blues cats such as Marcia Ball, Solomon Burke, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown, James Booker, and Ronnie Earl; alternative and rock acts like Robert Plant, John Mellencamp, NRBQ, The Tragically Hip, Lisa Loeb, They Might Be Giants, J. Geils Band, Dennis DeYoung, and Juliana Hatfield; such Cajun greats as Buckwheat Zydeco; country artists including Cowboy Junkies and Roy Book Binder; jazz folks like the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, David Grisman, and Béla Fleck; and even the periodic classical composer like Philip Glass. That sense of diversity is undoubtedly why it decided to take a chance on a polka guy from a tiny town in New York. The fact that I’d developed a following of my own over the years didn’t hurt.

  Rounder was founded in 1970 by a trio of like-minded music nuts named Ken Irwin, Bill Nowlin, and Marian Leighton-Levy. (It should be noted that when they launched the label, all three were still in college. Being a former young entrepreneur, those are some people I can get behind.) They named the label Rounder in homage to one of their favorite folk bands, a Greenwich Village cult group called the Holy Modal Rounders. See? Music nuts.

  In the beginning, Rounder was better known as a distributor than a label, and if anybody can respect and understand how difficult it is to balance the two, it’s yours truly, but Rounder managed to do it, arguably better than anybody else in its era. In addition to producing early-career records from the likes of Allison Krauss and George Thorogood and the Destroyers, it managed to distribute more than four hundred labels. I just had to distribute one label, and that in and of itself was a huge headache.

  I consider my series of records for Rounder to be among the most creatively fulfilling of my career. For the most part, Polka Your Troubles Away, I Love to Polka, Living on Polka Time, Polka! All Night Long, Dance with Me, Polkapalooza, Touched by a Polka, Gone Polka, Top of the World, Let’s Polka ’Round, Rock ‘n’ Polka, Shake, Rattle and Polka!, Polka in Paradise, Come Share the Wine, and Let the Whole World Sing were radically different than my Starr Records sessions. The recording budgets were higher, the guest artists were more well-known, and the song selection was far more diverse. While the label brass gave me periodic creative suggestions, I never felt pressured to do what they said. They gave me as much artistic freedom as I could hope for (I’m sure that every Rounder artist you’d speak to would say the same thing), and this is why I’ll always have fond memories of my fifteen years with the label. It’s nice to have the autonomy of bringing my own records to fruition, but if I ever decide that running my own music empire gets to be a bit much, and that it would be easier to let some professionals handle the heavy lifting, I’ll reach out to my friends at Rounder.

  In what I’m certain was an easy decision, Rounder got out of the distribution business (wearing both hats dilutes both ends of the business; focusing on one aspect is both easier and more fruitful); in 2010, Rounder sold to the Concord Music Group in California. While the main thrust of Concord’s business is jazz, the company champions the kind of diversity that Rounder is known and loved for, and I think it’s a perfect marriage. I haven’t been a part of the Rounder family for several years now (it was an amicable split), but I have nothing but good things to say about Ken and his crew.

  16


  Country and Polka: The Perfect Marriage

  If you listened to a Hank Williams record right after hearing a Myron Floren record, you wouldn’t necessarily think, Hmm, Myron was influenced by Hank, and Hank was influenced by Myron. The casual listener would think that polka music sounds like polka music, and country music sounds like country music. Sometimes, though, you have to pay closer attention to catch the nuances. Sometimes you have to dig a bit deeper.

  The truth is, polka and country are distant cousins. One of the reasons the genres’ stylistic similarity isn’t too obvious to the casual listener is that, tempo-wise, they’re radically different, polka generally being much faster than country. But country and polka dovetail together when it comes to the chord movement, as well as the overall tone and spirit.

  This artistic parallel is probably why, as a kid, I took to country music. I mean, songs like Ray Price’s “Heartaches by the Number” and “Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes” are this close to being polka, so how could I not like them? This is why, even today, I’m always on the lookout for country artists I’d never really heard much of, just like I was in 1970, when I discovered a singer who would one day change my life.

  I heard a song on the local radio station called “Columbus Stockade Blues.” Accompanied only by an acoustic guitar, the smooth-but-rough vocalist drawled about how he was incarcerated in a Columbus, Georgia, prison; all his friends had turned their backs on him, and he missed every minute he’d ever spent with his little darling. After the tune faded out into the sunset, the deejay explained that it was a traditional country song from the 1930s, originally recorded by a gentleman named Cliff Carlisle, and since covered by Woody Guthrie, Bill Monroe, and Doc Watson, among many others. This particular recording, hot off the press, was the title cut of an album from a newcomer by the name of Willie Nelson. I went out and bought the record the next day.

  It turned out that I was ahead of the curve on Willie Nelson; thanks to that long-forgotten deejay, I was on to Willie before most of the rest of the world knew who he was. My respect and admiration for him went off the charts when, a couple of years later, I found out that he started out as a polka musician. (But you already knew that because he discussed it in his foreword to this book. Thanks again, Willie!) When I learned about his love for my music years later, I told myself, If I ever meet him, I’m gonna ask him to record with me.

  Fast-forward to 1996. I found myself on a bill at a country music festival in Hunter, New York, a bill headlined by, you guessed it, Willie Nelson. Before our band went on, I noticed Willie’s bus driver was standing around backstage, looking bored. I wandered over, introduced myself, explained who I was, then said, “I know Willie loves polka music and I want to get him into the studio with us. Can you help me out?”

  The driver said, “After his show, Willie’ll be signing autographs for an hour-and-a-half. When he’s done, I’ll bring him right back here, right back to this very spot, and I’ll introduce you guys. When you meet him, you give him a firm handshake, look him right in the eye, and tell him exactly what you want.”

  I said, “I can do that.”

  Exactly ninety minutes after his performance, the driver brought Willie to the appointed area and introduced us. As ordered, I gave him my best handshake, made direct eye contact, and said, “Willie, I know you started out playing polka. Would you consider recording with our band?”

  Jimmy and Willie on The Nashville Network.

  He smiled and drawled, “Wellllllll, I’d like to do that. Let me give you my number.” Right there, right on that spot, Willie Nelson, one of country music’s living legends, handed me his phone number. Just like that. Wow!

  A few months later, I went down to Austin, Texas, and laid down a few cuts with Willie for an album that was eventually titled Polka! All Night Long. The session was more pleasurable and rewarding than I could have ever dreamed; it was the beginning of a friendship that continues to this day. Willie has graced four more of my recordings; suffice it to say that he’s welcome at any of my recording sessions—anytime, any place.

  After Polka! All Night Long hit stores, I got a call from a programmer at The Nashville Network. “Jimmy, that new record of yours, well, we all love it up here. It has a country vibe, and I think our viewers would enjoy it, so we want you to come on our station . . .” he said.

  I replied, “Great!”

  “. . . and bring Willie with you.”

  “Ah. Okay. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll ask him.” After a pause, I asked, “If Willie won’t do it, do you still want us?”

  The TNN man said, “Um, yeah. Sure. Why not?”

  I knew that a TNN appearance could garner us a whole new audience. I also knew from the TNN man’s tone of voice when I asked if he’d have us without Willie that there was a 50 percent chance that if there wasn’t a Nelson, there wouldn’t be a Sturr. I wanted the job, so I tracked Willie down that very day.

  After I posed the question, he drawled, “Wellllllll, I’d like to do that.” Little did I know that Willie never did The Nashville Network because he wasn’t a fan of the Nashville machine as a whole. (Apparently, he never forgave Nashville producers for insisting that, when he was on the cusp of superstardom, he record with what he perceived to be a schmaltzy string section. Willie is too cool for schmaltz, so I can’t say I blame him.) But he was going to do it for me. Again, wow!

  As if that wasn’t thrilling enough, the next day I received a call from a booker at the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville. Since 1925, the Opry’s stage has been graced by the likes of Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, Bill Monroe, Ernest Tubb, Dolly Parton, Garth Brooks, Reba McEntire, Carrie Underwood, and Brad Paisley, among many others; the lengthy list is a veritable Country Music Hall of Fame. “We understand you’re making an appearance on The Nashville Network in a couple of weeks,” the booker said. “Would you be interested in doing a show here at some point that week?”

  “Am I interested? Is the sky blue? Does a dog bark? Is Florida the Onion Capital of the World?”

  “Wait, Florida? Onions? Is that a yes, Mr. Sturr?”

  I told the booker, “Of course I’m saying, yes. You bet I’m interested! Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Aside from the venue’s prestigious history, the Opry wasn’t known as the kind of place that hosted polka concerts on a regular basis, so I wanted in. Badly.

  “Great. And, um, you know, if you want, you can bring Willie Nelson with you.”

  “Ah. I’ll see what I can do.” After a beat, I asked, “If I don’t have Willie with me, do I still get the gig?”

  “Um, yeah. Sure. I guess. Why not?”

  His less-than-enthusiastic tone didn’t inspire much confidence, so I said, “Okay. I’ll ask Willie. I’ll do my best.”

  I tracked down Willie that very afternoon, which was more than a little surprising, because Willie is one of the hardest working men in show business. After I made my pitch, he drawled, “Wellllllll, I’d like to do that. Tell me where to be, and I’ll be there.”

  “Willie, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

  “Wellllllll, it’s my pleasure. And you know what? This’ll be the first time I’ve done the Opry.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. You know how I feel about Nashville.”

  Two months later, it was time. The TNN taping was on a Thursday evening; our soundcheck was scheduled for that same day, just before noon. Noon rolled around, but Willie was nowhere to be seen.

  The producer said to me, “He’s not coming.”

  “What do you mean, he’s not coming?” I said. “He’ll be here.”

  “No. He won’t. He’s done this to us before. A number of times. We’re gonna try and get a replacement.”

  “What do you mean a replacement? We can’t play with just anybody. Willie knows our music and he knows polka. You can’t just pull in somebody off the street. It’s not that easy . . .”

  Two minutes into my calm, patient diatribe, we heard a scream f
rom the other side of the studio: “WILLIE’S BUS JUST PULLED UP! WILLIE’S HERE! WILLIE’S HERE!”

  The place came to a dead standstill and went dead silent—it was like somebody pulled a plug. A few seconds later, in walked the man himself, looking calm, relaxed, and glad to be there. On his way up to the stage, Willie shook every hand that was offered to him, moving slowly so he could deliver all the TNN staffers a smile or a kind word. When he finally made it over to us, he gave all my band members a hearty hello and then embraced me as if we were long-lost brothers. He then turned around, looked around the room, nodded, and said, “Wellllllll, I’m ready.”

  He wasn’t lying. We tore that place up. And that was just the soundcheck.

  The taping that night was a smashing success, both personally and artistically, and I say personally, because I was given a piece of advice that changed everything. After we wrapped up our performance, which was even more raucous than the soundcheck, one of the producers pulled me aside and said, “Jimmy, you’ve got a helluva band there. But you’re never going to be anything more than you are until you step out front.”

  “What do you mean, step out front?” I asked. “I’m the bandleader.”

  He shook his head. “It’s pointless to tell everybody you’re called Jimmy Sturr and His Orchestra if nobody can tell who Jimmy Sturr is. The way you set up right now, you look like one of the boys and nothing more. When you guys play, you stand over there,” he said, pointing to the row where I sat alongside the other saxophonists. “You need to stand over there,” he insisted, then pointed to stage center.

  “You think that’ll make a difference?”

  “Jimmy,” he said, “I’ve been doing this a long time, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that in order to succeed, the audience has to know exactly what they’re getting, especially if they’re not familiar with you or your music. It’s your band. You need to make sure that everybody knows it.”