Features and Reviews
A Musical Autobiography In Progress
(Continuing our series on Rose Leaf Club members, Gary Rametta, meeting MC and one of our performers, contributed the following musical autobiography)
By Gary Rametta
My first exposure to musical performance came from listening to my father play polkas and Italian folk songs on the accordion. I didn't know it at the time, but he was entirely self-taught, playing completely by ear. Those early childhood experiences -- sharing an ineffable joy that music imparted -- lead to a natural desire to emulate my dad. At age 10, with his encouragement and happy support, I began studying accordion, learning music theory and soon after started performing at local accordion festivals.
In junior high school, I joined the advanced band, picking up the clarinet, then moving to the trumpet. Have you ever seen the Richard Dreyfus film "Mr. Holland's Opus?" Well, I must've had an original Mr. Holland -- a great music teacher named Harry Hammerstedt. Although trumpet was his main gig, he played every instrument in the orchestra. I'll never forget him telling us how he was able to learn them all -- he called it the "X" system. Might've been a joke on us, but he was an inspiring musician. And a great all-around guy as well who frequently stuck around after school to play basketball with us. The three years I spent with his band were extremely valuable to me. Toward the end of junior high, when some of my other musically-inclined friends began sporting drumsticks or guitar picks in the pockets of their Levi's, I decided that, in the interest of "coolness," I would switch from accordion and make the piano my primary instrument.
Although I have had formal lessons sporadically over the years, I'm primarily self-taught at the piano. At any rate, once I went full-bore into piano playing at about age 14, I started working on a repertoire of pop and rock tunes. Later, I added some standards from the American songbook that caught my fancy -- as well as a couple of Joplin rags when the movie The Sting became a huge hit. Soon after, in high school, the world of classical music opened up, and I developed an affinity for the music of Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt, Strauss, Ravel, Debussy and others. Of course I still listened to rock music with friends and at home since that's what was "in" as far as my age group, but in terms of what I wanted to learn and play at the piano, I was pretty much seeking a far different experience.
During my first semester at U.S.C., where I was accepted on scholarship into the business school, I was introduced to the work of jazz pianist and composer Bill Evans. I quickly became immersed in Evans, and that influence largely guided my playing and studying preferences for the next 15 or more years. The professor who turned me on to Bill Evans soon became a close, lifelong friend. I'll always feel fortunate and indebted that he led me to someone whose explorations and voice at the keyboard echoed my own feelings, ambitions, dreams, musings and instincts. I'll also treasure the one opportunity I had to see Evans perform live at Howard Rumsey's Concerts by the Sea on the Redondo Beach Pier in 1978. An ancillary consequence of my immersion in Evans' artistry, though, was the realization that a career in business administration was not what my soul craved. Instead, I took as many courses in writing and literature as interested me. I've ended up working as a writer in various capacities over much of my professional career, but sometimes I wonder how things might have turned out had I risked everything practical and gone into the U.S.C. music school...
Through many of the years I played piano, I did it mostly for myself or, on occasions, for my family members. Mainly, it was just for myself. This went on until the mid-90's, when I finally caught the proverbial "bug." I found that I was tending toward a lot of rubato playing -- a result of wanting to play and interpret expressively. It was at this point that I realized I wanted to add a rhythmic element to my playing. Up to that time, I'd never played as part of a band or group. If I did, I would have naturally assimilated more rhythmic discipline. And important skills like "comping," and being able to listen to and musically converse with other players, would likely have developed much sooner.
Coincident with this period of musical self-evaluation was the expanding presence of the internet and the world wide web. It was in the mid-'90s, through Usenet groups and an early web search (before the days of Google and Yahoo) that I first located some ragtime MIDI sites. I was really into MIDI at the time because I had a digital piano -- a top-of-the-line Roland that was about as close to the feel, action and response of an acoustic as was made, but with the added electronic internals that allowed you to connect it to other devices, like sequencers, sample players or a computer. Thanks to the internet, I found a treasure trove of ragtime websites and MIDI files. The two major sites that became an addiction for me were Warren Trachtman's Ragtime MIDI site, and John Roache's Stride-Ragtime site. In fact it was through my future friend John's site that I found either a link to, or an announcement of, the Rose Leaf Ragtime Club meeting at the International House of Pancakes banquet room in north Pasadena.
As a musician, I've always had a penchant for ragtime. Not only because of The Sting and the Joplin rags I (kind of) learned back in the '70s, but before then, when I played accordion. Once I developed some left-hand facility with the accordion's 120-bass notes, my teacher gave me a folio of boogie-woogies arranged for accordion. Boogie-woogie was not only fun to learn, and I not only got good at it quickly, but it was a total crowd pleaser. Yes, I loved beautiful and elegant melodies and harmonies, but there was always something about syncopation that made my heart sing. So when I got into ragtime MIDI, I realized that ragtime's regular 2/4 beat was exactly the rhythmic element I had been looking for.
The first three rags I learned for the Rose Leaf Club were "Sunflower Slow Drag," "Something Doing" and "Swipsey." I arrived at my first Rose Leaf meeting about a half-hour early so I could "audition" for Phil Schmidt. He was immediately -- and everlastingly -- generous, supportive, encouraging and positive. Even though it had been many years since I'd played in front of strangers, I felt about as comfortable as I could've hoped. That was largely due to Phil. From day one, he treated me, a total newcomer in terms of club performance, as an artistic peer. I'll never forget that, and I hope I can show other developing players a similarly gentle, affirming spirit.
When I got word from Ron Ross that Phil was in the hospital, I drove up to Glendale to see and spend time with him the final two days of his life. Although he was struggling to breathe, I believe he heard and understood what I had to tell him. I wanted him to know how much I valued something that meant so much to him: The Rose Leaf Ragtime Club. I promised Phil that I would help keep the club going. The loss of Phil the man was untimely, tragic and senseless, and as an artist, his loss leaves a void in the musical universe.
But it was because of Phil that I've been able to enjoy the friendships and comradeship of so many artists and supporters of the Rose Leaf and other ragtime clubs in Southern California. That is something Phil Schmidt left which lives on. It's something for which I'm truly grateful.
Today, we have three excellent local ragtime-related clubs in southern California: the Rose Leaf club, the Orange County Ragtime Society, and the Valley Ragtime Stomp. For me, being able to play more than once a month represents an opportunity to accelerate my technical and artistic progress. The bottom line is that I want to share with others the musical stories and expressions that have meaning for me. In terms of content, the enormous body of ragtime literature gives performers the opportunity to select pieces that match their playing styles, technical ability and personal interests, and build a repertoire accordingly. In that spirit, I tend to lean toward compositions that can convey a sense of story, emotion and humor. Of course, I'll always look to work in a fair number of tunes rife with that "evil syncopation," once verboten in proper society, but henceforth akin to healthy foot-tapping and all-around good cheer.
