Following in father’s footloose footsteps
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Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 20/06/2020 (2242 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.
“Nine-to-five is jive.”
I never actually heard my father say that. But the quote was attributed to him after his death in 1987 and, well, the hipster jargon checks out.
Had he lived, my father, Jimmy King, would have turned 100 this past April. He was a working musician most of his life. In Winnipeg, that meant weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs, anything. He led a big band — the Golden Boy Brass — but he worked in all iterations of musical endeavour, including trios and piano bar gigs.
On television, he was perhaps best known for being the bandleader of The Talent Show (which morphed into Tiny Talent Time) or now obscure musical programs with titles such as Night Cap or Pan Americana. Friends of mine who grew up watching Archie Wood and Friends on CJAY TV knew him as the invisible guy Uncle Bob Swarts would cue up before dropping the needle on a recording of How Much Is That Doggie in the Window? as performed by the puppy puppet Petite, or Winchester Cathedral as performed by Marvin the Mouse. (It’s a bit ironic that one of his claims to fame was something he had absolutely nothing to do with.)
Anyway, yes, a musician’s work is rarely limited to nine-to-five parameters. Excluding the times he worked selling pianos at Eatons or Hammond organs at the organ outlet in Polo Park, his was a life of odd hours. Playing in lounges and clubs, he might have finished his workday at midnight or later. That doesn’t factor in the times he showed up after work at one of the local bootleggers for what he diplomatically called “a taste.”
He fathered six children with my mother, Fay. The eldest, James, died in infancy. It remained a laudable accomplishment to successfully raise up five kids as a musician, although money was often tight.
Don’t try to explain the “gig economy” to children of musicians. We know all too well.
It helped he was a charismatic guy and he had a head for business, which allowed him to make a living as a musical contractor in addition to playing gigs. In the ’70s, he had a weekly Free Press column, Night Beat, which kept tabs on the doings of musicians at a time when live acts were still flourishing. In the ’80s, he hosted his own TV show — Downstairs at Jimmy King’s — which allowed him a platform to showcase many musical acts, local and beyond.
His career didn’t dissuade his kids from working in risky businesses. My eldest brother Bob himself became a musician and songwriter and made a decent go of it. (Some of my co-workers were almost beside themselves when I shared that Bob wrote the song Brother for Sale as recorded by the Olsen twins. If I told them about his authorship of the Fred Penner hit Sandwiches, they might have truly lost it.) My brother David became an actor and playwright; Ian worked in graphic arts. My sister Gini worked in accounting. (I call her the white sheep of the family.) And me, well, I also took up with writing for the Free Press on the entertainment beat, which is about as close as anyone in my family got to working nine to five.
My father didn’t particularly want his kids to go into the arts. As a musician, life was often a struggle. He would probably have preferred his kids to become doctors or teachers.
The problem is that he loved what he did. Kids tend to notice stuff like that.
randall.king@freepress.mb.ca
Twitter: @FreepKing
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