The KingCake Crypt: Lady Haig

The KingCake Crypt: Lady Haig

Good Evening, This is Lady Haig speaking to you with a deep sense of reverence for your love of Al's playing. It boggles the mind of your intense focus, surely you must all be musicians in your own right at this late date.

I would like you to know that if you go to you will see that I have been on Blogger for quite awhile. I am not computer literate and feel terrible you have not been able to access the pictures I sent to you.

One was a gift to me by the world famous photographer: William Claxton who has sadly passed away; a photo he took of Al in December of 1945 when Dizzy and Bird brought bebop to Hollywood, California. He felt, at the time, with Al's eyes being closed, it was a bad shot; sixty years later it looks just fine.

The other shot was a Popsy Randolph shot taken in January of 1949 at the First Session of The Birth of The Cool with Miles Davis; John Lewis is on the Second Session.

I have many photos at which you may peruse and I gladly share.

I want to thank you for this opportunity Mr. KingCake, Sasha, Jazzman and whomever else is in here. As I said before, I am speechless.

Please note that I do have copies of Death of a Bebop Wife at $28.00 and am continually livid with trying to sell used copies for over $150.00.

My personal email is

Thank you for being you.


  1. OK, let me hip some of you cats to the jive. You hear that tinkling piano in the next apartment? That's Al Haig, the most delicate hands on a keyboard since Chopin...and that he plays his jazz this close to The Wulfshead is one of the greatest premiums of coming in here.

    Lady Haig is telling us about a blog in New Orleans called the KingCake Crypt...which is over here~~~ . Mr. KingCake, as Lady so delightfully calls him, has devoted several recent entries to Al...and some pretty rare records that he's collected. Lady Haig just discovered them and decided to make contact, and I think that's probably what's just above.

    KingCake has replied to her at his own blog. I think, instead of these 2 calling out to each other across the blogosphere, we should invite him into the membership (Concierge, will you oblige?), bring the 2 AND Al's piano in here...and order another round for the whole place. On my tab, if you please.

    And isn't that Charlie Parker just come through the door? Got your horn with you, man?

  2. Ah, I think I hear a piano out there. Is it in the bar? In that apartment above? Or are we making too much noise once again and drowning the aspirant tinkling of a true maestro at the stand-up against the wall? Some dudes are hovering around, listening intently. Watching the fingers work, as if this will bring them closer to the music. The mind of the pianist is focussed on the music, improvising. Keeping everyone nearby alert, full of life, happy in a sober way. The evening's young. The booze keeps coming. Something miraculous may happen tonight.

  3. Ahh Quinty, I knew I would find you alone tonight. I felt it as sure as I know I am like Cher and Oprah and never have to sign my last name. You look good, really good. You haven't changed. You have this cool, clear and calm savvy of a "seeker of wisdom and truth" and, as I only sing for famous people, and I'm holding the mic, listen:

    I'll see you again,
    Whenever spring breaks
    through again.
    Time may lie heavy between,
    But what has been
    Is past forgetting.
    This sweet memory
    Across the years will come to me;
    Tho' my world may go awry,
    In my heart will ever lie
    Just the echo of a sigh,

  4. A sweet song. Thank you.

  5. You'd think I would be able to just strut up to this beautiful bar and begin to speak with The Wulfshead's distinguished patrons as if I'd known them all my life. After all, many were friends from The Stork Club, Bon Soir and other spots, but I can't, I won't, until my jazzolog buddy sits next to old fashioned me. I know, I know, you've welcomed me but you are all hell bent on issues which somehow elude me and I saw The Bartender last night. Would you believe it? Yes, and he told me he will be here when the King Cake from New Orelans come in to start the ball rolling because I have a secret to tell. Honest I do.

    Quinty definitely will love it and so will the others so, patience is not my middle name, and I'm tired of reciting poetry waiting to Begin the Beguine. I do have manners and a savvy strut so...let me know when you want me to reveal myself. In the meantime,

    Walking along a mountain path
    I find a sandal-print in the moss,
    a billowy cloud low on the lake,
    grasses growing up to a door,
    a pine tree shimmering green,
    a brook gurgling along from the mountain,
    and as I mingle with Truth among the flowers,
    I have forgotten what to say.

  6. I'm flirting with you silly.

  7. Ah, a consoling thought,
    on the day before my colonoscopy.

    "Isn't it romantic
    music in the night..... "

    Richard Rodgers

  8. I'm a little gaga with the prep. Is Frankenstein somewhere around? I have to ask him what it's like to go into surgery, this kind of procedure. I'm sure he knows.

  9. I know Quinty as as my grandmother had Florence Nightengale speak at her graduation in Troy, New York from Smaritan Hospital, and my mother was a nurse, as her aunt and my sister, I am well aware of how they are totally dedicated to receiving the "prepared" patient. I have had one myself and there is a way to get beyond the pale so to speak because, once you have this procedure you are sound asleep and it is over before it is begun.

    The bottom line is you must drink the "sauce" the doctor gives you and be near a commode. If you become too tired,the best thing is to set yourself in your tube, relax and just wait it out.

    Good idea is to surround yourself in sound and pretend you are in Rio or some such spot.

  10. Well I guess I've been a little slow in responding but I'm really pleased to have attracted some attention with the Al Haig posts - actually the most popular series I've done so far, although if I had done my Roland Kirk posts later in the game I'd like to think they would have attracted a similar response - Feel free to link to any post or re-use the links on my posts

  11. Thanks for the sound advice. It was overall a sound and peaceful ride. And the good doc found nothing serious. But boy is that gallon of stuff the night before awful, becoming bloated and forcing oneself on to swallow as you near the bottom of the bottle. But one does it for one's self which makes it a good cause. N'est pas?

  12. Asked Bird if he'd play but the horn is in the pawn shop again - he always has the mouth piece however - send someone to the music shop to rent one of those white plastic jobs like he played in Toronto (Massey Hall)

  13. I'm reminded of the Slim Gaillard "jam" back at the beginning...when Bird didn't have a reed. Slim asked Jack "McVouty" McVea to trim down his tenor reed for him.

    The plastic horn and colonoscopy. Only in The Wulfshead (or a Slim and Slam session) could such a thread emerge, and actually make sense. Sounds like it was Quinty's first twist on the table. I woke up during mine, and there was the surprised doctor and a couple of nurses wrestling with my guts. I smiled and went back to sleep. Crappo, I think it's been 5 years...and time for another one.

    Changing the tune in this medley, welcome KingCake. The man blows mean politics too!

  14. From the heights to the, uh, depths?

    This was my second trip. And since in a few months I will become a septuagenarian I suppose rounds of doctors visits is something I should become used to. All those glum medical routines associated with falling apart which horrify the young. Like so many other things in life you don't really know what it's like until it comes. And then you see it's not so bad. I'm glad to have made it this far. It's all a gift, right?

    I just finished reading Coetzee's "Waiting for the Barbarians." A critic who's quoted on the back cover of the paperback claims Coetzee evokes a "wilderness in the heart of man." And that's the overall impression the novel leaves you with. (Or left me.) Coetzee, colonoscopies, the death of Edward Kennedy. A down in the depths kind of way to start the day.

    KingCake. Welcome. Cheer us up with an inventive melodic line, something we are voluntarily forced to listen to. Make us listen. Make us shine inside. Remind us of the magic in the night or the day. Take us to another world. A place we want to be. Sing on your horn. Tell us a story. Make us smile or cry. Make us feel it all. Remind us that a simple man can reach the heights. Prove to us humanity's value once again. Take a chance, go the edge, saw off that limb behind you. Turn all you technical skill into magic. Play for us, please?

    (Hmmmm, did I go over the top there? Maybe, maybe not. Later, dudes.)

  15. Glad I'm not too old to dream and believe in Sir KingCake living in Post Katrina New Orleans but stil has invited me to visit, I think I will as he seems to know how to treat a lady. Besides, today is Lester Young's birthday and tomorrow we are going to Bird's big party and it is not here.

    After all Bird said, 'It's just music; it's trying to play clean and looking for the pretty notes but its distinctive feature is its strong feeling for the beat. The beat in a bop band is with the music, against, behind it; it pushes it, it helps it; help is the big thing; it has no continuity of beat, no steady chug chug jazz has, and that's why bop is more flexible...and that's what all of you handsome men need to realize to get to the magic you need help.

  16. August 29th is Bird's birthday, not tomorrow.

  17. Katrina told me she got tired of jazz fans yelling, "Blow man blow!" all the time. It was a gender thing.

  18. It's hard for me to believe that I've gone four years now without noticing that the bitch Katrina came and ravaged the city where jazz was born on Charlie Parker's birthday. At this early morning hour in 2005 I was sitting alone in a fully shuttered mansion on Bayou St. John listening to her rage and destruction whilst continuing to drink myself silly and wondering if even the 260 year old house I was in would survive. At least today when I drink to forget that day and ignore the commemorations that will be omnipresent throughout the city, I will remember to raise a glass to Bird as well.

    By the way friends, Bird is playing over at The Crypt today should anyone need a fix.

    (this should precede Jazzolog's comment but I felt the need to rewrite it)

  19. Glad you explained that: ghost posts are eerie. Why did its author remove it we may wonder.

    My one visit to New Orleans closely followed a hurricane. (Later on in Miami Beach the beach was swept clean, with many small white shells in the sand. Quite beautiful following the hurricane.) But New Orleans was extremely hot and steamy and I wondered how anyone could live in such weather. I was all set to leave to go further south when I realized I hadn’t gotten drunk in the Vieux Carre. Every drunk I met at the bars I visited was a friend of Tennessee Williams. One boasted there had never been racial problems there. These were the kind of veteran barflies one can meet in any "bohemian" American neighborhood, the Village, the Gaslight, North Beach, etc. And though I have a taste for the romantic, and would like to believe tall tales, I doubt everyone in the Latin Quarter knew Tennessee Williams. And that N.O. never had any real race problems. Though I learned later on that the discrimination wasn't as severe there, offering a degree of tolerance. On the outskirts, though, in the small towns, gun racks and Confederate flags and that wiry hard brutality which is etched into the faces and bodies of some working types became common. As well as monstrous flab. And as I walked around downtown N.O. I actually saw a chain gang working on a crowded stretch of sidewalk. Their guard was this fat, short, half asleep guy with his shotgun resting at his side. Nor did he appear to pay any attention to what these men in black and white stripes were doing. I fell in love, though, with N. O. There used to be this guy, whose name I've forgotten, who routinely appeared on national television at the start of the hurricane season to passionately plead for the reinforcement of the city’s levees. For some reason the government wouldn't do it. He always predicted what would happen and in 1995 it happened. I can still remember that guy desperately making his pitch to the country on TV. And how irrational it was that no one seemed to pay any real attention.

  20. He was a climatology professor from LSU - I can't recall his name just now but I believe he is Dutch. He made a scary accurate model of exactly what happened at least five years earlier. Of course that fact that the levees were not even made to the specs the Army Core claimed didn't help. Then they were not properly inspected and the obvious design flaws went undetected. In the lower ninth ward the worst damage came from runaway barges in the Industrial Canal that burst through the walls.
    I'd better stop here - I can still get a bit over edge on the subject, especially today.

  21. Yes, he appeared on CNN for at least two years running. On his second year his predictions came out right. What a tragedy.