BILL MORIARITY was never ambitious. All he ever wanted, he says, was to play trumpet; if he had a job he was inclined to stay there until it ended. þþBut pensions make slaves of us all, so at age 50, 14 years ago, Mr. Moriarity became an officer of Local 802, of the American Federation of Musicians. Now he's the president. A union officer can't play professionally, but Mr. Moriarity practices every day anyway, bringing his horn in from his apartment in Kew Gardens Hills so as not to disturb the neighbors. He also keeps, in union headquarters off unbeautiful Eighth Avenue at 48th Street, a beat-up King Super-10, the first trumpet he ever owned.þþIt takes a little nudging to get him to play — at first, he'll bring out the horn without the mouthpiece, claiming it is lost. But eventually, in the office dominated by posters of jazz greats, he'll agree. þþGenre is not a problem. Mr. Moriarity, a low-key guy whose maroon loafers are buffed to a dance-band shine, has played in jazz clubs and the Broadway pit. As a young man in his hometown, St. Louis, there was a year he taught music at a Catholic boy's school, subbed at the St. Louis Symphony and played at the Grand Burlesque.þþPlay something from the burlesque, he is asked. He does a stanza of ÿSt. Louis Woman,ÿ very slow, all smoke and whiskey, so you can almost see the stripper stepping onto the stage.þþHow was it, playing for the fabled Tempest Storm and Lili St. Cyr?þþÿIt was hard,ÿ says Mr. Moriarity, not one to glamorize. ÿTwenty-nine shows a week. You worked from mid-August and your first day off was Christmas. It paid $146 a week, the best-paid job in St. Louis. The St. Louis Symphony paid $115 the first year, the Chase Hotel $126.ÿþþLocal 802 has about 10,000 members. Last month they went out of strike against the Mostly Mozart Festival, causing a cancellation of 20 concerts. Looming, if at a distance, is the contract with the League of American Theaters and Producers Inc., which expires in March. Continuing are the contracts with Off Broadway producers, which are negotiated individually; as well as the work with jazz musicians, who tend to play two-week gigs in nightclubs where there are no pension plans. þþAsked what the union will be demanding of Broadway, Mr. Moriarity says, as union presidents will, that it's more a question of what the other side will be trying to take away. He's concerned about moves to reduce staffing. He also frets about the technological threats to live music. If the technology is so good that the audience is not aware the music is not canned, what's wrong with the producers trying to save a few pennies?þþÿI think people are aware of it,ÿ Mr. Moriarity says. ÿPeople are aware of it viscerally. Even if they're not aware intellectually, they're aware emotionally. Not to criticize recordings, but the recording is the shadow of the music. It's the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.ÿþþLife story of the musician turned organizer: grew up in St. Louis, son of a glazer and local union president; picked up the trumpet after the kid down up the street started playing; was working dances at the American Legion Hall at 12. He met his wife, Diane, at the St. Louis Institute of Music. The first of their two sons was born when he was working burlesque.þþÿThe doctor told me the labor could go for a long time, so I went to do the 12:30 show,ÿ Mr. Moriarity says. ÿAbout 1:15, the comic comes out on stage and says, The wife of the trumpet player had just had a baby boy and would the father please stand up? And the entire band stood up, of course. Old burlesque joke.ÿþþMr. Moriarity and the family came to New York in 1965 with $18, fearless, he says, the way you are when you are young. He played with Lester Lanin, and was the bandleader for the last Latin band at Roseland. His average salary was between $25,000 and $30,000. As the head of the union, he makes $87,000 a year. He's not certain he could work as a musician again, he says. After more than 10 years of not performing, he fears he's lost his edge.þþThe talk turns back to live performance.þþÿI saw the Duke Ellington band in 1956, in Chicago, Labor Day,ÿ Mr. Moriarity says. ÿI can remember everything they were playing, the solos, the impact it had on me, all six hours.ÿþþOh, yeah? Let's see.þþÿCreole Love Call,ÿ Mr. Moriarity begins, ÿThen, `Take the A Train,' then Willie Cook did `Tea For Two,' then Clark Terry did `Harlem Air Shaft,' then the sax section did a solo, `Sophisticated Lady.' ÿ þþHE continues, describing the color of Duke Ellington's entrance outfit: purple. Then he changed clothes every set. þþÿListening to the recording helps to recreate the impact, but the impact never came from the recording,ÿ Mr. Moriarity says. ÿIt was listening to the sound of the instruments playing. To this day, the most thrilling sound for me is the sound of the trumpet played live.ÿþþIt sounds like he should be playing, he is told.þþÿThis is a good job,ÿ he says. ÿThe musicians have better lives because of the things we've done here.ÿþþBut before those words are out of his mouth, unconsciously as you reach for the handle to open the door, he's picked up his old trumpet, and it dangles from his hand.þþ
Source: NY Times
