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Prelude |
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In foreign lands across the sea, They knight a man for bravery, Make him a duke or a count, you see, Must be a member of the royalty.
Mister JeUy struck a jazzy thing In the temple by the queen and king. All at once he struck a harmonic chord. King said, "Make Mister Jelly a lordT
No one could have guessed that Jelly Roll Morton was down on his luck that soft May day in 1938. His conservative hundred-dollar suit was as sharp as a tipster s sheet. His watch fob and his rings were gold, and the notoriety diamond, set in gold in his front incisor, glittered like gaslight . . .
Mister Jelly Lord,
He's simply royal at the old keyboard . . .
The quiet of chamber-music auditorium in the Library of Congress and the busts of the great composers sightless in their niches disturbed Jelly Roll not at all. He felt at home with great men and with history. He knew that his music had rolled around the world. If he never actually played at Whitehall, if it was only in fancy that the king said, 'Make Mister Jelly a Lord/ he knew that his New Orleans jazz had warmed up the atmosphere all the way from Basin Street to Buckingham Palace . • . |
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