Flying Home--and Conti Milano

Mentioning "Flying Home" brings back something I wrote a few years ago. It is about one of my favorite memories of a musical performance–and about the way the music works.

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[from 2010]

"The past is never dead. It’s not even past."

So said Faulkner. He was talking about the South, about history, but he could have been talking about music, about jazz. He could have been talking about my own experience recently when we played "Flying Home."

"Flying Home" was Lionel Hampton’s signature song. It was usually the last number on the program, and it was a thrill to hear it start because you knew that there was a wild tenor sax solo on the way, that the band would keep building, that whatever was left of the roof would blow off.

So it was exciting to me when Eddie called Hamp’s song.

But there are also memories inside of songs, and they all lead to what happens when one solos. Sometimes we don’t remember even what the memory is, but in this case I’m lucky. I do.

There are two parts to this story. Somewhere in the late 40s a young tenor sax named Illinois Jacquet became part of Hampton’s big band. One night it was time to play "Flying Home." There are many versions of what happened to Jacquet, but it went something like this. As he was rising from his chair to solo, fellow-saxman Marshall Royal tugged on his sleeve. "I’ve heard you sound like Prez," he said, "and I’ve heard you sound like Hawk. Now–go for yourself."

Jacquet’s solo made such a mark that some musicians have called it "Flying Home, Part Two."

And here’s Part Two of my story. A few years ago on a gig in Kalona, I met Conti Milano, an old friend of Eddie Piccard’s. Conti sat in with our band on bass. He once played bass with the Buddy Rich band. That will tell you what a strong bass he was.

On a break, he and I started talking about music and about "Flying Home." I was enough younger than Conti that he didn’t think I would know who originated that great tenor sax solo. He didn’t think I would know even after I named Jacquet. "Do you know the solo I mean?" he asked, and began quietly singing it. And there we sat, in the outdoor lounge of the Tuscan Moon, at a nicely decorated table, under the patio umbrella, singing together Illinois Jacquet’s solo.

When I launched into my first chorus on "Flying Home" last week, I found myself playing something like Jacquet’s solo. But I wasn’t thinking of Jacquet. I was thinking of Conti Milano, in the outdoor lounge of the Tuscan Moon, at a nicely decorated table, under the patio umbrella, singing Illinois Jacquet’s solo.

My second chorus was something of my own. The out-riff was all Hamp’s.

"The past is never dead. It’s not even past."

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After I wrote the above, I got a copy of The Chicago Music Scene, 1970s. The book was written and the pictures compiled by Dean Milano, Conti’s nephew. There is a picture of Conti Milano as a young man on p. 76. Incidentally, there is also a picture of Eddie Piccard–on p. 91.

And here’s a still more recent discovery–Eddie playing at Conti's Memorial Service. The drummer is Rusty Jones, the bassist Dean Milano. Dean sings "Lady be Good," Mark Milano sings "How About You," and a few people share some memories of Conti.