You’re a Lucky Guy

Liner Notes

I’ve known the musicians on this record a long time, and each of them represents to me a little chunk of my own personal history.

For instance, Jim Hughart was growing up in Minneapolis while I was attending the University of Minnesota, and I became aquainted with him when I would visit his home to make rehearsals and play jam sessions. Jim’s brother Ted was the bass player in my crowd, and I can remember little Jim peering around the corner with big eyes, watching us ” older” cats play our hearts out.

Come to think of it, a lot of the music we were playing in those days was Al Cohn’s music-original tunes like “Tasty Pudding” and “For Adults Only. ” I’ll bet Al couldn’t even hum a few bars right now if you asked him, but they were big numbers in my early repertoire. Soon after I moved to New York, I watched Al and Zoot Sims at the Cafe Bohemia and how I yearned to play in their band. And it came to pass that I joined Al and Zoot at the Half Note in 1963 and stayed until 1969. Al ‘s music would have left a deep impression on me even if we hadn ‘t played together and grown to be friends. There’s an aura of profound musicality that seems to surround Al Cohn and musicians of his stature. Once a friend and I were discussing Al and Zoot and their matchless virtuosity, and my friend said, “When Zoot plays his horn he makes everyone on the stand want to play his best.” I agreed, and after a moment’s thought I told him, “You know, Al just walks into the room and makes that happen.” I wonder if Al knows how much he’s admired.

Brookmeyer I don’t know as well as the others, although our paths have crossed again and again. I guess we first met on the bandstand when I would play occasionally in the group he led with Clark Terry. Bob’s then-wife was in the song business. She was publishing my stuff and trying to get a record deal for me and my songs. (which she subsequently accomplished, by the way.) I would visit the Brookmeyers’ apartment on West 15th street, and Margo and I would play our latest hits for each other, while Bob remained impassive, watching football on TV. He organized a regular Sunday morning touch football game in Central Park. Bob probably doesn’t remember, but I once intercepted one of his passes and made a sensational runback, although failing to score. I remember Richie Kamuca that morning, running for touchdown after touchdown.

In 1971 I made my move to California. I had been in L.A. for just a few days when I struck up a conversation with Nick Ceroli at the bar Donte’s. We became fast friends. It was Nick who aced me onto Herb Alpert’s reorganized Tijuana Brass, (incidentally, a marvelous band), and there ensued two of the most enjoyable, hilarious, and music filled years of my life. Nick and I play music together still, and we’ve travelled together a great deal too, talking of our lives and our wives and dreams remembered and forgotten. So you see for this record I found myself in the company of friends and colleagues from various private corners of my own life. And I didn’t plan it, it just worked out that way

— Dave Frishberg