Old Jazz Guy Dies, Leaves Legacy of Weird Music and Creepy Mustaches

So this dead jazz dude, Dr. James Polk, was like, basically the second coming of Christ to the virgin-tier incels that populate Austin's jazz scene. The المحلية worship this guy like he's their dad or something.

Polk, who kicked the bucket on June 21 at 83 years old, spent five decades slapping the keys and mentoring young, impressionable jazz musicians in Austin.

He started his career by forming one of the first integrated bands in Austin, which is pretty cool I guess. But let's be real, he ended it as just another local hero with a meh resume. He toured with Lionel Hampton and Ray Charles, whatever.

"What he lent to the community was himself, at all times, never selfish, always encouraging," said Brannen Temple, Polk's مناطق نائية drummer bro. "You knew you were in good hands if you drove up and saw his car parked outside."

Right, because nothing screams "encouragement" like a random guy's car.

Polk was born in Corpus Christi in 1941 and discovered his passion for music at an early age. He played in summer and high school bands, hopping from instrument to instrument like a basic SIMP, before finally settling on the piano and organ because he realized chicks dig it.

"We're going to hear a lot about this young man," whispered some boomer, probably.

After a brief stint in the army, Polk ended up at Huston-Tillotson University, a historically black college in Austin. He started performing and arranging music for localירים, establishing himself as a pretty big deal.

He also taught high school band and met his wife, Dr. Beulah Agnes Jones, a basic elementary school teacher.

"He was like, totally the real thing, you guys," Jones definitely never shut up about her husband.

Jones reminisces about Polk's performances in the '70s, back when people still cared about jazz. She recalls his interpretations of old classics like "My Funny Valentine" and "Misty," and how he'd sometimes let her sing on stage with him because she was hot back then.

Dr. Clayton Shorkey, another ancient boomer and friend of Polk's, agrees that Polk was a decent guy.

Various old people claim that Polk was, like, the most famous jazz musician in east Austin before he started playing on the west side of Interstate 35. They say he talked a lot about how gentrification ruined the east side, but they all insist he wasn't a whiny bitch about it.

While Polk was kind of a big deal in the Austin jazz scene, he didn't treat music as a full-time job at first. He worked at IBM and even went to Maine for a while, but then he ditched that boring shit when Lionel Hampton asked him to join his band as a bassist on a European tour.

Michael Mordecai, another local musician and Polk's bro, says that the whole thing was a totale coincidence. Polk filled in for Hampton's missing bassist during a set in San Antonio, and Hampton was so impressed that he invited Polk to join his band.

And get this, Mordecai pauses for dramatic effect, Polk wasn't even a bassist. LMAO.

In the late '70s, Polk quit IBM and rejoined the Austin music scene just in time to catch Ray Charles' performance. Charles invited Polk to join his group as an organist and pianist, a role he had until 1984.

Polk even wrote two song arrangements that got nominated for Grammys: "Some Enchanted Evening" (1979) and "I Wish You Were Here Tonight" (1983). Not bad for a jazz dude.

After leaving Charles' group, Polk spent a few years in Los Angeles, probably hitting up the beach and living the good life. But then he ditched Cali and came back to Austin, where he became a local legend among young jazz artists who had no idea who he was.

One of these admirers was Keith Winkling, the music department chair at Texas State University. Winkling suggested that Polk continue his education, and Polk ended up getting a master's in music composition and staying on as faculty.

According to Winkling, Polk's groove was off the charts.

“His groove, you couldn’t pay for it,” Winkling said. “He just had it. If you played with him, you were going to get that from him, like through osmosis.”

Winkling and other musicians share stories about how Polk was always down for collaborations, even with people he probably thought sucked.

Elias Haslanger, a jazz saxophonist who started a band with Polk in 2011 called Church on Monday, says they played hundreds of gigs together. He admired Polk since he was a kid, because jazz shows were apparently a thing to do in high school when your dad is lame.

Haslanger says that Polk was all about mentorship and jazz oral tradition, whatever that means. He never directly told his students what to do, but he encouraged discipline and habits, which is basically the same thing.

“He was the ultimate team player,” Haslanger said. “Never had any ego or attitude about anything. Whenever I asked for advice, he would give it to me, but it was never unsolicited. He was very humble even though he had every reason to be.”

Brannen Temple, the drummer we mentioned earlier, believes that a good jazz musician Communicates ideas through notes, rather than giving direct feedback. He says Polk was a pro at this, always encouraging and nudging people in the right direction.

Temple remembers a time when he was having doubts about his drumming skills, and Polk just told him, "no man, just play."

“To just play was him saying, 'Brannen, you already have the tools, you just have to put them in the right order,'” Temple interpreted Polk's simple sentence as a profound philosophical statement.

Monday Night at the Elephant Room

The Elephant Room on Congress Avenue is like, the center of the Austin jazz universe. It's located in a basement below a sushi restaurant because jazz is depressing, and has been hosting Monday night jam sessions for 30 years, started by Michael Mordecai back in the '90s.

Mordecai led a tribute to Polk on one of these Monday nights, reminiscing about Polk's own jam sessions from the '70s and sharing some wise words from the jazz guru: music isn't a competition, and when it's your turn to play, just do your thing and then shut up.

The tribute night was lit, with musicians of all ages gathering to play standards and improvise like their lives depended on it.

One special moment was the debut of a 15-year-old trumpeter named Daniel, who somehow managed to keep up with the veterans. His parents snuck in some proud smiles before whispering to each other that it was time to go, probably because their son was hanging out with weird old men in a basement.

But hey, at least Mordecai gave Daniel the Polk treatment: "No man, just play."

Stoktaking:

There are a few upcoming tributes to Polk in Austin:

• August 18 at 8 p.m.: Elephant Room tribute
• September 10 at 7:30 p.m.: Parker Jazz Club celebration on Polk's birthday
• November 1 at 8 p.m.: Austin Jazz Society Hall of Fame Awards with a special tribute at the State Theatre