Simon Spillett

I had the very great pleasure of playing at Ronnie Scott's for two nights last week, as part of the 50th anniversary celebrations, taking my place in the Ronnie Scott's Big Band to accompany the list of special guest artists who descended on the club to help mark the half-centenial.

Among the guests were veteran jazz vocalist Jon Hendricks, Simply Red megastar Mick Hucknall, Texas front-woman Sharleen Spiteri,  trumpeter Guy Barker, singers Lianne Carroll and Ian Shaw, former Pop Idol winner Will Young, venerable tap dancing star Will Gaines and Monica Mancini, daughter of Hollywood song-writer Henry.

The evening (for which an entire day was devoted to rehearsals with the various guests) ws full of memorable moments, chief amongst which for me was the incredible performance by Jon Hendricks, a mere 88 years old, but gifted with the energy and enthusiasm of a man sixty years his junior. From his very arrival at the soundcheck he was a joy to be around, introducing himself to each and every member of the band with a handshake and a smile, and keen between numbers to tell us about his long and eventful career (particularly his first gig - with Art Tatum no less - and his close friendship with Thelonious Monk).

Hendricks hit the souncheck running, scatting chorus after chorus on Straight No Chaser, then taking the rhythm section through a hilarious Get Me To The Church On Time. Best of all was his ressurection of an all-but forgotten Frank Sinatra song September of My Years.

On the gig, Hendricks preceded this with a reminiscence about his younger years, when as one of the founding fathers of vocalese (inspiring everyone from Georgie Fame to todays rap artists) he eschewed singing ballads. "I was a hip young jazz singer who didn't sing that stuff"  he said with self-mocking deprecation, but remarked that at nearly ninety he was in a reflective mood.

With a voice ravaged by age, but with definitive feeling, the ensuing rendition of September of My Years traded in deep poigniancy to an almost unbearable degree and brought a tear to the eye and  the audience to its feet. A true survivor, Hendricks is a rare breed and the riotous finale (with two of his daughters) on Jumpin' At The Woodside proved this in winning style.

At eighty-four dancer Will Gaines did much the same thing, tapping like a man possessed to a hastily busked Seven Steps To Heaven. Monica Mancini sang a brace of classy songs (with husband and ace drummer Greg Field at the kit) including a samba-dressed Charade, whilst perennial pop-pleasers Will Young and Mick Hucknall combined genuine enthusiasm for the music at hand with more mainstream kudos.

There will inevitably be some high-brow tongue-clucking about the inclusion of names like Hucknall and Young. Indeed some might wonder whether Ronnie would now recognise the club that bears his name, but then Ronnie's was always a magnet for those who love jazz but whose careers as performers have taken them on far more commercial routes. Not for nothing did Jimmy Hendrix once jam there, and there have always been a share of pop stars in the crowd content to be hauled on stage, most recently Beyonce.

To those die-heard purists, it may be worth mentioning that Ronnie Scott's ongoing survival as - let's face it - a tourist friendly night club at the heart of one of the busiest cities in the world, must to a great degree be based on meeting ever steepening practical costs, something with which Ronnie and partner Pete King would doubtless have sympathised.

Ronnie's former partner Mary was there to recount some of her memories as were his daughter Rebecca and Pete King's son Chris. Their heartfelt words were in strong contrast to the few awkward moments foisted upon the audience (and the band) which occurred when some of the less-likely guests were on-stage. As for actor Adrian Dunbar's attempt to recreate Ronnie's legendary stand-up routine, the least said the better. Ronnie wasn't alone in realising that accuracy applied as much in between the music as during it. Paraphrasing Ronnie's jokes is like misquoting Shakespeare: the import is the same but somehow its the very choice of words which are inextricable from the humour.

After the party ended, another one started, in the shape of the Ronnie Scott's All-Stars final set. Nominally headed by the wonderful tenor saxophonist Alex Garnett, the numbers were bumped up from quartet size by the addition of, variously, trumpeter Freddie Gavita, tenor saxophonist Brandon Allen, Monica Mancini, Lianne Carroll, Ian Shaw, soul-jazz diva Natalie Williams and yours truly. As added starters, and smack in the old Ronnie's tradition of visiting American jazzmen, were trumpeter Jay Phelps and tenorist Jerry Weldon from Harry Connick's big band who were in town. It resulted in one of those magical after-hours sessions that as a would-be jazz musician you once dreamed of and as a real-life jazz musician you encounter only once in a very long-while. To that end, I'd imagine Ronnie would have been smiling. Happy Birthday Ronnie!