Jesus, thinkin' back to early days sure does scratch my brain. Our first band was started from us kids gettin' together and wantin' to play our instruments. When I was 'bout seventeen years old, I took up the banjo, and my twin brother was on banjo too. After we had just been playin' a year or so, we started taking our instruments to parties. We were kind'a bashful and shy with the girls and all that.

Momma used to say, "You've got to get out to some of these parties." So, in order not to be embarrassed, we'd take our instruments and go down to the party, and, naturally, they'd want us to play. They liked us, and that was the start of it all. Pretty soon, we were on the payroll. Gettin' four or five dollars apiece, and the word got out the Levy boys have a band. We named ourselves The Peacock Melody Strummers and we painted it on the front of Marcellus's drum.

The cats said you ought to switch from two banjos to something else; two banjos are too much for a four- or five-piece group. Alexander switched to C-melody saxophone to make us more compatible. Elmer Claiborne taught my brother a lot of stuff on the sax. Elmer was about three years older than me and he was a wonderful musician. He played trumpet with Wade Whaley's Black and Tan Syncopators. They're the ones that inspired us to have our little group. We used to go down to Webb's Hall, against Momma's permission, and listen to their jazz. Elmer lost his lip early, and switched to saxophone just before he started helpin' Alexander.

We had our picture taken but several of the group were just standin' in. Our regular guys were me on banjo, Alexander on saxophone, Marcellus on drums, and Gene Richard on piano. Sometimes we also had Elmer Claiborne on saxophone, Sonny Craven on trombone, and Clem Raymond on his clarinet when he first came here. The Peacock Melody Strutters-sometimes we used Peacock Melody Syncopators instead- was a Dixieland-type band. We played with two beats and two back beats. On banjo, I did mostly rhythm, and a little improvising, but not much solo work. Alexander was a pretty good sax man but he didn't live long enough to perfect it. Marcellus was a pretty fair drummer and he learned to read later on. Gene Richard was an ordinary piano player who could read, but he wasn't any solo man. He saw what he played and played what he saw. We used to get a little criticism about him, but we kept him because he could read, and he was the only piano player we ever had. He wasn't really interested in music, I guess, and never applied himself. He just quit music after The Peacock Melody Strutters broke up. Gene still lives in Berkeley and I saw him in church last Sunday. Sonny Craven was a very good trombone player. He was with Wade Whaley before he gigged with us and later on he was with Lionel Hampton. Clem Raymond came here in 1923 with some combo and defuncted (sic) from them and came over here to Oakland. He used to play college dates with me and my brother. He was beautiful guy and he could play variations. Later on, I played with him several years.

We started gettin' good jobs around, at parties, dance halls, and clubs. We tried to copy all them pieces off the records; all them old pieces I call Dixieland pieces, like Darktown Strutters' Ball, St. Louis Blues, Tin Roof Blues and Margie. We play some of the same tunes today. We got some of the stuff from the old-timers around here who played the Dixieland beat.

We all had regular jobs during these times. I was runnin' a mimeograph machine for J. B. F. Davis Insurance Co., Marcellus worked at American Insurance Company as a supply-man and ran the elevator. Music was just a sideline business, where we played gigs during the weekends.

It's funny how we got started in music just goin' to kid parties. We got to be crazy about the music game, and Marcellus and I became professionals. The Peacock Melody Strutters lasted about five years until my twin brother passed in 1926. That broke our combo up. There were a bunch of old guys playing around here, even before we started. The first ones I remember were Sid LeProtti-he was one of them good readers, and steady, and not what you'd call a take-off man; Henry Starr was what you call a get-off man, and one of the early guys. . . . Henry Starr was one of the main ones on the Barbary Coast. I don't know if he headed a band but he stayed at the Coast for a long time. I never saw the Coast but people would say Henry's over there on the Barbary Coast when I was nothin' but a kid. . . . I never noticed any difference between the New Orleans musicians and any others. A musician is just a musician. In the early days, you might'a noticed a little something. Like Red Cayou's style, he had a Louisiana style. It was a more distinct rhythm or beat. Henry was way over Red. Henry used to admire Red though, and he'd show Red some things on the piano, and Red used to appreciate them. Red wasn't a perfectionist as a reader, as Sid LeProtti was, but little Red, with them little short fingers, he could tell his story. Henry was the best get-off man around though.

. . . I went with Wade Whaley for a couple of years. Wade . . . kept stickin' to the Louisiana beat. He never did delve into the music part of the playin'. I never knew whether Wade was readin' or spellin' the music. . . . We played a nice club in Monterey for a long time. We lived down there and worked every night. The gigs were good then and you wouldn't think about no other work. If you'd talk about a paint brush, I'd look at you like you're crazy.

In 1934, I was bummin' around home, and Marcellus was in Sacramento, playin' in a band led by Jack Boone, the piano player. Marcellus sent me a telegram sayin', "Jack wants you to play up here; we're openin' up the New Pantoy Club, but don't bring no banjo, they've gone out of style." All I had was an old tenor guitar with four strings, so I wasn't gonna go, but Momma said to go on anyway, and I went on. When I got there, they took me down to the music store-they were big shots up there-to get me a guitar. So I defuncted on the banjo and started playin' the guitar. The job was a good one but I didn't know nothing' from nothin' on that guitar; all I was doing was fakin' the whole time I was in Sacramento. I learned how to play the thing after I got back to Oakland.

About 1936, I came back to Oakland, where I've been livin' and playin' since. That covers my early years in music, and the guys I met, and it's caused me to scratch my brain a lot. I've had a lot of fun in music, meetin' different guys and playin' different gigs. I remember a chick told me once; there's one thing different about you musicians from other people, you're always so happy to see each other. You always yell "Hi, guy!" and are the happiest bunch. That's true. Even if you said somethin' like, "I ain't gonna blow with that cat, he can't blow nothin'," the next time you see him, the malice is gone. You ask about what he's doin', and tell him how great he looks, and how great it is to see him. I love musicians and I love music. That's my first love. I love to see the changes in music, and gettin' to be your own critic. I still love to woodshed with the new musicians.

Published in the Jazz on the Barbary Coast available on our Order Page. Get a discount when you Join the Foundation (only $25!).