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BIOGRAPHY & DESCRIPTION
Stix - sportsman, drummer, raconteur, aesthete - was in a dark mood as he stepped off the lawn. He had just lost a game of croquet and was ruing the appalling tactical errors he made that afternoon. Quite simply, his mind was not on the game. Something else was distracting him from his usual placid good humour.
A long and illustrious career as a drummer in the great Swing/Cabaret/Big Bands was a result of his impeccable sense of time and feel. But Stix was uncomfortable with these orgies of nostalgia. He was looking to take the tradition into the 21st Century, to audiences who could appreciate the subtleties of interpretation, to those who demand fun and stylish entertainment, to those who are beautiful, young...and...in love.
As it happened, Stix noticed his elegantly attired friend H, sitting on the terrace. ‘H’ as he was known by the music/cabaret demi-monde, shared Stix’s concerns about the musical cul-de-sac in which the Swing/Light music tradition found itself. But what cheered Stix, and gave a little spring in his step as he walked up to the clubhouse, was a sense of destiny and a belief that H was the very man who had the wherewithal to bring such dreams to fruition. This was just the auspicious moment he was looking for.
A tray of drinks arrived and Stix presented his case. This time there was a sense of desperation added to his usual impassioned eloquence. He finished by getting to his feet and imploring: ‘H - something must be done!’ H, with his habitual detached reticence, stirred his whisky and soda; the sound of the clinking ice cubes relaxed him and helped him concentrate. As his steely blue eyes gazed over the magnolia-scented lawns and into the rust-pink horizon, he took another sip. Stix still stood there, standing over the seated H, his mouth agape and his whole demeanour frozen in an attitude of beseeching expectancy. H took another sip, and then three soft word fell from his lips - barely audible above the clicking mallets - words that were to change the history of popular music: ‘Let’s do it’. And at that very moment, in a distant copse, a nightingale sang. It was a tune not that dissimilar to My Kind of Girl. Swing Moderne was born.
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