A Tale of an Epiphany

A Tale of an Epiphany

I knew if I hung around the back door of The Black Cat Jazz Club long enough, I'd pick up a scarcely-used epiphany. Sure enough, I'd lurked in the alley only a few minutes when one came hurtling through a window. I heard the rustling of paper as Jerry unwrapped a new one and his first few exploratory notes. Carefully, I picked up the discarded instrument, hid it under my coat and walked home whistling tunelessly through my teeth.

I don't know if you've ever tried to play an epiphany but they're darned difficult to get a sound out of. It took me all weekend before I was able to get the thing to produce that long, low moan that we associate instantly with the prince of instruments. Two more days of practice and I could produce something like a tune from it and was ready to go. I returned my Jew's harp to the Jew next door (being a virtuoso on the Jew's harp is all very well but it's hard getting concert dates and the guy always wants it back on the very day you're due to perform). With the epiphany once more secreted beneath my coat, I set out for Al's.

Why Al had chosen to live in a basement underneath a Turkish restaurant I never did find out. To this day, I cannot smell a kebab without being transported back to those happy days of band practices at Al's place. Not that Al was very musical but, as the owner of the only pornograph in town, it was sort of incumbent upon him that he form a pornograph band (commonly called a "pornography" but I won't go into that).

You can imagine the beaming faces and cries of joy that greeted my announcement that I had given back the Jew's harp and Freddie's jambalaya would no longer have competition for principal rhythm section. And I can only presume that the gasps that met my production of the epiphany were sheer delight at the prospect of an expansion of our wind section. At any rate, it took very little persuasion before the band finally agreed to give it a try.

Al lit the brazier at the back of the pornograph then sat and waited for it to get steam up; Ernie started to tune the cacophony. Jimmy the Greek spat a few times into the mouthpiece of his pandemonium then blew a few melodious notes; Freddie rattled and zinged away at the jambalaya, eager to start, now that he was to lead the rhythm section. And I huffed and puffed into that epiphany until the first mournful notes filled the smoky confines of the basement apartment.

With an ear-piercing whistle, the pornograph announced that it was ready to go and we threw ourselves into it. Man, what a jam session that was! With the Jew's harp gone, there was no longer any need for everyone to hold back so it could be heard, and we raised the roof in our sudden freedom. Al had the pornograph turned up full bore so its wheezing blasts were fighting with the howling of the epiphany, Freddie was bouncing around like a dervish as he thrashed that old jambalaya to keep up, and the pandemonium, oh the pandemonium - Jimmy was blowing his heart out to be heard above Ernie's jangling cacophony.

The rest, of course, is history. Yes, we had the entire staff and customers from the Turkish restaurant come down the stairs and mouth their astonishment and pleasure at us (well, I think it was pleasure - we couldn't hear what they were shouting). In a few days we were performing at the Athenium down by City Hall and then the requests for concerts and royal performances began to flood in. We played them all, never turned down a date and, for a while, we reached the heights and jostled the stars. You will have heard, no doubt.

Yes, we had our moment in the sun, Al's Pornograph and Euphonious Noises Band, the musical phenomenon of late September, 1984. And it all fell apart in a moment of disharmony, as these things often do. Ernie announced that he wanted to go solo and then Freddie and Al started arguing over whether we needed another cacophony player or could carry on without. That might have been worked out in the end but Jimmy lost patience and went back to Greece to join a malarky band. In just a few days I was the only one left, a lonely figure in a strange town with no more than the airfare back home in my pocket. And the epiphany, of course.

I still have it, that old epiphany, and on moonless nights when the cats are yowling, I blow a few notes on it for old times' sake. But I haven't the heart to play a tune or anything like that. Let the thing rest on its laurels of greatness.

Jerry is still throwing away used epiphanies and sometimes I see others stop and gaze at the latest cast-off, a faraway look in their eyes. But if they notice me, I just shake my head and walk on. Too many memories associated with those damn things.


Word count: 872
As a minor contribution to the current musical craze.
No prompt.