JAM: April/May 2003 Issue: Coda

Special to JAM by Stan Kessler

Stan Kessler

Ultimately, It's About the Music
When Mike Metheny asked me to model for that silly cover photo, I jumped at the opportunity. Obviously, I have no shame and thought it would be fun, which it was, indeed. I'll do almost anything for a laugh, sometimes to the dismay of my friends and family.

I also realized that this was probably my one shot in this lifetime to finally make the cover of JAM magazine, albeit at the expense of the tiny shred of dignity I had left.

But there is a third and sentimental reason I consented to bare my shoulders for the camera. In 1965, I was thirteen and in my first band. I now reluctantly reveal that our repertoire consisted of Tijuana Brass and show tunes, pretty heady stuff. So, for research purposes only, I was anxious to purchase the latest edition of Herb Alpert's little money machine.

I was not prepared, for what I saw took my breath away. Visceral sensations that were both exciting and bewildering coursed through my body as I rushed home to begin my intimate relationship with that blessed album. I soon discovered that the woman under the foam was none other than Mr. Alpert's wife. Herb was certainly no Raphael Mendez, but his stock as a man suddenly went blue chip. And while that cover was a provocative milestone in its day, it was not the first time that music and sex appeal had met at the altar of commerce.

Harry Truman once said that there is nothing new in the world except the history you don't know. In my youth, singers such as Peggy Lee, Lena Horne, and Julie London could burn the house down with one smoky look. Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole could make all the mothers of the world swoon with the sound of their voices. I've been working on this technique, but to no avail. Even my cat runs for shelter.

The fact is that these people, and dozens more, knew they were sexy and were literally banking on it. There are two reasons I have no problem with this: The music was great, and they were honest about themselves. They really were sexy, and it was brought forth with style, grace, and subtlety.

Now, I'm not here to judge, and it's a good thing, because I was one who absolutely embraced the sexual revolution. Nowhere was this shift in social mores more apparent than in the entertainment business. Who can forget the cover of Stanley Turrentine's "Sugar" album or the image of Herbie Mann's sweaty, hairy, bare chest on the 1971 "Push Push" record? However, in the midst of my torrents of testosterone, I never once bought an album strictly for the cover, with the possible exception of "Fire" by The Ohio Players. Check it out and you might sympathize.

The last generation of visual offerings has not brought us anything new. Maybe that's because, short of absolute nudity, there's no place to go, and in this country that will never happen. It's just as well, because it's ultimately all about the music, as it should be. And when it comes to posing for a sexy picture, take it from me, it's just good, clean, Whipped Cream fun.

Trumpeter, educator, and good sport Stan Kessler is a KC native, has been playing professionally since 1970, and can be heard on recordings and with various area bands, including the Sons of Brasil. -- Ed.