The local folk music community holds dear the memory of the coffeehouse located at 47 Mount Auburn Street in Cambridge, between 1958 and 1963. Everybody played there, and it was the subject of a well-regarded documentary film in 2012. They were good days, to be sure. The oft-told tale of folk music at 47 Mount Auburn, aka Club 47, sometimes includes an admission that “oh, by the way, it started as a jazz club.” Sometimes it doesn’t. Let us review.
Sam Rivers, mid-1960s. Photo by Lee Tanner.
On January 6, 1958, Paula Kelley and Joyce Kalina, two recent Brandeis graduates, opened a coffeehouse at 47 Mount Auburn St. They promised music: the trio of pianist Steve Kuhn on weekends, and guitarist Rudi Vanelli on weeknights.
As Kelley told the Harvard Crimson, the pair opened the coffeehouse, which they called Mount Auburn 47, because “things were pretty dull” in Cambridge. Getting it all together wasn’t easy. “Our friends told us we were complete fools to try. It was difficult at first to convince solid, middle-class Americans that a new artistic endeavor could also be a financial success, but finally we got the backing we needed.” They rented a storefront and learned how to brew coffee from an Italian who’d lived in the mideast. He was identified only as “a poet, artist, and recluse.”
Kelley and Kalina’s musical direction pointed toward jazz. Said Kelley, “It is very popular with students, and we want to provide a place where they can hear good experimental jazz.” We might not think of Kuhn as “experimental,” but he was suitably modern, and he drew an appreciative crowd.
Music by Kuhn, Neves, Rivers
Steve Kuhn, then a junior at Harvard, was already turning heads on the local jazz scene. He’d been gigging around Boston since age 13. He sat in at Storyville when he was a Newton High School student in 1954, prompting George Wein to call him “a second Leonard Bernstein.” His working trio at the coffeehouse included bassist Chuck Israels and drummer Arnie Wise. Roger Kellaway subbed for Israels sometimes. (Israels wrote about Wise and those days on the Such Sweet Thunder blog.)
Those who knew him said guitarist Rudi Vannelli was a free spirit who didn’t show much interest in building a career. He had one anyway. He was mostly self-taught, although he got to know Segovia and took lessons from the master when he passed through town. His repertoire mixed classics with jazz and pop, and he worked in good rooms in the 1950s, including Storyville and the Darbury Room. He was a good fit for the coffeehouses, too, and was a regular at the Turk’s Head on Charles St. Vanelli made one record, Maestro of the Guitar (Verve MG-V-2038), in 1956. He died at the young age of 42 in 1961, from an apparent heart attack.
So all this was great fun, but the police busted “the girls” for not having the proper entertainment license. It’s a good thing they were only serving coffee, tea, and hot chocolate, because if they’d had a liquor license, they surely would have lost it. Kelley and Kalina then took the club private, sold memberships for a dollar, and changed the name to the Club Mount Auburn 47. Over time people shortened it to Club 47.
The second notable band resident at Club 47 was the Paul Neves Trio, with Paul on piano, his brother John Neves on bass, and Alan Dawson on drums and vibes. They swung in the fashion of the Modern Jazz Quartet. The Neves brothers left by mid-1960, replaced by Leroy Fallana on piano and Phil Morrison on bass. Bill Fitch stopped by sometimes with his conga drums.
Tenor saxophonist Sam Rivers headed up another great coffeehouse working group on his nights off from the Herb Pomeroy Orchestra. With Rivers were pianist Hal Galper, drummer Tony Williams, and Phil Morrison or Henry Grimes on bass. Now that band was experimental! Kelley must have been pleased. But jazz was already on the decline at Club 47 as folk music boomed, and I’m guessing it ended sometime in 1961.
Newspaper ad for the Club 47, Nov 1967
Bigger changes were coming to the coffeehouse itself, though. Kalina (now Joyce Chopra) moved on, embarking on a fifty-year career in film. She’s directed dozens of documentaries, feature films, and made-for-television movies. The coffeehouse became a non-profit venture, with a board of directors… and at some point they eased Paula Kelley out of her own club. (Maybe she wanted to keep booking jazz.) And by 1963, Club 47 had a bad case of landlady trouble, which led to their moving to new digs on Palmer Street.
Comeback and Conclusion
Jazz made a comeback at Club 47 in late 1965, sharing time on an eclectic schedule with folk, blues, and a bit of rock. From October 1965 to February 1966, some old friends were often back on the bandstand: Sam Rivers, Hal Galper, and Phil Morrison, with drummer Steve Ellington filling out the quartet. This was shortly before Rivers recorded his album A New Conception (Blue Note BLP 4249), with Galper and Ellington on the date. Perhaps they played that music for the Club 47 audience.
Among other jazz groups appearing in the late sixties were those of Ken McIntyre, George Benson, Gary Burton, and Philadelphia saxophonist D.B. Shrier. Mose Allison, with his go-to drummer Alan Dawson, was a Club 47 favorite.
Sadly, this musical meeting place shuttered in early 1968. The club was done in by debt, and by the realization that its income simply couldn’t cover its expenses. Club 47 closed on April 27, 1968. Then came a non-musical interlude, as Senator Gene McCarthy’s campaign headquarters occupied the space during his bid for the presidency. Then Club Passim opened in 1969, and they’re still presenting music in January 2023. But they’ve never presented anything that sounds like Kelley and Kalina’s experimental jazz.
Thanks, Richard, for this essay on the venerable Club 47. It was there (on the Palmer St. digs) that between 1965-67, I experienced sounds that transformed my world view and made my life worth living. Muddy Waters, Buddy Guy, Howlin’ Wolf, Paul Butterfield (with Bloomfield et al.). Great Jazz, really. And then came the brilliant cutting-edge flutist Jeremy Steig and his band The Satyrs. Now, 55+ years later, those luminaries still inform my musicianship and understanding of musical artistry. I’m grateful for that transcendent venue, for the vision of those who supported it, and for your insightful essay.
Thank you, Peter. A testament to music’s impact on our lives. And at the Club 47, if you were under 21, you could just walk in the door. Probably a lot of college-age listeners had their lives changed there.
We had a 4 night a week gig there–Wednesday through Saturday. A perfect schedule. By Saturday, a break was welcome, By Wednesday, you were eager to get back to playing. I don’t remember when we started that, but it lasted at least a year — probably 1958. By 1960, back from Europe playing with Bud Powell and Lucky Thompson, there was no jazz left there, and a lot less in Boston than there had been when I had left for Europe a year earlier. I played with Joan Baez many times, just to keep playing, and to enjoy Joan’s singing and fine guitar playing. I had no idea that Joyce had developed such an illustrious career, and I have no idea what happened to Paula. The Neves brothers were good friends, and I learned a lot from John’s playing.
Here’s the view from the bandstand, and it looks like that the jazz ended sooner that I thought. Also enlightening to know that you played with Joan, as I’ve always had the idea that she performed solo. I guess I just took the stereotype of the folksinger for granted. Thanks for adding more details to the account, Chuck.
This is not just a fascinating post but a timely one as well as Joyce is coming to the Harvard Film Archive soon: https://harvardfilmarchive.org/programs/joyce-chopra-lady-director
I’m happy to report that the occasional night of edgy jazz can still be found at Passim. About three months ago I saw Mali Obomsawin, who landed on many year-end best jazz lists, and her band included Boston-bred improvisers Taylor Ho Bynum and Tomas Fujiwara.
Thanks for the alert, Noah. I’d be interested in hearing what she has to say about her early years in film. And jazz at Passim? I guess that object that just sailed past my window was a flying pig.
I think it was 1970 when they ventured to have “free” jazz on Sunday afternoons. I played at a couple and I recall more people on stage than in the audience. It was a noble if fairly short-lived effort.
Something else I’ve never heard about. That would have been early in the Passim era, when the Donlins ran it. But I can believe there wouldn’t have been much action with free jazz on Harvard Square in 1970.
Club 47 was one short block from my Harvard dorm in the later 50s. I spent some time there when Steve and his trio were playing there. By the time their bookings picked up in the 60s, I was living elsewhere and just starting a family, so I missed the later artists..
A few years ago, we were in the new Birdland in NYC (Nice club, btw). Karrin Allison was the lead artist and when the second set opened, there was a new face at the piano. The announcer introduced him but I couldn’t hear who it was, and my sightline wasn’t very good. After Karrin took a couple of choruses, the pianist took over with a brilliant chord intensive solo. He received a standing O. It turned out to be Kuhn.
After the set, I walked over to him and said: “It’s a long way from Club 47”. He laughed, and said ‘it sure is’.
I’ve always wondered how long it took Kuhn to live down George Wein’s “second Bernstein” remark.
I saw many nights of Sam Rivers, Tony Williams, and don’t forget saxophonist Steve Marcus!
Didn’t know about Marcus. Was he playing with Sam’s group, or did he have one of his own?
If memory serves, I played the 47 with Steve Marcus’s (i.e. “The Count”) band, dates unknown. We also had a steady weekend gig in a low-rent funky bar just outside the Boston city limits. Pno., Drms & Sax. The dancers on the floor never paid any attention to us. The singer was the guy who brought the beer up from the basement. Unmatched clothing, bearded, a pig-eye, holes in his sweater, paint on his shoes. Sang only two tunes, the same way every night, “Goody Goody” and “I’m In The Mood For Love.” It would be impossible to relay verbally how it sounded when he added an extra four beats in between the first two phrases of the lyrics on “Goody Goody”. If you don’t know the tune you’ll never understand this part of the story. “On “Mood” he added an extra beat every bar, making it 5/4. Steve Marcus (“The Count”) was playing tenor. When the singer finished his chorus Steve started his solo and I went into 4/4, caught off-guard when he stayed in 5/4. My changes got discombobulated as I struggled to get back into 5/4 I heard Steve mutter “What’s the matter Hal, don’t you know the tune? Hilarious. We played it in 5/4 every night from then on and learned how to add the extra beats on “Goody.” The point of the story is the dancers never noticed anything funny with the beat and kept on dancing in 4/4.
This sounds like something that might happen to Jonathan and Darlene Edwards, but they planned it that way.
In the late 1960’s my buddy and I were teenagers. We’d hitchhike from Swampscott to Wonderland station in Revere, then take the T Harvard Sq. My favorite shows at Club 47 were Gary Burton, George Benson (with Ronnie Cuber on baritone), Muddy Waters, Junior Wells, Paul Butterfield, and we could never get enough of the Jim Kweskin Jug Band! We could only stay for one though because we had an 11:00pm curfew. Good times!
Club 47 didn’t sell liquor so teens could go there. Your best option until you were able to talk your way into Lennie’s and the Jazz Workshop!
I spent many an evening there during the ‘jazz’ years. John and Paul Neves with Alan Dawson was incredible. One evening I dropped by and this really weird ‘cat’ was at the Piano. At first I thought it was some customer just fooling around, but soon learned it was no joke. He was Thelonius Monk.
Club was really a dump, but music was great. For students with limited resources, it enabled them to experience live performances by jazz greats.
That’s one for the books–Monk dropping in at 47 Mount Auburn. Did he actually play, or was he content to just noodle around at the piano?
Very good article clearing up my foggy memory of the Club. Sorry I missed Sam River there.
Thanks,
Gerard
When I saw the Neves trio there, Floogie was on drums. Alan sat in on vibes. It was wonderful.
I’m wondering if the shift to folk music in the 60’s might have been accelerated by Rivers’ experimental music which would have been less accessible to the Club’s audience.
Terrific thumbnail sketch of Club 47. Thank you.
You could have put any tenor saxophonist playing any style in there, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Folk music caught fire in Cambridge, and Joan Baez and company found a broad audience that jazz never tapped.