Harry & the Hightones recreate the jump, jazz, boogie and bebop of the post-war era. You never know who will show up - it just might be the elusive and mysterious Harry himself. Photo by Phil Houseal

Details:
Harry & the Hightones play Wednesday, February 14, for a "Valentine Dinner & Dance" in the ballroom of the Santo Coyote Restaurant, 2124A Sidney Baker in Kerrville. For reservations call 830-895-3211.
On "Last Sundays" they play at the Blue Bubble Ballroom, 9315 North Broadway in San Antonio, from 7 to 11 p.m. Info: 210-829-5155.
The Hightones also appear at clubs and special events in and around Fredericksburg. To see their schedule, order a CD, or book the band, call 830-896-6631 or 830-896-3434, or visit www.hightones.com.

webmaster: phil@fullhouseproductions.net

Harry (?) & the Hightones

by Phil Houseal
Feb 14, 2007

It is not that unusual for a band member to miss the occasional performance. But to build a band around a leader who never shows up is a little off kilter. But that is exactly the premise of Harry and the Hightones.

The mysterious mastermind behind this jazz, jump, and jive septet is one Harry Marlowe. Harry is an elusive fellow, and we could never quite track him down to sit for an interview. Fortunately, David Jackson, who adds rhythm guitar and vocals, agreed to fill in some background.

As the much embellished (and highly suspicious) legend goes, the Hightones got their start - and their name - at the Hightone Cafe & Garage in Doss, Texas, in the 1960s. A true garage band, the Hightones continued to dabble in music and to call Doss home even as they finished school, married, and raised families.

The mystery began in that summer of 2003, when a "shady sort of fellow" showed up in the small Texas town. According to Jackson, this guy heard the band playing and stopped in at the garage to introduce himself. Turns out he was something of a musician himself.

"He could play any instrument you put in his hands." Jackson said.

Harry Marlowe agreed to lead the band, and soon had the new Hightones set up for their first gig on November 22, 2003. The band was in a high state of excitement as they took the stage at the Hill Country Opry. But something strange happened.

Harry never showed up.

The Hightones found out later that Harry had been suddenly called away for some type of secret government work. He continued to rehearse with the band, but Harry's absence from the stage developed into a pattern that the boys in the band learned to live with.

In fact, it became part of their act.

"We’ll be playing and we always apologize for Harry not being there," Jackson deadpanned. "But there is always a chance he might show up that very night."

Whether Harry shows up or not, there is no doubt the Hightones cook. Jackson has knocked about the music scene for decades, fronting Part of the Problem (we played the "western" side of country and western). The rest of the lineup includes Tim Porter ("I pretty much cherry-picked the top guitar player"); Gary Hatch ("you can't find a better bass player"); Rick Phipps ("he is an award-winning percussionist"); and Don Crandall, who heads the music department at Schreiner College, on keyboard. Contract player George Eychner - while not a full-fledged Hightone ("he's a semi-tone") - fills in on trumpet.

The Hightones focus on the jump, jazz, bebop, and boogie sound- with the cool, back-alley, New York look and feel - of the decade from around 1945 to 1953.

"It was actually an era after the big band that we shot for," explained Jackson, an artist and web designer who also creates the band's classy graphics. "That was where the term 'combo' was coined. It was right after the war, and the big bands were busting up because people couldn’t afford them. So they became smaller combos. It was a 9-year period when some fabulous stuff was written."

The band writes original music in the swing genre. Their debut album featured three originals: Where in the World is Harry Marlowe, Down at the Hightone Café, and Corpus Christi Nights. One of their new efforts is Juke Joint in Center Point ("It's just a double-wide, where I can hide," Jackson sings).

"Why does so-called old music have to be encased and put on a pedestal?" Jackson asked. "There is nothing that says you can't take a wonderful style of music and write new melodies and lyrics. By golly, we're going to put some new stuff out there."

It's obvious this band has fun as it sings and swings. The crowd does, too.

"They have a ball," Jackson agreed. "Some get up and dance, some just sit and listen and tap their feet. We can accommodate both." He admits that many folks are taken aback when the band walks in with their two-tone shoes, pin stripe suits, and Dick Tracy fedoras. "But I’ve always felt that if you are going to play music, you should give people a visual feast, too."

You also need to give them Harry.

"From time to time we get the regulars saying... yeah, yeah, there ain't no Harry," Jackson said. But there are nights when Harry appears. Apparently he is a master of disguise, because he might look like Dan Bacon, or Mike Kasberg, or any other hill country musician. There he stands, framed in the doorway of the club like a character out of film noire. "When we see Harry, we stop - even if we are in the middle of a song - and yell across the dance floor 'Harry!!!' I’m telling you, the crowd goes nuts… they just go nuts!"

Ladies and gentlemen, Harry is back in town.

XXX