Sketch: Scat Solo

CAST

CAP: a demanding bandleader of a jazz trio and patient uncle of young Kenny

GRIF: an old-school jazz bassist

SHERLOCK: a salty jazz drummer

KENNY: Cap’s ingénue nephew, a novice jazzman not quite clear on the concept of scatting

Cap sits at the piano, while Sherlock’s on drums and Grif’s on the upright bass. Seated off to the side is Kenny.

CAP

That’s sounding pretty tight, gang. We keep it up, we just might get that album deal. Only a couple notes: Sherlock, when we hit he coda, be sure to lay down some sizzle.

SHERLOCK

You got it, Cap.

CAP

And Grif— on the bridge, make sure you don’t let the stank drop.

GRIF

Roger that, Cap.

CAP

Ok, let’s take it from the top again, but this time why don’t we let Kenny here have sixteen bars for a scat solo.

            The bandmates grumble.

CAP

Hey now. I know he’s green. But so were all of you once. And I promised my brother on his deathbed that I’d teach the boy to be a jazz man.

(to Kenny) You ready, son?

KENNY

I think so, Uncle Cap.

            Cap turns to the piano to start the number. Sherlock and Grif get ready to play.

CAP

(counting off the tempo) A five, six, seven, eight…

The musicians play a swingin’ jazz tune. The drums, bass, and piano are locked in a tight groove. Then they reach the solo section. Cap points at Kenny. Kenny stands up and nervously looks around.

KENNY

(jazz singing) Jazz jazz jazz, piano, drums, and a bassman boogie, bassman with a fat ole face, fat ole face, fat ole droopy eyes in a fat ole face. Hairy mole stickin out the side of his cheek—

Grif grows distracted while Kenny sings about him, and loses his rhythm.

Cap cuts off the tune.

CAP

Grif, what happened? You fall asleep over there?

GRIF

Nah, Cap, it’s just the dude was saying my face was fat.

KENNY

I was just singing the sounds that first come into my head. I thought that’s how you said to scat, Uncle Cap.

CAP

That’s right, son. You’re doing great. But they don’t even have to be real words. Just sounds is enough. (singing) Ba-ba-ba-dee-bee—bop. See?

KENNY

I think so.

CAP

Ok, from the top again. And, Grif, keep it together this time.

            Cap turns to the piano.

CAP

A-five, six, seven, eight.

The band starts off strong again. Then it comes to Kenny’s solo. He stands, and when Cap points, he sings.

KENNY

            (singing) Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba bassman with them chubby cheeks. Chubby chubby, chubby chubby. Drummer’s got a lazy eye! Looks like a muppet from fraggle rock! Heard he has an amphetamine problem!

            Grif and Sherlock look at Kenny irate, as the drums and bass fall out of tempo.

Cap cuts it off.

CAP

(to Sherlock and Grif) What kind of bush league shit are you two pullin?! How’s Kenny here supposed to hone his chops when you two knuckleheads can’t even keep time?

GRIF

Aw, come on, Cap. You must’ve heard the smack he was talking!

SHERLOCK

Yeah, Cap, dude’s raggin’ on my congenital medical condition. (to Kenny) It’s called strabismus—not lazy eye! And I’ll have you know I got a prescription for those pills!

KENNY

Did I do it wrong, Uncle Cap? I just look around the room, and the sounds come tumbling outta my mouth.

GRIF

I hear another sound that refers to the heft of my face, junior, then the only thing gonna be tumbling outta your mouth are your teeth!

CAP

(to Grif) Hey, cool it! (to Kenny) You’re doing just fine, son. Don’t mind these crotchety old leatherheads. Just think of your daddy, on his deathbed, and how badly he wanted you to be a jazzman. Only how ‘bout this time you try closing your eyes? Then you just sing sounds—not words, not what you see— just the sounds you feel in that blank space in your mind. Got it?

KENNY

I’ll give it my best shot, Uncle Cap.

CAP

Attaboy. (to Grif and Sherlock) Alright, now can we all act like grown-ups here and let the boy get through his solo?

            Grif and Sherlock sulkily agree. Cap turns to the piano.

CAP

A-five, six, seven, eight…

The band plays again. When they come to Kenny’s solo, Kenny stands, and Cap points at him. Kenny closes his eyes.

KENNY

            (singing) Can’t see, can’t see, can’t see, can’t see nothing but my eyelids. Can’t see that dumb old fat face fatty pluckin on the bass. Can’t see that scary cross-eyed man turnin red in the face. Can’t even see my Uncle Cap, who told the record exec on the phone last night he’d be happy to ditch those washed up losers and sign as a solo artist.

            Grif and Sherlock stare in shock at Cap, who freezes at the piano.

KENNY

Skee-bee-dee-bap!

            Blackout.