There are certain words in our language that get tossed around so often that their meaning, impact and gravitas can be all but lost. In a world full of hyperbole, words like “awesome talent”, “child prodigy” and “legendary” come immediately to mind. As a writer, I am very mindful to use these types of words very sparingly and only in those cases where their use is absolutely demanded.
So, it is without hesitation that I say that Jewel Brown was a true child prodigy, who is an awesome talent and a legendary figure in American music.
Over the past few years she has been reintroduced to festival audiences around the world by blues music impresario Eddie Stout. He has released two wonderful albums on this talent who has that rare ability to walk away from the spotlight just as easily as she strolls right into its brightest luminescence.
Jewel Brown recently performed with The New Orleans Heritage Jazz Band at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. This August she will be appearing at the massive Houston International Festival in her hometown. She has appeared in recent years in front of large audiences on festival stages in Brazil as well as in Japan.
It has been one of the great joys of my life to spend some time visiting with Brown. Enjoy a conversation with the delightfully honest, straight forward and charming Miss Jewel Brown.
David Mac (DM): You have been described as a child prodigy. When did you first discover you had this gift?
Jewel Brown (JB): Our dad had made sure that we all had to participate in some church activity. So I joined the junior choir. That where it started.
DM: Let’s talk a little about your background growing up in Houston.
JB: I was raised in a neighborhood that had deplorable conditions. They were free, but my parents worked like slaves all day long. My mother worked cleaning offices. My dad worked twelve hours a day keeping all the equipment running for Brown & Root. They worked like...well like Negro slaves. They took care and provided for all six of us children. There were three boys and three girls. They sacrificed a lot for us kids. My dad would walk around carrying his shoes so he wouldn’t wear out his shoe leather, to make sure he had money for our shoes. That’s why I wanted so bad to help them, if I could.
DM: I’ll bet you were the youngest.
JB: That’s right. (laughs) I was the baby. How did you know?
DM: The youngest is often the entertainer. They come into this world already full of competition for their parent’s attention. So the little one thinks, ‘Hey check me out down here...don’t forget about me.’
JB: (laughing) I heard that. I prayed to God to find me a way, show me or lead me to a way that I could help my mother and father. There they were out in the rain and cold waiting for a bus to take them to work. It was really rough. I just wanted something better for them.
DM: Do you remember your early singing experiences?
JB: We had a choir at school and if you didn’t perform they would whip you. Then when you got home your parents would whip you. That’s just the way it was, but they did turn out some pretty good kids back then. Now they throw you in jail for that. You know what the bible says, “Spare the rod. Spoil the child.” But that’s life; to each his own. It was kind of tough sometimes, but there was so much love in the house that I never complained.
So when the kids at school were clowning around I just laid my head on the desk and dreamed somebody was asking me what I wanted to be when I grow up. I just lifted my head up and said out loud “A singer.” What made me say that? I do not know.
Then they started complaining about me singing in church because I was also singing the blues in nightclubs. The church wasn’t paying me anything, but the nightclubs were. I just gave that money to my parents.
DM: Was there anybody that served as mentor or teacher who helped you along, because you must have really stood out to get work in nightclubs at such a young age.
JB: There was a woman named Hazel Lewis. She would sit down at the piano and say, “Sing this.” So I did. She stopped and said, “There is nothing I can do with you. You are a
natural and I wouldn’t dare touch that.” She was in charge of the glee club at Jack Yates High School. I was fifteen at the time.
There was a principal there named, William S. Holland. He was the greatest guy ever. He was instrumental in giving me great courage. Even though I was working in nightclubs in cities all over Texas, I graduated from high school. I only had a “C” average, but he recognized me and gave me an award at the graduation ceremony. He did not leave me out. When they got done recognizing the Valedictorians and all the honor students he said, “We have one more person we want to honor. Even though she was offered a job to sing on the road with Lionel Hampton, she turned him down to finish high school.” He said all kinds of nice things about me. He went on and on and concluded by saying, “I am speaking of none other than Miss Jewel Brown.”
So there I was standing right there amongst all the honor students, that made me feel good. It made me feel like I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Remember, the church wanted me to sing gospel music and didn’t want me singing the blues, but like I said, I asked God to help me take care of my mother and father.
DM: Were there any singers in the blues field that helped to inspire you?
JB: There is one young lady who lives out there in California her name is Linda Hopkins.
She just turned 90. That’s who inspired me and, you know what Dave...she is a NICE lady. The last time I saw her perform was some time back. She was singing on the bill with Jackie Wilson at the Apollo Theatre in New York. Let me tell you, they tore the house down. She was always a lady. Nobody in the business ever had a bad word to say about her. I mean there was lots of talk about entertainers doing this and that and doing things that I never wanted any part of. So yes, she was, and is, an inspiration on and off the stage.
DM: Going back to your youth in Houston, how were you exposed to this music?
JB: Back in the day it cost a nickel to play a record on the jukebox. So every time I got a good report card my Dad gave me a nickel. One day he walked by the juke joint and saw me with my ear pressed against the jukebox listening to a Linda Hopkins record. He walked right up to me and said, “What are you doing in here executing my nickels?”
DM: The big wheel in town in those days was Don Robey and his Peacock Studios and Record Company.
JB: I recorded for him when I was seventeen years old. It was the first time I was in a studio. It is also where I met my first husband, Eddie Curtis. He was a band leader. He was a songwriter as well. He wrote, It Should Have Been Me.
DM: The Ray Charles song?
JB: That’s the one. (singing) ‘It should have been me with that real fine chick...’ He wrote Lovey Dovey (singing) ‘lovey dovey all the time...’ He wrote all kinds of hit songs back in the day.
DM: What was the name of the record you recorded at Peacock?
JB: Where do I Go From Here? (singing) ‘Where do I go from here…’ and No You Can’t Kiss Me No More (singing) ‘No no you can’t kiss me no more...’ Robey had some big hit makers back in the day, both in the gospel and blues field, but my records didn’t do much. I went to New York with Eddie, but it didn’t work out between us. He was simply too controlling of me and my career. I had to sing and do my thing.
I went back to Houston and straight to the Club Ebony right here in the Third Ward.
DM: You had stints in other parts of the country as well.
JB: I worked out of Los Angeles with Earl Grant at Club Big Al on Figueroa near Columbus for about a year and a half. After they closed that club, I came back home to Houston and started gigging around town anywhere they wanted me. Everywhere I played it is because they wanted me. That is how it has gone. Every gig I ever had is because they called me.
DM: Let’s talk about the scene in Houston back in those days. I know the city has a very rich musical heritage that is often overlooked. What were some the nightclubs you worked?
JB: There was Shady’s Play House, The El Dorado Ballroom, The Swan, Club Ebony, The Whispering Pines, The Double Bar Ranch...there was all kinds of clubs back in the day.
Back when I was nine years old, I sang at a place called Club Matinee with Nat King Cole. That was over in the Fifth Ward.
DM: I’m sure that all these clubs had certain elements that were unique, but was there a common feature to all these places?
JB: Yes, they all had big dance floors. It was about the dancers.
DM: There were so many great musicians in Houston in those days.
JB: You got that right. I was very fortunate that I got to work with some of the best. Don Wilkerson and Arnett Cobb were two great sax players for instance. Like you said, there were just so many.
DM: Let’s talk about Clarence...
JB: ...Clarence! Clarence Hollimon was one of the best young guitar players I run upon. We jelled like nobody’s business. We first met when we were twelve years old at the Swan Ballroom at the corner of Edison and Elgin. It was an upstairs joint that had a ballroom. We had a chance do some things together and I enjoyed every minute of it. When we worked together it was like we had worked together for always. He had the biggest ears and I’m all about the ears. You couldn’t lose Clarence. Where ever you went musically, there he was. He was that good.
DM: I just love his stuff. I mean listen to that stuff he did with Bobby Bland back in the 50’s. You can’t beat it. Why he isn’t a household name, I’ll never know.
JB: I know. It is because nobody in Houston, Texas, is pushing you nowhere. Houstonians, I’m sorry but that’s the way it was. If you wanted to anything with your music, you had to leave here to get recognized for it.
DM: I have never figured out why. You had the nightclubs, the recording studios and record companies, you had the fans and of course you had the musicians. The city has never promoted itself as a black music Mecca, for lack of a better phrase. You know what I’m talking about.
JB: I heard that. *%&#, it’s like that now! Now there’s a bunch doing a Houston Blues Museum. Eddie (Stout) told me he will have nothing to do with those people and I don’t blame him. I went and did a show for those folks. They made a lot of money and didn’t pay me one dime. They always want something for nothing.
DM: More and more people are starting to see right through these “non-profit” blues societies. Like Eddie, I will have nothing to do with these people. You told me the last time we talked that not only was music happening all around the Third Ward and other places in Houston, it was going on in one particular house.
JB: That’s right. In our little shotgun house we always had all the windows and doors wide open, as we didn’t have any air conditioning and out through the windows and doors and right onto the street came music. Johnny “Guitar” Watson wrote Motor Head Baby right in our living room. Joe Hughes used to come by. Even Cecil Shaw, the spiritual singer came in off the street one day. Then before you knew it he was hanging out. He had a very popular gospel group. It was wonderful.
DM: Let’s talk about your stint up in Dallas.
JB: I worked out of Dallas from the later part of 1959 through the early part of 1961. I took a job up in Dallas at a very beautiful, exclusive supper club called, the Sovereign Club.
DM: I’ve heard of it and I’m sure you can guess why.
JB: The club was owned by Jack Ruby. The club was downtown on Commerce Street
right across the street from the Adolphus Hotel. In there they had a place called the Century Room where Jerry Vale and entertainers like that worked. The bellboys used to say “Man, if you want to see a real show, you just go right across the street, they got a girl over there that is turning it out.” We packed the place every night.
DM: I believe it was one of those private clubs they had in Dallas back in the day, where the members would bring in their own liquor and the establishment sold set ups, as they called them. Even as late as the 1980’s, I knew that they had private clubs in Dallas that catered to “a very specific clientele,” as it was described to me by the locals. So I am guessing that the nightclubs in Dallas two decades earlier weren’t racially integrated.
JB: Oh Lord Jesus NO! I did get booked at the Sheraton in downtown Dallas one time. Someone told me, “They don’t let black folks in there honey. They wouldn’t even let Nat King Cole work there." I said, “I don’t know about that, but they asked me and they paid me. That’s all I know.”
DM: It sounded like things were going pretty good for you there in Dallas but you left the gig at the Sovereign Club. Why?
JB: Someone gave me a tip and Jack wanted half. I told him it was my tip, my money, He said, “Listen here you money hungry bitch, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have that tip in the first place.” I was taught that a bitch is a dog. I told him, “If you don’t want to respect me as a woman at least respect me as your entertainer.” I didn’t tell him, but after I left that night I had no intentions of going back and I didn’t. After I left, business fell off and he turned the Sovereign into a burlesque club and then you know what happened after that.
DM: I do. It was just a couple years later that Jack Ruby thrust himself into infamy. Do you mind if I ask about your recollection of that episode in American history which aired live on national television.
JB: I don’t mind. I mean Dave, who else are you going to talk to that knew Jack Ruby? Everyone else is gone. Anyway, I was in Terre Haute, Indiana. I just checked into a hotel. My plan was to lie down and take a little nap before getting ready for the concert that evening. So I got into bed and turned on the TV and of course all the channels had the same thing on. Then I said, ‘There’s Jack Ruby...’ I recognized him from the back. As soon as that came out of my mouth....boom...he shot Oswald at point blank range on TV. I was astounded. I stayed glued to the TV. I couldn’t even sleep even though I was exhausted.
DM: There must have been all kinds of things racing through your mind.
JB: There was. I don’t usually talk about this, but since you asked, what crossed my mind at that moment was how he got my traffic ticket tore up. I got a traffic ticket I did NOT deserve in Dallas. I didn’t say anything to the police because you just couldn’t say a word to the cops back in those days in the south. The ticket was for a $125.00 and I wasn’t making that much in a week. So I went in to work and was real upset. I told Jack what happened and he said, “Where’s the ticket?” I gave it to him and he tore it up right there in front of me. I said, “What are you doing? I have to pay that!” He just said, “Forget about it.” So I went and did my show and forgot about it. I never heard a thing about that ticket again.
Then shortly after that I was on my way to go see a show by a guy named Al Braggs.
DM: Al “TNT” Braggs...I haven’t heard that name in a while. He worked out of South Dallas for years.
JB: That’s right. That is where I was heading. So, I left the Sovereign Club and was walking out to my car. I was wearing my little white fox around my shoulders. I had on a little blue shark skin suit. I had my alligator heels and my matching alligator purse. The police pulled up. “Where are you going? Where are you coming from? What’s your name? Where do you work?” I told them. They said, “Oh you’re that girl singer who works at Jack Ruby’s place. OK, go on now.”
I never thought anything of it at the time, but when I saw Jack in the police station basement mingling with all those cops and then shooting Oswald that all came back to me at that moment. He definitely knew his way around downtown, if you know what I mean.
DM: I do. Let me shift gears here if I may. How did you come to the attention of Louis Armstrong and his people?
JB: After I left the Sovereign Club, I got hired on right away at a nightclub in Dallas called The Chalet. In the meantime, a guy who wrote for the Dallas Morning News had been putting me in the paper almost every day in his column. So I was receiving a lot of attention. A guy by the name of Tony Topper over at the paper told Joe Glaser about me. I didn’t know it at the time, but he flew in from New York and caught one of my shows at The Chalet and then flew right back to New York.
DM: For those who aren’t familiar with the name Joe Glaser, he had been Armstrong’s manager since the mid-thirties and founded the company ABC Artist Management. He worked with the biggest names in the business including Duke Ellington, Billie Holiday, Dave Brubeck, B.B. King and others.
JB: That’s right. One day Tony Topper told me Joe Glaser wanted to know if I would rather sing for Duke Ellington or Louis Armstrong. At the time both of them needed singers. I didn’t take more than a second to say, “Louie Armstrong.”
JB: I knew that Duke didn’t like to fly. He took a bus everywhere in the U.S. and would take a ship overseas. Also he had a seventeen piece band. So the idea of traveling in a bus with seventeen guys vs. Louie who had just seven guys in his band…not only that they flew everywhere…that was more appealing to me.
DM: So you had two of the most important figures in the history of American music offering you two of the most high profile gigs in show business at the same time.
JB: That’s right. I joined Louis Armstrong on June 21, 1961. I was twenty three years old. I got a call from Joe Glaser. He said “I need you to be on a plane in three hours.” I told him I was in Dallas and that I needed to go home first, to Houston before I flew out. He said fine. So I drove to Houston in two hours.
DM: (laughing) You were breaking the law young lady. You had to be going a 120 miles an hour.
JB: Not quite, I did 115 miles per hour all the way.
DM: I am surprised you didn’t end up in jail.
JB: I did get stopped by a policeman. With tears in my eyes I said to him “Sir you just have to let me go. I have to catch this flight in Houston.” That nice white policeman understood he said, “Go ahead on, just be careful.” I thanked him and was back on my way.
DM: Wow! You caught a break. Maybe you should have thanked the automobile manufacturer as well. Now I have to know what you were driving.
JB: It was 1957 Ford convertible I bought in Los Angeles.
DM: This just keeps getting better. A convertible going 115 miles an hour being driven by Miss Jewel Brown tearing through the countryside of East Texas in 1961...this scares me just thinking about it.
JB: As I sped away I thought about something my dad taught me. I asked my dad when I was a little girl, I said “Daddy, why are white people so mean to Negros?” He didn’t answer right away. He stopped to think about how he would address that question. He bowed his head. I think he was praying to God for the right answer. He knew I was a serious child and I would take what he said to heart. He said, “Baby not all white people are bad. There are good and bad people of ALL races.” I thank God everyday that that white policeman let me go. I thanked him at the time. I don’t know if he knew what an impact that had on my life being able to make that plane.
JB: What’s so funny? I’m serious.
DM: I know you are. I’m sorry Jewel. It takes two hours to drive across Houston, let alone halfway across the state of Texas.
JB: I heard that. Remember though the traffic wasn’t as bad back in the old days. Listen, I’m not even on the plane yet.
DM: I’m listening. This is great.
JB: When I got to the house in Houston I yelled upstairs to my sister-in-law, “Mildred get down here and help me.” My Mother always taught me to set some nice clothes aside because you never know when you might need something nice to wear. So we threw the clothes in a suit case and I told her “You’re coming with me.”
She asked me if I wanted her to drive. I told her, “No, I’ve got to drive this buggy.” So we raced off down the Gulf Freeway to Hobby Airport. On the way I told her that she could have the car because a 707 is my transportation from now on.
When we got to the airport all the sky caps knew who I was from the Club Ebony. I said, “One of you hold that plane.” He said, “Don’t worry, that bird ain’t going nowhere.” So they hustled me past all the crowds through the airport and across the runway. Remember back in those days they didn’t have the snorkels. You had to go up the stairs to get on the plane and up those stairs I ran. I got on the plane, they shut the door behind me and we were gone. I fell straight to sleep with my suitcase on my lap.
When I woke up I was in Boston. My feet barley hit the ground. I stepped off the stairs and on to a charter bus. On that bus was the one and only Louis Armstrong and his all-star band. When I got off the bus it was at Storyville in Boston. The club owned by George Wien.
DM: He being the most famous jazz impresario of all time. The founder of the Newport Jazz Festival, the co-founder, along with Pete Seeger of the Newport Folk Festival among his resume’ credits.
JB: ... and a very nice man.
DM: You know better than just about anybody. That’s not always the case in the music business.
JB: You got that right. It seems like the more they make the more they want. We talked about this before Dave, I’ve got some more stories for you, but we will leave that out of the interview. That’s between us.
DM: Then let’s talk about the good people like Louis Armstrong and those shows.
JB: This is how it went. He would always open with Sleepy Time Down South. Then he would play the songs people liked to hear. They wanted to hear those old tunes and he played what the people wanted to hear. Whatever else he played, the audiences insisted on hearing the old hits. Then when it was time for me, he would bring the band down and play Sleepy Time Down South again. He would introduce me. I would do my set. Then the band would do a little quickie instrumental and go off the stage. After the intermission it was back to his songs, he would bring the band back down again with Sleepy Time Down South and he would introduce me again. When I was done he would close with, When the Saint Go Marching In. Then I would come back and sing, When The Saints Go Marching In with him. Then we would call it a night.
DM: You traveled the world with that band for eight years in the 1960’s, when the world of music was undergoing massive changes. The so called youth market became the focus of the record industry with the Beatles and others, yet Louis Armstrong, a man who had hits in the 1920’s, just rolled right along.
JB: We went everywhere and there wasn’t a city or country in this world in which we didn’t play to an absolute packed house. It worked out pretty good. We got an automatic raise every six months. I don’t think I got paid what I righteously deserved, but who's going to complain when you were with Louie Armstrong. It was because of my years with Louie that I have the clout in the music business I have today.
DM: You were by far and away the youngest member of the band. What was it like traveling the world with those old guys?
JB: I liked it. I had a mom and dad who couldn’t help but to worry about me. I think they thought that all these guys would be like dads to me. They figured these old guys would watch out for me and they did.
DM: By the end of the 60’s his health began to fail him. That had to be hard on everyone.
JB: Here is what happened. He got sick as you know. Joe Glaser gave us all nine checks for full pay. We could only cash one check a week. So I went home to be with my mother and father. The next time I saw Louie it was on TV. He was on the Johnny Carson show. Johnny said, “Louie, I heard you had a visit to the doctor. Louie said, “Yes.” Johnny said, “Well Louie, what did he say?” Louie said, “The doctor told me I had very close veins.” That’s Louie. He was something else.
DM: (laughing) Before we move on with your career, let’s talk a about your thoughts on this American icon. Was the personality that he projected to television or concert audiences at all like the Louis Armstrong that you knew personally?
JB: Let me put it to you this way Dave. He had something for EVERYBODY. It didn’t matter how you came at him good, bad or ugly. He had something for you. You asked him a question. He would give you an answer, straight up. He was a straight up cat.
We traveled the world on behalf of the State Department and made a difference when America and the Soviet Union were in the middle of the Cold War. There are just so many examples of good that he did for people not just in America, but all over the world. Do you think he got the credit he deserved for all of that?
DM: No...not really. Not what he deserved anyway. I think he took a lot of flak for not conforming to how people thought he should behave or present himself, but that is who he was. We talked about this before Jewel, but as you know he cancelled one of his State Department tours in the 50’s over the public school crisis in Little Rock, Arkansas.
JB: Thank you for bringing that up Dave. That is an important point. He called Eisenhower, “a gutless SON OF A BITCH.” Yet there were people who were calling him an Uncle Tom. More black folks called him an Uncle Tom than white folks. They don’t know what he did. He gave so much of his money to various civil rights causes and he didn’t care if he got the credit or not. He gave a lot of money to the NAACP from the time that organization first got started. I know this for a fact.
DM: One of the many things I admired about Armstrong was the fact that his music was timeless. I liked the fact that he presented his music his way despite whatever trends were taking place in the music business.
JB: There you go. I think the music I make is the same way. It is timeless. I don’t care what you want to call it. If it is rock & roll, blues, jazz, rhythm & blues, soul, gospel no matter what it is, it just has to be good.
DM: After your tenure with Armstrong, where did you go from there?
JB: I took a job at The Sahara in Las Vegas headlining a show there. From there the show was scheduled to move over to The Stardust. That’s when I decided to come home and help my dad take care of my mother. She was ill and he was very devoted to her and could use all the help he could get.
DM: You had fulfilled your childhood dream by being able to take care of your parents and did so through singing.
JB: I helped my parents buy a nice new home in 1954. No more rat infested shotgun shack. It is six houses off of almighty Dowling Street. The Fifth Ward was known for Lions Avenue. The Third Ward was known for Dowling Street. I still live in that house. I have remodeled it a few times. It has survived the fairly recent hurricanes, Ike and Rita. I like to say that house is like me, sturdy and built to last.
DM: I know family was your focus, but you also were still picking up gigs here and there.
JB: If the people knew my work and new my worth I might take the gig. So I would do certain select shows now and again. If the situation was right I would do it. I did some work with Arnett Cobb. We traveled over to Europe a couple of times. I did some gigs with Dizzy Gillespie. I did some festivals here and there. I did some of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festivals.
My mom passed in 1975 and then it was up to me to take care of my dad until he passed in 1994. After my dad passed I got work with the New Orleans Heritage Hall Jazz Band as their featured singer. Their manager Paul Lentz knew who I was from the Armstrong band.
DM: In recent years you got hooked up with Eddie Stout. How did that come about?
JB: He came to me and said he wanted to record me. I told him he had to talk to Paul who handles me. I gave him Paul’s number. About an hour later Paul called me and said, “This man, Eddie Stout is someone who I believe you can work with.” I trusted Paul and we did everything on a handshake basis. He passed away and Eddie and I work the same way.
DM: Back in 2012, Eddie brought you into the studio to make that great record with guitarist and fellow Houstonian, Milton Hopkins. By my math it has been a long time since you had been in a recording studio.
JB: (laughs) Oh Lord yes.
DM: Obviously technology and recording techniques have changed. Let’s talk about that experience.
JB: You know Dave, I just do what I do and it is up to them to set it up. I have never been into any of all that. I’m not a technical person. I am a singer. So for me it was no different.
DM: There are some great tunes on that album. Who brought those into the studio?
JB: Eddie picked the tunes. Many of which he knew that I was already familiar. I had already sung Jerry all over the world with Louie. (singing) ‘Did you hear about Jerry? Have you heard about Jerry? Great God Almighty he’s a working man’s friend.’ The first
time I sang that song with Louie in Paris we were at the Olympic Theatre. When I got done with the number the audience didn’t make a sound. Come to find out the word “Jerry” was a term used to describe service men in the war. You know like we called Joe or G.I. Joe. I had no Idea. We did a show the next night and that day, in the daily paper in Paris, a writer wrote and explained the song had nothing to do with wartime. I did the number and it brought the house down, standing ovation and everything.
DM: That song goes way back long before World War Two. I believe it’s about a mule. It’s a great song.
JB: I first heard it from Harry Belafonte.
DM: That’s what great songwriting does. It lets people interpret the lyrics to suit their own experiences.
JB: You got that right. I mean a man can interpret it, that a woman is taking care of her business when he’s not at home. (laughs) I have people coming up to me and saying, “Girl, I just love that nasty song you do.” It ain’t nasty at all. (laughs)
DM: A couple of years ago Eddie told me he had planned to take you over to Japan to make a record with this swinging band called, Bloodest Saxophone. Now that record has arrived. It is called, Roller Coaster and is on Eddie’s new imprint, Dynaflow Records. Let’s talk about that experience going over to Japan and working with that band.
JB: First off the musicians in that band were ABSOUTLY SENSATIONAL! They were so encouraging to me. They wanted my ideas. They were so kind to me. Eddie asked me if I
would do a concert when we were done with our session. It was going to be in downtown Tokyo for the press and the fans. I, of course, agreed. I wanted to help Eddie in any way I can. I agreed knowing I wasn’t going to get paid for the gig. The band gave me their shares. I said, “What is this for?” Eddie told me it was their idea and they insisted. You’ve heard the record Dave, so you know how good these guys are as musicians. Let me tell you they are even better people.
DM: What would you like people to know about Jewel Brown?
JB: My life is an open book. I have nothing to hide. Anything I have ever done, I did it for a reason. If anybody wants to ask me something fine. Ask me anything and I’ll tell you. If it it’s none of your business, I’ll tell you “noneya.”
DM: I am very glad we haven’t had a “noneya.” I have enjoyed this very much. Thank you.
JB: I have too. This has been fun. Remember, you can call me anytime. I’ll pick up anytime, unless I’m on stage.
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