Escaping the Ordinary with Django’s Jazz Caravan

Six String Society’s modern day Vaudeville act recently played at the Sunshine Brooks Theater, a show known as “Django’s Jazz Caravan.” Envisioned by Kenneth Rexrode of RexRode Productions, the Belgian-born composer, Django Reinhardt, was honored tremendously through this collaboration of jazz musicians. An evening filled with enduring music, most of which from the era Reinhardt helped pioneer.

Rexrode encouraged the audience, through the use of their imagination, to step outside the boundaries of Oceanside, and cross the Atlantic Ocean to arrive in Paris, France. The audience was no longer inside the Sunshine Brooks Theater, but instead, at the Moulin Rouge. “We have assembled this group of misfits, musicians, and they have come all over the world to form the Django’s Jazz Caravan,” Rexrode said. He spoke highly of the featured artists, going into detail about their roots and reputations. “When you guys purchased a ticket to come here, you didn’t buy a ticket to the show, but a passport to escape the ordinary. Who wants to escape the ordinary right now? We appreciate everyone’s support. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge.” The lights dimmed, and Billy Galewood made his first appearance, portraying a humble janitor.

“My dream as a janitor is to perform here one day. If they only knew what my mom knew. I should just be on this stage–” Galewood’s wistful contemplation was interrupted by Idun Carling, arriving to “practice” for her audition at the Moulin Rouge. She sang an enchanting rendition of “Save Your Love For Me,” all while Galewood swayed along, broom-head gliding over the stage floor. Afterwards, she asked Galewood if she had a shot, then took her leave. He believed that she did, expressing his longings to sing just like her.

The host of the production, Kevin Viner, was introduced as the master of deception, the recipient of one’s brain waves. The mentalist played into the narrative, flatly asking why Galewood was onstage, attempting to hide behind his broom. “Wait, I know,” said Viner, assessing, “your name is Billy. You’re a janitor, and you would like to perform here.” Galewood stood astonished, asking how Viner could have known that.

“It’s my job, and also I overheard you telling them for the last ten minutes,” Viner said, “why don’t you have a seat? I’ll show you how it’s done. My job is to get inside your head. If you have any thoughts that you would like to keep private, then stop thinking that.” His sharp wit continuously charmed the crowd.

He demonstrated his abilities to Galewood by asking if anyone in the audience was a parent, if they knew the exact time and minute their child was born. Though many stood up, and also sat back down, Viner selected a woman who revealed she had one child. Viner asked this woman to count from one to twelve, like the hours around the clock, thinking about the time in which her child was born. The audience was instructed to pay attention to her, to see if anything revealed what she was thinking, such as the cadence of her voice, or her body language. He accurately guessed that this woman’s child was born at 10:39PM.

Next, Viner asked if there were any fathers in the audience–specifically fathers who had a movie they loved watching with their children growing up. Selecting a man from the audience, Viner gave him a paper ball, and asked that it be tossed into the hands of another person in the crowd. The next man to catch said paper ball was brought onstage, and asked to envision the hour on the clock at the hospital. Choosing 9:42PM, the man opened the paper ball to read what it said. “It’s in the bag, dad,” it said.

Tucked inside Viner’s wallet was another slip of paper. He asked the man onstage what film he watched with his children, which was “School Of Rock,” then told him to read the paper. “Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, so great seeing you after all these years! I was born exactly at 9:42, and we used to love watching ‘School Of Rock,’” it said. The audience gasped in amazement, then broke out into a fascinated applause.

“That’s how you do it!” Viner said, “it is my pleasure, seeing as we’re talking about the relationships between parents and children. The duo you are about to meet is a mother and son, they have traveled all the way to Paris, France, from Carlsbad, California. Give a warm round of applause to the Sunshine Duo.” Rosemary Watson and Dexter Berrogain took their place on stage, and introduced themselves.

“Cole Porter, who is from my home state of Indiana, loved Paris. He spent a lot of time there, and wrote a lot of music about Paris. Django Reinhardt, the reason we’re here, recorded eight of Cole Porter’s tunes. This one, he wrote for the Broadway musical ‘Can-Can,’ which, of course, came from the Moulin Rouge. We’re going to do ‘I Love Paris,’” Watson smiled. To no one’s surprise, the two had a resonant synergy.

“Thank you so much. Great job Dexter. This next tune is from one of France’s most famous composers and singers. In English, it’s “I Wish You Love. It was written by Charles Trenet, known as the Singing Fool.” Watson carried herself with undeniable elegance, comparable to a bouquet of lilies in full bloom. Her execution of the French language was refined to perfection, and she played the melodica skillfully.

“This is one of Django’s most famous tunes. He wrote it in 1940, and it was considered an unofficial anthem for Paris during the horrible occupation of France. It is so antithetical to what was going on. There’s this grotesque war, and then he writes this song called ‘Nuages.’ It’s about clouds, and has a beautiful feeling. You can imagine how many people gravitated toward this,” Watson said. It was a befitting title for the song, and its energy was well-conveyed through her voice and her expressions.

Their next song was an original piece by Watson and her husband, written twenty years ago. She wrote the lyrics and her husband developed a fast melody on guitar, in the style of Django’s music. “Django was Romani. They traveled in caravans, and he was said to practice night and day. At the time, people didn’t read music and most of them were illiterate. They learned Gypsy Jazz or Jazz Manouche, passing it onto their children around the fire by playing. It’s about intense imitation and oral traditions. I wrote this song, imagining a little bug flying above this beautiful fire, while all this great music is going on,” she said, as Berrogain began to play. Afterwards, she thanked the crowd, saying it was a treat to perform for them.

Viner returned, expressing praise toward the Sunshine Duo, and determined to get inside the audience’s head one more time. Galewood returned, too, believing that he could do what Viner could, because now he had trash–specifically, a paper ball. Viner insisted that it wasn’t that simple, committing to the show’s narrative. “It’s the late 1800s, people’s tastes have changed. People used to want to see things that were good. They wanted to see things that were great. But now, if you want to perform here, you have to do something impossible,” Viner said. Galewood’s physical comedy was flawless across the whole show.

To prove that it was indeed possible to achieve the impossible, Viner asked Galewood to throw the paper ball into the audience. Through suspension of disbelief, the entertaining duo persuaded the crowd to take out their phones and pull up their calculators. The audience member who caught the paper ball was asked to provide a three digit number, as was the second person to catch the ball, and the third. Those numbers were multiplied with the calculators, rounding out to an absurdly large amount–that was written verbatim inside the paper ball, and when the paper was flipped upside down, that number spelled out “impossible.”

The Pepper Moons were next to perform, arriving with an infectious, jovial energy. Eva Makhailovna was a walking daydream, with an evocative voice and a stage presence rivaling polished china. Their timeless quintet featured many remarkable talents, including Kully Stiles on saxophone and steel guitar, Mark San Filippo on the drums, Philip Small on piano, David Erich Elsenbroich on guitar, and Marquis W. Howell on upright bass. Together, they played a plethora of adored jazz standards, such as“Moon River,” and their originals. Their musicianship was transformative, bringing out the old soul in each audience member, and warming the most frigid of hearts. Even Galewood stepped forward to join in on their swing dancing.

After Makhailovna sang an original titled “Please Don’t Take My Tomorrows,” Carling reappeared with a trombone. She capped off the first half of the show with “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” singing alongside Makhailovna. The distinct beauty of her scatting, paired with her skills on the trombone, left a delight so immense that it stretched to every corner of the theater. It was impossible to not feel that pull to dance.

Galewood kicked off the second half of the show, roaming the audience and entertaining them with his comedic timing, balloons, and a knot that tied itself. He then took to the stage, a guitar in his hands, to perform “Minnie The Moocher.” His presence in the narrative, the one that knotted these acts together, paid off in a satisfying way. His live “audition” earned him a place in the show, his dream coming true.

During intermission, Viner handed slips of papers and pens to some in the audience. Some others found papers and pens beneath their seats. However their means of obtaining it, they were asked to write down a fact about themselves. Be it a nickname, dream occupation, or a humorous story from their youth. While they signed their initials on the back of their papers, a man was selected from the crowd to collect them.

Viner explained how this routine was often done by carnival psychos, who would enlist a beautiful female assistant to collect the papers, open them, read the contents, and telegraph those contents to the performer via a secret code. Without them, or the codes, it would be impossible. But Viner selected a male assistant from the crowd, a male assistant who did not know those codes. “This will be a miracle,” he humored.

The first slip of paper was placed into Viner’s outstretched palm. One by one, he guessed the secrets of three audience members–how someone’s dog was named Bradley Cooper, that someone grew up adoring jazz because their father was a jazz musician, and that someone’s childhood nickname was May May. The segment finished with Viner asking his male assistant if he was wearing less than what he came wearing to the show. Unbeknownst to the chosen assistant, Viner had snuck the man’s wristwatch, and put it on. The next act was ready to go. In just one song, they asserted themselves as a compliment to the genre.

“Hello, we are Pino Noir. This is Chloe Feoranz on clarinet. Gareth Price on drums, and Sam Rocha on bass. This is a variety show, called ‘Django’s Jazz Caravan,’ and I am a huge Django nerd. This group is an homage to Django and his sound from the 1940s. Our next song is by the composer Duke Ellington. Django toured with him in the United States. But my favorite part is that Django was a bad sideman, he didn’t want to play. During some concerts, Duke would be playing, and Django was nowhere to be found. He would rather be fishing. Django wouldn’t show up until the end of the show and Duke would be pissed. With that in mind, this is ‘Black and Tan Fantasy,’” Luca Pino said, strumming his guitar.

Pino Noir was a harmonious experience, one where the musicians communicated through the blend of their instruments, guiding it, transforming it into something beautiful. “I’d like to keep it going with an old French romantic song called ‘Je suis seule ce soir.’ Or ‘I am alone tonight.’ Trust me, it’s romantic,” Pino said, keeping it brief between songs. Their act served as a reminder of what musicians are capable of, the emotions they bring to the surface through the power of music, something words fail to capture.

Their next song was “Minor Swing.” Pino explained how this piece was often the most overplayed of Reinhardt’s repertoire. The “Stairway to Heaven” of Gypsy Jazz, if you will. Yet, Pino still considered it one of his favorites. Overplayed or not, for some in the crowd, it could have been their first time hearing the song–and what a marvelous introduction. One could hardly realize the time that elapsed, as if a spell was being cast. The limelight was passed from one musician to the next, without pressure or stumbling.

Welcomed back to the stage was Carling, who appeared with her trombone still in hand. She performed “Out Of Nowhere,” interchanging between singing the verses, and playing solos with her instrument. Watson returned to sing “Night and Day,” another beloved Cole Porter piece, while Carling continued to play her instrument. Even Makhailovna was asked to sing another song in her native tongue. Feoranz’s presence, playing her clarinet throughout, enriched the quality of each song. She was a standout, and the discipline required to play at her level cannot be downplayed. Therein lies the magic of this show. It featured artists who were incredible on their own, or within their established group, but when brought together, the results were so grand. Not only for the audience’s enjoyment, but for the musicians too.

Django’s Jazz Caravan

People begged for an encore, fueled on by Howell’s bustling encouragement. The rising enthusiasm was more than enough to keep the musicians around for one more song, “Bye Bye Blackbird.” Not a single act was left behind. Every performer played, sang, or danced like it was the grand return of the swing era of music. Six String Society had crafted a production that was worth a thousand standing ovations. To learn more about their original shows, and which theaters to see them at, visit https://thesixstringsociety.com/.