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Tuning In to Birmingham
On avant-garde jazz musician Sun Ra: "He'd walk down 20th Street and get stopped by cops for dressing like an alien. When they asked where he was from, he'd say, 'I'm from Mars.' "
On performing in the 1940s: "We'd play in high schools, at matinee dances. Admission was 25 cents and we had a blind booker who'd just walk around, feel the crowd and say, '$400 in the drawer.' "
  At WorkPlay, patrons can grab a cocktail at the bar before checking out a show in the multimedia facility's club. (Hugh Hunter) 
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On the future of Birmingham music: "Birmingham has some hard-hitters now. You have people who are really stomping, and we have some youngsters who are really going to blow jazz out."
Adams took a breather to play a clarinet solo of Ellington's "Sophisticated Lady." The man can still make the girls swoon.
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In Birmingham, day can easily run into night, then back into day -- without pause for sleep or a change of clothes. At the Nick, a hole-in-the-wall club, bands often start around midnight and play until 3 a.m. If you have a craving for a burger afterward, Marty's is still flipping patties. Yet, even after an obscenely late night, locals still get up for church on Sunday morning. There's nothing like a blast of gospel to pry open your eyelids.
The basement of the historic Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, in the Civil Rights District, displays photos of the events that occurred at the church and still burn in people's minds. The Ku Klux Klan bombing in 1963, which killed four young black girls. The teeth-baring dogs; the water tanks rumbling down the pretty, leafy street; the police clubs and fire hoses and tearful, scared expressions.
While I studied the images, sweet, stirring music drifted down into the darkness. The service was starting, and three women and a young man were standing before the packed congregation, microphones in hand, faces tilted toward the parishioners. To their right was the band, with drums, piano, a trumpet. Two TVs scrolled lyrics karaoke-style. People stood up, dancing and singing with no inhibitions. The teenager hit high notes that could shatter stained glass.
Then the music faded out and the singers took their seats in the congregation. The young man sat quietly two rows behind me, and as I left the church, I took one long, lasting look at him. Maybe he'll be the next "American Idol," I mused. Or perhaps he'll decide to stay in Birmingham.
