Frankie and Johnny

Most are familiar with the tale of Frankie and Johnny. John Held, Jr., illustrated the famous ballad with authentic woodcuts for one of the early issues of Playboy and recalled that he had learned it from a colored piano Player called "Professor," in a parlor house run by a lady known as Madam Helen Blazes. Now jazz trombonist Kai Winding is telling a hip version of the done her wrong kick on a new Columbia EP (B9991) and LP(CL999). We were charmed by this modern treatment of the classic story and thought it might be fun to illustrate it Photographically. So here it is, as told by Mr. Winding, with Kai's lovely wife, Jeanne, as Frankie, and cool Kai himself as that cat, Johnny.

"This is the story of Frankie and Johnny. It's a pretty simple, everyday story of a girl, and a boy, and the other girl. In essence, the eternal triangle bit. Now Frankie was a real sharp chick – as sharp as they come. And Johnny was a real cool cat. Aside from being blessed with other talents, Johnny played the trombone and believe me this boy could really wail. Now Frankie and Johnny were lovers. Oh, Lordy, how they could love. They swore to be true to each other, just as true as the stars above. He was her man, but he done her wrong. He goofed, but bad. Now Frankie was really a most kindhearted chick and I mean she was really very generous when it came to spending her bread (money, that is) on Johnny. You might even say she was his sponsor. For instance, she sponsored him for some real gone vines (clothes, that is). You know, Ivy League, single-breasted, three-button suits, with a single vent in the back, and the shirts with button-down collars and the narrow-tie bit. Not only that, but kindhearted as she was, she hated to see him without wheels (transportation, that is). So she bought him a short (short being a more refined word for automobile, you know). Now this was not just an ordinary short, but the grooviest short you ever laid your eyes on: a solid white Chrysler Imperial with a spare tire in the rear deck. This boy Johnny was really living.

Johnny used to hop into the short every now and then and take a ride down to the local saloon. He'd bring his trombone and he'd sit in and wail with the cats. Now there was a little chick by the name of Nelly Bly who used to hang out there on session nights. She really dug the sounds. A true music lover. In fact, she was even a subscriber to the Columbia LP Record Club, so you know she was down with the scene. She really got the message when Johnny blew that horn. She had big eyes for this boy.

Well, sir, that's all Frankie had to hear. Bighearted as she was, this was where she drew the line. She immediately split from the scene and made a stop at the nearest hock shop where she picked up on some hardware – the 32 calibre variety.

Frankie hailed a cab and headed for the local motel on the outskirts of town. When she arrived there, what do you think she saw? That's right, it was that solid white Chrysler Imperial with the spare tire in the rear deck. Now this was, of course, enough to make even the most trusting female suspicious. So Frankie tiptoed over to the door and although she heard the sweet strains of mood music emanating from the radio, she just couldn't convince herself that a music appreciation course was being conducted in there. So she calmly shot a few holes in the door and saved the rest for Johnny. 'Oh, roll me over easy. Oh, roll me over slow. Roll me over on my right side, honey, where the bullets don't hurt me so. You've shot your man, 'cause he done you wrong.' Yep, this boy had had it. As the original version put it, this story has no moral, this story has no end, this story only goes to show, that if you're about to park your solid white Chrysler Imperial with a spare tire in the rear deck in front of some motel, you'd better make darn sure that you're checking in with your sponsor, dad."

On one such evening, by coincidence, of course, Frankie showed up on the scene looking for you know who. Her timing was slightly off, because Johnny was not on the premises, so she calmly cooled it over to the bar, ordered a couple of double vodka Martinis, and started sounding the bartender about the whereabouts of her wandering man. Now the bartender, being a helpful kind,offered some very pertinent information. Quote Mr. Bartender: 'Now I ain't gonna tell you no story, baby. I ain't gonna tell you no lie. Your Johnny was here about an hour ago, with a gal named Nelly Bly. He was your man, but he's doing you wrong.'