One of the first tunes Jane Vasey recorded after she joined the Downchild Blues Band in 1973 was Otis Spann’s Must Have Been the Devil. Par for the course – Spann was one of the very first blues pianists she’d heard, and she always loved his music.
Well, hey, that’s not right either: before she was discovering Otis Spann, she had years of classical music behind her. She started lessons when she was six, kept writing little pieces and longer works, finished her years at the University of Manitoba in Winnipeg with a master’s degree in music and a BA in arts, and drifted to Toronto in the fall of 1970. Playing for small ballet classes, a little teaching here and there, a gig with a play at the old Global Village Theatre, playing for a production at the Toronto Workshop Theatre, writing music for Carol Bolt plays and the Young Peoples’ Theatre.
Years later, she told a newspaper reporter about discovering Otis Spann: “A girlfriend named Diane Roblin brought me over one of his records, and it was like a revelation. I’d listened to the blues a little before, but not too much. But the Otis Spann Record seemed to involve a lot of things I liked about classical music – great runs and phrases that I could really relate to. I turned right onto it.”
Somehow, stretching the mind back 15 years, it’s hard to remember how one felt about Jane suddenly being in Downchild. Yes, she played well enough – simple New Orleans-based boogie that seemed to fit perfectly with the band’s repertoire of blues tunes, rockers, and Donnie Walsh’s originals. But the mind brings back the memory of how small she was, perched behind the piano to the left of the stage, a glass within easy reach. She held her head at an angle while she played, upright and sparrow-like, as if she wanted to see and hear everything on stage with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. Her skin was pale, her eyes green, and her hands tiny – how did she manage those runs, how did she manage to play so hard and tough when she looked so perky and small and gentle?
That was, of course, her appeal. Yes, the crowd at the Elmo called her “the chick in the band”, but as her years with the band lengthened, her abilities grew apace. Her playing grew more adventurous, her attack stronger, and her stage presence more relaxed. And, over the years, she became the glue that held the band – despite the dozens of players that came and went – together as a tight, tough, working unit that could be guaranteed, night after night after night, to deliver a good time.
She was the kid sister for everyone in the band; she remarked once that she was one of the boys, except that she didn’t have to schlep the gear (although she often did), and she used to get the front right-hand seat next to Donnie in the van. She could also hold her own, man for man, with anyone in the band when it came to living on the road – and she always looked fresh and bright and up for it when the band hit the stage.
Everyone who ever heard Downchild in those heady days remembers the way she made the band dig into its material. And many people have their own memories of specific gigs that seemed to be particularly special; mine was a solo gig she did on a workshop stage at the Vancouver Folk Festival in ’75 or ’76.
Jane VaseyShe was on a “blues mixer” concert with three or four other performers, Roosevelt Sykes, and host John Hammond. Everyone did one number, and Hammond, who had never met her before, introduced her, somewhat hesitantly, as “Jane Vassey from the – um, Downchildren band.” She slipped behind the piano, rocked right into Red River Boogie, and everyone on stage snapped around; Hammond’s jaw literally dropped open, and Rosie stood up, dancing, and started declaiming blues lyrics with power, passion, and an exultant laugh in his voice (while Jane, ever polite in these circumstances, dropped back and became the perfect accompanist).
That night, at O’Hara’s, a giant Vancouver club that, alas, no longer exists, the band played one of their biggest gigs ever, and the champagne – and other substances – flowed liberally in the dressing room. That night, Downchild could have been stars forever; the music hit the head, the heart, and the feet, and 1200 fans cheered until they were hoarse.
In the late ’70s and early ’80s a handful of us knew about Jane’s illness, but there seemed to be a conspiracy of not mentioning it; and, truth be known, it seemed to make little difference. She played better and better, she still liked to sip her cognac, and she made all the gigs – although, by early 1982, she was flying to many of them while the band continued to drive.
One of her last gigs was at the Brunswick in January of 1982. By now the treatments (“they just change my blood around,” she laughed over Indian food one night) were exhaustive, and exhausting. But she passed one appointment, knowing that she’d be tired the next day, when she was due to play with Bucky Berger and Terry Wilkins backing up Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson. As the week went on, she was obviously exhausted, but her playing never wavered for a second; every number on every one of the three sets each night went perfectly, her solos always driving, and her accompaniment to Cleanhead’s vocals always perfectly what was needed.
When Cleanhead was back in town. “Now don’t mention that little girl to me,” he said, shaking his head. “My, my what a player. And, man, I still miss her – that gig was so hard on her, and she’d look so tired. But she’d come up here and smoke a little, sip her drink, and that smile would come right back. She was one of the good ones.”
So she was, and when she died, suddenly and quietly one night, music lost a very special person. A few weeks later, the Brunswick hosted a benefit for the fund at the University of Manitoba in Brandon that bears her name; Sunnyland Slim, John Hammond, David Wilcox, Downchild, and dozens of others played. The money that was raised, with contributions from Jane’s folks back west, provides a scholarship in piano performance; now another benefit will increase that fund.
It’s a perfect way to keep a memory alive, and a perfect way to help other pianists as they work towards a musical career. We may not get another Jane Vasey as a result, but it’s well, well worth the try!
– Richard Flohil
Jane Vasey Memorial Scholarship Fund
Donnie Walsh was instrumental in the founding of the Jane Vasey Memorial Scholarship fund at Brandon University. The fund was co–founded by Vasey’s late parents (Dorothy and Ross) and Downchild Blues Band in 1983 to sponsor keyboards students in the Brandon University (alma mater of Vasey) school of music.
Each year 2 scholarships in the amount of $2,500.00 have been awarded. The fund has grown to the amount of $80,000.00. Downchild continues to fund scholarships through benefit performances. The benefit amount is doubled thanks to a special program sponsored by the Government of Manitoba.