I Love You Frogman!

I love you Frogman. Ever since I picked you up at Arlanda in my early 20's to back you up at the International Jazz & Blues Festival in Stockholm it changed everything about music for me.

We drove you to Castle Hotel in our elegant band bus to the chagrin of Pretty Purdie who had to ride the main coach for the New Orleans Legends that came over for the entourage of 1986. The arranger of the festival, Mr Bosse "Positive" Stenhammar (a genius), had put his trust in my band to back you up on a tour around Scandinavia.

You came with George Porter Jr of The Funky Meters to back you up on the bass in case we couldn't find the right grooves, and when we did Bosse put him on a tour of his own to front for an artist that got stuck in his doughnut shop in New Orleans because he wasn't too keen on flying. We did a few gigs with George who's wife had instructed him to come back with a fur coat - which we all found great joy in joking about considering that pay at the time allowed more of a "fur sleeve" experience than the full nine yards.

I know no kinder soul. Your "hello" sounded like a mischievous genie coming out of Aladdins lamp to grant a musical wish and for me and my band Sneaky Pete's to share stage with a New Orleans Legend was a dream come true. We had rehearsed your every song and wanted so hard to play it exactly like it sounded on the record (a common misunderstanding) and later you would make a lot of fun of this, especially about me: "This is my son, Ulf, and when I found him in Sweden he'd play like all Liberace, until I explained it to him..." because besides kind mischief, you are the essence of entertainment. Of artistry. Of the shared joy that is possible when there is an artist with music and an audience willing to share it.

You have it, all of it. The whole church experience of engaging the audience from soul to body to mind. The interaction, the games, the dynamics of the gig, the rock'n roll and the ballads, mixing what people know with a surprise, not taking yourself too seriously, being kind to every fan that wants to talk when you are done. After the first super gig where you had us exhausted like sleigh dogs running a rollercoaster you stepped into the green room unperturbed and changed into a more flamboyant shirt than the one you had on stage. I raised an eyebrow and you said "son, when you're on stage everybody sees you, and when you get off, remember that you are still on stage when you sign records, just in a different way".

We played over a decade together and you soon invited the whole band to come stay with you in Algiers, across the bridge over the Mississippi mud slide - we all fit into your 18 foot Lincoln Town Car and you had bought an extra fridge with beer "cause you guys seem to enjoy that a lot" - you even mounted a small pool in your backyard for our troop of beer boistered ivory vikings - much to the surprise of your neighbours.

This was the start of a lifetime friendship Frog, over 30 times I visited you in New Orleans. You took me everywhere. We had beignets at Café du Monde and Hurricanes at Pat O'Brien's. We knocked on the door of Fats Domino and chatted him up in his pyjamas. Later you took me to Sea-Saint Studios to see Allen Toussaint. I was on cloud nine of being allowed a glimpse of all things New Orleans - the attitude, the second line grooves, the steps, the parade, Mardis Gras, black Indians spy boy dancing, the audience interaction, the stories, the myths and the people. How to be a musician and artist and still being kind and humble.

You stopped recording genius Cosimo Matassa in the street and introduced me as your son - with eyebrows up in a mocking challenge like "wha? you don't believe me? It's my Swedish son... you never heard of him?".

You took me to your blue church under the bridge where the pastor had a van with Christmas lights. You gave me the most important music mentoring in my life. When we were billed as "Legendary Frogman Henry with his all black New Orleans band" at a festival in Vadstena Castle in Sweden and we told you this, you laughed and looked at your watch and said "we still got twenty minutes boys, I'll teach you how to walk with the right groove, if you go on stage like that, nobody will notice". Hysterical. Of course we did.

You taught me that it is possible to face disrespect and racism with a true and warm smile over a solid rock. When Chuck Berry's manager wanted us to clear out back stage for his gig at the Stockholm Festival some years later  me and Bosse Gustafsson started to get up, politely. You put a hand on our shoulders and pushed us back down and then pointed at the poster behind him "sir, can you see the title of this gig?" then you continued with a warm smile "it says "all star festival" and if Mr Berry believes there is a difference between stars he's welcome to come tell us himself". Mr Berry didn't care, it was the fluster of "people around artists" talking. He stayed in his white Mercedes until the gig.

When we got to play the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage festival on the Gospel Stage in 1995 you showed up in your Lincoln backstage dressed up to match the occasion, and sat at the VIP-bench next to the stage in front of the packed tent enthusiastically rocking with your impeccable sunglasses and fedora hat. I remember asking you if it would count as weird in any way for this young all white band from the North Pole to be fronting a spot in the cradle of where this music comes from. You looked at me without hesitation and said "son, the blues is music from the heart, and the heart is the same color for everyone, you own the right to express it just as much as anybody else".

We would talk about everything. Life, family, love, relationships, integrity, fairness, religion, artistry, audience interaction, good people, less good people, making a living, handling failure, handling success.

We enjoyed so many adventures with you, with our bands Sneaky Pete's and Jump4Joy, with Mighty Bo, Patrik Norrman, Anders Almberg, Beppe, Peter Asplund and company. The late night sittings with Charles Brown telling stories at Castle Hotel or when Little Richard's manager wouldn't let us into his hotel room at Grand Hotel.

The many things you have taught me are priceless - I can go on for ever - at one point after a great gig with fans and drinks flooding the back room you looked me square in the eyes and said "I'll give you the same advice I got when I started out: Don't believe all the gigs they say they're gonna book you for, don't sleep with all the girls who say they want to and don't accept all drinks you are offered - and you'll be fine."

Mostly I appreciate your values, your love, your kindness and true caring. Your humour. Your piano playing, your office with all the photos of you and The Beatles, Charles Brown, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, Champion Jack Dupree, Allen Toussaint and everyone else in the "who's who" of New Orleans music. Your spirit lives forever. Thanks Clarence. Some have a soul sister or brother. You are my soul father.

I hope I get to see you on the other side. I love you.