By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
By Gina Tron
By Jon Solomon
By Drew Ailes
By Courtney Harrell
By Kyra Scrimgeour
Pianist Forrest Meyer is the leader of a group that specializes in big-band music--a style that's hotter today than it's been in decades--and whenever he plays live, he draws large and appreciative crowds. But while most of his peers work their brand of brassy magic in smoky nightclubs or theaters largely populated by young people reliving a past they've discovered secondhand, Meyer plays in more unusual locations, for decidedly more experienced audiences. On this day he's at the Aurora Mall, where fans who were around when swing was new are lining up for Cinnabons and coffee instead of shots and beer--which makes sense, since the sun rose just an hour ago. From the back of the stage to the front of the decaf line, nearly everyone present is sporting gray hair, glasses and membership in the AARP. Scanning the scene, Meyer says, "This will be a good gig--even though it's early and we haven't had our transfusions yet."
Such is life for Meyer and his mates in the Geritones, an act that's carved out a unique niche in the local-music scene by targeting the very folks who use the product to which the band's name pays tribute. Since the group was founded in 1989, its members (Meyer, tenor saxophonist Arnold Brandes, saxophonist/clarinetist John Lawrence, trumpeter Don Novy, string bassist Tom Severino and drummer/vocalist Bill Watkins) have quietly become stars of the area seniors' circuit, playing at rest homes, retirement centers and any other locale in which the elderly congregate. The entertainers can identify with such listeners; their age range starts in the early fifties and moves up rapidly from there. Asks Meyer, who's in his late eighties but looks twenty years younger, "How many guys do you know my age who are leading a jazz band?"
The answer, of course, is none. But what makes the Geritones even more noteworthy is their generosity: They do their thing primarily as a public service to the older generation. "It's not because we need the jobs," says Meyer, a congenial gent with a fondness for jazz-man lingo. "We're together strictly for the senior citizens. We provide a service to the older people. See, there's nobody doing what we do, with the shtick and all that. What we do is bring back the real memories of the big-band era."
Joan VaNoske, 63, wholeheartedly agrees. She's a mall-walker who stays in shape by circling the shopping center with friends and neighbors of a similar vintage before most of the businesses are open, and when she learns that the Geritones are putting on a show this morning, she's giddy with excitement. "I didn't know they were going to be here," she bubbles. "I just happened to recognize a couple of them as I walked through. I can't believe it. You're going to hear the best music in the world."
The band's opening number, a velveteen version of a Harry James number, launches VaNoske into motion. As she rocks in her chair, slapping her thighs and beaming brightly, a handful of elderly couples hits the floor, gently holding each other as they spin. Watching them transports VaNoske back to a better time. "In the old days, people cared about each other and we said kind things to one another," she notes. "It was a nice time to grow up. We didn't have all the problems of today."
During the next ninety minutes, trials and tribulations don't stand a chance. When representatives of Secure Horizons, the health-care operation that's sponsoring the show, aren't handing out promotional literature, they're encouraging the attendees to keep dancing, but there's no need: The glorious, iron-rich sounds of the Geritones ensure that anyone physically able to sway will do so. The musicians roll through satin-smooth tunes by James, Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington and Lawrence Welk in a vigorous but understated fashion that's built to last. The rhythm section of Severino and Watkins delivers just the right amount of push for the tasteful soloists up front, and Watkins's singing is rich and relaxed. Meyer's cotton-candy piano fills add the proper finishing touches. After he finishes a nimble solo, Annette Meyer, his wife of 52 years, smiles in appreciation--and she's not the only one.
Unlike many swingers-come-lately, Meyer knows the music inside and out. Born and raised in Fort Collins, he started playing as a kid and assembled his first band in high school. When he was a student at what would later become Colorado State University, he led a group that made a mark in state radio history with a 1933 turn at the National Western Stock Show; the performance, heard on NBC's National Home and Farm Hour, marked the first time a broadcast by Denver's KOA-AM was aired nationwide. The program was memorable for Meyer as well. As he sits in the den of his southeast Denver condo, he recalls, "We were backed by a bunch of chickens and turkeys."
Meyer subsequently attended the University of Colorado-Boulder, spending his free time playing in dance-friendly groups for frat parties and other events. National combos furnished the same type of thrills elsewhere in the area, and at bargain rates. "You could go out to Elitch's and dance to Dorsey and Benny Goodman or any of the big bands for a dollar an evening," Meyer says. "Over at Lakeside, it was ten cents a dance. I remember all that."