Music in a box

Aficionados say there's more to the accordion than meets the ear

NATICK - The accordionist is tall and lanky, looking like a well-dressed Ichabod Crane in a formal white shirt, red necktie, shiny black wingtips. His romance with the accordion dates back to childhood in the 1930s, the age of jazz orchestras playing in homes across America through the miracle of radio.

Jerry Tramontozzi's long fingers flutter across the instrument's many buttons and keys, and a familiar Spanish folk song blasts out.

"La Cucaracha"? On the accordion? What next? Punk rock on the piccolo?

Musicians dedicated to the accordion say it's a common misconception that their instrument is good only for polkas and comedy.

Tramontozzi and other members of the Massachusetts Accordion Association, who gather monthly at the Dolphin Seafood Restaurant, want to help restore the accordion's reputation as a serious instrument.

"In America, the accordion is something relegated to the brunt of jokes," said Joe Maciejowski, the association's president, who shrugs over the instrument's regrettable association with "organ-grinder monkeys."

In truth, players say, the accordion is a 28-pound orchestra in a box, versatile enough for any kind of music.

"The accordion got narrowly pegged and parochialized," insisted Patricia Simmons, who played as a child and recently returned to the instrument.

"People who criticize just wish they could play it," said Tramontozzi.

If they sound a little defensive, it may be due to the relationship between the accordionist and the instrument. "The way you have to wrap yourself around it, it becomes part of you," Maciejowski said. "It's an extension of yourself."

The accordion sits on the player's thigh, like a squat toddler. The instrument is hugged, tickled with both hands, gently shaken and rocked. Like a child, it can make huge noise for its size, even unamplified. And it is deeply loved, though certainly not by everyone.

"Basically, our audience is 55 to 95 years of age," said Tramontozzi, who declined to give his age, though he suggested that he's north of the midpoint in that range.

The accordion association, organized last year, has so far attracted about 40 members. The club gathers at Dolphin Seafood to play, listen, and swap tips.

At a meeting of the association in late October, accordions sit around the room in square black suitcases. In Maciejowski's state-of-the-association message, he announces a goal of getting the club's accomplished players "onto the town square gazebo circuit." Maciejowski, of Upton, is 56. He has played accordion for nearly 50 years.

The accordion was a popular instrument in American jazz and big-band music from the 1930s to around 1960, when it fell from favor. According to theories advanced by several of the accordionists, two opposing musical forces combined to bring down the instrument's reputation: Myron Floren and the Beatles.

Floren was accordionist on "The Lawrence Welk Show," which ran on television from 1951 to 1982. The show was must-see TV for grandpas, and it's earnest fuddy-duddiness sent younger eyes rolling.

"Floren played polkas, they danced, and the instrument seemed one-dimensional," said Simmons. Playing only polkas on the accordion, she said, is like playing nothing but "Chopsticks" on the piano. The music doesn't show the breadth of the instrument.

And then there were the Beatles.

"Once The Beatles came in, the accordion was out," said Tramontozzi. "In the 1960s, the kids all wanted to play the guitar, the drums, or the bass guitar. They wanted a rock-type sound."

The future of the accordion may rest with Rose Kowalski and people like her. The 26-year-old from Boston took up the instrument about a year ago, and plays with the association's accordion ensemble. "I just like the sound of it," she said. "Maybe it's my Polish heritage." Yes, some people make fun of the accordion, but a fair number of her peers appreciate friends who have something unusual about them, and playing the accordion qualifies.

Kowalski likes that she can change the sound of her instrument by manipulating the internal reeds for different styles of music: calypso, Italian, zydeco. She has heard accordion in eastern European punk.

At the association's most recent meeting, Simmons, 59, a retired psychiatrist, led off the solo performances. The club's theme for the day was Latin rhythm, and Simmons had chosen a Brazilian bossa nova piece called "Carnival," from the soundtrack of the 1959 film "Black Orpheus."

Seated on a bar stool before an audience of about 25 people - mostly players and their spouses - Simmons swayed with the instrument in a gentle dance. One hand played the melody on the keyboard, the other manipulated the panel of 120 buttons to play the accompaniment. She worked the bellows to force air through the reeds inside the instrument. While she played, her lips pursed tightly and she had a look of deep concentration.

The accordion, players say, actually has more in common with the harmonica or the saxophone than the piano. "If you think of it as a wind instrument, it takes on another dimension," said Simmons.

One added dimension is the cost - an accordion is a lot more expensive than its little cousin, the harmonica. A used, entry-level accordion will run around $600, about the price of a very good acoustic guitar. Top-end classical accordions can cost $16,000, says Maciejowski.

Simmons played the accordion as a child, until she was around 13. Around four years ago, she started taking lessons again. "When I picked it back up, it was to get closer to the music of my parents," she said. She practices a lot of Frank Sinatra tunes and jazz standards.

Her mother, Tressie, a banjo player, was in hospice this summer.

Simmons took her accordion to the nursing home every day. "Every morning until she died, she would open her eyes and I would be there. And she would ask me to play."

A little audience would gather outside her mother's room. Simmons played "Misty" and "I'm in the Mood for Love." Her mother liked "Red Sails in the Sunset" and "Moon River."

"That last day I played for her, I have a vivid image: She could just barely lift her hands to clap, but she did," said Simmons. "I played at her funeral and I felt like my mother was listening to me.

"I don't know what salt water does to the bellows of an accordion, and I can't play these songs without crying. But, at some point, I will."