Column Chronicles: Bennie Bullhorn obituary, part two

Bennie Bullhorn obituary, part two

Frank Cotolo
February 10, 2022

Bennie Bullhorn, pioneer of abstract jazz figure admired by jazz greats throughout the world, went on a European tour with the Karimsa Brothers, Rack & Pinion Circus, performing jazz using normal objects as instruments.

Willy Wicked Windjar saw Bullhorn play when the circus went to England. "I'd just broken my leg and Bullhorn improvised a melody and riff using my crutches. Even though I couldn't use them to walk for a week, I was in debt to how he inspired me." Windjar, of course, won numerous awards for his "Bottled Syrup" album, in which every track was played with a clarinet dipped in apricot nectar.

In Germany, Bullhorn inspired Lipps Touchay, whose immortal trumpet stuffed with a corn cobb made him famous. In Italy, Bullhorn inspired Angelo D'Accaroni to record standard jazz tunes on a trombone in the shape of a parallelogram. One after another, Bullhorn became the mentor of abstract jazz, while never recording a single thing on his own.

"Inspiration is an honor," wrote jazz critic Heap Hillman, "but not one of those guys ever gave Bullhorn a buck from the millions they made thanks to him. I spit on their graves, even though some are still alive."

Bullhorn never married, though it is thought he had at least three dozen children out of wedlock. He once joked, "I couldn't have that many in wedlock."

A few books were written about Bullhorn's brilliance but "none of the authors gave him a cent of what they made on those books. Ingrates. I curse their reproductive organs," wrote Hillman.

I met Bullhorn at the circus. I was 23 and had no friends. He befriended me, even though I hated music, no less that jazz junk. Bullhorn didn't hold that against me. We shared other things neither of us liked separately, like tossing day-old pancakes off a roof, painting our teeth different colors, Buddhism, Jewish jokes, hayrides, collecting surgical tools, things like that.

Like all men, great or disgraced and all between, Bennie Bullhorn died. He wasn't just dead, he was dead broke and that made me sad. Still, he died happy, and at his open casket ad-hoc funeral I painted the teeth of his cadaver and said goodbye.

Bennie Bullhorn is defunct, but for years to come, his legacy will be rich with jazz musicians stuffing odd objects into their horns, soaking their reeds in sticky goo and the melodious sounds of crutches.

Frank Cotolo can be found hosting the talk and interview programme Cotolo Chronicles. You can send him an e-mail at this address: frank@148.ca.