<\/p>\n
There’s no <\/strong>money in the arts.<\/span><\/span> My old clarinet teacher told me that.\u00a0 He used to eat salami sandwiches while I took lessons. That stunk. Mr. Golub. He bought a building across from his music store; named the building after his daughter, The Joyce Manor; and sold it years later. He said he regretted he didn’t move with his brother to D.C. and make an even bigger killing there in a real boom town.<\/p>\n Golub’s Music Center. He had a neon saxophone on the sign. That, alone, drew the customers.\u00a0 Inside, there were bongos and guitars.<\/p>\n Mr. Golub <\/strong>couldn’t play by ear.<\/span><\/span> That mystified him. Mystifies me \u2014 playing by ear<\/span>.<\/strong><\/span> But I can do it \u2014\u00a0 somewhat.<\/p>\n I’m the klezmer guy. I go to shivas<\/em> and tell the mourners that, and, yeah, they recognize me. They say, “Oh, you’re the klezmer guy.”<\/p>\n Everybody needs to be some kind of “guy”<\/span> (or “gal”). I became the klezmer guy because I put together the longest-lasting Jewish band between Chicago and D.C.\u00a0 Yiddishe Cup.<\/p>\n No mega <\/strong>money in this<\/span> <\/span>but it keeps me from going nuts.<\/p>\n —<\/p>\n