AT LONG LAST, THE BLACK SWAN COMES BACK

Top row: Marilyn Keller, Rick Holzgrafe, Don Stone, & Andy Hall. Bottom: Steve Matthes, Arnt Arntzen, Mark Powers, & Kit Johnson.

THE BLACK SWAN COMES BACK TO PSTJS MAY 17!

Call it a hot jazz scrimmage, a rent-party rumble, a barn-burner of stomps and blues; Black Swan doesn’t just play the gig; they blow the roof off the joint and then move the goalposts for good measure. This is Trad-Jazz in the big leagues: horns up, tempo high, and no one on this roster is here to ride the bench. From the first downbeat, it’s a full-court press into a Charleston frenzy, Lindy Hop feet flying, shimmy in the aisles, and the band already rounding third before you’ve found your seat.

Marilyn Keller (vocal)

Front and center, Marilyn doesn’t just ease into the number. No, she kicks the door open like it’s fourth quarter with the game on the line. One chorus she’s crooning a blues in the backfield, the next, she’s swinging for the fences, sending high notes into the cheap seats. She bends a lyric like a curveball, then drives it home with a wink and a stomp that turns the whole room into a dance floor. If there’s a ball to keep your eye on, she is it, and if you blink, she’s already in the end zone.

Rick Holzgrafe (cornet)

Rick’s cornet comes out hot—no warmup pitches, just straight to a fast break. He drives the tune like a field general, tossing out leads that split the defense and land right on the money. One minute, it’s a sweet ary up top that sticks like a buzzer-beater. He doesn’t just step up to the plate; he builds the ballpark, names the inning, and knocks it clean out.

Don Stone (trombone)

Don doesn’t pussyfoot down the field, on a goal-line rampage. His trombone growls, smears, and stomps through the low end like it’s rolling through the trenches, clearing a path when things get crowded. When the tune hits the rough, he digs in, rolls with the punches, and drags it back into scoring position with a tailgate swagger that says “this game ain’t over yet”!

Andy Hall (piano)

At the piano, Andy’s running a two-handed offense that would make any coach proud, left hand laying down stride like a steady ground game, right hand juking, feinting, and dancing out of left field. It’s ragtime that doesn’t stay put: part playbook, part improvisation drill, all gas. He’ll set you up with a clean assist, then take it coast-to-coast himself before you realize the clock’s already run down.

Steve Matthes (clarinet)

Steve’s clarinet weaves, ducks, and spins like a Lindy Hop couple dodging traffic at full speed. He threads through chord changes like he’s stickhandling past defenders, slipping in runs that feel like they came out of nowhere. Sometimes it’s a soft toss, sometimes it’s a strikeout pitch. Either way, he’s got a deep bench of ideas and isn’t afraid to take the shot when it counts.

Arnt Arntzen (banjo)

Arnt’s banjo is the engine room, the metronome, the guy running wind sprints while everyone else is catching their breath. Chunk-chunk-chunk, no let-up, no mercy, just a relentless full-court press that keeps the whole outfit driving forward. When things threaten to drift, he tightens it up, calls it back into bounds, and pushes the tempo like there’s no tomorrow.

Mark Powers (drums)

On the drum kit, Mark’s got the whole operation under control. He’s part timekeeper, part shot-caller, part chaos coordinator. A rimshot here lands like a slam dunk, a cymbal crash there sends the band into a fast break. He knows when to lay back, when to press, and when to drop the hammer, keeping everyone in the zone while the clock keeps ticking.

Kit Johnson (tuba & ramrod)

And down in the engine room, Kit’s tuba is the anchor, the ballast keeping the whole ship from tipping over. Oom-pah? Sure. But this is big-league oom-pah, a bass line that holds the line like a fourth-and-one stand. As ramrod, he’s also calling the plays offstage, keeping the schedule tight, the band in formation, and the show moving like a well-drilled squad that knows exactly when to call an audible.

Put it all together and you’ve got a lineup that doesn’t just cover the bases, they redraw the field mid-game. Blues that hit like body blows, stomps that land like knockouts, swing that never lets up.

So lace up, step out, and take your shot. But don’t lollygag or you’ll find Black Swan already in full stride, horns blazing, rhythm driving, and the dance floor jumping like it’s game, set, match in the Roaring Twenties.