[Fade up on a grainy old photograph of a man in a three-piece suit, holding a cornet. Or a bicycle horn, it's hard to tell.]

Narrator: Skunkbucket LeFunke was born in 1876 and died in 1901. No one who heard him is alive today. The grandchildren of the people who heard him are not alive today. The great-grandchildren of the people who heard him are not alive today. He was never recorded.

Wynton Marsalis: I'll tell you exactly what Skunkbucket LeFunke sounded like. He had this big rippling sound, and he always phrased off the beat, and he slurred his notes. And when the Creole bands were still playing, "De bah de bah ta da tah," he was already playing, "Bo dap da lete do do do bah!" He was just like gumbo, ahead of his time.

Stanley Crouch: When people listened to Skunkbucket LeFunke, what they heard was, "Do do dee bwap da dee dee de da da doop doop dap." And they knew even then how profound that was.

Narrator: It didn't take LeFunke long to advance the art of jazz past its humble beginnings in New Orleans whoredom with the addition of something you've probably never heard of before, the Big Four.

Marsalis: Before the Big Four, jazz drumming sounded like "BOOM chick BOOM chick BOOM chick." But now they had the Big Four, which was so powerful some said it felt like a six. A few visiting musicians even swore they were in an eight.

Crouch: It was smooth and responsive, and there was no knocking and pinging, even on 87 octane!

Narrator: Next came the great Tootsie-Roll Gorton. Gorton was a cornet player, gambler, card shark, pool hustler, pimp, male prostitute, Kelly girl, computer programmer, symphony orchestra tambourine player, brain surgeon and he invented the Internet. He's also famous for the song "Ain't Gonna Give You None of My Tootsie-Roll."

Crouch: Tootsie-Roll is a name that's sexual in nature. Let's just say it's that motion you get when you roll your tootsie, OK? And the people then -- don't kid yourself -- they understood this. And it was very profound.

Marsalis: Tootsie-Roll went "Deep daap da dee dap doop doop bowp bawp." And no one in New Orleans had ever heard that before. In fact, he often put a handkerchief over his head when he sang so no one would steal his stuff.

Narrator: He agreed to make a record, but only if they kept the recording machine turned off.

Crouch: And when you listen to that record today, you hear silence. But he did triumph -- white cats never stole his stuff.

Marsalis: Actually, even though there's nothing on that record, I know what he sounded like, because I am attuned to the highest level of spirituality to which he played. He sounded like this. [Marsalis throws handkerchief over head] "Dweep dep da dee dee bah bah du du bwab be beee."

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