The nine-man band made sweet music that sounded like two marshmallows meeting headon. Its shuffling, danceable rhythm treacled out of a fair piano, a soggy sax, a toneless trumpet, a cooing clarinet and a bass. The feature acts, a good old square dance and the numbers the boys in the band clowned up in trick hats and phony mustaches, were strictly corny. But last week, while many another U.S. nightclub with tonier entertainment was as empty as the inside of a kettledrum, Chicago's old standby, the Blackhawk Restaurant, couldn't find room for all the...
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