Ray Sanders, master of the turkey baster, once stopped by the Hill Country.
June 12, 2024–While listening to a recent NPR podcast of Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me, the answer choices for “What was one of the lesser musical acts that performed in the middle of the night on the Jerry Lewis Telethon” were:
- A) the Hell’s Angels singers
- B) Ray Sanders, master of the musical turkey baster
- C) Limp Biscuit
I knew this one!
The answer? B– Ray Sanders, master of the musical turkey baster
How did I know? Because in 2011, I accidentally caught Ray Sanders performing in Fredericksburg. It happened at the eclectic Fredericksburg shop Choo Choo Trolley, a motley collection of Mexican yard art, pots, and knickknacks presided over by the charismatic Col. Bill Kilpatrick. Part of Bill’s schtick for drawing in customers was to offer live music and free beer on a little stage facing Hwy 290. Local fiddler Gale Reddick held forth on weekend nights, and I often joined him to play my stupid original songs. But on this July evening, a new grease-slinger slid into town.
He walked up carrying a violin case. A very, very tiny violin case.
He sized up the musicians on stage, then placed his violin case on the glass-topped table. We all watched as he unlatched the catches and lifted the lid. Inside lay his instrument. Three of them, actually.
Turkey basters. All loaded, tuned, and ready to blow.
Ray Sanders unpacks his instruments of choice–turkey basters.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Ray Sanders. I play the turkey baster.”
[Link to YouTube video of Ray Sanders playing the turkey baster]
That simple statement was our introduction to the world’s foremost authority on playing this uncelebrated kitchen utensil.
Sanders proceeded to play the William Tell Overture, Stars and Stripes Forever (on piccolo baster), and his signature showstopper–Flight of the Bumblebee.
The Bryan, Texas, band teacher first picked up the “instrument” in 2001, while on a mission trip in charge of music and cooking. For a camp talent show, one camper asked if he was going to play the spoons. He looked in the drawer and declared, no, I’m going to play the turkey baster.
You may be wondering, how does one “play” a turkey baster? A baster, for those of you who grew up never baking the Thanksgiving turkey, is a plastic tube with a rubber ball at one end. Like a giant eyedropper, it is used to draw up liquid, which is then squeezed over the carcass. Sanders would fill his with colored water (the better to see the contents), and hold it bulb down while blowing over the tip as one would with a flute. It produced a pleasing sound, and by squeezing the bulb he could adjust the height of the column of water, changing the pitch created.
I can’t explain it any clearer than that. But it worked. Sanders practiced for a year before he “came out of the kitchen” to answer an ad.
“I saw a small blurb in the local newspaper that said, ‘Talent needed.’ I said, hey, that’s me! I have talent.”
So he set up a camera, dressed in a dirty T-shirt, affected a thick accent, and submitted a song. To his surprise, he got a callback.
“They said, we’ve been having a ball watching your tape, and we want you to be on our telethon. I said, OK, I’ll come over.”
To Sanders’ surprise, the telethon was the Jerry Lewis Labor Day MDA Telethon. They flew him out to Los Angeles, where he appeared in the overnight slot. Within three weeks, he had performed at the Telethon, with the Muppets, and on The Late Show with David Letterman in New York.
“In one month I went coast to coast playing a kitchen utensil,” Sanders said, shaking his head as if he still didn’t believe it.
I don’t know what became of this epic talent. His web site no longer exists, and that is the extent of the effort I took to find him. All I know is I am bemused about this brush with celebrity.
I still think of his final words as he packed up his basters and headed to his car. He paused, turned, and said, “I’m not a geek. I’m just a musician.”