Marian McPartland, the “Grande Dame” of jazz piano, has a sense of humor, but surely no one would ever accuse her of impudence. So there’s only one way to explain her scandalous actions during a jazz party at the White House in 1998, at which Ms. McPartland had the audacity to dedicate “Ain’t Misbehavin’” to the nation’s Commander-in-Chief, President Bill Clinton—thereby implying that the President was no stranger to the concept of misbehavior. (Obviously, this was not the case, Ms. McPartland was seized by the spirit of the song’s composer, the Emperor himself, the great Thomas “Fats” Waller.)

For most of the 20th century and for all time, Thomas “Fats” Waller has been a dominating force in the parallel worlds of jazz and pop music. His most important recordings have been available in all media from 78s to downloads (every note he ever recorded was reissued in the decade before and after his centennial). His songs have been endlessly sung by the great singers—famously the 1978 hit Broadway revue Ain’t Misbehavin’—and his song catalogue (at least the ones that he didn’t give away) is probably worth millions more than what it was in his lifetime.

Along with Duke Ellington and Thelonious Monk, Waller has probably inspired more songbook and tribute albums than any other jazz composer. He is still regarded as one of the very greatest pianists ever to work in the jazz idiom, in a class with Earl Hines, Art Tatum, Teddy Wilson, Bud Powell, Nat Cole, Oscar Peterson, Erroll Garner, and Bill Evans. He was as brilliant a singer as he was a piano player, with a unique conception of employing different registers and timbres to suggest different voices—in his own way he could be a one-man vocal quartet. And in the words of Dizzy Gillespie, “This guy could eat up a piano!”

Waller’s spirit and his energy are especially welcome in this age when everyone, sometimes even jazz musicians, tend to take themselves too seriously. Mama Waller’s very own little Fatsy-Watsy was a genuine giant of jazz and jocularity. His only rival for the crown of jazz’s number-one clown prince and comic genius was none other than the legendary Louis Armstrong; the sole pianist of his generation who could approach the fat man in sheer keyboard speed and precision and swing was Art Tatum. Like Armstrong and Dizzy Gillespie, Waller was at once a world-class clown and a true instrumental virtuoso; he was nothing less than a combination of Vladimir Horowitz and Charlie Chaplin. At the same time, as songs like “Black and Blue” show, Waller had a sad and profound side that was just as real, and he was a master of the blues. As Waller himself wrote in 1939, “The life of a musician is not a mess of chidlins, and the deeper you get into it, the tougher it gets.”

A true New Yorker, Thomas Waller was born in Greenwich Village and raised in Harlem. He first learned to play keyboards in the church run by his father, a minister, but mastered the demanding technique known as stride piano with encouragement from his mentors James P. Johnson and Willie “The Lion” Smith. Waller was a professional from the age of 14 and began recording and broadcasting regularly in 1922, and around the same time, also began composing songs like the jazz standard “Squeeze Me.” In 1928, he launched collaboration with the brilliant lyricist Andy Razaf, who later said, “I have written songs with many writers, but I have never found one to equal Fats. Music seemed to flow from his fingertips like water from a fountain.” In 1929, they wrote Hot Chocolates, their most successful show together, which included “What Did I Do to Be So Black and Blue,” “Honeysuckle Rose,” and “Ain’t Misbehavin’.”

Yet the pianist’s glory years were the 1930s, when he recorded, broadcast, and toured constantly with the marvelous small band billed as “Fats Waller and his Rhythm.” One of the first African-American musicians to headline in England and Europe, Waller also appeared in three Hollywood feature films, and was an internationally-recognized icon at the height of the swing era. Unfortunately, success for Waller was too much of a good thing – he was caught up in an endless cycle of drinking and partying. As sideman Garvin Bushell put it, “Fats was a big baby. He never grew up.” As such, he completely avoided all traits of adult responsibility, much to the frustration of his wives, children, managers, and employers.

Waller died on a train passing through Kansas City in December 1943, on his way back from Los Angeles to New York, much too young at 39. “I’ve seen Fats Waller enter a place, and all the people in the joint would rave,” says Louis Armstrong, “and you could see a gladness in their faces. Honest. Fats wouldn’t be in the place a hot minute before he would have everybody holding their side from laughter. He kills me.”