The Move to New York City

Year of the Shed (2012)

2011-12-29T18:07:00.000-08:00

After a few tumultuous years in a row, it is time for me to settle down and hit the shed. I am thankful to have worked with so many creative artists over the years; it’s time to close the practice room door and focus on my own art.

Practice is the Path. The Path is Practice.

The seven precepts:

1) mindfulness and sincerity

2) every day

3) (no electronics)

4) Shugyo

5) read

6) log

7) private

The most important aspect of quality practice is to be fully aware of both your effort and the subsequent results. Mindfulness is a skill that is difficult to attain and even harder to sustain, but critical to growth in any artistic field. Sincerity of purpose is easier to achieve, but is often fleeting and superficial. We should not practice for fame or popular acceptance; we should strive to practice for its own sake. Practice is the Path. Enjoy the challenges and the frustrations; embrace the suffering.

Another extremely difficult aspect of practice is to complete a session every day, not most days, but EVERY DAY. The future is a myth, there is no tomorrow. really.

I will be incorporating a new aspect to my practice this coming year, no electronics. As the pilot says, “if it has an on/off switch, please make sure it is in the off position.” Not sleep mode or silent. Power down. Addictive distractions have been avoided since the beginning of time. I will try to learn from the wisdom of our ancestors.

Shugyo, (literal definition: “daily practice”) has become a word I associate with my own creative exercises for the trumpet. I find it helpful to practice self generated etudes, exercises and compositions in order to develop an individual voice as an artist. Often I will continue practicing live composition (improvisation) along similar lines as these unique written exercises. (see more on Shugyo)

As an educated artist, I continue to read books related to my field. This is extremely valuable to my creative work; knowledge is food for the muse. And yes, they have to be physical items, you know… books. (review guideline number 3)

Back as an undergraduate music major, when I first held myself truly accountable for my own practice, I began to record my work in a practice log. For me, it’s very simple. I write down the date, instrument, start and end time (always rounded down to the 5 minute mark). Some people write detailed goals and lists, it doesn’t really matter, whatever is helpful. This act becomes a physical representation of your effort. Even when you may be on a virtual plateau of artistic growth, the log represents a tangible effort, something that can keep your ship moving through the calm winds.

Finally, keep it to yourself. OK, OK, it's ironic on an open blog post… but it’s true. Your practice is personal. No one really cares how or what you do, as long as your results are aesthetically pleasing. Practice is Religion. Have faith in your practice.

Remember, the secret to longevity in a music career is to do it for a long time.

Party's Over/Begun

2011-11-14T15:37:00.000-08:00

Back in the spring of 2001, the Jaztronauts invited me to play a three-week gig with them in Zurich, CH. The quartet consisted of sax, piano, bass and drums, but because of this specific contract, they needed a fifth member, so I got the call. The club was a little room in the historic “old town” part of the city called the Casa Bar. They usually hosted bands for at least a week at a time, with local groups covering the off nights. We stayed in a suite of apartments on the second floor of the building, directly above the club. The daily schedule consisted of waking up sometime between 11:00am and 1:00pm, walking down the street for some espresso, heading out to stroll along the boardwalk, smoke, take a nap in the sun, practice, eat dinner, shower and change for the gig. Did you know when you buy a bratwurst by the sea in Zurich you get meat in one hand and your bread (roll) in another? We played for 5 ½ hours, 6 nights a week. There were 5 sets a night, 6 on the weekends. Man, that third set was weird, a real twilight zone. After the gig, we’d walk down to this German restaurant in the red light district and eat and drink until about 4:00am. I remember thinking about halfway through the third week, when the cigar smoke curled up past my head, “This is what I want to do with my life.” Jazz.

After the contract was over, the band traveled to Italy while I stayed in Zurich. I felt like exploring. So I sent my suitcase on with the guys (they had the car) and I kept my horn and headphones, that’s about it. I figured I could survive for a couple of days.

I hopped a train out of town to a friend’s house, who I had met a week or so earlier, and hung out with him and his girlfriend from South Africa that afternoon. His place was high up on the hill overlooking the sea, a gorgeous view. He mentioned a party back in town that night and asked if I wanted to tag along. Seemed like a great idea.

The Party

So we headed off to the party that night in the “bad” part of town, not that I knew any difference. It did look much newer than the neighborhood that I was used to, perhaps it was only 100 years old?!! We headed into a row house that was six or seven stories high, up the steps, all the way to the top floor. It was a comfortable place, not extravagant, but nice and artsy. There were about 12 people there from all over the world. I was the only American. It was a fun hang, lots of eating, drinking and talking. The usual.

Around 1:30am, we opened the trap door in the ceiling and went up into the attic. It was a big, open room, with hardwood floors, carpets and rugs, and a round window on the front wall overlooking the city. There were all kinds of pillows thrown about, and the incense seemed to already be burning somehow. Only 8 people had lasted this long…

“Late in a good party, there is a subtle change in the air. Some people feel it as a time to say goodbye. Some people have used up their energy and bow out, unable to continue. A select few remain. The mood is tangible; you can almost taste it. The senses heighten, intimate connections are made, life glows… This moment, when the party seems over, is when it has just begun.”

The party had moved to another level as well. There was a tray of cocaine (I abstained), various other stimulants, and smoke so dense you could barely see. Then came the music. There was this amazing musician playing something that looked like a mandolin as well as other people playing guitars, plus a variety of world percussion, and of course we all were singing. I grabbed a hand drum and joined right in. We were all singing and laughing. A man and woman disappeared around the curtain and two beautiful Brazilian women began to make out with each other. I sat in the center of this wonderful world and sang until morning.

The next day I found my way to a park bench on the boardwalk, put on my headphones, threw in a Maria Schneider’s Allegresse, and slept. The police didn’t bother me. That night I went to a small jazz club called the Garage. Another friend of mine had opened it a year or so earlier. A few blurry hours later, I ended up passing out on the floor sometime during the second set. I keep telling myself it was from exhaustion. I remember looking up to a circle of surprised and concern faces staring down at me, a strange experience to say the least. A few guys from the band and a few audience members helped me up into a chair. The woman behind the bar was kind enough to get me some orange juice. The cats guided me outside to the train and I somehow found my way to the airport and crashed on another bench. The following morning, the guys in the band showed up right on time and probably thought I was a wreck. Nothing could be further than the truth.

When I arrived back in Minneapolis, I rented a new apartment downtown, cut back heavily on my “freelance” playing, got together my own band, began laying the groundwork for my first CD, “Party’s Over/Begun.”

Ten years ago today, November 14, 2001… we started recording.

The New Record Deal

2011-03-16T22:06:00.000-07:00

"Have University positions become the new major label record deal for today's jazz musician? When I moved to New York in the late '80s/early '90s, [we] were either looking to play in the band of someone famous or to get signed by a major record label. Today, since neither is an option, university positions seem to be the "new hustle," as one of my colleagues likes to put it." - Sam Newsome, quoted from Downbeat, June 2010. He is on faculty at Long Island University Brooklyn Campus.

The Past

The legendary “Record Deal” is an endangered species. It was the golden gateway to success throughout the history of jazz. An artist would get signed by a label, go into a recording studio, capture lightning in a bottle, and walk out with a paycheck. More importantly, this was the only way to get your music distributed to record stores across the country, and eventually into the hands of eager listeners. The label would hopefully make money because of the artist’s work and in turn provide a certain amount of support for live performances, in order to sell more records. This circle of life evolved slowly, from 78’s through the Compact Disc, it was the law of the land. This was the Jazz Dream.

The Record Deal provided musicians a needed supplementary income to assist with their performance career. All great jazz musicians spent time in the studio, in order to walk out with a check. Touring was the heart of every career, but the income and exposure from the label’s marketing department, provided the skeletal support and the public image needed for their livelihood.

As jazz aged and became more socially acceptable, it was introduced into academia. At this time, a musician either primarily taught jazz as a career or they would primarily perform jazz as a career. Not to diminish in any way the greatness of their mission, these early jazz educators were heroes in their own right. They had to create entire curricula, essentially constructing the entire industry of jazz education. They had to bravely defend the artform from the highbrow attacks of traditional classical methodologists deeply fortified within the Ivory Tower. They have succeeded, the point has been proven. We need jazz education.

There is still a false assumption that this concept of teach vs. play is relevant, even when dancing along the lines of a “teacher who plays” or a “player who teaches”. When a young musician thinks, “I’m going to make it as a player,” what does that really mean these days? Or, “I’m going to be a teacher,” and teach WHAT exactly?

Times are changing. Remember, this year’s Grammy Award for “Best New Artist” went to a Jazz Professor at Berklee College of Music.

The Present

The old industry chain of: Record Deal - Label - Distributor - Record Store - Consumer, is dead and gone. Big labels are toast. Distributors, well… (who?? ‘nuff said). I gotta say though, that I do miss the record stores. I loved flipping through the vinyl and the cassettes looking for new music. The record store was one of the two types of stores I could ever enjoy browsing as a consumer, the other being a good book store.

In addition to the death of the Record Deal and the disappearance of all that it brought to the table for jazz musicians, touring has come to a standstill. The heart of our artform has some serious cholesterol issues. Gas is above $3 a gallon, as compared to less than a dollar during most of jazz’s history. Jazz clubs can’t afford to stay open, let along pay the band. And sadly, because of the natural passing of time, the jazz greats, who could lead a band that would always draw a crowd, have all but vanished from the scene. Marquee acts are hard to find these days. The Big Label marketing machine has disappeared and the next generation of jazz greats is struggling (along with the rest of the music industry) to get their music noticed in the sea of information called the Internet. What was once a trickle of free music has become a flood.

The current industry path for music is: Home (or cheap) Recording, upload directly to the web, to be downloaded immediately by the consumer. Remember feeling guilty when copying a buddy’s record onto cassette tape? Well that’s NOTHING compared to free downloading. Check this site out, YouTube Mp3. C’mon, most kids don’t even own a stereo.

So with touring at a crawl and record income eradicated by free downloads, how does a performing jazz musician stay afloat? Education. Look closely at the touring musicians’ calendars, an unusually high percentage of appearances are within some sort of academic environment. Clinics, festivals and guest appearances at high schools and universities are some of the most lucrative performance venues these days. And if they are lucky, they may even get an adjunct teaching gig in their hometown. This is not an accident. It is however, a secret. Performers still want to be considered Jazz Musicians, not Jazz Educators. Because of our twisted vision of marketing (which is still based on the old Record Label hierarchy), everyone feels threatened. Since there is still money in jazz education, there is a feeling of envy and resentment towards teachers from players who are struggling. There is also an odd feeling of insecurity from teachers who choose not to perform (for whatever reason) and they feel threatened by the image of the touring professional. When the going gets tough, everyone gets jealous.

It’s time for these negative dis-associations to stop. If you teach you CAN play. If you perform, you ARE qualified to teach. It is NOT one or the other, it’s BOTH.

Perhaps the coveted university gig has indeed become the New Record Deal. Here’s a short (and incomplete) list of performing jazz trumpeters and their respective “labels”:

Dave Ballou - Towson University
Scotty Barnhart - Florida State University
Terence Blanchard - Thelonious Monk Institute, Loyola University
Cecil Bridgewater - Manhattan School of Music
Etienne Charles - Michigan State University
Orbert Davis - University of Illinois at Chicago
Jon Faddis - Purchase College SUNY
Brad Goode - University of Colorado at Boulder
Eddie Henderson - Julliard School
Sean Jones - Duquesne University
Brian Lynch - NYU Steinhardt
Ron Miles - Metropolitan State College of Denver
Alex Norris - Peabody Institute, Johns Hopkins University
Tiger Okoshi - Berklee College of Music
Jason Palmer - Berklee College of Music
Jim Rotondi - Kunstuniversität Graz
Terell Stafford - Temple University
Ray Vega - University of Vermont
Cuong Vu - University of Washington
Scott Wendholt - Manhattan School of Music
Joseph Wilder - Julliard School

Donald Byrd, one of my early heroes on the horn, has taught music at Rutgers University, the Hampton Institute, New York University, Howard University, Queens College, Oberlin College, Cornell University and Delaware State University. (source: Wikipedia)

For every jazz trumpeter with a teaching gig, there are at least 10 who are looking, in hopes of finding a good fit. I know some heavy cats in NYC (and elsewhere) who are actively applying for University jobs. It’s a difficult market. They not only are competing with the multitude of recent jazz school graduates, but they themselves may need to go back to school to pursue a graduate degree, just to satisfy the university’s strict employment policies. This is our current reality.

Of course teaching at a university is much more than getting signed to a record label. Don’t let my analogy here belie my deep commitment to Jazz Education.

Now to finally bring my blog up to date…

Last August (2010) I accepted a Visiting Assistant Professor / Director of Jazz Studies position, at Jacksonville State University in Alabama. This appointment has kept me traveling back and forth between Alabama and New York (and Minnesota). The school’s former Jazz Director and Trumpet Professor, Chip Crotts, built a fantastic Jazz Ensemble program during his tenure here and it’s been an honor to re-establish the program as one of the state’s premier jazz destinations. I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to work with these talented student musicians here at JSU.

The Future

I have just (March 2011) accepted a tenure track position as Director of Jazz Studies back east at Christopher Newport University in Virginia, to begin August 15, 2011. I’m truly very excited to join their esteemed faculty and to develop a program specifically addressing the needs of a modern jazz musician.

A bit of advice to those musicians who are just graduating college and are planning to pursue a career in jazz: if you are hoping to get a college teaching gig to supplement your performance career, you are now competing with top-level professional jazz musicians. Not too long ago, those same musicians weren’t looking for University jobs, they didn’t need to…

The upside of this future reality is the global exportation of jazz musicians. The young jazz musicians of the world are already coming to the United States to study jazz, and our Jazz Artists (performers/teachers) are increasingly relocating to other countries to pursue their modern jazz careers. This trend will not only increase, it will become the United States’ primary artistic export to the world.

Teaching Philosophy

2011-02-01T06:39:00.000-08:00

[August 2010] There are two distinct and separate elements needed for successful instruction: Knowledge and Inspiration. The teacher must develop and retain a deep knowledge of the subject matter that far exceeds the student’s current grasp. This is the simple truth upon which all instruction is based. The teacher must also provide inspiration for the student to pursue that knowledge. The old saying, “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink” may be true, but students are not horses. The inspiration to learn and improve is far more valuable than an encyclopedic vault of facts. There is a false assumption that all university students are highly motivated and somehow self-inspired, this is not the case. It is critical for university professors to lead by example and to inspire students through actions, not just words. This principle is the foundation of my own teaching; I will not ask anything of a student that I myself do not put into action. I am passionate about my chosen path and I wish for my students to find that passion for themselves.

As an active performer, educator, historian, composer and arranger, I understand the fluidity of this art form called jazz. The music is in a constant state of flux, evolving and growing due to new cultural influences and technological innovations. Jazz is alive and well and it is equally important for students to understand its history as well as its potential future. There are more musicians around the world playing jazz today than at any other point in the history of the genre. My role as a teacher is to convey this understanding to my students, and to rouse within them the confidence to value their own contributions to the future of jazz.

Lastly, students must understand the reasons behind any action. In essence, they must ask, “Why?” They must understand beyond mindless parroting of practiced dogma. The essence of students’ further development as musicians and valuable members of our society relies upon their ability to apply the given instruction to their individual paths. Without understanding the philosophical underpinnings of the various methods, there can be no hope for independent and creative thought. This is the reason I teach. I want others to possess the mental tools for self-discovery. I am a people person, social yet thoughtful. I am artistically and theoretically challenged by my students, and seek to inspire them to surpass their wildest dreams through critical thought and dedicated action.

- Dr. Kelly Rossum

Practicing in Airports

2011-02-01T06:33:00.000-08:00

[July 2010] I’m just old enough to remember looking forward to flying on an airplane. Back then, businessmen were dressed in suits, meals were complimentary, and children (like myself) received free toys and/or packs of playing cards! Unlike today’s flights where people wear pajamas and flip flops, the tray tables look like the bottom of a cotton candy machine, and the microwave cheeseburgers cost $6.00. As a young musician, I used to think flying was one of the more glamorous aspects of being a pro, something only the successful artists could enjoy. Ahhh, champagne all around. I keep waiting for a flight attendant to say, “Congratulations, you’ve made it! Come sit in first class and enjoy the ride.” Any day now this is going to happen to me, I can tell. It feels like it was years ago when I slept through my first take-off. Surly that must have been some sort of benchmark? Even before that, when I began to order Tonic Water, knowing that you may actually get an entire can instead of a tiny cup, I thought I was a seasoned pro and deserving of some special wink or nod. NOPE. Still sitting in coach, crammed in like a sardine.

Flying is similar in many ways to gambling, but the odds are always stacked against you. When gambling at casinos, you know that on any given night, you may win or lose, but in the long run things tend to stay about even. When you gamble and win, there’s this rush of excitement plus the obvious financial gain, which could range in the thousands of dollars. When you win, it can really feel good which could unfortunately lead to a serious addiction. When you lose, money and time vanish, like they were never there. Air travel is similar, but nowhere near as fun. When you win, the best that you can hope for is to voluntarily skip your oversold flight, receive a $300 travel voucher, board a different airplane, sit in the exit row, have a smooth quiet flight, and only briefly chat with the flight attendants at the end of the flight as you taxi to the gate. Even in this idyllic situation, you’re still sitting in a truly uncomfortable seat, (which was designed for the average person. C’mon, how many of us are exactly the average person? It’s like guaranteeing the seats will be equally uncomfortable for everyone), drinking some seriously lame coffee, and wondering who actually buys that crap in the Skymall magazine. But when things go bad and you lose, watch out. (Take this flight for example, I’m writing on one of my many trips back to NYC and there’s a kid behind me screaming and kicking, a big guy to the left of me finishing some sort of seafood salad sandwich, a woman on my right with too much perfume, the person in front of me must be having nightmares, and we’re still on the ground, sitting in the parking lot they call the Atlanta airport, a good hour and a half after the original departure time, Gotta love it). I’m not going to ramble on too long; everyone has horror stories. I’ve been at Airports with only one gate all the way up to major international hubs. I’ve been on planes ranging from small propeller planes to those big overseas jumbo jets. I’ve been in the air from 40 minutes to 18+ hours… pure torture.

Anyway, one thing that I have come to understand is how to maintain a routine of practicing the trumpet at airports. The key is to play whenever the opportunity arises. I always keep a practice mute in my case, so if there’s a delay, I hit some long tones. Right there at the gate. Sometimes, if I have much longer layover, I head down to an empty gate and actually shed some scales. On the rare occasion that I actually arrive at the airport early, I’ll hang out on the curb and practice. People don’t seem overly concerned with a musician practicing when they’re late for their own flight.

There’s no real secret, playing in the airport is actually really easy. It’s like the Nike ad: Just Do It.

Band Camp

2011-02-01T06:23:00.000-08:00

[May 2010] My upstairs neighbors finally convinced me to consider moving to another apartment at the end of our current lease. The 4:00am dumbbell drops just aren’t conducive to a good night’s sleep, and no matter how many times I talk to them, or how many times the super and/or the owners remind them, the noise continues. My only choice is to consider moving, again. Now I look around my apartment with the knowledge of how hard all of this stuff was to move the last time; I need to reduce the load. We’ll probably be moving into an even smaller place hopefully on the TOP floor of a building, so the first thing on my list is to finish archiving that box of old cassettes. (cue flashback music to ‘80s)

Band Camp

This is the time for kids to be out on their own for the first time, no parents. The teachers and dorm assistants are usually pretty cool, at least in the minds of the kids. Did you ever go? It was a grand time; you could eat whatever you wanted for breakfast, drink as many sodas as possible, even pour syrup on your hamburger if you’d like. We’d hang around friends making music all day, no English classes, no boring papers to write and no social studies teacher on your case! Camp was only the best parts of school.

The days are comprised of music classes, theory, instrumental sectionals, rehearsals, listening, and practice time. It is the dream vacation for any serious music geek.

But the best parts of camp are the girls. Whoops, I mean the Social Activities. This is really why kids should attend music camp. Face it, young musicians are rarely the most popular people in the social hierarchy of a high school. At music camp, the playing field is relatively level from a social status perspective. Looking at the larger picture, if you want to succeed in life, even musicians must learn how to relate to their peers, including those of the opposite sex. This is how humans are supposed to make friends, not by pressing a button on your computer! Ugh.

43^rd Annual Wayne State Music Camp

My band camp as a youth was in Nebraska. It was a week long, overnight camp on the campus of Wayne State College. We stayed in the school’s dorms, girls on one end and boys on the other with a lobby/lounge in the middle. We ate in their cafeterias and had classes and performances in their music building.

So this blue cassette tape on my desk is a recording of the 1987 final concert. I was in the top jazz band along with Woody Witt (tenor sax) and Ryan Kisor (trumpet). It was the summer after my junior year in high school. This was actually the third year I had attended the camp as a student. The previous year, my best friend (a Tuba player named Greg Swallow) and I had essentially ruled the camp, or at least we did in our minds. That’s when I picked up an odd habit of saying “Good Morning” as a greeting…

Listening to the tape of the concert, you can hear the burning intensity in Woody’s solo as well as his presence in the sax section. Woody and I both went to high school in Omaha, Nebraska. We would always run into each other at the only jam session in town, down at a place called Kilgore’s. Chuck Kilgore (trumpeter) owned this place with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling and an old upright in the corner. Each Tuesday night at around 11:00pm jazz musicians would gather there to play. Even at that age, Woody had this intensity to his persona, he already had the heart and mind of a monster musician. I have been extremely lucky to call him my friend though the years.

There was another standout musician on the recording, who the %*^# is that trumpet player?? Ryan. Playing second trumpet, occasionally up an octave. He had just finished his 8^th grade year and was entering high school after that summer. Damn. Since we were both trumpet players, I was able to really grasp how good he was. It was like I was a mere mortal, capable, yes, but I could feel the wind blow by as this super hero of the horn flew past me with his talent. Yet at the same time, I was the senior, so I may have been the only guy at the entire camp to give this little genius some good-natured crap. I had been aware of his skills for a few years, since the first time I heard him play. He was going into 6^th grade (1985 Wayne State summer camp) and his dad, who was a teacher at the camp, had him perform on the faculty concert. He proceeded to nail Arban’s Carnival of Venice, a virtuosic cornet solo. This was my first experience of seeing someone younger than myself in a completely different league; at that age, although he was only a couple of years younger, it seemed like I was a decade older. I still feel that way when I listen to him play. Ryan is the most inspirational jazz trumpet player alive today. Yes, he really is.

Back to the concert. I was playing lead trumpet for that week’s final performance. The last song the director was pointing to the soloists and he skipped over my solo. My heart froze, that was my chance to shine, and it was gone. After the concert I was crushed emotionally because of missing that opportunity to play a solo. But it’s funny how life really works. Later that night, at the dance, all the students elected me “king” of the camp. Now that was a rush. Socially on top of the world, yet knowing I had just been schooled by a freshman. Life Lesson anyone?

If you don’t know the music of Woody Witt and Ryan Kisor, I humbly suggest you check them out.

43^rd Shell Lake Jazz Camp

I am fortunate to still be associated with a band camp these days; it’s the Shell Lake Jazz Camp in Shell Lake Wisconsin. Here’s a small bit of trivia, it is the longest consecutively running jazz camp in the country! Major props to the crew.

Shell Lake is the band camp of legend for today’s students. Full of raucous musical exploration accompanied by mild social anxiety, plus all of the candy and soda from the local small town grocery, truly everything a growing student needs. Joking aside, these camps are crucial to the development of young musicians across the United States. It’s beyond learning about music, it’s about developing as a independent thinker among a society of peers. The collaboration required for a musical performance cuts across all age appropriate social barriers of race, age and sex. If only adults were required to attend music camp for a week each summer, what a world this would be!

Plus, you never know who may be playing next to you at the final concert.

[July 2010] Post Camp note

Shell Lake was a blast again this year, great faculty, great students and beautiful weather! I’m hoping to see everyone back again for next year’s hang.

As the director of one of the ensembles, I realized the best way to order the soloists during the concert was to point at them right before each solo. Yes, you guessed it, I accidentally skipped a student’s solo on the final concert. I made sure to apologize to him immediately afterwards, although he didn’t seem as emotionally damaged as I was. Isn’t it strange how the universe works?!?

John Denver Epiphany

2010-12-13T15:15:00.001-08:00

[April 2010] I was enjoying a rare evening at home with my wife, listening to some records (yes – Records). We were going through some sides that haven’t been spun in ages. A touch of jazz, a bit of disco, some “easy listening”, and then we ran across a record that I needed to spin again and again and again. It was John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High. Fantastic! He was a brilliant tunesmith and that song Prisoners is a work of Art. So here I am living in an entirely Dominican neighborhood of Manhattan listening to John Denver… Huh!?! What’s going on here?

A great thing about New York is that it’s a veritable smorgasbord of jazz music. It’s all here. You can go out on any night and find the specific style that you really dig. Bebop, Big Band, Vocal, Latin Jazz, Free Jazz, Swing, Post-Bop, Lounge Jazz, Experimental, Student Ensembles, Electric, etc., the list goes on and on. All of the music that I love to play on my horn.

When pausing to reflect, I am aware of a dramatic difference between the music that IS happening and the music that was taught to me during my previous academic existence. The Academic musical cannon contains “correct” music that you “should” listen to, especially as a trumpeter. There is a rich history of classical (and jazz) music that is Right. The repertoire contains famous orchestral works and excellent solo opportunities, it traverses the beauty of the baroque all the way to the angst of contemporary atonal composers, plus it can offer the opportunity to perform music written by the worlds greatest composers. I really do love this music, which is good considering the years of study and performance that I have invested both as a student and as a teacher. Yet this laborious study is not significantly represented within my current world of sound.

As an Artist, there is a constant need to self analyze, to reflect upon one’s creative output. I carefully consider the music that I would like to present, especially as a leader. I realize that life is too short to invest in a path that is not true. But something seems unsettling. There’s a hole in my head. What’s missing? Why don’t I feel complete when combining these two huge influences? Classical and jazz?

The epiphany:

I like John Denver’s music.

Here are some additional artists and bands that I’m almost embarrassed to like: Lionel Richie, Barry Manilow, Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton, The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zepplin, Iron Maiden, ZZ Top, Cinderella, Guns & Roses, Living Color, Primus, Rage Against the Machine, Prince, Michael Jackson, Madonna, Sting, and the list goes on and on. They’re not highbrow or serious enough for classical musicians; and they’re not cool or obscure enough for jazz musicians. But there it is, dig it.

My complete musical package includes everything I’ve ever internalized through repetitive listening, including the Good, Bad and Ugly. I need to accept and deal with these three sides of my musical personality: Classical, Jazz AND Rock. I’m sure Rock and Pop has influenced my musical subconscious as much as jazz and classical, perhaps even more. Now I can play what needs to be played.

Axiom of Jazz: Choice lies not with what you export to the audience, but with what you import into your subconscious through diligent study.

If you aspire to be an improvising musician, you should play what needs to be played according to your own set of ears. Do NOT play what you think someone else thinks should be played; they hired you, or paid to listen to you, wanting to hear what you think should be played. Truly improvised creative musical ideas are based upon your musical subconscious, primarily built through what you choose to listen to over the course of your lifetime. This is what comprises your “voice” as a jazz artist. Believe in your own voice - I finally do.

Modern Range Expectations

2010-12-01T14:36:00.000-08:00

[April 2010] This post addresses the range requirements of a modern professional jazz trumpeter, so it may be a little too specific for most people. You know… high notes and stuff…

Professional jazz trumpet players are expected to play higher today than ever before in the history of the instrument. Perhaps the closest historical comparison would be during the baroque era, or as Ed Tarr would say, “the golden age of the trumpet.” The picture above is a great example of a typical working trumpet section (L-R: Kelly Rossum, Seneca Black, Andy Gravish, Alex Norris).

Tarr claims that the golden age of the natural trumpet lies between 1600-1750 (can’t argue with that). The virtuosity required to perform even the simplest baroque trumpet music is often beyond the modern trumpeter’s abilities. To perform baroque melodies based upon stepwise motion and other standard melodic shapes, the trumpeter must stay in the upper most register of the instrument for the duration of the piece. The composers of the baroque era almost always wrote for individual performers, whom they knew personally, in order to assure the level of proficiency needed to execute their parts. These performers would occasionally take apprentices, to share the secrets of playing the trumpet. Only then would the master’s knowledge and experience, forged through years of heat (have You ever tried to play these things?!?!) be passed along to the next generation. Guilds of the time were very strict in allowing only highly trained trumpeters into the ranks of the artist class.

There are three primary factors contributing to today’s situation: 1) Jazz, 2) Technology, and 3) Population.

Louis Armstrong was a beast on the trumpet. Period. His influence went far beyond the virtuosic skills he so brilliantly incorporated into his improvisations; his persona influenced an entire nation’s cultural contribution to the world. The explosion of jazz across the globe (with Louis leading the charge) renewed a sense of wonder for the upper register of the trumpet. Trust me, the 19^th Century wasn’t so happening for high notes. Jazz also championed the individual skills of the performer, much more so than the previous focus upon the composer. This focus on individuality led to unusual techniques and upper register specialists. The first generation of individual jazz artists not only greatly influenced subsequent generations; they left unspoken technical challenges evidenced within their recordings.

The discovery and popularization of recorded music cannot be underestimated when discussing technical aspects of musical production on acoustic instruments (i.e. high notes). We do not have any aural records of Johann Altenburg or Goetfried Reiche; we truly do not know what they sounded like. With recorded sound, we can continue to study and learn decades past the actual performance. Modern technology also influences the production of the instruments themselves. Although a trumpet has primarily stayed the same over hundreds of years (buzz your lips in one end - sound comes out the other), the sheer availability of quality instruments has changed so radically over the past 100 years we forget to consider its global effect. And of course, we are now in the Age of Information, essentially connected to the combined consciousness of the human race through this little glowing screen in front of us. We can see and hear thousands of trumpeters, through decades of recorded media, at any moment. The next generation of trumpeters will be a sight to behold indeed! Technology has changed the world and we have yet to understand its long-term effects.

In this modern era, more people are playing the trumpet throughout the world, simply because there are more People. If we were to keep the same approximate percentage of virtuosic playing, as say the Golden Age of the Baroque Trumpet, and then factored in today’s Global Population, that would give us thousands more outstanding trumpeters today. This will only continue.

The results of these three contributing factors are most evident in today’s Big Band trumpeters.

The big bands of the 30’s and 40’s were so numerous; there were literally hundreds of working trumpeters. Out of that number, only a relatively small percent of them had the chops and training to play lead. Even the big name outfits only had one or two cats covering lead, the others really couldn’t (or wouldn’t) deal with the range requirements of the charts. I’m not knocking any of these players, far be it, the situation of today has just changed, that’s all.

The GRP big band from 1992 is an example of a band comprised of “stars”; now it’s commonplace for name big bands to be comprised entirely of absolute monsters, including the trumpet sections. The soloists are often lead players, and the lead players will often improvise. This could arguably be due to the increase in skill amongst the professional ranks in conjunction with the current number of working big bands.

The common division of roles still found in academia is simply not true in the professional arena. Most college bands are reading music that was actually written for college jazz ensembles. This of course creates a vicious circle of low expectations for big band trumpeters. The need isn’t there to develop a section of skilled individuals, because the charts are expressly written for their “assigned skills” (i.e. 2^nd = solo, 1^st = lead, 3^rd & 4^th = section). High school bands are even worse. Everyone SHOULD solo and everyone SHOULD play some lead. Before you think I don’t understand the difficulties of academia, consider the expectations of a professional Symphonic Orchestra musician. Nobody would ever expect a young professional to successfully audition for an orchestra after only focusing on the fourth trumpet part throughout their entire academic studies! Why is this considered OK for a Jazz musician?? In NYC, every chair can play every other chair on 97% of the charts. Plus, solos are often determined by the leader; when they point at you, blow!

When I listen to modern jazz trumpeters, especially when they are playing within the high-energy environment of a large ensemble, I realize the overall level of individual skill has risen dramatically during the past 50 years. They are not only heavy weight soloists, but are also outstanding section players (tone, pitch, blend), sight-readers, and can hold down a lead book if needed. Some of the names you may recognize are: Greg Gisbert, Sean Jones, Ryan Kisor, Wynton Marsalis, Alex Norris, Terell Stafford, Jim Seeley, and there are many, many more out there burning it up.

I believe we are entering a new golden age of the jazz trumpet. Dig it!

Full Time Art

2010-03-10T17:50:00.001-08:00

Maybe its my slightly workaholic disposition, or my academic upbringings, either way, I thrive on being busy. The first week or so of February was my first taste of full time work, happening approximately 4 months after moving to New York City. Each day, I was running from rehearsal to rehearsal (literally running), performing shows at night, and practicing whenever and wherever I could. The most satisfying aspect of this week was that these performances involved bringing several artists' specific visions to life.

Suspended Cirque’s Speak Easy show, February 5th and 6th

Suspended Cirque is a troupe of dedicated performers, specializing in aerial acrobatics. The members are: Joshua Dean, Ben Franklin, Michelle Dortignac, Kristin Olness and Angela Jones. I had worked with a couple of aerialists in Minneapolis, so I thought I would know what to expect… nope. WOW, what a show! Speak Easy transformed the Galapagos art space into a 1947 gin joint and featured the vocal talents of Victoria Cave. Only in New York can a show come together in a venue like this. Galapagos is a club in the DUMBO neighborhood of Brooklyn, which features a 1600 square foot lake in front of the stage, intimate booth seating, a balcony and two full bars. It was the perfect setting for this spectacle of the senses.

Along with Victoria Cave (featured vocalist), the rest of the band was comprised of top-notch pros: Peter Kiesewalter (Band leader, piano), Ugonna Okegwo (bass), Eric Halverson (drums) and myself (trumpet). Chris Olness (trombone) was kind enough to join us as well, along with cast members Josh (trombone) and Kristin (saxophone) sitting in for a couple of tunes.

Here’s a review of the show, Speak Easy at Galapagos Art Space. The show was such a success, the troupe is back with Swinging’ at Jack’s in April!

Jeremy Walker’s Bootet, February 7th

Jeremy Walker is a pianist and a good friend of mine from Minneapolis, whose compositions reflect a strong Ellington/Monk vibe. He’s been honing his tunes for years with his Jazz Is Now! ensemble(s), and the music is viciously swinging and truly rewarding to play. He brought his book out to New York to launch his new group, the Bootet, down at Fat Cat in the village. The timing of the show was both a blessing and a curse; it was Super Bowl Sunday. The downside is that the usual NYU crowd that hangs out there was gone. The upside is that the usual NYU crown that hangs out there was gone - no pool playing! The musicians could hear each other and the audience was able to really embrace his compositions without the wall of sound usually heard down there.

A long time ago, I read an interview with a jazz musician who mentioned how he was in awe of all of the other musicians on stage; that’s how I felt playing this gig. Joining Jeremy Walker (composer, pianist) was: Ted Nash (saxophone), Vincent Gardner (trombone), Michael O’Brien (bass), Matt Wilson (drums) and myself (trumpet).

The music soared and sizzled, what a pleasure to play with these guys! Hopefully there will be more performances with this band after Jeremy moves to New York this summer. Check out these board recordings from the show: So Long New York, Play, Gringo Tango and This Is All Of Us.

Jomama Jones’ Lone Star CD release, February 9th

Way back in October, shortly after getting to town, I played some horn parts on the new CD project by Daniel Alexander Jones. The music was/is fantastic! I’m a big fan of Sly and the Family Stone as well as other ‘70s soul/funk bands, so this groove was a great fit for my ear. Daniel is an amazing talent; he channels the soul diva Jomama Jones, who by the way is a sweetheart as well, for the entirety of this project. The CD is entitled Lone Star. After the recording session, Daniel was gracious enough to invite me to perform with the band at the CD release show at Joe’s Pub.

The release show featured Jomama Jones and the Sweet Peaches (think Gladys Knight and the Pips). So in addition to Jomama Jones (vocalist), the Peaches were: Grisha Coleman (vocalist), Sonja Perryman (vocalist) and Helga Davis (vocalist). The band consisted of Bobby Halvorson (MD, drums) who flew in from L.A., Ted Cruz (keyboard), Nick Blossom (guitar), Eric Kim (bass) and myself (trumpet).

The show was sold out, weeks in advance, so hopefully this show will get an encore performance soon. Here are videos of Down, Down, Down and Lone Star recorded live at the show.

A final added bonus to this great week of music, is that by the end of the month, I actually hit my budget mark. The post-holiday months are historically slow for freelance work, so I feel extraordinarily lucky to finish my first February in the black. March, on the other hand…

Trumpet Bushido

2010-03-04T10:12:00.000-08:00

[WARNING: Some of this post gets extremely technical and is primarily written for trumpet players. This is the obligatory musical equipment post.]

“The word bushido, the way of the warrior, thus requires some explanation. Bushi was the original term for the upper-class warrior. The Chinese ideogram used for this word has two component parts whose joint meaning has been variously interpreted. In any case, it seems to be a designation, in the Chinese cultural mode, of an upper class that ruled by knowledge (learning) and military leadership. Both qualities were considered essential to the “superior man” in China as well as Japan. Bushi made its first appearance in Japan in the Shoku Nihongi (completed 797) in the following passage: “Again, the August Personage [emperor] said, ‘Literary men and warriors are they whom the nation values.’” The term bushido as a formalized definition of the proper modes of warrior character and behavior – sometimes defined as “loyalty, self-control, and equanimity” – came into use in the late sixteenth century just before the beginning of the Tokugawa peace era.

The term samurai – which later, and in our time, became the name almost exclusively used for man-at-arms – was first employed in the tenth century and designated the lower-class professional soldier employed by the government, but not the higher-level mounted warriors described in the Heike Monogatari. Gradually, over the centuries, however, as the social and political climate and the nature of the armed forces changed, the word samurai almost totally displaced bushi. By the Tokugawa era (1600-1867) – that of the uncontested rule of the shogun (supreme military commander) and his warrior cohorts and allies – “samurai” included every man allowed to publicly wear two swords, with the possible exception of those super-samurai, the daimyo.” - Zen & The Way of the Sword, Winston L. King, p.125

The three primary weapons of the Samurai are the sword, the bow, and the musket. They serve as tools of destruction and as symbols of a specific lifestyle and ethos. I rely on my equipment, just as the Samurai warrior relied on his weapons, when I engage in musical combat.

Bach Bb Trumpet Stradivarious Model 37, Medium Large bore, silver plated, no. 211368 (ca. 1981)

This instrument was/is my first real trumpet; not including my actual first horn, a Conn student cornet. It came into my possession when I was still an elementary school student. I will never forget opening the case and seeing the most beautiful object in the world, a brand new, silver-plated Bach trumpet. The silver plating was so pure and bright, it reflected light like a mirror. Over the years, the horn has gone through countless modifications and alterations. In college, when tweaking your gear was truly in vogue, I replaced the original leadpipe with a Blackburn 20 leadpipe (1991). Later, I stripped the plating down to the raw brass and replaced the Bach S braces (between the bell and the leadpipe) with Conn straight braces, allowing greater ring in the bell because of an increased distance to the first brace post. Among many other modifications, I also built, with the help of Andrew Naumann, a unique curved tuning slide specifically for this horn.

Today I use this instrument in such ensembles as: electric bands, big bands, rock bands, latin groups, and some free improvisation settings. It’s my bar horn, my “frankenhorn”, best suited for unknown battle situations (literally, i.e. drunks fighting). After almost 30 years of "authentic battle damage" (Jack Black, Kung Fu Panda), it remains a truly great sounding instrument. I would compare it, in application, to the bow of the samauri. I often wield this horn in sections with other warriors, to hail a volley of arrows upon the enemy.

“A second requisite of the early samurai was that he be an archer of at least some skill. In those days of the cavalry’s dashing headlong toward enemy forces with the hoped-for impact of a battering ram, the warrior preceded his physical arrival at the enemy’s front-lines by a shower of arrows, released as his self-guiding horse galloped forward. The purpose of this, of course, was to breach the enemy lines so that the attackers could then gallop on through and wreak havoc on the disorganized enemy. Thus the mounted warrior carried a limited supply of arrows in a covered quiver slung over his back, from which they could be pulled one at a time as he rode. Shooting from horseback was, of course, no easy feat, especially when at full gallop, and required special training:

Three-target shooting (yabusame) involved launching the horse at full gallop in a proper direction, while releasing arrows directed at three targets, each constructed of a three-inch square of cardboard set on a pole along the horse’s path. Bamboo-hat target shooting (kasagake) was performed within the confines of a course known as the arrow way (yado), properly fenced and with a shelf at its end from which the bamboo hats were hung. The rider was required to launch his steed at full gallop and begin to hit those hats, first from a distance (tokasagake) and then at close range (kokasake).” – Ibid., p. 63

Blackburn Bb Trumpet, Large bore, Ambronze Bell 213120S, 20 leadpipe, 60-10R tuning slide, standard braces, brass finish, serial no. 253 (1993)

I remember receiving Cliff’s shop horn in the mail. Along with the valve section, there were a few different leadpipes, a couple of bells, and a couple of different shaped tuning slides. Upstairs in a practice room at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln (my undergraduate alma mater), I varied the components until I found the right combination for my tastes. I walked down a floor to the studio of Dennis Schneider, who was a Yamaha player (at the time). When Denny played the horn, he switched out the 20 leadpipe for the 19 leadpipe, and then immediately called Cliff wanting to purchase THAT horn! Cliff said that it wasn’t for sale, and he’d make one just like it for him; but he eventually gave in and Denny bought the shop horn. A few months later, I had my Blackburn as well. It had a raw brass finish for the first year, and then for its birthday, I sent it back to be gold plated (1994).

This horn was my main instrument all the way through graduate studies and well into the early stages of my professional career. It can play anything. Now I use it for classical music and some occasional studio work that demands a traditional, characteristic trumpet sound. To my ear, the caramel sound or this trumpet is an aural representation of the elegant curved sword of the samurai. I honed my trumpet bushido for 16 years on this instrument.

“In such an environment, good swordsmen were always needed; and since good swordsmen can be produced only by good training, swordsmanship instructors were in great demand by all hands – clan leaders, daimyo, shogun, and even the emperor’s court at times. Young warriors-to-be began to familiarize themselves with swords from an early age; At five years of age, they began wearing wooden swords; a little later, junior-size steel blades; and finally, full size swords in their early teens. By his middle to late teens, the young samurai was considered ready for combat. And between battles, any warrior worth his rice continually honed his warrior skills, particularly his swordsmanship, to a fine edge. In this situation, a kind of freewheeling competitive “system” grew up in which prospective employers vied for famous duels and battle-tested veterans to instruct their swordsmen, and ambitious swordsmen sought for positions as instructors. This loosely jointed apparatus gradually developed into the establishment of swordsmanship schools (ryu) throughout the country, each with its head instructor and its special method.” Ibid., p. 95

Naumann Natural Trumpet, Heavyweight, Amado water key, additional modern leadpipe, additional Bb crook, silver plated, serial no. DBG-214 (1995)

Naumann Natural Trumpet, Standardweight Package (German), Custom Wrap (which includes tassles), Amado Water Key, Gold plated, serial no. DGB-511 (1999)

At the University of North Texas, I was fortunate to be involved in one of the first natural trumpet ensembles led by Dr. Leonard Candelaria (Dr. C). One of my fellow graduate students, Andrew Naumann, had started building these instruments out of his Denton apartment. Andy and I were both avid fishermen and I remember him raiding the bait shops for sinkers, in order to get the lead he needed to bend the crooks. Don’t worry, most of the soldiering and metal work was actually done out on his balcony by the grill!

I have never preferred the piccolo for performing baroque trumpet music, the sound just isn’t right. The natural trumpets, even if they are far more demanding to play, have the most pure and beautiful trumpet sound imaginable. If I was forced to only perform with one sound, it would be that of a rich, full natural trumpet tone. The horn requires exceptional skill and endurance, especially when considering the control needed to execute accurate upper register lip slurs throughout the duration of a concert. It represents the essence of trumpet playing; it is the trumpet player’s trumpet. It is akin to the warrior shout of the samurai.

“One incidental dueling device, which was sometimes used, was the warrior shout as the attacker rushed forward to deliver his devastating stroke. Perhaps this was a throwback to the time of the charging horseman who loudly challenged his foes, partly out of sheer battle excitement, partly (he hoped) to strike terror into the opponent. In the classic dueling format, it was employed by the famous swordsman Miyamoto Musashi against his most famous antagonist, Ganryu (Sasaki Kojiro) at the moment of launching his fatal stroke – according to one account at least. No doubt it might be daunting, or at least distracting, when given full-throatedly at the climactic moment. In fact, it became a frequently used technique known as Kiai, practiced by some samurai along with swordsmanship. It was based on the concept of projecting one’s personal field of force against one’s antagonist in order to psychically disable him. It later became a fighting strategem in itself.” – Ibid., p. 65

Monette Bb Trumpet, Prana 1, Wide-radius, Gold plated, serial no. 2121 (2007)

I was in a unique situation of receiving an inheritance tagged specifically for purchase of a new musical instrument, so I traveled out to Portland for a shop visit. Dave makes some incredible horns and I wanted to play all of the different models. After deciding to focus on my jazz career, I was looking for a very specific sound in a new horn. I started with the extra lightweight lead instruments, gradually worked my way heavier, and ended with Ron Miles’ Samadhi that happened to be in the showroom that day. The P1 was a perfect balance of the newer lightweight models and his well-known heavy designs. It has the capability of blending with a saxophone unlike most other trumpets I’ve played, and the valves are like butter. I feel well armed for jazz combat.

Does this horn fill the role of the samurai’s musket? Is there some sort of magic or voodoo behind the metal? Will this new evolution of design affect the samurai as much as the musket could have? Will the samurai ban this new instrument only to be defeated by it in the future? Time will tell.

“Mircea Eliade has noted in various of his writings that metallurgy in its several forms in many different prehistorical and tribal societies had a mythical aura that made the smith a potent and sometimes awesome figure. He was mythologically akin to both shaman and the alchemist, those inhibitors of two worlds (the ordinary and the supernatural, super-sensible one) who inspired men with both hope and fear. The alchemist dreamed of a process by which the substances of the earth, especially the base metals, could be brought to their maturity and perfection and transmuted into pure gold by the “chemistry” of both physical and magical means. The shaman in his trances traveled to the supernatural world of spirits, forces, and influences at great peril, and he then returned to give his messages of counsel, warning, and healing to ordinary men.

Smiths were men of fire, often associated with demonic forces, their craft revealed to them by supernatural powers; they were sometimes feared and hated, at other times honored and respected. Sometimes they formed craft brotherhoods to be entered only by invitation. Their occupation, like the shaman’s, was hazardous because it involved contacts with two levels of reality: the demonic “underworld” of metals and fire, and the ordinary world of their craft productions. Their relations with shamans in various cultures have varied, sometimes hostile, sometimes cooperative and friendly; Eliade notes their relationship thus:

The “secrets of metallurgy” are reminiscent of the professional secrets transmitted among shamans by initiation; in both cases we have a magical technique that is esoteric. That is why the smith’s profession is usually hereditary, like the shaman’s. . . . Here it suffices. . . . to bring out the fact that metallurgical magic, by the “power over fire” that it involved, assimilated a number of shamanic exploits. In the mythology of smiths we find many themes and motifs borrowed from the mythologies of shamans and sorcerers in general.” – Ibid., p. 71

I have been, and continue to be, grateful to work with Cliff Blackburn and Tina Erickson; Andrew Naumann and his crew at Schilke; as well as David Monette and Dean Comely. My association and ongoing personal relationship(s) with these trumpet smiths, is a continued source of enjoyment and a highlight of my career. These artists are our modern sword builders.

Although these trumpets are my primary weapons in battle, the professional trumpeter must employ other instruments on a semi-regular basis.

“Some of these “unorthodox” techniques and their instruments were as follows: the iron-ribbed war fan, used by the bushi as well as others; the staff; the jitte, or side-pronged iron bar; the chain, sometimes by itself, sometimes on the back of a kind of sickle blade, used to neutralize the sword; two blocks of wood connected by a leather thong; a long-stemmed reinforced pipe, almost like a dull sword or bar of iron.” – Ibid., p. 65

Couesnon Flugelhorn, 109 bell, (no apparent serial no.)

Yamaha A/Bb Piccolo Trumpet, Custom YTR9820, short bell, 3 valved, silver plated, serial no. 301018

Antoine Courtois Cornet, Arban Model, shepard’s crook bell, serial no. 72509

Switching back and forth between all of the above mention horns can be difficult; yet when one switches, seppuku is not demanded. To perform on all of these instruments, specific, conscious adjustments are required since each has different peak efficiency points and resonant qualities. Only now, after spending years performing on each one of my Bb trumpets (exclusively, without change), may I move comfortably between the three. I would never attempt to wield them without keeping their individual peculiarities in mind. It is possible, once these variables have been internalized, to become immersed in a horn’s personality and ascend beyond the mechanics of the instrument into a Zen mindset, even while mastering multiple weapons.

The trumpet mouthpiece is a crucial element of each instrument, just as the handle and wrap are to the sword. I have never been one to switch mouthpieces frequently, preferring to solve challenges through practice; yet my choices have, and will continue, to slowly evolve.

Evolution of mouthpieces for the long sword:

Conn 7C (cornet, summer 1980)
Bach 7C (the switch to trumpet, 1981)
Bach 5B (1988)
Bach 3B (1995)
Bach 3B w/ drilled out throat (1996)
Monette B15M (STC1 weight, 1999)
Monette Prana B15M S3 (STC1 weight, 2006)
Monette Prana B15M S3 (P1 weight, 2007)

Evolution of lead mouthpieces for the short sword (the one used for seppuku!):

Shew 1.5 (high school, Bobby turned me on to it)
Schilke 6a4a (college marching band, I heard that Chase played this model)
Warburton 5SV cup w/ 7* back (undergraduate big band)
DiOrio 5E w/ GG back (graduate school and early professional work)
Monette L2 (first Monette lead piece)
Monette Prana B15L (switched at the same time as the new Prana B15M S3)

I have been playing the trumpet for 30 years. Every instrument I own, I treasure and maintain with love and respect. A sword will last for hundreds of years, as will a trumpet if they are both treated well and stored carefully. All of my instruments are practiced with reverence, in hopes that they will not fail me in battle, yet it is the warrior’s bujutsu that ultimately determines the outcome of the day.

"Thus Takuan (1573-1645, a well-known Zen monk) taught that no swordsman should “locate” (consciously center) his mind – that is, attention-cneter – at any specific point in his own body, not even in the body-central belly (hara). Fop example, one man said to him: “I place my mind just below my navel and do not let it wander. Thus I am able to change according to the actions of my opponent.” But Takuan countered, “If you consider putting your mind below your navel and not letting it wander, your mind will be taken buy the mind that thinks of this plan. You will have no ability to move ahead and will be exceptionally unfree.”

Where, then, shall he “put his mind,” the swordsman asked Takuan. He replied that if it is “put” anywhere at all in the body, then it becomes a prisoner of that part of the body. The proper method is not to put it anywhere, “and then it will go to all parts of your body, and extend throughout its entirety.” Then, and only then, will each body part perform its function properly – that is, naturally and instinctively. Therefore, Takuan counseled, “Because this is so, leave aside all thoughts and discriminations, throw the mind away from the entire body, do not stop it here and there, and when id does visit these various places, it will realize its function and act without error.”

As Takuan sees it, this is the swordsman’s Zen-inspired discipline. Zen, as a spiritual discipline of all life, is consistently opposed to rigidity, whether it manifests itself in sacrosanct doctrines, beliefs, rituals, or any tightly knit intellectual, attitudinal, institutional, or physical behavioral pattern. In any form, this is a non-Buddha-mind of spiritual fixity and death. And this applies across the board to all facets of living: fixity is death; fluidity is life. This is what Zen means by No-Mind, says Takuan:

“The No-Mind is the same as the Right-Mind. It neither congeals nor fixes itself in one place. . . . The No-Mind is placed nowhere. . . . When this No-Mind has been well developed, the mind does not stop with one thing nor does it lack any one thing. It is like water overflowing and exists within itself. [And most appropriately for the swordsman,] It appears appropriately when facing a time of need [i.e., when suddenly in combat]." -Ibid., p.168

The Other New York

2010-01-22T08:32:00.000-08:00

I was talking with the guys on the gig this past weekend down at Fat Cat, and they were asking how things were going for me here in New York. Having no “Other” vision than the current reality of “New York” and all that that implies in my head, I told him things are fine; really good in fact.

I’ve learned that things weren’t always this way.

First off, and seemingly the most obvious difference between reality and, well, the “Other New York” is our Economy. The unemployment rate in New York City is around 10%, we’re clearly in the midst of a National Recession, and basically every major music market has been drastically affected. Really.

After speaking casually with people out here, there seems to be fewer private parties, especially those big, high paying ones. You know, the ones with shrimp at the buffet (and musicians could eat), fancy dresses, VIPs and valet parking? Well, when those parties don’t happen and the musicians aren’t getting the big calls, they can still play their regular gigs. This is not a musical slam, oh no, these regular gigs employ some of the finest musicians on the planet! All of the house bands, Broadway shows, orchestras, operas, club dates, experimental ensembles, touring groups and soloists are still cranking out music on a daily basis.

It’s just that the subs don’t get as many calls.

Broadway pits have reduced in size as well compared to the “Other New York.” This seems to be reflected in people’s excitement over large, full pit revival productions. Everybody loves a full sound, especially on these classic productions. There are a few shows running, however, who use the barest minimum of live musicians possible. Simulated big band music can be heard, but still… simulated big band music can be heard. Hmm. Those who do have the few great seats in the pit, are using their seatbelts.

It seems that the Latin band scene is gone or has diminished. The “Other New York” must have been heaven! This place is fantastic. Right here, right now.

Another sign of the times is that the Record companies are cutting way back. Recording sessions have been in decline for years. This seems to affect this city more than many other music towns, especially within the jazz circles. I personally feel it’s a massive after effect from major labels shutting down their jazz rosters, essentially stopping the flow of corporate money into the scene. The race to sign new talent is a long gone thing of the past. Being from Minneapolis, (a major jazz scene without a major label) I recognize the feeling of optimism among artists coupled with the creative desire to put out music, no matter what. Smaller labels recognize this as well; some are going “boutique”, or, charging artists to release an album. Thankfully there are some high profile, strong willed and creative independent artists and labels still here, as always.

An inevitable side effect of concentrated excellence, is that the young and dedicated stream here from all over the planet. This next generation of musicians, of which no major label will hear, would blow people’s minds. All of them are conversant in modern marketing methods and have the musical chops to back up their savvy. I was in a conversation with a fantastic, nationally recognized figure in the jazz world regarding booking shows around town, mentioning that I was competing for gigs with 19 year olds and he said, “We all are.” While financially frustrating, the potential for musical creativity and collaborative genius is unparalleled anywhere on the planet. This is jazz. New York hosts a global effort pursuing a musical dream of communication through improvisation.

The night I was subbing at Birdland with the Chico O’Farrill Latin Jazz Orchestra, one of the band members said to me on break, “You picked a hell of a time to move to New York.” At the time, I think he was comparing the status quo to the “Other New York”, but in my opinion, I couldn’t have picked a better time to come here. The unyielding optimism I’ve seen in New York’s jazz artists is a wonder in itself. It’s a tangible thing; you can actually feel it. Without fail, each show that I’ve played has put me in a fantastic mood, and has challenged me to my core. It’s like plugging into a pure source of ki. There’ve been amazing performances, amazing music and consistently solid crowds. All of the musicians share a single purpose,

They’re all here to play.

And they’re really nice. (Seriously, these people are really, really nice human beings!)

So far, I’ve been honored to perform with these groups: The Joshua Shneider Easy Bake Orchestra, Chico O’Farril’s Afro-Cuban Jazz Orchestra, George Gee Big Band, Michael O’Brien Greater Than Five, Anti-Social Music, Lou Caputo’s Little Big Band, Howard Williams Big Band, a special guest appearance with my good friends The New Standards (out of Minneapolis) and a new recording project by Daniel Alexander Jones.

Plus I’ve played and/or caught up with more people than I can keep track of, but here’s a short list: (in no particular order) David Gibson, Frank Kimbrough, Alexander Pope Norris, Geoff Vidal, Jon Davis, Joe Burgstaller, Pablo Masis, Michael O’Brien, Max Seigel, Shawn Edmonds, David Smith, Mark Miller, Stephanie Richards, Welf Dorr, Eric Halvorson, Joshua Shneider, Tom Bergeron, Lori Ann Taylor, Russ Nolan, Frank Greene, Mike Engstrom, John Walsh, Avram Fefer, Nate Wooley, Nick Videen, Paul Francis, John Guari, John Raymond, Mark Gross, Christopher Rinaman, Greg Diamond, Omar Abdulkarim, Wilmer Wise, Matthew McDonald, Thomas Heflin, Jeff Hirshfield, Matthew Jodrell, Ted Nash, Kirk Knuffke, Peter Evans, Laurie Frink, Howard Johnson, David Berkman, Roger Lent, Jason Wiseman, Dave Douglas, Billy Fox, Chris DiMeglio, Ty Citerman, Daniel Kelly, Chris Carroll, Daniel Alexander Jones, Sam Burtis, Rudy Albin Petschauer, Benjamin Healy, Evan Mazunik, Andy Gravish, John Eckert, Jim Seeley, Charles Blass, Eli Asher, Arturo O’Farrill, Bill Crow, Justin Mullens, Noah Bless, Frank Basile, Curtis Fowlkes, and many more… (give them a listen, great stuff)

And I can’t even begin to list the wonderful musicians that I’ve heard play live. Wow, what a town. Maybe someday, this will be my “Other New York”.

Gig From Hell

2009-12-20T06:43:00.000-08:00

This is the best "gig-from-hell" story I have ever heard; and it happened to me. The story was big news for a while, I even remember reading about it in a regional dance band magazine. It’s been about 20 years since this gig and some of small details may be off, so if you happen to know any of the key dramatic figures, go ahead and ask them about the trip.

The Reflections Orchestra: 11-piece dance band based out of Lincoln, NE, owned and operated by five real life brothers whose father also led a dance band.

Mike: Lead Vocal and MC (brother no.1)

Dave: Drummer (brother no.2)

Bob: Bass (brother no.3)

John: Saxophone (brother no.4)

(The fifth brother, a pianist, had quit the band by this time, so he missed the fun)

Kristy: Vocals

Kelly: Trumpet

Bob: Trumpet

Dave: Sax

Trombone: Trombone (I can’t remember who was playing bone that night)

Freelance Kansas sax player: Sax (freelance player, small part in the production)

Freelance Kansas piano player: Piano (same situation as sax player above)

The set-up happened countless times before; arrive at a meeting spot, the tour bus picks up the band, we drive many hours to the gig, play, and drive back home, easy, right? The band was based out of Lincoln, NE and this particular gig was in or around Topeka, KS.

The temperature that day was a record high in Lincoln. It was probably upper 90's or more in the sun. I arrived at the truck stop, a.k.a. designated meeting place, 5 minutes before the scheduled departure time. Well, the bus didn't show for another hour, evidently the meeting time had been moved back. Of course, I didn't receive that message so I spent the time sitting on the hood of my ’72 light blue Duster enjoying (!?!) the weather.

Finally the bus arrives. This deluxe touring vehicle is a Greyhound from the 60's; it was a tank! It was wider than today's bus size regulations permit and the rear half had been transformed into a series of bunk beds and storage closets. Actually, it was a pretty sweet ride. As we get underway, we break out the deck of cards and sit at the table enjoying the air-conditioning and our usual game of poker.

Less than 30 minutes into the drive, the air-conditioning goes out. Aaargh. Ok, we're grown ups, we can handle this. So we propped the windows open with shoes and duct tape. After a couple of playing cards get sucked out the window, we abandoned the game. Nothing to do now but to sit and sweat.

Our first stop was in Nebraska City, straight south of Lincoln, to pick up one of the additional musicians for the night. We pull into the Wendy's parking lot and happily dive for the air-conditioned interior of the restaurant. Refreshed and well Frostied™, we head back out to the buss only to find that the keys were locked inside. No problem. I volunteer to scale the outside of the bus and climb in through the driver's open window. Once that was accomplished, I had to hit some makeshift electronic switch to open the main door; it was kind of like hot-wiring the lock. As we pulled out of the parking lot, we all felt lucky that we avoided a catastrophe.

The next hour or so was fairly uneventful, until the fateful moment happened. I was sitting near the bunks when I noticed quite a commotion amongst the brothers who owned the band. They were all up front by the driver, craning their necks to try and see behind the bus. I think someone was yelling something about the engine. We immediately (and fortunately) pulled off at a rest stop and streamed out of the bus. Trailing behind the bus, all the way back up the exit ramp, was a big black cloud of smoke. The engine had completely blown.

As us hired guns sat at a picnic bench, two of the brothers ran around the rest stop looking for rides into the nearest town. I remember this retired couple out walking their dog, turn and walk quickly back to their camper, then locking the doors when they saw these two scraggly musicians coming. Eventually, a trucker was kind enough to give them a lift… somewhere.

We had no idea what to do, or rather, what the owners of the band were going to do, so we just made the best of it an hung out in the shade of a few trees at this quaint little rest stop in northern Kansas. We assumed the gig would be scrapped and we'd just head home by car or something.

Much later, here comes this U-Haul truck blasting its horn, heading straight towards us. It's the guys! “Ok team, let's load up.” Being young and easily ordered around, I quickly helped to load ALL of our gear (amps, PA's, music boxes, fronts, light racks, power cables, drums and other instruments) into the back of this U-Haul. After we had everything in the truck it hit us – where do we sit? Yep, you guessed it. Up in the cab, one of the brothers drove, the female singer sat in the middle and the older trumpet player sat shotgun. The rest of us had to climb in the back of this thing and sit ON TOP of all of our gear!

Our first concern, while in the back of this U-Haul truck, was the amount of carbon monoxide that would get sucked into the compartment from the exhaust, so we shut the door tightly and headed out to the gig. Remember, the temperature was really, really hot and after loading all of that gear, we were some hot and sweaty dudes. Of course a couple of the guys lit up their cigs and pretty soon the compartment was full of sweat/steam/smoke… yuck. I only held out for about 25 minutes before banging on the cab to get the driver to pull over. We all laid down on the equipment cases and faked unconsciousness. When the driver opened the back door, smoke and sweat billowed out and he saw us all “dead” – of course his first response was to laugh. We immediately hit the next gas station and decided to tie the door open with a bent coat hanger, leaving a foot and a half gap, and just risk the exhaust.

We eventually pulled into the performance venue, which was some big dance hall, and one of the guys ran in to tell the story about the bus, and to explain to the crowd why the band arrived 70 minutes after the scheduled start time. After a lightning set-up, we hit, and the crowd gave us a wild round of applause, very impressed that we made it at all. After the first set, the singer was out in the audience talking with people and someone spilled a drink on her new dress, ruining it completely.

This is when somebody said, "Well, it can't get any worse," little did they know…

One thing that can always make a bad situation worse is alcohol. Up until now, the band has had only a few drinks during the gig, but since we were staring at a five plus hour ride home in the back of a U-Haul truck, we had to find something to drink. Thankfully, one of the brothers managed to convince the owner of the hall to get us a case of off-sale beer. He must have felt sorry for us.

What a party. Here we are, downing beers in the back of a U-Haul, telling dirty jokes and being generally rowdy. Kristy joined us in the back of the truck for some mixed company banter. Mike, the front man and singer, was a family man who seemed to be the most affected by the alcohol. The rest of us took it in stride.

About an hour into the trip, we needed a pit stop. The truck pulls over at a typical mid-western gas station, you know, the kind with rows of pumps out front between the street and the store. We parked the truck on the outside of the pumps, past a couple of cars and a pickup truck with a boat in tow. This is important because they all sat between the U-Haul and the entrance to the shop.

After acting like a bunch of obnoxious dufi (plural for dufus), we headed back out across the lane of pumps to the truck, now fully loaded with candy bars and bad burritos. Mike, who had too much to drink, jumped over the tongue of the boat trailer and landed badly. His ankle exploded to the size of a softball within seconds. Ouch.

So the next stop on this little tour was at the local hospital.

Although a couple of guys managed to get escorted out of the hospital for being overly rowdy, the party was beginning to wind down. Perhaps a good 50 minutes later, Mike comes hobbling out of the hospital on crutches. He had a severely sprained ankle.

Problem. What do you do with someone in this condition? Well, our only choice was to clear out a spot for him on the floor of the U-Haul, so he could lie flat on his back and keep his leg slightly up for the duration of the trip. We were pulling out of the parking lot and Mike's brother John was dinking around by the open door, inside of the back of the U-Haul. Speed Bump. The large back door, which is currently open about a foot and a half and still wired to keep it from opening all of the way, bounced hard and slams on John's foot. "@^%&!,” says John. So he heads up to the cab of the truck, biting his tongue because of the pain. Off we go.

I decided to stay awake since there was a guy laying on his back about five inches from an open door, flying along a highway at 85 miles per hour. I held the band's boom box stereo on my shoulder and turned up the tunes.

Later, not really sure how long we were on the road, I look out the back and see that we've turned into another parking lot. I figured it was another gas station. Since everyone else was asleep, I head out by myself to grab a soda.

Well, it was another HOSPITAL! I don't know where the hell we were, but it was a completely different hospital. I guess John couldn't take it anymore and had to check in. So a couple of us decided to indulge in some fine crap waiting room pseudo coffee flavored water. This time, the hospital was much faster, go figure; it's in the middle of the night. John had actually broken a bone on the arch of his foot. Yup, more crutches.

So here we are, two guys lying on their backs, on the floor of a rented U-Haul, with a pile of crutches, and the door wired open as we speed down a Nebraska highway in the middle of the night. Again, I was the guy to stay awake and watch over this bizarre scene.

Once we hit Nebraska City, I bailed and insisted on sitting up in the cab for the final leg of the trip back to Lincoln.

The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful. But at least we got paid. The entire fiasco paid $80 per man!!!!

And YES, the above story is 100% true. Really.

Definition of Jazz

2009-12-02T08:50:00.000-08:00

“Jazz is a global art form; which, primarily through improvisation, combines both the traditional and popular music of multiple cultures within a modern social context.”

- Kelly Rossum, 12:05am, October 1, 2007

Shugyo

2009-11-04T07:48:00.001-08:00

What a view! This is what I see as I practice each day. This photograph was taken in late October from Fort Tryon Park overlooking the Hudson River. Some days are just amazingly beautiful up here on the hill. I can see the George Washington Bridge to my left and just barely see the Harlem River connecting off to my right. This is the perfect place to play, partially because I’m directly over the Henry Hudson Parkway (HWY 9A), which means that I will never bother anyone with my obnoxious trumpet calisthenics.

The first priority in realizing the life (my life) of a jazz musician is to maintain and ensure the highest level of personal performance, in other words: Be Ready. At any moment, you may be asked to play for or with musicians who can radically change the course of your career. Every time you place the horn to your lips, you are essentially “auditioning” for your next gig. There’s a phrase, “You’re only as good as your last note.” There’s some truth in that.

My situation in Minneapolis was luxurious in that I could see on my calendar when the Big Gigs were scheduled, and could prepare accordingly. I would keep my skills at a decent level through teaching and practicing in the office, and then would crank up the practice intensity during the few weeks before a show.

In New York, every day must focus primarily on the horn. Currently, I have no teaching commitments, so I have the opportunity to really explore the trumpet again. I’ve gone back to a system of intense practice called, “Shugyo.” This is something that I started in November of 2002 after reading “Blowing Zen” by Ray Brooks. It is a well-written, highly enjoyable story about discovering the shakuhachi, its music, and its deeper cultural significance. It is among the top three or four most influential books dealing with music that I’ve come across, probably because it isn’t really about music at all.

“Shugyo, which means “practice,” comes from the word shugendo, or the “ascetic path to realization,” and describes spiritual exercise or training. It can take any form, just as long as deeply focused discipline is present and ki energy is developed.
My chosen form of practice was to hike up Mount Takao each day, and, once at the top, play shakuhachi for six hours, then hike back down again. My aspirations weren’t so lofty as to become an “awakened one” but simply to increase my physical strength, vastly improve my musical skills, develop ki, and learn more about discipline.” – page 163, “Blowing Zen”, Ray Brooks

In 2002, I set a goal of playing three hours a night after my teaching was done. I would play from 9:00pm until 12:00 Midnight, hoping to make a straight 60 day stretch (with the exception of performance conflicts). During this time, I was writing specific exercises for the trumpet based on Nicolas Slonimsky’s “Thesaurus of Scales and Melodic Patterns.” These original exercises became the exclusive musical content of my sessions. The shugyu lasted slightly over a month, yet in this time I managed to unearth more personal resources than I ever expected.

Over the years, my definition of shugyo has changed to consist of focused practice EVERY DAY, not just a 60 day block. The time frame is now more flexible along with the content of each session. I still play from the original shugyo material as often as possible, however my musical focus can shift depending on my needs.

Here in New York, I have adopted one important aspect of Ray Brook’s original shugyo; I am playing outside. So far, the weather has been relatively mild (compared to Minnesota!). There have been a couple of cold rainy days, and on those days I am reminded of the book and smile.

“Shit! What am I doing up here? It’s absolutely ludicrous standing here. Sixty days! And me supposed to be a man of no goals! Why would anyone in his right mind spend his time standing on the side of a mountain in the pissing rain? I could have stayed at home and done my sixty days at my own temple. Prat! It’s bloody embarrassing. I’m freezing, my legs are aching, and my back is killing me. I bet I’m the only fool on this mountain today.” – page 164, “Blowing Zen”, Ray Brooks

I’ve found that the act of preparation goes a long way in executing a successful practice session. As I walk up the 80 stairs of the Alpine Garden and then wind my way up and around the path to the Cloisters, I can clear my mind of the buzzing and begin to think about why I’m up here. The park is an oasis of nature in an urban landscape. There are a couple of cats that live in the park and a black squirrel that I’ve named Charlie. When I reach the overlook, I sit on one of the benches and lay my case to my right side. Take out the horn. Breath, focus, breath, open your eyes, go.

“A painter seats himself before his pupils. He examines his brush and slowly makes it ready for use, carefully rubs ink, straightens the long strip of paper that lies before him on the mat, and finally, after lapsing for a while into profound concentration, in which he sits like one inviolable, he produces with rapid, absolutely sure strokes a picture which, capable of no further correction and needing none, serves the class as a model.
A flower master begins the lesson by cautiously untying the bast which holds together the flowers and sprays of blossom, and laying it to one side carefully rolled up. Then he inspects the sprays one by one, picks out the best after repeated examination, cautiously bends them into the form which exactly corresponds with the role thay are to play, and finally places them together in an exquisite vase. The completed picture looks just as if the Master had guessed what Nature had glimpsed in dark dreams” – pages 41 and 42, “Zen in the Art of Archery”, Eugen Herrigel

These routines are not mindless. Every motion both creates and requires focused concentration. If you can achieve this state BEFORE you begin a task, the quality of your subsequent actions, in this case a practice session, increases tenfold.

I’ve been climbing these steps since September. Now it’s become a welcome part of my life. Practice is a daily challenge with no immediate reward and no applause.

“Shakuhachi is not really an instrument that one can take up casually just for entertainment. It takes infinite patience and great presence of mind to learn it. If played with passion and without motive, it can become much more than just a musical instrument. For me, it’s been a valuable tool that has helped to unfold the deeper, more important questions of life. It’s been a fine teacher, and many times the harshest of mirrors,” he added, laughing loudly again. “As you study, don’t be concerned about ‘Am I getting better?’ Just practice for its own sake, and let progress take care of itself. Don’t corrupt the beauty of learning by becoming attached to an end goal.” – page 58 and 59, “Blowing Zen”, Ray Brooks

One day at a time.

The Move

2009-10-31T15:43:00.000-07:00

Renting the apartment (July 24^th – August 12^th)

The strategy was simple: Suzanne would go to New York and find an apartment while I stayed in Minneapolis for the summer to finish teaching and to pack up our old place.

We decided to make the Inwood / Washington Heights neighborhood of Manhattan our focus for finding a place to live. We had both spent some time up there, beautiful green spaces, right off the A and 1 Trains, plus we have good friends already within shouting distance.

We were told that you must be fast when renting in NYC. Have all of your paperwork ready to go, because apartments get rented within hours of being vacated. It’s a very compressed period of time, and there are lots of moving van chasers. The paperwork that we were told to have on hand was: months of bank statements, pay stubs, years of tax returns, and reference letters from landlords.

So what’s an Apartment Broker? We’re still not sure exactly who they work for. Are they independent brokers? Do they work with a real estate agency? Are they just friends with the landlord? Their job is to find the potential renter an apartment for an exorbitant fee. Usually one month’s full rent on the apartment in question. Ouch.

Instead of a broker, Craigslist was our primary resource for finding apartments. The parameters were cost and location with a “No Fee Listing.” The fees were usually associated with the broker, so we tried to avoid that situation if possible. While looking at ads and apartments Suzanne learned to be wary of the bait and switch.

Some Examples of the bait and switch technique:

One apartment had a beautiful garden courtyard, nice interior spaces and had been advertised as no fee. While talking to the broker on a nice young man’s phone from the apartment (so who was this guy that was showing her the apartment?), he mentioned the security deposit PLUS the fee. He then went on to offer, “How about half a month’s rent for the fee?” Ha.

Another apartment listed for $1050, but upon inspection the super showed a different apartment that was in horrible condition (the ceiling was falling in) for $1350, with a cash fee of $600, payable to the super.

Some places had “issues” like this one bedroom apartment in Washington Heights. The kitchen was a strip of appliances along the living room wall (which is normal). The place was recently renovated, but the stove was behind the front door. Because of the new stove placement, the front door wouldn’t even open all of the way. Forget about loading in an amplifier.

Another apartment was just out of our price range with ample evidence of a severe roof leak. However, the realty company showing the apartment had no idea how to find out if the roof had been fixed.

There was another apartment with a nice interior, but the building itself was not in good shape. There was trash in lobby and a general disrespect of the property. This led us to believe that the condition of the building mattered a little more than the condition of the apartment itself. Oh yeah, it was also a fifth floor walk up.

Up until now, the apartment was great OR the building was great. Still waiting for a balance of the two.

Suzanne eventually saw the final apartment, and really liked it, but there was another applicant who had beaten us to the punch. The broker and the super were honest, up front people, and said not to put in an application. This was still a promising happenstance, because it proved that there are places that were clean both inside and out and in our price range.

About a week later, upon the urging of a friend, Suzanne called about this apartment again to see if the other person’s application had gone through. She found out that the application had been rejected!

We quickly began the application process, Fed Ex-ing about $200 worth of signed paper work back and forth from NYC to Minneapolis. Phew. We got it. It’s a newly renovated one bedroom on the third floor. The kitchen is so large that the dining room table fits in it, and there’s even a neighbor that delivers our paper to our apartment door.

The drive out (August 30 – September 1)

The truck we rented was a 16’ Penske, which was ironic since we lived right next door to the U-Haul lot on the corner of 36^thand Nicollet Avenue. It was quoted at $762.65, one-way from Minneapolis to New York City. When we returned to the truck to its Manhattan drop-off location, there were 6287 miles used on the truck out of a possible allowance of 9999, plus a $41.50 gas fee since it was returned 3/4 full.

The truck was packed over the course of three days; the ultimate game of real-life Tetris. There was absolutely no way to fit anything else into that vehicle. On Sunday morning, August 30, I loaded our two cat carriers into the cab of the truck and drove away.

Our cats were surprisingly chilled out during the ride. I had feared the worst, screaming and clawing for two solid days, but after a couple of hours, they had both relaxed enough for me to open the cages and let them roam. Pemba stayed put in his cage for a while, and Noodle went for the high ground. Eventually, they both found their spots, one up by my head on the right (on top of the cat carriers) and the other on the floor directly under my knees (not near the pedals, thankfully).

The drive was reminiscent of the many road trips I used to take during college. Back and forth from Denton, Texas and Lincoln, Nebraska; to and from Norfolk, Virginia and Omaha, Nebraska; and the occasional long haul from Houston, Texas to Minneapolis, Minnesota. This drive was no different, actually it was pretty comfortable and by far the most relaxing thing I had done in months. I even had four tins full of homemade cookies with me!

Our plan was for me to meet Suzanne in Milford, PA on the last night of my trip. I was in a little bit of a hurry to make our dinner date at 9:00pm because I hadn’t seen my wife in almost two months. I hadn’t realized that Milford was at the bottom of a monstrous hill. It was dark and I was going the speed limit, but the truck just wouldn’t slow down. The brakes weren’t up to the challenge of stopping that heavy load. The front end began to shake so I pumped the brakes (although this was a common method for stopping on ice, it also worked fairly well in the Colorado mountains while on ski trips), and barely managed not to careen into the ditch. Phew. We could keep the reservation.

Arrival (September 1)

Tuesday, September 1, 2009, Suzanne and I drove across the George Washington Bridge into Manhattan. With the help of some close friends, we unloaded the truck, up two flights of stairs, into our new apartment. That sounds easy, but that date will live in my memory as easily the most physically demanding day of my life.

Sometime during the mid-afternoon I witnessed my first “New York Moment.” This is defined as something that is completely out of your control, usually causing a major delay, and can really only happen in New York City. This incident happened at the foot of the ramp leading up to the back of our Penske truck. A woman was parked behind us, and had to leave. Right when she started the car and began to pull away, CRACK. It sounded like a big piece of plastic snapping, and she lost steering capability. She drove forward a couple of more feet, and we saw what the problem was. There was a HUGE dead rat lying on the pavement. We opened the hood of her car, and sure enough, the rat had gotten caught in the power steering belt, and snapped it in half (the belt, not the rat) when the belt started spinning. The rat was killed instantly, and so was the car! She ended up calling AAA and having it towed. She’s now our dry cleaner.

The next morning we drove the truck straight down Broadway to the drop-off location. What a ride. It was a good thing that I’d been driving that truck straight for a few days and knew how it handled. New York traffic is another story altogether!

We made it.

Roots

2009-10-31T15:37:00.000-07:00

Minnesota is the land of giant metal animals. Customarily, fish, fowl and other woodland rodents seem to be deserving of this honor. Perhaps these massive critters are tributes to the strength needed to survive the harsh Minnesota wilderness. The winters can be downright cruel and these creatures not only endure but they thrive in this arctic wonderland. The folks who design these monuments have the utmost respect for nature; either that, or people up here are just nuts.

Although I didn’t become a resident until 1996, I’ve lived in Minneapolis longer than I’ve lived in any one city my entire life. It has brought me much closer to my roots than I’ve ever been. Of course I knew of my family’s history, but living in Minnesota really brought it home.

My mother’s father Realf was from Willmar, Minnesota. He was the band director for a short time in Hakinson, North Dakota before World War II. Of course, as all band directors know, you are required to play all of the instruments. It was probably even more important back then because of the lack of resources in rural areas. He had many, many different instruments around the house; I still have a C Melody saxophone of his. A talented and dedicated individual, he later became an optometrist and settled with his family in Albert Lea, Minnesota.

My other grandfather, Benny Rossum, was born in 1904 in the small town of Pelican Rapids, Minnesota. Like all small towns, they also have a metal beast; of course it’s the pelican pictured above. Benny was the town’s blacksmith. The shop was on the main street, just past the park with the pelican. He was the “go to” guy in a region filled with farmers and small business owners.

Music was a big part of my family’s life, and Benny himself played the fiddle, banjo and other instruments. At home, his sister Ethyle would accompany him on piano with the boom-chick left hand (similar to stride, but think Polka). Remember, this was before television and other home entertainment technology. He would play everywhere he could in and around Pelican. In the 1920’s he actually wore out a banjo (one of the loudest of all party instruments).

Jazz hadn’t really traveled to the northern plains at that time. The music primarily consisted of schottisches, waltzes and polkas and tunes like “Turkey in the Straw” and other hits from the Americana songbook. Music was, however, used like it was everywhere else in the country. Hard working people partying at the barn dance on Saturday night and then singing hymns with all of the Scandinavian Lutherans in church Sunday morning.

Today the residents of the area still play their instruments whenever possible. I was fortunate enough to be invited to play at this year’s Fourth of July celebration (2009). The big parade always happens in Erhard, just south of Pelican. My dad is a clarinetist in the Pelican Community Band and I was honored to sit in for the parade. I really do mean, “sit in for the parade,” because the band was seated concert style on a semi’s flatbed trailer! We rolled around the parade route twice that afternoon. This was easily the best way to march in a parade. For the most part, we played high school pep band music and waved to the crowd. They even called a feature for me, “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” (The Andrew Sisters were also from Minnesota) What a great time.

Looking out from the flatbed truck, while cruising through the neighborhoods of Erhard, I saw kids with the same roots as myself. What will they grow up to be? As a kid I would travel during summer vacation to this area of Minnesota to play stretch with knives and catch hammerheads with spoons. Waterskiing, S’mores and DDT were a part of life. Didn’t everyone grow up like this?

I am not from New Orleans, the birthplace of jazz; I am not from Chicago, the nursery of jazz; I am not from New York City, where jazz came to maturity. I am, however, from the global music community, with my own folk traditions and culture. My hope is that Jazz today remains truly inclusive of all ethnicities and cultures, including the unique culture and musical history specific to the northern heartland of America.

---

July and August passed in a heartbeat. This was my last summer of teaching at MacPhail, and my last couple of months in Minneapolis. It was kind of a surreal experience; playing multiple “farewell” shows, finishing up a few Art projects, plus the business involved in releasing a new CD – all the while in a state of denial. Even through the final week of packing up my apartment, it didn’t seem real. Minneapolis is my home… until Sunday morning, August 30.

That morning it hit me. I’m leaving.

Giving Notice

2009-06-15T18:56:00.000-07:00

2009.

Along with teaching trumpet and composition, I direct the jazz program at MacPhail Center for Music, one of the nation’s largest community music schools. MacPhail serves more than 7,500 students annually with 35 instruments taught by more than 165 teachers. The jazz program has over twenty faculty members and focuses primarily on small ensembles and private instruction.

MacPhail has partnered with the premier jazz venue in Minneapolis, the Dakota and the DFJE, to form an all-star high school jazz combo called the Dakota Combo. Each year, advanced high school students from around the state audition for participation in this group. They perform with a guest artist at the jazz club, tour metro area schools, and present additional concerts extending well into the summer. Guest artists have been (so far): Bobby Watson, Delfeayo Marsalis and Irvin Mayfield. Just this past year, the group recorded its first full length CD of original material. The success of this program is seen through the alumni’s scholarships and attendance at some of the most prestigious music schools in the country, including the Brubeck Institute, Berklee, Julliard, the New England Conservatory of Music, and many more.

MacPhail also presents Jazz Thursdays, a concert series focusing exclusively on small group jazz music. The list of musicians who have performed on this series in just the past three years reads like a who’s who of the Twin Cities jazz scene, and I’m not even counting the many years of MacPhail's stages at the regional jazz festivals.

Phew. That’s a lot. And there’s more, but you get the idea. Community music schools are becoming more and more important to our culture, especially during this economic crisis, and it’s a cause that I have given considerable energy to over the years. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Let me fill in some history here…

1996.

As I began my DMA studies at the University of Minnesota, I was looking to earn some extra cash by teaching private lessons to younger students. Since I was more or less coming from Texas at the time, where almost all high schools hire private instructors for their students, I figured I would be able to find a similar job here in Minneapolis. Within a couple of months I heard of an opening downtown at some place called MacPhail Center for the Arts. I had no idea what this place was, and frankly, I didn’t really care, I just wanted to teach kids on the side.

I called them up and sent in my resume and they scheduled an interview and an audition for the following week. I was wondering why they wanted me to come downtown for the interview process because wasn’t a large high school in the area. Upon arrival, the place was this old department store looking building that was pretty quiet (it was 1:00 or so in the afternoon during the week, not prime lesson time). They told me to come up to the 3rd floor of the center and to wait out in the hallway. After seeing another University graduate student come out of the room, I was asked to come in.

First I played a couple of solos and excerpts that I had under my belt. Then I taught two sample lessons, one with a beginning adult and another one with a high school student. I was of course very relaxed and calm, yet engaging and polite throughout the lessons. Then there was a 40-minute interview by committee, comprised of both faculty and administration. This was when I began to be suspicious of what this “Center” really was. The interview went well. I basically just answered their questions and was clear about my DMA studies being my priority as compared to teaching. They seemed OK with that and I shook their hands and left.

On the way out of the building, I noticed a large rack of catalogs/ brochures/ schedules downstairs in the lobby by a service counter. THIS ENTIRE BUILDING IS A MUSIC SCHOOL!! Shit, what have I gotten myself into?!?!

They offered me the trumpet instructor job and I accepted. I would take over the current studio of SIX students. No problem! That would fit in perfectly - one evening a week during my graduate studies. Great! It was about a month later that I discovered that my Grandmother took piano lessons at MacPhail in the 1920’s.

1999.

I’m ABD and digging deeper and deeper into a fascinating music scene here in Minneapolis. My studies were temporarily shelved and I began full time at the newly named MacPhail Center for Music. The trumpet studio was up to about 24 students and I was teaching all kinds of classes at MacPhail: music composition, general music, beginning theory, Jr. and Sr. High band, jazz combos, I even subbed as the teacher for a Choir rehearsal. I was at one point in time seeing around 75 students each week.

MacPhail is a community music school, I believe it's the second or third largest in the country and a leading member of the National Guild (link). As public schools continue to cut their funding for the arts, these community schools are helping to fill the need for quality music education. Since I was coming from a University (read: Ivory Tower) mindset, it wasn’t obvious to me how important these community schools are to the public. It was around this time that I began to understand the mission of “transforming lives and enriching our community through music education.”

Music is much larger than I had initially imagined. University music programs expose students to music that they can “learn” from; artistically excellent, flawless performances by the best and brightest musicians in the world. But that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Music is made every day in countless venues across the nation; in the trenches of music education, in the sanctuaries of churches, the basements of homeless shelters and yes, even in the showers of our homes. There’s a big gap of knowledge between knowing this fact from an intellectual perspective, and actually participating in the guidance and training of these community musicians. There is such beautiful intent behind amateur music making, regardless of the students’ age or experience. That purity of intent is often missing from the ranks of professional musicians. This is a big deal. This is music at its most fundamental level as experienced throughout human history.

2003.

I started officially designing the Jazz Program at MacPhail. It was a perfect opportunity to bring this culturally rich music to MacPhail’s community.

“It is so disheartening to me that today our children have no idea of their country's cultural heritage. For example, last fall while I was in Seattle during the opening ceremony of the performance arts center at my alma mater Garfield High School, a group of students gathered around me and one young man said that he was a musician and wanted advice on how to further his career. I told him "that first he had to really learn and master his craft." Then I asked him, "Do you know who Louis Armstrong was?" He said, "I think I've heard of him." I asked, "Do you know who Duke Ellington was?" He said, "No." Again I asked, "Do you know who Dizzy Gillespie was?" Again he responded "No." "Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Thelonius Monk?" I asked, and again he said "No." It tore my heart apart that on this day that my alma mater was naming a building after me, that this young man had no idea who the men were that put me on their shoulders and helped shaped who I was as a young musician. Men who will forever stand at the foundation of popular music, and who I believe in years to come will be regarded as America's Chopins, Griegs and Tchaikovskys.” - Quincy Jones, Huffington Post

2009. January.

After making the decision to move to New York, I knew I would have to leave MacPhail. The organization means so much to me; I was filled with butterflies when the moment had finally come. I was in a meeting with the Executive Vice President (my good friend and colleague Paul Babcock), discussing the New Year’s jazz events when I told him of my decision. His reaction was representative of almost everyone else’s – we’re going to miss you around here. Some people had been expecting the move for years and were wondering why it had taken so long, and other people were shocked to hear of the exciting new plans. Of course, the administration as a whole was very thankful for the 8-month notice! As I said at the time, and as I say now, “There is still much to do.”

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Today.

A couple of weeks ago, I received word that Adam Linz has accepted the Jazz Coordinator position at MacPhail. Congratulations Adam!

I know I’ll be following MacPhail closely in the future. The jazz program at MacPhail is like a jazz composition, once you’ve written it and played it a few times, it stands by itself. If you’re lucky, other musicians may choose to play your music while adding their own taste and style; this is when the composition takes on a life of its own. In this case, the composer is sincerely honored to have contributed something to this fine art form.

When I First Came To New York

2009-05-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

The phrase "when I first came to New York" means something special in the jazz world. It’s difficult to read an autobiography, watch a documentary, or find an interview, that doesn’t contain these words. It’s a subtle divider amongst jazz musicians; either you’ve done your time in the city, or you haven’t. It feels like a loaded statement, one that is treated as matter of fact by the musicians who utter it. Why is this string of words such an intimidating phrase to those jazz musicians who haven’t lived there?

FEAR. It’s the fear of Failure. This fear grows as you get older; the young are supposed to fail, learn from the experience, try again and move on. As we age, our culture imposes responsibility upon us, whether it’s real or imagined, and the specter of failure seems to become stronger in our lives.

Fortunately, jazz musicians deal with fear every day. We improvise for a living (not just in music). There is a certain sense of acceptance inherent in our actions; we acknowledge the possibility of failure, yet we continue to move forward.

From a personal standpoint, having spent most of my life in a scholastic environment (about 30 years as a student and 15 years as a teacher), I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll always be a student of music. That being said, I can frame my move to New York as an educational experience that will profoundly affect my outlook on the world of music and jazz in particular.

There are three basic goals I hope to reach while in NYC:

1) Immerse myself in a jazz environment through listening and meeting people.

"When I first came to New York, yes, I happened to have met him accidentally on the street. I ran into Gil Evans on the street and I said, ‘Mr. Evans, let me introduce myself. I'm Billy Harper. I play tenor saxophone. I hope, if there is ever a chance that you need somebody for a rehearsal, give me a call.’" – Billy Harper

"When I first came to New York, the first person I called when I got off the bus was Cannon." – Nancy Wilson

"When I first came to New York in 1991, one of my favorite groups to see live was John Scofield's storming band with Joe Lovano, Marc Johnson, and the exceptionally young Bill Stewart." – Ethan Iverson

"When I first came to New York, I was like Dizzy's little brother." – Miles Davis

2) Practice and compose while participating in the jazz tradition.

"When I first came to New York everybody on the scene would treat me like I could play, but I couldn't." - Wynton Marsalis

"And looking back, I was so naive when I first came to New York. My only goals were to learn the language, go to the Village Vanguard because I knew Coltrane and Miles and Bill Evans had played there and to try to be in jam sessions." - Claudia Acuna

"When I first came to New York I always tried to impress people, play long solos as fast as I could, lightning fast, and all of a sudden Billie Holiday said, ‘When you play, you're talking to people. So learn how to edit your thing, you know?’" – Curtis Fuller

"That's one thing I learned when I first came to New York and worked with Jackie Paris and Anne Marie Moss, getting the set to work, having pacing in the set and no fooling around." – Dennis Irwin

3) Focus on performing music through a variety of experiences.

"The more you freelance, the more you are involved with the big ‘M’ of music, not just a jazz band. Broadway shows, concerts with orchestras, chamber groups, folk music—when I first came to New York, I was down there playing with the folk singers. It might be a duo where it’s just a bass and drums, or a quartet where there’s no piano. All of these environments help you make musical decisions." – Ron Carter

"Yeah, well, I used to play for strippers in Chicago and when I first came to New York." – Jack DeJohnette

The phrase "when I first came to New York" is intimidating, but no more so than stepping onto a stage in front of hundreds of people not really knowing what you’re about to play. Time to accept the fear of failure and to move on.

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Quote sources:

Billy Harper, JazzWeekly

Nancy Wilson, The Cannonball Adderley Rendez-vous

Ethan Iverson, Do The Math

Miles Davis, JazzHouse

Wynton Marsalis, Steve LeVeille

Claudia Acuna, All About Jazz

Curtis Fuller, NEA Jazz Masters

Dennis Irwin, All About Jazz

Ron Carter, Bass Player online

Jack DeJohnette, Track By Track

Proposition and Introduction

2009-05-07T06:34:00.001-07:00

The Midwestern United States provides excellent terrain for personal revelations. Family road trips are a part of our culture, and since there’s not much to look at out here, we can get into those deep, life changing discussions.

It was a trip such as this, just before a Thanksgiving get together, driving through northern Minnesota, when Suzanne asked me, “What do you think about marriage?” and I replied, “Well, I’d like to be married to you.” One thing led to another, and we decided to get married.

Heading home to Minneapolis last December, after visiting family in Lincoln Nebraska, my wife Suzanne and I had another revelation. We're somewhere north of Des Moines Iowa, when she turned to me and said, “Let’s move to New York.” I replied, “Sure, let’s do it.” A few hours later, after much discussion, we had decided to move.

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My hope here is to document the process and share this experience with my family and friends (and by the magic of the internet, anyone else who cares to visit). This decision has affected so many different aspects of my life, personally, professionally, artistically, and philosophically; I feel the need to put some of these thoughts in writing.

I will be covering a broad range of ideas throughout this process. I’ll address the logistical aspects of moving (do hotels in Ohio allow cats?), the musical preparation involved, (lip slurs anyone?), as well as the insertion in to New York (apartment broker? what the…!??).

This blog stems from a personal need to clarify the *noise in my head.

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*If you haven’t read The Knife Of Never Letting Go, by Patrick Ness, you should check it out. It’s a new teen fiction book that will keep you on the edge of your seat.