Definition of Jazz

“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

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

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^th and 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

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.

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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.

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.”

- - -

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.