Incantation / Elaboration

The music had already started before I realized it, taking me by surprise.  No tuning up and settling in, the ensemble members (four vocalists and four instrumentalists) were focused and ready as soon as they took their places.  Led by the cellist (using his body to direct the music) the sound immediately grabbed me and yet I wasn’t sure why.  The vocal blend, four independent voices unified in perfect intonation, constantly unfolding in harmonic motion was so beautiful that I found it difficult to think.  I could only take it in asking myself how this music held together while seemingly in a state of constant dissolution.

  

The ensemble is called “Theotokos” and they are performing a program of music from before the time of Bach.

In time I began to notice a few things, not so much about the music but more the feelings it elicited.   For one I was beginning to feel like I was in church.  Of course, this was taking place in a church quite literally, just not an actual church service.  While my church going experience is rather limited I recently witnessed an Eastern Orthodox ordination service that lasted more than three hours and this was resonating in a similar way, a non-stop unfolding ritual of chant and liturgy.  Interestingly, during that service I was sitting next to a zen monk and while neither of us knew what was going on it wasn’t wholly unfamiliar since chant and liturgy play an important role in Buddhism as well.  The music being presented on this concert utilized chant much the same way it would have been used in such services and it had much the same effect.

In religious practice chant may serve a number of purposes; a form of announcement, an incantation, a mantra or simply a unifying element for those in attendance given its focusing effect on the mind and body. Chant is typically an intonement on a steady pitch although not always.  It may be flowing and non-metered or it may be rhythmic and repetitive.  But it’s usually not considered music in the way a song would be.  The words may or may not have any literal meaning but in either case it is the embodied act of chanting itself that allows the sounds to take direct effect, bypassing rational mediation.  No matter how you may feel about religious practice it’s hard to imagine being immune to these qualities.  

As the concert proceeded a pattern emerged in which one of the vocalists would go into an unaccompanied chant which was responded to and elaborated upon by the rest of the ensemble in a form of musical polyphony.  Polyphony refers to multiple voices each moving independently of each other, this particular brand of polyphony being quite intricate with little obvious imitation or repetition between the players or within the overall form.  There were cadences (resolution points) but they tended to cascade from one to another in unexpected ways.  This all went on for an hour without stop.  Given no obvious signposts of “where we were” the music began to feel cyclical rather than linear.  At a certain point I found myself thinking about gamelan music due to the timeless quality of continuous flow.  What I couldn’t figure out was how this was all ordered, achieving such cohesiveness within such detail.

It wasn’t until later that it dawned on me that it had to have been the words.  Researching this a bit led to the term “text painting”, a through-composed compositional technique (meaning without return to previous material) in which the flow of the words determines the flow of the music.  This is what allowed the polyphony to be so rich in complexity while retaining a sense of direction.  The program was a presentation of pieces written by a half dozen different composers played from one to the other, all of which were drawn from a musical form known as a passion setting, a form of composition with roots going back to Gregorian chant.  The texts utilized stem from a tradition of recitation of the story of the passion in church services going back to the fourth century.  These particular pieces ranged from the 1400’s into the late 1600’s, a period just prior to the advent of the tonal system that defined the time of Bach onward.  It is a music rich with all sorts of unorthodox musical procedures that eventually became smoothed out with the emergent codification of western harmony combined with an increased attention to compositional structure.

In spite of the fact that I did take history of western music classes in college, this is essentially new to me.  Back then, mostly what was on my mind was John Coltrane, getting a good sound on the saxophone and figuring out how to play chord changes.  I saw very little relevance with respect to most of what we were studying in class.  I feel very differently about that now.  These qualities, born out of a tradition based on the voice and the vocal production of sound (and it’s role in the development of harmony) may seem very far away from the concerns of an improvising saxophonist from a tradition based largely upon rhythm, the heart of which is the drums.  But I wouldn’t make too much of this distinction, at least I don’t want to be held back by it even though I’m still not sure what the effects of all this listening and my practicing of Bach may come to.  After having played the Buescher tenor and Rascher “classical” mouthpiece exclusively for the past several months I went back this past week and picked up my Conn tenor using my “jazz” mouthpiece.  I’m reminded of what my voice on the saxophone is and yet the through-composed unfolding qualities of that concert resonate with the way I improvise solo saxophone.  Without a formal basis for my own process I’ve sometimes wondered whether it was all a reflection of some kind of psychodrama.  I never actually trusted that assessment but I am feeling confident that there is in fact something at the heart of it all, whether I know exactly what it is or not.

I might have guided you to the recording of this concert but unfortunately it suffers from the recording process itself.  Not that it was recorded poorly or unprofessionally, it wasn’t.  The presenters take great care in what they are doing in documenting the concerts they present.  It’s simply the fact that what happens in the room is often elusive to even the best recording processes.  The rich blend and fullness was missing completely and the result was, to be honest, unpleasant compared to what was experienced live.  Instead, I’ll guide you to an excellent example from this time period in the music of composer Carlo Gesualdo, who lived from 1566 to 1613.  Gesualdo’s musical language is highly chromatic in ways that would not reappear again for centuries and exemplifies this kind of constant unfolding.  Have a listen here to his sacred music for five voices.

Interestingly, the music on this recording, the music on this concert and so much of the music we may study from any culture throughout world history can be recognized as spiritual music.  And it is completely up to you what to make of that.

What's next...

My upstairs neighbor is a concert violinist, quite an excellent one.  His name is Georgy Valtchev and he’s practicing right now in fact.  He can also hear my practicing, which was confirmed some years back when he asked if playing Bach on the saxophone was difficult.  He seemed surprised but I told him that it was good practice for certain issues on the horn, flexibility between registers being one.  I’ve continued to practice Bach since then albeit sporadically and while my aspirations have remained high over the years I’ve often wondered whether any progress was being made at all.

Recent months have been encouraging however.  Perhaps it’s attending the weekly early music series taking place in the neighborhood which is rubbing off but one or two of the cello suites may finally be within reach.  Lately my practice has been almost exclusively “classical” using my Buescher Aristocrat tenor, a Rascher mouthpiece and Vandoren Blue Box reeds.  I’ve also recently discovered that a few of the violin partitas have been arranged for saxophone by Raf Hekkema and along with a number of the flute sonatas they’ve become part of my regular routine. One afternoon my wife came in while I was practicing and said she thought our neighbor and I were playing the same piece.  I saw him on the street some days after and he confirmed this, saying “yes, I think it was the D Minor partita”.  I refrained from asking for any kind of assessment but along with those weekly concerts, knowing there is an expert pair of ears upstairs probably helps keep me on my toes.  In terms of next steps it may be that playing some of these pieces for actual listeners could be the catalyst needed to get them where they need to be.  

Speaking of that early music concert series, I’m appreciating that playing Bach well is in fact a high bar to reach for.  A case in point was a concert last May by Canadian harpsichordist Geneviève Soly in which she offered a program called Eight Diptychs from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 (1772).  Her performance was incredibly alive and I was excited to have the opportunity to speak with her afterwords and relate my feeling that she played that music as if she had written it herself.  She seemed pleased to hear that and so I followed by asking about her process with respect to phrasing.  She explained using the word “agogic” meaning that certain parts of a melodic phrase are heightened such that they are displaced from the strong beats in a measure.  It’s related to the idea of a kind of rubato or freedom within a tempo so as to create a sense of movement while emphasizing the natural tensions and resolutions that occur throughout the piece.  I appreciate this in much the same way I appreciate swing in jazz.  They are quite different and yet based in similar principles.  Even so, it’s interesting just how elusive it seems to be for classical musicians to swing and for jazz musicians to play classical with an authentic rhythmic feel.  

Since her performance felt so personal it seemed appropriate to ask about interpretation.  To my surprise she responded by saying that it was all about analyzing the score in great depth.  Bach did not offer many interpretive indications in his manuscripts so one might assume there would be a great deal of latitude in making choices.  She asserted that with the exception of some slight tempo differences she did not vary her approach from performance to performance.  I was almost skeptical of this and could have asked more questions given the myriad ways that Bach is played but out of respect thought it best to accept what she offered and consider it seriously.  My sense is that she was following a rigorous process, finding reasons for her choices and imbuing the music with an undeniable integrity and life force.  Certainly there are musicians who will make different choices and there is often argument or criticism involved among those who take these things seriously.  It’s all completely fascinating and leads more and more to the idea that ultimately there is little difference between this process and improvising.  If you’re going to make a piece of classical music alive you must know it deeply and play it as if you wrote it yourself.  It’s much the same effect as when a great improviser creates music on the spot with a sense of inevitability that convinces you that there was no other way it could have gone.  

And speaking of improvisation, how might we as improvisors create that kind of inevitability in our playing?  Our equivalent to analyzing scores comes by way of solo transcriptions.  These are usually rummaged through in search of “licks” but a deeper examination can reveal how phrasing creates and maintains a sense of movement via tension and release.  But then what?  Unless you’re going to play that transcription verbatim on a gig you’re going to have to come up with your own content and bring it to life, on the spot.  

I recently gave a music lesson to a visiting saxophonist from out of town.  He had taken a lesson some months prior and I was curious as to what effect that lesson may have had on his playing.  He told me that his personal practice was gratifying but when it came to time to play a gig he often found himself uncomfortable, falling into old habits wanting to reach for things that worked even as they elicited a sense of dissatisfaction. “It’s as if I’m doing an impression of myself playing the saxophone” he said.  

The lessons I give these days are open-ended all-afternoon affairs.  There is plenty of time for discussion but the emphasis is on gaining insight through playing.  I might ask a question and tell a student to answer it on their horn, guiding the process and looking for openings based on what I hear.  In this way every lesson is different.  Over a period of some hours we took a number of approaches dealing with harmony in creating melodic ideas, often going into areas that may have been less comfortable but ultimately yielding greater results. 

After a number of gambits at a certain point I found myself saying “play like a vocalist who is trying to sing like a horn player”.  Somehow that seemed to click (you never know) working as a natural way to focus on phrasing to create his ideas.  The trouble was, not all of those ideas sounded good or convincing to him.  He was certainly capable of playing good ideas and yet I pointed out that “when you played something you didn’t like, I actually found it more interesting.  It jumped out at me, eliciting the anticipation of what’s next?  In other words, you had my attention!”

A light bulb blinked on in his expression.  We then spoke about content, the idea, what it is and how it functions.  By allowing our idiosyncrasies and even our mistakes into the mix content becomes less a matter of fixed recitation and more a matter of dynamic unfolding.

A great classical musician also understands this dynamic unfolding.  They have to apply it to a score whereas we have to create our content and deliver it on the spot.  It’s wonderful when a classical musician creates a sense of improvisation out of a score. Equally, as an improvisor I’m always striving to play something that sounds like it has a compositional integrity. Towards that end I sometimes wonder if improvisation itself is “enough”. It’s been years since I’ve composed anything and while I’ve not closed the door on that there is something I’m after with just the horn and this moment. I think that 2025 may offer opportunities to pursue some further solo concerts and see what develops.

Speaking of 2025, the new year is now upon us and there is no avoiding the palpable degree of uncertainty around the increasingly volatile aspects of social and political life requiring our attention, expression and action.  The music and arts scene has traditionally played its role offering comfort and disruption as is needed.  In a way we seem to have an advantage in that the processes imbedded our very work offer insight into how we might act in the world, and yet I still wonder, is that enough?  Perhaps a better question might be, how thoroughly we can apply these lessons?  Or perhaps, how wisely?

The degree of openness to “what’s next” required to play music generates an energy that is extraordinarily powerful.  This power need not be associated with force or violence (consider the power of gentleness for example) and can take any form.  Music renders it all simply as energy and as musicians we call on the full range of these energies, channeling them all towards positive action, healing action if you will.  In our lives the entirety of these same energies run through the whole world and through each one of us, taking all kinds of forms in action and with serious consequences.  These energies can harm or heal, in an instant. 

As artists, ironically it can become easy to separate ourselves from the rest of the world based on our very ideals and aspirations especially when they take the form of ideologies and politics.  We may rightly feel that humanitarian issues should not be political yet we make it so by virtue of creating conflict out of that very sense of separateness.  Even positive energy can bring harm when it comes in the form of self righteousness, even when the cause is worthy.  But at the same time, knowing that it’s all “just energy” means that the potential to do harm is also the potential to refrain from doing harm, to do good.  We are the ones who qualify that energy as good or bad and therefore we are ones who can transform it through creativity and renewal.

That may be a lot to take in so as in music it’s probably a good idea to try and simplify that action.  Breath in, breath out…what’s next?

There have been a number of passings in our community of late and while I often take note on the blog I sometimes find myself hesitating, not wanting things to feel too heavy.  But if I take what I’ve written seriously, this too is part of our constant unfolding and I remind myself that in life, death, sickness and health, we are whole.  As a friend recently reminded me, when one is ill, another takes care.  In zen it’s often said, “not two”.  In this spirit I want to acknowledge a few friends and musical colleagues who have passed in recent months.  

Trumpeter Herb Robertson and I played frequently over the years in a number of bands.  Standing next to him night after night I was often struck by the fact that I could always find it in myself to loosen up even more.  Herb knew the study and discipline of music but he was in no way inhibited by convention.  We would sometimes think of Herb as a kind of shaman, having this direct connection, right though whatever he was feeling at the moment.  It was often startling as he channeled all the energy that pulsed through him.  In spite of the shock of his sudden departure all I can really think about was how much love he had in him and how it came out in his music.  I’m thankful to have known him. 

A couple of years back another friend and musical colleague, trumpeter Tom Williams passed.  Tom and I met in college, in our hometown of Baltimore.  He sounded fully formed (jaw-droppingly so) the first day he arrived, just swinging hard and nailing the changes.  We played fairly often in Baltimore at that time, including a steady gig with drummer Harold White doing arrangements from his former employer Horace Silver.  Tom recorded for the Criss Cross label in the nineties and performed with Jimmy Heath and Gary Bartz among other greats all the while being an inspiration to those in the community in which he lived and played.  We didn’t see each other so often after I left Baltimore but he remains an inspiration to this day.  

Tom tells a great story about meeting Freddie Hubbard, it’s still posted…

One of things that surprised me when I first arrived in NYC, in 1983, was a sense of camaraderie among those of us who were new to town.  Somehow I expected a pretty cutthroat scene given some of the things I’d heard but I remember very well to this day many of the folks who I met and hung out with at jam sessions, listening to music and trading gigs with each other.  That created a real bond and even as we each found our own musical paths, branching out and forging new musical relationships I appreciate those formative years and experiences.  One of the first people I met was baritone saxophonist Claire Daly.  

Claire passed a few months ago and even as we hadn’t seen each other in years it hit me pretty deeply given that she was such a stalwart part of the NYC scene, genuinely dedicated to the music and someone who everyone felt positively towards.  Claire was also the first person to turn me on to George Garzone and The Fringe.  My friend, drummer John Arnold, referred to her as “the real deal”. 

Loose ends…

I’ve been contemplating on what to write about of late.  Usually something coalesces every few months or so but we’re coming into the fall season and while there were a number of great listening experiences from last spring (including an organ recital at St John the Divine Cathedral here in NYC that left an imprint, sonically and architecturally) it remains elusive just what to say.  I am appreciating more and more some of the spaces that present chamber music and wondering more and more what it takes to get acoustic improvised music going in a place built for listening.  

This reticence in the form of verbal articulation may also have to do with contemplating just where the creative process has taken me.  I must admit that some of my aesthetic choices have lead to a narrower artistic path.  Even my listening has become more and more specific.  Having attended only classical chamber music performances for the past few years I notice that I’ve gravitated strongly towards early music.  That’s kind of surprising in that contemporary classical music has long been a major inspiration.  However, there has been an increased emphasis on technology (amplification, video, electronic sound, AI) of late, such that I tend to avoid these kinds of performances.  A festival of contemporary music took place in my neighborhood recently and in perusing the program in advance I noticed “sound engineer” as a frequent credit along with the musicians.  That’s new.  

It feels a bit strange to find myself in this place having long advocated for the “new” and “innovative”.  And I’m no more comfortable aligning with any aesthetic that would go against that ethos at all.  But it does feel positive to follow a creative path into uncertain territory, even when the path may feel a bit steeper, narrower and less populated.  While there is risk in being out of step with most everything there is also freedom that comes in being “non-aligned” with prevailing trends.  I do have clear ideas about what I’d like to make happen and have been setting some irons in the fire.  So if you’ve been wondering (and I do occasionally get an e-mail from someone asking) please know that all is well and that I will let you know when I next appear on a stage.  And if you are interested in studying and taking lessons, as always, please do feel free to contact me.  

But while I contemplate the long view there have still been some momentary items that deserve mention…

Drummer Phil Haynes was one of my first musical companions in our early NYC days. In the mid eighties I had an apartment in the Inwood neighborhood, up near 200th street (sometimes referred to as upstate Manhattan).  It often felt that way when traveling into Brooklyn on the subway which I often did, sometimes several hour-and-a-half-each-way trips a week in order to get together.  Phil lived in what was technically a commercial space that he made into a living space, affectionately known as the corner store.  These were formative years during which we spent many hours playing and hanging out.  Over time the corner store became an incubator for projects leading to recordings and tours of Europe.  Phil seemed to enjoy talking about music as much as I did and we often found that our duo sessions were elevated by trying our best to recall and articulate our experience of a twenty minute free improvisation and then going at it again, experiencing a much more vivid and potent improvisation as a result.  I think this was the basis of developing a "composer's mind" towards the art of improvisation.  Occasionally we would take a break and play some chess, which I was terrible at but determined to win after something like twenty consecutive losses over a period of months.  We were both competitive but neither of us would admit to it.  I began studying the game just so I could win once, after which time I was hooked.  It remains my favorite hobby to this day.  Phil’s determination away from music was evidenced after a trade, my old bike for his old turntable.  The bike was nothing special, an inexpensive model from the ‘70s but Phil took to it and eventually rode it across the entire country.  

One of the many projects that came out of that time was his band called "Four Horns and What?!", Phil being the what.  "Four Horns and What?!" made two recordings on a small German label called Open Minds that have long been out of print.  The group toured Europe in 1989 and worked stateside a bit, playing on a series of "Shelter Concerts" that were organized by Carnegie Hall (where Phil and I both worked as temps in the office during the day) for folks in some the city's homeless shelters.  At various times the instrumentation involved Paul Smoker on trumpet, Andy Laster and myself on saxophones, and Joseph Daley, Herb Robertson or Frank Lacy on low brass.  After I left the group clarinetist Don Byron played and subsequently organized a concert for Phil at the Brooklyn Academy of Music in 1995 that featured John Tchicai on tenor.  In fact, a live recording of that concert was made and lost for some time, having just resurfaced and is included on a rerelease that Phil put together including the first two out of print recordings called 4 Horns and What? The Complete American Recordings which is available on his Band Camp page.

This rerelease coincides with a newly written memoir from Phil that pretty much encapsulates his musical world view(s) called “Chasing the Masters”.  It's a very personal account of a creative journey and all that it entails.  

Composer Mikel Rouse, (who I wrote about in a previous post) has also written a memoir called “The World Got Away”.  I've yet to read it in full but it promises to be an engaging view into his musical life with a perspective on New York's new music scene from the late '70s until now.  You can dive into some of Mikel's inventive work on his website and Band Camp site.  I recently showed Mikel my mother's vintage Maestro Rhythm King "beat box" as she called it, an early drum machine that she had hooked up to the organ at one time.  I knew that Mikel made what was likely the first solo recording for drum machine alone (Quorum, 1984) so I supplied him with digital files made from the Rhythm King and he sent me back a promising test experiment.   I'm hoping he decides to make a full composition from them.

Guitarist Terrence McManus may not have written his memoirs yet (he has time) but he has just released a “new” recording from 2017 that is finally getting it’s debut on Band Camp.  It’s called “Music for Chamber Trio” and is an intimate trio setting with Terry, drummer Gerry Hemingway and myself.  Terry and I worked together in Gerry's quintet and have since worked together from time to time on his own music, so it’s nice to have this documentation available finally.  We caught up recently and he tells me's been working towards getting a couple of higher degrees in composition.  It will be interesting to keep tabs on his future work.

Coming in early 2025…

Werner Uehlinger (founder of Hat Hut Records) has been hard at work of late with his series called ezz-thetics, concentrating on reissues.  ezz-thetics is dedicated to vintage recordings but Werner has now begun what he calls the “First Visit” series, also archival but of more recent vintage.  “First Visit” will be rereleasing the first two “Trio New York” recordings (with organist Gary Versace and drummer Gerald Cleaver) that were originally released on my own label, prime source, in 2011 and 2013 respectively.  As distribution of those titles was very limited, especially outside the US, I’m pleased that they will be back in print and available once again.  Stay tuned…

More from the Archives...

And as always, there is the sporadic push in getting other personal archival material organized and…well, not sure what.  But it needs to be done.  In speaking with jazz journalist Bill Shoemaker (who is doing the liner notes for the Trio New York rereleases) the subject of my mother organist Bobbie Lee came up and Bill asked me where in Baltimore she used to play.  I have a list of places that she told me years ago and have attempted many times to research old newspapers or other on-line records to see if there is any documentation of her career to be found.  There never has been.  However, I knew she played at a “Howard Johnson’s” when that was a hotel-restaurant-lounge operation that had live music six nights a week.  I knew the location had changed hands over the years but I was curious if it was still there in some form so I looked it up.  I was stunned to find the following photograph…(click the photo to enlarge)...

On the marquee you’ll notice Bobbie Lee at the Gaslite Lounge, tonight!  This photo was in the form of a postcard which the company made for each location all over the country.  People collect these things apparently, there are scores and scores of them to be found on line.  This one, from 1965 I’m guessing, was a real needle in the haystack and constitutes the first documentation I’ve found on any of her gigs.  I really need to follow up on fleshing out her story but for now we have this bit of Americana.

I also came across a great photo of my first saxophone teacher, Jimmy Oronson, in action sometime in the 60’s.  He's on baritone in this shot but you can see his alto and tenor saxophones to the side.  He had a signature tune called "Double Trouble" in which he played alto and baritone simultaneously.  I haven’t spoken much about him but he played on the same circuit that my mother played on, hotels, lounges, restaurants, nightclubs.  Very little documentation exists of this scene.  Few if any folks recorded or played outside of Baltimore.  But it was the tail end of a robust night life in which every joint and gin mill in town seemed to have live music.  And the Hammond B3 organ played large part in that scene.  I believe the organist in this photo was Charlie Pfaff.  I remember he and his vocalist wife Connie playing pretty regularly up until rather late in the game for that scene.  Jimmy Oronson (or Mr. Jim as I always called him) was of the old school.  His lessons concentrated on sound above all.  He also insisted I learn the clarinet, which he studied with the legendary Ignatius Gennusa who played in the Baltimore Symphony and taught at the Peabody Institute.  Mr. Jim would recall “Iggy” tossing his reeds out the window (apparently he was quite picky) and the students gathering them up, often finding them quite playable.  

This advertisement for “Horn’s Lounge” is from 1973.  

I really do need to start writing down more of these stories…