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…

The Art of Breath

    I just took a bike ride through Central Park this afternoon and stopped to listen to a jazz combo play the tune “Star Eyes”.  Took me a minute to remember the title but it was a stalwart choice at jam sessions back in the day.  And a nice tune which got stuck in my head as I tried to recall the chord changes while continuing on my ride.  Of course once I got home I had to play though it, remembering all the little nooks and crannies where one can inject clever little ideas to connect the contours of an otherwise straightforward song.  I’m going to guess it’s been a good thirty years since I’ve played it.  And now I’m getting the urge to look up the Sonny Rollins version.  

    OK, I’m back…it’s been even longer since I’d heard that.  And I wasn’t even planning on writing about this but somehow it got on the page and I had to go with it.  Now I’m thinking about those qualities that make someone’s sound recognizable, on the elemental level, down below all the stuff that we can play, and then gives all the stuff such character.  It’s really one’s delivery that does that and it’s not easy to separate the delivery from the musical content.  In fact, we shouldn’t separate these things, which is something I find myself emphasizing with students when I teach.  But I digress.

Allow me to jump to where I thought I’d begin this essay…

    About a month ago I took part in an art seminar at the zen center I go to and it’s had me thinking.  First, let me say that I am not a visual artist nor were any of the other attendees.  The point of this session was for us to experience drawing in a direct way without our thinking minds interfering in the process.  The first technique we tried our hands at was literally to draw our hand (the one we weren’t drawing with) without looking at the paper we were drawing on.  We drew a number of things that way, including portraits of our fellow artists, except this time we were told to keep our pens moving rapidly and continuously, not lifting them or stopping until a face emerged from the thicket of lines.  But the exercise that surprised me most involved drawing with a three foot stick from a tree found outside that had a small piece of charcoal attached to the end with duct tape.  A bowl of fruit was placed on the floor and we gathered around it in a circle, standing with our branches and sheets of paper placed on the floor at our feet.  The idea was to draw the bowl of fruit.  I crouched down and grabbed my branch like a big pencil before being corrected.  We were to remain standing, drawing with our extended arm.  It’s as awkward as it sounds, the charcoal wiggling around on the end of the stick while you try to make a mark on the paper.  Just when we were beginning to get comfortable we were told to exchange our branch with the person standing next to us, which is like starting all over again, each stick being differently shaped.  We also drew portraits of each other with a bottle of Elmer’s Glue on white paper.  The surprise was seeing what happens after pouring fine black sand over the page.  

    Afterwards we set all the pieces out on the floor and looked at each one.  By this time no one had any pretensions of having done “well” yet we were all impressed by the fact that there was a natural line evidenced in each work, not to mention that each person’s group of works was identifiably theirs.  That’s even more surprising given the seemingly unnatural methods we were utilizing.  We weren’t trying to be natural, personal or identifiable.  We were just concentrating (for dear life) on the movement required to make a mark on the page.  

Think about that for a moment…

    Getting back to those students, I’ve had many accomplished saxophonists come to me over the years, each with their own set of circumstances yet each asking pretty much the same question.  How do I find my own voice?  The simple answer is not to worry about it but I wouldn’t be a very good teacher if that’s all I said.  There are some serious considerations to be dealt with such as the matter of developing one’s ear, acquiring technique, understanding theory, assimilating language, not to mention learning about the cultural history that you are taking up, all of which can become quite compartmentalized especially within a university music program, which is where most young people go to study jazz.  

Here’s a question I don’t have an answer for.  Are university art departments more creative than their counterparts down the hall in the music department? 

    Perhaps I’ll look into that but a more immediate question might be, what is it about that art class that makes me think about these musical questions?  Is there a way to translate that visual experience into a musical one?  If there is an equivalent to the artistic line I suppose it would be the breath, or the bow or whatever means one employs to get something vibrating on an instrument.  The means of sustain, moving the sound in all of the ways it can move.  It implies hearing a melody or even just a sound as something complete in the way you shape it, the way you deliver it, being sensitive to the fact that every note you play is different.  No matter what you are “saying” on the instrument, this directness is essential. I believe every musician has this ability, it’s just that the great ones haven’t forgotten it while the good ones could sometimes use a reminder.  I like to remind myself of this every day.  

    I suppose I’m going to have the opportunity to look at all this more closely given that I was invited to offer a series of group sessions working with sound and listening at the Zen Center of New York City this fall.  One thing I know is that these sessions will differ from the typical improvisation workshops I do at universities in that they will not necessarily be jazz based and will likely involve a range of folks, some who have been playing for awhile and others with little to no experience on an instrument.  In any event, rather than bring too much of an agenda into it I’m going to simply let it take its own form given who shows up.  More information to follow.

For now, I’ll leave you with a quote from photographer Diane Arbus. 

“It’s what I’ve never seen before that I recognize…Nothing is ever alike. The best thing is the difference.”  

She operated in a visual medium but I imagine we will be finding ways to engage this idea of recognizing what we’ve never heard before. 

As always, if you are interested in private study please have a look at the teaching page of the web site.

What is it we want to say?

Last evening I attended a contemporary chamber music concert to which I’d been invited by some friends I hadn’t seen in awhile. It was located within walking distance so I got there a few moments before start time, took a seat in the front row and tried to relax from the jarring energy that is midtown Manhattan. Before long a gentleman came to the front of the room and introduced himself as the artistic director of the ensemble. He prefaced his remarks by apologizing that he did not have a witty means of conveying his feelings about the present political situation in the US, while still managing to insert some caustic rhetoric into that apology, and would instead simply tell us a little about what we were going to hear, a scene which folks found amusing.  

I was grateful to be there yet something bothered me about those remarks. I tried letting go but it wasn’t until halfway through the concert that I realized those words were having a limiting effect on how I was listening. It was as if the music and everyone involved suddenly had to stand for an ideology. It also felt limiting with respect to any sincere motivations that may have brought him to speak that way in the first place. Beyond agreement or disagreement it was at odds with the openness that naturally occurs within a roomful of people gathered to take part in a creative undertaking.

As I’m writing this a strong thunderstorm has suddenly developed outside, causing me to me stop what I’m doing, open the window and take a deep breath. It’s the smell of rain and there is a word for it, petrichor. It’s probably more the odor of the earth, a welcome antidote to the thick of concrete, asphalt and cars. Short of any actual damage, I love the energy of a rainstorm, probably because it’s a shared experience in spite of any particular opinions one may have of it. This one turns out to be rather short and now I’m left to pick back up and make some sense out of what I was writing…

The assumption on the part of the director that everyone there was on the same page politically was likely correct, and yet that somehow made the proceedings feel a bit smaller.  Conversations about art and ideology are typically fraught, embedded as they are in the language of conflict. It’s incredibly easy to get caught up and tangled in “this” at the expense of “that” such that trying to resolve anything by those means only leads to deeper, more entrenched conflict.  It seems like such a simple thing to say and yet this plays itself out on every level from the mundane to those of epic proportion.  This instance was somewhere closer to the mundane, almost not worth mentioning.  The overall experience was positive and I respect the fact that this person was able to make such an event happen.  I’m in a certain amount of awe of this, asking myself what it would take for the improvised music scene to have such support.  Still, I feel it's important to take into account these small things as they do tend to add up and the effects are not always seen.

The sun has now come back into the picture and the wind which was moments ago threatening the fortitude of the trees has now, just as suddenly, taken the form of calm as the streets begin already to dry and activity resumes. Interesting that there is no language involved in that process, just the residual dusts blowing through my mind in the form of words.

And where is that music from last night? Political words weren’t enough to hold it and the words that blow around in my head this morning don’t seem to be taking much form either. I’m going to go to another concert this afternoon. I doubt anyone will bring up politics this time but of course that will be in the room, in it’s form, along with everything else in the world.  

What is it we want to say?