If you want to develop comfort and ease with changing keys swiftly, then practice patterns on the circle of fifths. In particular, work on dominant seventh chords; doing so will help you to develop facility in voice leading from the seventh of one chord to the third of the next, and vice versa.

The exercise on this page is one of countless possible dominant seventh patterns. I like it because it brackets the chord root with the flatted ninth and raised seventh, then descends from the root through the lowered seventh to the third of the ensuing chord. Bottom line: you get a nice combination of color tones and harmonic motion. Click on the image to enlarge it.

This is a pretty straightforward exercise, and I don’t think I need to say anything more other than, memorize it, apply it to the full range of your instrument, and have fun!

Oh, yeah…and, check out my jazz page for more exercises, solo transcriptions, and articles of interest to jazz musicians.

Is it safe to come out of my bunker now? Has the war between jazz and rock finally ended? I don’t hear any incoming missiles. But then, I’m kind of out of the loop these days when it comes to who is presently saying what in the various music periodicals.

It does seem to me that in this melting pot called America, music has come a long way in developing mutual respect between the different genres. The purist dividing lines have given way to healthy crossover and cooperative experimentation between music styles and artists, and the style racists who once wrung their hands and shouted, “Miscegenation!” back in the days of “Bitches Brew” have long since been thrust aside by open-minded musicians searching for fresh, creative possibilities. Yet I wonder to what extent the old biases still continue to influence us.

Back in my college days, rock music was largely scorned by jazz musicians, and the feeling was amply returned. You couldn’t pick up a “Downbeat” magazine and read an article on fusion without some reader writing in to complain, “That’s not jazz!” If it wasn’t bebop, it it involved an approach to the drum set that was other than tang-tanka-tang, then the purists were up in arms, donning their white hoods and burning their crosses in the letter section. Even back then, naive as I was, I found the topic of this is/isn’t jazz to be petty, not to mention boring, when the groups in question involved world class musicians who knew the standard jazz vocabulary inside-out.

I also found the notion that jazz was the only worthwhile music, or the idea that any one style of music was better than the rest, to be confining, narrow-minded, and pointless. I mean, I cut my teeth on classic rock music–on groups such as Jefferson Airplane, Mountain, Jimi Hendrix, Jethro Tull, King Crimson, Yes, Genesis, and Fleetwood Mac–and I didn’t stop loving rock and roll just because I was starting to become immersed in jazz.

So why was it that jazzers and rockers seemed to have so little respect for each other? For that matter, what was it about symphonic musicians that gave them such an illusion of superiority over all the rest? And why did it go without saying (by me among the rest, I hate to confess) that country/western was inferior music?

Tell me that things have changed since those days. I think they have. From what I can see, we’ve come a long way.

At bottom, all music is divisible into just two categories: good music and bad music. Beyond that, it’s a matter of personal preference. And that is fine; in fact, it’s inevitable. Each of us is drawn to certain kinds of music and not drawn to others. It’s a matter of individual taste, which fines down even beyond general categories to subcategories and artists of all kinds. It’s all good as long as it doesn’t lead to demeaning other forms of musical expression, or to closing ourselves off to their creativity and richness.

Still today, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever purchase a country music CD. However, that choice is influenced not by musical snobbery, but by the fact that I’m a jazz saxophonist with a limited music budget, and on the relatively rare occasions when I purchase a CD, I usually stick with jazz, guided by a goal of learning my craft as well as enjoying its sound. It’s a matter of focus and preference, not elitism. If I’m driving down the highway and happen upon a good country station on the radio, then I’ll listen to it and enjoy it. Over the years and the long, long highway miles, I’ve come to appreciate that country music harbors some of the finest lyricists and songwriters in the world.

My point: Why limit yourself in what you listen to. Jazz is awesome music, but it’s not all that is out there. Broaden your world. Go to YouTube and check out some of the old film clips of Janis Joplin, Hendrix, and the Beatles. Tune in to The Thistle & Shamrock on NPR and let Fiona Ritchie give you an exhilarating earful of wild, wonderful Celtic music. The world of music has wide, wide horizons; open your ears to ways of expressing musical and creative excellence other than the ones you’re used to. Allow yourself to be influenced by the amazing diversity of music in this world. Doing so will enrich your own artistry as a jazz musician.

Which version of snowfall totals do you prefer–the NAM on the right, or the GFS, shown below? (Click images to enlarge.)

If you live out east, the question is purely academic. I doubt that you much care which forecast model is the more accurate, because either way, you’re going to be sitting under a ton of snow by tomorrow. That much is no secret. While the forecast models shown here are for 00Z Saturday night, the show has already started.

Farther down the page, you can see a level 2 radar grab from Sterling, VA, taken shortly after 10 p.m. It’s much prettier to look at than the picture that is unfolding over the nation’s capitol as I write in the form of heavy snow, freezing fog, mist, freezing rain, blustery winds, blizzard conditions–just about every kind of winter weather you can throw at one area in the space of a few miles as temperatures drift from below to above freezing.

The current Baltimore forecast for tonight and tomorrow reads as follows:

Tonight: Snow and areas of blowing snow. The snow could be heavy at times. Low around 29. Breezy, with a east wind between 16 and 23 mph, with gusts as high as 37 mph. Chance of precipitation is 100%. Total nighttime snow accumulation of 15 to 21 inches possible.

Saturday: Snow and areas of blowing snow. High near 29. Blustery, with a north wind between 18 and 22 mph, with gusts as high as 37 mph. Chance of precipitation is 100%. New snow accumulation of 4 to 8 inches possible.

Ugh! For once I’ll take a Michigan winter forecast over what’s being served up elsewhere. Right now my friend Kathy out there in Greenbelt, MD, is getting her clock cleaned. It’s a good night for her and her boyfriend to eschew the Washington nightlife and hunker down inside. For that matter, I doubt there’s much happening in the way of a Washington nightlife on a night like tonight.

Meanwhile, down in the warm sector, much of eastern North Carolina is under a tornado watch. The radar shows a pretty grungy-looking, non-severe, low-topped squall line that doesn’t show much likelihood of putting out anything tornadic, but it nevertheless adds to the East Coast’s overall weather ambience.

Have fun out there, kiddies, those of you who live out east. As for me, I’m going to pour me a mugful of Bell’s Amber Ale and, for once, enjoy watching the snow not fall outside my window. Gloating over such things is permissible for lifelong natives of the Great Lakes.

Attention, jazz musicians and other purveyors of melody! Want to get in on the groundswell of an online community devoted to musicians? Then click on Band Link Up, look it over, take a minute to register, and then start posting and helping this unique labor of love to grow into a thriving virtual hangout for musicians, vocalists, singer/songwriters, and other artistes of every stripe.

I first got wind of it while installing a new operating system on my laptop. The tech who was assisting me, aka Jeff, and I got to chatting while waiting for a lengthy download to complete, and once we got onto the subject of music, things naturally progressed from there. Turns out that Jeff’s fiancee plays violin and loves to connect with other musicians. So as a gift to her, Jeff decided to put together an entire site dedicated to the purpose of helping musicians talk shop, trade ideas, share sound tracks and videos, and so forth.

I’ve already registered, and I’m encouraging all my musical friends and everyone who is actively involved in performance, recording, composing, or music education to do the same. Band Link Up shows great potential as a service to musicians. Please get on board and help make it happen.

It’s the last day of January. Just one month to go till storm season begins! Yeah, baby!

I’m not the only one who thinks this way. A lot of you fellow storm chasers get happy at the thought of March arriving. It won’t be much longer–just four little weeks. Then spring begins.

That’s right, spring. While the vernal equinox will occur on March 20 at 2:35 a.m. EST this year, marking the arrival of astronomical spring, March 1 is the beginning of meteorological spring. Yes, boys and girls, there really is such a thing.

The Roman calendar began the year and the spring season on the first of March, with each season occupying three months. In 1780 the Societas Meteorologica Palatina, an early international organization for meteorology, defined seasons as groupings of three whole months. Ever since, professional meteorologists all over the world have used this definition.^[5] So, in meteorology for the Northern hemisphere: spring begins on 1 March, summer on 1 June, autumn on 1 September, and winter on 1 December.

–From “Season,” Wikipedia

The long and short of it is, even as middle-tier states from the Texas panhandle eastward are dealing with the aftermath of an ugly winter storm, spring is just around the corner. On Tuesday, Groundhog Day, we’ll get the authoritative word from Punxatawney Phil on what the next six weeks holds in store weatherwise. But whatever his verdict may be, the fact is, we’re two-thirds of the way through meteorological winter. We’re almost there!

So dust off your laptop. Spring will be here before you know it.

Tonight I practiced my saxophone for the first time since I pulled my back muscles this past Monday. It feels great to be able to walk freely again, and this evening it felt doubly great to hop into my car, head out to my beloved railroad tracks, and woodshed my horn for several solid hours.

Much of my time was spent working on the key of F#. That’s one of my favorite, time-tested approaches in practicing: to periodically pick a single key or tone center and saturate myself in it. By “saturate,” I mean hitting the key from every possible angle: running patterns on the scale. Drilling myself on the key’s dominant chord, including alterations and substitutes. Working chromaticism into the diatonic framework. Transposing and memorizing great jazz players’ solos. So on and so forth.

All of us practice key saturation to some extent simply by default. We don’t think of what we’re doing in those terms, but it’s the reason why we commonly become proficient in keys such as concert Bb, F, Eb, and C. We naturally spend lots of time working on those keys because they’re the ones that a great deal of jazz is written in. We think of them as the easy keys–easy because, we tell ourselves, they have fewer sharps or flats. But the real reason they’re easy is because we’ve practiced them enough to become conversant in them.

By that same reasoning, the “hard” keys–keys such as concert E, A, D, and F#–are hard not because they have lots of sharps or flats, but because we haven’t spent any real time getting intimately familiar with them.

The truth is, “hard” is just a mindset. There are no hard keys; there are only unpracticed keys. There are no difficult scales, only unpracticed ones.

That’s why it pays to pick a key or tone center you’re unfamiliar with every now and then, and spend several practice sessions saturating yourself in it. If you’ve never done so, give it a try.

If you’re an alto player, for instance, how well do you get around in the alto key of Ab? Not too hot? Then why not devote part of your next session to bombarding that key. Pick a solo transcription you know well and start learning it in Ab. Ditto a few tunes. Hash out diads and arpeggios, starting with the basics and working in bracketing and chromaticism. Wrap your fingers around a few ii-V7-I’s. And don’t forget your bebop scales.

Mastering a key takes time and consistency, but the saturation approach will get you there if you stick with it. And you just may find, as I’ve found, that key saturation can become addictive as those hard keys become less difficult and a lot more enjoyable.

I had crossed the world to meet this cloud, and, finally, here we were, face to face. I held my hand to shield my eyes from the brilliant rays, now that the sun was well off the northeastern horizon. And these cascaded down the cloud’s face, casting long, warm shadows along the ripples of its surface. The undulations gently rose up with the progress of the wave, before disappearing over the crest.

In so many words, Gavin Pretor-Pinney describes his first encounter with an unusual and wonderful cloud called the Morning Glory. The setting is Burketown, south of the Gulf of Carpenteria, halfway between nowhere and oblivion in the hinterlands of northern Queensland, Australia. To this tiny community, a growing number of glider pilots make annual pilgrimage, convening to take advantage of the ultimate gliding experience: surfing the Morning Glory. While this wave-like cloud formation–and it is a wave, the product of a rolling current of air advancing linearly across the sky–occurs elsewhere in the world, the Queensland Morning Glory is its finest example. And little, nowheresville Burketown is the Morning Glory Capital.

Surfing the Morning Glory is just one of the fascinating, warmly written, often humorous accounts you’ll find in The Cloudspotter’s Guide: The Science, History, and Culture of Clouds. Who better to write such a book than Gavin Pretor-Pinney, founder of The Cloud Appreciation Society. A lover and student of clouds since his childhood, the author takes you for a look at clouds from many angles. Working his way up from the atmosphere’s lower levels, he not only provides an excellent, well-organized introduction to cloud nomenclature, including the various species and varieties of each cloud genus, but he also shares personal and informative bits and pieces that render the richness of his subject in an imaginative, often funny, and sometimes off-the-wall manner. Through it all, Gavin’s passion for clouds shines like sun pillars in a sheen of stratocumulus.

In The Cloudspotter’s Guide you’ll revisit the terrifying experience of Lt. Col William Rankin, who in 1959, having jettisoned his crippled aircraft in the midst of a thunderstorm, became a human hailstone and lived to tell the tale.

You’ll also set foot inside the strangest “structure” ever designed–the Blur Building of the 2002 Swiss National Expo, made entirely out of cloud. And you’ll join Gavin in an amusing and educational fantasy trip backstage at a Frankie Lymon concert, as Gavin holds up the event in an effort to explain to the singer why the rain falls from up above.

There’s plenty more to this little book, named one of the Best Books of 2006 by The Economist. I spotted it a few weeks ago on the shelf at Schuler Books & Music while looking for some weather-related reading and decided to give it a try. Good choice. The Cloudspotter’s Guide is a whimsical, informative, and heartfelt read, written in a popular tone that will engage pretty much anyone who has ever looked up at the sky with a sense of childlike wonder and adult curiosity. Weather nerds, stick this one in your library. You’ll reach for it more than once, not just to refresh yourself on cloud nomenclature, but also to remind yourself why you’re doing so.

The death toll for the historic 1965 Palm Sunday Outbreak varies depending on your source, but the number 271 packs the authority of a U. S. Weather Bureau survey submitted by a five-man team to Dr. Robert White, the chief of the bureau, just three weeks after the disaster. Add to it one known casualty from Iowa who lingered until after the report was released before succumbing to his wounds, and 272 is a reasonable tally.

However many deaths were in fact attributable to the Palm Sunday Tornadoes, the bottom line is, a shocking number of people perished in the 20th century’s second-worst tornado outbreak.

Why? Certainly there was no fault with the forecasting, which was as spot-on as you could possibly hope for, even without the benefit of all the severe weather parameters that exist today.

The research team appointed by Chief White asked that same question: what was the breakdown? Three weeks after conducting extensive surveys through the tornado-stricken six-state region, they had answers, and recommendations to accompany them that have shaped the course of both tornado research and operational forecasting.

The Weather Bureau Survey Team Report of Palm Sunday Tornadoes of 1965 is fascinating in a number of respects, not the least being the fact that in it, one can see the shape of things to come. Striking as well, amid the overall commendable efforts on the part of the various weather bureaus to warn the public, were a few notable communication disconnects. The report shows that the first two tornadoes of the outbreak struck at about the same time, 12:45 CST, in eastern Iowa. The first warning wasn’t issued until 1:00, fifteen minutes later.

In West Michigan, the Alpine Avenue F4 tornado in northwest Grand Rapids, which leveled the Swan Inn and tracked as far as Rockford, struck at the same time that the first warning was issued. Ditto for the town of Burnips, located fifteen miles southwest of Grand Rapids. Residents in the beginning paths of these tornadoes had zero lead time. Two hours later to the east, in similar fashion, Radnor, Ohio, received its warning at the same time that a tornado was tearing its way through town. As for Marion, Indiana, seven minutes advance notice was probably very little better than nothing.

Remember, in those days, civil defense sirens weren’t sounded during tornado warnings in Great Lakes communities. The only means of alerting the public to imminent danger was radio and TV, and those depended, of course, on people being tuned in to them.

The long and short of it is, the warning system back then was nothing like what we have today. We’ve come a tremendously long way in 45 years. Many of the strides we’ve taken were first set in motion by the research and recommendations of the Palm Sunday Outbreak survey team. If anything good can be said about the mayhem of that dark April evening, it is that out of its tragic losses arose advances in the public warning system that continue to do a marvelously effective job of saving lives today.

Lately I’ve been trying to bring my posts closer to a daily frequency, but let me tell you, back pain can hang up pretty much any activity, even writing.

It doesn’t take much to catapult a person into agony. In fact, sometimes it doesn’t seem to take anything at all. Monday, feeling not even a minor, lurking discomfort to suggest that anything was amiss, I arose from my La-Z-Boy reclining couch and suddenly felt an all-too-familiar, electric tweak in my lower back muscles. It was the kind of sensation that doesn’t instantly cripple you, but you know, if you’ve had prior experience with it, that it’s just the beginning. The tweak is going to skyrocket over the next few minutes to a zenith of intense and thoroughly debilitating misery before slowly subsiding over the ensuing week. You will not be running any marathons during that time.You will not even be bending over, and you will have to take a creative new approach to putting on your underwear.

The long and short of it is, I’ve been flat on my back these past couple of days, popping aspirin, taking hot baths, lying on my heating pad, and gradually regaining functionality. Fortunately, the problem has been muscular in nature, not a slipped disk. And it has almost been worth the pain to be so beautifully looked after by my sweetheart, Lisa. But my mind hasn’t been able to wrap itself around blogging. I’ve spent a lot of time just lying here on the floor with my head propped up on pillows and a heating pad tucked under my back, watching the birds at the feeder.

I thought I’d drop y’all a quick note just to stay in touch. I’ll be writing more about saxophone- and weather-related stuff once I’m in the mood. Right now, I have a copywriting project I absolutely have to get to. Yack at you in a day or two.

Bob

Two posts ago, I talked about the use of the sixth as a sort of sweetening agent in improvised solos. If you haven’t yet done so, I recommend that you read that article before proceeding with the following exercises. It’s always good to understand a little about the whys and wherefores of what you’re doing, particularly when it comes to connecting saxophone technique with jazz improvisation.

One thing I didn’t mention in the previous post, and an important point at that, is the angularity that sixths bring to a musical line. Broad interval that they are, sixths are by definition intensely angular, and as such provide a colorful and interesting way to break up a linear flow.

The three exercises on this page are all based on the C major scale. (Click on the image to enlarge it.) The first exercise features basic sixth diads, moving up and then back down an octave.

The second exercise begins on the third of the C major scale (the note E) and moves up a sixth to the tonic C, thereby strongly implying the C major chord and establishing the key center. The exercise moves downward from there, incorporating the added color of passing tones and chromatic lower neighbors.

Exercise three, ascending an octave, approaches each lower note of the diads with a chromatic lower neighbor. While the result is a series of three-note groups, I’ve written the exercise in eighth notes rather than triplets to create a syncopated effect.

Consider each written exercise to be just the abbreviated form of what you actually need to practice. You should take all three exercises up and down through the entire range of your saxophone. You’re smart enough to figure out the missing pieces for yourself, and you should do so.

I suggest that you start by picking one pattern and memorizing it in all twelve keys, beginning with the first exercise. Then proceed to the next pattern and do likewise.

Yes, I know–I’m a drill sergeant and you hate me. But I promise you, all that hard work will pay big dividends with time. One of these days, you’ll thank me. Really. “Thank you, Bob,” you’ll say. Until then, my ego is tough enough to handle the lack of love.