Entertainment — Page 3

New Year’s Eve at Fall Creek Restaurant

Hey, everyone, here’s a quick heads-up to let you know that I’ll be playing with my good friend Ed Englerth at the Fall Creek Restaurant in Hastings on New Year’s Eve.

Ed and I will be playing an eclectic assemblage of tunes in a low-key acoustic format, with Ed on guitar, me playing soprano and alto sax, and both of us doing a bit of singing. With other restaurants in the area featuring live bands in a festive spirit, the owner of Fall Creek wanted something laid-back that would allow people to converse. So that’s what we’ll be providing: music that is fun, enjoyable, but not obtrusive or melt-your-earwax loud.

Here are the details:

Ed Englerth and Bob Hartig
Saturday, December 31
8:30–11:30 p.m.
Fall Creek Restaurant
201 South Jefferson
Hastings, MI 49058
(269) 945-0100

December 18, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Entertainment, Event, Music, Saxophone, Uncategorized Tagged With: acoustic music, Ed Englerth and Bob Hartig, Fall Creek Restaurant, guitar and saxophone duo, New Year's Eve live music

My Father’s Horn: The Final Note

(Continued from part 4.)

Over thirty years have passed from the days of God’s Family Band until today. Dad’s horn has been a constant companion in that journey, though I have not always been constant with it. There were times when I set it aside for a season, and other times when I thought how much simpler life could be if I put it behind me forever. Yet every time I have set down the saxophone, I have returned to it. I have kept at it–because I must. It is more than a passion; it is a calling, integral to the way God has designed me.

There are many other stories besides the ones I have told in this brief series, more than I wish to share here. The long and short of it all is, Dad’s horn has shaped me both as a player and as a person.

Thus far, I have talked about the journey my father’s horn has taken me on. Now I would like to tell you a little about the horn itself. I own two other saxophones beside it: a Conn tenor that is even older than my alto and has long been in drastic disrepair, and a Yamaha soprano that I sometimes play. But the alto remains my voice, and I have always owned only the one, Dad’s. I’ve had no need for any other.

Not that I haven’t tried other horns. I’ve sampled a fair cross-section of altos over the years. But the one I learned to play on is the one I play today and the one on which I will someday play my last note, and then, I hope–though I have no children of my own–pass it on to someone else as a legacy, just as Dad passed it on to me.

Of all the saxophones I have played, my father’s horn sounds the most resonant, offers the greatest flexibility of sound, and blows the freest. It is an amazingly open horn. It will take as much air as I can supply and convert it into a sound that fills a room. Not that the Conn 6M is a miracle horn; it has its drawbacks. While I can get around reasonably well above high F, the altissimo is not as responsive as on other saxophones. Manufactured before the introduction of the high F# key, Dad’s sax does not feature uber-high notes as one of its strengths. Also, my repairman tells me that the rolled tone holes–a hallmark of the 6M–are beastly when it comes to getting pads to seat properly. When I have pads replaced, I usually need to visit the shop more than once to get the sax sealing tightly.

But once that job is accomplished, oh, man! Dad’s alto is a dream to play, and I fall in love with it all over again. It has a sound and a response like no other, and it has served me well for over four decades.

Dad was always the greatest fan of my playing. During the last three years of his life, he, like me, had an encounter with Jesus that changed him–not a little, but drastically. The anger that seemed to lurk below the surface disappeared, and while his feistiness remained, it was tempered with humility, even a sweetness, and above all, a peace I had never seen in him before. The ghosts that I think had haunted him from World War II seemed to lose their grip. There is a verse in the Bible that reads, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. Old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” (II Cor. 5:17) Whenever I read that verse, I think of Dad.

I was 28 years old when Dad passed away. That was nearly thirty years ago. Several years ago, I wrote a letter to my father. I thanked him for all he had done for me and for our family. I told him how, now that I was older and wise enough not to know as much as I did back in my twenties, I wished I could sit down with him and listen to him tell me about his life–how it was in the Great Depression, and in the War, killing and watching his friends be killed. I told him that he was my hero, and how glad I was, how very glad, for the peace he had found. The transformation that had begun in him when he first encountered the Lord was now complete. When next he and I would meet, Dad would no longer be a white-haired man crippled by a back injury, short-winded from a chronic heart condition and breathing from an oxgyen tank. I envisioned him striding toward me, grinning, his arms outstretched, his face that of a vibrant young man, his eyes filled with a spark that can only be found in one who has looked into the very face of Love and Life, and in its Presence found his home.

On Memorial Day, I took my letter to the small cemetery out in the countryside where Dad is buried. A tiny American flag fluttered by his marker beneath a tall fir tree. It is a beautiful little place, and Dad, who loved trees, would have been pleased with the location. I cleared away a few sprigs of grass that were encroaching on his modest gravestone, and I dusted off its surface. With a piece of Scotch tape, I attached my letter to Dad’s marker.

Then, standing up, I fulfilled one last, important part of the letter. “Thanks for the saxophone, Dad,” I had written. “It was your legacy to me, and I’ve brought it with me. Perhaps, just for a minute, the Lord will roll back eternity and let you get an earful of me playing it just for you.”

Taking the horn, setting its mouthpiece in my mouth, and wrapping my fingers around the golden, pearl-covered keys that I had first seen and admired when I was a little boy, I began to play. With his old Conn alto sax, I played for Dad the song I had performed on the day when I was baptized at Bethel–the song that over the years had become my theme song and was a fitting description of Dad’s own life.

Amazing grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found; was blind, but now I see.

A saxophone cannot verbalize those words, but it most certainly can communicate them. That day, I played them with all my heart.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come.
‘Twas grace that brought me safe this far, and grace shall lead me home.

The legacy of my father’s horn lives on. I love to play it, and while I am no Kenny Garrett, I continue to practice regularly, and thus to grow as a jazz musician. Today, I realize that Dad’s gift to me of his saxophone was ordained by my heavenly Father–by my father’s Father and mine. I am his son, his man, and his musician. And with gratitude, until a day known only to him when my last song shall end, by his grace, for his pleasure, and in honor of the Master Musician, I will continue to play my Father’s horn.

December 7, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Christian Spirituality & Inspiration, Jazz, Life, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: Amazing Grace, Bob Hartig saxophonist, Conn 6M alto sax, Dad's saxophone, God's Family Band, gospel music, jazz saxophonist, musical legacy, my father's horn, saxophone altissimo

My Father’s Horn, Part 4

(Continued from part 3.)

Writing this article has opened my eyes to just how immense a legacy my dad left me when he put his alto sax in my hands as a boy. I never intended to pen a lengthy, multi-part personal history, just a brief tribute to Dad and the shaping force his old Conn 6M has been for me. Now, four parts into “My Father’s Horn,” I realize that I could write a book and still not tell the full story. But writing a book was not, and is not, my intention. I see a need to condense, to say much in few words.

Yet I am not sure how to do that. Dad’s horn has been as pervasive an influence in my life as yeast in bread dough. It has been a source of tremendous satisfaction and great frustration; a creative outlet; an intellectual challenge and stimulus; a doorway of faith; a parable portraying truths about God’s kingdom and how He designs individuals; a song of joy, a wail of pain, a voice of my soul; a catalyst for insight, choices, and growth; a blessing to many listeners and, first and foremost, to the player; a gift, a discipline, and most certainly, a calling.

When I was 24 and playing in the Aquinas College Jazz Band, I got a call one evening from a guy named Rick Callier. Would I care to play in a musical that the Bethel Pentecostal Choir was presenting called “The Beautiful Story of Jesus”?

I learned that Rick’s cousin, Kimball Owens, had recommended me to Rick. Kimball was my buddy in the jazz band–a non-stop chatterbox, funny, super-likeable, a fine tenor sax player, and my friend. I knew nothing about either Rick or Bethel, but, while I wasn’t a Christian, I had grown up knowing about Jesus and was glad for an opportunity to offer my talent in His service for an evening.

That event was my introduction to Rick, to Bethel, and to a number of talented black gospel musicians and vocalists: David Jennings, Chico DeBarge, James Abney, Craig Tyson … the list goes on, too many to name. Even more important, playing for the Bethel musical ushered me into the beginning of my walk as a disciple of Jesus.*

Back in the 1980s, white churches in West Michigan didn’t have much use for the saxophone. Not so black churches. I knew nothing about the foibles of religious culture and cared even less about racial distinctions. All I knew was, I had fallen in with some people who loved Jesus, loved music, projected joy, and welcomed me and my horn wholeheartedly. And my heart was open. I had been seeking God for a long time, searching for meaning; searching for something bigger even than the music; searching for Life. And I found it. Or rather, I found Him–because throughout the years, He had already long been seeking me.

Thus it was that a few days after Christmas in December, 1980, I was baptized at Bethel Pentecostal Church. On that day, I had an encounter with God. It was, as best I can describe it, a sense of being overwhelmed by joy and praise. The experience was almost physical in nature and one I have never forgotten.

From there, I played often with the Bethel Pentecostal Choir. As a white kid from a German family, I was a salt grain in a pepper mill, but it didn’t matter. Love of the Lord and of music made ethnic differences something to be appreciated and enjoyed, and a source of insight.

At that time, I also joined the horn section of a gospel group called God’s Family Band. The band was co-led by Rick Callier and David Jennings, with Rick doing the arranging and David working with the vocalists. Both of these guys were incredibly talented. In partnership with a friend named Larry Rhodes, Rick also used the horns in studio sessions for other gospel artists, notably the Grammy-Award-winning group Commissioned. It was under Rick and Larry that I gained experience both as a horn section player and as a studio musician. I’ve never played for more exacting producers. They would do take after take, striving for perfection. Rick and Larry set a benchmark for excellence. Working with producers of their caliber was an eye-opening, rewarding, and hugely valuable experience.

All the while, I continued to study music at Aquinas College and play in the jazz band. My college education equipped me with the tools I needed to grow as a musician. To be honest, though, I wasted my first years in college, and I only really began to learn my horn after I got out of school. As a result, I’m mostly self-educated as a jazz saxophonist.

One influence from my college days to whom I will always feel a debt of gratitude was Mel Dalton. A wonderful Grand Rapids area tenor player, Mel was the closest thing I ever had to a musical mentor. For a brief but memorable semester or two, I use to get together with him on a weekly basis at his home. Mel didn’t exactly teach me how to play jazz; mostly what he did was spend time with me listening to Coltrane records, talking about music, playing with me through solo transcriptions, and encouraging me. Mel modeled what jazz musicianship was about. He was a beautiful player and a warm, wonderful human being, and I wish he was still here today.

At this point, I need to fast-forward. There’s a lot of story I could tell, but it wouldn’t serve my original intent in writing this article. It’s enough to say that my father’s horn has opened up doors of relationships, opportunities, and experiences.

That’s enough for now. I’ll save the rest for part 5, which I think will be the conclusion of “My Father’s Horn.”

————————————

* I’m cautious about using the word “Christian” to describe myself. I am a Christian; however, these days the word has become a label freighted with meanings that have nothing to do with what it means to follow Jesus. The word “Christian” has become politicized. It has become a marketing niche. It has come to stand for a subculture that in some ways misrepresents what Jesus and Christianity are truly about. So I prefer to be thought of as simply a disciple of Jesus–a fallible man who seeks to know Him, love Him, and live in a way that reflects his Lordship in my heart.

December 3, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Christian Spirituality & Inspiration, Church Worship, Jazz, Life, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: Aquinas College jazz band, Bethel Pentecostal Choir, black gospel music, Chico DeBarge, Christian music, church musician, Craig Tyson, follower of Jesus, God's Family Band, growing as a jazz musician, horn section player, James Abney, jazz musician's memoirs, jazz stories, Kimball Owens, Mel Dalton, my father's horn, Rick Callier, saxophone player, studio horn section, vocalist David Jennings

Master “Giant Steps” in All 12 Keys with The Giant Steps Scratch Pad Complete

Excuse me while I deviate from this blog’s generally non-commercial tone into a bit of blatant self-promotion. As you know if you’ve followed the musical part of Stormhorn.com for any length of time, I’ve self-published a practice resource for jazz musicians titled The Giant Steps Scratch Pad. Without going into details that I’ve already covered on the Scratch Pad page, the original editions provide 155 licks and patterns in the standard key for concert pitch, Bb, Eb, and bass cleff instruments.

This new edition takes that effort to the ultimate level for those who want to master John Coltrane’s jazz rites-of-passage tune, “Giant Steps,” in every key. Available now as an instant PDF download,The Giant Steps Scratch Pad Complete gives you a grand total of 1,860 exercises written in treble clef.

Speaking modestly but plainly, this is a terrific resource for jazz musicians. It gives you enough theory to help you understand Coltrane changes in the context of “Giant Steps”; however, its focus is on getting you actually playing through the changes comfortably and creatively. To the best of my knowledge, no other book like it exists that provides a practical and comprehensive means of mastering “Giant Steps.”

Written in treble clef, The Giant Steps Scratch Pad Complete is 252 pages in length and costs $21.95. As I’ve already mentioned, it is currently available as a PDF download only. That seems to be what people prefer, and I’m reluctant to invest more time and effort preparing a print edition unless I know there’s a reasonable demand for one. I’d have to charge more to make it worth my while, and you’d have to pay for shipping on top of the purchase price.

However, given the size of this new, complete edition, there may be an interest in a print version, so let me know. Enough requests can make the difference. And I will say that the cover which I had professionally designed for the standard-key editions looks very sharp, better than most of what I’ve seen in music stores.

To place your order, or to learn more about The Giant Steps Scratch Pad and check out printable page samples, click here.

Also, if you like what you find, please tell your fellow musicians. Self-publishing means self-marketing, and the best way to accomplish that is through word-of-mouth. Nothing means more to other musicians–and to me, personally–than the recommendation of a colleague.

Thanks for your interest and for spreading the word!

–Bob

December 2, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: Giant Steps Scratch Pad Complete, jazz instrumentalists, jazz studies, learn Giant Steps, learn how to play Giant Steps, learn jazz improvisation, play Giant Steps in all 12 keys, practice Coltrane changes, practicing Giant Steps, resources for jazz musicians, resources for studying jazz

My Father’s Horn, Part 3

(Continued from part 2.)

For a couple of years after I graduated from high school, I cast about with no certain direction. I worked a series of odds-and-ends jobs, none with any promise, and lived alternately with my parents, in a tiny shotgun house in Eastown, and in a former chicken coop converted into a rental home out in the countryside of Cascade. (Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it! The place was really nice for that time in my life.)

The one constant in my life was music. But in those days, I had largely set aside my horn in favor of my acoustic guitar, which I had taught myself to play. I was hugely into Jethro Tull and wanted nothing more than to be another Ian Anderson. So I was doing my best to develop as a singer/songwriter.

It was the sax, though, that opened the door to some key musical friendships. In those days, I was hanging with my buddies Perry Werchowsky and Scott Smith. It was these guys who in different ways spurred me on to learn more about what I was doing.

The three of us used to get together frequently at Perry’s house and jam, with Perry playing piano, Scott on the guitar, and, of course, me on the alto sax. Perry was studying with veteran jazz keyboardist Eddie Russ, and Scott had begun to take music classes at Grand Rapids Junior College. Scott was constantly talking about the latest musical concepts he was learning in music theory class. Triads, inversions, augmented chords, secondary dominants, cadences … all fascinating to hear about, and frankly, I was starting to feel a bit jealous. I wanted to know about that stuff!

When I told my parents that I thought I might like to study music, they leaped at my mere mention of the idea. A whirlwind of college visits, applications, and financial aid forms ensued, and when the dust finally settled, I found myself sitting in the afternoon jazz band at Aquinas College under the directorship of Dr. Bruce Early.

Bruce put me in the lead alto chair, but he made it plain to me that the arrangement was only temporary. Someone else would be playing first chair, and once that person arrived in a week or two, I would be demoted.

“Right,” I thought. “Just wait till you hear what I can do!” Rehearsals got underway, me playing with all the gusto and confidence that comes from either great talent or monumental ignorance. From the impression Bruce was doing of being utterly unimpressed, I knew I was secretly blowing him away. He just wasn’t letting on.

Then one afternoon as I was assembling my horn for rehearsal, into the room walked another saxophonist named Dan Bryska. I had heard Dan play before; he had sat in on a few Formal Aires gigs in months past. I felt a bit nervous. Here was my replacement, apparently, and I knew he was good.

Dan put together his horn and began to warm up with a series of bebop licks. In fifteen seconds, the guy blew lines through his sax that I had never dreamed of. And like that, my cocky attitude evaporated. Geeze, Dan wasn’t just better than me, he was a lot better. There weren’t even grounds for comparison.

Until now I had been a small fish in a smaller pond, and I had made the mistake of believing the people who told me what a great player I was. Now here was the truth, staring me in the face. I was a novice, so green that I didn’t even know how badly I sucked. But Dan had just given me a clue. It was a humbling experience, but it was good for me. It suggested that if I wanted to become anywhere near as good a player as Dan and some of the other guys in the band, I was going to have to work at it.

In other words, practice. What a novel concept!

But practice what? I wasn’t sure. I had begun to take jazz improvisation lessons with Bruce Early, but my ears just couldn’t wrap themselves around the complexities of even the simplest jazz harmony. A ninth slapped on top of a minor seventh chord didn’t sound pretty to me; it sounded wrong.

I forget how I stumbled upon Jerry Coker’s renowned book Patterns for Jazz, but I’ll never forget the impact it had on me. By then I was two years into music school, and I was slowly developing, but I think I was mostly just a source of frustration for my saxophone instructor. Then along came Coker’s book. I took it to school with me, hit a practice room, and began to work on a pattern that consisted of major triads ascending and descending chromatically.

“Hmmm,” I thought, “I wonder if I can memorize this.” I took up the challenge, persevered at it, and succeeded. And light began to dawn for me. I could do this stuff! If I practiced, I could become good. Maybe even really good.

I was hammering away on my triads one afternoon when the door to my practice room suddenly flung open and my sax instructor, Fred Bunch, rushed in. “YES!” he yelled. “That’s it! That’s it! Keep doing it!!!”

The man had a wild look in his eyes, and I had left my pepper spray at home. But I felt more inspired than nervous. After all those years of misfiring, it looked like I was finally on the right track.

(To be continued.)

November 28, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Jazz, Life, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: alto sax, Aquinas College jazz band, Bruce Early, Dan Bryska, Fred Bunch, jazz stories, jazz studies, Jethro Tull, learning how to improvise jazz, music school, music theory, my father's horn, Perry Werchowsky, Saxophone

Dixieland for Cows

Till now, I thought for sure that I was the only jazz musician in the world who has played for a cow audience. And maybe I was until these guys, like me, discovered what fine, appreciative listeners cows are.

I have to admit, I can’t top this act. What a stitch! And some great Dixieland music, too. Thanks to my friend Bill Karlsson for sending me the link.

November 23, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Entertainment, Humor, Jazz, Saxophone, Video Tagged With: animals and music, funny videos, jazz for cows, playing music for animals

My Father’s Horn, Part 2

(Continued from part 1.)

During my eighth-grade year, my father’s horn opened the doors to a formative experience in my life. It began when a fellow junior high school classmate, Steve Afendoulis, asked me if I would like to play in a band he was forming. Steve being a drummer, I thought he was talking about a rock band.

Now, I have to be honest: Much as I enjoyed playing the saxophone, rock music was in its psychedelic heyday, and what I really aspired to be was the next Jimi Hendrix. The only hitch was that I didn’t play guitar. Still, while I’d never heard of Dave Sanborn, I thought that maybe I could carve my niche as a rock saxophonist. I’d be cool, and “cool” was a quality I lacked and desperately wished to cultivate. So I told Steve to count me in.

Thus it was that I wound up playing lead alto in a 17-piece dance band called the Formal Aires. It was not exactly Woodstock material. Tommy Dorsey, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Louis Armstrong … good heavens! I was playing my parents’ music! Whatever image it might project for me, “cool” didn’t figure in.

I hadn’t a clue what an amazing experience I had walked into. What I did know was that, cool or not, I really enjoyed the weekly rehearsals with my 16 other junior high and high school bandmates. They came from several schools around the Grand Rapids area, and even as our athletic teams clashed, we harmonized.

Steve’s dad, Gus Afendoulis, served as the band’s manager. He owned a tuxedo rental and dry cleaning shop on Michigan Street in Grand Rapids and also wrote a weekly column on bridge for the Grand Rapids Press. Being well-connected, Gus managed to secure frequent weekend and holiday gigs for the band at top country clubs, wedding receptions, and social and community events throughout West Michigan. I’m quite sure it was Gus who purchased our music library for us. Owning his own tux shop, he saw to it that we were properly outfitted in formal attire. He secured a couple of music directors who worked with us during weekly rehearsals, helping us to properly interpret the music and develop our sound. Above all, Gus loved us kids. He was a sweetheart of a guy who made it all happen for us and did so in such a low-key way that his immense significance never dawned on me till years later.

I mentioned that the band had two music directors. These men, Sid Stellema and Ted Carino, were the guiding forces for the band. Ted, an alto saxophonist with prior big band experience, was there every week, walking us through the charts, rehearsing us, encouraging us, shaping our sound. Ted was the person who first made me aware that not all mouthpieces are created equal. I had been playing the stock mouthpiece that came with dad’s horn. With its small tip opening, it was not designed to move a lot of air, and it gave me a feeble, overly dark sound with little volume or projection. It was by no means a lead alto mouthpiece.

One night, Ted pulled me aside and handed me a box containing a brand-new Brillhart mouthpiece. I put it on my horn and experienced an epiphany. This piece was so much louder! And its brighter tone gave me the edge I needed for the first alto chair.

Sid Stellema also helped rehearse the band. His involvement wasn’t as extensive as Ted’s, but his experience as an arranger provided us with invaluable input. Sid also guided me in writing my first–and only–successful big band chart: an arrangement of “Auld Lang Syne.” In those days I knew nothing of music theory, and my inner ear was informed by rock harmonies rather than jazz. Thanks to Sid’s coaching, though, I came up with an acceptable arrangement of the Guy Lombardo classic, which the band played every New Year’s Eve henceforth and eventually passed down, along with the rest of its book, to its successor, the Stardusters.

The Formal Aires was a profoundly important part of my musical learning curve. Through it all, my father and mother faithfully drove me to the weekly rehearsals. The saxophone that Dad was unable to play now rested in the hands of his oldest son, and Dad could hear both it and me coming to life, doing what we were created to do.

I played in the Formal Aires, and afterward the Stardusters, all the way through high school and even into my early college days. I think the Formal Aires must have played at every country club in West Michigan, and not just once, but frequently. We had the New Year’s Eve gig locked in every year at the Cascade Country Club. The band was a great way for us kids to make a bit of money playing music–and above all, we had fun! To Steve, to Gus, to Ted, to Sid, and to all my old bandmates: Thanks. I’ve never forgotten.

The Formal Aires and the Stardusters steeped me in the classic swing band literature and gave me the confidence I needed as a lead alto player. Too much confidence, really. I was naive as to how much I had yet to learn …

(To be continued.)

November 19, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Jazz, Life, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: big band, dance band, Formal Aires, Gus Afendoulis, jazz musicians, jazz saxophonist, learning the saxophone, learning to play jazz, Sid Stellema, Stardusters, Steve Afendoulis, stories of jazz musicians, swing band, Ted Carino

Technique-Builder: Intervals within a Perfect Fifth

Here’s a little exercise that can help you get handy with the basic intervals between the root and perfect fifth of a triad. Click on the image to enlarge it. I normally run the pattern over major-quality chords, but it should work fine over minor as well. For that reason, I’ve shown only chord roots over each bar without getting more specific about chord quality.

Other than that, I don’t think the exercise needs much explaining. It’s a nice way to build your chops, and it’ll also open your ears, particularly if you play it slowly enough to clearly hear the different intervals.

If you find this exercise helpful, you’ll find many more like it on my Jazz Theory, Technique & Solo Transcriptions page.

November 14, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: building jazz technique, building musical technique, how to improvise jazz, intervals within a perfect fifth, patterns for jazz improv, practicing jazz

The Fear of Cloning

The name of the tune is “Gunslinging Bird,” but the name originally given it by Charles Mingus was, “If Charlie Parker Were a Gunslinger, There’d Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats.” Included in the Mingus Dynasty album, the tune was Mingus’s way of recognizing the enormous impact of Parker on other saxophonists. Parker’s approach was so overwhelming that scores of horn players, alto saxophonists in particular, sought to copy it. Bird was the way to sound.

Mingus was making a point that cloneliness is not next to godliness. Still, learning by emulation is a longstanding hallmark of jazz–and, for that matter, of any discipline. Whether it’s a girl watching her mom bake cookies in the kitchen, an English major contemplating a Hemingway short story, or a trumpet player transcribing a Wynton Marsalis solo, every person learns by seeing–or hearing–and imitating how the masters do it.

Today, both in print and on the Internet, a huge array of transcribed solos testifies that the venerable tradition of emulating the jazz luminaries remains alive and well. Yet so, too, does a common objection voiced by novice musicians: “I don’t want to sound like another musician; I want to develop my own style.”

It’s an understandable concern, but is it a valid one? That depends, really, on the goals of the individual. Let’s put it this way: If you listen to a lot of Kenny Garrett, and if you take it upon yourself to transcribe a bunch of Kenny Garrett solos, and if you steep yourself in those Kenny Garrett solos, then chances are you will come out sounding an awful lot like Kenny Garrett.

Now, if that’s all you aspire to, then that’s where you’ll end up: as a Kenny Garrett clone. But if you desire to forge your own voice, then Kenny will simply become a part of your vocabulary, a vocabulary that includes other influences besides Kenny and increasingly reflects your personal explorations with melody, harmony, timbre, and nuance. You are an individual, after all, and the sheer force of your individuality will direct you toward your own sound and approach.

So don’t be afraid to go through the masters. Doing so is a part of how every jazz musician learns. It’s not the only part of the growth curve, but it is a foundational one: working the pre-existing language of jazz into your head and your hands so you can communicate meaningfully with your instrument. The point of copying Bird isn’t to play like Bird, but to move beyond Bird and play like yourself. And you will. If you want to, you will.

That’s all that need be said. You just need to trust the process–and, I might add, enjoy it. Don’t worry about arriving; just dig the journey, and recognize that your landscape is slowly changing with every step you take.

Practice hard, have fun, and keep at it!

If you enjoyed this article, click here to find lots more similar posts, including chops-building exercises, jazz theory, solo transcriptions, and video tutorials.

November 9, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone, Uncategorized Tagged With: Charles Mingus, Charlie Parker, If Charlie Parker Were a Gunslinger There'd Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats, imitating jazz masters, jazz tradition, jazz vocabulary, Kenny Garrett, language of jazz, learning jazz, transcribing solos

Francesca and Friends: Tricking the Pony and Seasoning the Grille

My friend Francesca Amari-Sajtar has been in Grand Rapids the past few days, and naturally we wound up playing some music. Thursday night at One Trick Pony in Grand Rapids, and Friday evening at Seasonal Grille in Hastings, the band was in great form and Francesca was her usual sparkling self. Two different places and two fun nights. Here are a few photos of the band at the Grille.