Subconscious-Lee

When you think of original voices on the alto saxophone, Lee Konitz inevitably comes to mind. A student of blind pianist Lenny Tristano, Konitz unites a limpid tone with fluid technique and a unique, uncliched melodic conception.

I find interviews with jazz musicians fascinating, and in previous posts I”ve included links to clips featuring both the playing and the personal insights of Sonny Rollins, Bill Evans, and Michael Brecker. Now joining them is this video segment from the television show The Subject Is Jazz featuring a young Lee Konitz and tenor compatriot Warne Marsh playing the tune “Subconscious-Lee,” followed by a brief but interesting interview with Konitz.

I’m struck by Konitz”s early tone–clear, pretty, and creamy. His sound has evolved quite a bit since then, and possesses an unmistakable, instantly recognizable signature quality. Melodically, note Konitz”s use of sequence, and his ease of interpolating unusual, more angular ideas into his lines. The tune, and both Konitz”s and Marsh”s playing, showcase fabulous technique masked by a cool, intellectual approach. Standing in the hot shadow of the boppers, Konitz offered a thoughtful and engaging alternative.

December 13, 2008 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Music, Saxophone, Video

Michael Brecker on Practicing

Oh, man! Gold mine! Check out this video of Michael Brecker talking about his practice regimen.

I find two things particularly noteworthy:

1. As phenomenal a saxophonist as Michael Brecker was, he never considered himself to have arrived. He continued to practice voraciously, experiencing the same ebbs and floes in his woodshedding and musical growth as anyone else.

2. Michael was always reaching for new ideas. But it took him a long time and hard work to master those ideas. In his own words, he was a slow learner.

Huh? Brecker–slow? Gee, I guess the guy actually had to pay real dues to become as good as he was.

One aspect of inspiration is encouragement. I find it encouraging to think that Brecker was actually human. He didn”t just come out of the womb playing the saxophone that brilliantly. He sweated over his instrument.

Of course I already knew that. Still, listening to those recordings of Michael, I lose track of the fact that he wasn”t superhuman. Gifted he was, most definitely, but he still had to do what any of us have to do in order attain proficiency on our instrument: practice. Hearing someone who played at such a high level talk so openly and humbly about his personal challenges in continuing to grow musically…well, it just helps, that”s all. I mean, for all the time I”ve spent working on my horn, I sometimes get discouraged thinking how much I have yet to learn, and how long it has taken me just to get to where I”m at.

So I appreciate a guy like Michael Brecker sharing so transparently. His doing so helps me realize I”m no dummy. I”m just normal. And I”m in pretty good company.

Kudos, by the way, to Jazz-Sax.com, where I found the above YouTube clip. It”s a site you”ll definitely want to check out and add to your bookmarks.

February 15, 2008 by
Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Jazz, Music, Saxophone, Video

Art Pepper: Sweet, Sad, and Soulful

I love Art Pepper”s playing! What a refreshing departure from the balls-to-the-walls bebop of the forties and fifties. An icon of what came to be known as the “West Coast style” of jazz, Pepper had a unique sound and improvisational approach that identify him instantly whenever you hear one of his recordings.

Tonally, Art Pepper was cut from a cloth similar to Paul Desmond. But the similarity doesn”t go very far. Pepper had the same silky, creamy texture as Desmond, but with a brittle, somewhat hard edge to it. Part fruitiness, part sigh.

Art”s improvisations are beautifully lyrical, liberally punctuated with a very personal sense of space. He delivers his ideas in crystalline clauses separated by semicolons and emdashes of breathing room. The overall effect is one I find completely captivating. No one else I”m aware of has ever duplicated it, and no one needs to. One Art Pepper is sufficient. I”m simply glad he was here, and that he left us such a lovely legacy in the way of musical expression.

nCheck out this recording of Art Pepper playing “Besame Mucho.” You”ll easily notice Art”s trademark sound and use of space. You”ll also pick up on the fact that the guy had a wonderful technique, one which served him well, not to mention those of us who admire his playing.

When you want a taste of something a little different–a blend of prettiness, sadness, and soul–listen to Art. He had a hard life, but his playing is tender and sweet.

February 13, 2008 by
Filed Under: Band, Entertainment, Jazz, Life, Music, Recording, Saxophone

Of Foxes and Saxophones

In my last post, I established that cows make a great jazz audience. Given their rapt enthusiasm for my saxophone playing, I might even opt for a roomful of them over people, provided they pay at the door, order a few drinks, and tip the waitress. Then again, cows are notorious for hygienic indiscretion, so I guess I”ll go with people after all, at least until the day when Depends for cows hits the market.

So much for cows. On to foxes.

Early one morning on my way to work, driving through the countryside near the airport, I pulled my car onto the shoulder by a broad meadow. With half an hour to kill, I assembled my horn, figuring I”d get in a little sax practice to start the day off right.

As I stood there serenading the sunrise, I noticed a riffling motion in the weeds a hundred feet off to my right. Out of the tall grass emerged a red fox. It edged closer…closer…to within maybe sixty feet from me. Then it sat, its head cocked, watching intently as I played. After a minute, apparently deciding I was safe, the fox moved closer still, then sat again and listened. From the studious look on its face, I figured it was analyzing my licks, absorbing them for possible use in its own playing.

Hard to say how long the little guy sat there–maybe five minutes, maybe even longer. Eventually he got up and, casting a couple backward glances, trotted off.

What a gift! As much as I love the countryside and as much time as I”ve spent in it, I nevertheless have seen foxes only a handful of times. They”re retiring creatures which prefer not to be seen. But like many other animals, they seem to have a fascination for music. That one would allow its curiosity to overcome its natural fear of man in such a way, for what strikes me as a pretty lengthy amount of time, is something I consider remarkable–or at least, very, very cool.

On a fishing trip in Ontario several years ago, I packed in my soprano sax. In the evening, after a full day of fishing, I would sit on the rocky shore of the wilderness island where my buddies and I were camped, playing my horn and listening to the loons call back from across the waters. The antiphony was haunting and beautiful. Those were magical twilights, filled with loon song, the scent of white pine, and the voices and laughter of friends.

What a rich creation God has given us! And what an incredible treasure is music, connecting humans with the wild things of the earth and giving us glimpses of how things were meant to be–and how they once were long, long ago, back in the Garden.

February 13, 2008 by
Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Humor, Jazz, Life, Music, Nature

Playing Sax Till the Cows Come Home

I play for cows.

Seriously.

At the western edge of my small hometown of Caledonia, bordering the parking lot of a Catholic church, there sits a large cow pasture. During the warm months, I periodically park my car out there on the far edge of the church lot and practice my saxophone.

The results are always rewarding. It’s an amazing thing to watch scores of cows come drifting in to check me out. Evidently, cows love a good concert.

They’re particularly responsive to high notes. Musically speaking, there’s nothing a cow appreciates so much as a good, screaming altissimo. Work your horn a little bit in that top register and watch those cattle come prancing in to stare at you with intense curiosity. It’ so gratifying. I promise you, you’ll never find a more attentive audience, or a more appreciative one. Cows are good for a musician’s ego.

And responsive? Hoo-wee! Cows are moved* by jazz. Inhibition to the wind, baby, that’s a cow crowd for you. One cow will think nothing of mounting another cow whenever the mood seizes it, and gender evidently isn’t much of a concern. When those cow hormones are running hot, all it takes is a little jazz sax to inspire some hot young heifer to attempt things she wasn’t designed for. Cows are the original Woodstock generation.

If your practice routine has settled into the doldrums and you’d like to shake it up with something a little different, I highly recommend cows. Head to the nearest pasture for your next session, start blowing, and watch what happens. It is truly a weird sight to see a hundred bovine lined up along the fence, watching you intently and all but snapping their hooves to the music.

Give it a try. You may even get fan letters, though I wouldn’t answer them if I were you.

_______________

* Being a man of taste, I have avoided the obvious pun. I refuse to say mooooved in any of my writings about cows, and have carefully avoided doing so here.**

** But not here. Mooooved.

February 12, 2008 by
Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Entertainment, Humor, Jazz, Life, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , ,

The Rhythm Comedians

I miss the Rhythm Comedians! Over two years have elapsed since our little unit disbanded. The time had come; it happens that way for many creative group efforts involving musicians. We cohere for a while, then move on to other interests, or simply move apart. So it was with the Comedians. Yet, looking back, I feel grateful for the time I spent with leader, composer, and drummer Ric Troll, bassist Dave DeVos, violinist Pat Foley, and guitarist Jeff Boughner.

Jeff passed on not many months after the band broke up. His death came as a complete shock. I had seen him not long before, on New Years Eve at a gig in downtown Grand Rapids. He looked fine then. But a few weeks later, poof. Cancer. Gone. Unbelievable. One can get another guitarist, but not another Jeff. With his creative spark and gentle, congenial personality gone, the rest of us who comprised the Rhythm Comedians are left with some wonderful memories, and, thankfully, Ric”s backlog of Rhythm Comedians jazz originals on his jukebox at his Tallmadge Mill website.

For me, the zenith of my time with the Comedians was our April Fool concert at the Urban Institute for Contemporary Arts (UICA). With the extraordinary Kurt Ellenberger joining us on piano, I consider that event the height of our playing. The nice turn-out of friends, family, and area jazz lovers made the evening all the more memorable. But concert aside, it was the music, the creativity, and the cameraderie that made the Rhythm Comedians one of my most rewarding musical experiences.

To all you guys–Ric, Dave, Pat, and yes, to you, Jeff–thanks.

February 4, 2008 by
Filed Under: Band, Entertainment, Jazz, Life, Music, Saxophone

Coltrane, Giant Steps, and the Blues

“Giant Steps” by John Coltrane.

Sooner or later, a sax player has to deal with it–that most lopsided, knuckle-busting of all digitally oriented tunes.

It’s a tough nut to crack, but it’s also a very rewarding one. The tune has a beautiful, geometrical logic to it. Practicing patterns to it comes easy, but breaking away from the patterns and doing something truly inventive in an improvisation is a challenge. You’ve really earned your saxophone merit badge when you can get around comfortably in “Giant Steps.”

Around ten years ago, I steeped myself in “Giant Steps” for a lengthy period, to the exclusion of just about everything else. My focused practice paid off: I got to where I could negotiate the changes with a fair degree of fluency and creativity at over 300 on the metronome. Not a bad achievement–but I forgot how to play the blues. I kid you not! You’d think all that technical work would bleed over into the rest of my playing, and I”m sure there were ways it did. But when it came to sounding pretty on a basic bebop blues, my fingers just didn’t seem to remember the territory. It was weird.

I can still get around “Giant Steps” today if I need to, but I’m pretty rusty at it. However, my blues playing sounds much more convincing. It”s a trade-off. If I had all the hours of the day to practice, I’d practice all hours of the day. But in this busy life, I do what I can. We can’t all be Coltrane. For that matter, none of us can. I’m content to listen to him, admire him, learn from him…and enjoy playing my horn.

February 1, 2008 by
Filed Under: Entertainment, Jazz, Life, Music, Recording, Saxophone

Made for Dancing

I love to watch people dance, and I get to do a lot of that on my monthly gig at Westwood at the Crossing. Over the past few months, Westwood has hosted weekly, Sunday evening dance lessons. Afterwards, the Westwood features live entertainment for the dance crowd. Once a month, it”s the Rhythm Section Jazz Band. On our night to howl, we get the dancers up and shakin” it to a hefty dose of big band swing and Latin music. That kind of material is eminently danceable: Basie, Ellington, the Dorsey brothers…it”s the stuff swing dance evolved out of. We have fun playing it, and the dancers have fun dancing to it.

Jazz covers a lot of territory, and much of it was created as dance music. I”ve spent considerable time on the side of the bandstand where music is made, and I”ve always enjoyed watching how people respond to the music out on the dance floor. Some folks just shuffle, and that”s fine. Others are truly fabulous dancers, and they are a real treat to watch.

Of course, not all jazz is good to dance to, nor is it intended to be. During my visit with my friend Kathy Bavaar in D.C. last December, we took in a jazz dinner at the Smithsonian. The featured band was an Afro-Cuban bop band. It was a world-class group made up of absolutely monstrous players, but I defy you to dance to their music. It”s too complex. The cross rhythms create all kinds of interest, but they seem to intentionally obscure the downbeat.

This is by no means an objection. I marvel at music of that caliber, music which is at once intricate, challenging, emotional, and beautiful. It has its own sense of swing–but most people”s feet won”t find it. There are exceptions, I”m sure, but they are likely to come in the form of very seasoned dancers who have steeped themselves in the complexities of Latin rhythms.

Some jazz is made for dancing. Some is made for listening. All of it is made for enjoyment and public consumption. Whatever your preference–whether madcap Dixieland, fast-paced bop, tender ballads, or floating fusion–if it puts a smile on your face, it has done its job.

February 1, 2008 by
Filed Under: Band, Entertainment, Event, Jazz, Music

The Problem with Phil

Phil Woods–a problem? Who could have any problem at all with Phil?

I can, and here it is: the guy is too good!

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was blowing choruses on Donna Lee while still in his diapers. Of course, Woods paid some serious dues to play as beautifully as he does, but he seems to have been playing that way awfully early in the game. Here”s a black-and-white video clip of Phil from back in 1968.

He would have been…um, let’s see, born in 1931…okay, well, one can certainly be playing a lot of horn at age thirty-seven. I guess that much is obvious. And in Phil’s case, he evidently was playing outstandingly at least fourteen years earlier. His extensive discography goes back to 1954, two years before I was born. Phil had to have been darned good even then for a record company to pick him up at the tender age of twenty-three.

I guess that’s why he’s Phil Woods. Why he’s a jazz icon. Because he was a killer player back then and remains so today. He had the fire in him at an early age, he took it and ran with it, and he’s been running ever since.

And playing beautifully.

You got a problem with that?

January 24, 2008 by
Filed Under: Entertainment, Jazz, Life, Music, Recording, Saxophone, Video

Good Beer, Revisited

I never did make it to the Fletcher Street Brewery after my gig in Alpena last December. Not that I didn’t want to, not that I didn’t try, but I’m here to tell you that life has its ironies.

A few other band members seemed reasonably enthused about hitting the brewpub once we had packed up the equipment, so we wound up with a bit of an entourage cruising the streets of Alpena. Finding Fletcher Street Brewery was not much of a problem, but I had forgotten one small detail: the place doesn’t serve food.

No food!

What’s wit dat?

How can you serve beer without offering something in the way of edibles to take the edge off an appetite, not to mention off the alcohol?

Now, this lack of food didn”t bother me to the extent that I was prepared to give up on my prospects of a fine IPA. But everyone else was hungry. So off we went to a restaurant down the block for a meal, all ten or twelve of us.

The place we wound up at majored in high-decibel background noise and your usual American pilsners. Frankly, I would rather drink lizard pee than Miller’s, but at least Sam Adams was available in a bottle, and that”s what everyone ordered.

Everyone, that is, except me. Nothing against Sam Adams, mind you–it”s decent enough beer–but I was saving myself, you see. Fortified by visions of that mug of IPA at Fletcher’s, I wasn’t about to sacrifice either my stomach space or my sobriety on lesser brews. So I suffered beerlessly through my hamburger. It was hard. But my mind was focused on a higher cause.

An hour later, we headed back to our vehicles, spun down the side streets, and pulled into Fletcher’s parking lot.

The lot was empty.

Fletcher Street Brewery had closed five minutes before our arrival.

And that, my friend, is why my lip trembles and there is a tear in my eye as I write these words. If ever a man wanted a good beer that night, I was that man. If ever a man deserved a good beer that night, it was I. And yet, out of all our little coterie, I was the one–the only one–who didn”t get a beer. Not even a lousy Sam Adams. Still, tonight, nearly two months later, just thinking of this is causing me to relive the trauma.

Thankfully, I”ve got just the cure for the pain. There’s a sweet, fat growler of Hopnoxious IPA from the Walldorff sitting in the fridge. There’s a good, solid glass beer mug in my cupboard. As for the rest, well…you know the drill.

January 23, 2008 by
Filed Under: Humor, Jazz, Life, Music, Saxophone, Uncategorized
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