Jazz — Page 5

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

Black Friday Quickie Update

It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and weatherwise, all I can say about the storm system I wrote about a couple days ago is, eh. Looks like a yawn to me. Heck, it’s November. Not much more to comment about there.

I’m gazing out the window at a gorgeous afternoon here in Caledonia, and in a couple minutes, I’m going to step out to enjoy it. Looks like this will be my last opportunity for a while, maybe quite a while. Tomorrow the rain sets in, and Sunday the temperatures drop. Snow is entering the forecast for this coming week. But today at least is golden.

Ben Holcomb is in town, so around 5:30 I’m heading downtown to get with him, Bill, Tom, and whoever else of the Michigan Storm Chasers Contingent decides to show up at The Tavern on the Square. After that, the guys are going to the Griffins game, but I’ll be passing on that.

Musically, I’ve begun transcribing a Richie Cole solo on the Charlie Parker tune “Confirmation.” For some reason, lately I’ve gotten it into my head that I’m going to nail down this tune once and for all, definitively, and there’s no better way to facilitate the process than transcribing the solo of someone who knows it inside-out. Cole is a monster bebop alto player who burns through Bird changes using the full range of his horn, from low Bb up to an altissimo note that I have yet to identify, a note so high it sounds like a mosquito singing in falsetto.

So there you have it. While the rest of America is bashing its brains out at the Black Friday sales, I’ll be enjoying the sunshine and congratulating myself for staying as far away from the stores as possible. Cheerio!

November 25, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Jazz, Michigan, Music, Saxophone, Weather Tagged With: Black Friday, Charlie Parker tune Confirmation, Richie Cole, storm system, transcribing jazz solos

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

My Father’s Horn: A Grown Son Reflects on a Priceless Musical Legacy

Most of my music posts share technical exercises or theoretical information. This post is different. I want to share with you something very personal. It is the story of the saxophone that I play: my beloved Conn 6M Ladyface.

When I was a small boy living with my family in Niles, Michigan, my dad kept his alto sax in its original black case up against the wall by his bed. He had bought the horn back when he was a young man, and was learning to play it until service in WWII interrupted his musical aspirations and a bout of tuberculosis finished them off entirely. He met my mother in the TB sanatorium, where she worked as a nurse. Dates followed, letters, a ring, marriage, and then me.

My parents moved from Chicago to Niles when I was a year old. The sax sat quietly in its case, all but forgotten. Once in a great while, though, Dad would take that case and open it up, and it was on one such occasion that I got my first glimpse of the horn. There it lay, cradled in the case’s rich, purple velvet lining: a shining complexity of rods, springs, pearl buttons, pads, and palm keys, all neatly arranged on that deeply golden, sensuously curving body. It was beautiful, fascinating, and to me, impossibly complicated. How could anybody take something so bewilderingly engineered and make music with it?

Ever after that first glimpse of my father’s horn, I wanted to see more of it. From its aureate luster, to the resonant sound of its bell pads thumping against the tone holes, to its mysterious, brittle reeds, that saxophone captivated me. I was far too young to play it, but it was already beginning to play me.

In the summer after my sixth grade year, my family–which had grown to include my brothers Pat, Terry, and Brian, and my sister, Diane–moved to Grand Rapids. Junior high school loomed on the horizon. No longer would I be attending a private Catholic school; the Forest Hills public school system awaited me in the fall, including its band program.

Band? I was going to be in band?

Yes, that was the plan. In September, when I climbed aboard the school bus for the first day of school, that black case containing my father’s horn was in my hands. Private lessons with my band director, Richard Streng, commenced soon after. And I took to my dad’s alto sax as naturally as if I had been born for it–which, of course, was the case.

The first note I learned to play was A. The second was D. After that came G, and then, I think, C; after that, I don’t recall the order. What I do remember is stopping between each note and carefully inspecting my fingers to make sure they were positioned properly. It seems amazing that the fluidity with which I get around on my instrument today got its start with such painstaking deliberateness. But I didn’t mind. I was learning to play music, learning to play my dad’s saxophone, and I was absolutely thrilled. I could do this! No one needed to tell me to practice; I couldn’t wait to get in my daily time on the sax.

Mr. Streng seemed to enjoy my private lessons with him as much as I did. He recognized in me a genuine desire to excel. I came to my lessons prepared and ready to play, so he consistently had something he could work with. I still remember his baritone voice after every lesson: “Bob, as always, it has been a pleasure.”

From Mr. Streng, I learned a life lesson every bit as important as those first music lessons, and that was the power of praise. Never underestimate what a good word can accomplish in a person’s heart. A child’s heart, a young adult’s heart, a heart of many years’ experience … it doesn’t matter. Praise empowers; praise instills vision; praise nurtures an inner voice that says, “Yes, I can!”

(To be continued)

November 17, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Christian Music, Christian Spirituality & Inspiration, Jazz, Life, Music, Relationships, Saxophone Tagged With: a father's legacy, Bob Hartig, jazz education, jazz musician, junior high band, learning the saxophone, learning to play music, musical legacy, my father's horn, Saxophone

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

Coming Soon: The Giant Steps Scratch Pad in All 12 Keys

My book The Giants Steps Scratch Pad is enjoying modest success. While it’s not flying off the shelves, musicians are buying it, and I find that gratifying because I haven’t done much to market it other than display it on this and a couple of other jazz websites, and run a few ads in Craigslist.

Available in separate editions for C, Bb, Eb, and bass cleff instruments, the book supplies 155 licks and patterns designed to help jazz instrumentalists master the Giant Steps cycle. To the best of my knowledge, there’s no other resource out there like it that helps musicians actually practice Coltrane changes. The closest I’ve seen has been for guitar players.

But enough about that. If you want to learn more about The Giant Steps Scratch Pad, visit my sales page. This post is to announce the upcoming release of a new edition of the Scratch Pad that covers all 12 keys.

I’ve had this edition in mind for a while. I finally got the project underway but have held back announcing it until I felt certain that I’d see it through to completion. Today, with just three keys left to go, I think it’s safe to say that this new, all-keys edition is gonna happen. I hope to wrap up the main grunt work within the next few days. I wish it was as easy as simply hitting the transposition button on MuseScore, but while transcription software is great, it doesn’t eliminate the need for hands-on editing. So I’ve been sifting through each key page by page, changing the range where necessary, correcting wrong notes, inserting and deleting accidentals, and so forth.

Once I’m finished, I’ll proofread the results to make doubly sure that the manuscript is glitch-free. Then I’ll assemble the whole lot and make it available as a PDF download. I will not offer it as a print edition through Lulu.com unless I get requests to do so. Judging from my sales of the present editions, people would much rather download the PDF and get the guts of the book instantly for cheaper rather than pay the shipping costs (even though the full-color cover looks sooooo sharp!). And I’m fine with that. Prepping a print edition is a lot of extra work; I have to charge more for it in order to make less than half the profit; and Lulu’s insistence on putting a single, slim book inside a cardboard box that costs nearly $4.00 to ship is just plain crazy, not to mention a sales-killer.

Anyway, stay tuned. It’ll still take a week or two, but The Giant Steps Scratch Pad for all 12 keys is on the way. I haven’t determined the price yet, but it’ll be reasonable, something that’ll let you still pay your utility bills while helping me to pay mine. I should add that this edition is written in treble clef. I may do a bass clef edition in all 12 keys as well–I’m not sure right now. One thing at a time.

November 12, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone, Uncategorized Tagged With: Coltrane changes, Giant Steps cycle, Giant Steps in all 12 keys, Giant Steps licks, Giant Steps Scratch Pad, how to play Coltrane changes, how to play Giant Steps, jazz improvisation exercises, jazz theory, music books, practice Giant Steps, practicing jazz improvisation

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.

[Show as slideshow]

November 5, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Entertainment, Jazz, Michigan, Music, Photography, Saxophone Tagged With: bassist Dave DeVos, drummer Bobby Thompson, entertainment at One Trick Pony, entertainment at Seasonal Grille, Francesca Amari-Sajtar, Francesca and Friends, jazz in West Michigan, pianist Mark Kahny, saxophonist Bob Hartig

I Would Be a Sinner: Rich Lataille Alto Sax Solo Transcription

A couple years ago, while listening to WBLV (a wonderful West Michigan jazz radio station), I heard a tune by the band Roomful of Blues that put a smile on my face and set my insides to dancing. The title was “I Would Be a Sinner” from the CD Raisin’ a Ruckus, published in 2008 by Alligator Records. Predictably, I suppose, considering the name of the band, the tune was an F blues, and the alto sax solo by Rich Lataille was just perfect. I don’t know how else to describe it, and I’m not going to try too hard other than to say that Rich’s tone is beautiful, his technique is surgically clean, and his approach is passionate and smack on the money.

Here are all three choruses, transcribed for the alto sax. (Click on the images to enlarge them.) It probably needs no saying, but I’ll say it anyway: You’d do

well to pick up the CD, or at least download the tune on MP3. I’ve notated some of the important slurs and articulations, but I’ve by no means tried to capture all of them, and you’ll want to hear them. You’ll also want to check out the interplay between the alto and the bari sax in the second chorus, with the addition of other instruments in the third chorus. The counterpoint hearkens back to Dixieland bands in spirit, though the style is obviously different.

And that’s all I need say, other than that this is a great tune, and I hope you’ll enjoy playing it and listening to it as much as I do!

October 25, 2011 by Robert Hartig

Filed Under: Band, Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Jazz Solo Transcriptions, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: alto sax solo transcription, I Would Be a Sinner sax solo, jazz solo transcriptions, Rich Lataille alto sax solo, Roomful of Blues