Presenting Big Band Nouveaux

Beginning with the new year, I’ve spent a number of Monday nights practicing with West Michigan’s newest (that I’m aware of) jazz venture: Big Band Nouveaux. Under the leadership of Grand Rapids tenor saxophonist Michael Doyle, this band is a collective of top-drawer jazz musicians that absolutely kicks butt.

Some months ago, Mike contacted me about a project he had up his sleeve. Would I be interested in participating? Mike is a great musician, so naturally he immediately got my attention, but I have to confess that when he mentioned big band music, I felt lukewarm. The big band format has never been my passion. Nothing against it, but I’ve always leaned toward smaller combos: more freedom, more flexibility, more interplay between musicians. That’s just my preference.

But Big Band Nouveaux is a different breed. It is unquestionably the most incendiary big band I’ve ever played in, with great charts that offer plenty of room for soloists to stretch and with some tremendously talented musicians in the lineup: Paul Lesinski, Fred Knapp, Isaac Norris, Louis Rudner, Mark Wells, and Arnaldo Alcevedo, just to name a few. Veteran Blue Lake Radio jazz announcer Lazaro Vega is honing his trumpet chops with the brass section; our fearless leader, the man in the pork pie hat, Mike, is playing first tenor; and Tyler Beer and I are making the alto sax charts happen. The arrangements are uber-hip, and playing with this ensemble has been more fun than I ever imagined.

Last Monday we recorded some demo tracks for the band. (Big thanks to Paul Lesinski for bringing in his recording equipment and then doing the mixdowns during the course of this week. Great job, Paul!) And I know that Mike is doing his best to hustle up some gigs for the band. We’ve still got our work cut out for us in terms of building our repertoire, but keep your eyes out for this molten-hot outfit. It will be making the scene in the coming months, and you definitely want to catch it when it hits the clubs.

February 14, 2013 by
Filed Under: Band, Entertainment, Jazz, Michigan, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , ,

Ornithology: A Charlie Parker Alto Sax Solo Transcription

OrnithologyThe beboppers of the 1940s and 1950s advanced the use of contrafacts,* and the godfather of bebop, alto saxophonist Charlie Parker, used them liberally. After the many tunes he wrote over the chord changes to “I Got Rhythm,” the contrafact he probably recorded most was the tune “Ornithology,” which utilizes the changes to the old standard, “How High the Moon.”

I have no idea exactly how many recordings exist of Bird holding forth on “Ornithology.” I only know that there are lots. The tune was clearly a favorite vehicle for Parker, and the transcription shown here captures his first 32 bars of an extended flight. I hope to transcribe the rest of it in time, but the process keeps getting interrupted by other priorities, so for now at least, I thought I’d share this much of Bird’s solo with you. It’s plenty ’nuff to whet your chops on.

Charlie Parker not only had a phenomenal technique, but an equally amazing melodic concept. Both are on display here. Just click on the image and enjoy soaring with Bird.

If you enjoyed this post, visit my Jazz Theory, Technique & Solo Transcriptions for many more transcriptions, licks and technical exercises, and educational articles on jazz.

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* Contrafacts are new melodies set to the harmonies of preexisting tunes.

January 31, 2013 by
Filed Under: Band, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Jazz Solo Transcriptions, Music, Saxophone, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

Tonight by the Tracks: The Foibles of Practicing the Saxophone When You’re Me

I’ve found a new place to practice my saxophone along my beloved railroad tracks.

If you’ve followed the musical side of this blog for any length of time, you know that I do most of my practicing in my car, parked by a CSX line that threads the countryside from Grand Rapids to Lansing. Living in an apartment has forced me to find a suitable “studio” away from my living quarters, and since I’ve loved trains since I was a kid, the tracks are it. I don’t mind this arrangement at all. I’ve been getting in my practice this way for years, even a couple decades, and I like it so well that even if I owned a house, I would probably still venture out to the tracks frequently.

Anyway, these past couple of months I’ve begun parking in a little turn-in next to the tracks between Alto and Elmdale, which is like hanging out halfway between Huh? and Nowhere. I love this spot. Parking parallel to the tracks, I can see the distant signal lights both behind me in the mirror and in front of me through the windshield and can spot the headlamps of approaching trains from far off. It’s great.

Of course, the sight of a car parked off to the side with its lights out and the dim outline of a person sitting inside it looks a bit suspicious, and once in a while, the cops stop and check me out. I don’t mind–they’re doing exactly what they should be doing, and usually they’re pretty nice about it. The guy who investigated me tonight was a good example.

I was sitting there ripping through “Ornithology” with my Aebersold CD when a patrol car pulled up and melted both of my retinas with its spotlight. Okay, no sweat. I kept on playing, figuring that doing so would provide the quickest explanation for what I was about.

I figured right. When the policeman walked up to my window, he was laughing. “What’s the matter? Wife won’t let you practice at home?” he said. I explained my living situation and how I had been parking by this stretch of tracks for many years. “Yeah, I think I’ve seen you out here before,” he said. “You know, my father-in-law plays trombone, and my mother-in-law gave him crap for playing it last Thanksgiving.”

“Hey,” I said, “someone understands!” I handed him my license and let him run his routine. Then we wished each other well, he took off, and I returned to my practicing. It was a clear January night with a new moon, not very cold, and through my side window I could see Orion the Hunter striding through a riot of stars in the southern sky. In my rearview mirror, a green signal light announced the approach of a train still miles down the line. Such are the perks of practicing by the railroad tracks. Why would I ever trade them for playing indoors?

January 9, 2013 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Life, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , ,

Building a Baseline of Ability: Revisiting an Oldie-But-Goodie Music Post

The problem with blogging is that old material tends to get buried beneath new posts. Jewels are lurking down there in the sedimentary layers, and they deserve to be brought back to the surface from time to time. Some of them surprise me. I think, Did I write that? It seems like someone else sharing wisdom and encouragement with me that I can benefit from today.

Such is a post from back in May 2010, two-and-a-half years ago, which I titled “Mastering the Sax: Building a Baseline of Ability.” I hope you will find it helpful and encouraging, as did I in rereading it.

December 5, 2012 by
Filed Under: Band, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,

How to Play Chord Changes: Melodicism Versus Change-Running

It was back in my college jazz band days that I first became concerned with “playing the changes”–that is, improvising in a way that insinuated the harmonies of a tune. Prior to that, I didn’t know what changes were. My inner ear had been informed by the blues and the psychedelic, proto-metal, and progressive rock of the seventies–wonderful styles of music, but they didn’t prepare me for the logic and complexities of more traditional harmony or the notations used in jazz charts.

So when our band director, the brilliant Dr. Bruce Early, handed out the first round of charts in my first semester, my freshman mind was fascinated by the lineup of symbols strung across the blowing section of a tune titled “Pygmy Dance.” What did all that mumbo-jumbo mean? An F# followed by a circle with a line slanting through it–what was that? And a B7b9? I recognized B7, but what did b9 mean? It seemed like that might be important for me to know.

Not that I needed to at the time, because I wasn’t playing lead alto. Good thing, too, because the tune was written in 11/8, and I was in no position to do anything with it but follow the rest of the band. When we got to the solo section, the lead guy, Dan Bryska, stood up and blew the balls off of those changes, as he did with pretty much anything I ever heard him play. What the … how did he do that? Amazingly, Dan didn’t even appear to be paying attention to those arcane scratchings on the chart. I’d have been glued to them, but he evidently had internalized them to the point where they appeared to be part of his genetic makeup.

Knowing the Mile Markers

Had I known then what Dan knew, life would have been easier. I’d have instantly recognized the tune as a blues–a long-form blues, as I recall, but still in essence just a blues–and done what Dan did: just stood up and blown. Dan saw the overall form and signposts of the tune while I was trying to figure out its hieroglyphs; Dan saw the tree while I was scrutinizing the leaves. And that knowledge (not to mention Dan’s fantastic technique and musical experience) allowed him to create where I’d have struggled simply to survive.

I soon came to understand the runes of jazz harmony and the scales attached to them. But translating that knowledge into inventive and expressive music was another story. I viewed the written changes as an accountant might, as hard figures which demanded that I justify every note spent, rather than realizing that they were simply guides that suggested certain melodic directions. I still wasn’t ready to do what Dan and other great soloists do: just stand up and blow.

Which brings me to the point of this post: how does one move from the constraints of jazz harmony to freedom and spontaneity?

The question is more relevant for some tunes than others. There’s a big difference between, say, “Cantaloupe Island” and “Confirmation.” The latter, a bebop tune, is far more complex harmonically, and its dense, fast-paced changes are exactly the kind that can hang a player up. But they don’t have to. Here’s why.

Two Approaches to Improvisation

There are two broad approaches to improvising on tunes: change-running and melodicism. In running the changes, a player seeks to outline or imply every chord in every bar, or at least, most of the chords. With a seasoned player, the results can be stunning. But by itself, change-running ultimately is limiting. There’s more to music than glorifying chord tones, and that’s where the melodic approach steps in. Melodic playing concerns itself with creating a pretty or an interesting melody rather than making all the changes. Not that this more scalar approach ignores or disdains a tune’s harmony; it just deals with that harmony more flexibly. As the name implies, it works with scales and melodic lines rather than chord tones.

Most good jazz soloists know how to utilize both approaches. It’s the blend of the two that can take a seemingly tight, demanding harmonic structure and make real music with it.

So here’s the deal: learn the changes to a tune. Work them into your fingers during practice by running arpeggios, patterns, and licks over them. And as you do so, consider whether there are any particular tones that define distinctive measures in the tune, then earmark those pitches mentally. In other words, look for harmonic signposts that you can refer to. You don’t need many of them, just a few, ones that to your ear are the most significant. These will help you get a feel for the broad shape of the tune. The more you work with the tune, the better you’ll get at filling in the areas between those signposts with cool stuff.

The process I’ve just described, which seeks to cultivate both change-running and a broader melodic perspective, requires a good deal of mental effort at the front end, but your playing will become increasingly intuitive as you stick with it. By degrees, the tune will become yours, and you’ll find yourself stepping out of rigidity into exploration and inventiveness.

This holistic approach seeks to balance the extremes at either end. If you’ve been locked into the changes to the point where you’re a change-running machine, maybe you need to lighten up and think more melodically. If you’ve been lax in dealing with the rigors of harmony, think about adding a few more leaves to your tree.

The discipline comes first, then the freedom. Learn how to play the changes, but also know that you’re not enslaved to them. They’re consultants, not employers; guides, not dictators. The better you and your fingers know your way around a tune’s harmonic structure, the more you’ll be able to make judicious choices as an improviser–but don’t get stuck on the chords. The point of learning to serve the harmony is to make it serve you, and you don’t need to be a master change-runner for that to happen. The goal, after all, is simply to play pretty.

So practice hard and practice smart. Then do like Dan: just stand up and blow.

November 14, 2012 by
Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Bob Hartig Plays “Giant Steps”

At long last, I’ve gotten my chops for Giant Steps changes up to speed enough that I’m ready to share a recording with you. It has taken me months of practicing to get to where I’m beginning to convert licks and patterns into original statements. That’s not an easy thing to do with this tune, and I freely admit that there are a few rough spots here. But there are also some ones that I’m quite proud of. I particularly like the opening statement–I don’t know where it came from, but I’m glad it found its way into and out of my horn.

In another few months, I hope to have advanced to where I’m playing still more freely and inventively and am ready to do another recording. For now, though, this one will serve as a mile marker to document my progress. Without further ado, here is me playing Giant Steps

The background, by the way, is Band-in-a-Box, which served fine for this purpose. Big thanks to my good friend Ed Englerth for gifting me with his sound engineering wizardry in his Blueside Down recording studio. You make me sound good, amigo!

September 22, 2012 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Recording, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , ,

Two Giant Steps Licks

Lately, my book The Giant Steps Scratch Pad has enjoyed a modest spate of sales. I appreciate that musicians take an interest in it. On my part, it was a labor of love, and it’s gratifying when you, my readers, find it worthwhile enough to shell out your hard-earned cash to obtain a copy. Every purchase is a shot of morale for me, not to mention a nice dent in my electric bill.

As a way of saying thanks, I thought I’d share with you a couple of favorite new Giant Steps licks that I’ve been practicing. They correspond to the A section of Giant Steps’ A-B form and have a bebop flavor to them.

two-giant-steps-licks
Since I’m an Eb alto saxophonist, I’ve written the licks out for my instrument. C, Bb, F, and bass clef instruments will need to transpose accordingly. ‘Nuff said. Without further ado, here are the licks. Click on the image to open and enlarge it.

September 8, 2012 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,

Should Church Musicians Get Paid?

Should church musicians get paid, or should they be expected to provide their talents for free to the body of Christ? I have no hard, fast answer. I’m simply putting the question on the table because it deserves more consideration than it is often given.

In the past, no church ever offered to pay me for my services as a musician, and I never expected nor asked to be paid. I was happy to do what I did gratis in service to God. However, the church I now attend does pay me–not a large amount, but a meaningful amount, enough that it adds up and helps me pay the bills. More, it provides a tangible expression of appreciation and respect. As the old adage says, it’s the thought that counts. My musical abilities haven’t come to me freely, quickly, or easily, and it’s nice to have that fact recognized and valued

My involvement with this church started over a year ago with an invitation to sit in with their contemporary worship team. I received fifty bucks for doing so and was invited to sit in again whenever and as often as I chose. The openness of that arrangement has been ideal for where I’m at in life. I’ve found myself playing with the team more often than not, and in the process, I’ve been drawn to other aspects of the church as well, relationships being foremost.

When I first became a Christian more than thirty years ago, the presiding attitude toward musicians in the churches I attended was that we were to play strictly “the Lord’s music.” If it didn’t have an overtly Christian message, then it wasn’t appropriate material for a Christian musician. Not anytime, anywhere. That worldly stuff just didn’t fly.

From a practical standpoint, this theologically flawed taboo on anything other than Christian music and any venues other than church and Christian events was disastrous. The only halfway decent money I made back then as a budding jazz saxophonist was from “secular” gigs. But, wanting to please the Lord–and at the time, I naively mistook the conventions of religious culture for the will of God–I dropped out of the local music scene at the precise time when I should have been forging connections, learning my craft on the bandstand, and making at least some semblance of money.

The sacrifice was one I made willingly, but its financial and vocational implications weren’t understood by those who expected it of me. Churches wanted my musical skills, but none of them thought to compensate me for them; yet they’d have looked at me askance had I used my talent to make a buck or two playing in the clubs. The result was a catch-22 both monetarily and developmentally. And my situation was far from unusual. In that religious culture, it was the norm for musicians.

I’ve told you this story not to whine about the past, but to shed a little light on the realities of being a musician in the church. In doing so, it’s practical to point out that not all church musicians are the same. They have different perspectives toward their craft and invest their time into it accordingly. For most, music is simply a hobby; for a few, however, it is an avocation and even a vocation. For many, music is one small facet of a multifaceted life; but for a handful, it’s a lifestyle and a livelihood. Most church musicians develop enough skill to do a good job meeting the needs of their praise team; but a small percentage practice daily for hours, year after year, to develop abilities that can transform how a praise team sounds.

My purpose in drawing these contrasts is not to create some snobbish and divisive musical caste system. In the words of the apostle Paul, “What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?” (1 Corinthians 4:7). There is no gift any of us is given that doesn’t come from God, and humility is the only appropriate response.

However, it’s still up to every musician to cultivate his or her gift, and some do so to a greater degree than others. That’s how it is in a life that requires prioritization and trade-offs. Those who invest themselves more deeply into the pursuit of musical excellence often pay dues that others know nothing of. As a hobby, music is fun; as a vocation, it is costly in terms of time, finances, and relationships. To pursue music seriously is deeply satisfying, but it can also be disappointing, frustrating, and sometimes heartbreaking, demanding much of one’s life and returning little in the way of making a living.

All this to say that musicians are worthy of their wages. Does that mean churches ought to pay their musicians? That’s for every church to determine for itself based on the realities of its size and budget. If you can’t afford it, then you can’t afford it. But if you can, trust me, it will be much appreciated and well-deserved.

Worship is not a commercial venture. It’s an act of the heart, and I’ve never met anyone in worship ministry who has approached it with any other attitude. No one is in it for the money, any more than pastors take up pastoring because it’s such a lucrative profession. It’s a matter of calling, not cash.

But it still takes cash to make house payments, buy food, and keep the car running and the utilities operable. That’s why Paul wrote,

If we have sown spiritual seed among you, is it too much if we reap a material harvest from you? If others have this right of support from you, shouldn’t we have it all the more?…Don’t you know that those who work in the temple get their food from the temple, and those who serve at the altar share in what is offered on the altar? In the same way, the Lord has commanded that those who preach the gospel should receive their living from the gospel. (1 Corinthians 9:11–14)

While Paul himself chose to forego the privilege he describes above, he makes it plain that those who invest their lives into preaching the gospel have the same needs as anyone else and deserve to have them met. You could argue that Paul was referring exclusively to pastors and preachers. But of course, the early churches didn’t have music ministries, or children’s ministries, or teen ministries, or any of the other ministries and programming that we take for granted today. So I think there’s room to apply the principle to a church’s musicians, at least as much as is practical.

It’s certainly not unscriptural to honor a musician’s investment of time and dedication by helping him or her pay the electric bill. That kind of tangible care and appreciation can make a real difference, not only in the pocketbook but also in the heart.

September 1, 2012 by
Filed Under: Christian Music, Christian Spirituality & Inspiration, Church Worship, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Things a Jazz Musician Never Hears Anyone Say

august-10-rain_closed-low
You see this? It’s a rare phenomenon in Michigan called “rain” (pronounced rayn). It began yesterday as a closed 500 mb low settled in over the state, and it looks like it will be with us for a while, as the low seems content to linger. You can see a hint of cyclonic swirl on the radar.

And that’s not all: as I write, just a quarter past noon, the KGRR station ob shows a temperature of only 57 degrees. After a heat wave that has stretched from June into early August, with temperatures in Michigan exceeding the 100-degree mark at times, suddenly it looks and feels like autumn. Yesterday I traded my shorts for blue jeans. Even during a normal summer, that rarely happens.

After a historic, severe drought that has mummified Michigan and crippled much of our nation, this steady rain and respite from the heat is beyond welcome. It is a godsend, and those of us who believe in God thank him for it. “He sends his rain on the just and the unjust”–and to the just and the unjust alike, it is a great beneficence.

Next week there’s the possibility of a trough digging down from Canada across the northern-tier states, with jet energy bringing the potential for severe weather in the Great Lakes sometime Wednesday and/or Thursday. But that’s far from certain at the moment. The GFS has painted some wildly varying scenarios, and the most I can see right now is that both it and the ECMWF agree on troughing, with the Euro painting the more potent picture.

Okay, enough of the weather. Let’s talk about music. A while ago, I posted a status update on Facebook that struck me as pretty funny. I have a great appreciation for my own sense of humor, which is a good thing because it means that I have at least one fan. What I hate is when I tell a really hilarious joke and then I don’t get it. Then I have to explain the punch-line to myself, and that just ruins it. Fortunately, that doesn’t happen often. Most of the time, I break out into spasms of laughter, and people look at me oddly, and … getting back to my Facebook post: I figured that I’d share it here and then add onto it whenever I feel inclined. Feel free to post your own additions in the comments section. Without further ado, here are …

Things which, as a jazz musician, I have yet to hear someone say:

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“Could you turn up the volume? You’re not loud enough.”

“For our first dance, we want you to play ‘Giant Steps.'”

“You want $100 per musician to play at my club? Is that all? I’m doubling your rate. It’s about time you musicians gave yourselves a cost-of-living raise.”

“First tahm playin’ hyeer at the Eyegouge Saloon, eh? Well, I hope yew boys play a lot of Ornette Coleman. Folks hyeer get mighty disturbed if’n they don’t get their Ornette. And another thang: do NOT, if yew value yer life, play ‘Free Bird.'”

“I know we’re an all-white church praise team with three guitars, but we only like playing in the flat keys.”

“What t’hell you mean, you don’t have a trombone player? How can a jazz band not have a trombone? Tell you what: you come back next week with a trombone player and I’ll shell out an extra hunnerd-fifty bucks.”

August 10, 2012 by
Filed Under: Humor, Jazz, Music, Weather, Weather Radar Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Picking Up the Horn Again after Being Sick

Thursday evening, April 12, I left Grand Rapids to go chase storms out west. It was a great time and a successful chase, but on the way home Sunday night I began to cough, and the cough blossomed into the worst case of bronchitis I’ve ever had. For two weeks, I languished. My activity was limited to coughing, and coughing, and coughing some more; prostrating myself before the vaporizer for extended inhalation sessions punctuated by periodic steamy showers; slurping down massive quantities of fluids; and sleeping like I never planned to wake up and didn’t want to (which, indeed, I didn’t).

Over the past three days, I’ve finally begun to feel human again. Today I woke up feeling pretty good, with just a remnant of a cough and my voice returning to some semblance of its normal self. What a relief!

Naturally, I was pining to get at my saxophone. Three weeks away from it is way too long. I’d been in top form when I left for Oklahoma and Kansas, and now I’ve got some ground to recover.

So this evening I grabbed my horn and headed to my beloved railroad tracks, where it’s my wont to park my car, work over my horn, and wait for the trains to roll by. Out by a crossing near the rural community of Alto, I assembled my beautiful Conn 6M Ladyface and began to blow the rust out of my fingers and the cobwebs out of my head.

It felt so good!

There is something about reuniting with my saxophone after an extended period away from it that feels at once awkward, restorative, frustrating, cathartic, and encouraging. The awkwardness and frustration come from having spent enough time not playing my instrument that it feels a bit foreign to my hands, not quite the comfortable extension of me that it normally is. My technique isn’t as smooth, and material I had recently been practicing has to be called back to memory. The encouragement arises with the discovery that, hey, I don’t sound all that bad, regardless. In fact, I sound pretty good. Something about the time away seems to tap into reservoirs of creativity I didn’t realize existed, and if my playing isn’t quite as facile as I’d like, there’s nevertheless a compensatory freshness to it. My fingers don’t fall as readily into the same glib patterns, and so instead they find their way toward new ideas.

As for the restorative and cathartic aspects of picking up my saxophone after a lengthy period of illness, do I really need to explain? It’s just such a marvelous feeling to play again, to experience the physicality of making music: the balanced resistance and give of the reed in conjunction with my airstream, the feel of the keys beneath my fingers as I practice patterns and craft spontaneous melody lines. There’s nothing like it.

With the arrival of spring weather, I’ve been pretty consumed with storm chasing. The chase season is here for a limited time, and one must make the most of it while the opportunity is there. But the musical part of me doesn’t at all go dormant during storm season. I prioritize chasing over musical engagements, but not over the music itself. I continue to practice and push myself as a saxophonist, even if the bulk of my blog posts during this season focus on severe weather.

Tonight I’m taking a hiatus from the weather to reflect on this other part of myself, the musical part. How good it feels to play! Thank you, Lord, for the gift of music–for this amazing instrument you’ve placed in my hands, and for the passion and the drive to continue striving for the mastery of it. It is such a joy to play my horn once again!

April 28, 2012 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Life, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , ,
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