New Years Eve Severe Weather

new-years-eveHere’s something you don’t see very often on the morning of December 31. (Click on thumbnail to enlarge it.) It’s 10 a.m. and for the last half-hour I’ve been watching lightning flicker outside my window and listening to thunder rumble.

But that’s nothing compared to what’s going on farther south. Already three fatalities have been reported in Arkansas, and tornado warned storms are scraping across the region. As I write, there are two strong SRV couplets in Missouri southwest of Waynesville and west of Houston–potent little supercells fueled by dewpoints in the upper 50s. It’s new-years-eve-mo-srvcertainly not what you’d expect this time of year, but this event has been shaping up for several days.

I’ve got a gig this evening–it’s New Years, after all–so my extent of involvement in this weather scenario will be to watch it unfold to the south of me on radar and enjoy its occasional outbursts of lightning and thunder here in my own Michigan backyard. Later today Louisiana and Mississippi could get hammered, but right now the action is farther north, where buckets of shear are organizing the storms and driving them along at 50 new-years-eve-mo-refmiles an hour. If that little bugger south of Waynesville holds together, Rolla is going to get whacked within the next half hour.

Enough writing. I’m going to upload some radar images for this post and then watch this event unfold.

December 31, 2010 by
Filed Under: Michigan, Storm Chasing, Tornadoes, Weather, Weather Radar Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Remembering “I Remember”: A Tribute to Phil Woods

My introduction to the magnificent alto saxophonist Phil Woods back in my music school days came in the form of a vinyl LP titled “I Remember.” I had been hearing of Woods’ lyrical approach and decided to acquaint myself with it. So off to the music store I went, and returned with the record album that was Woods’ tribute to some of his departed friends and musical influences–Paul Desmond, Cannonball Adderley, Oscar Pettiford, Charlie Parker, and others. The tunes, written by Phil, captured something of the personality and unique qualities of the men he had eulogized in the album.

I remember my first hearing of “I Remember.” I slapped the record on the turntable, dropped the needle, and proceeded to be utterly blown away. Phil Woods not only possessed complete mastery of the alto sax, but he also had a gorgeous, full-bodied tone and a personal, trademark sense of swing by which I’ve been able to instantly identify him ever since. Best of all, though, Phil played beautifully–and I’m using that adverb here in its strict sense. Phil’s playing on that record was truly so beautiful and so passionate that in places, it literally moved me to tears.

I have in mind the tender, deeply moving ballad “Paul,” written in tribute to Paul Desmond. Phil’s solo on that tune just took my breath away, and having listened to it again recently, I still am left speechless by its perfection. “Paul” is very possibly the most creative, flawlessly executed, and heart-wrenchingly lovely rendering of a ballad that I’ve ever heard, and its first impact on me was to raise up Phil Woods forever in my mind as the man to emulate when it came to ballad interpretation. In that I’m far from alone. Countless alto players over the years have looked to Woods as a jazz waymaker, fount of ideas, and source of inspiration.

My stack of LPs is long gone, and when I finally got to thinking about “I Remember” again a couple years ago, I couldn’t find it in a CD edition. It appeared to no longer be in publication, and regretfully, I consigned myself to never again listening to Phil’s beautiful playing on that album.

Jump forward to this Christmas. My sister Diane gave me my very first iPod (have I mentioned that I’m a slow joiner?) plus thirty dollars worth of iTune gift cards. So iTune shopping I went, and guess what I found? Of all the myriad albums to choose from, I chose “I Remember” as my first download.

You can’t imagine how thrilled I am to reacquaint myself with the collection of tunes that was my first exposure to Phil Woods. It seems impossible that thirty years have passed since that time, but today, “I Remember” still has the same effect on me as it did back then. Having developed a degree of expertise on the alto sax that I didn’t possess in those days, I find Phil’s playing to be, if anything, even more awe-inspiring and beautiful than when I first heard him. “Julian” still makes me want to shout for joy. “Charles Christopher” still floors me with its incendiary bebop.

And “Paul” still makes me cry.

December 29, 2010 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Life, Music, Recording, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

A Stormy New Years Eve in the South?

slp-gfs-123110slp-nam-123110Could be. If the GFS is right, the chance of severe weather in the Gulf states looks good. The NAM too, having leaned in with its 12Z run, also points to the possibility of a New Years Eve episode down in Dixie Alley, though it wants to nudge the ingredients slightly to the west and north.

sfc-tds_mlcape-gfs-123110sfc-tds_mlcape-nam-123110So far the SPC appears to believe that severe weather is likely in the South on Friday, but while they’ve mentioned the T-word, tornadoes, they’ve been reluctant to say anything emphatically. Of course, we’re still four days out, and hitherto the forecast models evidently haven’t jibed (I haven’t followed the trends till now). But between this 500mb-heights-gfs-123110500mb-heights-nam-123110morning’s GFS and NAM, it looks like a pretty decent intrusion of moisture will lick inland from east Texas eastward to Florida, with 500 J/kg MLCAPE overlaid by ample shear as a large mid-level trough digs into the nation’s midsection. From the looks of things, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Mississippi could be in the crosshairs, and eventually, 500mb-winds-gfs-123110500mb-winds-nam-123110perhaps Alabama and the Florida panhandle.

Here are some GFS and NAM models for you to compare. Left-click on the thumbnails to enlarge them. I’ve used the model runs available to me at this writing on F5 Data–6Z for 6km-shear-gfs-1231106km-shear-nam-123110GFS and 12Z for NAM. The valid times should read 18Z, not 17Z.

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December 28, 2010 by
Filed Under: Storm Chasing, Tornadoes, Weather, Weather Maps Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

New Years Eve Gig at the Cobblestone

Man, this year has blown by fast, hasn’t it! Five days from now we’ll have turned the corner into circa 2011. New Years Eve is the last of the big holidays. After that, we get down to the business of doing winter up here in the circumboreal region.

So what are you doing for New Years Eve? How’s about enjoying it with Steve Durst and me at the Cobblestone Bistro here in Caledonia, Michigan? We’ll be playing jazz standards through the dinner hours from 6:00-10:00 p.m.

Let me tell you a bit about the Cobblestone, because it’s a jewel. Located on the east side of M-37 (aka Cherry Valley Road) on the south end of Caledonia, the Cobblestone is designed for ambiance. Step inside and you’ll find an elegant, modestly sized dining room that features a fireplace, a waterfall fountain, superb cuisine, a selection of world-class wines, and a very nice bar. We’re talking destination dining right here in little old Caledonia. If you’re looking for a cozy place to spend the evening with your special someone, you’ll be absolutely delighted.

Of course, besides all of the above, this New Years Eve you’ll also get Steve on the keyboards and me on the alto saxophone providing live jazz to complement the mood. So come and enjoy dinner with us in one of the nicest settings you can imagine. Here’s the info:

• Date & Time: December 31, 6:00-10:00 p.m.

• Place: The Cobblestone Bistro & Banquet Center

• Address: 9818 Cherry Valley Ave. SE (M-37), Caledonia, MI

• Phone: (616) 588-3223

If the weather proves to be as warm as is currently forecast, this New Years Eve should be perfect for a night out. Spend it with us at the Cobblestone! I hope to see you there.

December 27, 2010 by
Filed Under: Band, Entertainment, Event, Jazz, Michigan, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

A Christmas Meditation, Revisited

Good morning, and Merry Christmas to you! Thank you for spending a few minutes of your day with me. I don’t take lightly the fact that, amid the helter-skelter of this Holiday, you’ve taken the time and interest to drop in. I’d like to offer you something of real worth in return, and having checked my traffic stats, it seems that my readers have already been pointing the way for me.

My readers are wise. They’ve been finding their way to a post I wrote a year ago today, in which I shared a still older writing of two years previous. I was 51 when I wrote that piece, and dealing with a broken heart, singleness, and loneliness. Yet, sitting alone in my apartment, I experienced a deep comfort and contentment that transcended my circumstances.

That was in 2007. Last year was different. Two years had elapsed, and my beloved friend, Lisa, had entered my life. In the midst of a new set of circumstances, I added a prelude to account for the time that had passed and then shared my original writing for the first time on Stormhorn.com.

Another year has now come and gone. Lisa and I have weathered a lean financial time in the face of what some have called The Great Recession. Since our needs are simple and Lisa has a practical attitude that flexes with life’s realities, we’ve managed to stay afloat and feel grateful. Along the way, we’ve made choices concerning each other and ourselves that have demonstrated our love for one another. It hasn’t always been easy for either of us. But it has been rewarding, and the gift of who Lisa is continues to shine more brightly in my eyes. What a unique, brilliant, talented, good-hearted, godly, and most beautiful woman the Lord has blessed me with!

Yet, knowing her heartaches as well as my own, more than ever I understand that the words I first wrote on Christmas Eve of 2007 are relevant today, and will remain so through the long years. Today, I reaffirm that Christmas–not “The Holidays,” as political correctness now insists that this occasion be called, but Christmas–is not about warm traditions, wonderful though they may be, but about a living, deeply invested Love that has reached out, and continues to reach, to those of us for whom this time of year seems anything but warm, or rich, or wonderful.

I cannot add to what I wrote three years ago; I can only introduce you to it from the context of today and hope that you will find meaning and encouragement in its message. Without further ado I now direct you to that writing, together with its preamble, in last year’s Christmas Eve post titled “A Christmas Meditation on Jesus.”

Whatever the realities of this season may be for you, may the great grace that is the driving force of true Christmas touch and uphold you in ways seen and unseen.

Your friend,

Bob

December 24, 2010 by
Filed Under: Christian Spirituality & Inspiration, Church Worship, Life, Relationships, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Practical Tips for Playing the Sax in Church

It has been a couple years since I’ve played my saxophone in a worship team. At some point I will probably participate again, but after 30 years as a disciple of Jesus, during most of which I’ve been involved in church music ministries, I’m not in a rush. Music is a wonderful gift, but in church it can also be an overwhelming one, a powerful categorizing force that can overshadow other aspects of who a musician is as a complete person. So the hiatus has, for me, been necessary and beneficial.

That’s where I’m at, but for many of you, your concern is more pragmatic. You haven’t spent three decades playing in church. You’re just getting started, and what you’d really like to know is how to fit in as a saxophonist–or a trumpet player, or a flutist, or an ocarina player, or whatever–with the rest of your church’s worship team. How do you play your part successfully?

That’s a straightforward question, and I’m happy to respond with a few simple, to-the-point suggestions.

◊ Determine what keys your worship band most often plays in. Black gospel music is typically organ- and keyboard-driven and is likely to use flat keys such as Bb, F, and Eb major. Contemporary music in white churches almost always revolves around guitar, which puts the emphasis on sharp keys such as E, A, D, and G.

◊ As would be true in any setting, whether in church or in a club, know your transposition. If you’re a tenor sax or trumpet player, the key you play in is up a major second from the piano and guitar. If  you’re an alto sax player like me, you’ll be down a minor third. If you play the flute or trombone, you don’t need to transpose to a different key.

◊ Learn pentatonic scales in the most commonly used keys. Most church music is harmonically simple and largely diatonic, and you can cover many a song using a single pentatonic. It’s hard to hit a wrong note playing a pentatonic scale! Of course, you’ll want to add more colors to your palette as you gain familiarity with the music, but pentatonics make a great foundation. The melody for “Amazing Grace” is written entirely from a single pentatonic scale.

◊ Similar to the previous point, learn the major scales of the most commonly used keys. One caveat: Watch how you handle the fourth and seventh scale degrees, as they have the potential to clash with certain chords. That’s one reason why you need to…

◊ Listen! Get a feel for which notes sound good with the chords of a particular tune in different places. In particular, listen to the vocalist and don’t step on his or her toes. Fill in the cracks between lyric phrases, and lay back more when the vocalist is singing. Listen also for what other melodic instruments such as the guitar and keyboard are doing so you can coordinate with them. Overall, be sensitive to the moods of the music and where it’s going.

◊ Don’t be afraid to play! How else are you going to learn? Make your mistakes–that’s part of paying your musical dues. Trust me, most people will never notice the clinkers, and the few who do won’t care.

◊ Strive not to overplay. Unless you’ve been given a solo spot where you get to strut your stuff, keep things simple. If you find yourself playing busily like a beaver in every chorus of every song, cool your jets and give another lead instrument a chance to provide some fills. Consider playing long, held-out chord tones. And remember, often the most effective thing you can play is nothing at all. Drop out for a chorus and notice how subtracting your instrument adds to the music by modifying its texture; and also notice how reentering in the next chorus creates an energy that wouldn’t have existed if you’d been playing all the way through. Contrast is beautiful!

◊ Don’t just learn the tunes–learn your instrument! Practice scales, arpeggios, licks, and patterns. Do the hard work with a spirit of excellence when no one is listening–“heartily, as unto the Lord”–and you’ll be increasingly pleased with the results when you’re playing with the band.

◊ Develop your ears and your instincts as an improviser. You can’t count on charts to get you through. Unless your team uses professional arrangements, chances are good that the way you practice a tune during Wednesday rehearsal isn’t going to be duplicated exactly on Sunday. You’ve got to be able to flex instantly with shifts in direction and even mistakes by the team leader or vocalist. That means you’ve got to–did I already mention this?–listen!

◊ Learn the melody and the form of a song. Doing so will give you a frame of reference so that you’ll never get lost in that tune. You may get temporarily displaced, but you’ll always be able to find your way back to where the rest of the band is without having to hunt it down on a fake sheet. Best of all, knowing the tune will free you to soar within the framework of the music, allowing you to focus on creativity and musicality rather than following a chart.

◊ Be careful about playing in the same range as the vocalist. I’m not saying don’t do it; I’m saying, exercise care and good taste. In particular, try to avoid hitting unison notes with the singer except as a calculated effect. Consider playing in the octave below the vocal range.

◊ Don’t feel you’ve got to play in every song. Not all music was made for the saxophone. For instance, if the band is playing a tune that emphasizes a fast-paced, heavy metal guitar sound, then you might want to sit that one out. Or if a tune is simply too complex for your level of development, to the point where you don’t feel comfortable playing it, then step off to the side and let the rest of the band take it. Just because your instrument can be used doesn’t mean it always should be. It’s a voice; add it or subtract it in a way that best serves the music.

I could offer still more suggestions, and maybe other experienced players will lean in with advice of their own, but this is plenty ’nuff to get you going. Note that I’ve said nothing about the spiritual side of playing in a worship team. Important as that is, it’s not the focus of this post. My intention here has been to give you some nuts-and-bolts input that you can start applying right away. I hope you’ll find it both helpful and encouraging.

If you enjoyed this post, then check out my jazz page, where you’ll find more useful and insightful articles, exercises, and solo transcriptions.

December 22, 2010 by
Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Church Worship, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Field, Final Chapter: Tornado Heart

This is the last installment of my account of the drama that unfolded for a number of storm chasers, including my group of four, on May 22, 2010, in northeast South Dakota. I’ve waited to share this part because it’s personal–not a deep, dark secret, but something which until now I’ve kept to myself and a few friends. It is, however, an incident I’ve wanted to write about, and with seven months passed and Christmas just a few days away, now seems like an appropriate time to do so.

If you were one of those who were out there in the field that day, you’ll agree that we were fortunate to have escaped without injury when the outcome could easily have been quite different. Perhaps the greatest gift we have this Christmas is the fact that we’re all here to talk about our experience. You were there; you know how it was. It was a hell of a ride that has made for a story we’ll probably tell and retell the rest of our lives, but at the time there was reason to wonder just how much longer our lives would last.

For the rest of my readers, you can read my detailed account including photos here. I’ll summarize by saying that a routine move to reposition east of a violently tornadic supercell near Roscoe turned into a trap when the road–which showed as a through-road on our mapping software–dead-ended where a farmer had recently plowed it over. As tornadoes began to spin up just west of our contingent and head directly toward us, all seven or eight vehicles drove madly south along a fenceline in a desperate attempt to outmaneuver the worst part of the storm. A quarter-mile down, blocked by ponding, we turned into the field and drove another hundred yards or so until we could drive no farther. Then we parked, braced ourselves, and hoped for the best. And those who believed in a loving, watchful God, prayed. I was one of them.

I’m writing this post to thank my heavenly Father for not only responding to those prayers, but also, as I have intimated above, for letting me know in a personal and moving way that He was there with us in that field, present and protecting us all.

Spiritual topics trigger different things in different people. So let me make something plain. I write as a disciple of Jesus; I do NOT write as an emissary of contemporary Churchianity. Jesus I love, but I don’t care for much of religious culture, any more than I care for boxes of any kind. So whether you’re a Christian or a non-Christian, kindly resist the urge to stick me into a nice, tidy category that would likely say more about you than about me. I know the questions that arise surrounding answered–and unanwered–prayer. I also know the conclusions people easily arrive at, both pro and con. My purpose isn’t to address any of that in this post; rather, I am here to tell you a story and let you make of it what you will.

As Mike’s Subaru Outback bounced along the fenceline behind the vehicle in front of us, grinding its way into and out of muddy potholes, I had a good view to the west from the passenger’s seat. Rain bands spiraled and braided, hinting at unseen vortices. At one point, to my considerable consternation, I saw twin funnels wrapping around each other like a pair of dancing snakes, moving straight at us. They reminded me–I kid you not, so please don’t shoot me for saying this–of the “sisters” in the movie “Twister.” I’d estimate that their distance from us was around 150 yards. My buddy Bill Oosterbaan saw them too.

That was the moment when I realized we were not going to outmaneuver the storm, and the words “seriously screwed” took on a whole new dimension. It dawned on me that now would be an excellent time to pray, and I did, earnestly. I don’t remember my exact words, but the gist of them was that I asked God to protect us, all of us. The scenario was bathed in a strange sense of unreality, and it seemed incredible to think that I was praying for my life. But that was in fact what I was doing.

Whatever happened to those serpentine vortices I don’t know. Evidently they dissipated before they reached the fenceline. But their image lodged in my mind, and it got called back the following day in an unusual way, as you will see.

At length our caravan’s flight for safety ended in the manner I’ve already described above, and the storm descended on us in full fury. On Stormtrack, a chaser recently shared some radar images of that phase of the storm, and in one of them, you can plainly make out not just one, but two eye-like features passing directly over and just north of our location. Suffice it to say that the rotation above us was complex and broad. I remember a fierce wind that seemed to constantly switch direction, and mist driving along the ground at high velocities along with the rain. A tornado spun up briefly about a hundred feet from one of the vehicles; I didn’t see it, but Adam Lucio captured it on video* and my eyes just about popped out of my skull when I saw the clip. Daaaaamn! Any closer and…well, who knows, but it probably wouldn’t have been a pretty picture.

Fast forward past the rest of the storm and the miserable drama that ensued. It was the following day and I was sitting in a hotel room in Aberdeen. I fired up my laptop, logged into my email, and…hey, what was this? A message from my friend Brad Doll. Hmmm, cool! Brad and I rarely email each other. Curious, I opened his note.

I wish I had saved it–I thought I did, but I can’t locate it. Otherwise, I’d quote it exactly. But it’s easy enough to recreate the essence of it: “Hey, brother, just thinking of you and your love for tornadoes and thought I’d share this picture with you.–Brad”

I opened the attached file. It contained the obviously Photoshopped picture you see here of two mirror-image, snaky-looking tornadoes with a funnel dividing the clouds between them, forming a heart. You can find the image without much trouble on the Internet, but I had never seen it before. As I looked at it, the snaky double-funnels I had seen yesterday popped into my mind. The similarity was weird–not that the previous day’s very real tornado resembled a heart; the only thing it looked like was scary as hell. No, it was the overall shape of its twin vortices and the way they had appeared in relation to each other that struck me.

Then it hit me. Brad didn’t have a clue where I was. He had no idea what I’d just been through. And he had never emailed me an image file before. Not only was the communication in itself unusual, but the timing of it was…well, it was incredible.

I could feel the tears coming to my eyes as the realization sank in. This email wasn’t from Brad. Not really. Brad was just a humble and available scribe; the message was from my Father, my wonderful heavenly Father. It was His way of saying, in a simple but powerful way, “Bob, I love you!”

What I’ve just written is something I believe with all my heart. God knows us through and through. He knows what makes you, you, and me, me; and He knows how to speak to each of us intimately, in ways that touch us in deep places if we have ears to hear. Here is what I believe He was saying to me:

“Bob, when you, Tom, Bill, Mike, and the rest of the guys were fleeing along that fenceline like scared rabbits, I saw you. I heard your prayer and the prayers of all who called on Me. And I was with you. My hand covered you and my presence protected you all–because I love you all, every last man of you who was there. Today, Bob, I’m letting you know that I truly was there–that yes, it was Me–and that I carry you in my heart.”

I am not one who calls every unusual thing that happens a miracle. I believe that genuine miracles are rare, and I dislike devaluing their reality by sloppily misapplying the word. But I also believe in grace, and from time to time I have witnessed extraordinary examples of what it can do. After receiving the email from Brad, I am convinced that what happened in the field on May 22 was one of those occasions. Things could easily have turned out far worse for those of us who were there. Instead of a joyous Christmas, this year could have been one of great sadness for our loved ones, and of an empty chair at the dinner table–a chair that once was ours. But this Christmas will not be that way. We will sit down once again with our families, and we will eat, and we will exchange gifts. We will get on with the rest of winter after the holidays. And we will return to the Great Plains this coming spring to enjoy another season of chasing the storms that we love.

Just about anything can be written off as coincidence, just as almost anything unusual can be written in as a direct act of God when it wasn’t necessarily so. It’s a matter of one’s worldview. If, having read my account, you’re inclined to consider my experience just a peculiar fluke, perhaps not even all that strange, then so be it. I can’t prove differently to you and I don’t feel that I need to try. But I most definitely believe otherwise, as does my friend Brad, and Tom, and Bill, and, I am sure, at least a few others who were there in the field.

It takes faith to see God’s kingdom, and faith is perhaps best described as an extra faculty, a sixth sense that augments the first five senses. It perceives and understands differently, and sees a different and higher reality behind the stuff of our lives. It is believing, but it is also a kind of knowing that I’ve never been able to describe satisfactorily. Like the color blue, once you’ve seen it, you know what it is; but whether you’ve experienced it or not, blue is blue, and so it is with the kingdom of heaven. However accurately or inaccurately, faith is the eye that sees it.

To my wonderful Lord, Brother, and Forever Friend, Jesus, whose birth I gratefully celebrate this season: Thank you–for so much more than I can begin to tell. And to my friends and fellow storm chasers, brothers and sisters of the skies, saints, sinners, seekers, wherever your worldview stands: May your Christmas be marked by grace. And may there be great steak and good beer in store for all of us this coming year.

Merry Christmas,

Bob

__________________

* You can see Adam’s clip along with more footage from the field, plus a whole lot more, on the DVD “Bullseye Bowdle,” produced by the lads at Convective Addiction. If you enjoy storm chasing videos, this one’s the real deal–and no, the guys haven’t paid me a solitary cent to plug it here.

December 20, 2010 by
Filed Under: Christian Spirituality & Inspiration, Life, Storm Chasing, Tornadoes, Weather Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

For the Birds

goldfinch
The little fellow you see here paused long enough for me to snap his photo, but his repose was fleeting. Inaction is a concept foreign to goldfinches when they’re in feeding mode, which is pretty much from sunrise to sunset. (Left click on photos to enlarge them.)

Just outside my sliding glass door, a blizzard of finches descends on my feeding station early in the morning, and the party continues throughout the day. Other wild birds join in the melee–chickadees, white-breasted and rosy-breasted nuthatches, tufted titmice, sparrows, and a male and female downy woodpecker. Occasionally a shy junco or two will put in a brief appearance, and a big bruiser of a bluejay flits in now and then, brashly announcing his presence with a cry that lets the whole neighborhood know he’s here, and whacks away at the suet with his wedge-like beak.

downy-woodpecker1
When killing frost signals the last gasp of the growing season, then, like a changing of the guard, the plants come in off my balcony and the bird feeding station goes out. Two tube feeders–one filled with wild bird mix, the other with black oil sunflower seed–hang from the station’s metal arms in company with a bag of thistle seed for the finches. This year, determined to attract a woodpecker or two if I could, I also hung out a mesh onion bag full of suet and slapped a couple more hunks out on the balustrade. It’s as a complete a smorgasbord as any bird could hope for, and the response has been supremely rewarding. It has included, I’m happy to say, the woodpeckers–a sprightly gentleman with a red bar across his head, and his consort, a perky little lady without the bar, each showing up when the other isn’t there and gorging with mighty singleness of purpose on the suet.

goldfinch11
During the winter months, the feathery circus out there on the balcony reminds me that life goes on even when bitter winds blow. Today I tripoded my camera by the sliding door, intent on capturing a few images from the carnivalia. With so many birds thronging the feeding station, you’d be surprised at how difficult it can be to get a decent shot. These are not creatures who like to sit still, let alone pose for the camera. The bright-eyed goldfinch to your  left complied for about a second, long enough to look coy and unspeakably cute. It’s not for nothing that a bunch of these little guys and gals is called a “charm.”

nuthatch
The woodpeckers and nuthatches were more demanding. I had to wait for them, and they had a way of showing up when I had walked away from the window. I did finally manage to catch them at an opportune time. The nuthatches are a favorite of mine, part comedian and part acrobat, with no apparent sense of up or down nor any regard for the law of gravity.

Talking about the weather has for me never been synonymous with shallow conversation. There is a time of year when I find few topics more fascinating. Unfortunately, winter isn’t

downy-woodpecker
that time. Music, too, inexhaustible though it may be as a pursuit, has its limitations for me as a focus for blogging. In a word, I just don’t always have musical or weatherly stuff to write about, and I don’t like stretching too far for material. It’s a big world, filled with all kinds of interest and plenty of alternatives when subject matter gets thin. The birds are at the window day in and day out, chattering, flitting, quarreling, and consuming black oil sunflower seed with marvelous rapidity. They deserve a nod if not my outright gratitude. When snow cocoons the northwoods and whirls across the parking lot, they make me smile, and they’ll see me through till spring.

nuthatch1
So this post is for the birds.

Or had you been thinking that all along?

December 18, 2010 by
Filed Under: Life, Michigan, Nature, Outdoors, Photography Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

So You Want to Be a Storm Chaser

bowdle-wedge
The long months are here for storm chasers. Winter, the season of convective inactivity. The time some of us love but most of us simply endure. Three months–four, really–lie between now and our favorite time of year when the spring storm season begins to ramp up.

These are not idle months, though, or at least, they shouldn’t be. Now is the time for chasers to be cracking the books, reading papers, doing what they can to hone their forecasting skills. One great tool for achieving that objective has been the chase cases on Stormtrack.

For those not familiar with them, the chase cases are a user-based initiative in which, for a given case, a forum member volunteers to supply suites of data commonly used by chasers to pinpoint their targets. The data is typically gleaned from NOAA archives of actual weather events, with the first batch of maps, soundings, radar, satellite images, and SPC text products usually time-stamped 00Z on the night before the event. Chasers consult the data and determine their initial staging areas, then adjust their positions as subsequent forecast suites are released over time. A typical chase case can take three days or more to complete, depending on how busy the person supplying the data is.

At the end of it all, the players get to check their positions with the final radar images and storm reports and determine how they fared. Since these virtual scenarios are based on actual severe weather events that include verified tornadoes, the value of the chase cases is obvious. Besides being just plain fun, they allow participants to compare notes with what others are noticing in the forecasting tools and how they’re interpreting that information. They really help a person sharpen the razor during the snowy season.

Chase case number 5 ended last night. A northwest flow event, it was a tough nut to crack, and a lot of people busted, including me. At one point, six of us selected Woodward, Oklahoma, as a place to hang out under a boundary. It was a virtual chaser convergence, one of several that occurred on this case, and it got me to thinking. Forty-four people participated in case number 5–not many, given the vastness of the territory actually involved; yet many of us wound up clustering in the same places and wound up on the same storms. My question: What fraction of actual chasers out on a real chase day did we represent? In real life, given a major chase event, you can bet that the number of people pursuing storms would far outstrip forty-four.

It’s no secret that the hordes are increasing rapidly every year. Thanks to media shows such as Discovery Channel’s highly popular Storm Chasers series, what used to be a pretty solitary activity practiced by a relative handful has spiraled into a circus out on the Great Plains. Today it seems like everybody under the age of 30 wants to be a storm chaser, or at least, they think they do.

Far be it from me to separate between a host of yahoos who mistake opportunistic lunacy for the art and science of chasing storms, versus the far fewer individuals whose interest is rooted in something more trustworthy than reality TV. It’s your right to chase storms if you want to, and everybody has to start somewhere. Shoot, I’ve been chasing for coming up on 15 years now, and I still consider myself rather green. Number of years doesn’t automatically translate into expertise. Nevertheless, I’ve seen enough to have formed some opinions about where storm chasing seems to be headed as more and more new blood flocks to Tornado Alley. To those of you who, inspired by what you’ve seen on television, plan on heading to the Plains for the first time this coming spring, I have this to say:

Don’t be an idiot.

I mean it. I’m not saying don’t go. I’m saying, before you go, learn about what it is that you’re getting into. There’s more to it than you realize, and if your knowledge thus far comes from watching a TV series or a handful of YouTube videos, then honestly, you don’t know jack.

Start with this thought: Storm chasing is not about getting as close as you can to a tornado. “Extreme chasing” is a fairly new phenomenon that has been glorified by the media to the point where it has, in impressionable minds, set a new and dangerous standard. But it’s not the historical norm. The reality is, most veteran chasers have generally maintained a safe distance from tornadoes. So banish any images of driving to within 100 feet of a tornado. Hello? It’s a freaking TORNADO. And you’re not Reed Timmer or Tim Samaras. Those guys have knowledge and experience you can’t even imagine, and what you’ve seen of them on TV has been just one highly condensed, scripted, edited, incomplete, and not altogether accurate part of a much bigger picture. Trying to shortcut what is in fact a pretty involved learning curve could easily get you killed or maimed for life.

Getting close to tornadoes is just one style of chasing. I have friends who practice it; it’s a choice they make based on their level of experience and situational awareness, which I respect, and I’m not going to knock them for it. They know the risks. For that matter, I’ve been pretty close myself on a few occasions, not always by choice. Every storm is different. In general, though, keeping a good mile or more between you and a tornado isn’t wimpy, it’s smart.

Enough about that. Here’s my next bit of advice: Respect others who are on the road, and respect locals whose lives can be impacted both by the weather and by your own actions. Chasing a storm doesn’t accord you some sort of elite status to which traffic laws don’t apply. Parking your car in the middle of a traffic lane in order to take pictures of a storm is selfish, inexcusable behavior; either find a damn turnoff or else keep moving until you locate a place where you can pull over onto the shoulder. And driving 30 miles an hour over the speed limit endangers not only you, but others as well, particularly in a rainy storm environment where hydroplaning is a real danger. Last May in South Dakota a bunch of chasers, including me, had to deal with a very pissed-off sheriff whose attitude toward us had been provoked several hours prior by a chaser who blasted past him at 90 miles an hour. The sheriff was preoccupied at the time; otherwise he’d have busted the guy. As it stood, one thoughtless driver gave that LEO a bad impression of chasers in general, and he took his anger out on us. So remember, you don’t own the road. And no, being a rugged, individualistic American citizen doesn’t give you the right to conduct yourself in ways that negatively affect other people.

I could probably have lumped both of my preceding points together by saying, educate yourself and use common sense. First and foremost, learn about storm structure and morphology. Discard any high-octane media images you may have of storm chasing and instead find out what it takes to chase safely and successfully. I highly recommend West Texas storm chaser Jason Boggs’ educational resource site–it’s a gold mine of information. So are severe weather forecasting guru Tim Vasquez’s books, available through his business, Weather Graphics. If you can only afford one book, get The Storm Chasing Handbook. It’s a great introduction to the nuts and bolts of chasing storms.

Storm chasing is an incredible avocation with rewards that extend beyond the beauty and drama of the atmosphere to other dimensions, aesthetic, intellectual, interpersonal, and spiritual. But by its very nature, chasing storms is also a potentially dangerous activity. If you’re going to take it up, the smartest way to go about it is to exercise humility and restraint, and to make learning your priority rather than an adrenaline rush. Pursue that first objective and the second will come in due time.

Be safe. Be smart. Be courteous. The Plains have gotten smaller and more crowded in recent years. How you conduct yourself on them, and the attitude you display, makes a difference for everyone.

December 15, 2010 by
Filed Under: Storm Chasing, Tornadoes, Weather Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

A Diminished Whole Tone Lick

The diminished whole tone scale (aka super locrian scale, altered scale, altered dominant scale, Pomeroy scale) is nothing if not colorful. A mode of the ascending melodic minor scale built on that scale’s seventh degree, the diminished whole tone scale encompasses virtually every alteration to a dominant chord that you can think of: #5, b9, #9, and #11. It’s commonly used over dominant chords of various alterations, and is ideally suited to the V+7#9.

The name “diminished whole tone” refers to the scale’s two tetrachords. The bottom tetrachord derives from a half-whole diminished scale, and the top tetrachord suggests a whole tone scale. For example, connecting the tetrachord B, C, D, and Eb with the tetrachord F, G, A, and B will give you a B diminished whole tone scale: B, C, D, Eb, F, G, A, B. (In actual use, you’d want to think of the Eb enharmonically as a D#, the major third of a B+7#9 chord).

diminished-whole-tone-exercise_0To your right is an exercise that will take you around the cycle of fifths with one of my favorite diminished whole tone licks. (Click on the thumbnail to enlarge it.) I like the lick for three reasons. It starts and finishes on the highly consonant major third of the altered dominant chord, but in between it spotlights the altered tones of the chord (#5, b9, #9). It emphasizes the half-step relationship between the third and #9, and between the b9 and the chord root. And it outlines the major triad built on the raised fifth of the altered dominant–e.g. the #5 of a D+7#9, A# (Bb enharmonically) gives rise to a Bb major triad.

Have fun with the exercise. If you’re not familiar with the diminished whole tone sound, it may take a while to get it into your ear, but you’ll be glad you did.

Look for more exercises, helpful articles, and solo transcriptions on my jazz page.

December 10, 2010 by
Filed Under: Band, Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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