Our first real winter storm began yesterday, and it has been depositing snow on us ever since. We”ve gotten somewhere in the vicinity of five inches, and while the low has lifted off to the northeast, snow remains in the forecast for the rest of the week.\r\n\r\nA few days ago I was gazing wistfully at the GFS, rooting for a system over 300 hours out that promised to tug deep moisture northward into the Missouri boot heel and southern Illinois. I know better than this, but you have to consider the time of year and what it does to a man. And then there were those wild kinematics, that 500 mb jet streak sitting on top of the energy like bread on a sandwich…\r\n\r\nYes, it was only a way, way long-range model, but it hung together reasonably well for several runs. Now, of course, it”s gone, and I feel as gullible as a guy old enough to know better falling in love with Miss November on a gas station calendar.\r\n\r\nThe irony of it is, I know–I just know–that I”ll do it again. Dream on some fanciful GFS run two weeks out, that is, knowing that it”ll never materialize, knowing that I”m just dreaming, knowing that this is, for crying out loud, December. None of that matters. In fact, I expect I”ll continue to halfway hope for something to re-emerge for the eleventh or twelfth, and I”ll still look at the GFS–not expecting anything, mind you, but just in case…I mean, you never know. After all, there was January 5th in Missouri this year, and then the Super Tuesday Outbreak in February…\r\n\r\nRight.\r\n\r\nBy the way: What goes “Jingle, jingle, ho, ho, ho! BLAM! BLAM! Jingle, jingle, ho, ho, ho”?\r\n\r\nSanta Claus doing a drive-by shooting.\r\n\r\nDon”t laugh. That wasn”t a joke–it was a cry for help. This post is going downhill fast. I think I”ll let it. I ran out of things to say long ago, after the word Random in the headline.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

I just returned from playing at the First Presbyterian Church in Hasting with Ed Englerth, Mitch Myers, et al. I”ve never played at this church before, being neither Presbyterian nor a Hastings resident. But at Ed”s invitation, I joined in for an evening of Advent reflections to help lend a bluesy tinge to the music.\r\n\r\nThe number of musicians was literally more than the number of people who came to the meeting. Six people occupied the pews–a sparse gathering, to be sure, but I honestly didn”t mind. This evening was good, exactly what I needed. Not big fanfare, but something small to help me center in on what this season is really about. Or, to be more exact, Who it”s about.\r\n\r\nWhen Jesus was born, it was to a nation that wasn”t expecting its Messiah to come wrapped in the powerlessness and dependency of a baby. That is the humility of God, that infinity should arrive in so small and limited a package.\r\n\r\nLife is so busy, and so filled with diversions. Tonight, for a while, I enjoyed both playing my horn with the guys and also setting it down to quiet myself inside and contemplate a meaning and purpose that can”t be found in music alone. My abilities on the saxophone only count to the extent that they weave into a greater purpose. When I stand before my Master, what I”ll want to be able to feel good about isn”t that I mastered a bunch of cool licks, but that I loved my Lord and the people he has given me sincerely, deeply, passionately, and effectively. That is my heart”s desire.\r\n\r\nThe drive to excel at the things I do comes from God. Whatever I set my hand to, I have an innate desire to do it well. I feel it”s important that I push myself to grow as a musician, a stormchaser, a writer. Important, but not preeminent. Those things all must submit to the overarching principle of love. Love has a way of combining freedom with responsibility, and gain with sacrifice. The kingdom of heaven is filled with such seeming paradoxes.\r\n\r\nTonight, I thank my heavenly Father for the gift of music. But greater than that, I thank Him for the gift of seeing beyond music to the things that count most. I thank Him for a season to reflect, and to contemplate the Life that dwells in me–the Life born long ago in a manger, now alive in my heart. Jesus, the meaning behind the music.

I remember the first time I heard a recording of Charlie Parker back in a jazz appreciation course. That anyone could play the saxophone like that simply blew me away. Looking back, I wish I”d been exposed to Bird, and to the whole concept of bebop, much sooner than my college years. But better late than never, and out of that moment of revelation came years of exploring, enjoying, and learning from the likes of Parker, Cannonball, Sonny Stitt, Phil Woods, Wayne Shorter, Trane, Mike Brecker, Paul Desmond, Jackie McLean, and other bop and post-bop saxophonists.\r\n\r\nGiants such as these have created a solid legacy for contemporary players. There”s no escaping their influence–and who would want to?\r\n\r\nBut while I was feeding my ears on the tenor battles of Sonny Stitt and Lockjaw Davis, my dad was listening to his beloved Dixieland and old blues recordings of Louis Armstrong, Bessie Smith, and Sidney Bechet.\r\n\r\nSidney Bechet. How well I remember not caring for him. That raspy tone and wide, buzz-saw vibrato of his made me nervous. So what if he was the first jazz musician to use the soprano saxophone as a serious voice? I didn”t find it a particularly attractive voice, and I was unimpressed.\r\n\r\nBesides, next to the sophistication and lightning technique of bop and Bird, Dixieland was just a poor sort of passe thing. It was okay for folks like my dad, but a hip young firebrand like me just naturally required more challenging fare.\r\n\r\nStrangely, though, I never could seem to play that simplistic Dixieland music anywhere nearly as well as its doddering, fossilized practitioners. Stranger still, the more I managed to get my arms around the complexities of modern jazz, the better those old Dixieland dinosaurs got.\r\n\r\nAt some point, now years gone by, I slipped on one of my dad”s ancient Sidney Bechet records and was astounded at how much the old soprano sax veteran had improved. Good? Heck, the man was brilliant! It was an amazing achievement for a player many years deceased. I suspect, though, that Bechet”s accomplishment had something to do with my own growth as a musician. Thrashing with my horn had opened my eyes–and ears–to what a master of the saxophone Sidney Bechet really was.\r\n\r\nAs for Dixieland music being simpler than bebop, I still can”t play the stuff. I”m sure I could if I worked at it enough to develop a Dixieland vocabulary, but having not done so, I at least know enough now to recognize that classic jazz is not easy music. It”s hard to play well! Guys like Sidney and Louis were no slouches. They were geniuses who possessed dazzling technique, boundless creativity, and immense musical integrity.\r\n\r\nHere”s a solo transcription by Bret Pimentel of Sidney Bechet playing “Summertime,” the tune that propelled a fledgling record company called Blue Note into greatness. Make sure you also check out Bret”s analysis of the solo. Both the transcription and the writeup are well-done and insightful. If you”ve steeped yourself in contemporary jazz, you”ll gain an appreciation for one of the patriarchs who made it possible, forging a path where no one had gone before.

Happy Thanksgiving!\r\n\r\nI trust you won”t mind if I keep my words few today. Instead, I”ll let someone else speak, and I think you”ll enjoy what he”s got to say. Listen as saxophonist Bill Evans talks about his experience meeting and playing with Miles Davis.\r\n\r\nI”m impressed with Evans”s earthy, intelligent, unpretentious personality–a great player walking in a kingly lineage of Davis saxophone sidemen, yet absolutely without airs. This is fascinating interview, as much about personalities as it is about music. If you enjoyed the first part, here are part two and part three.