Another "In and out of jazz" story

I recently had the opportunity to make my second trip ever to lovely Greenville, South Carolina. If you’ve never been there, downtown Greenville is a nice little place, where many years ago, they had the foresight to narrow Main Street from four lanes to two, and widened the sidewalks and installed a bunch of greenery. The result is a quaint little boomtown, where sidewalk cafes, restaurants, bars, and snack shops proliferate. The two jazz clubs that I saw, however, we’re not proliferating. Both were closed.

L to R: Gage Banks, Garrett Graettinger, Morgan McGee, Roman Holder, Riley LePere. Damn! Are those great jazz musician names, or what!? 

Then I went to the first night’s reception of the event I was attending, the 40th annual SEUS-Japan Conference, and what do you know? There was a jazz band about to set to swinging. This jazz band was a quintet of young men, with the unusual instrumentation of alto sax, baritone sax and rhythm section. Of course, I had been drinking and I have no reservations about anything when jazz is involved, so I walked right up to them and said, “Play 'Scrapple from the Apple' ”. They looked at me quizzically, as this was not in their main repertoire from what I could gauge from their reaction. In fact, the leader, their pianist Morgan McGee looked at me funny and said, “What?” I repeated my request and they still looked confused. Then I goofed.

“You know, Monk!”

Roman takes a solo, while Riley plans his. (Morgan had already set them up with his bluesy lead.)

At this point, I think they wanted me to go away, but I didn’t. I said, “No, wait. That’s Charlie Parker. Play some Monk.” This they could relate to. They swung through a pretty terrific take of “In Walked Bud”, including piano and both sax solos. I complimented them and their solos, told them to play Miles when they saw me coming out, and left for the dinner. That, was that.

Riley and Roman go to the head ,with Garrett holding them up in back.

Or so I thought.

At the next night’s reception, there they were again, but I was on the other side of the venue windows. I waved, got their attention, made piano motions and mouthed “Monk, Monk!” Once inside, I introduced myself and my blog, and later on they did play “In Walked Bud” again, as I sat there and enjoyed myself and Mrs. S proceeded to ingest oysters that would eventually give her food poisoning.

Your blogger with the young saxophonists. I'm the fat one on the left.

So, I compliment Greenville on at least trying to have a jazz scene, and I compliment the young gentlemen you see pictured here on their pursuit of one of America’s greatest art forms (I would say, “the greatest”). Next time they see me, I’ll probably say, “In walked me, so you know what I want!” I’m sure that "Bud" will be close behind.

Day 91 – Saturday, Sept. 3 – Because I just can’t put it off any longer

Goals: Get the artistic stuff on the accent piece finished

Music: Charlie Parker’s “Complete Jazz at Massey Hall” and Complete Verve Master Takes, Discs 1 and 2.

There’s just no getting around it. Whether Mrs. S. cares if we ever get the dining room back or not, I for one am definitely sick of having this piano project hanging over me. I decided not to make excuses and to just get back to work.

Since I didn’t want to tangle with the strings, which is off-putting in general and particularly hard work in specific, I decided to exhilarate my artistic side and work on the mother-of-pearl inlay on the fascia board. I touched up the gold paint, having already done the black paint before the project went into hibernation, and I drew in some leaves and flowers to make it look nice. I poured a layer of clear acrylic over it, and that made a bit of a mess. I shook most of it off and left it to dry.

This morning I checked the board and the acrylic didn’t turn out bad, but it isn’t great either (pretty much like everything on the piano). So, I will try to put a few more touches on the board and then one more coat of acrylic and then we’ll see about the strings.

It’s supposed to rain today, which means I won’t be able to smoke the ribs I prepped, which means I won’t have to spend a ton of time cooking, running back and forth to the grill, etc. So I’ll be cooking in the oven and have plenty of time to work on the piano. Hopefully, I’ll make some genuine progress today.

Massey Hall and Me: A short travelogue

On my recent trip to Canada, I happened to run across the famous jazz (and other music) venue of Massey Hall, on the east side of downtown Toronto. It happened entirely by accident:

On the fourth day of our eight-day trip, my brother-in-law-in-law took ill and was basically laid up, leaving everyone else in our group to our own devices. With all the ladies, including the dear Mrs. S. going to an Il Divo concert that night, I was by myself. I decided to scare up some grub and set out in search of a bottle of good red wine and some schwarma, enough for me and my brother-ilil. (I can't get schwarma around where I live, and I figured it would be a slam dunk in a multi-ethnic big city like Toronto; plus I had seen some earlier in the day.) Due to some bad directions from the front desk personnel of our hotel, probably because they didn't know what schwarma was, I ended up at Eaton Center, which was okay, because I found a Liquor Control Board store and picked up a wonderful Niagara region baco noir. And if you've ever bought liquor in Canada, you'll understand this next part, where due to the store exit being completely different from the entrance (in this case, not even on the same floor), I got turned around inside Eaton Centre and when I finally got outside, I was lost. The good thing about Toronto though, is, you always know what direction to go in. (See? The CN Tower is good for something.) In a brief frenzy of adventurous spirit, I decided to take a different route back to the hotel.

In very quick order, I ended up in an obviously dodgy neighborhood. There was trash in the streets, and occasionally, people picking at it. A guy walking in front of me picked up what looked like a matchbook, told it a short story, then threw it down and jumped on it before walking off. I decided to turn left instead of walk behind that guy. I wanted to drink my wine, not use it as a weapon of self defense.

And, boom, there it was: Massey Hall. Plain as day. Dark, but the signs were lit. It looked small, like it couldn't be "the" Massey Hall, but it was. Well I'll be damned. Truthfully, I didn't even know it was in Toronto. I looked around for the ghosts of Charlie Parker and Bud Powell, and at first I thought I had found them, laying under the upcoming events board, staring off into the distance, waiting for their next solo. Then I realized it was just two bums, hoping for someone to toss them a half-eaten sandwich or a loonie. With no sandwich to offer and wanting to keep my Canadian dollars in case I had to pay off a mugger, I headed around them and down the street that runs alongside the hall. There, I got accosted by a guy who was definitely not a ghost but looked quite spooky nonetheless. He was holding a disgusting brown-stained Styrofoam cup out at me. "Change?" he asked. "Don't change," I said, "I love you just the way you are," and I kept walking.

I made it back to the hotel without further incident, but I never found my schwarma. Got some Mamma's pizza ("Since 1957!") instead.

The picture above was taken the next day, before the bums and real jazz musicians had come out. (Thank you for your compliments on my hat.)

And later (after the photo session), Mrs. S. and I got a beef stuffed pita for lunch at the St. Lawrence Market, which isn't schwarma but was no less satisfying and enjoyable.

Where I'm At

My recently purchased 8 CD set of Charlie Parker, plus Volume 8 of the Art Tatum Group Masterpieces arrived just before the holiday weekend. So, that was all I listened to all weekend. I'm pretty sure both can go on the Yoity Tot list, for now, but I don't think Art Tatum will be able to stay there once I get farther along in my jazz music education. The depth of the Charlie Parker set is stunning, and I don't think I've ever had as much fun listening to music as I do listening to that.

I worked on altered chords in a 12-bar blues format. I got a little less than halfway around the circle of fifths in different keys, so I still have a lot of work to do.

I got my drum machine out and played everything with it this weekend, including scales, drills, the blues above, and all the songs that we've played in the ensemble so far. (My Funny Valentine, How High the Moon, Blue Bossa - from my audition, Donna Lee) I also used it to learn I Could Write a Book. I think that helped me more than anything. It will certainly make me a better ensemble player as I am never at liberty with the time and rhythm, and the drum machine helps enforce that in spades. I wonder why I wasn't using it as much before. I'll definitely make good use of it from now on.

And that's where I'm at. Tomorrow: More about the path I'm on and where I'm going.

Damn you, Charlie Parker!

Damn you, Charlie Parker!

I'm not sure what I ever did to you that would make you want to make my hobby of jazz music so difficult. You've been dead longer than I've been alive, but I feel like everything you ever did in the pantheon of jazz was simply to confound and frustrate me. Can I help it if I became a fan of jazz late in life? Can I help it if kids half my age know more about your contributions to jazz than I'm ever going to know? (Not to mention the "whys" and the "hows", too.) Should I be held responsible for my lack of knowledge about jazz, completely handicapping my understanding of how you advanced our art form? And since none of it is really my fault, why make me despondent with your infernal "Parker heads", your huge number of standards, and a recorded legacy so large, it defies imagination and explanation? Did you sleep and eat in the studio, too, just to cut a few extra tracks, in case somebody would doubt your genius after the immense legacy you built?

Damn you, Charlie Parker!

What do you mean, I shouldn't hate you, Charlie? Of course I should. Case in point: Last week at jazz ensemble practice, our group had gotten done fooling around with a blues in F, and the instructor says, "Turn to Blues for Alice". Great, I think. A Parker head, but at least it's a tune I actually know. I even played a lick or two as we flipped through out notations, and some of the group go, "Yeah, yeah man." Unfortunately, playing it in a half-assed way so that it sounds good to my own ears when playing in my dining room because I only know one inversion of each chord, however, is not the same as playing it with multiple inversions in a band setting. I got tore up in five seconds flat. I couldn't keep up with the melody (which nobody was bothering to play), couldn't follow the chord changes (because nobody was playing the fundamental root-third-fifth chords), and couldn't make the chords I knew fit in even when I could figure out where we were in the song. I've been more musically frustrated, I'm sure, but no, I can't remember when, and even if I could, it wouldn't make me feel any better about you, Bird. Which is why I repeat:

Damn you, Charlie Parker!

You say I should listen to more of your music? You say if I only listen, I will understand? You say I need to embody the spirit of your chord changes, imitate your use of the modes over a given key, discover the vibrancy of an off color chromatic that leads back to the basic ii-V-I progression? Okay, what should I listen to? I haven't got a single one of your recordings, so tell me where to start. The complete Dial recordings? The complete Savoy recordings? The Dial and Savoy? The complete Verve? The complete live recordings? Charlie, those suckers are sixty, seventy, a hundred bucks a pop! My CD habit is already more expensive than your drug habit, you ...

OK, that was out of line. Still, damn you, Charlie Parker!

All right. You win. I'm not giving up jazz, but I don't want you and your music haunting me the rest of my amateur jazz musician days. I've ordered a set of eight CD's of your music, 225 tracks (or something like that) of about 60 songs (or something like that). I'll sit and listen to them, really listen. I'll even follow along with the score for the songs that are in The Real Book. I've already been practicing Blues for Alice with no roots and a 6th and a 9th in every major seventh chord. I'm even trying to play Ornithology and Donna Lee again. So, if my ensemble instructor yells out another one of your tunes on Wednesday night, I won't get mad. But, if after I've played these tunes the way you did, and if after I've listened to the ten hours of music I just bought, if after all that effort I'm still struggling, still bashing my head against a wall of out-of-key, out-of-synch, bone crunching, nerve twisting dissonance, well then, I'll go back to cursing you.

I'm going to give you a chance, Charlie Parker. I'm going to sincerely give you a chance. If it works out, I'll be eternally grateful. If it doesn't, well,

Damn you, Charlie Parker! Damn you to hell.

Play on the upbeat

I just got done managing my company through a rigorous four-day audit that was conducted in only three days. The highlight of the three days was being able to go to my piano lesson, even though it came at what was the end of the equivalent of a fourteen hour day, in which I hadn't slept for over 16 hours. It was not easy.

I played Don't Get Around Much Anymore and Blues for Alice, neither in a particularly good-sounding or facile manner. It was a struggle. My instructor threw me off my playing style by saying, "Play with a lighter touch" just before I start DGAM, which I play sort of heavy handed because I like to accentuate the no-chord areas and the oblique movements, so by the time he told me to go back to playing my normal style, there was just nothing left in the tank. We talked about syncopation and playing on the off beats, then playing on the upbeats, on BFA. I listened and watched, and thought I would be able to do it.

When I got home last night, there was nothing to do but keep playing piano, so I did. I couldn't hit the syncopation, and there was nothing doing with the offbeats, especially in the bars with triplets. I tried playing on the upbeats, and that seemed to work, but it didn't sound good.

Today, I had another twelve hour day, but the audit is over. Tonight I will watch the Cavs steal one from the Celtics, drink beer, and then I will try again to do something different with the tunes. Or maybe, I will take my upbeats to sleep and be done with it.