Not now, I’m in a meeting

The signed poster with ticket stubs from the Huntsville concert two years ago.

Over the last two years or so, since Mrs. S and I decided that we would indulge our passion for music, we’ve had a number of opportunities to meet various artists of varying degrees of celebrity. One thing all of these meetings have had in common, however, would be the element of surprise. You just never know what you are going to get. You don’t know how many people will be there, how long the star will talk to you (or if they even will), whether or not you can take pictures, whether or not you can ask for autographs, it’s all a big secret. In fact, some celebrities don’t even tell the staff on hand what they are willing to do and what is acceptable for the fans up until the last possible moment. In other words, it’s a guessing game for everybody but the star.

In this respect, Wynton Marsalis proved no different. We were told he would sign autographs, but he only signed two (one for me). We were told no pictures, but everybody (and I do mean everybody) kept taking pictures of him with their cameras and phones. We were told he would be at the after party, but he was not. We were told not to expect other band members, but a couple of the guys showed up. In other words, it was basically a semi-controlled free-for-all.

Where Wynton differed was, he spent a fair amount of time with each guest. He did what he said he would do, and he was a nice guy. Eventually, I will get a link to the official pictures of him taken with me and Mrs. S. In the meantime, here’s the best one of him signing my Huntsville concert poster:

I suppose I could have held the thing up for him to sign, and, whaddaya know?!? He's left-handed!

On the ride back, Mrs. S was bemoaning the fact that she had lugged seven Wynton Marsalis CD’s in her purse all night and we didn’t get Wynton to sign any of them. I said I was happy just to get the poster signed and to get a few band members’ signatures on one of the CD’s. She said, we should have taken more pictures, and we should have stayed with him, and we should have asked for more autographs. I said, offhandedly, yeah, but they told us we couldn’t. She said, you follow too many of the rules. (I thought that was funny.) Then she added, those rules don’t make sense, and it always turns out everybody else breaks them anyway, so we might as well do what we want. Why do you follow the rules?  I said, because rules are what keep societies in order and prevent random behavior from detracting from our way of life. (I thought that was funny, too.) And while I believe that, I also believe something else:

At my next meet and greet, I’m going to break a few rules.

Next: I’m with the band

After the weather, came the storm (of jazz, that is)

First of all, in spite of the weather, the Jemison Concert Hall at Alys Stephens Center was as packed as I have ever seen it. Keep in mind, I’ve seen some big names in classical and jazz music, from Joshua Bell and Hilary Hahn, to Bela Fleck and Edgar Meyer, to Herbie Hancock, Pat Metheny  and Al Jarreau. Wynton Marsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra packed them in like nobody else.

They kept their stage set up very tight. I think this has to do with communication, because there is a lot of back and forth during the solos and there are lots of solis written into the music to give sections a chance to play some more while another performer is soloing. It takes some coordination to know when to play those solis, and you’ve also got to know what the soloist has in mind, so I think they sit close to make sure they are all on the same page, literally and figuratively. Here’s a look at the stage from the other side, including the piano bench platform that half the band stumbled over:

Look what's under the bench. Just low enough to not catch your eye, just high enough to catch a loafer.

Wynton told a couple of interesting stories during the performance, and he’s actually a pretty funny guy. He has a down-to-earth sense of humor that goes over well with audiences. Before they played Horace Silver’s “Senor Blues”, he told the story of how he used to judge jazz compositions with Horace. Most judges gave poor performances a 6, average performances a 7 or 8, and 9 or 10 to great performances. Horace would give out 1’s and 2’s. Wynton told him not to do that, but he kept right on. Now, whenever they have a competition to judge, the judge who gives out the lowest overall scores gets the “Horace Silver Award”.

I thought it was funny. I probably made a face a little brighter than this:

A pre-concert grin in front of a Steinway

They did the concert with an intermission. They played lots of standards arranged by band members and Wynton himself, and they played a couple of songs off of a train theme based suite that I’m not familiar with but will be by the time I finish writing about the concert and after concert meet and greet (probably two more entries after this one). There was no encore, which was not surprising but still disappointing. They did not play any of the songs they played two years ago when they visited Huntsville. Mrs. S liked the songs from two years ago better. I think I liked these better, but I still consider myself lucky to have heard some of Ted Nash’s songs when they were in Huntsville. (It’s also the CD I had signed by several band members.

Next: Meeting Wynton Marsalis.

Totally blown away ... then we got to the Wynton Marsalis concert!

I suppose at times, we all suffer from clouded judgment. Our irrational desires, seem, worth so much more than they really are. We momentarily stop, ... think, ... rationalize, ... stop again, only to let emotion and misperception override our best decision making capabilities. “Hey, you guys! Watch this!” we yell, and...

Into the brink.

Okay. Driving through a raging thunderstorm that earlier in the day gave birth to potentially fatal tornadoes (emphasis on the word “potentially”) may not exactly be the ultimate risk. After all, you’re in a car, designed by engineers for crissakes, who know their customers are idiots and will unnecessarily drive in rain and high winds for purposes that are probably not worth the risk. “Maybe we should let them hit the guardrail if they drive in a tornado?” says one. “Yeah, or...” But one of the engineers knows that a dead American purchases fewer cars than a live one. (He probably took a marketing course in junior college.) “Maybe we can put a computer on the wheels to control the brakes if they lose traction.” There is a moment of silence as the genius of the idea seeps into the other engineers’ brains. “But then they won’t skid out and hit a concrete barrier, and they’ll definitely never go over the median and into the path of an 18-wheeler. Where’s the fun in that?”

And you know that this conversation (or maybe a less macabre version of it) took place. You know your car can take you places, even in the worst conditions. So you weigh the chances of an engineer being smart enough to keep you alive against something you think is worth, risking, well, maybe just a little death, and you get in your car and drive 100 miles through a storm system.

Spoiler alert: Me, enjoying a glass of wine prior to the concert (I did not die on the drive down)

No. You’re not the smartest person on the planet. Because the guys that designed your car are all smarter than you (even if they do work for General Motors – hi, dad). But, you’re a good driver, and, you know your car will compensate for your (few) inadequacies. And besides, is it really all that windy? Didn’t you just change the blades on your windshield wipers? It’s going to be worth the effort, right?

My last rational thought, before I drove through a cracking thunderstorm for a hundred miles and almost two hours was: “If something is going to kill me in an untimely fashion in a horrible, sad way, it might as well be a car trip to a jazz concert by one of the pre-eminent big bands of our – or any – time. God, I’m sorry I didn’t practice the church music as much as I should have. I only realized five years ago I was meant to improvise. And please, don’t let the ABS fail me now.”

So me and Mrs. S successfully drove to Birmingham to see Wynton Marsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra perform live at the Alys Stephens Center on Friday, March 2, 2012 (a day that saw two tornadoes injure seven and damage 140 homes in Alabama). And, we met Wynton after the show at an exclusive meet and greet. So there’s lots to talk about besides the weather, and that’s all I’m going to say about the drive except: it was worth it.

The stage setting, before a bunch of musicians came in and messed it up.

Next: The Concert.

Leap this: Five nights ago, two nights away

Last Friday, Mrs. S. and I again made the drive – thankfully not in the rain this time – to Birmingham, to visit the Alys Stephens Center to see,

The one...

The only...

Algernon!

Otherwise known as Al Jarreau. 78 years old, still singing up a storm with his vast repertoire, iconic hits, and a band of youngsters and oldsters that can make your heart race. He told the story (twice) of how his first record became a hit because even though nobody knew his name, they knew “that song by Algernon”, (young kids: google “Flowers for Algernon”), and that helped him to sell records. So, let me give you the short version of the review of the show. But first, a shot of me and Mrs. S. prior to the start.

He sang all his hits, and he sang a few other people’s hits, like The Beatles’ “She’s Leaving Home” and Paul Desmond’s “Take Five” (which originally didn’t have lyrics). His bass player, Chris Walker, sang one of his songs that will soon be a hit (phenomenal stuff) and all in all, it was just one hell of a show. Al’s got a star on the Hollywood walk of fame, and deservingly so. It was a great show. Imagine a 78 year old jazz singer on this stage:

Anyway, I’ve scratched another legend off my “must see living legends of jazz list”. Next up is Wynton Marsalis, who I “saw” two years ago, but due to the down front, below the stage, orchestra pit seats in Huntsville, although I sat within twenty feet of him, I never, not once, actually saw Mr. Marsalis, this Friday we’ll actually get to meet and greet him. Expect many autographs, pictures, and memories to adorn these pages shortly after that.

Five days ago, Al Jarreau, two days from now, Wynton Marsalis. Not bad for someone who’s as late to jazz as me. Not bad at all.

Another all-around musical genius, unfortunately largely ignored by the good people of Alabama

Mrs. S and I drove through the rain (why does it always rain when we have a concert out of town to go to?) last night to see Edgar Meyer and the world premiere of his third concerto for double bass and orchestra. It was doubly challenging because I was still feeling the effects of a delayed return flight from Mexico that left me with an eight-hour, beer-laden layover, but I was feeling okay after dinner. (Turtle soup and straight rum to the rescue – try that next time your hangover threatens to turn into a cold.)

For those of you who don’t know Edgar Meyer, go ahead and google him now (then come back and finish reading).

Edgar Meyer, in concert (not the concert described)

 The guy’s famous. Played with all the big names: Joshua Bell, Bela Fleck, Yo Yo Ma, etc. His third concerto, commissioned by the Alabama Symphony, was for some reason performed by a stripped down version of the orchestra. And, the hall was less than half full. The people who were there looked even more tired than I felt.

But Mr. Meyer’s piece was fascinating. He introduced it by saying, “It’s 22 minutes long. There’s a 7-minute first section...a 7-minute second section...a 7-minute third section, and somewhere there’s another minute in there.” He also said he wrote his first concerto 20 years ago, his second ten years ago, and he hopes this, his third, is his last (!). His bass playing was flawless. The performance was captivating, and I was happy to have been privileged to be among the first to hear it performed. The audience clapped, he took a bow, and that was it. Then the orchestra hacked their way through a sullen Shostakovich piece (well, Shostakovich’s pieces are all sullen, aren’t they?), the first time I can honestly say they did not sound very good at all, and then we drove home.

I saw and heard history, and hardly anyone knows it. Now that all the readers of my blog know it, oh, never mind.

(sigh)

Serendipity

If it hasn't already been written, someday I'm going to write a song called "Serendipity". It's going to be about the things that happen coincidentally, unexpectedly, or, just happen to be interesting. You know, those things that happen in a life, like jazz, or interesting odometer readings when you aren't moving and have time to take a picture. Like this one:

Serendipity: Odometer reading in mid-December on our 2006 Pontiac Vibe, just before I traded it back to Mrs. S  for the 2009 Vibe with satellite radio.

Oh, and hello to everyone back in Cleveland. Dig that outside temp in mid December!

When jazz isn’t enough

Last week, I had the privilege to hear Bela Fleck perform his Concerto for Banjo with Orchestra, only the second performance ever of this piece which debuted last year. Now, banjo is certainly not my favorite instrument in the whole world. In fact, if not for the steel guitar, it might well be my least favorite instrument. But Fleck is a blues-minded bluegrass guy with a decided bent toward and numerous accomplishments in the world of jazz, so I figured, why not go and listen to him play with an orchestra?

This turned out to be quite fortuitous, as I also got to hear a piece by Puts that was reminiscent of Smetana and a strings only piece that was so highly original, ethereal, and charming, it wasn’t reminiscent of any other piece I’ve ever heard. Then came the concerto. I really enjoyed it. I won’t bother to describe the piece (such things never quite doing justice to a piece of music you know probably 98% of your readers have never heard – and besides, one can Google it and get a rundown on it elsewhere), but I will say this: for something that was only performed once before, and to play it without sheet music (as Fleck did), even given the fact that as the writer of the piece you expect him to know it as well or better than anyone, Fleck’s mastery of the concerto and his instrument was beyond phenomenal. Even Mrs. S felt that last Thursday’s concert was probably the best concert we’ve been to this season, with the only possible exception being the New York Phil’s concerts.

Which makes me thankful that for a guy like Fleck: jazz, or bluegrass, or whatever he’s considered mainstream in, isn’t enough. It brings me opportunities to experience music I would otherwise never have experienced. Heck, I might even buy one of his creepy jazz banjo CD’s. (Maybe, someday.)

And for those of you tuning in to learn about my antique piano restoration project, I wish to formally announce that I have abandoned said project, as I have become convinced that piano will never be playable as it sits in my dining room today. I’m in the process of trying to sell the beast and am hopeful to have it gone soon. Should I be unable to sell it, I fully intent to gut it and make a bar out of it. (Yes, a piano bar.) Hopefully, a motivated buyer will save me from the ignominy of that arduosity. We’ll see.