Gear up!

It had been quite a while since I bought music equipment. In 1986, while I was living at my parents', I bought about $10K worth of stuff and built a small studio in the basement. I even glued acoustic panels and shag carpet remnants to the walls to help with the sound deadening in the tiny room. (We had formerly used that room to raise Discus fish, so it had plenty of electrical outlets all around the wall - perfect really - for a recording studio.) Back then, I even had travel cases for everything custom made so I could carry everything to Japan when I went back. Out of necessity, when it came to buying music equipment, I was a bit of an expert back then.

So, two week ago, when my ensemble instructor gave us all of six days' notice that we had to have our own equipment at the concert, I was a little pissed. Pissed because I would have to go through a lot of extra work to get my piano removed from its semi-permanent stand, but mostly because I knew that having to buy equipment can be a pain - pain which I was not looking forward to. Back 22 years ago, we didn't have the internet, so gathering information on equipment, researching prices, and all that took a long, long, long time. Using the internet to research what I wanted and how much it would cost me this time around was a breeze. The only catch was the narrow time frame. I would not be able to order off the internet and get everything sent to me in time. (Well, technically, I could have, but the first case I looked at had a retail price of $129 with free shipping, but expedited two-day shipping was $69 more. Who would pay that for what could be a one time gig?)

Long and short of it is, I did my price and product research online, but I was going to have to do my actual buying in the real world. I really only needed to buy a case and an 'X' stand, and it was pretty easy to see there were limited options for the former, but basically unlimited options for the latter. As far as the stand goes, a stand is a stand is a stand, so price was my only real criteria (I didn't want to spend more than $30, as they are usually available online for around $25). As for the case, my piano only cost around $500 in the first place, so I was not going to buy a $300 hard case for it. That just didn't make sense. Nope, a $99 soft gig bag was going to be the way to go. I called around to the three or four major music shops in the area, only to find nobody had what I wanted. This was on the Thursday after the announcement that we had to supply our own equipment. One shop told me they had a used gig bag, but when he went to make sure they still had it, he discovered it had been sold.

In the end, I was able to find one store that had 'X' stands reasonably priced (around $35) and another store that had a custom Yamaha case not unreasonably priced (around $165). So, I figured I was going to be in for $200, and I let it go at that. On Saturday, I decided to physically make the rounds of the stores, just to see what I could see. Since I had already called around, I knew where I could go to get what I wanted, although not necessarily at a price I wanted to pay, but I thought there was at least a chance I might see something that would work or that I would talk to somebody who could steer me in a different but acceptable direction. I set up my itinerary, and decided to make a stop at a place that over the phone told me they didn't have what I wanted, and from there, I would go in order to two other stores where I knew I could purchase what I wanted.

Well, there's something to be said for doing legwork. The first place I stopped at, although they had said they didn't have stands, happened to have one really nice one, still in the box, that met my needs perfectly. It was more than I wanted to pay ($65), but the salesman said he could knock it down a little. I asked about a case, and he said he didn't have any, but he might have a gig bag that would work for an 88-key instrument. I told him, that's what I'm looking for, even though I said "case". (This is probably where some confusion hindered my search: these guys differentiate between bags and cases. I just consider a gig bag as a "soft case". Oh well.) Again, he had one that was still in its wrap, and again, it was more than I wanted to pay, so I asked him to do a package deal. I ended up getting the case and stand for around $175, tax included, out the door. List for both would have been between $200-225. Online would have been around $130, or $200 with fast shipping, so all in all, I got what I needed when I needed it, pretty much within budget. I didn't even bother to visit the other two music stores.

I guess I still know how to do procurement of music equipment after all.

A new practice routine

Pretty soon, I'm going to write about my experience in buying music equipment. It will, I believe, be very practical and useful for readers of this blog, especially those who are truly new to jazz and the world of music, maybe need to shop around for and buy equipment, but haven't done so in a while. But first, I'm going to put down my practice plan.

This plan is to get me playing better, not to learn tunes (so much), as to just get better. My piano instructor says I need to know more chords and I need to know them more fluently and naturally to play jazz, and he's right. Plus with jazz ensemble being over (for now), I don't have to jam certain tunes into my brain. I can just do what my nerves, muscles, tendons, and will tell me. So, here it is:

-Play three note chord voicings through the cycle of fifths until I've got them down.
-Go through the Real Book and play every song I could play before the concert but haven't played in the last three months (there are a lot of them).
-Work completely through the jazz styles book that I bought and haven't even cracked yet.
-At least once during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays (each), go through Hanon in one sitting, front to back.
-Listen to (carefully) and review all the new music that I picked up over the last few months that I haven't reviewed on Amazon yet.
-Go through the piano chords newsletters I've received over the last two months and pay attention to them and work on them
-Work on Christmas songs
-Play four note chord voicings including the 9th and 13th through the cycle of fifths until I've got them down.

I should be playing pretty good by the beginning of next year if I stick to this plan. I'll let you know how it works out.

Now, to work!

Debut as jazz musician complete

Debut as jazz musician complete - recording contract still on hold, pending actual reception of an offer...

Well, last night The Flying Monkey played host to three bands from UAH, one of them the Wednesday night ensemble that I play in. At our designated start time of 7:00, only two of our band members were there, but nobody else was ready to play, so when we had everyone but our singer present (some time long about 7:20), we went onstage and began. We opened with Have You Met Miss Jones, which went servably well, with no major goofs and no outstanding lines or anything. My Funny Valentine was next, even though it wasn't on our playlist, and it too was adequate without being professional. Our third song was Wave, which was very sharp, fun, driving, and right on. That was the definite highlight of our set. Then our singer showed up, so we went to Lady Sings the Blues, which again, was clean and crisp without being impressive. We closed our set with Michelle, and unfortunately, that was our mistake. The bass and guitar got out of sync, and the sound set-up wasn't good enough for me to be able to pick up what was being played and choose an instrument to play along with. I played a few notes in spots just to "fill", but finally had to sit out as the wanderings got more and more convoluted and distorted. We managed to get back to the head and plow through the song one more time, before we more or less just stopped, and what the applause lacked in enthusiasm was made up by politeness.

It went about as expected.

I guess that looking at the positive, there's a lot to be said. First, it was my first concert in jazz, so I've got that under my belt. Second, everybody made positive remarks. Nobody said anything like, "You guys sounded great except for that last song" or "What happened?" Everybody just said, "You sounded good" or "Good job", and I like that positivity. Third, I learned that if any band is going to sound good, a minimal amount of organization is required, but there has to be some, and that, in the future, if the organization is lacking, someone (maybe me) can just take charge and bring in the necessary level of planning and focus, in order to at least have a complete set of songs, in a specific order, that everyone can play.

If my expectations aren't met and I need to take charge, I'm okay with that. At any rate, I'll definitely be a better musician for last night's experience. It will still be quite a while before I'll be recording anything, though.

How to prepare to give a jazz concert

Here's a list of things a jazz ensemble should do to prepare for a concert:

1) Make sure you have a designated practice space that will not be commandeered by other musicians or groups, forcing you to cut short or cancel your own practice sessions.
2) Decide well in advance where the concert will be held - don't wait until less than one week before to finalize the venue.
3) Decide the date of the concert also well in advance - don't wait until the week before to decide, "Well, Tuesday, not Thursday." (This, together with #2 is also important in being able to tell folks who might attend your concert when and where it will be held - two of the critical factors in getting people to show up for... like... ANYTHING!)
4) Practice together every week for four weeks leading up to the concert. That is to say, one group session a month before is probably not enough preparation.
5) Decide on the songs you will play at least a month in advance so everyone can work out everything to their satisfaction. Whatever you do, do not wait until less than a week before the concert to finalize the repertoire.
6) Make sure everyone knows they are responsible for bringing their own equipment or otherwise making arrangements for having equipment at the gig - again, don't wait until a week before to tell everyone and expect them to be able to comply.

I'm sure there are a number of other things a jazz ensemble needs to do to get properly prepared for a concert. I'm sure our jazz ensemble didn't do any of those things, either. We sure didn't do the six listed above...

Our concert is Tuesday, Nov. 18. Hey, baby, it's jazz. We're going to make it happen, and it will be all right.

Zero to sixty in about eleven months

As attentive (and not-so) readers of this blog well know, since discovering jazz some two years ago, I have primarily relied on the Penguin Jazz Recordings Guide as my key reference to help me select jazz recordings to buy. I have used that book's Core Collection of 185 recordings as the list of what I should buy, basically using it as a checklist and picking up recordings by artists that catch my attention and have a selection (or two, or more) in the core collection. This has been helpful in selecting both dreams (like Helen Merrill with Clifford Brown and Portrait of Sheila by Sheila Jordan) and duds (such as The Magic City by Sun Ra and Sound by Roscoe Mitchell) to add to my collection - of course not knowing they are dreams or duds until after I get them - recordings that I never would have otherwise have thought or known to buy. Well, two days ago, I received After Midnight by Nat "King" Cole and yesterday, "At the Golden Circle" by Ornette Coleman, giving me a total of 60 recordings from the core collection list. (I have many more jazz CD's than that, however.) Pretty soon, I'll be adding a couple more, but the majority of my recent purchases are other things I have wanted that do not appear on the list. Anyway, I always wanted to mark the 60-point in my acquisitions, since it is almost one-third of the list and is quite a milestone in and of itself. I'll have to get on the Macintosh and check our iTunes and music database software to get a count of my entire collection for my next entry.

Nat Cole, by the way, kicks ass. It will definitely end up on the Yoity Tot list before long.

Because Elvis costumes are popular on Halloween

Here's the third and final part of "The Parable of the King":

The Parable of the King: Part III

In those days, the city of light and flying water was content. The world spun on its axis, yet the night and day seemed equally bright and all but indiscernible from each other in that city. The people should have been content, and so they were.

The king, who mainly had the city to be built in a sparkling fashion like his own, had long since passed. His effigies and likenesses, however, could still be seen, sometimes on the coinage of one or another lands, sometimes on the garments of a visitor from afar, sometimes on the back of a caravan. These served to remind the people that although the power of the dam had brought them light, it was the power of the king that had brought them brightness. Yet, even though the king had long gone, still the city prospered and grew.

As the city grew, it expanded not only in size, but in diversity as well. Settlers from the Far East had garnished the right bank of the via, although they were kept in check by a contingent from Norman lands to their south and native settlers to their north. On the opposite bank, the Asians and Egyptians had chosen to settle the southernmost tip of the city, leaving the Europeans to stare across the way to their rivals, prevented from moving farther north by the influx of various buccaneers and vagabonds who camped at the entrance of the bazaar. Most of the citadels preferred mirrors for their surfaces, to reflect not only the vacant stares of the passers-by, but also the insidious glances of rivals from neighboring citadels, far in the distance, yet close in height and high in curiosity. It was no wonder, then, that the mirrors also shunted the stiff intrusion of the sun during the day and the brightness during the night. The city became ever more shiny and sparkling, even as the dirt and decay grew both within and without the citadels.

As people in other lands often visited this city and found there much joy, even if occasionally mingled with expensive and bitter grief, many sought to build cities like the one created by the king. They built strong edifices and towering citadels like those they had seen in the king’s city. They filled their buildings with fields of green and red and black, where all who had means could come and dispense with it, or build it, as fate would allow. Entertainers came and sang and danced, pugilists came and fought and fell, traders came and bought and sold. All these cities who so emulated the king’s city stood tall, and bright, and though these cities might rest on or by the water, unlike the city which the king had summoned from the sand, they felt just as secure and happy, some might even say, happier.

But, it was not meant to last.

Presently, a great wind arose in the ocean to the east. So great was the wind, and such its fury, very islands both big and small were swept away in front of it. The ocean itself surged to heights no man had ever climbed. And as the great wind approached, the people in the imitations of the king’s city came to wish they too had built on something more solid than a pile of water soaked rock and debris. Even as the wind approached, they nonetheless believed their ingenuity was such that even this wind could not destroy what they had built, and so they continued to cast their gold onto the red, black and green fields, and dine on the delicacies of the ocean, an ocean that unbeknownst to them moved ever closer to their own meager dominion.

Eventually, the ultimate depth and fury of the wind was realized, even as it crept over the water and onto the waterside edifices of the now diminishing and scurrying cities. The waves continued to rise, the spirits of the people dampened and fell, but not nearly as hard as the citadels of the cities themselves. For many days, the wind and waves rocked the cities and all they contained, until eventually, they contained nothing. The people who had not been washed away fled. The buildings that had not been demolished were sunk. Only broken caravans and tainted spirits haunted the cities. When finally the wind and waves subsided, when the sun at last shone through the heavy black clouds again, no trace of the cities was to be found. Where once had stood mighty towers and sparkling domes, intricate complexes of lavish entertainment and delicate cuisine, there was nothing, nothing at all. The wind had swept men and their makings before it, and washed it out to the sea from where it came, leaving only a depression that all men shared but none called his own.

People who had flocked to the cities stopped coming, for they know the cities were gone and would take many months, or years, to rebuild. Some who did not know of the fate of the cities came, only to be met by protectors and soldiers, turned away from the aftermath. “Fields of green?” they might exclaim to the uninformed questioner. “All that is green is what is left of the ocean that hath surged upon us. Keep your gold in your pocket, for it will be needed to buy you a meager meal on your trip back to your homeland.” The intrepid would turn around, then, and long for the thrill of the king’s city all the more.

And so, as the imitators rebuilt, the people returned to the one true Mecca, the city of the king. The caravans that flew through the air were still fewer than before, but the number of people seeking the joys of the city did not subside. All were packed closely in their berth until at last they disembarked at the gate of the city’s portal. Upon exiting the gates, all were bathed in the light of city, but whether from the sun, or the glitter, or the mirrors of the citadels, none could tell. They only knew that it was bright, and the fields of green and red and black were still scattered with gold, and where the king had but established a few, now there were many such fields and stages on which men could cavort. More than enough were there to satisfy the endlessly thronging masses, who once again, left with no choice and no other refuge for their furious lusts and cravings, glanced longingly down the via bathed in light, looking around them at their fellow seekers of pleasure. The joy and astonishment that they felt would suddenly well within them, and though they might only be somewhat conscious of their action, their mouth would give forth with an expression of this joy. Some would shout, some would exclaim. Others would gasp, or sigh, or whisper. Yet all voices whether loud or soft, soprano or bass, raspy or clear, all were in unison: “Viva,” they said. “Viva, Las Vegas!”

The Parable of the King - Part II

I am back from Vegas. Finished on the bubble in two poker tournaments two days in a row. Had one winning session. I made more money playing Casino War than every other game. Bought a Cher T-shirt. Yes. It's gay. Even gayer than the Elton John T-shirt I was thinking about (insists my brother). Anybody makes a comment I just say, Yes, my shirt is gay, but I'm not, and I'm secure enough in my sexuality to wear it if I want to.

When I got back, my piano playing was obviously, and heavily, rusty. I have a lot of work to do to get my chops back by Wednesday night. And of course, I received no word regarding the songs we are going to play in four weeks, though it is possible no decisions were made. I'm going to focus on drills and our playlist and just do the best I can, as always.

Here's the second part of The Parable of the King.

The Parable of the King - Part II
(Shortcut to Part I)

In those days there was no evil that men knew of. Though there was much evil outside of their city walls, pressing in on them as it grew stronger and more sinister with each day, within the city only goodness shown, like the bright lights brought to life by the water and The King. In their tents, cooled by the living breath of the gods they had built themselves, and even out upon the heat soaked via, people lingered before plates full of the finest delicacies, and marveled at the millions of candles, illuminating the air borne water. For when the water began to fly, the buzzards were banished to the east and west, unable to endure the speed of the mist and frightened by the tumult and ringing that never ended below. At last the people could venture outside of their tents without fear, and they did so with great abandon. Where once only rich men could cast their fortunes upon the fields of green, red and black, now poor men too, and the consorts and wives of each of them, could create a void within their fine leather pouches. And though their children sallied with pirates, threw candies and rocks at animals of the wild, and tumbled with clowns and thieves alike, they neither knew nor cared that the tithes of their teachers and futures were being scattered to the wind by their elders, even more quickly than the water that flew.

Entertainers from lands far and near gathered, for nothing so much entertains an entertainer than entertainment. Already, the mages from the cold lands, and the delirium pronouncers of false witness who traveled from the west, found their audiences in the larger tents, and sacrificed their hours and genius for the few dinars and pesos which had not yet made their way from without their purses. Then, even men with blue heads, a circus of mermaids, a Cherokee singer with hair of gold, silver, pink and green, arrived to enthrall the masses and enrich their private priests of accountancy and law. Large men of brawn and bulk, gathered to battle each other, while little men of speed, fortitude and courage brawled with their like. These men battled so fiercely, that only a torrential flow of blood, the rubber-arm wave of the white and black man with rubber-coated fingers, or the knockout sleep would stop the mayhem. And of the large and small combatants, no man could proclaim which was the stronger, for in this land, David and Goliath were not dictated to ever meet. Women who could not sing and dance, pretended to do so nonetheless, covering their meagerness of talent by exposing the sheen and gloss of their own flesh. Lucky were the men who had not cast all their gold onto the green, red and black fields, for they could then cast their gold at the feet of these women, possibly even to touch their skin, dreadfully cold from the breath of the tent cooling gods.

One day, out of the desert and into this land, there came a wanderer. His black hair hung low in front of his ears, yet sat high upon his head. His eyes were said to sparkle and skip, like the full moon on a windblown lake, but no man had ever seen them, for they lie hidden behind the ray-banning armor of amber. His horse was large and pink, and it did thirst much for the liquid from the ground, but not for water. He was clad in a sparkling suit of white, covered in stones that sparkled as magnificently as his eyes surely did, but which cracked to the touch and wove uneven patterns down his legs and arms. To hide these broken stones, he wore a long red and white gown, which flowed around his ample waist, and several small white kerchiefs, dangled loosely from around his neck. He strode with the confidence of a king, for he did, in all aspects and mannerisms, greatly resemble The King. People from within the land and without stopped to watch as he walked by, and his steed of pink was captured on the digits and paper of many a scribe. Those people of dim eyes and dim minds who did see this wanderer, would later swear to the heights and depths that this was, in fact, The King. And though many suspected this wanderer was not, indeed could not be, The King, doubt was suspended and he was treated as royalty wheresoever within the city he went.

This king stayed many nights in the city, or so the people said, for he was seldom seen in the day and no denizen of that fair town could fathom his whereabouts in the light. But when darkness came, his horse did appear, and this king did grace the people with his presence, feeling rapture in their honoring glances and murmured words of respect. This man would enter a tent, and entertain great crowds and masses, just as the men of blue and the woman of many heads, but the people who saw him were affected in great manners, as they would sit and chant for the repeat appearance of this king. “We want The King!” rose the chant, and although the voice of the hills assured them that this king had left the tent, no one on the outside could admit to having seen either The King or another man leave.

Yet, he vanished.

But before long he would appear again, and again. His appearances made the people perplexed, for though they might see him in the tent of Bavarians and tigers, others swore to have seen him in the tent of the great Sphinx. Still others would bring protest, for they had seen him in the tent of the Normans, or the tent of the Mandalay. But, “No!” would another claim, “He was visiting the lake to the north, or riding the boat to the south. I cannot remember which, but he was not within a tent!” Yet another would see this king within the great castle, or another in the great tower, the tent of the Arabian, the tent on the river, or even on the island of treasure. This king, they said, is everywhere! And so much did it seem so, that they again began calling him, The King.

And so might this parable end, but its teller would be amiss, for the listener or reader of the parable might feel a compelling and strange desire to meet this king who they call, The King. And although the listener knows The King might be found in many tents, where, great parable teller (he or she might ask), where are the tents? Well, fair listener, I can only say that you will find The King where the water flies, where though the land be brown the fields are green, red and black, where the people shout, day and night, “We want The King!” and The King responds with music. And when he sings, all join as one great voice to proclaim the goodness of their land, the land which The King himself created, “Viva,” they scream and shout, “Viva, Las Vegas!”