My first appearance on stage in New Orleans

The working title of this entry was: "My debut as a blues poet"

This year, with July 4 falling on a Monday, our factory found itself in the enviable position of being able to basically shut down for a week. Since that meant we could travel with little or no impact on my vacation hours total, Mrs. S and I decided to take a road trip. Then, when she found a great rate on a fancy, famous, landmark hotel in New Orleans, The Roosevelt, our destination was decided. One night of fireworks, half day poker tournament, three days of good food, and infinity of heat and humidity in the land of jazz was what we had in mind, and what we got.

Before the action: Make sure the stage looks nice for my NOLA debut

I won’t go into all the details of the food. We spent a lot, ate a lot, and thoroughly enjoyed everything. Even a travel day breakfast of southern fare at the Ruby Slipper was good. The fireworks over the Mississippi River were, well, average, but it had been a while since I had seen a professional level fireworks show, so even having to stand for an hour to hold a spot for the twenty-minute display seemed worth it in the end. The poker tournament, the first I played in like, I don’t know, five years, almost ended well, too. I finished fifth out of 26 players, but that was one out of the money. Just a few different cards, a few more calls, a few faster folds, and I’d’ve cashed.

On the last night, the eve of Mrs. S’s birthday, we got a front row table at Irvin Mayfield’s to see the Grammy award winner himself. He was appearing with what I guess is his sextet, with a phenomenal, sax player named “Choo-Choo” and a newly married trombone player with incredible chops, TJ Norris. I believe the drummer was the indefatigable Adonis Rose, but I’m not sure. Anyway, they were good.

 

Irvin does his thing

At one point in the show, Irvin brought up some famous poets who were in the audience, and they regaled us with some of their works over a slow blues riff that the band kept swinging. Then, he had one of the audience who was not a poet, who earlier in the show had commented about being married for 48 years and Irvin thought he would be a good candidate to talk over the blues. He said something about how happy he was, and got a warm reaction from the crown. Then Irvin asked for somebody to come up (I raised my hand) who was “unhappily married”. I lowered my hand. He asked for anybody, but nobody was forthcoming. I said, let me have a go. He looked at me kind of funny and said, “Come on up.”

I was not lying. That's me, on stage, at Irvin Mayfield's Playhouse.

I have little recollection of what I said while I was on stage, except for when Irvin tried to get me off stage by saying, “This isn’t working!”. I stated firmly into the microphone, “I’m trying to do the blues, Irvin! Did I not say I lost a poker tournament?” This got a good reaction from the crowd and enabled me to sort of rap a little rhyme that I masterfully ended in rhythm with the blues riff. I got a very appreciative round of applause from the crowd, and the saxophone player gave me a warm congratulatory handshake. As I made my way back to my seat, Irvin grabbed the mic and said, “White guy’s got some skills!”

Mrs. S, Irvin Mayfield, and the best improvisational blues poet wearing a gray shirt that night

After the show, I chatted with Irvin a little bit and he held still for some photos. He’s a very nice guy and a consummate musician. (Honestly, I don’t know how this guy isn’t more well-known. He’s tremendous.) Both Mrs. S and I commented about him not selling his CD’s at the show. We decided that he’s above that level. He’s one of the few who is truly keeping jazz alive and in the forefront. All that said, his show was terrific and we really enjoyed it, which says more about the power of jazz than anything else.

Although this wasn’t our first time to visit Irvin’s Playhouse, this was our first time to meet Irvin. Hopefully, this wasn’t our last time to do either of those.

Eight hours driving, forty minutes of violin music, and a brief tour of Memphis Tennessee

Readers of this blog will be well familiar with Mrs. S’s passion for the playing and boyish good looks of the world class violinist, Joshua Bell. And in the past, I had told her that any time he came within a reasonable driving distance, I would be willing to escort her to any concert of his. (He’s good enough that even I, a jazz musician, enjoy and appreciate his superb playing. He’s remarkable.) Several months ago, she unilaterally decided that four hours one way was within “reasonable driving distance” (okay, she did ask me) and so it was that last Thursday we traveled to Memphis, Tennessee to hear the Memphis symphony and Mr. Bell play.

The drive was actually quite easy except for the part in and around Memphis. As we followed the printed directions from the internet, we came off the highway right in front of the Marriott where we were staying. I said, “There it is,” but Mrs. S said, “No, that’s not it.” So we drove around looking for the hotel we just passed but eventually found our way back there, no problem.

Since we were really in town just for the JB concert, we didn’t really do much sightseeing. We did take a walk down Main Street and Beale Street:

A mediocre shot of me in the "French Quarter" of Memphis

And we saw Francis Scott Key’s square grand piano on the mezzanine of the Peabody hotel:

Sorry, FSK, but my square grand will soon be playable, and yours won't!

It has some very nice mother-of-pearl inlay inside on the top and very elaborate carving on the front, back and sides, but the wood finish needs redoing and the inside was in complete disrepair. (Not surprisingly, as seems to be the case with these older square grands, the damper pads and arms were all in pieces. That piano would definitely take some serious work to restore to functionality again.)

We ate a light dinner at the hotel, together with a number of other people who, it turned out, would also be at the concert later that evening. The MSO was a smallish but very efficient orchestra, doing a nice Schubert piece and a Beethoven symphony under the confident and enthusiastic baton of conductor, Mei-Ann Chen. After intermission, Josh came out and lit up the place with Tchaikovsky, and for an encore, Yankee Doodle. He signed autographs (3 CD’s) and took a couple pics with Mrs. S. 

Getting to be very familiar with this shot...

When I noted that Memphis is a lot farther from Huntsville than Birmingham was, he thanked us for our long drive. He then kind of remembered us, but not really. (He gets around, you know.) We also negotiated with a symphony rep for the JB banner hanging in the foyer.

We visited the Memphis Zoo and the Brooks Museum the next day so that it really wasn’t eight hours of driving for forty minutes of music. It was a nice trip to Memphis and another great Joshua Bell concert. Sure beats working.

New Orleans Travelogue – Part 2: The Birthplace of America’s Music....NOT!

So, on the way to New Orleans, driving from Alabama, we obviously go through Mississippi. I was somewhat astonished that when we hit the state line, we were greeted by a sign that said, “Mississippi, Birthplace of America’s Music”. My very first thought was, “Does Louisiana know about this?”



When I hear “America’s music”, I think “jazz”. It is quintessentially American, like baseball, apple pie and all that...hey! All that jazz! So where does Mississippi get off calling themselves the “birthplace” of America’s music? Shouldn’t we define what “America’s music” means first?

Personally, I just don’t like such bold and broad sweeping claims. I think if I was governor of Louisiana or otherwise had some skin in the game, I might say something to somebody in Mississippi. “You’re full of it,” comes to mind.

Anyway.

Was jazz invented in Mississippi? I don’t think so. Was it invented in Louisiana? Probably not. So let’s clear this up: Mississippi may or may not be the birthplace of the blues. Maybe. Jazz and/or blues may or may not be able to lay claim to the title of “America’s Music”. Maybe. And jazz may or may not have been “born” in New Orleans. Maybe. Whatever the case may be, I guarantee you that the German and French tourists at Preservation Hall the other night were not in America to visit Mississippi.

Mississippi needs to come up with a better slogan, and it better not be, “At least we’re not Alabama.”

New Orleans Travelogue – Part 1: Food and Edible Insects

Obviously, this blog is about music, but on my recent trip to New Orleans (July 6-9), I ate REAL good, so I’m going to write about that first.

Here’s a brief rundown:

Dinner first night: The Pelican Club. The place was practically empty, so we got first rate service and attention, which always makes the food taste better. I had steak, Mrs. S had fish. I picked out a nice Marlborough white that went with both. Excellent.



Lunch second day: Po-boys in the Riverwalk food court, shrimp for him, oyster for her. Cheap, fast, and good. I was able to eat everything despite having snacked on crickets (“chocolate chirp cookies”), wax worms (in cinnamon and brown sugar – see photo), and meal worms (in olive oil and hot pepper) at the Audubon Insectarium. (Highly recommend that destination. It’s fascinating.) All the edible insects were very tasty and even though Mrs. S almost threw up just watching me, I’ve seen enough of Andrew Zimmern that it really didn’t bother me. They allowed you to eat as much as you wanted, so I had three or four of everything. No reactions or anything, just good eating. I even bought a scorpion sucker to munch on at a later date.



Dinner second night: Stella. Got the full seven course meal with wine pairings to celebrate Mrs. S’s birthday. Place was packed but service was good and the meal was absolutely unsurpassed. We’ll never miss revisiting here whenever we come back.

Lunch third day: Muriel’s at Jackson Square. I thought it pretty average, but Mrs. S loved it. I had a middling, muddling crawfish etoufee, and Mrs. S had goat cheese crepes. She definitely out-ordered me.

Dinner third day: Arnaud’s. Average-to-below food, terrible service. Menu was funky and they wouldn’t sell you some stuff on it, at ANY price, if you didn’t order it the way they wanted to serve it. (Yeah, stupid.) They had a banjo trio playing jazz music, which was alright, but you really pay for the atmosphere. I would say unless you are dying to feel and be treated like a backwater tourist, this place is a definite pass.

I ordered Samuel Adams at EVERY single restaurant. Not one carried it. I drank Abita as a rule, which is better than your run of the mill Bud’s and Coor’s, but really not all that great. I’m writing a letter to Jim Koch (Chairman of Boston Brewery) to let him know about this wide open market with no penetration yet.

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.

A new case of the blues

With my piano instructor busy on Wednesdays this month, I had my piano lesson for an hour last night. I told him all about my jazz ensemble experience and that I couldn't even play a blues with altered chords, much to the consternation of the jazz ensemble instructor. So, that was what we worked on last night for the entire time, in the key of F: a standard twelve bar blues progression, where my piano instructor's concept was slightly different from the concept we played at the jazz ensemble class. It wasn't hard except just the first few times through as I had to think about the chords and try and remember them after playing something different. Once I had the hand muscle memory, it was just a question of timing, which wasn't all that good. It's not often that one has an hour long piano lesson, plays almost the entire time, but never once plays a single song.

Productive. Really.

Anyway, now I have a formula, both for the chords and a blues progression to practice on a regular basis. I haven't much time between now and tomorrow's class, so I'll just try two or three likely changes of key and then see how I fare tomorrow. During the next week, I'm going to get out my drum machine, work on all keys in proper rhythm, and then start throwing some of the chords into actual songs. It's just a question of work, and I'm not giving myself any choice or leeway. It makes me a little blue now, but it should payoff with green later (someday, maybe).

Am I blue? How about you?

Last night's piano lesson was a lot different than the previous week's. Without much of anywhere to go, we started with the blues and finished with the blues. The only song I worked on last week was Blue Monk, so that was what we played. I bragged about having learned all twelve blues scales and played a few riffs from, I think, an A-flat blues scale. My instructor goes, oh, I like that song. What is that? And rather demurely I had to answer, I just made it up. So, he was somewhat impressed that I'd gone from zero to sixty in just one week, and that made me satisfied.

For some reason though, Blue Monk gave me fits when we tried to play it. I just couldn't keep the rhythm straight. We put the metronome on, and that helped a little, but still didn't get me back to the head when I should have been there. We attempted to solo, but that went nowhere and I had to stop that after one pass. But I'd played and shown enough that my instructor was able to point out some things and suggest no less than five songs to practice in the coming week to get my blues playing sounding more like jazz and less like rock. (He said the blues I was playing was good, and it was blues, but it wasn't "jazz blues", which again, is something I have to work on.)

So my song list for the coming week looks like this:
-Blue Monk (get the rhythm right)
-Donna Lee ("it's time to play a Parker head")
-Don't Get Around Much Anymore (work on oblique motion, which I understood integrally but encountered musically for the first time last night)
-All Blues (because you can't get too much of Miles Davis, and, it's blues)
-Blues for Alice (maybe a little easier Parker head...)

Next week's lesson is important because I already know I'm going to miss the following week's lesson. Hopefully I can get my taxes done here in the next few days and have enough time to work on these songs over the weekend.

The Makings of a Valuable Music Lesson

I am a recent (2007) college graduate. I took an operations management class as one of my management electives, simply because the schedule of the class fit mine. I was also helped by the fact that is what I do for a living. The class was neither particularly easy nor difficult, but the tests were usually very easy. This came about because the instructor stressed one set of principles and built the whole test around them, so after you finished the first page of the test, you could go back and forth between the pages, filling in the rest of the test. If you screwed up the first page, you might be in trouble, but the first page was usually about the relationships between different types of operations in a company, so it was actually (for me) a lot of common sense. There was also some subjective type stuff where if you explained a relationship adequately, it was considered correct. In short, the tests were not difficult and the test results’ bell curve was squashed down toward the A to high-B range.

About halfway through the semester, a busybody in the front – anonymously, but we knew who it was – told the instructor that the tests were too easy and she wasn’t learning enough in the class. So the instructor, at the beginning of one of the classes, stood up and announced to the class, “At least one student in this class says the course is too easy,” at which, me and my fellow working students, as well as the regular students who were just appreciative of not having to work too hard to get a decent grade, immediately panicked at the thought of our (relatively) easy A or B about to be taken away, or at least, made a lot harder. The instructor continued, “I told this student I would consider discussing this with the class…” I quickly raised my hand and was called on: “Dr. -, did you also tell this student that they only get out of the course what they put into it?” Several cheers and ‘yeah, that’s right’s went out, and all eyes were on the instructor, who was grinning at me. For good measure, I added, “I mean, last I checked, there’s a whole wing of management books over in the library that she (I stressed “she” but corrected), or he, could read on their own to learn more if they think they aren’t learning enough here…” Several more ‘yeah, that’s right’s went up. You could see this chick slump in the front of the room. The instructor said something like, “So we can continue?” and we all agreed, and that was that. (Later in the class, the dejected student got upset at something else and went off on the instructor, confirming what we all had supposed, but at any rate, the issue was laid to rest.)

I bring this up because I had a, well not completely horrible, but “weak” piano lesson yesterday. We listened to some music, played through a tune, worked on some blues riffs, and that was it. I wasn’t up for anything else because I wasn’t prepared. When it comes to my music, I need to take my own advice and start putting more in so I can get more out. Of course, I’ve already documented having hit the wall pretty hard this week, so what I plan to do is work on some drills, go through the blues scale in all twelve keys, and work on just the one song (Blue Monk) that we talked about working on. I’ll still play for my enjoyment some, and with my poker game on Saturday, I won’t get quite the level of playing in that I would like, but like I said, I’m definitely going to take my own advice on this one.

Next Wednesday, my piano instructor won’t know what hit him.