The Divine One

Already a strange day for coincidences. A friend from grade school (indeed, our mothers were college roommates, and her father and my grandfather were both local judges) called to say while working in Napa Valley that she was working with another friend who I know from St. Louis (and a former bartender at Hammerstone's, where the Voodoo plays, no less), who is also out in Napa, and traveling back and forth. And they both randomly attended a house concert that I gave in June 2011.

Then the kicker later on. I saw and heard the wonderful Anne Hampton-Calloway at Jazz at the Bistro tonight. She did a great tribute to the incomparable Sarah Vaughan. Incomparable is an overused word, but if it ever applied to anyone, it applied to the Divine One. Anne put on a great show, with lots of tidbits about the sassy Ms. Vaughan. Toward the end of the set, she talked about finally hearing her live, after years and years of collecting her wonderful records. She had heard her at the Blue Note in New York. During that run, Sarah was diagnosed with lung cancer. In fact she had to cut the last day of performances short because of her illness. Those were her last public performances before she died a year later, in 1990.

I had to reconstruct the timeline and refresh my memory (including a little Wikipedia), but the inescapable conclusion is: Sharon and I also attended one of those shows in Sarah Vaughan's last ever run. It was my birthday treat that year. We were not flush, to say the least, in those days, so a night in New York at the Blue Note in Greenwich Village, a few blocks from where I was to attend law school a couple years later, was a pretty dad-gummed big stretch. But she did it up right for me that night. We took the train in, ate at the club, saw the show, and in general had a total gas.   Although she was ill, you could not tell it from the performance - it was something I'll never forget - what a voice! We reveled in the whole experience - with Sarah Vaughan, you did not so much as listen to the music, but soak in its luxuriousness as it rained down on and enveloped you.  And we were absolutely determined not to be the "poor country bumpkins" for that show but rather to be "real" New Yorkers for a night - right down to the tip.  After discussion, we had decided to leave a sizable tip because we were so pumped up from the show and the night. We later figured out that I had miscalculated, and left way more than we intended (and we had intended to be generous). Our server sort of caught us on the way out and asked if we had meant to leave that much, and we smiled and said "Sure thing!" or something like that, and she gave us more than the normal level of "thank you" (hey, she flagged us down in the first place).  We only figured out later that we had goofed, and I'm 99.9% sure it was me who messed up the calculation. Although we could barely afford it, Sharon was great just chalked it up to an unforgettable night. We knew she had died shortly after we saw her, but neither of us knew (until tonight) that we had literally seen one of her very last shows on her last public engagement.

The Blue Note has been good to us over the years. I took my parents to see a stand-out performance by Arturo Sandoval there - they were blown away. I think they're expectations were that it was going to be pretty good, but it was truly spectacular. Then, just last year, on a school visit trip, Nathaniel, Sharon, Lynn and I went to see Stanley Clarke, which was mind-blowing. We've seen him twice since, including in St. Louis and then two weeks ago in DC. In short, whenver Stanley Clarke is within listening distance, we go - it's just that simple. In New York, he played with a 15 year-old phenom from Russian Georgia - we were pleased to see him again in DC (at a ripe old 16), and felt truly 'in the know' - he was also with a 17-year old drummer. We'll be able to say 'we saw them when...'  And we were able to say, "Well, when he was 15 he played this way, but now he's really grown....

Back to Ms. Vaughan: The song Anne introduced was the Sondheim classic, Send in the Clowns, which Sarah was doing at the time. I honestly don't remember if that was on the set we heard, but this clip (recorded in 1987) of Sarah singing that song really does capture what that night felt like.  Or rather, as close as a YouTube clip can - although I tried a little above, words cannot describe hearing the Divine One live - I'm glad we got the chance.  On reflection, as it turns out, that was the ABSOLUTE BEST way to have spent our limited shekels (even including my over-tip), because I still remember it nearly 25 years later like it was yesterday.  Thanks for that, Sharon!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DdnRRW2gINw

Of a Luxurious Existence

I don't know why I clicked on my long-neglected blog, but I did and decided to write on something I'd been thinking about for some time now. In the last year and half, it's been my good fortune and pleasure to reconnect with two of my dearest friends in the world, Kevin and Caroline Flanigan. I've known Kevin since we were both high schoolers, albeit at different ends of the State of Illinois. When he started dating Caroline our junior year of college, it took about five minutes for her to be "in".

We reconnected back at the old University of Illinois, where Kev and Caroline's daughter, Abby, attends and studies classical piano. Kevin and I were both trumpet performance majors (and of course, we ended up as a doctor and lawyer - naturally!). Reconnecting in the context of Abby doing what we did (studing music at the U of I), and with the inevitable deep reflection and reminiscing about our particular "old days," made me think what a wonderful time of discovery that was for us: for a four-year period in undergrad, we got up every day and in essence had one primary goal: "How do I play the trumpet better today?" We had plenty of room for other activities, not all of which were about drinking beer (Kevin had a pretty brutal existence prepping for medical school as his interests turned elsewhere), but still, that was the prime mission, which also encompassed lots of other, related activities - learning and experiencing as much new music as we could, both as performers and listeners. Days were taken up by classes and practicing, then rehearsing with various ensembles in the late afternoon (sometimes several - some days I was tied up in rehearsals from 3 until 9), and then attending (or giving) a performance at night. At a big ol' state school, there was an interesting performance nearly every night - something you'd never heard before or that you just couldn't miss - your professor performing L'Histoire du Soldat, a visiting world-class orchestra, a student production of a Puccini opera, a "new music" ensemble - you name it, followed by a U of I big band at Treno's or a combo at Nature's Table - sometimes students, sometimes professors, sometimes NYC or Chicago jazz veterans. At times, we'd attend musical performances seven days a week, often times multiple performances.

Now, of course, time is precious and in seemingly ever-shorter supply. It seems like such a true luxury to spend a big part of every day pursuing an art that you love, trying to experience it in every way possible, drinking in everything from pre-baroque music played on original instruments, to classical, to discovering Stravinksy, to hearing and/or playing the oddest music of John Cage and Milton Babbitt, to listening to your colleagues discover for the first time the great American songbook and the hippest Wayne Shorter tunes, to hitting the music library to try to figure out why Duke Ellington's big band sounded so great on those tunes you were struggling with in your own jazz band - then get up and do it all over again the next day. And trying to do all this on a few spare nickels (back in the day when you had to plan your record purchases very carefully - did you need that Maurice Andre recording of Albinoni sonatas, or was it more important to get the next Bix Beiderbecke record, or Duke and Ella at the Côte d'Azur? Choices, choices, choices!)

So, now having had some modest success as a big firm lawyer and accumulated a few "things," it led me to wonder - when did I have the more decadent life, then or now? In some of the most meaningful ways, "then" - and not even close.

St. Louis Archery

Nathaniel took an archery class last fall at Crossroads, and he and his classmates went to compete at the Missouri NASP (National Archery in the Schools Program) event at Seckman High School today. I had no idea such a thing existed, but his mom and I went to show the flag of support. He did extremely well. His "target mate" was exceptionally good, scoring in the 48-49 range pretty consistently (out of a total of 50). Very interesting and well-run event. When we arrived, we wondered what other event was going on at Seckman that day, but that was it - just the archery. Who knew??? Great fun.

Of Dunning-Kruger and Beer and Pizza at Papa-Del's

My sister and I were discussing our blogging last night. She is much more current and active than I, although she has fallen off the pace that she has set for herself over the last several years. I have nearly completely dropped off the map, not posting since last October (although that was a darn good post, if I do say so myself). After careful consideration, we both discovered the problem - perceived lack of content!

Actually, the inclusion of the word "perceived" is the critical element. I think we both have plenty of content, but neither of us actually believe it in our gut. We are probably far harder on ourselves than we need to be. Chalk it up to a corollary of the Dunning-Kruger Effect, recently called to my attention by Nathaniel. He stumbled upon it on StumbleUpon (check it out on the Internet if you're not aware of it). According to Wikipedia, it is a "cognitive bias in which unskilled people make poor decisions and reach erroneous conclusions, but their incompetence denies them the metacognitive ability to recognize their mistakes." The converse is that people who have some skills/abilities tend to underrate them, causing an illusory sense of incompetence.

I've known for a long time that I beat myself up too much on stuff, and probably worthiness of my blog content is one of those areas. Actually, I believe I suffer from a curious mixture of wild over-confidence in my abilities in some respects and severe self-doubt in others. My old college roommate, Kevin, had a wonderful turn of phrase for the former, used most devilishly on our trumpet and music colleagues whom we thought had an exaggerated view of their own musical abilities - he often said they were "suffering from delusions of adequacy."

Which leads me to my next thought in this rambling entry - I reconnected with dear old college chums Kevin and Caroline Flanigan at University of Illinois last weekend. We calculated it had been 15+ years since we'd seen each other. We vowed it would never happen again, because seeing each other was fantastic. There are some people you just connect with, and it doesn't matter how long it's been - it seems like just yesterday since we'd seen each other. Plus there were other bonuses for the weekend, like my meeting two of their three wonderful children, Abby and Liam. We are looking forward to them meeting Nathaniel (again) and me meeting Maggie (again), who are about the same age. And there was the added bonus of reconnecting with mutual friend Scott Bush. Scott was Caroline's high school friend, and Kevin had to "pass muster" with Scott when Kevin and Caroline started dating; I too remember meeting Caroline ("this great girl I met in chemistry lab") - I don't think I applied as "scientific inquiry" on Caroline as Scott did on Kevin (who likened it to presenting his c.v. to Scott), although if I had, she would have passed with an A+ from the moment Kevin introduced us.

We had some good times back in the day, and I'm looking forward to more years of good times to come. Kevin, I think we need to dig up your short film ("The Dip") and have a screening! Written produced and directed by Kevin, starring Caroline and me (the only people available to start shooting at 11:45 p.m. the night before the project was due).

A "Life Changing Experience"

About 10 days ago, Nathaniel had a couple of days off from school, around the Columbus Day holiday. A lot of his weekend was spent hanging with his friends. On Thursday night, with no school the next day either, he called to say he and his friends, Pete and Nick, were going to a place near Pete's, together with Pete's folks, to hear some music and did I want to come along?

The draw was this: apparently, they thought my good buddy and jazz guitarist extraordinaire, John Farrar, was playing, and that there was a chance his kid brother Jay was going to show. For those of you not in the know (as I wasn't when I first started playing with John many years ago now), John's brother Jay was in Uncle Tupelo with Jeff Tweedy, and then that band broke up and Jay and Jeff went their separate ways, Jeff forming Wilco and Jay forming Son Volt, both of which bands have had enormous commercial success. Uncle Tupelo is widely credited with creating the "alternative country" genre, and although Wilco may be more generally well-known, Son Volt has a raft of absolutely dedicated fans. They record and tour frequently and have been on Letterman, Austin City Limits and so on and so on. They're big time. And Pete's family in particular are dedicated Son Volt fans, and my son is not far behind.

So I naturally accepted the invitation. Nathaniel tells me to meet at Pete's, as it's walking distance from there. I know Pete's neighborhood, and I don't remember a lot of clubs around there. Then Nathaniel texts me that it's BYOB - and the Holohan family will hook the boys up with sodas, etc., but I might want to chuck a few beers along. And there "might be" food. Curiouser and curiouser.

When I show up to Pete's, I ask his dad Michael what's the deal with this place. He seems mildly surprised I don't know about Joe's Cafe, and says to me slyly, "Well, this is going to be a life changing experience." He wasn't kidding - or far off (or should I say "Farrar off" - sorry couldn't resist).

We walk around the corner (literally) to Joe's Cafe, and Michael is giving me the scoop. Joe's is a private club run by Bill Christman. Bill is a local artist who's had this place going for a number of years. It had in previous iterations been open to the general public, but because of

its proximity to Washington University, it morphed into more of a college hang than Bill really desired. So he shut it down, then reopened it as a private club, open only to members and their guests. Bill kind of has to know you, and who you're bringing. I think Michael even went by earlier in the day to give Bill the heads up that he was bringing three 15/16 year old boys, including his son, as a way to specially vouch for them (they are cool, if I do say so myself).

Around the corner the group encounters Bill, sitting outside the club, with a sign that says "Members - $5, Guests of Members - $10."  The boys are introduced and given the all-clear. I also pass the screening process (not a foregone conclusion, mind you, but Michael said I was a good musician - I think that helped). Michael had been explaining that this place also served as a studio for Bill's eclectic art. Bill designed Beatnik Bob's Museum of Mirth, Mystery and Mayhem at the City Museum in St. Louis. And this place is like walking in to the City Museum, except imagine it in a much smaller space, but the same amount of stuff, and everything crammed together. Everywhere you look there is something really cool. The stage is like a vaudeville stage. Neon lights glow everywhere. We nestle down to great seats, and Michael shows me around. Outside, in the side yard, there is more stuff than you can possibly imagine. Think of going to Gringo Jones near the Botanical Garden, mixed with the City Museum, and a bar with a vaudeville stage. For those who grew up in Southern Illinois, remember old "Big John" in front of the grocery store, towering 30 feet in the air? Well, I found him - he's buried up to his waist in

Bill Christman's side yard, still holding his grocery sacks, but with other stuff all around his big ol' muscular arms. Don't worry - he looks very very happy to be there (at least, he still has that same big grin). Behind him there's an old elevated train car, up on tracks. It just goes on and on. Oh, and did I mention some folks were set up outside cooking up the most delicious BBQ - not part of the club, but clearly "friends of Bill" and the community - $5 or so bought a meal that was pure heaven!

So when we go back in, Michael tells Pete he should give the guys the tour, and I say yes, you've got to see this place. Nathaniel looks up and says he's been before. Michael and I are incredulous that he could have failed to mention it to me, and he says, in absolute earnestness and seriousness, "Why? It's just a place with a bunch of stuff in it." The line of the night - and pure Nathaniel, for those who know him.

So the band filters in. It turns out John is not playing at all, but it is a country group called Colonel Ford. Jay is not the main feature, but just "one of the guys: in the band, playing pedal steel guitar. (Not to worry - there was no shortage of Farrar's - Dade Farrar plays stand up "slap" bass with Colonel Ford, and is a great singer in his own right.) Colonel Ford plays country - and I mean country, complete with fiddle player Justin Brannun who had just won the Grand Masters Fiddle Contest in Nashville earlier in the month. They were playing George Jones, Buck Owens, the whole nine yards. They describe themselves as playing in the "Hillbilly" genre on their Facebook page. I didn't even know that was a genre - I guess that's what you'd call pre-Rockabilly as I think about it. Anyway, everyone had a gas, especially the boys (interesting, as this is not "their" kind of music - but they like good stuff no matter what it is).

Here's a Youtube link to a performance at Joe's Cafe by Colonel Ford earlier this year - I can tell you this video does not do justice to the visual and audio experience of hearing these guys in this venue. You can't help but smile when you're there....

Or, as Nathaniel succinctly put it on Facebook:

"Colonel Ford + Jay Farrar = Fantastic"

Indeed, a man of fewer words than his father. But he says it all.

So What?

So you met some more jazz musicians? So what?

I'll tell you what's what - they are not just any jazz musicians. If you could name two living jazz composers, who would they be? Chances are, Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter would come to mind. Kurt Elling once called Wayne Shorter one of the three greatest jazz composers ever. Not sure who the other two were, but might be Herbie and the great Duke Ellington.

What gives? My firm had purchased a table at the annual St. Louis Symphony gala. Renee Fleming was the feature solo performer. I had gotten advance word that "La Diva" was living up to the title and bringing an entourage that included Mr. Hancock. He of the Miles Davis 1960s jazz quintet (maybe the best ever). He of an incredible collection of jazz compositional masterpieces still being played regularly today (Dolphin Dance, Maiden Voyage, Canteloupe Island, Watermelon Man, Chameleon). He of the crossover hit fame (remember "Rockit"?).

So at the event David Robertson was conducting and starts talking about Renee an Wayne Shorter, how they loved each other's music, etc. I had neglected to pick up a program and was just going with the flow. But it turns out La Diva was singing a world premier of a composition by Wayne Shorter written especially for her. And of course, Wayne was there too. Also a member of the same Miles Davis quintet (I'm batting .600 now, having heard Ron Carter (bass) from that quintet - alas, that batting average won't increase, as Mr. Davis and his wonderful drummer from that quintet, Tony Williams, are no longer with us). Wayne went on to do many other things (Weather Report, e.g.). And he had his own wonderful quintet, and wrote many jazz standards - I would say from a jazz

purists standpoint, more than Mr. Hancock (Footprints, anyone?). On the album where Mr. Elling names him as one of the three all time great composers, he then sings the classic Night Dreamer, then sings Wayne's sax solo, and then Lee Morgan's trumpet solo (Mr. Elling has some wicked skills himself).

Well, you just don't see Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter everyday, let alone together. The only thing that would have made it better is if they would have played with the after-party band. But they didn't. Oh well, so what, as Miles might say. Speaking of which, here is Miles, with the great quintet (Herbie, Wayne, Ron and Tony) doing "So What" on the Steve Allen show in the 1960s:

Radio Man

Driving home the other day and tuned in to hear what the Cardinals were doing on KTRS the other day. The Redbirds had played a day game that day (last game of a three-game set and getting out of town). John Marecek had thrown out a topic: "What's the best baseball player 'theme' song?" I wondered if anyone would call with my favorite. His favorite was Metallica's Enter Sandman for Yankee reliever Mariano Rivera. Wild Thing for Charlie Sheen's character was another notable, if fictional.

After the break, John came back and announced it was his worst topic idea ever. Only one person called in, and wouldn't go on the air ("Hell's Bells" for Trevor Hoffman was his offering, off the air apparently to John). He went on and on how he'd never drawn a big goose egg on his show.

So I ran in and googled the radio station's number, and they put me on the air. John was so happy to get any caller, but he loved my pick - he called me "the man", said I'd brought something to the table, reminded him of a theme he'd totally forgotten. He asked to stay on for a gift certificate that I'll probably never use.

What was the theme? The tune that ol' Ernie Hays used to crank out on the ballpark organ for Ken Oberkfell, the Card's third baseman throughout the '80s. Most of his RBI's seemed to come in contests where the Cards already had an 8 run lead. But he could field. We may have been slow back in the day, but it took a while to figure out why it was the Star Wars them - but it was for Obie, of course!

Gig from Heaven

I've had plenty of gigs from the other place (h-e-double toothpicks, as my brother used to say). But Saturday, June 26 was quite the other way.

I must say that I was not in the right frame of mind going in. Work had been difficult (not killer hours, but a stressful time). The gig had been "on the books" for a long time, which presents its own challenges (you think you have oodles of time, so you end up wasting it all). This particular weekend, it was one of four performances, with prior two weekends leading up being three-fers themselves.

So the gig in question was playing a concert in the series that the White County Historical Society had set up. I grew up in White County (Carmi, to be precise), and the local historical society had gotten a nice grant from the Smithsonian for a presentation on "Roots Music". They supplemented the museum presentation with concerts, and wanted me to do one on the history of blues and/or jazz, more or less. I had something of a free reign within that general directive to do what I wanted. A week or so before the concert I reviewed the write up I had done on what the program involved, and realized I had bitten off more than could reasonably be accomplished in a short evening:

"Program Description: We will trace the history of jazz and blues in the 20th century, giving an historical perspective of the music. That perspective will include the influences jazz and blues had on each other as distinct genres, the similarities and differences between jazz and the blues, and the influences of both on other popular music genres in the 20th century--most notably rock and roll, country, "soul" music and the big band/swing music of the 1940s.
We will also touch upon what makes jazz "jazz"? What kind of music do jazz musicians read? Do they in fact read music? How do they voice chords in a jazz style?"

Luckily, I saved myself by including a last line: "But mostly it will be about playing and listening to great music."

The bass player had unexpectedly canceled less than a week before the show. I lucked out and found a great replacement (not easy for a summer Saturday - it's wedding season!). When I sent around a tune list for the guys, David remarked I had enough for a three-day jazz festival. But I had not figured out exactly what we were doing by that time.

But I had been sorting it out in my head and had a decent idea. I drove to Carmi Saturday afternoon. I was exhausted when I arrived, so I took a nap, then about 4 p.m. jotted out the rough sketches of what we would play, in what order, and what I'd say in between. I'd made 50 copies of the program and the players' bios (John Farrar, guitar, Eric Marshall, piano, and David Certain, bass - no drummer because the acoustics of the First United Methodist Church would not have worked with that). I was wondering if I was wildly optimistic. I thought it a possibility 20 people might show - I would have been very happy with 50.

Nervous is not the right word to describe my feelings as I went down to the church. I didn't know who would show, I didn't know if the program would go over, I didn't know if I'd get tongue-tied. I thought people might just be polite after the concert (people in Carmi are not the types generally to say they didn't like something like that). I wondered if the musicians would be annoyed for having to drive 2+ hours from St. Louis to get to the gig. I didn't know if they'd show up five minutes before it started (or five after!).

But as I arrived at about 6:20 or 6:25, I was the last musician to arrive. Concert attendees had started to show. We got all set up, and I was miked up for talking. The wonderful grand piano dedicated to my grandfather Max had been rolled out prominently, with the lid up so it could be heard in all its glory. My max goal of 50 people had showed up by about 6:35 for the 7:00 show, and they were reproducing my program in the church office like mad for the anticipated crowd. The musicians went back to the church school area (like a giant "green room") and we just chilled out and talked before the show.

And we walked out at 7:00 p.m. sharp (you don't start late in Carmi!). The place was packed (137 they told me later - great crowd!). We smacked them with Back at the Chicken Shack, a Jimmy Smith blues. It was an hour and 20 minutes of jazz and blues, a little tutorial on some historical facts. We ended with the Chuck Mangione '70s classic Feels So Good, and I don't think the St. Louis guys were prepared for the reaction (neither was I, but they were completely flat-footed). They had no idea that was my "coming out" tune back in 1979 at my freshman year One Niter. Mike Croghan went nuts for it, as did everyone else. So much so, David looked at me and said "we need to do an encore" - so we demonstrated the I Got Rhythm changes using the Flintstone's theme. You get a sense for when people really like a show - and Carmi really really liked this show. And the musicians loved playing to this crowd who just ate it up, and could have sat there for another couple of hours, or so it seemed. And it was a real jazz program! Who knew?

Lots of great friends there too (Sarah (Lewis) Johnsoton, Scott Fechtig, and Jana Potorff, etc.) Wish Scott Wylie could've made it, but we hung out with him, Sarah, and the jazz musicians at the Yellow Tavern afterwards.

Anyway, it was exhilarating. My favorite concert in a long, long time. Thanks Marjorie, Gary, Mom and Dad, Croghan, Sarah, Scott, Jana (and Doug Hayes, for running the mike)! I'll remember this one for a long time.

Inner Game

Several friends who are colleagues at work were emailing over the weekend in a friendly chatter, and I had mentioned that we ought to send the son of a client who was recently drafted by the Philadelphia Phillies (good for him!) a copy of the Inner Game of Tennis. I had expressed mild surprise that one of my colleagues had not heard of it in an earlier conversation, and someone asked us how in the heck two guys who don't play tennis were talking about the Inner Game of Tennis.

The Inner Game of Tennis has long been something of a bible for performing musicians. I was first introduced to it in college (perhaps even earlier). It is literally a life-changing book, and is especially helpful in figuring out how the mind works, why we get nervous, and most importantly, how to deal with that nervousness, overcome it, and perform at your highest levels. Tim Gallwey wrote it and I believe he really thought at the time he was only writing about tennis - but it has spawned an industry. If you don't know about it, you need to check it out, even if you don't play tennis (or music).

As "proof" to my colleagues, I started to look up a reference to the book, The Inner Game of Music, that Barry Green wrote in collaboration with Gallwey. In looking for that I saw that there is (naturally) a website on the "inner game" generally (Gallwey's site, http://www.theinnergame.com/). As evidence that application to music is not just an enhanced memory of mine from "old college days", I was interested to see that one of the main navigation points on the homepage of Gallwey's site is to its applications to music (IG Music). And there is a website devoted entirely to the Inner Game of Music, http://www.innergameofmusic.com, run by Mr. Green. I am going to check out the websites (there is an interesting little video bite of Tim Gallwey on his site).

Using the Inner Game techniques got me through Juilliard (when my teacher reconstructed my embouchure from the ground up, not easy at 22 after 13 years of practicing and playing every day using a technique that was not going to get me where I needed to be). I still probably consciously think about one of the techniques on every single performance to this day.

Katie Bar the Door

Well, the Endicott household has just become the proud owner of a Ludwig five-piece drumkit, thanks to the fact that a friend's young son is moving to New York and trying to get rid of stuff and raise a bit of cash. He may be able to have a nice meal out, at NYC prices!

Now the drum set can be set up to be the "house" set for Nathaniel's band rehearsals, Voodoo Blues Band touch up rehearsals (yes, we have them occasionally), and for perhaps some impromptu jazz jam sessions.

Next step will be to get the basement in a bit better shape to accommodate the same!

Main Entrance or Service Entrance?

Weekend before last was a lot of fun. Friday night was a Voodoo Blues Band gig at the Jeff Ruby's Steakhouse at the new River City Casino in South St. Louis. We were there with our wonderful singer, Roland Johnson, who uses the Voodoo band for some of his gigs. (Roland also makes frequent use of some of the members of Kim Massie's band - really wonderful musicians.) Roland really works well with the band, and tailors his material to the Voodoo band's and his mutual strengths - the Otis Redding, James Brown and Al Green "soul" songbook, breaking out some old Otis tunes in particular that featured the Stax lineup of Booker T & the MG's plus the Memphis Horns.

It was a treat in particular because "the boss" showed up - Cincinnati Restauranteur Jeff Ruby was at the bar checking out his newest spot: http://www.jeffruby.com/. Mr. Ruby thought the music was a bit loud for his taste, but a few cocktails later he was up on the bandstand with us, and by darn he knew some of tunes cold - not half bad on Knock on Wood!

The next night was the Siteman Cancer Illumination Gala. It was a fun evening with a good table - everyone knew each other and was happy to hang out. It was also fun to see the high-end auction and the special host - basketball legend Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. He is of course amazingly tall (7'2"), but his hands were so big and his fingers so long - imagining how he used to grip that basketball like most of us grip a softball. He was an excellent host, and it was fun to think about the fact that he is the NBA's all-time leading scorer. That's a pretty amazing feat. Like all records, it will fall some day, but to think of how many great players who have come before and since, and he outscored them all.

So I was thinking - it is nice to use the main entrance and be one of the "in" crowd (even if not that far in - I wasn't in a position (like some) to pony up a $100,000 donation on the spot). But I also like being the "help", having to slip in through the service entrance, toting my own gear, and accompanying the "boss-man" when he wants to take the stage. I wouldn't want to give up that aspect of my life.

How ya doin?

Nathaniel has taken to watching the Sopranos. Every few days we get a new disc from Netflix with 4 episodes of gold, featuring Tony and all his pals: Sil, Paulie, Big Pussy, Christopher (Christafa), Uncle Junior, Meadow, Anthony Jr. (AJ), Father Phil, Artie Bucco, and, of course, Carmela and Livia. And now Janice has entered into the scene.

We are surprised at how hilarious and just plain weird some of the shows are. And the more bizarre the shows, somehow the more believable they are (I guess because, face it, life it just plain weird).

Favorite moments include many a comment by Paulie (Saul: "Don't mess with those Jews - they're Hasidim." Paulie: "Hasidim - but I don't believe 'em." Or this gem: Pussy: "They gave him the 'Moe Green' - you know, shot him in the eye because he saw too much." Paulie: "You mean they shot him in the glasses.").  Or Sil's admiring his new shoes.  Or Livia telling Artie Bucco that Tony burned down the restaurant.  Or Tony: "You'd think I was Hannibal Lecture or somethin'".

The written episode descriptions on the disc are themselves great little nuggets of entertainment ("Janet is pulled in to Livia's treacherous web of self-pity and spite." [you bet]. Or "Something's got to give - and Tony's in the giving mood" [hoo boy - someone's getting whacked!].

And of course, the ubiquitous "How ya doin?" from Tony.  James Gandolfini was born to play this role.

Where's the diversity?

I think it is remarkable that we are headed toward our third female Supreme Court justice (assuming Elena Kagan is confirmed, obviously). And mostly for the fact that the mere fact that she is a woman is no big deal. A long time coming!

And we have a dead-conservative African American on the Supreme Court (not that I agree with much of any of Justice Thomas's views, but that's not what this blog's about). And of course Latina Sonia Sotomayor.

There has been discussion in the media about lack of a Protestant Justice with the retirement of Justice Stevens. That doesn't overly trouble me, although having six of the nine of the Catholic faith strikes me as a bit unbalanced.

But what I have not heard much about is the fact that all of the new Supremes will have attended Harvard or Yale. All of 'em (Justice Ginsberg attended Harvard but graduated from Columbia).

Now those schools are diverse, to be sure. But they represent a tiny fraction of the legal pool, even of the so-called "elite" law schools. And those institutions (Harvard and Yale) no doubt promote diverse thought within their walls. But it strikes me as plain weird and scary that graduates from these schools so absolutely dominate the SCOTUS. Plus, then there's the current President. Oh, and Bush II. Oh and the current Secretary of State. And Bill Clinton. And Bush I (all Yalies except Mr. Obama).

Group think can set in with even the best of minds. I think there should be more written and said about getting a SCOTUS with a more diverse educational background. I just can't believe that there is too narrow of an educational mind-set being served up to our highest leadership positions. Don't you think there is possibly something different about the way folks approach things at the University of Chicago? Northwestern? Berkeley? Stanford? What about a fine state institution like Michigan? To analogize to sports, Magic went to Michigan State, a big-time Big 10 school in basketball at the time. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (Lew Alcindor, as my brother might fondly recall), went to the vaunted UCLA program, of course. But I seem to recall Larry Bird did just fine out of lil' ol' Indiana State University.

As good as it gets

My sis once told me (before I had a kid) that there's no way to describe how much you love your own kid. I figured that was probably true at the time, but when you've had a kid, then you know - there is in fact no way to adequately describe it.

It's hard to appreciate as well how proud you can be of your kids as they progress in life. It dwarfs any feelings about what you yourself may have accomplished. When I see my son perform in any capacity (school play, graduation speech, living museum at school, his band at the Rock School), the chest swells out.

But man, how about jamming with him with your own beloved band in your hometown? I can't imagine it getting any better than that. On the Corn Day stage with the Voodoo Blues Band, having the boy come up and do his thing on Albert King. Whoah.

This was a great day. I wanted to share the band with my hometown folks. I wanted to share my hometown and my family and friends there with my band buddies. I've been happy to share my music with my son - and to see him take to Albert King and the blues (and start picking out tunes he wants to do) - ok, not his first, first choice of what to do--but, still, he's not playing the blues because Dad makes him; he digs it. And I wanted my boy to show everyone he's got game on the bass. Everyone came out a winner.

As great as it was to have the band play, the best two things were (1) having that boy on the stage grooving on I'll Play the Blues For You, and then Crosscut Saw (funky version, circa 1972), both out the Albert King playbook and (2) seeing the Voodoo Blues Band being welcomed by my wonderful family at my house. Thank you, thank you, thank you to my wonderful parents for being such great hosts - my Dad just talking to everyone, making them feel right at home, my Mom and her delicious pies (the look on their faces as they ate that wonderful crust!), and my sis and brother-in-law for the incredible work on the chowder. Those guys dug into that chowder like you'd never believe - I think some of the guys would have done just as well to pull up a chair to the pot! And thanks to the Voodoo Band for doing the gig--a long drive to some place they only vaguely knew about (except for Mr. Marshall). A leap of faith--thanks guys!

You must check this out

This story about Wynton Marsalis is one of the more amazing things I've read in a while. But actually pretty well in keeping with what I know of the man.

http://www.insidebayarea.com/ci_13394903?source=email

Two quick stories about Wynton. When Ken Burns did the "Jazz" series he told of his amazing collaboration with Wynton. As Burns tells it, when the Civil War series was airing, Burns got a call from Wynton (or maybe a knock on the door), and Wynton said he needed to do the same thing (do a documentary) with jazz music. Wynton was very passionate, apparently, but Burns said he was already in his next project (Baseball), but he'd think about it. After the Baseball series, did in fact decide to tackle jazz and decided to contact Wynton about it. Burns went to his apartment and was talking to him and Wynton was saying "whatever you want, whatever you want." Burns said he was trying to set up an interview with him ("it won't take too long...") and after a while, Wynton finally said, "you're not listening to me--whatever you want"). (See 19:00 mark here, on Charlie Rose: http://vodpod.com/watch/526357-charlie-rose-jazz-burns-marsalis-from-1801.)

The other story is a personal one, when Wynton was in St. Louis at the old Clayton Jazz festival. Afterwards, he was signing autographs, selling CDs, etc., and I decided to get in line (when was I going to get a chance to see Wynton like that?--plus I didn't care too much about the act after Wynton, which was more of a pop act). The line was long, but man, did it move SLOW. I was getting annoyed, couldn't figure it out, etc. Then I got up to a place in the line where I could see Wynton, and I figured out why it was moving so slowly. He was talking to every person. And I don't mean saying a few words ("What's your name" so he could sign the autograph)--but really interacting, listening, talking and spending whatever time people wanted to spend. He didn't rush one person. And everyone "got it" and was so happy to spend time talking to him. I mentioned our Juilliard connection (I was there a few years after him). I fully expected to get that look ("Oh, that's nice" with gritting of teeth ("How long do I have to talk to this guy?")). But no, not at all from Wynton: "When were you there? Who'd you study with? What kind of horn did you play? Are you still playing? Yeah, what kind of stuff? Where? What mouthpiece you using? That's cool." After my full time, a big hug and off to the next person. That showed me something.

It's blogging time

To paraphrase Ben Grim, a/k/a, the Thing, from the Fantastic Four. (Which, by the way, is one of the worst comic book movie adaptations going. Trust me, I loved comic books and still love movies, so I should know!)

A busy week of playing last week. Wednesday I was the featured sit-in with the Park Avenue Jazz boys at Hammerstone's (always a treat). They always seem to call at least one tune I don't know that ends up going into my list of new favorites, and this was no exception--Triste by Jobim.

Saturday I was part of the Jazz and Blues Revue at the Old Webster Jazz Festival with Anita Rosamond. Actually, Anita and her manager put the group together, and it was billed as a triple leader feature--Anita, guitarist Rich McDonough, and pianist/singer Jessi Gannon. I was playing alongside Lew ("Blue Lew") Winer III on saxophone. It rained a bit but there was a nice crowd anyway. That gig went better than I dared hope--great band, but folks who had not played together in that configuration before. That is always risky, but we did a lot of pretty familiar material, which helped greatly. The program was put together as a smorgasbord of jazz and blues tunes by people with a connection to St. Louis (included some Chuck Berry, Albert King, Ike and Tina Turner review, and of course, one Miles Dewey Davis).

Sunday I took a break from the usual Voodoo routine and did a fundraiser with John Farrar at the Hidden Lake Winery in Illinois. A nice little trio gig that John has asked me to do about four or five years running now. David Certain rounded out the trio this time; the man can Certain-ly play. We played in a trio using Dave once before (he was worried it wouldn't swing without a drummer, but was pleasantly surprised), and he showed us a new way to do Softly, As in a Morning Sunrise, with frequent modulations, and now that's the way we do it.

And speaking of John Farrar, Nathaniel and I have tickets for Son Volt in early November. We are looking forward to hear John's brother's band at the Pageant!

Here's the way Steve and Emily should make their wedding entrance

If watching this doesn't make you feel good, maybe I don't want to know you!

Injustice at the Hall!

Ok, not really. But more about that later.

Great trip to Cleveland this week to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Nathaniel and his friend Pete Holohan made what they describe as their first sojourn there (of course, counting on that time in the future when they themselves will be inducted).

We started off things right with a Monday night visit to Progressive Field (f/k/a Jacobs Field, or "the Jake"). A short walk from our hotel room, we settled into some great seats right behind home plate. Pete treated us to burgers and waffle fries (well, he slipped me the cash later, but I had to fork over the actual $$ to the concessionaire because I bought a cold frosty one). The Indians were playing the White Sox, and there were quite a few Sox fans (good thing, it wasn't very crowded there, by St. Louis standards). Just the day before, the Indians and Cardinals had made a trade, swapping everyday player Mark DeRosa for reliever Chris Perez and a player to be named later. From the Indians' perspective, the other player better be named sooner rather than later.

Perez entered for the Indians in the top of the 9th, with the Tribe trailing 2-0. He hit the first batter in the head (had to be removed from the game). Then he hit the second batter in the head. Then he walked the bases loaded. They left him in for some inexplicable reason. He got a couple of outs, but along the way coughed up three. Then wild-pitched in the fourth. As he left with two outs and the Tribe down 6-0, he was lustily booed off the field. Then of course Cleveland plated 3 in the bottom of the ninth, which would have been enough to win the game (pre-Perez). Oh well. We had fun--we certainly didn't care! We did notice the ridiculousness of that crazy mascot Cleveland has.

Then on to the main event Tuesday--a short walk in the other direction was the RRHF. It's a really cool building designed by architect I.M. Pei. The streets have giant Fender Stratocaster sculptures to lead the way and whet the appetite. A modest Michael Jackson figure was in front of the hall, where people had laid little mementos, but there was no real MJ memorial set up yet (I'm sure it will come).

We entered and Pete and Nathaniel posed for the obligatory entry photo (forgot to check it out at the end--just now remembered--I was going to spring for the photo this time). You can't take photos inside the hall (bummer!), but it was the right tone from the beginning. Before you enter the exhibitions and get your wristband, there is a neat display of guitars, with about six Jerry Garcia guitars (these boys are real Dead-Heads, so that got them going), a Kurt Cobain guitar, and a Jimi Hendrix guitar, among others. (I don't think they were as impressed as I was with the Johnny Cash and Chet Atkins guitars there, but oh well.)

Then we parted ways and I let the boys ramble and explore. We'd bump into each other periodically and exchange the "did you see" this or that conversations, and then go to respectively check out what the other party recommended. I think they particularly enjoyed seeing the original lyric sheet for Hendrix's Purple Haze, Jeff Beck's well-worn Telecaster:

and the signature display (instead of plaques, like the baseball Hall of Fame, the inductees have their signature on a wall in the induction hall; the signatures are white against a black background and the lighting is quite cool). Pete and Nathaniel violated the no picture rule once, telling me they couldn't resist getting their picture beside the display of the little statuette the inductees receive when they get in. That was neat.

But the "injustice" they marveled at (2 really) was that neither Nirvana nor the Red Hot Chili Peppers had been inducted. There was a big Springsteen thing going on ("two whole floors to Bruce Springsteen?!?!" they said, "but no Nirvana??? Metallica is in but not the Peppers??"). The rules of induction are that you are not eligible until 25 years after your first record release. My dispassionate pleas to them that, they probably are right on the cusp of those numbers, don't worry, they'll get in, was not enough for these boys. Then we hit the gift shop. They were very reserved shoppers, opting mainly for some cool posters (the Who and the Grateful Dead for Nathaniel).

A late afternoon swim, then dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe, which itself had some pretty darn cool memorabilia. We googled Nirvana and the Red Hot Chili Peppers and found the dates of their first releases, and when we found they were almost, but not quite, at 25 years, I think they felt more reassured. That, and getting their picture taken next to Jimi Hendrix's purple pants, which were on display at the restaurant.

A lazy day on Wednesday, sleeping in, trotting briefly down to the Science Center, then on the plane back, and voila, what a trip. Thanks to the Holohan family for taking us to the airport and then feeding us pizza on our return. Really one of the best parts of the trip was the "debriefing"--the boys are great, well-suited for each other, but VERY quiet (they retired to their room (we had a pretty large suite that worked out nicely, I slept on the fold out couch in the main room), and I looked in to see what they were doing and they were reading books!!). But it was so great to hear them just buzzing about the whole trip to Faith and Michael, Pete's mom and dad.

Bad dad--I also suggested a return trip (senior trip, anyone?) to the induction ceremonies in a few years. The clips they had of those ceremonies looked pretty darn cool! (Prince jamming on While My Guitar Gently Weeps with Tom Petty? C'mon!)

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Monday is the big adventure to Cleveland--Monday night at Cleveland Indians game, then Tuesday to Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with Nathaniel. We'll be going with his friend Pete. Looking forward to it!

Good Weekend

Happy that my Uncle Dick made it through his difficult surgery this weekend! Also, it was great seeing family. We all were so happy he made it through the surgery - we couldn't even "see past it" to imagine enjoying each other's company, but it was great. Steve and Barb hosted several family meals and they were all delicious and fun. Then we went to a ballgame today (Mom, Nathaniel, Steve and I)--bad outcome, but fun at the old ballyard nonetheless. And Tom got a chance to come by Hammerstone's, and I know he enjoyed it.

Nice weekend!