cut to the chase

last night i baked some cookies, made a yummy dinner for two, rubbed icy hot on my back, turned over some laundry, and kept an eye on the super bowl.  the wife joined me for the sporting spectacle, occasionally looking up from her book to tell me that the blue team has some guys who are pretty out of shape and that she can't believe tony dungy is african-american.

neither of us were particularly interested in the game.  my vikings have been out of the hunt since mid-october and sonja would rather watch paint dry, but time stood still in our home when there was a stop in the action.  the commercials dominant most of society's highlight reel for the big game. i wrote a blog about last year's onslaught of clever advertising campaigns, and was underwhelmed by this year's batch.  can't they all be as clever as this bud light spot?

the old recording studio addage "time is money" directly applies.  the 30-second ads were going for $3.5 million each, leaving no time to slowly unfold your product detail.  catch phrases, like good melodies, need to be clearly presented in a memorable and concise fashion.  the goal is to get people humming your hook, posting youtube clips of your tv ad, rewinding the dvr to watch it again.  i watched the entire game and can't remember any of the commercials.

saxophonist branford marsalis toured with sting back in 1985, promoting the album dream of the blue turtles.  mr. sting (per his stolen moments with frank zappa) rounded out his band with drummer omar hakim, bassist daryl jones, and the late kenny kirkland on keyboards. they made bring on the night, a great documentary chock full of the behind-the-scenes rehearsal stuff, interviews, and live footage.  somewhere in the middle of the flick, branford talks about the trick to soloing on sting's tunes.  he mentioned that, when blowing on pop songs, you need to hit the ground running.



jazz solos are notorious for starting simple, slow burning to a climax that trudie could appreciate .  a bass player back in undergrad told me that i needed to quit rolling the energy back to square one every time i took a solo on a tune.  i thought he was a jerk, but now i know he was right.  i think about branford's commentary often, and am always on the lookout for an opportunity to come out swinging (like sugar ray leonard, not like jimmie lunceford).  i want to be aware of what the situation calls for and then contribute appropriately, even if it isn't always in my wheelhouse.

sure was a weird scene at the end of the super bowl when raymond berry, who played a great football game about 50+ years ago, walked the lombardi trophy through a makeshift aisle flanked with members of the new york giants family. players were touching it, random people wearing giants gear were grabbing at it, more players were kissing it, and miscellaneous people with no home training were clutching the trophy and taking pictures of themselves with their phone.  is this where technology has taken us?  i think i'll pull this stunt at my next show.  after the gig, i'll push the barstools aside and get the lubed up listeners to allow me to waltz between them with my horn.  touch it all you want, but don't you dare put your lips on it.  god knows where they have been.

miracle ear

today is my dad's birthday.  i would post it on his facebook page, but a) he doesn't have one, and b) probably wouldn't be checking it daily like the rest of us do, although c) it sure does warm the heart to see that a gazillion of your friends (in a variety of circles) all jump on and send their best wishes in your direction.  i certainly appreciated it this summer when i spent my birthday checking out of a scuzzy hotel, driving a u-haul across wyoming for six hours, starting up a vocal jazz ensemble, and then finding out later that my grandma died.  day one of my new year sucked.

people often ask me where i got my musical talent.  i have no idea.  my dad is definitely not a music guy.  he is a retired feeder driver for ups, ruling the roads in his brown uniform for 36 years.  that's a long time to do anything.  so far, all i've done for 36 years is breathe.  dad played the tuba back in high school, but he tells me it's because he was the only kid in his class strong enough to carry it around.

this jimmie giles is not my dad. 

my dad is tone deaf.  he arbitrarily moves his voice up and down when singing a church hymn.  i stand next to him and try to match up with his crooning.  we bust up laughing every time, but tone it down when my mom shoots the daggers at us. he doesn't really listen to music either.  on summer vacations, the soundtrack to our road trips was a mix of bill cosby comedy albums and bruce williams financial advice talk shows that my dad taped from the radio.  my sister and i sat in the back seat, our eyes glazed over, our brains chewing on a mixture of interest rates and chocolate cake.



my dad came to as many of my activities as he could.  he worked nights, so he would need to leave in the bottom of the 5th, between the 3rd & 4th tunes, before act III.  he is not artistically inclined, but is definitely a dedicated supporter of me and the rest of our family.  he came to a jazz band concert in the summer of 2000, and we (along with my girlfriend sonja) later went out for dinner at the ground round.  i asked him if he liked the show, and he told me "no" without hesitation. eek.  i asked him why, and he told me that he didn't enjoy it because it looked like i wasn't enjoying it.  what a great lesson for me to learn - know your audience. folks who come to shows listen with both their ears and eyes. i preach this to my students, and cite that experience with my father. don't be phony about your actions, but expect that those in attendance are watching your every move.

simon, dad, and me - after we chopped down a tree with an axe

i've got pretty decent ears and an active imagination, neither of which i can credit directly to my pops (ok nature vs. nurture argument.  ready, set, go!!!)  however, my dad passed along these life lessons; love your family, figure out that the amount of work you put into something is what you can expect to get in return, pinch pennies, hold the door, take pride in what you have, and care about other people.

keep singing these virtues to me, dad.  they might be a bit out-of-tune, but i promise i hear every word.