The Saxophone

The following is a note posted by Sacramento musician Ross Hammond:

I can’t stand to hear musicians complain that there are no more good gigs, or that there is no good scene.  As musicians and music lovers, we are not only players but we are ambassadors of the art. It’s up to us to keep the music alive and to thrive.  If there is an idea that some other city is better (which I hear all the time) or more supportive of music, that is really a pipe dream.  Every city is the same.  Every scene is the same.  There are people who talk about doing things, there are people who complain and sit at home and there are people who just go out and make things happen.  

No gigs to be had?  Book your own.  In the spirit of everyone from the Minutemen to the Residents to the folk revival to the Loft Scene in NY during the mid-70s, the easiest way to have a scene is to build it yourself.  Find a venue with an off-night and start a series.  Book some house shows.  Get in touch with your like-minded musicians and help each other out.  Promote each other’s gigs.  This isn’t hard.  All it takes is legwork.  Cafes, art galleries, public libraries, universities, farmer’s markets, bookstores, etc. are notoriously nurturing to the arts.    

Wanna get paid for your work?  Well, how much work are you putting into your own career?  It’s easy to think one should get paid because they can play an instrument, but unfortunately that’s not really how it works.   The days of the clubs that give guarantees for any and all live music are (mostly) a thing of the past.  It’s a new model.  Door gigs are the norm.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing.  Door gigs are much better than free gigs (which I’d agree are a waste of time).  But door gigs stress the importance of building a buzz to get an audience to come see you.  Do you know your local music writers?  Do you know the local music calendars?  How about neighborhood associations where your venue is located?  Or other bands that you can play with who have a similar style?  Too often I’ve seen bands want to get booked at a venue and look at me with a blank stare when I ask how they promoted their show.  Um, hello?  McFly?

Simply put, no one will do the work for you.  It’s up to you to invest in your own career.  There are plenty of good gigs, and the grass-roots effort is really the only sustainable one now.  

My $.02.  Onward!

RH

In the past, I’ve gone to great lengths to maintain anonymity for others in this blog. I’m going to drop that effort for today. There’s a jazz club in town called LUCID that recently made a few changes. In the past, they have paid their musicians with a cut of the bar or a $175 per group guarantee. Starting this past January, they changed their policies such that they will no longer be paying musicians at all. Instead, they will record the band’s show at the club and then sell download codes to the audience members in attendance for $5 a piece, and that is the money that will go toward the band. This is both preposterous and insulting. Allow me to enumerate the ways.

I spoke to the owner about this over the phone, and it is his impression (or at least, so he told me) that the audience would want a “memento of the evening” and, understanding that this is how the band gets paid and that they did not pay a cover, would acquiesce and purchase a recording. For you see, the download is not available to the general public, but only those present who just heard you record what they would buy. I asked him how much success they had been having in the past four months, and he said that it varies from night to night, but that they had sold 20-30 before. This means I can count on 7, 10 if I’m lucky, maxing out at $10 per man for a three and a half hour show. The owner told a friend of mine and fellow musician that this was “win-win.” And he’s right, as long as the musicians aren’t one of the parties involved in the “winning.”

Another musician friend of mine thought we should live and let live; the owner has his deluded notions about how to run a club and that’s his business. What does it matter? Normally I’d completely agree, refuse to play there, and move on with my life. But the owner’s mission has been widely stated: he is trying to create a community for musicians, an artist friendly hang where they can come and be a part of the scene, whether performing or just stopping by. He can no longer honestly claim this, but he still does every night. It’s frustrating, and as I said insulting, and he needs to publicly revise his mission statement.

The other stories about LUCID and their relationship with artists are numerous and reasonably well circulated. When Bad Luck (shall we say, an Alternative Jazz Duo) was performing there before a friend’s band, they were asked to stop after their second song because they didn’t fit the “vibe” of the club, even though there were many people there specifically to see them. When my other friend was playing there, on the first set break the owner asked them to write a set list for the next set because he felt there was too much time in between songs. He doesn’t pay enough to get to make that call. You deal with the bar, let us deal with the music. I know my friend; there wasn’t an extraordinary amount of time between songs. I’ve been able to look the other way on these stories when it came to playing there because I hadn’t personally seen any attitudes similar to that, and while I want to support my friends, I’m fast running out of clubs I don’t have a problem with in this town. But this new “we don’t pay the band” policy is way too far.

A drummer was playing at LUCID a few weeks ago. He had booked the gig about two or three months before this new policy was enacted or announced, and he was not informed of the change. So he showed up and was told instead of being paid, they’d sell recordings of the set to the audience. Something the drummer said that I tried to explain to the owner as well is that gearing up for a 3 hour club gig is very different then preparing for a live set you intend to record and sell. So the drummer asked the recording engineer (who, by the way, is getting paid) not to record the set. The engineer said it was his job, and he didn’t have a choice. So the drummer began playing very loudly to throw off the mix and tapping and scratching at microphones during the song. After the second set, he had enough, packed up, and left.

I’ve heard people praise him and I’ve heard people say that he should have not started the show in the first place, stating he was unprofessional. Well, when something like that is sprung on you, sometimes it’s hard to make a good decision right away, tough to process, and I think LUCID lost the right to be treated like a professional club when they started their blatant hypocrisy.

I’ve played at LUCID four times under my own name, and three to four times under somebody else’s. Save once (Christmas Eve, when even then we had about 20 or so people out), the place has been packed every single time, and it’s been remarkably full every time I’ve gone to hang out there as well. If you can’t figure out how to make money with a full bar, that’s your problem. Don’t make it mine. I was going to play there on June 8th, but I cancelled, as have many other musicians.

I’m growing tired of people who don’t listen. You should always know what’s going on around you, no matter the size or nature of the band. In small groups, it’s a small conversation, and you should be reacting to and building something with the other members of your band at all times. In a big band, you take your cues from the lead player, from the drummer, from the person next to you. You should know who else has your part, whether it’s in your section or somewhere else in the band. You should know if you’re sharp or flat (hell, I’ll even take in tune or not), rushing or dragging, shaping the lines and long notes right.

I play with a lot of people, and some really have this figured out. The long nights are when you’re sitting next to a tenor player who doesn’t either see the dynamic markings, care to notice, or know what they mean. Or when you’re standing next to a trumpet player with no setting between off and melt-your-face-off loud. Or when you’re playing with a rhythm section that slows down every tune but rushes each time one of them takes a solo. The answer to all of these issues is just to open your ears, realize you’re not the only person on the bandstand, accept that it’s more important to sound like a band than to be in the spotlight, and create something together. Yes, hello, you may not know me, but I’m the guy who’s right beside you. We’re having a good time over here, you should come join us or just get out altogether.

My post today is not specific to music, but I have seen it through my experiences the most sharply in that field. It’s about the humanization and deconstruction of our idols.

We all have people we admire, whether for their art, their personal success, their lifestyle, or the projects they involve themselves in. It’s easy to separate these accomplishments from the person behind them and construct an entirely new persona structured solely around what we idolize. We often times forget that these people are humans just like us, and succumb to many of the same traps and pitfalls we ourselves fall for.

There’s a musician in town I have always admired because he seems so put together. He has many of his own projects and corroborates with some very exciting musicians. Every time I talk to him he seems gearing up for some exciting musical adventure, whether it is the music or group he is playing with or the destination they are headed to. I’ve always been a little envious and have set my own sights on much of what he has already done. I’ve been getting to know him better over the past two years, and recently spent some more time with him in a personal setting. To hear him speak of other individuals and musicians whose approval he craves, to hear him recant stories of constant rejection and self doubt, was very strange. All of a sudden the ornate facade I had painted over him cracked and the harsh masonry behind it surfaced. I could directly relate to much of what he was talking about, though I’d taken constant advice and inspiration from him for the past several years. It was he who told me earlier that all we have is our image. Regardless of the state of our art or the progress we had made, we are only as serious as we project, and people will only take us as seriously as we tell them to. Conversely, people can only take advantage of you if you let them. This lesson was never driven home so much as in that moment.

From the other side of it, I recently realized that I was that person to another friend of mine. It’s funny, because I in turn admire this musician very much for all that they had accomplished and created, but there was a moment several months ago when it crystallized for me: they look up to me. It was odd, because even though I viewed this person as a good friend, it changed my interaction with them. They needed me to be, for lack of a better term, bulletproof. What I have done professionally, artistically, had made such an impact on them, and I knew what they needed from me and how they needed me to act. My actions took a shape that tried to reflect the image they had already superimposed over me. I tell this side of it for another perspective and not for my own personal gain or ego, but I saw any concerns I had or any doubts or fears could not be shared.

I say that last part because I think we all need our heroes. It’s a good thing to look up to someone, to draw encouragement and inspiration from them. It helps motivate us to strive higher and faster. It’s okay to realize that those behind these dreams are strikingly similar to ourselves with flaws and imperfections, but don’t let that stand in the way of letting them help you dream bigger.

Do yourself a favor. Do me a favor. Do every musician you will ever meet in the future a favor. Learn to play in time. Learn to keep good time.

That is all.

I had a very frustrating problem practicing just now. I was working on a technique building exercise (which I admittedly don’t do enough, but who thinks they do?) and I kept zoning out. I was doing everything I have been doing my whole life and telling my students to do: start slow and gradually build up to your target tempo, repeat it correctly over and over (I went for 15 times, at least 3 in a row at the end) before moving on, work backwards to iron out particularly difficult phrases, but after all of that I found my mind wandering. The lack of focus inevitably tripped me up and I had to start all over again…and again…and again.

It’s a problem I see repeatedly in students of all levels manifested slightly differently: typically your first read through a new tune will be better than your second. At first this seems counter-intuitive, but if your first run goes okay you get overconfident and your focus wanes. You think, “okay, I got this” and then you don’t. I’m not sure if that’s exactly what was happening to me; I was trying to focus, but sometimes the mind goes where it will (like when you’re trying to fall asleep but your brain is having none of that and keeps jumping from topic to topic, daydream to daydream, keeping you up for hours on end…I hate that).

This leads me to the conclusion that the practice of music is also the practice of zen, that over-analysis and too much concentration can be detrimental. Music is best produced when our minds are clear of the realities of what came before and what will come after, clear of even the demands and challenges of the music we are playing. Eventually we want to reach a point where we stop concerning ourselves with the technical so we can focus on the expression, the soul of what we are trying to communicate. This applies to all forms and genres, whether we’re playing a written piece or an improvised solo. I suppose you could use the term “transcendence,” but I don’t think I will. It seems too arrogant and blow-hardy for this forum.

To be quite honest, I started teaching because I “had” to. It’s incredibly difficult to make a living from performance alone, and it takes a long time to develop that career. A lot of guys - especially jazz guys - teach to supplement their income while still being able to call themselves musicians. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, but personally I viewed it as a means to an end.

But I have to say I’ve found a lot of enjoyment in my lessons (and some frustration, as expected). You know the old saying “I’ve learned more from them than they have from me?” Well I wouldn’t go that far, but it has been a good avenue of self-discovery. For example, most teachers (myself included) have a specific approach they stay relatively close to for all their students. This makes sense because from lesson to lesson the teacher remains the same person with the same views, prejudices, and predilections, but it also makes little sense given that the students are as varied as the teacher is immutable. It generally works out, but I’ve had a few students that require a significantly different approach in order for me to get through to them.

For a while I was content to put the blame on the student, citing their lack of practice or attention to the detail I told them to focus on. Then I thought about when students run scales and keep playing the same wrong note every time. I tell them “That note is wrong. It was wrong last time, it was wrong every time before that, and it will be wrong next time. Play any other note besides that one and you will have a better chance of being correct.” My method wasn’t working. It didn’t work last lesson or any previous lesson, so I should try anything else. I’ve had students that don’t practice, students that do practice but don’t know how, students who are naturally quite good and don’t work at developing it, and students that have little natural inclination but pay attention to everything I say and work on it. But that’s part of the fun, really. Figuring out how to reach that one person you can’t seem to get through to and seeing what happens when they finally get it. It’s also the source of much consternation as not every teacher is best suited for every student, and ocassionally that moment never comes.

I’m not saying I want to be a full time teacher; I don’t. I got offered a teaching job at a high school directing their Jazz II, but that really has no interest for me. First off, there is an assumption that any student in private lessons wants to be there (this is not always true, but mostly), whereas many school kids take band because they have to or they want the “easy A.” Second, getting that many kids in that age range in the same room together seems like a bad idea to me. I understand the practicality and necessity of it, but it still frightens me. And finally, after my experience being Musical Director for Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines, I fully realized how much non-musically related stuff there is to do in a job like that, and I have no inclination to revisit that part of it. However I have realized that teaching isn’t so bad, and in fact I recommend it to anyone who finds an opportunity. I understand I’m playing with some loose definitions here, but that’s partly the point.

My Achilles heel is memorizing tunes. My instinct is to say that I don’t know nearly enough, but that’s such a subjective thing that it has almost no meaning.

Music has phases, eras. Early swing gave way to the big band era gave way to bebop then post bop, hard bop, cool jazz, fusion, etc. I feel like we’re right in between two phases now (which I’m sure isn’t a unique feeling to me right here right now); whenever I play gigs with the older generation of musicians (no offense intended), I’m always far outclassed in my knowledge of standards. This is also true of the younger guys who play with that generation frequently; my normal bass player works with a lot of those guys and has a near encyclopedic knowledge of the real book (in almost any key, no less). But I seem to approach memorizing tunes like I approach cooking: I’ve got five or six dishes I can make really well, and the rest of the time I make something absurdly simple or heat something in the oven due to lack of time. I don’t know how that last part fits into the analogy, but I hope you understand. I try to be the guy to call a tune so I can be sure it’s one that I know, and know well.

But this generation, the ones emerging from music schools, creating new scenes every month, is much more focused on original music. I remember one of the older guys saying about certain tunes, “If a guy doesn’t know that one, I think ‘hm…okay.’ It’s a red flag.” These days I almost feel like that reaction is more common if you learn someone doesn’t write any of their own stuff. I’m not saying don’t play standards, I survived a weekly trio gig for eight or so months on 99% standards alone, but everyone should have that project or idea where you’re creating something uniquely personal.

This of course creates an interesting dilemma: write or learn tunes? Both? Sure, but that’s more challenging than it may seem as both require a substantial amount of time and focus to really get it right. I’ve been asked from time to time, “So what tunes have you been practicing?” and I often answer, “Mine.” But there’s also something to be said for showing up, meeting a musician or group for the first time, and having a common dictionary so that you can bring into the universe something wholly new merely through the process of getting to know each other. Often times I use this forum to express my own opinions and views, try and impart something I’ve learned from my experiences or help guide those that are interested, but here I have no conclusion to draw. I suppose there is no right answer.

As a part of this shared experience we have dubbed “life,” you will do a certain number of things you don’t really want to. Personal and professional, ranging from a week with the in-laws to TPS reports and their shiny new covers, not all events are good. However we do them anyway for a myriad of reasons. As a musician, you will occasionally find yourself on stage wondering, “What am I doing up here, anyway?” and then you remember the check coming your way at the end, and you put on that horribly fake, cheesy smile, slowly nod, and blow another chorus to “Let it Snow.” Tonight was one of those nights.

It is grossly unfortunate to be a musician who hates Christmas music at this time of year. Not only are you constantly bombarded by these “timeless” anthems during the course of a normal afternoon or weekend spent finding material representations of your closest relationships, but strangers look to you to put them in that special holiday cheer at night when you go to work. Now, I love being a musician. I love being my own boss, I love expressing myself in a very specific yet unfathomably broad way, and I love the moments of creation that take place between the small group gathered onstage together with a singular purpose. But honestly…I really hate Christmas music.

I got hired to play a church Christmas show tonight. I know, I know, why would I do that after all my views expressed in paragraph 2? See paragraph 1. The show totaled an hour and a half, and we only really played for about an hour of that. For those unfamiliar, musicians at this level are accustomed to showing up and sight reading a 2 to 3 hour set with very few complications (I can vouch that the saxophone section of this band was all at that level as I knew three of the other four saxes when I walked in the door, and that’s a pretty good sampling of the rest of the band). So when I got asked to do a quick show with two 3 hour rehearsals before hand, I said I’d be happy to do the show but I couldn’t make the rehearsals. They threw in a little extra money and I agreed to show up to the second 3 hour practice. Highly unnecessary. Oh, and then call time tonight was an hour before the show started so we could run a few things as well.

It became clear soon that rehearsal was not for us, but for the “singers.” I use quotes in describing the “singers” because it has become apparent to me that anyone with enough money can live out their fantasy of being a big band singer for a night. His directing was atrocious. Frequently we got no count off, just a quick downbeat and then we were expected to get the tempo from his mind. Occasionally we got a quick beat 4 before we came in on beat 1, but it was never in time. On the rare songs we did get a count off, the last few beats slowed down. In rehearsal he would stop the band several times saying, “No, no, it’s too slow.” I wonder why…he would also get very excited towards the end of the count off, approach the band, raise his fist, and shout a little. Whole thing was awkward.

I’ve talked about bad shows before, and I really wish I could find my own enjoyment amongst the musicians or my own personal performance. Let me be clear: I still played to the best of my abilities. That’s what I was paid for, plus you never know who else is in the band or what random person is in the audience (remember in Montana with Oscar de la Rentia and the guy who ran Sundance? Maybe there’s a guy like that who used to play saxophone, starts talking to you, has a holiday party in a few weeks, and decided he wants a jazz quartet. Unlikely, but by no means impossible). But I do wish that instead of counting the minutes or the songs until the end, I could enjoy how I played that phrase, or really dig into that solo or soli. I suppose we all still have something to work on.