I’ll admit that I didn’t go out to the Blue Whale to see Bob Reynolds because I knew who he was, because I was familiar with his music, or because I knew he’d been playing with John Mayer. In fact, prior to last week, I’ll admit that I knew very little about him at all until my musician-friend Jacob Guardado began raving about him to me after one of our CalArts jazz classes after a show he’d seen at the Cordial Cafe.

So it was only the result of mere word of mouth that had me sitting in front of Bob Reynolds and a group of jazz musicians — Dennis Hamm (piano), Calvin Turner (bass), and Lemar Carter (drums) — on one of the Blue Whale’s soft plastic preschool-esque cube chairs. As I sat and listened to the band work out last minute pieces of their set, a strangely intimidating host asked me for my ID and marked both of my hands with black slashes — which, regretfully, didn’t seem to do much considering that an unsuspecting man asked to buy me a drink only several minutes later. It was definitely an unusual introduction to the Blue Whale.

It wasn’t until the band began their set that I realized how packed the already small Blue Whale jazz bar was. And rightfully so. Reynolds opened the set with the title track from his recent album, Can’t Wait for Perfect, a laid-back tune with a steady, rolling groove from Hamm on the piano, later joined by a soulfully stretched, simple melody from Reynolds on the tenor saxophone. At this point I was stuck in a trance by the reverberating sound of the group in such a small venue, notebook and pen barely dangling from my fingers, half-forgetting that I was supposed to be documenting something. I’d missed this.

About thirty seconds into the next tune, Jacob began making strange faces at me, impatiently tapping his fingers on his chin as if he was trying to remember something. And then in an a-ha-lightbulb moment, he whispered to me, “It’s Creep! Radiohead! He’s covering Creep!” His sudden excitement was almost unexplainable — but our mutual familiarity with this tune had us almost involuntarily leaned forward.

I’ll admit that even trying to explain in detail how beautifully synced this band was is a daunting task — and it certainly wouldn’t do them enough justice. But I will tell you that I melted at Hamm’s Herbie-esque lines and punching octaves, and the tiny burbles of ideas that were passed on between him and Reynolds.

There’s also a few things that I’ve learned about Reynolds. He’s got a calm and collected presence on stage, casually joking from time to time that they’ve never rehearsed the tune they’re about to play. (Perhaps he seemed especially cool and collected because the last jazz show I’d been to was of Paul Motian at the Village Vanguard. Maybe.) But it’s starkly contrasted once he picks up his saxophone and begins snapping his fingers — Reynolds suddenly becomes adamant and commanding through the tenor sax. Initially, it’s not entirely spontaneous. Many of the tunes open with a repetitive groove from the piano, joined in by Turner and Carter on the bass and drums, and later by Reynolds with the melody. But there’s always a point in each tune (with the exception of the solo-sax piece Reynolds played on his own) where Carter hits a crash and the band escalates in head-explosion-worthy energy and spontaneity — something that’s not captured as much in the new album as it is live.

The more jazz musicians I meet, the more I appreciate musicians like Reynolds — the friendly, open, non-intimidating musician who’s excited to share his work, especially with the younger crowd. In fact, Reynolds set aside some time for me between sets for a quick interview in the corner of the Blue Whale, where he shared a few stories and a few laughs with me. Without further ado, here’s some words from Bob Reynolds.

How did you get started in jazz?

I didn’t know at first that I was getting into jazz. It wasn’t like I had heard jazz music and then decided that I wanted to do it. But I knew I wanted to play music because I wanted to write music – that was my entry into it. I would sit at the piano and I would noodle around – there were sounds in my head and I wanted to figure them out. So I thought if I learned an instrument I’d learn how to play them. But it wasn’t like I had a specific desire to play something – I’d never heard of jazz. I got a saxophone because a neighbor gave it to me. It was that haphazard.

It took a couple years before I heard about jazz. I went to an arts high school in Jacksonville, Florida, because I went to a concert and I heard that high school perform. I saw kids who were about two years older than me just blazing on the sax – I wanted to do that. I really worked backwards – I started playing the sax, and somebody gave me a Kenny G record – like, “Oh, you play the sax, this guy’s famous.” And it literally was Kenny G to Grover Washington to Cannonball Adderley and then to Charlie Parker. I had to work my way backwards, you know, from the shallowest to the most deep musicians.

And that’s jazz, you know? To me jazz is not mine – I can’t claim credit for it. Like Bill Evans said, “Jazz is not a what, it’s a how.” I just wanted to make up my own music. Jazz is really the only musical art form where you can do that.

On introducing others to jazz.

My wife’s dad, who’s a big music lover and a big jazz lover, tried to get her into some Joshua Redman albums all while she was in high school. She had no interest whatsoever, but when she started dating me in college, I took her to see Joshua Redman and his band at a concert – now she’s a fan for life. I was the gateway drug, but I didn’t sell her at the concert – Josh and his band did. I think you need to see some good jazz to really appreciate it. You see that there’s interaction happening – you can’t ever get that from listening to a record. I think you have to see it to appreciate the beauty of what’s going on. It doesn’t mean that all jazz is equal – absolutely not. I think I would favor guys like Joshua Redman, Nicholas Payton, Roy Hargrove, Christian McBride – guys who’ve got funk and soul and blues in their playing more so than the players who are a little bit less root-sy in their playing. I think you’re more likely to find a connection there if you’re totally new to it.

Where do you see jazz headed today?

I think it’s pretty obvious now that the current generation of players are much more interested in embracing all of the influences from folk and pop music to singer-songwriter stuff and indie rock, and people are much more accepting of embracing those influences that are not just jazz. You just don’t hear as many jazz records coming out where people are just playing the same old standards – and maybe it’s cyclical, maybe that’ll come back around in ten years, that’ll be the thing. But I think right now, like the Radiohead song we just did [Reynolds performed a cover of Creep that night], you can appreciate what we do to it that’s different. How do you mix it all together? That’s the challenge.

What’s your advice for the young and aspiring jazz musician?

Show up to everything, meet everybody, and take every gig you can. You never know what’s going to lead to what. Case in point, I met John Mayer at Berklee in a recording session at 2 am that I almost didn’t go to. I was doing a favor for a musical friend to do this recording session from 2:00 to 4:30 in the morning. I did it, and that’s where I met John. Needless to say, that was the beginning of our relationship.

The other thing is that you can’t have a plan B. If you really, really see yourself going the distance, the passion has to be strong enough that there’s no backup plan. Very few people will be lucky, but you’ve got to be full tilt. All in. Totally committed. And people will sense that.

Bob Reynolds’ suggestions for introductory jazz albums:

JOSHUA REDMAN/MOODSWING

PAT METHENY/SPEAKING OF NOW

KENNY GARRETT/SONGBOOK

Thanks again to Bob Reynolds for the music and the words. You can learn more about him at www.bobreynoldsmusic.com.

And thank you to the Blue Whale for the lovely gifts — just for us under-21 folks.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Can’t Wait for Perfect/Bob Reynolds/Can’t Wait for Perfect

This Saturday I’ll be heading out to the Blue Whale, a jazz bar relatively nearby in Little Tokyo (which also means that I’ll be checking one off the bucket list) to hear some live jazz from saxophonist Bob Reynolds, joined by Lemar Carter on drums, Calvin Turner on bass, and Dennis Hamm on keys. Considering that I’d only heard a small bit about some of these musicians before a CAP @ CalArts friend enthusiastically sent me a message about the upcoming show (and also since it’s been a while since I’ve unplugged my earphones and headed out for some live jazz), I’m looking forward to hear something completely new.

It hasn’t struck me until now that most of the venues I’ve visited in the Los Angeles have been the larger, more organized, here’s-your-ticket-your-seat-is-down-the-aisle-to-the-right type of venues, versus the smaller, more intimate ones I’ve been able to visit out in New York City. Which is why I ran into a bit of a surprise when the Blue Whale informed me that the show was a 21+ one — it’s a problem that I haven’t had to give much thought to. It’s understandable that some of these smaller venues in Los Angeles have to comply with outside regulations, but it’s still a shame that there’s already a roadblock — outside of the somewhat lengthy drive up the freeway — that’s between a younger listener and this live jazz show. Luckily, I’ve been able to work things out in a way that doesn’t have me longing for a fake ID, or anything like that. (Scout’s honor!)

There’s been a few other things I’ve been scratching my head at this week. The April issue of Downbeat’s article on women in jazz — Equal Time: On the Strength of Women in Jazz Today, Gender Lines are Finally Being Erased – exuded overly-saccharine optimism (along with a bit of carelessness) for me. I don’t know if it was the “Keep sexy in jazz!” quote at the end of the piece or the statement that the “macho thing in jazz is a dated and outworn notion” at the beginning that might have turned me off a bit too quickly. Of course, these quotes are completely out of context, and I’ve happily retired the magazine and its Marsalis family on the cover to the bottom of my desk drawer until I can read it again with a more open mind. I’ll contemplate this while I sip my kid-friendly Coca-Cola and open my ears to new ideas at the Blue Whale this weekend — more thoughts and explanations to be shared in a later post. I’m more anxious to hear Reynolds and visit the Blue Whale first — two completely new experiences for me. Hope I’ll see you there!

You’ll be able to read a few of Reynolds’ thoughts here after his show this Saturday, but here’s something of his to check out in the meantime. Happy, happy listening.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: I’ll Be Seeing You/Brad Mehldau, Jorge Rossy, Larry Grenadier/The Art of the Trio, Vol. 4: Back at the Vanguard

Yesterday marked the end of the first CAP semester at CalArts — a program that I’m waiting to elaborate on until its final concert at CalArt’s relatively new outdoor theater, the Wild Beast. In a nutshell, the program unites CalArts students with younger students of their own in their respective areas of study. In my case, I’ve been taking a jazz course and a composition/theory course (pictured above) for the last two years or so, dabbling a bit in electronic music now and then.

Without giving too much away, the CAP program at CalArts has single-handedly changed the way I learn, practice, and play music — more specifically, jazz. It gives me a place to meet, interact, and play with CalArts students that are more than eager to share the music with us without the intimidation and hierarchical nature of the traditional classroom. As you might have noticed in this post on the Maiden Voyage band, the CAP program has introduced me to some of my most influential mentors and friends to date.

I’d also like to share with you some concerts that are coming up in the Los Angeles area. If you’re anything like me, you know how priceless it is to be able to catch people like Brad Mehldau here — so luckily, there’s a pretty heavy lineup for the month of January. I hope that I’ll catch some of you at these shows!

JANUARY 15, 2011: Tigran Hamasyan at the Broad Stage Theater in Santa Monica (sets at 7:30 and 9:30)

JANUARY 20-22, 2011: Kenny Burrell Quintet at the Catalina Jazz Club in Hollywood (sets at 8:00 and 10:00)

JANUARY 21, 2011: Brad Mehldau at the Walt Disney Concert Hall (8:00)

EVERY MONDAY: Open Jam Session with the Kevin Kanner Quintet at the Blue Whale in Little Tokyo (10:00 pm to 2:00 am)

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: I’ll Be Seeing You/Brad Mehldau Trio/The Art of the Trio, Vol. 4

There’s a multitude of things that I’m inclined to write about — our jazz band’s concert yesterday night, the strange connotations of the word hipster, the CAP program at CalArts. But for now, I’d like to show you some things that have been helping me get through that treacherous hike towards finals and other such things.

1. Taylor Eigsti/Daylight

This cover of the Coldplay song Daylight made me remember back to a conversation with a former bandmate about covering a Coldplay song for our school’s jazz combo. (Needless to say, it wasn’t taken very well by our bass player.) Nevertheless, it’s quite the far-reaching cover.

2. Vijay Iyer/Human Nature/Solo

This opening track of Iyer’s album, Solo, has been constantly looping in my car. It’s another cover like the previous tune (of MJ, Human Nature), and I’m hooked.

3. Robert Glasper Trio/In Concert at the Village Vanguard

Check out the recording here at NPR. I saw the Robert Glasper written up to play at the Village Vanguard while I was there at the Paul Motian Septet’s show — but I was leaving the day he was set to perform. You’ll notice the huge difference between the crowd in this recording and the crowds of the Fred Hersch and Paul Motian shows that I attended at the same venue. The reason for the immense differences in energy might be because of (a) the fact that the show was being live streamed with WBGO‘s Josh Jackson and NPR or (b) the, perhaps, much younger audience. Regardless of the reason, I’m set on being in that kind of an audience the next time that I go to the Village Vanguard.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: New Amsterdam/Lawn Chair Society/Kenny Werner

During my second week at the Idyllwild Jazz Summer Workshop, Matt Harris (professor at CSUN) challenged us to identify chords and intervals that he played on the piano solely based on what we heard — a form of ear training that I’m sure many of you are familiar with. We sat in a circle of chairs around the Yamaha, divided into two teams competing to successfully name the most arrangements of pitches by ear. Towards the end of class, he’d let us share some laughs by challenging us to identify his renditions of some pop songs — Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber; quite a leap away from John Coltrane and Duke Ellington.

Some of us were shocked (and perhaps, slightly embarrassed) to realize that we could identify Harris’ pop tunes much more quickly than the tunes we’d been professing our love to since the first day of jazz camp. Harris even joked with me, “man, you really know your pop” — a comment that I feebly tried to play off, breaking out into a burst of nervous giggles. After all, who wants to be known for “really knowing” their pop in the context of a jazz camp?

A kid sitting a few seats down from me bitterly grumbled something along the lines of, “I don’t listen to this stuff. I only listen to jazz.” At the time, I admired him — not only was he one of the top players at the camp, but he’d also just verbally professed an exclusive commitment to jazz, jazz, and only jazz.

But in actuality, it’s quite hypocritical to declare this kind of exclusive commitment to jazz. First of all, the music itself is a creole of two distinct cultures of African and European music. And as Christian Scott mentioned to me at his concert in Pasadena, the word jazz itself describes a plethora of different styles and cultural forms that can hardly be captured in one word. The same person who loves Paquito D’Rivera might cringe at a recording of the Glenn Miller Big Band — even though they’re both categorized under the same general name. Declaring a love for this music and this music only, in essence, is declaring an open-minded love for a wide variety of music. And frankly, I’m very sure that neither you nor I love every single genre of music, not to mention every single style of jazz.

We aren’t doing ourselves or the jazz industry any favor by restricting ourselves to the last fifty years of this music. The beauty of jazz that sets it apart from any other genre of music is its capability of shifting and morphing itself to each generation — take, for example, Robert Glasper combining the popular styles of today and yesterday:

Should someone be embarrassed about enthusiastically tapping their feet to Justin Bieber? Maybe. But at the same time, it should be the responsibility of jazz musicians and jazz enthusiasts to keep an open mind when it comes to pop culture — as important as it is to preserve the height of jazz of several decades ago, it’s also just as important to connect that jazz with the modern styles of today.

On that note, here’s some music to open your mind to:

1. That rap stuff that your mother always told you to stay away from. Because, you know, it’s rampant with innuendos and things like that.

2. The music that, in your mind, is made by some guy with huge glasses and his MacBook.

3. That “new-age” stuff that, er, tears at the moral fibers of classic jazz?

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: All Blues/Miles Davis Sextet/Kind of Blue

Ever since I began preparing for recording college music supplements, I’ve noticed that much of the music I’ve been listening to lately was recorded long before I was born. But as addicting as this music is for me, I remember the last time I went out on a limb and shared it with a not-so-much-of-a-jazz-fanatic I wound up in a strange discussion about the intimate relationship between jazz and public elevators.

As much as I disagree, I also know that introducing someone to jazz with an ages-old Charlie Parker album probably isn’t going to end well. So to make this introduction process a bit more interesting to a potential jazz addict, here’s five current artists who succeed in connecting jazz with the now:

1. Gretchen Parlato

2. Robert Glasper

3. Kurt Rosenwinkel

4. Brad Mehldau

5. Hiromi Uehara

Other artists you might want to check out: Ambrose Akinmusire, Vijay Iyer, Gerald Clayton, Brian Blade, Miguel Zenón, Aaron Parks, Justin Brown, Jenna Mammina, Lisa Ono

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Penta/Miguel Zenón/Awake

Last night I had the privilege of meeting bass player Kaveh Rastegar and drummer Jaydon Bean (as well as my teacher, Mark Nilan Jr.) at the Watermark on Main in Ventura. Let me tell you, it was quite the experience just watching the three musicians set up in such a tiny venue — a small space surrounded by already-inhabited tables — yet somehow it worked. I also believe that my heart did skip a beat when Nilan pulled out that lipstick-red keyboard — and the same goes for when he told me that Rastegar was the bass player for the jazz fusion band, Kneebody. It’s not usual for me to be that excited before the show starts — but in this case, I genuinely was.

But it was watching the three of them create this intense musical sphere right there in that busy restaurant — uninterrupted by bustling waiters and rowdy customers — that was probably the most mesmerizing part of the show. And it was even more astonishing to know that this crazy musical bond was created by three musicians that had not once played with one another — in fact, they’d just met only minutes before the gig.

I can’t describe their performance that night as anything else but organic. Organic in the sense that they rapidly caught each others’ idiosyncrasies as the pieces progressed — even the slightest bit of a catchy phrase was repeated and answered and echoed and turned through each player, as if their music was some living, growing, breathing being. I especially enjoyed this nonverbal exchange of ideas and the way Bean’s face lit up every single time something interesting was played (or perhaps he was smiling at the fact that I reveled in this so much).

Their set included Green Dolphin Street, the Beatles’ Blackbird, Someday My Prince Will Come, and my all-time favorite, Alice in Wonderland.

(left to right: Jaydon Bean, Kaveh Rastegar, me, Mark Nilan Jr.)

I also got a chance to talk a bit with Rastegar during their breaks and gained some pretty insightful advice on being a young and ambitious jazz musician. Probably the most valuable piece of advice he gave me was on working with other musicians — recognizing your place and position as a part of the group you are playing with is one of the most important parts of being a successful player. Also, like I’ve read and heard from many musicians, he noted that the most important part of being a musician in any situation is developing yourself into the best musician you can be. It sounds like a given here, but I’m beginning to notice that it’s very easy to get caught up in petty concerns — age, race, gender, equipment, length of study, money, personality issues, even placement or chair seating in a band — which hold the potential to lead you astray from this fundamental goal.

After talking to Rastegar, I now have an appointment at the CalArts library to go on a music-hunting spree, as well as a transcription bucket list nailed to my wall. Not to mention that I’m even more intent on continuing my Joseph Campbell-esque hero’s journey out on the East coast. As you read this I’m most likely staring dreamily into the pages of a college application in some deserted library as I begin the last summer before my senior year.

I’ll conclude this post with the video that introduced me to Kneebody:

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Brother Mister/Christian McBride and Inside Straight/Kind of Brown

I was at a neighbor’s house Sunday night for a light get-together and a hearty barbecue — the same neighbor, Richard, who was the first to toss some jazz classics in my direction. Throughout the night, several names were thrown about and excitedly discussed — Toots Thielemans, George Benson, and Rod Piazza, to name a few. But for some strange reason, every jazz-related discussion that Richard and I have always finds its way back to Bill Evans.

That night, Richard posed a simple but deep question: why do I like Bill Evans?

Although I’d like to say that I had some heavy monologue about my love for Evans ready on the spot, I’m going to admit that this question definitely took me by surprise. I’m pretty sure I babbled some unintelligible nonsense about the softness and vulnerability of his playing, about how anyone could connect his sensitive playing to his struggle of a life. It probably didn’t make much sense.

Richard probably doesn’t know this, but that question has been on my mind ever since I went to sleep that night. And finally, close to midnight, I’ve come to a conclusion:

Bill Evans and his playing represent one of my most treasured values: to be taken seriously. Evans’s playing is sensitive, subtle, beautiful, unique — but there’s one thing that it’s not: cute. However raw and personal Evans playing can get, it always invokes the same overwhelming feeling of respect from me (and other listeners, I’m sure) — it demands to be taken seriously. Despite the stories that I’ve read about Evans, and despite the fact that some of them are immensely tragic, one listen to Alice in Wonderland makes me forget it all. The fact that his playing allows me only to think of his playing — not his long, bony fingers or his solemn face or his grey life– is the reason why I enjoy listening to Bill Evans.

There’s only one other thing that’s on my mind while I listen to this: I want to get to the point where my playing — and every other aspect of my life — can be taken just as seriously as this.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Milestones/Bill Evans/Waltz for Debby

I know it’s somewhat of a huge problem when even my jazz band director asks me why I haven’t been posting lately. You see, there’s this lovely thing that many of us do at the end of the school year: AP (Advanced Placement) Testing, a series of separate four-hour tests that help me earn credits towards college and idealistically helps me gain an understanding of what I’ll be doing in college. While most students limit themselves to one or two, I’m one of the crazy ones that think they can handle taking four and maintain their sanity at the same time.

So, studying? Yes.

Jazz? Not as much as I’d like to at the moment.

Even as I type this, my computer’s sitting on top of an AP US History review book saturated with highlighter and pen ink. The bag next to me has three more review books peeping out: AP Language/Composition, AP Calculus BC, and AP Physics. I’ll let you know if I make it out of this alive.

I’ve been resisting the urge to throw my review books and notes to the side and tell you about my fantastic adventures in Monterey with the jazz band, recording at Cuesta College in a professional recording studio with George Stone, playing as a guest band at the Monterey Next Generation Jazz Festival. Even though it’s been a while since we came back, it’s truly impossible for me not to tell you guys about it. So just for my sanity’s sake, here’s one of my favorite pictures that I took over the trip:

(Billy Harper!)

Also, I mentioned above that the West Ranch HS Jazz Band recorded its debut CD that’s going to be available by June 1st. I’ve got the order forms right next to me, but I’d like to see this CD go to faraway places — let me know if you’d be interested to purchase one (the price is set at $10 + shipping) at rachelc @thejazzpost.com.

See you after AP Exams!

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Solar/Bill Evans/Sunday At The Village Vanguard (Bill Evans has kept me awake and alive for the past few weeks at the review books! This album always reminds me of how much I admire Scott LaFaro’s playing. Evans, of course, stole my heart from day one.)

Being a teenage musician in a place like Los Angeles has got its perks. I’ve got access to the Hollywood Bowl, the Baked Potato, the Monterey Jazz Festival, and the California Institute of the Arts — not to mention access to thousands of musicians associated with LA-based music organizations. Nevertheless, it’s still exciting to meet those people that you only see in websites and magazines; the faces behind the names that show up on the songs that you play every day.

It was on the last Sunday of January that I met Antoinette Perry, the Senior Lecturer of Keyboard Studies at the University of Southern California, for a master class in a home of a quiet suburbian neighborhood. If you know anything about master classes, you’ll know that they can be absolutely frightening — in front of a large, judging audience the student has to perform a piece, knowing that in the next few minutes an intimidating master class instructor will be hovering over her shoulder, exposing tiny mistakes, insisting on minuscule nuances. It’s not one of the most pleasantly exciting things to do.

But my experience with Antoinette Perry was quite the opposite. To tell you the truth, the first thing I noticed about Perry — before her tall, lanky stature and her youthful smile — were her hands. I was nearly infatuated with them. Her fingers were bony, slender, delicate; they stroked the keys of the piano with the grace of a prima ballerina. I’ve constantly tried to justify playing piano with my short, stubby fingers by pulling up names like Thelonius Monk, insisting to myself that he probably didn’t have Rachmaninoff fingers either and could still play a killer B-flat blues — but Perry flat out dissolved those comforting thoughts. Even she noticed that my elbows aren’t even close to being perpendicular with my hands when I play, leaving me in an awkward angle above the piano keys — a realization that she quickly dismissed by hastily moving on to a different topic. It’s a pretty sensitive subject for a compulsively-obsessive pianist like me.

Still, she had fantastic critiques about my performance of Schubert’s Impromptu No. 2 in E-flat Major — everything from inner melodies that needed more emphasis to small fluctuations in pedaling to help me out with my E-flat major scale runs. And Perry was an exciting instructor — as she had me try out her tips with the Schubert, she’d flail her arms wildly in imaginary conducting, passionately singing along. She was definitely a great window into the music program at USC.

(P.S. I later won a $300 scholarship from the local Music Teacher’s Association of California playing the same piece!)

Just as exciting was a clinic with Don Menza, the composer of one of our currently most challenging pieces: Time Check. (Menza’s also the composer of the popular piece Groovin’ Hard.) “You can only play as good as you can play,” he told us in regards to being nervous before a performance, adding, “I talk about this with Sonny [Rollins] all the time.” He only ever took off his shades when he wanted to emphasize a crucial point — putting air through the horn; playing lines together; hitting the drumset with confidence. While Perry was a window into a prospective college, Menza was a window into the past — a place where jazz was a taboo gateway into violence and drugs and alcohol. It seemed like jazz had this fountain-of-youth effect on Menza — as he spoke, he moved his body energetically, visually showing us what he wanted us to do, throwing around in his speech the colloquialisms of a jazz kid from the sixties.

And then there was his saxophone. Before he arrived, we already knew that he’d written and played with Maynard Ferguson’s orchestra and Buddy Rich’s big band; we knew that he was an amazing tenor sax player. But the word amazing is used everywhere in nearly every circumstance imaginable — it can’t even come close to describe what came out of Menza’s horn.

On a concluding note, here’s what I’m failing in an attempt to describe in words:

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Roustabout/Simple Citizens/Me and Miss Lemona K