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Look Again 

I've learned a lot from my years of watching Saturday morning cartoons.

For example, you think you know someone.

You think you know what their strengths and weaknesses are.
You think you know their character.
You think you know what they're capable of.

You get to know someone a little...a first impression.
You form an opinion about them and you carry it around with you for years.

You think you know all about that person—but you're dead wrong.

You don't know them at all.

You only saw what you wanted to see.
You only saw what you were ready to see.
And you only know what they wanted to show you.

First impressions are incomplete and quickly out of date.

To really know someone, you must update your perceptions of them continually.

Because people change. They evolve.
They experience pain and gain and loss and transformation.

As they're tested by the vicissitudes of life, they develop new powers and capabilities.

If you really want to see someone as they ARE, keep an open mind,
and take another look.

Christmas List 



Dear Santa,

As you know, Christmas Day is also my birthday. 

 

This year, I've been a very good boy and a hard working dog.

 

Please bring me anything from this list:

 

  • CD: Grand River Crossings by Geri Allen
  • Book: The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt
  • DVD: Johnny Staccato
  • Large black Rudy Vallee-style megaphone
  • Autographed Nicholas Payton pocket square
  • Medjool dates grown in Dateland AZ
  • Custom personal cologne designed by David Carlos Valdez
  • Working replica of the Mystic Seer
  • Hat like the one Mark Gross wears on the cover of Blackside
  • Property taxes windfall
  • Chili and lime saladitos

 

Thank you!

 

Love,

 

Dmitri

Happy Halloween 

The results of tonight's pageant at our front door: 1 Joker, 5 Skeletons, 1 Iron Man, 2 Scream Ghosts, 1 Kitty Cat, 1 Batman, 1 Hulk, 2 Ballerinas, 1 Priest, 2 Witches, 1 Chef, 1 Floating Eyeball, 1 R&B Singer, 2 Wizards, 1 Rocker Girl In Rainbow Fur, 4 Princesses, 3 Grim Reapers (1 with Jack-O-Lantern Head, 1 with Mirror Face, 1 with Pink Fright Wig), 2 Go-Go Dancers, 2 Pirates, 1 Unicorn, 1 Darth Vader, 1 Train Conductor, 1 Army Man, 1 Superman.

COURSE CORRECTION 



This week, Sassy and I have enjoyed the hospitality of some friends who've generously provided lodging for us in their home while I play a few gigs in the area. 

 

Their son (let's call him Freddie) is a very talented young aspiring jazz trumpeter. 

 

Although I regularly give master classes on the road, and have done my share of classroom teaching, spending time with Freddie and his family over the past week has been a powerful reminder to me of what it means to be a serious musician and what an industry jazz education has become.

 

At the age of 16, Freddie has already taken advantage of more specialized training and travel opportunities than I had in my college years, and he's already twice the player I was in high school. 

 

Freddie's days are so full that I'm actually hesitant to call him an "aspiring" musician. Not yet a high school senior, he's already playing professional gigs, studying advanced concepts and techniques, taking and teaching private lessons, listening broadly and living a decidedly music-centered life.

 

Freddie studies privately with two teachers: one for trumpet, another for jazz.

He's a veteran of jazz camp, Jazzschool, the Grammy band, SFJAZZ All-Stars, J@LC Essentially Ellington and Monterey NextGen. 

 

He participates in a summer music mentoring program and leads sectional brass rehearsals for his school jazz ensemble. He's won awards in all the regional and national honors programs you've heard of and several that you haven't. And he's already performed on the most prestigious jazz stages worldwide: New York, Monterey, Montreux, North Sea, Umbria. 

 

I never practiced like this kid, not even at Interlochen. He hits it hard for hours every day. Each morning I awaken to the sound of Freddie's horn, methodically working its way through James Stamp warm-ups, Clarke etudes, Clifford Brown turnarounds, articulation and lip flexibility exercises and chord scale after chord scale. Every afternoon he has a rehearsal or two with this or that band. Every evening he practices again. 

 

When I was Freddie's age, my bedroom was a shrine to Lindsay Wagner and Spencer's Gifts. I had only just begun to take private lessons and didn't take them very seriously. I loved to play but hated to practice.

 

Freddie's room is a hardcore crucible of brass: his chair, music stand and horn are at the center, surrounded by stacks of lead sheets and method books. His walls are festooned with festival posters and images of great jazzmen. On his desk a laptop computer is open to an overstuffed iTunes library. Two speakers face the practice chair.

 

I spent a couple of hours trading riffs with Freddie, and am astonished by his proficiency on the horn and his familiarity with the nuances of the jazz language. He's already familiar with every classic recording I mention, and he seems to own nearly all the available Aebersold and music-minus-one collections of standards. He has a remarkably sophisticated ear for modern harmony and can toss off bebop clichés over complex changes at bright tempos. He listens to all the same jazz heroes I do, plus the latest recordings by Alex Sipiagin, Ambrose Akinmusire and Billy Buss. He already knows the tunes, licks and lore that I learned in my five years at Berklee.

 

The other night I invited Freddie to sit-in with me and the band on "Invitation." The audience was knocked out. He played a mature solo, including some very creative motivic development. After the set, Freddie was appropriately gracious and grateful, pausing to individually thank each member of the rhythm section. He even possesses enough charm to balance all that swagger.

 

After 30 years in music, I'm now at an age when I think it's important to pay it forward. It's been my belief that I have a responsibility to share what I've learned over the course of my life and career, and to mentor and encourage the next generation of musicians.

 

But if they're at all like Freddie, I don't have the time. 

 

I need to practice. 

— D.M.

IMPRESSIONABLE 



When I was young and asking the big questions, I learned most of what I still believe about loyalty, bravery and morality from the Silver Age superheroes in my comic book collection.

 

For real.

 

In later years I would travel internationally, study world religions, read classic works of philosophy and ethics, and even pay attention to my father's many lectures. I went to private school, public school, boarding school and the school of hard knocks. I'm an educated cat.

 

But to this day, when the world tests my mettle or challenges my sense of right and wrong, it's not Spinoza but my inner Green Lantern who shows up for the fight.

 

I've always been impressionable in this way. 

 

For example, I'm pretty sure I have a goatee because of the way Spock looked in "Mirror, Mirror." I know I started wearing dashikis in high school because of a picture I saw of Elvin Jones in Downbeat. I sport a beret on stage because Dizzy did.

 

Today, while watching Highlander for the godzillionth time, I noticed something about Christopher Lambert's home. Like so many characters in films of the 1980s and '90s, The Highlander lived in a loft.

 

It now occurs to me that my interior design preferences and bone-deep love of warehouse loft spaces and mid-century modern furniture are not based on anywhere I've lived or anything I've seen or studied. They don't reflect some sophisticated notion about the aesthetic requirements of an artist's life. They aren't because I need space to rehearse and create.

 

Nope. I learned about loft living from the movies. Dig: 

 

William Sanderson in Blade Runner (1982). Jennifer Beals in Flashdance (83). Lambert in Highlander (86). Barbara Hershey in Hannah and Her Sisters (86). Mickey Rourke in 9-1/2 Weeks (86). Tom Hanks in Big (88). Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally (89). Rosanna Arquette in New York Stories (89). Nancy Travis in So I Married An Axe Murderer (93). James Caan in Bottle Rocket (96). Ethan Hawke in Great Expectations (98). Julianne Moore in The Big Lebowski (98). Adam Sandler in Big Daddy (99). Christian Bale in American Psycho (00). Owen Wilson in Zoolander (01). Olivier Martinez in Unfaithful (02).

 

I want their cribs!

 

Thanks, Hollywood.

 

(Sure hope this flugelhorn thing works out.)

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