Rockin in Rhythm

In 1999 my high school jazz band celebrated the centennial anniversary of Duke Ellington. For months we played nothing but Ellington, slow and breezy jazz that made you want to put on a derby hat and strut your stuff toward the dame in the long, flowing skirt. My jazz teacher had hoped that we'd get into enough of a WWII style to be one of the top 20 bands participating in a chance to play an Ellington tribute concert with Wynton Marsalis. Because, see, they only chose the top 20.

My jazz band finished 22nd (and though our fatally weak scores came in the song that featured myself on flugelhorn*, I refuse to take any of the blame), so we weren't going to the Lincoln Center. But we had all these Ellington pieces prepared, and we had to do something with them. So we booked our local music theater, rented some tuxedos, and sold tickets for the Tate Jazz Band's Tribute to Ellington.

Of course, we weren't the only high school to notice the 100th anniversary of the Dukester. Other podunk jazz bands around the area offered similar concerts to ours, but we had a trump card up our sleeves: we were gonna find a household name (in the jazz community, which means about 400 people have heard of him) to come play with us.

I give my jazz teacher credit, because he reached high and got his first choice: Ellis Marsalis, father of Wynton, Branford (of The Tonight Show fame) and a few other talented musicians. From the moment Ellis arrived into town, he took the upcoming performance very seriously. He never smiled, just sat down in front of the piano and played. And he expected you to be serious too. For Ellis, a tribute to Ellington required you to set time for fun aside and work hard to play solid, beautiful jazz.

During the concert Mr. Connell pointed to me and my friend Andrew, and we knew what he wanted. We were in the middle of a solo section, and the time had come for Andrew and me to perform one of our infamous "call-and-responses." After minutes of standard, tasteful jazz improvisations, Andrew shocked the audience by blasting a furious flurry of high-squealed and low-growled trumpet. A few seconds later, I would follow by mimicking his barely sensical rant verbatim-- I guess this is the time to confess my superpower: I have quasi-perfect pitch, which allows me to hear music, identify the pitches, and immediately replay them to you.

The audience had a blast with our insane rendition of a call-and-response. For a moment we weren't playing Ellington; we were playing Anthony and Andrew. As the applause hit its apex I looked over to Andrew. He was bopping his head and the thumbs up pointed in my direction. Then I looked at Ellis (I can call him Ellis). I'll never forget his surly smirk, one a teacher gives to the kid making fart noises during the spelling bee. Ellis had dedicated his entire life to music, as well as his week to us, and he expected us to take the concert as seriously as he did.

But I never played jazz for the sacredness of the music, nor did I play for the complex compositions, the camaraderie, or the chicks. I played for the simple reason that I found it fun and enjoyable. And that's why I'm again practicing, and that's why tonight I jammed (with the fellas from Swayback) for the first time in four years, and that's why one day I'll again perform music for people.

*If you had any doubt before that I was a geek, I think using the word "flugelhorn" in my blog sealed the deal.