Last week included the final performance of The French Henchmen for a while, as my partner in crime is heading to grad school at Indiana University. It was a successful gig, and we were quite solid. Over the last year, we’ve enjoyed a twice-a-month residency at The Brass Cafe & Saloon, along with various other gigs. Furthermore, though the group is now a duo, The French Henchmen actually started out as a trio with Pat Harris (my musical other) in 2004, and we’ve played together in various groups since 2003. In other words, we’ve done a lot of playing together through the years. And it shows.

There really is no substitute for time. I’ve played in many short-lived groups with regular, involved rehearsal regimens, and the product has usually been pretty good. In fact, Nate and I used to rehearse many hours each week together in various groups. However, the simple fact that we’ve played and performed together for six years does so much for our musical interaction, and no amount of rehearsal with another, younger group could replace that. Over time we have developed a particular repertoire, sound, and niche that sets The French Henchmen apart. Along with that, the countless hours we’ve played together have allowed us to musically communicate in a way that makes words unnecessary, and we’re consistently able to take familiar tunes to new places and surprise even ourselves.

Part of me is being nostalgic, as I’ll miss performing as The French Henchmen on a regular basis (though future gigs are definitely in the works). And I’m obviously partial to the group, as I’m 50% of the ensemble. But stepping back from those two points, the fact remains that a big reason (arguably the biggest) for the group’s success is time. Rehearsing is good, as are gigs. However, allowing time and patience for a group to cultivate a sound and persona are irreplaceable, and something for which there is no shortcut.

I sat in with Ann Arbor’s First Flight the other night, and received a very nice compliment afterwards. Someone commented that it was nice to have a horn player that rhythmically interacted with the rhythm section. Now, I’m not saying I have it all figured out, but it was nice to be noticed for something I have worked to develop.

Relating to that point, in jazz-related styles, I often consider the “rhythm section” to really include the entire ensemble. Among many of my musical peers (not “pros,” but working musicians getting on their feet), this seems to be a point that is lost on them. Too often are horn players ready to simply stand up and move their fingers, with an emphasis on melodic flare as opposed to musical interaction.

For those who don’t agree, consider this: if you’re not playing with your fellow musicians, then why are you standing on stage with them in the first place?

I just got home from a gig in which I was powerfully reminded of why I make music. The couple of weeks leading up to this particular group’s performance have been quite trying, and, to be honest, I was dreading it. However, within about seven minutes I forgot about all of the stress and strain leading up to that moment, and I could do nothing but enjoy the music I was making with my bandmates for the remaining eighty minutes. The four of us were lost in the music, expressing thoughts and feelings that only our collective sounds could convey, and aware of nothing else.

That is why I keep at it.