Tag Archives: saxophone

One Foot Out

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One of this blog’s tropes is stylistic diversity. This is for myriad reasons, with the biggest being:
• I’ve loved and listened to a wide array of music my whole life.
• As a performer, I participate in a variety of styles and environments.
• I believe that the best music/art is often that which crosses or transcends style and genre.

The second point above makes for interesting misconceptions in conversation with many other musicians, oddly enough. More often than not, it seems that, according to many musicians, having one foot planted in a style and another outside of it is roughly the same as having both feet planted outside of the style in question. I’m sure it partly stems from the fact that I play saxophone, classical music’s bastard instrument par excellence. Academically, on paper, I’m a classical saxophonist by trade, but that only scratches the surface. I also studied and perform jazz, and there’s of course rock, ambient, and many others. (While I didn’t “formally study” rock music – a funny thought – I’ve enjoyed a lifelong education “on the streets,” as it were.) And yet, whenever I’m in a seemingly like group, there’s often a subtle implication – perhaps subconsciously so – that I’m “from” or “represent” another style. I’m not at all offended by it, but it’s noteworthy and, to me, rather odd. Actually, its consistency is rather entertaining.

I suppose part of it has to do with my instrument, as it’s so strongly identified with jazz. Consequently, that seems to be everyone’s initial impulse, which I can understand. However, you’d think that after performing for or with folks that they’d have a different opinion. And it’s far from just a “jazz thing.” Some examples:
• In rock circles, I’m the jazz guy
• In jazz circles, I’m the classical guy
• In classical circles, I’m the rock and/or jazz guy
• In ambient circles, I’m the jazz and/or classical guy
• In non-ambient circles, any mention of ambient music is met with a furrowed brow

I don’t really begrudge anyone for it, particularly if we’re just meeting. However, it’s fascinating when, much of the time, the aforementioned “circles” including those with whom I perform. If we’re on the same stage doing the same thing, is there not a musical bond taking place? Why continue with the “other” labeling? And there’s nothing wrong with a musician staying largely within one style of music. There are pros and cons to both approaches.

Interestingly enough, this extends beyond performing and somewhat into blogging. I’ve submitted this blog to the The Big List of Classical Music Blogs a couple times over the last year and it’s not been included. I’m sure it’s because this blog isn’t only about classical music, and that’s fine. It’s also noteworthy that saxophonists’ blogs are poorly represented on the site. The Big List… is a great resource if you’re looking for classical music-oriented blogs from a variety of perspectives. I regularly skim through the listings to add new blogs to my RSS reader that I may have missed. However, it’s curious that a number of those listed have been dormant for years, and others occasionally veer off into topics other than classical music: politics, history, culture, jazz, gender studies, etc. Apparently writing about music outside of the Western Classical Tradition is a bridge too far. Funnily enough, some of the posts that have driven the most traffic and/or new subscribers to this blog – as well as receiving noteworthy plugs – have been on classical music: Richard Wagner, Einstein on the Beach, my PRISM Quartet album review, and more.

There are, of course, a number of musicians who do “get it,” and that’s often because they’re also chameleons of sorts. The thing is is that even though we feel at home in a number of differing styles, we’re aesthetic nomads – homeless and always on the move. In that case, it’s good to have both feet out of the box and ready to get moving…

(For other related posts on style, see here, here, and here.)

My Ambient Canon I

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Throughout the last few months, Matt and I have discussed – in interviews and conversations – our individual and collective influences vis-à-vis ambient music, particularly Convocation. This topic kicked off in a big way while in Philadelphia, being surrounded there by a strong, deeply knowledgeable ambient music community. Much of the time, we explained that our artistic models were different than what others had inferred. One trope was the fact that, individually, our original, primary influences are not ambient per se. Ambient traits abound, however there’s a lack of ambient artists atop each of our own personal canons.

Many of this blog’s Constant Readers know of Matt Borghi‘s long, deep immersion in the ambient scene. (If you’re not a regular visitor here but are reading this post, then you probably knew that anyway.) Before I met Matt I was peripherally aware of ambient music as a specific genre with countless sub-niches. Yeah, I bought Ambient Music 1: Music for Airports long ago, and I knew about Eno generally, but not much else of his ilk outside of various electronic artists and experimental rock. And, given my classical background, I was literate in related ambient-friendly styles: Minimalism (e.g., my passion for Einstein on the Beach), neo-Minimalists such as Michael Nyman and Arvo Pärt, electronic/computer music (electronique & concrete), various world musics, and the list goes on. But when I met Matt in 2008 I quickly learned of ambient music’s depth and breadth. Without explicitly setting out to do so, he has provided me an ambient apprenticeship which, arguably, continues today. He introduced me to not only his own extensive discography (partial list here) but also to Harold Budd, Steve Roach, and others. And of course we’ve been playing ambient music all the while, leading up to and including the aforementioned Convocation and our recently-released Awaken the Electric Air.

What makes this worth writing about, of course, is that I’m a saxophonist. Saxophone is far from a fixture in ambient music, and therefore we get a lot of interesting comparisons in reviews, interviews, and conversations. The most common reference is ECM titan Jan Garbarek. I wrote a “New Listen” about him here, and that marked my first listening to him as a leader. Aside from his work with Keith Jarrett or the Hilliard Ensemble, I can’t say I’m much more familiar with his solo work now than I was after writing that post, for whatever reason. (And I really dig his work with Jarrett…) Anyway, Jan is nowhere near my mind when playing with Matt. If I’m thinking of any ECM saxophonist, it’s probably either Charles Lloyd (MTH-V here) or Tore Brunborg (praise here). (Or, if I make enough of a leap, Dave Liebman, as he did record two Lookout Farm albums with ECM in the 70s.) Others compare my playing to that of Theo Travis, one of the few “ambient saxophonists.” He and I are part of a VERY small community, and I hadn’t heard of him until Mike Hunter suggested him to me while setting up for our Star’s End performance. I’ve since become acquainted with Travis & (Robert) Fripp’s Thread. Personally, I don’t think my playing sounds anything like Jan or Theo. And I’m by no means saying I sound better – definitely not the case. We’re just different. (Come on…Garbarek is a virtuoso, and I wouldn’t dare be so presumptuous or delusional as to think that I’m in the same league. Please.)

Of course, I understand the desire to throw out Garbarek and Travis references. One just doesn’t see saxophone in ambient music, so visually there’s very little to associate our music with when seeing us performing in an ambient context. Acoustic instruments are a rarity in this style, and the saxophone is almost anathema. Also, the Jan comparison is curious because, at least to my knowledge, he’s not at all an ambient musician. But he’s a saxophonist and the best-selling artist (along with Keith Jarrett) on ECM, a label with ambient-friendly tendencies. If playing six degrees of separation, I suppose that one would have a case.

As mentioned, neither ambient saxophone nor ambient artists are on my mind when playing in this style. In order to have an idea of what is informing my ambient work, it’s best to start at the beginning. To do that, I’ve done a fair amount of working through musical traits and nuances I glommed onto that could be described as being “ambient.” Much of this digging started in conversation with Matt during our 10-hour trek back from the Echoes studio to our homes in East Lansing, and I’ve since given much thought to the matter. Given that, I’d like to devote an occasional series of posts to this topic over the next several weeks or months, time permitting. If nothing else, it’ll help me to provide myself with some additional ammunition in future interviews. 🙂

As a primer of sorts, here are links to two recently-aired interviews in which Matt and I both touch on this subject. The first is our Echoes interview, which was chosen as the weekly podcast for January 9. The second is of a recent interview on WKAR FM’s Current State, broadcast from MSU in East Lansing.

Echoes interview: podcast link in iTunes — official page & description
Current State interview: stream here

Further posts on canon here and saxophone style here.

Dave Liebman at the 2013 Detroit Jazz Festival

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This past weekend was something special: three disparate sets by Dave Liebman over as many days and stages at the Detroit Jazz Festival. I mentioned my excitement in my last post, and the performances met and exceeded the hype. Not only was it three days of The Master, but each performance featured a group I hadn’t before seen live.

Saturday’s headliner at the JP Morgan Chase Main Stage was Saxophone Summit: Lieb, Joe Lovano, Ravi Coltrane, Billy Hart, Cecil McBee, and Phil Markowitz. This burnin’ 75-minute set consisted of four tunes from the group’s debut album Gathering of Spirits: “Alexander the Great,” “The 12th Man,” “Tricycle,” and Trane’s “India.” After a bit of a loose start – mainly because of sound – it was off to the races with “Alexander the Great,” and the momentum let up not once. It may have just been the mix (i.e., balance) but it sounded as if the scoring was a bit different in parts. Either way I liked it. Cecil McBee’s dark bass lines gave the set a sinister undertone which I greatly enjoyed, and Jabali‘s driving yet unpredictable drumming continually propelled the group forward. And hats off to Phil Markowitz for such tasteful accompanying. He’s unafraid to both fill out the texture with dense harmonies and not play at all, and he knows exactly when to do both. “Tricycle” was perhaps the highlight, as each saxophonist got an opportunity to play in his own style – separate from the others – within the same piece. Lieb and Markowitz played a lovely improvised duo that could be transcribed and held up against most contemporary classical compositions; Lovano nimbly let loose over McBee and Hart’s drunken dance; Coltrane and Hart created an intense, fiery atmosphere reminiscent of the elder Trane and Elvin Jones. This led into Trane’s “India,” featuring Ravi on sopranino (with a great tone, something rarely heard on that instrument!), Lovano on tenor, and Lieb on soprano (and wood flute for the intro). Whatever was left of the metaphorical roof was decimated with Liebman’s final solo and Billy Hart’s drumming.

liebrich
(photo by me)

Sunday’s set at the Absopure Pyramid Stage was a duo performance by Lieb and longtime collaborator Richie Beirach. I was particularly excited for this concert because one of the first Liebman recordings I remember experiencing was Tribute to John Coltrane, which features a superb duo performance of “After the Rain” into “Naima.” (And, having purchased so many Lookout Farm, Quest, and other related recordings since then, I was ready to see the real deal in person.) They kicked off their hour set with a lovely tenor/piano rendition of “‘Round Midnight” that traveled quite a stylistic journey: a gentle ballad to bookend frenetic, chromatic solos, finished off with an exploratory cadenza. Liebman showed that, while he’s a Mt. Rushmore-level soprano saxophonist, he’s also dangerous on the tenor. Next was Beirach’s haunting “Testament,” followed by Wayne Shorter’s “Prince of Darkness” and an intense “Footprints.” Their duo rendition of “Footprints” was more intense than most versions I’ve heard by full groups, with Lieb’s characteristic soprano stylings and the pair’s ultra-chromatic approach in full flight. Closing out the set was Liebman’s “Tender” and the Quest classic “Pendulum.” The latter was a nice whetting of the audience’s appetite for the next day’s performance.

quest
(photo by me)

On Monday, Quest was featured at the Carhartt Ampitheater Stage, and it was a wonderful way to complete this triptych. Quest is a hard-charging acoustic quartet consisting of Liebman, Beirach, Billy Hart, and Ron McClure. Originally running from the early ’80s to ’91, Lieb exclusively played soprano with the group until the 2005 reunion. Living in Michigan, I thought I’d never be able to see this group without traveling to the east coast or overseas. (I’ve contemplated the former once or twice in the past.) Seeing them perform was a masterclass in ensemble communication. (The same could be said for the Lieb/Beirach duo and the now-defunct Dave Liebman Group.) Their musical empathy with one another allows for near telepathy, making the music unpredictable. They play without a safety net, and as a listener you know you’ll enjoy wherever they take you, even if it’s a complete mystery. They opened the set with a no-holds-barred “Pendulum” – their de facto theme – with Liebman on tenor. After the melody’s opening salvo, the group took off. Slowing things down a bit, next up was a treat for me: the Lookout Farm-era “M.D.” (Liebman). Of course, even Quest’s “slower” moments are rife with intensity, but they followed that up with a “Footprints” that took no prisoners – I thought his poor soprano would explode – and a “Re-Dial” that featured a complex collective improvisation. Beirach then demonstrated his command of both composition and improvisation on “Elm,” a beautiful ballad and now standard. (Or, rather, what best suits this quartet as a “ballad,” something still too strong for some listeners.) Much to my surprise, the group then played Ornette Coleman’s “Lonely Woman,” featuring Lieb playing the wooden flute exclusively. In my review of DLG’s Ornette Plus – is mine really the only review of that album? – I praised DLG’s ability to create an almost electronic soundscape. Well, Quest may have one-upped that rendition, as they created a complementary haunting atmosphere with Lieb at the helm but with acoustic instruments. No pulse, just flowing sound and texture. It was definitely a highlight of the weekend. They then concluded their set with a version Wayne Shorter’s “Paraphernalia” that made Circular Dreaming‘s studio cut seem tame. Each time Billy Hart played his fleeting rock rhythms, I’m sure Danny Carey and Vinnie Paul felt a tremor in The Force. I’m surprised the stage remained standing at the performance’s end.

Needless to say, it was an amazing weekend. (…and I didn’t even discuss the great performances by Charles Lloyd and John Scofield!) I know that Dave is often considered “a musician’s musician,” which he definitely is, but I’m confident that he garnered many new fans over the weekend at the world’s largest free jazz festival. The NEA Jazz Master consistently demonstrated to the Detroit audience why he deserves to be counted among the pantheon of the jazz greats.

Beyond the Horn

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(NOTE: I’m aware that some sweeping generalizations are made here. I intend to deeply sift through this further down the road.)

I play many different styles of music. Regular readers may already know this but, for example, in the last six months I’ve gigged in the following styles: Americana, folk/singer-songwriter, cocktail/wallpaper jazz, “jam band” (for lack of better term – improvisatory rock), sound/ambient, musical theater (Annie), rock. And I’m already in the process of lining up further disparate gigs over the next few months. I’m well aware that I’m not unique for doing so. A number of my colleagues and peers do the same, and there are many musicians in general that do so. However, one supposedly “limiting” factor is that I’m doing all of these gigs on saxophone (tenor, soprano, alto; plus the occasional flute and/or clarinet).

The jazz-, musical theater-, and classical-oriented stuff is no big thing in the sense that there’s already a place for me. In the latter two cases, the music is precisely notated in such a way that there should be no deviation from one performance to the next. In jazz, the history and vocabulary provides a natural context for the horn regardless of who I’m playing with. However, many of the other styles – notably rock, indie, and others of such ilk – aren’t common settings for my instrument. And in those cases where sax is often used, especially in older rhythm and blues and rock and roll styles, it’s performed in such a specific manner that eschewing such conventions – growling, squealing, blues-ing – can be jarring. It’s not that I dislike such affectations – quite the opposite – but over time they created a box that largely remains today.

Over the last four decades, the saxophone has been a sort of cameo rock instrument. (Before then it was often a staple.) When present it is noticeable. It usually seems to be the case that it’s “band + saxophone” as opposed to a band that happens to have a saxophone as a mainstay. There are of course exceptions to this rule – my beloved Dave Matthews Band springs to mind. In the case of DMB, the sax originally substituted the position of lead guitar (trading such responsibilities with violin). Also with DMB, the music has enough jazz-, jam-, or crossover influence to comfortably allow a variety of instruments to fit in. Another band known for marathon concerts, Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band, of course features sax (the late Clarence Clemons, now his nephew Jake Clemons and Eddie Manion). However, even with The E Street Band, the heavy guitar presence sort of places the sax within the aforementioned box. (Disclaimer: I’m not intimately familiar with Springsteen’s deep cuts, but these are my impressions having explored his catalogue as much as I have.) Just picking one song off the top of my head, “Rosalita” definitely follows in the “rock sax” tradition. Even Pink Floyd‘s use of the saxophone stayed mainly within this vain – e.g., “Money,” “Us and Them,” and “Shine On You Crazy Diamond Pt. 1” (the latter being perhaps my favorite PF song). There’s even a hint of it in Ron Holloway’s playing with The Warren Haynes Band (last week’s MTH-V). Or you could just listen to some George Thorogood. Or Bob Seger. Or…you get the picture…

It’s worth reiterating that I have nothing against the above sax examples or style at large. For the most part, I quite like all of them. But they passively reinforce the stereotypical “rock sax” sound – a near-anachronistic rhythm and blues punch in the face of the 70s, 80s, 90s, or 2000s listener. It’s as if the saxophone stayed in the fifties and sixties while rock continued to evolve alongside it over the next four decades.

Whenever I play with a rock band – sitting in or regularly – I’m compared, consciously or otherwise, to this tradition. (And I mean a real rock/pop band, not just a funk/fusion band that features an electric guitar.) Though I always appreciate it, I can’t help but laugh a little each time I’m told something to the effect of, “I didn’t know what to expect when I saw the saxophone” or “that was really good [or different, in a positive way]!” Because I know that that comparison took place at some point in the performance, even if only for a few milliseconds. And why shouldn’t it? That old R&B – the real R&B: rhythm and blues – sound is deeply embedded in that aural combination of “band + saxophone.”

By no means do I think I’m going where no saxophonist has gone before by avoiding this hangup. To cite a current example, one of the many things I love about Bon Iver‘s sophomore album is Colin Stetson‘s saxophonic contributions. (“MTH-V” on Bon Iver is here.) He plays throughout the material but is rarely at the sonic forefront – his presence is felt as well as heard. And his choice to mostly play the bass saxophone (with some alto and clarinet thrown in for good measure) is definitely unique in a rock setting. He is effective because he adds another noticeable, functional layer without sonically drawing attention to himself. If you were to just sit down and listen to Bon Iver straight through, you wouldn’t necessarily consider it “band + saxophone” (or “band + French horn,” etc.), but rather just a band.

(There are of course other modern/recent examples – Morphine springs to mind.)

When I’m playing with a band – rock, folk, jazz, or anything remotely along those lines – I don’t necessarily think of myself as the saxophonist per se. Instead I’m just another musician in either a lead or supporting role. Or both. Idealistic? Perhaps. But it has an effect on my thinking and consequently my playing. This of course is part of trying to find one’s “authentic voice,” to quote George Carlin. A primary goal for any musician or artist of any kind is to hone one’s craft to the point of developing an original voice/POV. This shouldn’t exist in a vacuum – ideally I should sound like me regardless of style. As I’ve said many times before, I grew up on rock and pop music. The sound is buried in my DNA. If anything I just see myself as another guitarist without getting hung up on the instrument hanging from my neck.

In Teag & PK, for instance, I have a lot of room to explore. There are just two of us – Matt (guitars, vocals, effects, electronics) and myself (saxes, flute) – and we cover a lot of stylistic ground from experimental ambience to straight-ahead songs. (More on that here and here.) The ambient improvisations are “easier” than the songs in the sense that the sonic landscape is wide open and there’s mostly no form. The more indie-esque songs are challenging at first because it’s often tricky to figure out where and how to implement a monodic instrument without getting in the way of Matt’s chords and voice. We can’t always have countermelodies – that’d get old fast. And I don’t want to just stand there as the de facto soloist in the final act of every song. So instead I find other ways to fit and truly collaborate: subtone a bass line, offer responsorial phrases, play an occasional counter-melody, regularly switch instrumental for timbral effect, etc. In a number of songs I’m able to fill out our sound without distracting from Matt’s singing; it’s truly a duo instead of an alternating singer and soloist.

Regarding straight-ahead rock, I’ve recently been sitting in with The Fencemen. (They’re rock with a capital R-A-W-K.) It started as a one-off recording contribution but I’ve since sat in on a couple live shows. As a bit of an experiment on their part (I’m guessing), they gave me carte blanche on the last gig’s entire set. I did my homework – happily so; their upcoming debut album is great – and did what I thought was best for each song. The band’s instrumentation of vocals, guitar, bass, drums, and keys is already sufficiently full, so above all else I intended to stay out of the band’s way. I gave myself some legitimate “parts” that simply enhanced the texture in some areas, other times I soloed. And other times I simply acted as a second guitarist, complementing the primary guitar parts. At no time did I stress over where to put a saxophone. Instead I thought about where I, not my instrument, would fit. (And if the answer was nowhere I’d lay out.) I didn’t want to just add sound for the sake of adding sound. I wanted to do fit inside what was already there. And it seemed to work. (For the most part, at least.)

Understandably, the above two examples may not seem like much. But I can tell you that, from a horn player’s perspective, the impulse to play a lot of notes is enormous and difficult to temper initially. In classical and jazz ensembles the saxophone often has a busy, featured part. This creates a sort of default mentality of always needing to play similarly in all settings. And on top of wanting to let the fingers fly, a trap I’ve seen a number of people fall into is a stylistic misunderstanding. It’s not uncommon to see a horn player execute jazz licks within pop music. (I guess that whole “knowing your predecessors” thing only applies to jazz and classical styles?) I’m sure part of it may just be the natural defaulting to what he/she knows best. Beyond that, I’m convinced that part of the reasoning is also a mindset that focuses on a traditionally “jazz” or “classical” instrument juxtaposing with a pop style. This then reinforces the reverting to type that often occurs.

I’m not going to allow my choice of instrument limit my choice of style. It’s not that I have “guitar envy.” Obviously I love the saxophone or I wouldn’t have spent all these years devoted to it. In fact, in full disclosure, I’ve played in the aforementioned “rock sax” style a number of times – sometimes that really is the best option. But often it’s definitely not the only option. An instrument is just a means of expression, not an end. And despite all my rage I won’t be just another horn in a cage…

(Photo: Meat Loaf as Eddie in Rocky Horror Picture Show. Duh.)

Gear

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I recently decided I wanted to invest in some new hardware for a couple of my saxophones. There are a couple ligatures and mouthpieces that need to be improved upon if not replaced. On top of that, I’ve recently been experimenting with different tenor reeds. While many  saxophonists would find this sort of thing exciting, I don’t.

I’m not a gearhead. Never have been, and likely never will be. I occasionally like to know what certain saxophonists use only out of intellectual curiosity, but it ends there. I care about my own setup of course, but to a certain extent. All of my saxophones and related hardware are of course professional grade, but I’ve never been one to be on the constant search for the “perfect” mouthpiece, neck, etc. Everything I have was selected after much testing and comparing (e.g., my alto saxophone was the best of 13 I play-tested; mouthpieces, etc. were also similarly chosen). Changes have been made along the way, however I tend to largely work with what I have. And even though I have all Selmer saxophones, that is because those are what I was happiest with when shopping around. The Selmer v. Yamaha (Selmer v. Yamaha v. Yanagisawa v. Keilwerth) debate interests me as much as the Apple v. PC v. Linux debate, which is to say not at all.

For many of my peers and colleagues (past and present), such an investment is just the beginning. I can’t tell you how many other saxophonists I know who have spent years searching for the next perfect mouthpiece, reed, ligature, neck, and even horn. Really? Really. I can understand it to an extent. Instrument technology is continually improving, often allowing for more options and flexibility. However, unlike advancements in computer technology, new models don’t necessarily negate their predecessors. I’m sure that if one took all the time spent thumbing through catalogues and/or vendor websites and spent it practicing tone fundamentals, a relatively similar amount of progress may occur.

Before anyone tells me that I think gear is completely irrelevant, allow me to say that I do think it matters, but only to a degree. I believe that once a certain threshold is met, user error is more to blame than mechanical error. Tone and projection can be affected a myriad of ways by a new/different mouthpiece, and that, coupled with personal taste, means that not everyone will play the same thing. When it comes right down to it, you sound like you. If you’re happy with your sound, great. If not, perhaps its time to look in the mirror as opposed to your instrument case. A few anecdotes that have stuck with me:

• In 2003 I saw James Carter milling around the vendor area at World Saxophone Congress XIII. JC is arguably the best technician of the instrument alive today, and he attended the conference (an almost exclusively classical event) simply to test horns, mouthpieces, etc. Being a big fan, I loitered around the vendor area just to hear him do his thing, free and up close. And no matter what he played, he sounded unmistakably like James Carter. I saw walk by one table and presented with a neck screw by one vendor who claimed it would really free up his sound. (!?!) Carter gave him an ARE YOU HIGH? look, tested a horn with and without the magical screw, and claimed nothing changed.

• In 2006 I saw the Dave Liebman Group at Ann Arbor’s (unfortunately extinct) The Firefly. They played two sets, and during the first set I noticed Lieb was playing on a new Yamaha tenor (either an EX or Z model) which was brought by a regional Yamaha representative to court the guru. For the second set, he switched back to his standard Keilwerth (his partner) tenor and still sounded like Lieb. (I attended the show with my friend Drew Whiting, and we both noticed a slight timbral difference at the very bottom of the horn’s range, but we’re both saxophonists and were visually cued to listen in for a difference.) Although Liebman’s tone has changed over the last four decades, I would hardly attribute it to one or two of the hundreds, if not thousands, of iterations his setup has undergone through the years.)

• Throughout my undergraduate study, I had a classmate who was obsessed with mouthpieces, reeds, and ligatures. Every few months his setup would change slightly. (Occasionally he would say something to the effect of, “James Carter plays on _____ mouthpiece. I’m going to get it.”) All that time and money invested in continuing to basically sound like himself, squeaks and all. JC was nowhere to be found. I’m sure one cause for the long-term occasional chirping was that his muscles and mind were unable to focus on his sound via one specific setup.

That being said, my temporary search for new gear continues. Regardless of how annoying it may be (though it of course is always fun to get a new toy of some sort), I can rest assured that purchasing the next ligature or mouthpiece will mark the end of this search, not the beginning of another.

(Pictured above: My toys.)