My bass trombone brings all the girls to my yard
Oh, would that it were really the case. I don't think most people think of the bass trombone as "sexy". They're probably intrigued by the concept when they first hear of it, then get disappointed when they see that it doesn't look all that different from a regular (tenor) trombone. And while the trombone is frequently seen as a "dirty" instrument, I don't necessarily equate that with "sexy". But what instruments are sexy? The saxophone seems to be an obvious choice, but I like a little understatement. But an understated saxophone would be a clarinet, which doesn't do much for me. Hmm...If you care to consider the act of playing the instrument, things get interesting...
If we take the guitar to be a giant phallic symbol, as I have often (read: twice) seen it described, then the act of playing the guitar becomes overtly masturbatory. This is true not only of the 15-minute guitar solo, but also rhythm guitar, (sorry, Pete) bass, and all other guitar variants. All the reed instruments are equally blatantly fellatious. Frankly, I don't know what to make of brass instruments in this context, despite my intimate familiarity (not "intimate" like that, ya perv!) with the family. String instruments also baffle me. The percussion instruments are raw sexual energy unleashed. You can only bang on them for a few minutes at a time before it gets to be too much, but oh, what noise! I guess my money's on the piano, then. Playing the piano is typically more like foreplay -- we speak of "tickling the ivories". Still, it can rise up and be just as physical as the drums.
But I didn't come here to talk about the sexual characteristics of various musical instruments; I came here to talk about myself. Picking up where I left off in the first paragraph, while I don't think the bass trombone is sexy in and of itself, I do think that I personally can put on a good show with the instrument.
I've been playing to bass trombone for ten years now, and I think I approach the instrument differently from most other bass trombonists. The most important facet of my sound is not being big and powerful in the low register, but having a rich, gorgeous tone in narly all registers. Most bass trombonists will endeavor to make you lose bowel control with their low notes, while my aim is to bathe you in sound. And my technique, while quite good, has never been something I try to show off.
For as long as I've been playing bass trombone, I've been playing in jazz bands (actually, I played in jazz bands before taking up the bass trombone, but it wasn't until I switched to bass bone that the bands started getting remotely serious in musical intent), and for as long as I've been playing in jazz bands, I've been an eager improviser. I'd say that 65% of the folks in the jazz bands at TJ were completely scared of improvising, 20% were willing but incompetent, and 15% of us both wanted to improvise, and had some idea what we were doing. In ten years of improvising bass trombone solos, I've found that my best solos are either the blues, or something, well, sexy (and the blues can be sexy, too). My sophomore year at TJ, when I was playing bass in both Jazz I and Jazz II (because I just couldn't get enough), I had an 8-bar solo in a ballad we were playing in Jazz II. The first time I played that solo in rehearsal, Mr. Simon turned to me and said, "Who was that for?" with a conspiratorial grin. Now, if you knew about my exploits in high school, you'd know that the answer to that was definitely a reounding "nobody," but Phil wouldn't believe me. Clearly, I had to have some special lady in mind to play like that. At least two of my personal Top 5 best solos I've ever played are on bossas -- in my opinion, one of the sexiest jaxx styles around -- specifically, "The Good Life" at a Duke Jazz Ensemble concert in 2002 and "Triste" at the small jazz band concert last semester. I'll bet that "Recorda Me," another bossa, will be another one of my Top 5 when we perform later this semester. If there's one thing I know how to do on bass trombone, it's how to play sexy.
So, why am I spending so much time talking about how sexy I can be on the bass trombone? Am I trolling for attention from the ladyfolk? Hardly. My female audience is too small, too far away, and knows me too well for such advertisement to be effective. Rather, I meant for this to lead into me talking about the concert I gave on Tuesday night...
This was the fifth and final concert in the nine-day-long Tufts Composers Festival. The first week, each of the second-year students (Ryan Vigil, Matt Snook, and Russ Gershon) had a full concert to present their thesis compositions as well as other pieces in their oeuvres, and the second week was devoted to shared concerts with the first-year students (Felipe Lara, Marco Visconti-Prasca, and myself). Since there were 3 of us for the second week, Marco and Felipe shared one concert, and I sort of got paired up with my professor, John McDonald. I say "sort of" because our concert featured 4 works by me, 2 by John, and one each by two guest composers: Boston-based Julia Werntz, and Anthony Kelley, my own composition teacher from Duke. Interestingly, though Anthony made the 13-hour drive (with overnight stops in DC and NYC) to come to the concert, which he would have done even if we weren't playing his piece, (Anthony said he would come as soon as he heard I was sharing the concert, which then prompted John to program one of his works) Julia Werntz was not able to make it across town. I'm sure she had her reasons.
My works included a set of 4 short preludes for piano, two sets of 3 studies each for horn and bassoon, and my newly-completed Sonata for Bass Trombone and Piano. Now, I stand by each and every one of my pieces. The piano preludes are small but well-constructed, and have obvious audience appeal -- I give the listener plenty of tunes to hang zir hat on, and rich harmony -- and the horn and bassoon studies are somewhat experimental but surprisingly effective. But the most important piece for me was the bass trombone sonata. At 15 minutes, it was longer than the other three pieces combined, (and those had a combined total of 10 movements -- my work frequently tends toward the small-scale) and, more importantly, it was my first full-scale work for my primary instrument. I played it myself, with John at the piano (he is an excellent pianist, and wound up playing about 15 works on the 5-concert series, (incidentally, I think I came in second for most pieces played at 5 -- 3 on bass trombone, 2 spoken word -- in 4 concerts) most of which he did on very little rehearsal), and it went very well. I'm not sure how we managed it in performance -- the first movement had a lot of high notes and skips that I could never quite get through, the third movement was derailed in rehearsal every time John had to turn a page, (which was quite often -- fortunately, we drafted a page-turner for the performance) and I only managed to finish writing the second movement about three hours before the concert began, so we had but a single rehearsal of the movement in its entirety (though he had seen partial drafts of the movement beforehand). The whole experience of that piece -- writing it, playing it, hearing it come alive as I played -- was one of the most rewarding things ever.
After the concert, John, Anthony and I went to Cambridge to meet some old Blue Devil friends of Anthony's (he went to Duke as well for his BA and MA in the late '80s) in the area at an Indian restaurant. Along the way, they both had the same comment about my Sonata -- it was great, but the second movement needed to be shortened. Let me give you a brief synopsis of the movements, to let you know what I'm talking about here. The first movement, called "Battery," had the piano emulating a rock drummer -- I can't think of any specific songs I was going for, but "When the Levee Breaks" by Led Zeppelin comes close in tempo and feeling, I guess. The second movement, "Serenade," had a slow blues (in two keys at once) enclosing an extensive cantabile/ostinato section (translation: blues, long melody over repeated piano figure, blues again). The last movement, "Trinkle Dance," is a fast, aggressive dance, perhaps reminiscent of Hollywood stereotypes of African drumming. I concurred that, in performance I realized that the second movement was dragging on at points, but I just couldn't really get my mind around cutting it. For one thing, I fully intended for it to be the central monument that the whole piece was built around -- it is roughly 7 minutes long, and the outer movements are each 4 movements. Anthony thought that the "Trinkle Dance" (which I first wrote as an independent composition for tenor trombone and piano three years ago when studying with Anthony) was the true cornerstone of the sonata, and I shouldn't let the second movement overwhelm it with its preponderance. But the transitions in the second movement are so seamless right now -- I can't cut material and maintain that seamles flow. I know John and Anthony are right -- that movement is a bit too long, and shaving just a minute or so would be a vast improvement. All my excuses for leaving the movement as is boil down to one thing: I'm in love with the music I've written. Now, there is very little that I write which I do not love. I love the bass trombone, the piano, and music in general. But I'm not in love with them. I know that the bass trombone isn't appropriate in all occasions, and so I know when to get out of the way. The bassist in our small jazz combo, on the other hand, is clearly in love with the bass, and plays far too many notes far too loudly, despite numerous reprimands by the director and, occasionally, myself. And I'm in love with what I've written for the second movement. I can't get enough of it. It made me all but swoon when I was writing it, and the thought of it still chills me. And why am I so enamored of the second movement? Because I knew from the start that it would sound great as I played it. Because it was something I could do perhaps better than any other bass trombonist. Because...it was sexy. At least, I think so. My favorite compositions have all seemed to be sexy. Solo flute, cello and piano, even bass trombone and piano...it doesn't matter. I'll find some way to sex it up.
Once, during my junior or senior year at TJ, a sax player who had graduated before my time had come back to visit during a Jazz I rehearsal. Mr. Simon had to step outside for a few minutes, so he took over the rehearsal for the duration. With Phil gone, he lets us in on some words of jazz wisdom: "See, here's the thing about jazz. You can't really play jazz until you've gotten stoned, laid, or drunk." Mark Manley, one of my cohorts in the trombone section, then said, "Then what exactly is it that Nathan seems to play so well?" I was wondering that myself, in fact. And, to this day, I might still wonder. The only area in which I may have made strides is drunkenness: the one time I ever had more than two drinks in one evening, my companion insists I wasn't remotely drunk, while I'm pretty sure I was. To this day, I wonder how I manage to play that sweet, soulful, sexy music, despite myself.
-TT
If we take the guitar to be a giant phallic symbol, as I have often (read: twice) seen it described, then the act of playing the guitar becomes overtly masturbatory. This is true not only of the 15-minute guitar solo, but also rhythm guitar, (sorry, Pete) bass, and all other guitar variants. All the reed instruments are equally blatantly fellatious. Frankly, I don't know what to make of brass instruments in this context, despite my intimate familiarity (not "intimate" like that, ya perv!) with the family. String instruments also baffle me. The percussion instruments are raw sexual energy unleashed. You can only bang on them for a few minutes at a time before it gets to be too much, but oh, what noise! I guess my money's on the piano, then. Playing the piano is typically more like foreplay -- we speak of "tickling the ivories". Still, it can rise up and be just as physical as the drums.
But I didn't come here to talk about the sexual characteristics of various musical instruments; I came here to talk about myself. Picking up where I left off in the first paragraph, while I don't think the bass trombone is sexy in and of itself, I do think that I personally can put on a good show with the instrument.
I've been playing to bass trombone for ten years now, and I think I approach the instrument differently from most other bass trombonists. The most important facet of my sound is not being big and powerful in the low register, but having a rich, gorgeous tone in narly all registers. Most bass trombonists will endeavor to make you lose bowel control with their low notes, while my aim is to bathe you in sound. And my technique, while quite good, has never been something I try to show off.
For as long as I've been playing bass trombone, I've been playing in jazz bands (actually, I played in jazz bands before taking up the bass trombone, but it wasn't until I switched to bass bone that the bands started getting remotely serious in musical intent), and for as long as I've been playing in jazz bands, I've been an eager improviser. I'd say that 65% of the folks in the jazz bands at TJ were completely scared of improvising, 20% were willing but incompetent, and 15% of us both wanted to improvise, and had some idea what we were doing. In ten years of improvising bass trombone solos, I've found that my best solos are either the blues, or something, well, sexy (and the blues can be sexy, too). My sophomore year at TJ, when I was playing bass in both Jazz I and Jazz II (because I just couldn't get enough), I had an 8-bar solo in a ballad we were playing in Jazz II. The first time I played that solo in rehearsal, Mr. Simon turned to me and said, "Who was that for?" with a conspiratorial grin. Now, if you knew about my exploits in high school, you'd know that the answer to that was definitely a reounding "nobody," but Phil wouldn't believe me. Clearly, I had to have some special lady in mind to play like that. At least two of my personal Top 5 best solos I've ever played are on bossas -- in my opinion, one of the sexiest jaxx styles around -- specifically, "The Good Life" at a Duke Jazz Ensemble concert in 2002 and "Triste" at the small jazz band concert last semester. I'll bet that "Recorda Me," another bossa, will be another one of my Top 5 when we perform later this semester. If there's one thing I know how to do on bass trombone, it's how to play sexy.
So, why am I spending so much time talking about how sexy I can be on the bass trombone? Am I trolling for attention from the ladyfolk? Hardly. My female audience is too small, too far away, and knows me too well for such advertisement to be effective. Rather, I meant for this to lead into me talking about the concert I gave on Tuesday night...
This was the fifth and final concert in the nine-day-long Tufts Composers Festival. The first week, each of the second-year students (Ryan Vigil, Matt Snook, and Russ Gershon) had a full concert to present their thesis compositions as well as other pieces in their oeuvres, and the second week was devoted to shared concerts with the first-year students (Felipe Lara, Marco Visconti-Prasca, and myself). Since there were 3 of us for the second week, Marco and Felipe shared one concert, and I sort of got paired up with my professor, John McDonald. I say "sort of" because our concert featured 4 works by me, 2 by John, and one each by two guest composers: Boston-based Julia Werntz, and Anthony Kelley, my own composition teacher from Duke. Interestingly, though Anthony made the 13-hour drive (with overnight stops in DC and NYC) to come to the concert, which he would have done even if we weren't playing his piece, (Anthony said he would come as soon as he heard I was sharing the concert, which then prompted John to program one of his works) Julia Werntz was not able to make it across town. I'm sure she had her reasons.
My works included a set of 4 short preludes for piano, two sets of 3 studies each for horn and bassoon, and my newly-completed Sonata for Bass Trombone and Piano. Now, I stand by each and every one of my pieces. The piano preludes are small but well-constructed, and have obvious audience appeal -- I give the listener plenty of tunes to hang zir hat on, and rich harmony -- and the horn and bassoon studies are somewhat experimental but surprisingly effective. But the most important piece for me was the bass trombone sonata. At 15 minutes, it was longer than the other three pieces combined, (and those had a combined total of 10 movements -- my work frequently tends toward the small-scale) and, more importantly, it was my first full-scale work for my primary instrument. I played it myself, with John at the piano (he is an excellent pianist, and wound up playing about 15 works on the 5-concert series, (incidentally, I think I came in second for most pieces played at 5 -- 3 on bass trombone, 2 spoken word -- in 4 concerts) most of which he did on very little rehearsal), and it went very well. I'm not sure how we managed it in performance -- the first movement had a lot of high notes and skips that I could never quite get through, the third movement was derailed in rehearsal every time John had to turn a page, (which was quite often -- fortunately, we drafted a page-turner for the performance) and I only managed to finish writing the second movement about three hours before the concert began, so we had but a single rehearsal of the movement in its entirety (though he had seen partial drafts of the movement beforehand). The whole experience of that piece -- writing it, playing it, hearing it come alive as I played -- was one of the most rewarding things ever.
After the concert, John, Anthony and I went to Cambridge to meet some old Blue Devil friends of Anthony's (he went to Duke as well for his BA and MA in the late '80s) in the area at an Indian restaurant. Along the way, they both had the same comment about my Sonata -- it was great, but the second movement needed to be shortened. Let me give you a brief synopsis of the movements, to let you know what I'm talking about here. The first movement, called "Battery," had the piano emulating a rock drummer -- I can't think of any specific songs I was going for, but "When the Levee Breaks" by Led Zeppelin comes close in tempo and feeling, I guess. The second movement, "Serenade," had a slow blues (in two keys at once) enclosing an extensive cantabile/ostinato section (translation: blues, long melody over repeated piano figure, blues again). The last movement, "Trinkle Dance," is a fast, aggressive dance, perhaps reminiscent of Hollywood stereotypes of African drumming. I concurred that, in performance I realized that the second movement was dragging on at points, but I just couldn't really get my mind around cutting it. For one thing, I fully intended for it to be the central monument that the whole piece was built around -- it is roughly 7 minutes long, and the outer movements are each 4 movements. Anthony thought that the "Trinkle Dance" (which I first wrote as an independent composition for tenor trombone and piano three years ago when studying with Anthony) was the true cornerstone of the sonata, and I shouldn't let the second movement overwhelm it with its preponderance. But the transitions in the second movement are so seamless right now -- I can't cut material and maintain that seamles flow. I know John and Anthony are right -- that movement is a bit too long, and shaving just a minute or so would be a vast improvement. All my excuses for leaving the movement as is boil down to one thing: I'm in love with the music I've written. Now, there is very little that I write which I do not love. I love the bass trombone, the piano, and music in general. But I'm not in love with them. I know that the bass trombone isn't appropriate in all occasions, and so I know when to get out of the way. The bassist in our small jazz combo, on the other hand, is clearly in love with the bass, and plays far too many notes far too loudly, despite numerous reprimands by the director and, occasionally, myself. And I'm in love with what I've written for the second movement. I can't get enough of it. It made me all but swoon when I was writing it, and the thought of it still chills me. And why am I so enamored of the second movement? Because I knew from the start that it would sound great as I played it. Because it was something I could do perhaps better than any other bass trombonist. Because...it was sexy. At least, I think so. My favorite compositions have all seemed to be sexy. Solo flute, cello and piano, even bass trombone and piano...it doesn't matter. I'll find some way to sex it up.
Once, during my junior or senior year at TJ, a sax player who had graduated before my time had come back to visit during a Jazz I rehearsal. Mr. Simon had to step outside for a few minutes, so he took over the rehearsal for the duration. With Phil gone, he lets us in on some words of jazz wisdom: "See, here's the thing about jazz. You can't really play jazz until you've gotten stoned, laid, or drunk." Mark Manley, one of my cohorts in the trombone section, then said, "Then what exactly is it that Nathan seems to play so well?" I was wondering that myself, in fact. And, to this day, I might still wonder. The only area in which I may have made strides is drunkenness: the one time I ever had more than two drinks in one evening, my companion insists I wasn't remotely drunk, while I'm pretty sure I was. To this day, I wonder how I manage to play that sweet, soulful, sexy music, despite myself.
-TT