Last entry talked about my first exposure to the Blues, and the effect it had on me. As one memory generally triggers another, I recalled my first blues performance for a live audience. To get to that story, though, you will need a little background.
I was a fortunate kid in many ways, growing up with two supportive parents. I decided in my pre-teens that I wanted to study music in school, and that my chosen instrument was the trumpet. They protested not in the least, in spite of the full realization that I would be practicing at home. They took a snare drum that my older brother had given up, and $25, and picked up a used horn for me, and I started at the bottom, in the lowest seat of the lowest class, which is where I finished the school year. Our bandmaster gave us a ?practice during the summer? speech, and mentioned that private music lessons could be useful. I had never heard of such a thing, other than people that studied the piano. I asked the parents, and they promptly signed me up at the local musicians? supply shop.
My teacher was the professor of a local university. He was an incredibly patient man, who taught me the finer points of being in tune, physical maintenance of the instrument, and a host of other details that we didn?t really have time for in a classroom. He taught me to interpret what I saw on the page, and other important fundamentals of basic musicianship. Somehow I failed to notice that my school bandmaster was working behind the sales counter that summer as well, or if I did notice, it never occurred to me that he would be monitoring my progress. When I returned to school in the fall, he put me in the second position in the top class, and when the first test of the year came along, I found myself in the top spot for the rest of the year.
Thus it remained for my entire pre-college life. I was in the top of the top class in every school I attended. I was in the top of the regional bands. I was in the top of the pop music bands the public schools had. I attended a high school specifically geared towards performing and visual artists, in its flagship year, before such things were commonplace. There was only one goal I did not achieve. The regional Jazz Ensemble.
In my final year of high school, I had the opportunity to audition for a jazz band that would be made up of the finest young musicians in a roughly 500K radius. I wanted to do this badly. My Bandmaster discouraged it. The positions in this band generally went to students whos? fathers owned nightclubs, and had played onstage with professionals since the age of 10. I had very little chance of success, in his estimation.
I should have done it anyway. I am sure he had good intentions, but rejection at that point in my life would have done me more good than harm, musically. The lack of real challenge from other students had caused me to become complacent. Having left the school of arts for ordinary education (over a girl, I am ashamed to admit now), I had no one to push me, or to even compete against. Fortunately, outside forces had other plans for me.
Now that you have the background, I can give you the story. Next time.