Stand-in for a Placeholder

In a moment of hubris which has become a yearly tradition, a certain white male blogger with pretensions to blog every day for a month recently spat out this gem of a sentiment:

...for a field of endeavor so often and so loudly criticized for representing, literally or figuratively, the interests of male aristocrats and colonists, it is today difficult to locate which upper class privileges, exactly, are being enjoyed by any but the most conventionally successful artists

That none of the many Facebook comments I've managed to elicit so far this month have yet seized on the discussion(s) which an investigation of this claim might open up has been a disappointment, but only a mild one. That's because if pressed I might just unleash a tidal wave of angry white male angst about how my once-a-day project was, inevitably, interrupted by a distinctively underprivileged day, a day which stretched straight from 6am to midnight, a day which involved 7.5 hours of my life being pissed away standing around in front of a gate, a day which incorporated a round trip between LA and San Bernardino, and a day during which I literally had not one spare moment to get up even a generic placeholder post, as I have occasionally done in past years under similar circumstances. Admittedly, it also was a day where, in the final judgment, my work likely will have been more furthered than hindered, perhaps significantly so depending on myriad remaining unknowns. And so when I'm told that every day as a straight white male is a day of privilege, I'm inclined to take the sentiment at face value; when I am told the same thing about being an artist, though, I simply have to chuckle under my breath.

And so, as I write this again having awoken at 5am and again having caught only a fractional quantity of my customary afternoon naptime, I suspect I am by now carrying what the sleep doctor calls "crushing" sleep debt, aka living in "the twilight zone." Under such circumstances I fear posting as much as not posting; but here it is anyway for what it's worth, which is probably not much. Yes, I have a roof over my head; no, I am not particularly privileged at the moment; yes, I could have majored in biochemistry and now be depriving myself of sleep for a more noble, or at least lucrative, cause; and no, I don't have anything more elaborate or well-thought-out to say about all of this, at least not at the moment. For that, I regret to report you'll likely have to catch me on weekends and holidays while contenting yourself with thinner gruel during the week. G'night then.

whaling oops

So...perhaps there's something about October, much as I claim it as Blog Month's rightful calendrical home, that makes it difficult for me to make good on the project's greatest challenge. Perhaps being cloistered in a big kid art school dorm, confined to the same 2 minute walks between front door, practice room, and library, actually presented a more manageable scenario for daily blogging than the life of a freelance musician or transitioning recent graduate. Whatev. This year in particular, if it's not already obvious, has seen the conceit of daily blogging more or less dispensed with anyway in favor of the mere illusion of it. In other words, I work on these things in large chunks and well ahead of time, then clean them up in a flash of light on days when I have nothing better to say and before dumping them on you'all. Today, though, in place of yesterday, I will write off the cuff.

Last night I went to the Blue Whale to hear the Mark Dresser Quintet. The leader likely needs no introduction, but the band might, and you'll be pleased to make their acquaintance.

Saxophonist Ben Schachter emailed me a few years ago after finding his way to my website while searching for jazz tuba players. This was my first chance to hear him play live. He is a burning player with a striking tone, bright but warm and filling the room at every dynamic.

I first made the acquaintance of trombonist Michael Dessen at the Jazz Composers Orchestra Institute last year. I've since heard him at the Whale a couple of times. Crazy chops; a rare ability and willingness, for someone with such a strong, bright sound (he and Ben make for quite a tonally unified front line) to alter his tone with varying degrees of airiness; and he plays with an F attachment, which I wish more trombonists would consider in this kind of setting (truthfully we all know why they don't; Michael has the chops, though).

I have heard pianist Joshua White many times at the Whale. Do not miss the chance to hear him if he ever comes to your area. Trust me. Until now, I'd heard him only on standard material and in the company of peers, but he didn't miss a beat here either. It's kind of scary.

Drummer Kjell Nordeson, native of Sweden and current student in the Integrative Studies program at UCSD, tied the whole thing together beautifully. Dresser's music has more than its fair share of twists and turns, including metric modulations, and in these hands they were always musically effective. There was swinging, there was burning, there was math, and there was freedom.

To summarize, can't really overstate how nice it is to have music of this quality happening locally, affordably, and most of all, frequently. I'm more excited about live music than I've been in a long time. So I'm going back tonight. Catch you'all on the other side of that.