FINALLY!

I have finally updated my website to include this section so that I can reach out to all of you when the mood hits. Please feel free to respond back to me as well and thanks!

The alto saxophone has been a part of my life for the past 55 years. 55 years! It has been a confidante, a best friend, an irritation, a conquest never to be conquered. I absolutely love it. Many times when I am depressed I take out my alto and after a few bars of playing I suddenly feel better! So I guess you could say it’s my shrink, too!

Next year will mark its 100th year of existence, as it was made by Selmer in 1927. I have tried to reach Selmer to compliment them on this fantastic horn they produced, but they are hard to reach. The alto I have is a Modele 28, as it the stamp on the bell reeds, alto # 7442. It has the most amazing sound imaginable. It is so well built that I rarely have to take it in to my repairman. What a horn!

I was fortunate to grow up listening to three alto players who were extraordinary. My first influence was the great Paul Desmond. When I was 14, and only a year into playing the alto, a friend gave me “Bossa Antiqua,” a beautiful Desmond/Jim Hall album. The album left a deep impression, and Desmond’s sound captured me, along with his effortless technique and lyrical improvisations. During high school, Phil Woods was a constant source of inspiration and enlightenment as well. Then, at age 17, my best friend, Joel Bakan, gave me an album and said, “You gotta listen to this guy.” That guy was Sonny Criss, and he changed my life forever.

Sonny had a sound that pierced right through my heart. I could feel all of his emotions coming through me.

His sound was colorful and varied beyond comprehension. And he had an honest component to his playing which I had never felt before from anyone else. It was like the song was his own, the pain from the song his own, the joy from the song his own. He completely and utterly transfixed me.

Luckily, we shared eight months together as teacher and student, way back in 1977, in LA. Those were amazing times, being in the same room with him in his little duplex, rubbing elbows with the master. Whenever I tell my students about him I get choked up. He was so kind to me when he didn’t have to be. I was as green a player as they come, but he didn’t care. He treated me with the greatest respect and love imaginable. I can’t believe it’s been 49 years since I’ve seen him. I miss him every day.

OK, I’m done for now. You’ve gotten to know me a litte bit better. I will visit you again and thanks for reading! Peace and respect.