Night 0: First thoughts
I've always had a curiosity about jazz. A curiosity about how such a small word can encompass such a broad genre, from swing to post-bop, from bebop to modern, from Latin to free jazz; a curiosity as to how an art can be so rigidly structured yet so free and liberating; a curiosity in the intellectual nature of jazz, and its deeply emotional facets. A curiosity about how damn good it can sound.
I first started getting into the genre four years ago, when I joined my high school's jazz band on tenor sax. I had only been playing for two years at that point but I quickly grew to love my instrument, and with time began to appreciate how complex jazz truly could be. I bought The Penguin Guide to Jazz – which I highly recommend as an intro to jazz recordings – and began compiling a small collection of albums.
The Yardbird's original 1957 entrance
In my final year of high school, our music teacher (who played lead trombone with Tommy Banks in the late 70s) took our concert and jazz bands on tour in Alberta. On our last day in Edmonton, he took the senior members out to the Yardbird Suite. My first thought: A jazz club? In Edmonton? Really? And a jazz club it was, and from what I've heard, one of the best in Canada. When I moved to Edmonton this year to attend the University of Alberta, I decided that I would volunteer with the Yardbird.
My musical interests are quite wide-ranging: I've been on a Bob Dylan kick for the past six months, which followed a CCR marathon interspersed with Dvořák. I appreciate the blues (it's my favourite genre to play), I enjoy getting lost in a classical piece, and I love rocking out to Hendrix. But jazz, jazz I love to feel. You feel it in the elation of summertime, you feel it in the harmony of spring, the change of fall, and the mysterious days of winter. From the gigs I've played, it's amidst that luxurious time where it’s 2 in the morning – and it feels like it – that the music lives. So here's to a year of a jazz, and all that comes with it.