Okay, so there I was, playing my horn at the St. Regis, in Aspen.
Normally, I was playing piano, but our friend
Larry Luchowski was sitting in. I still greatly enjoy playing
my trumpet; however, I don't play trumpet as much as piano, these
days, so I'm a little out of practice. Given, then, my relative
rustiness, what better tune would there be to call than Herbie
Hancock's "Dolphin Dance". I say that with a good dose of
sarcasm, because, as you probably know, "Dolphin Dance" is "
through-composed", which makes it's form challenging. In
addition, it's chord changes are turbulent seas to navigate. I
nearly capsized. It's weird, because I know the tune fairly well
on piano, and usually when I know something on the piano, it
translates to the trumpet with little effort. Not that night. I,
um, well, flailed... not necessarily losing my place in the form,
but certainly not making the changes, either.
Now, for the kicker. Turns out, that, while I was dog paddling through the tune, there were a pair of knowing ears listening. Ears whose owner could not only navigate this tune's changes and form, but could intimately discern the very foundation and meaning of each detail of Herbie's composition. Ears that would not be fooled by lame attempts at covering up the obvious ineptitude of the sounds emanating from the bell of my trumpet. Those pair of ears belonged to Chick Corea, who was sitting within spit valve range. Thankfully, I was blissfully unaware of his presence during my "stellar de-performance". It wasn't 'till after the last tune of the night, that our drummer, Chris Goplerud, shared the terrifying reality of my recent past existence.
Oh well. Let's just chalk it up to one of those ugly moments. I'll choose to use it as inspiration. After all, though I messed up the changes, and didn't swing, or really "say anything", I didn't lose the form!
Now, for the kicker. Turns out, that, while I was dog paddling through the tune, there were a pair of knowing ears listening. Ears whose owner could not only navigate this tune's changes and form, but could intimately discern the very foundation and meaning of each detail of Herbie's composition. Ears that would not be fooled by lame attempts at covering up the obvious ineptitude of the sounds emanating from the bell of my trumpet. Those pair of ears belonged to Chick Corea, who was sitting within spit valve range. Thankfully, I was blissfully unaware of his presence during my "stellar de-performance". It wasn't 'till after the last tune of the night, that our drummer, Chris Goplerud, shared the terrifying reality of my recent past existence.
Oh well. Let's just chalk it up to one of those ugly moments. I'll choose to use it as inspiration. After all, though I messed up the changes, and didn't swing, or really "say anything", I didn't lose the form!
