the hippies called me a punk, the punkers called me a hippie. the confederates, a rebel, and the girls, an angel, the devil, and a tart.
i went to dead concerts with a mohawk, and black flag in a tie-die. for a while i was a hardcore goth skate punk, till i got tired of conforming to non-conformity. right here, things took a hard left. somehow i got really into jazz. a classmate gave me a tape one day. yes, a tape. and i was intrigued. i started taping the jazz shows on the local college station while i was at school, and listening to them when i got home. i had this great box that i could set a timer on! it was so cool, i never knew what i’d get. it was like christmas every day. seriously. now, i really was a rebel, a 16 year old kid listening obsessively to music of the 20s, 30s, and 40s.
so, i went to jazz school, but the guitar was the bastard in music school. i think they resented the fact that guitar took over popular music in the 20th century. for whatever reason, the jazzer looks at it like a hillbilly instrument, and the classical see it as a peasant instrument. so, didn’t find home here either.
it’s always been this way. grew up a catholic school kid living a block from the public school. our bus stop was actually right in front of their school, right by the flagpole. so many battles fought there and after school on side streets.
once out of college, i drifted around the country for a couple of years. sometimes living somewhere for months, sometimes just weeks. austin, idaho, oregon, albuquerque, chapel hill, and finally san diego.
i played every kind of music. i mean everything from french cabaret music to drop-d sludge rock. all the while, i’ve had this underlying vision, this mission i’m on. yes, i’m on a mission. what is it? well, i don’t want to spoil it, let’s just say it’s some kind of jazz crusade.