Contemplating Loss

 

Lately, even though my cancer has gone into remission and I’ve been able to build a nice online teaching practice, I ask myself why have I been so depressed? Thinking about this I realized I must feel a profound sense of loss.

 

The first time I actually felt loss was when my grandmother, Angelina  De Rosa, passed away. I was 20 years old. Grandma was the matriarch of the family on my mother’s side. I adored my grandmother. As a child, whenever my mother would visit her, I always tagged along. When in  high school I would visit her on my own because school was only four blocks away. When I was twenty I was waiting for a new car to be delivered from the dealer when she went into the hospital. A few weeks later the car came and I was the designated driver for my mother and her sisters. It was the first time I visited her. She was in a coma.

 

I said to her “hello Grandma”. She came out of the coma and asked , “ did you get your new car?” I answered, “yes”, and she went back into the coma. It was the only time she woke up .

A few days later she died. Instead of feeling loss, I was angry and it lasted a few years.

 

Then my Aunt Mildred suddenly died when a blood vessel in her brain burst. We were all in shock. I was very close to her and her children. She would babysit my brother when my mother went back to work and as a teenager I spent my summers in Huntington Long Island with them. Loss

My Aunt Christiana died  after that. She was matriarch after my grandmother. Loss. As children  we spent every Saturday night at her house. While the parents played polka, the kids ( my cousins) would play together. To this day I am grateful for that time because my cousins and I are still very close. Christina’s son Victor died shortly after that. Loss

 

 

My Aunt Ameilia  died a while back and the truth is I don't remember why, but it was a shock to the family as well as my Uncle Frank. He died of lung cancer. Because he serve in the army during World War II, he was given a Veteran's burial with a four gun salute. It was very impressive but I still felt horrible when he died and I sometimes think of him whenever I shave. He taught and gave me my first shave when I was 13 years old. Loss.

 

 

Then in December, 1976, my father died. That night staying at my mother’s house I was trying to sleep but I couldn’t stop crying when suddenly I heard my father say to me ,“ go to sleep Dom, go to sleep”. The next thing I knew it was the next morning. For months I could feel my father’s presence. Loss. About three months later I knew he was gone. I hardly ever feel him now and its’ been 42 years.

 

After my father the next devastating loss was my cousin Vera.

Vera was absolutely beautiful.  Both my mother and I adored her Whenever I would take my mother to visit her sister Florence I would visit with Vera who lived upstairs. Carol and I visited her when she was at Roosevelt hospital for a special operation for Pancreatic cancer. Although she was 66 years old, she looked like she did when she was 28.  When she died I couldn’t stop weeping. It was like I was saying goodbye to part of my childhood.

 

The next big loss was my mother. Oddly enough  even though my brother and I  were at her bedside when she died, it brutally affected me then.  I hardly felt her around  after her passing and the loss didn’t last long.

 

When my close friend, pianist Dennis Moorman died it was a shock. Dennis and I were friends and musical partners since the mid-eighties.  We created some great music together. Dennis was on dialysis for years. The first time he had a kidney transplant he almost died. 20 years later he decided to have another one. His wife Linette called and said he was in the hospital. Carol and I rushed to see him. He looked great. He was happy and smiling.

 

The next day Linette called and told us the transplant didn’t work and Dennis had died. Linette spoke to Carol first. She was concerned how it would affect me since I had open heart surgery a few months before. It affected me badly. At the wake and at the burial I was beside myself bawling like a child. That feeling stayed for a while, but eventually I settled down, but I miss him and our music and our conversations. He once said he considered me “one of the brothers”. Loss.

 

My Aunt Virginia died a few years ago. It was a shock that lasted a long time. My Aunt Virginia, my Uncle Tony and me would take my mother to see her oncologist every few months.

We actually had a good time and it was nice being together.

After my mother died I would speak to my aunt Virginia every week or every other week just to see how she was doing. It kept me close to the family. All my Aunts and Uncles and some cousins are gone and I miss them all. Loss.

There have been other losses throughout the years. My cousin Donna died a few years ago and it was a hard one to handle. She was the first one to meet my wife Carol because she picked us up at the train station to go to an anniversary party. Loss

 

I’ve been fortunate throughout my life having many friends, but 'best friends' is another story.  One of my best friends is Mitchell May. We met on the worse musical  job in the city.

That’s a whole another story. Mitchell ( bass) and I formed a duo and a trio with another friend, drummer Tony Lupo who I met in 1962 and stayed friends till his death 3 years ago.  The two or three of us would rehearse at Mitchell’s apartment every week where I got to know his wife Judith and his best friend Jerry. Jerry eventually married Dorothy and we all became good friends. Then Jerry died-loss. Next was Dorothy-loss, but the biggest loss was Judith. Till this day  Mitchell feels the loss and I feel it through him.

 

When my childhood friend, Joe Mattera, decided not to have dialysis  for treatment of his failing kidneys I knew it would be days if not hours before he died. Joe was my childhood big brother.

 

 He taught me how to play sports and he was my biggest musical fan. He had all my recordings and when he came back to visit his daughter in New York City, he always made sure we could get together. When I was asked to say something at his zoom memorial, I wrote two pages about our friendship but I was too upset to read it. My wife Carol took over for me. I was also asked to record a Monk tune for him which I did. They used the music for background as photographs of Joe throughout his lifetime were shown. Loss

My wife, Carol’s  mother passed and I was in the room when her father died and a year ago her brother passed. I still feel her pain and a sense of loss. 

Throughout the years many of my musician friends have passed giving me a sense of loss, but none has affected me as much as the recent last four.

 

 

Five months ago, my wife’s best friend, Ann Ratray passed away.

Ann ( actor, teacher and former Miss Rhode Island and winner of the the Miss Congeniality at the Miss America contest) and Carol were best  friends since they were teenagers. I met Anne in 1989. Both Carol and Ann lived in the same building.

Ann immediately accepted me as part of her family. We celebrated every Christmas Eve together. Her son Devin  (Home Alone’s Buzz) took guitar lessons from me and Luke photographed me for my press kit and her husband, Peter and I have been good friends for years and he cuts my hair once a month. 

 

When Ann got sick, she was eventually bedridden for months and then one afternoon Luke (her oldest son) called and said the end was near. Carol and I went downstairs, but Ann was hanging on. We left  to have  a quick dinner but Luke called and said Anne had passed. 

Both Carol and I went downstairs and we saw Ann, lying in her pink robe, gone. It’s an image that stays with me all the time. Loss

 

 

 

A few weeks later we had to put to sleep our cat Cole. The year before his brother Trane died. Both of our cats were like our children. We literally spent thousands on Trane to save him, but nothing worked and a year later Cole had the same affliction. We had a choice. Go the same route we did with Trane or just let his suffering end. We chose the latter. But I still feel him constantly around. A few times I called out to him. He slept my arms every night. The pain of watching him die was horrible and I haven’t let go yet. Loss

 

 

Then a few weeks later my best friend of 78 years Frank Montella, passed away. We grew up together. Our Mother's pushed us in baby carriages as they took their daily walks. We were always there for each other.  Frank served as a Medic in Vietnam. After his service he became a loud voice for the Vets Against The War.  The hole in my heart has not healed and I feel him every day. Loss

 

 

 Pat Martino,  Legendary Jazz Guitarist died three weeks ago.

 Pat and I were friends since 1976. Besides being friends he was an inspiration to me and thousands.  Although I knew it was coming, for he had  been sick for 3 years, his death hit me like a ton of bricks and I constantly feel him around. Loss

 

Anne, Cole, Frank and Pat: I walk with them inside me everyday and I hurt. If it had been months or even a year between their passing I think I would have handled it better, but practically all at once is too much. I find myself welling up with tears and hurting. In fact ( I'm not ashamed to admit) writing this has me in tears.

Realizing the root of my depression I thought it would somehow ease my pain, but it only reminds me why I’m so depressed. As the old adage says:

 

 Time heals all things. Hopefully, in time this will be true.

Dom Minasi

How Do You Say Goodbye?

 

How do you say goodbye to a friend of 78 years? Someone who was more than a friend. So many memories from childhood to adulthood.

As children we were always getting into trouble together. Like the time my mother chased me around the block because Frank and I rode our tricycles up a hill four blocks away from home. When she finally caught me I said : “I want Frank” and she said “ Frank can watch you get a beating”. Or the time when we were teenagers and Frank showed up with a Halloween cake with all kinds of trinkets on it and we proceeded to eat the “whole thing”. Then there was a time in the 90’s when we were roommates for a while and we would argue over the Rolling Stones. He loved them and I hated them.

At one point Frank moved to Los Angeles to follow his dream of being a working actor. Blaise Siwula and I had a gig at the Knitting Factory West and Frank brought all his friends to hear us play and later on he said to me:

“Dom…what the F was that?” When Frank moved back to NY he still showed up at my gigs even though he immensely disliked the music.

 

I was there when he got a divorce and how painful it was for him . I was there through all his girlfriends that never seemed to last. 

 

I couldn’t be there when he died. I knew it was coming . It was 3 weeks ago that they discovered the cancer had spread to his lungs.. I knew he wouldn't be with us much longer. The last time we spoke he could hardly catch his breath.

 

He was put in Hospice Home Care . The visiting nurse started giving him morphine for pain. He went into a kind of a coma. I called his sister Lucy ( who has been an Angel through all this) and I asked her to put the phone by his ear. She handed the phone to June another long time friend of Franks', and I told him how much I loved him and I will see him soon. June told me told me he actually responded to my voice and smiled. 

 

I could feel Frank’s presence all around me and then he died a few hours after I had spoken to him. I can’t describe the pain I felt. Part of me was gone. Later that night I spoke to his sister and she told me she couldn’t believe how many friends he had around the world. I could believe it.

Frank was a person who gave and protected. He never thought twice about helping someone.

After his service in Vietnam as a Medic, he became an EMS worker. There were so many times I would be walking down the street and I would hear a siren and it would be Frank. He would give me lift or the many times I would be on a gig and he would be outside sitting in the ambulance waiting for the next call.

While he was in Los Angeles , struggling to work as an actor he decided to go back to school and became a nurse.

Frank had so many stories to tell and he would tell them with such humor that he had us all in stitches laughing.

Frank made the world a better place for all he came in contact with.

 

Goodbye Old Friend I’ll love you forever. Till we meet again.

.

Dom.

The Pandemic, Cancer and Jazz

 

 

Before the Pandemic came and showed its ugly face in March 2020,

I was pretty comfortable. I would go out of town two or three times  a year for good paying gigs ( NYC doesn’t have good paying gigs for my music and I won’t play for the door). I had 20 reliable students and my wife would pick up some acting or voice over gigs and I'd released one CD per year.

 

That all changed in a few days. My students did not want to be taught on line. All of a sudden I was down to five students. The out -of- town gigs stopped and a quartet recording  ( WIG) that we rehearsed for  three months was cancelled. Fortunately, I had already recorded my guitar quartet ( Eight Hands One Mind) with Hans Tammen. Harvey Valdez and Briggan Krauss. Thanks  to Hans Tammen, the mix was set and the master was handed into Jack DeSalvo and Unseen Rain Records.   

 

 Then December 2020  rolled around I was diagnosed with salivary cancer.

At first they thought I had lung cancer but more tests revealed it was in my right salivary glad right under my right ear. What to do?

Operate of course and take the cancer out.

 

Easier said then done. It seems most of the cancer lodged itself in my nerve, so they couldn’t get it all out. Meanwhile my surgeon , Dr. Peter Costantino, submitted my findings to a Tumor Board for recommendations.  In the interim I had a new oncologist, Dr. William Grace, who said the best way to fight this is with chemo and radiation.

 

Thirty- six precise radiations by Dr. Lederman and six  weeks of Chemo. At one point because of the Radiation, I lost my voice and  couldn’t teach. Fortunately, it all worked  out and I have been in remission for the three months. It took me a while but I was able to pick of five new students.

It did affect my playing. A side effect of chemo is extreme tiredness. My playing lost a lot but slowly I am getting it back.

 

I am not ready to go on the road again even though I have been vaccinated and I still am not accepting students in my home. I still feel it’s too dangerous out there no matter what the government says.

 

 Because of these doctors who saved my life I composed six new pieces to honor them. Each composition has their last name as a title.

 

Hopefully, maybe by the end of the year, I will be able to get back in the studios and record WIG  and the new quartet too.

 

BTW, the tumor board recommended that the surgeon take out the cancerous nerve which would have left my right side of my face paralyzed and I would dribble. Guess what I told him?

 

Dom Minasi

June 20y^th, 2021

Dom Minasi send you a New Years Greeting

Remembering The Vampire's Revenge

Halloween will be here in a few weeks and I thought it would be fun to repeat a revised version Tales of CBGB’S. Since DTR with myself on guitar Tomas Ulrich on bass and Ratzo Harris  will be performing the music of the Vampire's Revenge re-arranged for trio.
The True Story Behind The Vampire’s Revenge

Once upon a time in New York City, there lived a beautiful Vampire. She was 5’7’’ with long flowing blond hair and beautiful deep blue eyes. One would say she was absolutely stunning. She looked young, although she was reputed to be over 500 years old. Lorna was able to hide her fangs, except when she smiled. By not smiling she was able to add to the allure of being dangerous. mysterious and sexy at the same time Lorna loved music. Every night you could find her at some club either dancing or listening to music.

Our story begins on a Sunday night in October of 2004. In fact it was the Sunday before Halloween that Lorna made her way downtown to the famous now defunct CBGB’S, where she could hear some of the best up and coming rock and roll bands in the country. It was also the number one place to find young new blood to quench her hunger. When she arrived the band hadn’t begun to set up yet, and it looked like it would be a while before they would play. The crowd was just beginning to make its way into the small club. She decided to go next door to the Galleria. Sometimes there were some interesting groups playing, but on this night, again, the band was just starting to set up. She was about to leave when she heard some strange sounds coming from the downstairs lounge. She asked the young man standing at the top of the stairs, "What is that?" He said it was the Sunday night Downstairs Avant Jazz Series. Lorna decided to take a look.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, another young man sitting behind a table, asked her: “Who are you here to hear?” She said: “Anyone.” He said: “That will be $10 please.” Lorna gazed into his eyes with her hypnotic stare and he said: “Go right in.” Lorna went straight to the bar. She sat down and listened to this strange but intriguing music. She thought to herself: “What have I been missing?” Just then a good-looking young musician (he carried a case over his shoulder…it looked like some kind of horn) said to her: “You must be new here. I’ve never seen you here before.” Lorna smiled and said: “Yes I am.” He looked at her beautiful face with that seductive closed lipped smile and Stephen was immediately smitten and very much taken with Lorna, as Lorna was with Stephen. He asked if she could wait till he finished his set and maybe they could hang out together. Lorna anxious for some new blood said: “Of course.”

Later on that evening, at Stephen’s apartment, Lorna began her Seduction. Slowly she enticed him with short sweet kisses along his face and neck. Stephen felt her rapture and was sexually charged as Lorna lay in his arms. Noticing her fangs, he wanted to ask her Who’s Your Dentist? but he didn’t want to break the mood. Lorna spent a lot of time kissing his neck. Then all of a sudden she dug in with her fangs and started to suck the blood right out of him. Shocked at first, he shouted: “No! No!” But then he began to enjoy it. Stephen moaned as he went into a dream like stupor and when she stopped sucking, he cried "No! No! Don’t stop! Just One More Bite."

Lorna decided she would not kill Stephen, but make him a Vampire. That night Stephen went through a Transformation. When he awoke 24 hours later, Lorna explained what she had done to him. He had been brought over to the Dark Side.

Stephen was very upset. All he wanted was to have a great time with this sexy lady and now he was a Vampire and part of the walking un-dead! Lorna explained how great it is to be a Vampire. Now, he could live forever, "but be careful, you must never walk in the daylight. The sun could kill you!"

The only thing that really bothered Stephen was that he could never play a daytime gig again. On the positive side, most of his gigs were at night and he preferred night to day anyway. With daylight savings time in the winter, it would get dark at 4:30, which isn’t so bad. He would have to plan his practice time and feeding and social life around his vampire hours. One thing was for sure, he would have to give up Sunday afternoon brunches with his Mother and adjust his embouchure (the placement of the mouthpiece). Because of his newly formed fangs he would have to learn play without them being too obtrusive. Oh yes! Because of his paleness he might have make some adjustments with tanning block or makeup and definitely wear sunglasses, which would make him look cool!

The very next night Lorna took Stephen out for a stroll. This was his The First Day (night) as a Vampire. Lorna wanted to teach him how to live and survive in his new reality.

His first kill wasn’t as hard as he thought. In fact, it was fun. With his newly found strength and his keen sense of smell and sight, overpowering his victims was easy. He felt just a little guilty about killing, but he told himself it was the only way for him to survive. He would save on grocery bills and never have to go to the bathroom again and he’ll only try to kill bad people. Stephen thought to himself, who could be luckier than I. I can live forever, and play the music I love forever too.

Then he thought to himself, the audience for free-form-avant jazz is getting smaller and smaller. With this new power of mine, what can I do to help change this? Suddenly a light bulb went off in his head, and Stephen knew exactly what he had to do.

“Yes! This makes absolute sense! If I infect hundreds, no, thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of people, and because I am free form- avant jazz musician, these hundreds of thousands of people will love this music and we will finally have the audience we deserve. It could go on through eternity and I’ll never be out of work!” It was at that very moment that the Blood Lust took over.

For the next year, Stephen did not stop. Sometimes he would bite up to thirty people a night. At this rate, in the next ten years, he could infect over 100,000 humans.

For some unknown reason, the audiences at his performances were not getting larger, in fact sometimes only a few people showed up. His plan was not working! What could be going wrong? He thought his idea was just what free-form avant jazz needed, a Blood Sucking Vampire, but it was too late. Because he spent so much time hunting at night, his lust for blood was increasing and he couldn’t stop himself.

The summer of 2005 would go down in infamy. It was reported on Fox News (and we know, they don’t lie); July 9th, that without a doubt there is a Vampire loose in New York City. Someone had seen Stephen devouring a helpless woman in a back alley off of Canal St. This attack was videoed taped. The tape ran on every major news station throughout the world. The woman appeared on CNN, 60 Minutes,Oprah and every TV news outlet in the USA. Each time, with tears in her eyes, she told what she saw and she described the desperation in the victim’s eyes. She called 911, but it was over in less than a minute and by the time the medics arrived, the woman was dead and the vampire had disappeared in a flash.

A frenzy took over New York City. Everyone was searching for the Vampire. Major Bloomberg begged people to stay home and let the police do their job, but The Hunt was on! Days went by and then a month, but without any results. People were scared and frustrated. Stephen had become sloppy. More and more victims were piling up, and yet, no one had seen this Vampire.

The Mayor called for calm and made another special announcement. He had sent for the great ‘Vampire Hunter’. Derek was world-renowned. He made his reputation as a Vampire Hunter by killing over three hundred vampires.

The day the Hunter arrived at JFK from Transylvania, there were thousands of people lined up along the Van Wyck Expressway. Two million showed up for the ticker-tape parade along Broadway. When the entourage of Limo’s pulled up to City Hall, the crowd cheered as the Derek stepped out onto the Red Carpet that led up the stairs where the Mayor welcomed him. In a brief ceremony, Mayor Bloomberg gave Derek the keys to the city. When the Hunter stepped up to the podium he growled and screamed “Vampire! Vampire! Where You Gonna’ Go? Where You Gonna’ Hide?" With that, the crowd went wild. They stormed the steps of City Hall and carried him over their shoulders while shouting, “Where You Gonna’ Go? Where You Gonna’ Hide?”

Three days later the police found Derek’s body ripped to shreds. It was said that a newly engaged couple, while walking down 5th ave and 33rd St., could hear shriveling and screeching yells. It was as though an animal was ripping a human being to shreds. As they walked by, the couple looked at each other and said: “Wow, that sounds strange,” and as typical New Yorkers they continued on their merry way.

A few nights later on the Letterman show, Dave got a call while on the air. At first he wouldn’t take it. In fact he yelled at his staff for trying to put through this called while he was doing his opening monologue, but the producer ran on stage, an apparently whispered in his ear; “It’s the Vampire!” Shocked! Dave took the call, ‘live on the air.’ Of course, NBC and ABC and Fox News were angry that the Vampire would call Letterman  at CBS  especially Jay Leno. It made perfect sense that the Vampire called Dave and not Jay Leno. Jay is in LA and Dave is in New York and New York is where all the killings were going on and NBC had no way of knowing that the Vampire was a fan of the Letterman Show long before he was a Vampire. In fact, he was still felt betrayed that The Tonight Show moved to L.A.

As Letterman put the phone to his ear, he could hear the Vampire shouting, “I will have my revenge.”

And thus dear readers the music to the The Vampire’s Revenge was born.

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The Family Picnic 1948

When I was a child my family, besides my parents and brother, consisted of lots of Aunts, Uncles and Cousins all on my mothers side of the family. We spent all the holidays together and practically every Saturday night at my Aunt Christina’s house where the adults played cards and all the kids hung out in the basement or in the living room. I remember my cousins Angel, Dolores and Vera taught the younger cousins including me how to dance the cha-cha and the mambo. There were lots of laughs and bond that has lasted over the years

One of the highlights of my childhood was the family picnic at Belmont State Park in Long Island. We would get up very early in the morning, pack the car with food and anything else we would need and take the Southern State Parkway to the picnic grounds. I always knew we were near when I’d see these huge trees on both side of the parkway cast a shadow over the parkway and then we would see the lake and in no time we were in the parking lot. For some reason we were always there first.

I would follow my father while he picked out a spot for the family.

Then we would unload everything from the trunk and carry it over to the tables. It usually took two to three trips. Then my father would start a fire and put up a large pot of coffee. As my aunts, uncles and cousins arrived there was hot coffee for the adults. Sometimes breakfast would be made by each family, but the main cooking and barbecuing would start near 12pm. Meanwhile there were all kinds of things for us to do like, playing in the park or going to the baseball field and have a game of softball. There were basketball courts that we enjoyed, but the main event was canoeing on the lake which we did after eating all the food and there was so much of it including large pots of pasta ( hey we were Italian and you couldn’t start a meal without the macaroni).

Very soon after we would go to the lake and getting the canoes. My uncles would row and of course somebody would stand up and tip the canoe over. I happened to be one of the fortunate kids to end up soaked and wet. But the tipping of the canoe problem was solved. At that time all men and boys had straps to hold up their pants. We took all the straps and strapped two canoes together. There were about four double strapped canoes. All I remember is all the laughter and the fun racing across the lake.

As it got later in the afternoon, we all gather at the tables and eat again. Soon it would be dark and we would be on our way.

I remember one of those times there was a thunder storm. The rain came down so hard that you could not see the next car in front of you. All the traffic stopped and waited for the storm to end. Something you wouldn’t see today. We would arrive home exhausted. Sometimes I fell asleep in the back seat. I mean I was four.

Those  were the days of innocence for my cousins and me.

Now 72 years later all the aunts and uncles and some of the cousins are gone, but that bond that we created in the forties and through the years to this day still holds true and I am so grateful for it.

Dom Minasi

They Had A Dream

They had their dream,
They had their guns
They quietly moved among the crowd and
planted their bombs hoping to run.

Two brothers with one thought in mind,
Kill people
Doesn't matter what kind.

For all they knew they  could hurt their own
but the first to die was a child of eight,
an unknown.

They ran like the dogs they were.
 Shooting in the streets, fighting for their lives with the guns they got somehow.
They killed again but one would die
the other escaped and hid in a boat,
thinking some how away he would float.

Now in a hospital charged with his crimes
Surrounded by those who brought him in
Do you think he knows what he has done?
Do you think he knows, he was wrong?

Guess he and his brother didn't know
 BOSTON, BOSTON STRONG!!

It Started On A Sunday

The sun rose early that Sunday morning. As the night sky disappeared and the Sun glided over the rising buildings the sound of birds started filling the air with the natural sounds of their music. Very soon there would be men, women and children in the streets strutting along to get to their destinations. The markets were starting to get busy while a cool breeze swept over the city. But this Sunday was different. There was a soft whisper among the folk.” He’s coming, he’s coming”! Some knew but many did not. “ Soon he’ll be here”. “Who will be here”? “Haven’t you heard”? “They say he is the Son of God”.“The Son of God”. What’s his name”?” I think they call him Jesus”
Three hours later riding on a donkey followed by his disciples Jesus of Nazareth entered Jerusalem. As he passed by, palms were laid in his path and people reached out, called his name and tried to touch him or even look for a glance their way for it was said that he was a healer, a miracle worker and with a look or a touch you could be healed from whatever ails you. It was rumored that he commanded Lazarus to rise from the dead and Lazarus rose. Never in the history of the world had there been such a healer. Maybe he is the Son of God!
The high-ranking Rabbi’s of the Jewish community met Jesus.He was taken to the temple and asked many questions such as, are you Who are you? He answered, “I am who am” The Rabbi’s did not understand. They thought that the man who stood before them was a charlatan, or at least arrogant enough to think he is the Son of God. In their minds he did not fulfill the prophecy claiming the Son of God would someday appear. After all, although he understood the scriptures he was only the son of a carpenter and a carpenter himself.
The line that separated the Jews from the Romans was very thin and to have a Jew claim he is the Son of God or the King of the Jews would not only create havoc among the population but also damage the political lines between the two.
Something had to be done. But what? Secret meanings were held. It was decided he would be brought to the governor, Pontius Pilate, to decide. But how will this be done? Someone knew Judas. Judas was in debt and needed money. He probably could be persuaded to lead the Roman guard to Jesus to arrest him.
On Thursday night at dinner with his disciples, Jesus told them that someone in the group would betray him and he would be arrested that very night. Many of the disciples shouted, not I lord, not I. Jesus also claimed, “As the cock crows three times, one of you will deny knowing me”. Shocked again they shouted not I, not I. He told them I must pray. “Come to the Olive garden and wait outside while I speak with my father”. While still praying a group of Roman soldiers arrived being led by Judas. They asked which one of you is Jesus. Judas told them he is not here. He is in the garden. The soldiers tied Jesus’ hands behind his back. Informed him he was being charged with heresy and led him away. The disciples yelled and screamed and begged, but there was nothing they could do.
That night Jesus was put in a dungeon. He endured torturing and the laying of a crown of thorns on his head. Bleeding he awaited his fate. The next day, he was brought in front of Pontius Pilate. At the town square in front of many people, the governor asked, what do you want of me? The Rabbi’s said that this man is a criminal. He claims to be the King of the Jews and the Son of God. Pilate said it was not a crime and he went to a bowl and washed his hands as a symbolic gesture. “Sire this will not do. Something has to be done” Pilate said let the people decide. The angry mob clamored and yelled for crucifixion. Along side this holy man was a thief and a murderer. All three would be executed in the most horrifying way.
The Roman guards placed a heavy wooden cross on Jesus’ shoulders and he was ordered to carry that cross a very long distance to Mount Calvary. On both sides of the road the crowd jeered and taunted him. They were same people who laid palms in his path a few days before. The trek to the mountaintop was difficult. Jesus fell three times and each time he was whipped and told to get up. Finally exhausted he reached his destination. He was stripped of his robe and put atop the cross. The other prisoners were tied to their crosses, but Jesus was nailed. His cross was raised and put into the ground. The mountaintop was filled with all kinds. Many were his followers who looked on in disbelief and cried. Others were part of the mob that enjoyed watching a man die. Others were curious to see if this was truly the Son of God. Maybe he will perform a miracle and step down off of his cross. Hi mother Mary and Mary Madelyn stood in front of the cross and wept uncontrollably.
Jesus suffered for three hours. It was said that he cried out before he died, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do”. To make sure he was dead, a Roman soldier stabbed him with a spear. His body was taken down and brought to a tomb. Both Mary’s washed and anointed his body with oils and wrapped it in a clean white robe. The tomb was sealed with a big stone.
It is said that an Angel appeared to Mary and told her that Jesus would rise in three days. Three days later the big stone that sealed the tomb was set aside and Jesus’ body was gone.
Many of his disciples said that Jesus came to them as they hid from the Romans. All believed it was Jesus except Thomas. But this man standing in front of Thomas showed him his wounds and Thomas believed. A few days later as each disciple ran from the city in fear of being arrested too. The cock crowed three times and as a Roman soldier pointed to Peter and accused him of being one Jesus’ disciple, Peter denied it three times.
The Question Is:
If Jesus died to save us, why aren’t we saved? If the Christian Religion was formed based on the teachings of Jesus, why has the Catholic Church accepted pedophiles into the priesthood and protects them? Why throughout the years have the Christians done so much wrong and have contributed to the downfall of society as we know it? Don’t you think if Jesus came back he would be disgusted the way we have turned out. Wouldn’t he ask himself, I went through all that for nothing? Do you think if he knew how we are now, he would have gone through all that suffering and pain? I doubt it. And if God the Almighty is All That Is, he knew this was going to happen. So what was the point of putting his son through all that?
Questions, Questions and More Questions!

What's The Point

By the time I was 14 years old I had studied the guitar seven years and was playing at church dances in and around New York City. I played in a few different bands, and because my repertoire was limited, I would bring music with me till I could memorize the songs that were needed. Sometimes the leader of the group would bring the music. The most important thing was that I was playing my guitar in front of an audience. That need became a very significant part of my life. As a beginner performer, there were many times I played for no pay. I needed the experience. I got my union card when I was 15 years old and for all intensive purposes I was a professional musician. A year later I was backing up 50’s type singing groups at rock and roll shows and getting paid. At eighteen I was a full-time musician but a year before while still in high school, I started playing in nightclubs. I’d work till three or four in the morning then go home and sleep two or three hours and then go to school. I did this two or three times a month, but I did work every weekend. I was like most young people who had a part-time job to earn money, except my part time job was being a musician. Through my earnings I was able to buy the things I needed to sustain myself as a musician: new guitar & amp, strings, picks, a tuxedo, guitar lessons and eventually a car.

When I graduated from high school. I went to college but my heart was into playing. I dropped out of college and started working as a full-time musician, which meant I had to get a cabaret license; during the 50’s and up to 1967 in order to work in New York City nightclubs, a cabaret license was a requirement. You couldn’t get a license until you were finger printed to see if you were convicted or arrested for any crime. Of course I wasn’t, but many great artists, such as Chet Baker, Thelonious Monk, Charlie Parker and Billie Holiday had their cabaret licenses suspended because of drug charges, and Lenny Bruce for his reputed obscenity.

I remember sitting on a bench filling out the application and sitting next to me was a face I recognized, but couldn’t place. He was very congenial and we spent our time waiting and talking. I finally said, “ You look so familiar, have we met before?” I introduced myself and he put out his hand and said “I’m Maynard Ferguson”. I practically fainted. I’d seen Maynard play many times at Birdland - my home away from home. A few minutes later he was called up to the window, finished, smiled and said goodbye. To me that was a great experience meeting someone who contributed to jazz. Up until I was fifteen, my heroes were athletes, but that all changed when I started listening to Jazz and hanging out at Birdland.

In the fifties, Birdland had a ‘peanut gallery,’ which meant anyone under eighteen could sit in the back of the club, have soda and watch the greatest Jazz musicians in the world perform. There were always two acts on the bill. My heroes and teachers were Johnny Smith, Dizzy Gillespie, JJ Johnson, Horace Silver, The Jazz Messengers, Miles Davis with John Coltrane, and the list goes on and on. Every time I discovered someone new I would buy their records and they would become part of a long list of influences and heroes. I didn’t know or care about their personal lives. All I knew is they were great players and I wanted to do what they could do and that desire is still with me to this day.

In the late fifties, early sixties, musicians were paid $25-$50 dollars a night in bars and lounges. Of course the famous musicians were paid much more, but I am talking about your everyday working musician. In those days, musicians were put into categories:
1. Studio Musicians- recordings, jingles etc.
2. High End Club Date Players - with big-name band leaders who played parties and social functions for the rich
3. Club Date Musicians - Weddings, Engagement Parties, Barmitzvahs etc.
4. Show Musicians - Playing for Big Name Acts at Night Clubs
5. Broadway Show Musicians
6. Jazz Musicians
7. Latin Musicians
8. Bar and Lounge Players
9. Classical Musicians - Free-lance and Orchestra.

The highest paid musicians were the Studio, Broadway and Classical Musicians. The lowest were the Latin, Lounge and Jazz Musicians. The point is, everyone got paid. It was during that time, that I was a regular working musician. I worked in all the above categories except the Classical and Latin fields. I was so busy, I kept myself working and three other guitar players busy too.

Along came the mid-seventies. Electronic synthesizers had taken the place of many musicians. Studio musicians ended up playing for Broadway shows. When the synthesizers invaded theatre music, those musicians ended up playing weddings. Then came the disc jockeys replacing live music with recorded music at weddings. They put those musicians out of work. The big show bands that backed up famous acts at hotels in New York City had stopped in the early seventies and the Catskills show bands were gone by the late eighties and the musicians union was just about broken. Non-union musicians could play anywhere and the bandleaders did not worry about paying scale to their players. That also meant health and pension benefits went out the window. At the same time, studio and Theatre musicians who most likely started off as Big Band or Jazz musicians, but needed to make a living ended up in the studios or playing in the pit for Broadway shows. They still had a need to play Jazz and in order to satisfy that need, and since they didn’t need the money, they would play in bars and restaurants for no pay. (The beginning of the end)

There was a rise of Jazz Departments in Colleges and Universities throughout the USA. In the past, Jazz Study was unheard of in colleges except for a few. All of a sudden, every school in America had a Jazz Program offering degrees in performance. I personally think that these programs were created so that jazz musicians could work. Every kid who dreamed he could be the next Coltrane or Miles Davis, enrolled in these schools and graduated with a degree.

What this meant is - a lot of kids with degrees could play a lot of scales and understood all the modes and all the theory associated with jazz and if they were lucky enough to have good teachers, they could play some Jazz. They weren’t experienced Jazz players, but the potential was there. The problem was and still is, where do they go to get this experience and did their schools teach them how to survive as musicians? The answer is a decidedly, No! The school advisers and teachers did give them some advice: if you want to get the experience you need, go to New York where there is great music& energy, and eventually if you’re lucky, you will make it.

WRONG!

The worst part of this advice is, these kids think if they come to New York they’ll take the town by storm. They were ‘so successful’ in college - everyone told them how great they were, they assume by coming to the Big Apple, they’ll meet lots of musicians, which they do, but they think there is so much work, they’ll immediately find work. But they find at least another hundred players as good, if not, better - and most of them are out of work and barely surviving. They all have part-time or ‘day jobs’ and are living with roommates. The roommates are usually musicians and all of them have a need to play. In order to fill that need, they play at make- shift jam sessions or after-hours at some club. But playing at sessions with other musicians doesn’t fulfill their need to perform in front of an audience or help them make a living at their chosen craft.

So what do they do? The same thing that the studio players did years earlier, they play in bars and restaurants for no pay or a pass-the-hat situation, which means after the set someone goes from table to table with a hat, (or basket, bucket,) hoping the customers will donate money for the musicians. Sometimes the musicians themselves would go around with the hat. All of this in the hope they can satisfy their need to perform and be heard or even ‘be discovered’ while earning a few dollars to pay for the subway ride home.

Passing the hat does amazing things for your ego and sense of self worth. You fool yourself into believing that you are contributing to the Jazz effort and at least your music is being heard. Some musicians get so depressed they quit with a sense of failure. They get ‘normal jobs’ and live a life filled with frustration and unhappiness.

Then there’s the ‘artist’. This is a person who has ‘hung in there’ for years and has developed a style of playing he/she can call his own. No one sounds like them and they are the future of Jazz. The problem is no one cares - or at least very little – or is willing to pay these great artisans of improvisation. Another problem is because the music is advanced, where can they play? If you are not a proficient grant writer, your chances of winning a grant are null and the gigs you want to create never happen.

If you are a well-known player there are only a few places in New York City where you can perform. But how many in New York are known players? Being a ‘star’ doesn’t necessarily make you a great musician, some are not very good, but a ‘star’ is well- known and can draw an audience. That’s why they make the big bucks and because they ask for big salaries, the clubs are asking for a lot of money from the public to see one set.

You try to get an agent or manager and even though they recognize your artistry and like your music, you have to ‘make it’ before they will handle you. It is a never-ending cycle.

There are only a few super-stars in improvised music. But the highest paid star is probably Cecil Taylor. Most people, except for the so-called ‘in crowd’ know who he is but very few, except for some musicians, understand his music. He is well paid and greatly appreciated overseas more than here in the States.

During the sixties and throughout the country, began the end of jazz as a popular music except for Fusion, a combination of Jazz and Rock. Some jazz musicians hated this music and I personally think it was created to try and bring in young people. Miles Davis was the leader of the pack with his recording of “Bitches Brew”. Miles was forever changing and if the young supported Rock ‘n’ Roll, why not have them support Fusion too? It certainly made Chic Corea, John McLaughlin, Larry Coryell, Keith Jarrett and more major stars. But Rock ‘n’ Roll had taken over the airwaves, and Fusion didn’t last very long. It is still around, and in the last twenty years, jazz has wears many hats: Swing, Be-bop, Modern, Post Be-bop, West Coast Jazz, Gypsy Jazz, Fusion, Latin Jazz, Smooth-Jazz, Third Stream, Free-Jazz, Improvised Music etc. In the late sixties, early seventies, Free Jazz musicians in New York City reverted to playing in lofts. People would come in and pay a few dollars, sit on pillows, couches or on the floor, and listen to free jazz, which was considered angry and far out.

After a while as the decline of jazz continued, and the rise of rock, disco, & pop music kept growing, the loft scene slowly disappeared. Many of the loft players went to Europe to work and live where Jazz was and has always been looked on as the highest form of art and was honored and respected there.

In the mid-eighties with the emergence of Wynton Marsalis, jazz began to slowly re-emerge and become popular again. Because of Wynton and many like him the public began to be more enlightened and appreciative of jazz. There also started what I call a separatism that has become very divisive and has worked against the jazz community.

Coming up as a young jazz player, I watched black and white musicians working together. There was camaraderie among them. If you played jazz and were really good, you were accepted, no matter what color you were. I played along side some of the greatest jazz musicians in the world and it didn’t matter what my color was, but in the last twenty years that has changed. Instead of working together to keep a unity between jazz musicians, there has become a divide that has hurt the jazz community. There’s a segment of musician out there who tells us what jazz is and ‘should be’ and that it shouldn’t be called jazz anymore. The word jazz brings with it tones of racism and bigotry. Many of the jazz giants such as Max Roach, Duke Ellington, Monk and many more hated the word ‘jazz’, but despite their efforts to change it, the name stayed the same. It seem every 20-30 years the same issue comes to the forefront. Now they claim they want the name changed to BAM in hopes the new name would reign in a missing black audience.

I firmly believe you're not going to bring back Black audiences to Jazz by changing its'name to BAM or whatever you want to call it. I think the best way is education. Since Jazz is and has been American Classical Music for over seventy years, it needs to be part of the curriculum in grade schools, even pre-schools. All of us should be working towards this goal. There are many teaching artist working in the public school systems throughout the USA. We need to encourage them to teach and use Jazz as part of their program. We need to get school boards and legislators to encourage teachers to teach about jazz in their music appreciation programs and if there aren't any music appreciation programs, start them. Don't wait for Black Appreciation Month to let kids know who Duke Ellington was. One week and one name out of one month a year doesn't cut it.

I was a teaching artist in the NYC public schools from 1995-2001. I taught Literacy through song writing. I started with the Blues and moved on till I got to Jazz. The kids not only learned to appreciate and enjoy the music, some of them actually learned to scat sing.

What is confusing is, if you hate the word so much, then don’t accept teaching positions in College Jazz programs or perform in Jazz Concerts or Jazz Clubs. If it is expected that clubs like The Blue Note Jazz Club will change to The Blue Note BAM Club or the Sedona Jazz Festival will change its’ name to The Sedona BAM Festival-it will never happen. Clubs and Jazz Festivals throughout the World have spent tons of money promoting and paying artists to perform Jazz, after all these years it won’t change.

As jazz emerged again, along came the old and new improvisers. But there was no place to play except the Knitting Factory, and a few other places, which were door gigs (same as pass the hat except patrons paid at the door). Eventually more performance spaces emerged. Along with the performance spaces came the bar gigs which were also door gigs. The prices at some of these door gigs were dictated by the cubs and sometimes by the musicians. Some places called them donations. If you wanted to perform, these were the conditions you had to deal with. The problem is, you must provide the audience or you will not make any money. That means before you play, you have to promote the gig. Promoting the gig will cost you money. If you intend to treat your musicians with some dignity, you pay them out of your own pocket and you keep whatever is made at the door. Ninety-eight percent of the time you will loose money especially if the venue wants a guarantee. That means they get a cut, whether there is money to be made or not. You also shouldn’t book a gig three nights in a row at different venues or even one per week. You want as many people to come to your gig so it is best to have one gig. You can’t expect your friends, family and fans to show up three times in a week. You’re lucky if they come once a month.

With the advance of technology and recording equipment, many musicians whom a Major Record Company couldn’t sign or Independent Label began to self-produce. Putting out one CD a year, which was and still is, very expensive. But they could recoup their expenses at gigs. Many musicians take door gigs because they can sell their CD’s - but with the dawning of digital downloads, very few people buy CDs. If you do or don’t have an audience, and can’t sell CDs, what’s the point?

Most radio stations and reviewers require CDs. They haven’t kept up with the technology that is now available. I understand that change is hard, but it must be dealt with in order to help artists. If you, as and independent artist, only put out digital downloads, you are still required to send them CD’s with art work, liner notes in other words the whole package in order to get radio play and reviews. So it will cost you some money and the chance of recouping your investment is not good. All and all, these are impossible situations. Some magazines (even though they won’t admit it) will not review your CD, unless you advertise with them. Radio station directors decide whom they will give radio play to. To be fair radio stations and jazz journalists are overwhelmed with music and it is impossible to give everyone a chance, but review and play the same people over and over again doesn’t seem fair. In essence your career may be in their hands. If you are part of the new improvisers scene, your music will only be played on college radio stations. At least the college music directors are opened minded to new music and some of them accept digital downloads, which isn’t the case for the commercial jazz stations.

A few months ago at a performance venue in New York City, an argument over money ensued between the leader of the group and one of the managers. It became violent and the manager punched the musician in the eye. The musician wore glasses. He ended up in the hospital getting stitches and is lucky he is not blind. Word spread throughout the musical community and many musicians have banned that venue. This was beyond unforgivable. This is no way to treat artists and musicians. Needless to say no one I know has worked there again.

What has happened to us, that our need has outmoded our dignity? It’s time to stop playing door gigs and passing the hat. Stop playing for nothing and stop playing. You may say if we stop, someone will come along and play anyway. They won’t play if there are hordes of musicians outside of these gigs carrying signs that say Pay or We Don’t Play. Ask the customers going into the bar/restaurant if they would work for nothing. It may be considered harassment, but something has to be done! If this happens at every venue in New York and Brooklyn and then spread throughout the USA and Europe, it just might make a difference. If we can’t get that grant that will pay us, then go find another way or don’t play. Somehow we have to get back the respect that we as artists have lost. You wouldn’t call and electrician or plumber to fix something for you for no pay and if you did, would they show up? They have a service that requires pay. We as musicians have a service that requires pay too!

“But I play for the love of it” Well play for the love of it at home if need be and let the musicians who need the money get paid.

I know we say to ourselves, what about all the hours of studying and practicing I’ve done, or the two hundred thousand dollar education I got, isn’t it worth something? Yes it is, so why play for nothing? Some musicians want the reputation, but that rep won’t put food on the table. Remember the venue you are playing in is making money, but you’re not and the only reason they are making money is because of you.

In our neediness to play and perform, we have lost sight of who and what we are and most of all we have lost our self-worth. Throughout the world, and especially in the USA, greed has been the dominant force adding to the decline of civilization. In this weakened economy the rents for all these venues are high and getting higher all the time. In order to sustain, the clubs and performance venues must charge more, but charging more does not mean ‘don’t pay the musicians’. As the prices go up, the amount of work goes down.

You can blame Wall Street, Politicians, anyone you like, but the truth is we have to blame ourselves. It is unbelievable to me that clubs and venues throughout the city and Brooklyn, not only don’t pay their musicians, but they are booked seven nights a week with non paying performances and because musicians are clamoring to play (I would say work, but playing for no pay is charity), these venues are booked six months in advance, There is something definitely wrong with this equation.

Until we regain our self-worth, nothing will change and nothing will change till we change!