Busy weekend

I had a really busy weekend. Trust me, I'm really, not ever, going to use this blog as a diary or journal, but hear me out. This weekend I recieved some cultural exposure that's pretty darned rare for me. You have to keep in mind that if I'm not fighting at the dojo, learning to fight at the dojo, or shooting stuff at the range, I'm probably at work. "Culture" for me means learning the japanese or korean names for various strikes, blocks, pins, throws and holds. And I suppose my use of russian ammunition for my commie rifles is a uh... form of cultural exposure.

My weekend started with a trip (the whole family) to the Clay Center for a performance by the West Virginia Symphony Orchestra. They had a guest piano virtuoso by the name of Valentina Lisitsa. Oh my god could this woman play a piano. Her performace (and the symphony of course) of Liszt's Totentanz literally brought tears to my eyes. It was my son's first exposure to classical music live. After the performance of Totentanz, the symphony went to intermission. I leaned over to my wide-eyed son (who plays guitar, and understands how difficult the mastery of an instrument can be) and said "um... was that just a little more complex than Green Day?" He nodded and replied "uh... yeah," still wide-eyed.

So Saturday, we head to guitar lessons. Yes, my whole family takes guitar lessons. The boy and I play guitar, and the wife is learning bass. And if you're in the Charleston area and in need of a good guitar teacher, look up Josh Cannon. Just call Fret n Fiddle in St. Albans and they'll hook you up. Josh can friggin play. I mean, the guy can PLAY. On top of that, he's a helluva good teacher. Very patient with fumble-fingers like myself. He doesn't chastize me for being lazy and not practicing like I should. And that's good. Because I'm not a professional musician, and I have a job, and so on... But I digress.

Right after guitar lessons, we all pack up and head over to St. Albans High School. Karate tournament day. Both the boy and I compete. We both did pretty well. My boy really kicked some butt. His age and experience class is a lot more competitive than mine. It's a bigger challenge for him to place well.

After the tournament, we head out to Scarlett Oaks for a jazz performance by Dominick Farinacci. This guy's a trumpet player, and after hearing that, I'd rank him as one of the best in the world. The guy's only twenty three years old, and he's freakin' amazing. I played a trumpet as a kid and through high school. All told, I played a trumpet for oh... seven years or so. Among my peers, I was pretty damned good too. I usually sat first or second chair in band, and being sorta familiar with how the instrument is played, I can recognize talent and skill when I hear it. Holy crap that guy was good. I mean, I can't say how good the guy was. It's just not going to translate in a text medium. Seriously, to register how good the guy was, take the top of any art or skill, and there's your analogy. The Tiger Woods of Trumpet. (that's actually a very good analogy because they were both very very good at a very very young age) The Michael Schumaker of Trumpet. The Valentino Rossi of Trumpet. The Michael Jordan of Trumpet. You get the point. The guy was good.

Not only was Dominick good, but the piano player and bassist in his band were damned good too. Now, the previous night's performance by Ms. Lisitsa had kind of tained my perception of "good" when it comes to the ivory keys, and no, this guy didn't hold a candle to her, but he was good. He did some crazy crazy stuff with scales and modes. Real zappa style space-stuff.

But the bassist, wow. That guy was a trip. He'd run through these scales, flip modes, do crazy timing stuff (within the time signature) and just flat go OFF. And what impressed me about his playing, was that he returned to what I refer to as "the melodic." Jazz players tend to drive me batshit. They go off in musical space so far, and so wide that all semblance of melody is left alone in the corner holding a sign that says "hey! remember me? I'm that thing called the song? Over here? Hello?" Well, the bassist would return to the melody. He'd go on some magical scalar/modal trip, and come back to the melody several times during his solos. It was cool. Hey jazz players, listen up. Us lay people need that. We're not all beret and turtleneck wearing musical intellectuals. We need you to come back to the melody every now and then just to remind us that we're not listening to random notes in a random key. K?