ahh. . .

. . . those were the days. . .

". . . My Farfisa Fast Four and Leslie 145 were setup in a prominent location in the den of our apartment for quick and easy access.  Truth is, I'm not sure if I even played once a week at that time. But I was building my vinyl record album collection of my favorite jazz cats during the period and joyfully and effortlessly soaking in their music as often as I could.  My Coltrane, Dolphy, Adderley and McLean collections grew with much less reliance on the old Tull, Gentle Giant and Yes for musical satisfaction.  This too combined with sounds exemplifying the musical tastes of my significant other, sometimes not so willingly or graciously. 

My technique and creativity suffered during this period.  Whenever I played, generally on Sunday afternoons, I ran through the same several bebop arrangements of standards that I had learned from or through my elementary-school friend Bob. I was grateful for Bob's influence which led me into the direction of jazz, that combined with my exposure to a superb collection of jazz, vinyl LPs at the college radio station where I worked during my undergraduate years.

It wasn't until our eldest son, Spencer, was born that I began to crave more music-related activity. . ."

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Fast. . .

 . . . four. . . and it ain't a CAR. . .

 My Farfisa Fast Four and Leslie 145 were setup in a prominent location in the den of our apartment for quick and easy access.  Truth is, I'm not sure if I even played once a week at that time. But I was building my vinyl record album collection of my favorite jazz cats during the period and joyfully and effortlessly soaking in their music as often as I could.  My Coltrane, Dolphy, Adderly and McLean collections grew with much less reliance on the old Tull, Gentle Giant and Yes for musical satisfaction.  The library incorporated the musical tastes of my significant other as well, sometimes not so willingly or graciously on my part though.   

My technique and creativity suffered during this period.  Whenever I played, generally on Sunday afternoons (I now can't believe it was that seldom), I ran through the same several bebop arrangements of standards that I had learned from or through my elementary-school friend Bob. I was grateful for Bob's influence which led me into the direction of jazz, that combined with my exposure to a superb collection of jazz, vinyl LPs at the college radio station where I worked during my undergraduate years.

But much like a car, this instrument (probably now a collector's item) was worth very little upon trade-in.

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And now, back to our regularly scheduled program. . .

. . . This break from over five years of regular performance was welcome, and for more reasons than one. During that period I was listening to music that I loved and that inspired me to want to make music of my own. Well, at least music more like what I was getting into than what was popular to sing along with, dance to in a drunken stupor or simply ignore while you ate, talked and generally celebrated some special occasion in your life or just a Saturday night's social event. This I was not getting. And I have myself to blame primarily. I had the freedom to leave my musical situation at the time and seek something more to what I envisioned. But alas, freedom is one thing and drive, determination and action are three others. These, quite sadly for my then musical disposition, I lacked. It really comes down to the fact that I really didn't want it badly enough.

In addition, while thoroughly enjoying the sonic antics of my art/prog/jazz-rock favorites and desiring to play things like those they played, I simply did not have the ability to create like they did. At least not on any substantial or meaningful scale. I wrote things sporadically before my retirement (my Sonata In No Particular Key is appropriate to mention here) but there was no consistent force, or inspiration for that matter, fueling the creation of much original material. I would have loved for a million new, creative musical ideas to flow freely and bountifully from my heart, mind and fingers, but it just didn't happen.

So I went happily and peacefully about building a new, married life together with my bride. My Farfisa Fast Four and Leslie 145 were setup in a prominent location in the den of our apartment for quick and easy access. Truth is, I'm not sure if I even played once a week at that time. But I was building my vinyl record album collection of my favorite jazz cats during the period and joyfully and effortlessly soaking in their music as often as I could. My Coltrane, Dolphy, Adderly and McLean collections grew with much less reliance on the old Tull, Gentle Giant and Yes for musical satisfaction. This too combined with sounds exemplifying the musical tastes of my significant other, sometimes not so willingly or graciously.

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