....to pick up an old jazz record

Miss Moody will completely disagree with this posting, but I believe everyone should give it a try. I've been playing jazz saxophone for 14 years now. Some parts of my life I was playing more than others, but I've always loved it. Recently I've begun playing regularly again, and it has shaped the songs I listen to during the day as well. It's really become a fun experience to put on any of my old jazz records, and be transported to a different place and time.

My life is pretty hectic at times, what with having tons of people to answer to, and being the person the company constantly relies on to get them out of a jam (I'm sure many of you can relate.) When I get a chance to put on one of these records and remember a time without cell phones, texting, email, or even a ton of cars on the road, it makes me envious (especially on the last day of the pay period/quarter/year end. You know, whatever deadline you're company calls it when everyone stresses out, yells, pulls long hours, and subscribes to a certain type of crazy that I think only us Americans are capable of.)

Lot's of people have tried to define Jazz, but I prefer Wynton Marsalis' definition "jazz is a dialogue." He goes on to explain the conversation is between musician and musician, musician and listener, musician and instrument, even musician and moment in time. Because of the large focus on improvisation in jazz, no two moments are ever the same. So when you put on that record you are opening an audible time capsule.

One of the greatest things about being a part of this eccentric group of people, are the experiences, and the relationships those experiences create. Even today in most real jazz clubs (not venues with $18 martini's and presold tickets) it is very acceptable to bring your horn and sit in with the group that is playing. Now don't get me wrong you can't just be anybody. There is an unspoken rule that you have to be a certain level of player to be allowed to sit in, but for some reason they always know. Generally there is one older guy in the band, and when you walk up and ask if you can sit in the rest of the band turns to him. This ability to instantly size someone up and decide what kind of player they are before they touch their horn must be something you just pick up over the years (it may seem a little unfair, but I've never seen it be wrong. And who are you to judge? You just started listening to jazz 3 minutes ago. Man! Some People!)

I feel the best way to illustrate how an evening might go is to share a story about a time I sat in with a group of ragtime cats.*

(*cats refers to other jazz musicians, and is a completely acceptable term still used a lot today in those circles. So when your done snickering and rolling your eyes, I was trying to tell a story here. Thank you.)

Like I was saying, while living in Seattle I had stumbled into a little club in Pioneer Square that did live jazz called New Orleans Club. I decided to swing by later in the week with my horn and see who was playing. When I showed up it was a quintet of old cats* playing some ragtime and swing tunes. Immediately when walking in they noticed I was carrying my horn, and acknowledged me from the stage with a couple sqwawks and a head nod or two (again all customery.) On set break a couple of the guys came up and asked what I played. We swapped stories, and I complimented their set. They asked if I'd like to sit in, and of course I accepted.

The leader of this group they called "Kid." He was 52, and the youngest of the musicians. There was already one saxophone player in the group, so we had to get his ok before I could officially be allowed to play. His name was Gerald. Age 64 and at my spry 24 I don't think I could keep up with this old swinger. He agreed to let me play and was one of the nicest old timers I had met. Gerald was already on his second bottle of cabernet when I got on stage. He was hugging and kissing all over a couple of the ladies that showed up for the concert, and I can imagine that he was, and always would be, a stereotype in all the best ways.

If any of you have ever seen a true jazz combo perform then you know about the "laughter." It's half way through a song and the band is playing along when suddenly a couple of the guys in the band start to laugh. The audience thinks to themselves "Did I miss something?" It happens several times throughout the night, and I always get asked by friends that watch the show. The best way I can explain it is to say there are a lot of things that are funny to us. Someone coming in on the wrong bar, inserting a piece of a famous solo or other tune in their solo, hitting a wrong note and trying to cover it up, or just 2 people having the same musical idea at the same time. The best analogy I can give is that it's like watching a bunch of scientists in a lab, and one of them confuses two elements of the periodical table, the others laugh at his misfortune knowing that no one else in the world would find it funny in the least.

So as the night went on, and Gerald drank more wine, we cut up and had a great time. Lot's of laughing, lot's of playing off of eachother that the audience really enjoyed. At one point an audience member called out "Who's the young guy?" in which Gerald, without missing a beat, grabbed the microphone and said "He's my Dad." It was an amazing evening, and a very common occurance in this kind of circle.

Well whether you liked it or not, I hope you are at least a little intrigued about jazz music and culture. Below I've listed some great records to pick up. The best selling jazz record of all times is number 1 on the list, and I'm sure you will recognize a lot of the tunes from it. They've been used in tons of movies, and are a part of your daily lives if you know it or not. Well enjoy the music that has allowed me to have some wonderful experiences, and remember a time that I never lived. Thanks and tell your friends!!!

1. Miles Davis - Kind of Blue

2. John Coltrane - Giant Steps

3. Sonny Rollins and Dizzy Gillespie - Sonny Side Up

4. John Coltrane - Blue Train

5. Clifford Brown - Clifford Brown with Strings

....to not buy into this whole "coffee is bad" thing.

That's right! All you super hippy health nuts out there (you know who you are), get off your soap box and just let a guy get his fix! This morning I made the huge mistake of trying to walk around with the other underlings/contributing members of society without having my coffee first. From this experience alone it's become very apparent that I can't function without it. I know it's a sign of weakness, but Samson needed his hair, Popeye needed his spinach, and Keith Richards needed his heroin, so sometimes us superheroes just need our medicine. (From time to time I wear my underwear outside my pants, pretty sure that is the key factor in being a superhero. And if any of you evil villains think otherwise prepare to be smothered by my sidekick Sweetie McGee!)

I just recently found out that my old friend and keyboard player Travis Dillard's family is releasing an album of his songs. Travis was a great person, and an amazing musician, but tragicly passed away a couple years ago as a result of a horrible fireworks accident (not a joke). The album is called Out of the Ashes by Travis Dillard. http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=812517012298 Here is the link for you to go listen. By no means am I trying to sway you to purchase this album, just merely a reference for you to know what I'm talking about.

Travis and the rest of the guys in the band, like every band out there I suppose, had a great relationship when it came to songwriting. We would constantly tease eachother about songs when someone brought them to the band. It was a great way to cut the tension, and keep everyone from getting defensive about the criticism given. When I listened to this album I truly couldn't stop laughing. At first I felt bad for laughing at my friends work, but I remember him writing a ton of those songs, and the jabs we exchanged about them. He's a truly talented artist, and we lost what I think could've turned into a very influential musician in his death.

Since I'm getting all nostalgic, I'd like to share one of the stories I like most from being on the road. When you live on a tour bus, everyroom is your dressing room. When you're a 21 year old guy in a band who thinks he's pretty funny (rightfully so though, just ask anyone. I'm hilarious.......and humble) one of the old go to jokes is the fake strip tease. It goes like this. Usually one of your friends is on the phone or playing xbox and they start to hear you making the Bow Chicka Bow Wow, or Boom Tis Boom Tis techno beats. They know what's coming, but are trying their best not to laugh and stay focused on the task at hand. You get louder, and start what can only be described as the most ridiculous form of air humping you can think of and then gesturing like you're unbuttonging your shirt. (This is where you've got to sell it, a good air hump move can break the most serious of phone calls into instant laughter) Well what's great about living in a tour bus, and having a crazy hectic schedule, is that a lot of the times you're all getting dressed for the show at the same time. This provides a perfect stage for this joke except with the added hilarity of actually taking your shirt off for full strip tease effect. I'm telling you, you might be getting a little creeped out now, but guys, next time your bro is on the phone with his girlfriend or parents or better yet, Grandparents, then try this one out. Now that you know the move let me get into the story.

So our bass player Jeff Vandagriff (aka hillbilly goatlover) was playing xbox in the back of the bus. Yours truly kept his clothes in the back and needed to get changed because we were arriving at the venue. So like the "colossus of comedy" that I am, I decided to take this oppurtunity to play my favorite joke on the only member in the band that was 3 times my size. At first the usual hilarity, and then Jeff decided that it was about time someone put a stop to this joke once and for all. He picked up a syrup bottle that Travis had left in the back of the bus from when he had waffles earlier that morning (Travis I hope heaven has maid service buddy, because I know God won't be as nice as we were about you leaving all your stuff out!) Jeff proceeded in chasing me in circles around the back lounge of the bus threatening to uhhh......hmmm......how should I put this.......stick it where the sun don't shine. At this point my joke had gained the attention of all the other band members who huddled in the hallway to the back lounge to get a good view of their leadsinger getting some payback. Well even though I was severly out matched, in fear for my life or "virginity" if you will, I managed to get the syrup bottle out of Jeff's hands. In a desperate attempt to end the attack I heaved the syrup bottle through the hall towards the front of the bus so that Jeff wouldn't be able to get it. Being the young spry guys my bandmates were, they all managed to quickly dive into their bunks and dodge the flying plastic bottle full of mother natures adhesive. It was like a scene out of The Matrix, with flips and slow motion special effects. That is except for Travis. He managed to poke his head up and be the last one interested in what was going on just as it was time to duck. With laser like precision the bottle managed to nail him square in the lip. Travis took the hit like a real pro, flying about 5 feet back completely laid out, as if receiving a career ending uppercut from Mike Tyson himself.

It split Travis pretty good, but no real damage was done. However we spent the whole next week with all of our ribs aching from the amount of laughing done that night. It still cracks me up even as I write this to think about the fun times we shared, and to visualize the look on everyones face when Jeff came at me, or when Travis was the victim of horrible timing. I think I'll make a bigger point to tell a few more stories from those days. They really were some of the most amazing days of my life, and I couldn't have asked for a better group of guys to spend them with.

I hope you enjoyed the story, and if you knew Travis, that it reminded you of a funny story you shared together. I look forward to hearing from all of you tomorrow. However my mailbox is getting too full for normal postage with all the fan mail I'm receiving. I'm now having to pay extra or go by the post office myself to pick up the garbage bags full of fanmail. So if you would please just email me, or leave your comments here then I would really appreciate it. Thanks for understanding, and if you must send a handwritten letter with pictures of yourelf and beautifully wrapped gifts or home baked goodies then feel free. Who am I to turn away great fan mail. Thank you again and good night.

******PS****** "Super Sweetie McGee Fan69" your pictures are creepy and we've passed them along to the local authorities. We don't think you're a bad person, Sweetie is a beautiful puppy, but we all feel that you need to seek out a good counselor.

....to cook a little extra next time. (but always pass on church pizza)

Good morning everyone! This morning I decided that as the good southern boy I am, I would make some homemade donuts. I remember Saturday mornings at home Mom would make some homemade donuts, and my brothers and I would each have almost a dozen (screw you for judging me. They're small!) Nothing is more disappointing than returning to the platter for a second or third helping and seeing that someone has eaten the last bit. Fortunately Miss Cupcake and Miss Moody are no match for my "southern family sized" portions, so I never have this problem.

* WARNING! WARNING! This next section veers completely off topic, and has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the post, but after reading it I couldn't commit to erasing it. So consider yourself warned. If you can't handle a good poop story this post may not be for you.

I remember in my days as an international superstar fronting the wildly popular band Inner Core, getting a second helping was always a challenge. We would play for youth groups all over the midwest. It seemed like every youth pastor always had an expense account with a local pizza chain (let me make this really clear church pizza is the WORST pizza!)

I am almost certain that praying before you eat to bless the food started in some midwest youth group where the youth were afraid of chipping teeth, indigestible ingredients, and even death by regurgitation. In fact the very common "pizza shits" that always follow the good fortune you had to just get a piece of this "holy pie" down, I'm pretty sure are considered a form of modern day exorcism. Don't believe me? When you've been to as many youth rallys as I have then you've definitely had this experience. Allow me to paint you a picture

Before the rally there is a pizza party. Everyone is socializing with the band, the pastor, the volunteers, etc. Suddenly time has gotten away from us, and the rally is ready to begin. By not keeping an eye on the time you have to jump on stage and get started without the necessary preshow bathroom explosion. The Pastor, feeling the same since of "urgency," makes a quick introduction and kicks it off to the band. On his way to the restroom to release the "relentless demon inside him that is fighting to get out" he's stopped by parents, kids, other youth pastors that have traveled from their church to get to the event. Then he's pulled aside by the head pastor for an update on how it's going, and some suggestions to help things go better. Before you know it Praise and Worship is coming to an end and he still hasn't made it to his "prayer time." He jumps back on stage and turns on his cool clip on tie microphone to say "Wow! The spirit is really strong in this place. Let's take some time and really worship." The band plays a slow and soft worship song to help set the mood for the spirit as the Pastor now sprints to "take care of the problem." As the mood is set, and people are really connecting to what is going on in the service, over the loud speakers you hear "BLLRRRPPPGGHH!! DEAR LORD! PLOP PLOP SQUISH! AGHHHHH!" The poor pastor has forgotten to turn off his clip on mic. Suddenly the place errupts in laughter, and the band spends the rest of the night trying not to reference the Pastor's understandable mistake.

OK so that was quite a large side step from what I was originally planning on writing about, but I thought it needed to be said. So next time you are at a church and they offer pizza, just say "No Thank You" (and keep an eye on the pastor.) If you're a youth pastor out there and reading this please heed this warning. Don't order pizza! I know the little place down the street gives them to you for $1 a pie, but it's not worth the risk of being known forever as "Pastor Gasser master of Hell, Fire, and Porcelain.

So now that everyone is hungry, I'm attaching a recipe for homemade donuts. They are delicious and guaranteed NOT to send you running anywhere (except maybe back to the plate for seconds.)

For great homemade donuts you need:

A couple cans of cheap biscuits (the kind that come in a can of 10 and are generally packaged as 4 or 5 cans together for $1

Some vegetable oil

Powdered sugar and water for glazed

or Cinnamon and Sugar

First put the oil in a pot and set heat to medium (oil only has to be about an inch deep)

While the oil is heating poke a hole through the center of the biscuits and make them into donut shapes.

Mix lots of powdered sugar with a little water. The consistency should be like a syrup. Only add a little water at a time, because if it becomes sugar water you have to start all over.

Once oil is heated, drop a test donut in. If the oil is at the proper temp it should take about 30 seconds to get a good golden brown. If it gets really dark really quick turn the temp down and let it cool for 10 minutes. Flip the donut and brown other side.

Pull hot donut out of oil and place immediately in glaze. Flip over a few times for a good coating. Then place on plate. If you are the cook it's a good idea to eat every fourth donut yourself, otherwise you won't get a chance to eat. Believe me when they hit the plate they will be gone.

Here are some pics of this morning's batch. Enjoy.

I hope you guys enjoy the donuts, and got a kick out of the youth rally that I will remember forever. Have a great day, and I will post again tonite.

....to pour yourself a BIG OL' glass of sweet tea!

That's right my fans in all corners of the world, we're in the SOUTH! That means fried chicken, bbq, boots, jorts (jeans that were cut into shorts aka cut-offs *idea and definition provided by Miss Cupcake) fried okra, red velvet cake, and most of all sweet tea.

Growing up in Oklahoma we always had a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge. I distinctly remember watching ninja and kung fu movies with my little brothers, seeing that they were drinking hot tea, and heating up some of Mom's sweet tea to be like our favorite ninja warriors. It wasn't until I was almost 23 that I realized there was even other kinds of tea out there. I just thought there were several brands of the same tea leaves (and of course I was partial to good ol' lipton.) We even used to call it Panther's Blood to make it more manly. Since meeting Miss Cupcake, who has single handedly turned me on to a huge world of different teas, I drink a lot of different types of this magical beverage. However when the weather in sunny Austin hits those record high temps, there's nothing I long for more than a huge glass of southern, tooth rotting, syrupy, amber colored nectar of the God's*, sweet tea.

(*the God's referred to here are Tom Landry former head coach of the Dallas Cowboys, and The Duke himself John Wayne. It's believed by many people that Jesus Christ's Dad aka God prefers Coca Cola in an ice cold glass bottle to sweet tea, and we can't fault him for that. Even all powerful beings have a right to their own opinions I suppose. I just know that he must not have tried my Mamier's sweet tea yet.)

So to make some great sweet tea it's simple. There are great recipes all over the internet, but this is how we make it.

Boil a kettle of water. While water is boiling pour between 1 and 2 cups of sugar into an empty pitcher (depending on the size of pitcher.) Use 2 large Lipton regular tea bags in the pitcher. Once the water has got a great boil going pour into pitcher. Let bags brew for 8 min and then remove. Stir, taste, add more sugar if necessary (somehow it always is.)

No thrills, No zest of lemon, or crazy exotic leaf. It's supposed to be a sweet drink for people that have been working in the heat all day. It originally gained it's popularity amongst the poor working class. So if you're at some swanky country club and they have a hibiscus mint sweet tea with orange peel over grapefruit ice cubes with a splash of overpriced and a pretentious twist then feel free to drink up, but it ain't Mama's sweet tea!

Boy I do love the south. When Miss Moody moved down from Seattle the thing she comes back home with after all her adventures is just how nice the people are. And it's true. The best way to drink sweet tea is to be invited into someone's home, and asked to stay for dinner. This week I will be dedicating my posts to some of the things I love about the south.

Now that you've got your sweet tea let's get into uniform. First kick off the shoes (socks too, if you think feet are gross then TOO BAD! I don't know where this hatred of our feet comes from. Just grow up, look down at those callused, worn out dogs and give them a big ol' Thank You. Then LET THEM BREATHE!)

Now go grab some jeans out of the bottom of your drawer (heaven help me if I see any of you in 7's or True Religion or whatever designer brand Brangelina are wearing now.) If you don't have some great beat up jeans that feel like a tshirt ask your boyfriend/husband. If you ask nice then he'll give them up (we don't like to admit we have them, in fear that you will throw them out.) I once kept 3 pairs of beat up jeans hidden from Miss Cupcake in a 400 sq ft apartment without a closet for over a year. In this technological age we live in, there isn't anymore buried treasure to hide, so our old clothes become our gold. Hand me downs that look ridiculous, but provide more than just physical comfort.

Next up you need a beat up shirt. My preference is any old undershirt. Anything that has tears, or is stretched out in some way. Throw that nasty thing on and enjoy. Great for reading a book, playing some cards, whittling on the porch, watching a storm blow in, or even playing fetch with the dog. Whatever you do though just remember to drink up a big glass of sweet tea with it.

I hope you all can take some time to enjoy grass between your toes, and sweet tea over your tongue soon. Have a good night, and I will see you all again tomorrow.

*PS It appears all the beverages I love are not always the healthiest. But you know what? You may live a few years longer if you avoid everything bad for you, but during those years you will hunger and thirst for the truly delicious things this life has to offer. So drink your sweet tea, grill a fatty steak and then slather it with butter. I'm not your nutritionist, I'm just a guy full of good ideas. Oh and it's probably a good one to do a sit up every now and then. You know just to balance it out.