52 Miles Davis “On Green Dolphin Street”

I want to tell a story about my own musical upbringing. While we’re at it, though, we might as well listen to one of the greatest jazz trumpeters of all time, Miles Davis. 

I started playing a musical instrument in 3rd grade. The set up was that you could be in the orchestra in 3rd grade, but if you wanted to be in the band you had to wait until 4th. I wanted to play the tenor saxophone, but was unwilling to wait a year and so signed up to play violin. After 3rd grade, on to the tenor sax I went. The tenor sax is an instrument that, when in its case, weighed about as much as I did and was only a little bit shorter than me. The violin was loaned to someone and I never saw it again. It’s a shame, as I really wish we would have held on to it.

Nonetheless, the tenor saxophone, that was now my instrument. Between the solo in Wham!’s “Careless Whisper” and David Bowie’s playing it, that was what I wanted to play. 

That lasted until 7th grade, when I finally had enough of lugging it around and it breaking all the time. After years of telling my brother and I that neither one of us could be drummers, my mother relented when I pointed out how inexpensive drum sticks were to getting the tenor repaired all the time. Finally, I was really playing what I wanted to play.

But I never took drum lessons for two reasons:

First, my previous experience with private lessons was with my middle school band instructor who would have me play something and then ignore me as he watched wrestling on TV. It was a complete waste of time and money but I didn’t know any better. 

Second, I never had the ability to sit still long enough to actually practice. I found it boring. I didn’t realize until many, many (seriously, so many that it makes me like like a complete idiot) years later that I could just put on headphones and play along with music I actually wanted to listen to and play.  

So, any practicing I did was when it was required or I was actually in band class or in marching band practice. This bit me in the ass when I was left on bass drum in 10th grade instead of being moved to snares or triads. It almost happened again in 11th grade, but it was pretty clear that I was not going to tolerate playing bass drum again and so they’d better give me a chance. It was fine. I learned the parts quickly, often faster than the others since I was used to having to figure out how to play something without practicing. 

I was finally getting to play some more of the drum kit in Jazz band class as well, but it took some time. I didn’t have a decent kit at home until 11th grade, joined a Misfits cover band, and finally got some chops as well as Pop-Eye like forearms. 

My senior year in high school with my final Jazz recital coming up, I decided to ask for a solo in the piece I was playing, “Green Dolphin Street.” I was given a surprised reaction (“You really want to do that?”) and the go-ahead. During practice in the class when I asked, I was given time during the song to play a solo. 

It was a disaster. 

I kept the solo in the tempo of the song, which is a bit slow, and just noodle unconvincingly around the kit. The other students were rightfully giving me side-eye. It was embarrassing, but I knew something from that rehearsal that they didn’t – exactly how to fix it. When asked if I still wanted to do this, I reaffirmed yes, even though the next time would be at the concert. 

The show started, my song was in the middle, and the audience was full, sure it was mostly parents but still. We get to the point for my solo and, well, I fixed it. The only solo to receive immediate applause and the side-eyed students were grinning ear to ear. Even the other, better drummers were impressed.

Somewhere I have a tape recording of that, though I probably shouldn’t listen to it. My memory and all its faults is better than the real thing, I’m sure.