On A More Personal Note

I've always enjoyed music. From as far back as I can recall, there was music in my life. I was raised in a family where music was a part of our daily routine. The family piano may have been the catalyst which fueled the passion in my siblings, and myself, and helped to embed a lifelong appreciation for any harmonious collection of notes and lyrics.

I vividly remember many of my childhood years  —from the mid 60s to the early 70s— stumbling through song after song on my trumpet. The venue most commonly was my father's television repair shop, and it usually included my background accompaniment; a state-of-the-art high fidelity stereo record player, a Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass album, and of course, my father.

Dad enjoyed my feeble attempt at mimicking Mr. Alpert, and there is little doubt in my mind that I felt as though I was the next best thing to him. But that was then, and as time marches on, all good things come to an end. I sold my trumpet the year that I graduated from high school.

My interest in this writing is more about pleasing myself, than the reader. Selfish, but so it is. I seem to have a strong and necessary desire to put my thoughts on paper. Music, although always an important part of my life, has now evolved into something more. As quickly as an uncontrollable disease can take over and consume a human body, music, without warning, has perforated my human shell, and like a fiery molten lava, traveled through my internal passageways, arriving neatly into every single cell —and in tune.

It wasn't until August of 2011 that I was reunited with that simple piece of brass plumbing, commonly referred to as a trumpet. Interestingly enough, I still had a passion for that particular brass instrument —although not my personal horn from the 70s.

Enough said about trumpets, brass and the 70s. Let's talk about how this music thing, this disease I have acquired, has affected my inner self.

I'll make a simple statement that may explain what I feel today, regarding my involvement in the music and entertainment business. Taking the chance that this may seem strange to you, I'll relate this new found career to my past career of 30 years; law enforcement.

Here is my simple statement —To fully understand something, you have to live it.

Although retired from the badge for seven years, there is still a love for the police profession along with a protective instinct that manifests itself within the deepest corridor of my prefrontal cortex. Simply stated, if you are of the type who tends to ridicule, second guess, dis or badmouth the police, you are not a friend of mine. Ask any of those whom have posted negative police comments on any of my social networking forums and you'll find that they were once friends of mine. Key words "were once", relatives included. Consider also, my wife's profession as a kindergarten teacher. Often is the time that she hears of how "fun" her job must be, totally discounting the fact that she spends hundreds of hours with a small tribe of five year old "cute" children. Cute children that she has the responsibility of teaching to read, write, solve math problems, prepare for passing mandated state testing, teach basic computer skills, ad infinitum. Kindergarten isn't what it once was folks. It's oh so easy to do a job, when you don't have that job.  Back to music.

Until I started playing and performing, I was simply a spectator. I had a love for music and as Patti (Mrs. Xavier) frequently states, when talking about my music, "he always had (has) music playing of one genre or another." But again, I was only a spectator. I didn't realize what music truly was about. Certainly over the years, I had songs I liked, artists I liked and those that didn't interest me. But now, I look and listen with a keen ear. An ear I have always had, but the skills of which, I hadn't honed. Until now.

Spending a typical day for me includes not only playing and practicing my brass contraption of a musical instrument, but also listening intently and analyzing song after song. Listening to a variety of artists, song writers and singers, and often times mimicking their voice —or trying desperately to mimic— by way of my horn. As a young boy may dissect any small creature, I dissect each song, often times note by note.  My horn is my voice.

I have learned to love music in a totally different way than ever before. I listen intently with these same two ears, but in a different manner, and for different reasons. I analyze songs, piece by piece. So much work, and so much effort has been put forth by so many singers and musicians that at times it just seems unbelievable to me. All of this studying, practicing and effort on my part has enabled me to view the world of music on a different level, a different playing field. I know instantly, when listening to a song now, if it would make for a good instrumental (horn) song for me. I usually can tell the difficulty level of that song long before attempting to make it my own.

I'm thrilled, as you the reader have probably surmised, at my newest of ambitions. The world of music consumes me...always. Nary a moment goes by when I am not feeling a song deep in my soul or in that prefrontal cortex I mentioned previously.

Should I have pursued a career in music back in the 70s rather than that as a uniformed officer? My answer is, "probably not." I enjoyed a really good career and totally enjoyed my accomplishments over that span of years serving and protecting. The money and benefits made for a comfortable living too. Today, I enjoy reflecting on those times now and then, in between songs that I perform for those willing to listen to me.

~Safe Living~

-The Chief

 http://bornagainbrass.com/

Blowing My Own Horn

I was speaking with an old friend of mine recently, catching up on each others lives. We hadn't been in contact with each other for a few years, so there was much to discuss. Toward the end of the conversation, I asked if he had read any of my "On the Road" tales. He replied somewhat sarcastically that my stories were about all of the great places I've been and great things I've done, and so he hadn't.

Our conversation made me realize that in-fact he was right. My stories are pretty much about me and my travels, hence the name --On the Road with the Chief. It kind of makes sense to me that "my" stories are about "my" travels and things that "I've" done. I do know "me" best and it's easiest to talk about me. I guess it could be said that I like to "blow my own horn".

Speaking of which, let me tell you about my most recent endeavor. 

When I was around eleven or twelve years old, I decided that I wanted to learn to play the trumpet. I remember approaching the music teacher, and without a doubt awkwardly spewed out the fact that I wanted to begin an affair with a trumpet --an affair that unbeknown to me at the time, would last all through my school years. After a short conversation about playing a brass instrument, I was handed a mouthpiece, and told to practice with it for about a week. I followed the music teacher's directions --which following directions for me was fairly rare.

I was raised in a small town in upstate New York, and the local school was rather small. Available funds for the music department were probably scarce. When I was handed my new --to me-- brass instrument, I remember being quite disappointed. The horn that I was about to take possession of was a little brother to the trumpet --a cornet-- and had more dents and dings than the bumper-cars at the local amusement park. The silver "matte" finish probably boasted a shiny new surface decades before, but not that my eyes would ever see. It did resemble a horn though, and I was able to bring it to life.

I learned to play the trumpet, and enjoyed every part of the music scene. All through high-school I was in the concert band, and the marching band. I played solos at events, many in churches around the local area. I was passionate about music.

A Christmas or two after I was loaned my badly abused dull and ugly cornet, I received as a gift, a brand new two-tone brass and silver trumpet. I had the nicest trumpet in school and I remember being very proud of that horn. Thanks mom and dad! But like they say, "all good things must end someday", and upon graduation from high school, I sold my trumpet and ventured out seeking other interests.

A couple of months ago, I realized that I still had an interest in the trumpet --an interest that I had put to bed for 37 years. I tried on a couple of occasions to play my son's trumpet, which he had from his high school days, and found that although obviously pretty rusty, I still had a fairly natural ability to play. I ordered a new trumpet that week.

I'm about six weeks into practicing now, and I find that I am as passionate as ever about becoming a really good musician. The passion that I have for music tends to mirror that of which I have for the sport of running. I have considered joining or starting a band if I become as good on the horn as I plan to. I think running for the past two decades has probably increased my lung capacity and my new trumpet feels at home in my somewhat older hands.

So on the subject of blowing my own horn --yes I do-- and I'm happy to say that I'm proud of it. Will blowing my own horn make me rich and famous? I'm thinking that it probably won't, but two things are certain. First, I am having a lot of fun playing again, and second... it gave me something new to write about.

~Safe Riding~

-The Chief