School on Saturday? Because the normal 10-day Monday to Friday course I envisioned was cut short by July 4th, I had to make up a bit for it by starting Sunday night and doing a half-day class on Saturday. But I had the good sense to make it notably different while also giving space to my successors to someday carry on. James, who first took the Jazz Course with me in 1992 and then took over my 8th grade Jazz Curriculum in 2020, Allen, who took the course in 2018 and became our New Orleans host and Joshi, who took the course with me in 2010 and became a stellar member of the Pentatonics, were all today’s teachers. All did exactly what I hope any future teacher to do. Thoroughly understand the basic principles of uniting Orff and Jazz as I have for 40 years while making it their own, bringing the whole of their musicianship, unique way of choosing and developing material, teaching presence in the fullness of their own character. Each lesson a gem and happily received by the students.
Then we were almost ready for Saturday the way it should be. But first we convened in Congo Square, danced a short ring play remembering the ancestors, processed to the Louis Armstrong statue and took our group photo. Now all were free to wander around the French Quarter and beyond. Sweltering 94 degree heat, full sun and no air-conditioned band room to protect us, off we walked, my little men’s group of Joshi, Rody, Owen and Allen. No destination in particular, just ambling to Jackson Square and the waterfront, bypassing the long line at Café De Monde, checking out the Jazz Museum only to find out it was only open for 15 more minutes, closing at 4:00. (Why so early?). Allen took Rody and I back to the dorms to shower, change and refresh ourselves the way that hot weather demands, only to pick us up again to head out for—guess what?— a jazz show at Snug Harbor club!
Off we went and can I just say yet again what an extraordinary place this is? The show was off the chain with Cuban singer Yusa feeding us 25 music teachers in the audience a phrase to sing which we gave back in three-part harmony while she sang the filler and danced on stage. Then out onto Frenchman Street and just while standing in front of the club deciding what to do, here were three different buses with three different musics blasting filled with people dancing and reveling. Then came some 40 bikes with colored wheels and Allen thought they might have been a group of teachers. Down the street we sauntered and there was a guy free-style rapping verses about the people passing by, the poets seated with their manual typewriters offering a poem for a little money, a psychic or two. Every doorway with a different band and a different kind of music playing. We— some seven of us— finally settled at a long table in an air-conditioned brewery and there emerged organically a profound conversation that I’ll save for another blogpost. Where else do things like this happen in the United States? Not in Kansas, Dorothy.
Tomorrow is the Whitney Plantation and I will certainly have a lot to say about that. Stay tuned.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.