Trapped Again

I'm thinking about the contradictions that we all face from time to time as a result of a lame joke and a jazz concert that I attended last night. Contradictory indeed.

Sass, JR and I were talking about sex the other day, and JR flippantly stated that he was a lesbian trapped in a man's body. It's not such a bad state for him, because he's happily attached to a beautiful woman he adores. On the other hand I'm a tenor saxophonist trapped inside an alto saxophonist's body. This is a much more difficult situation for me. I've got two alto saxophones, and don't have any intention of getting a tenor in the near future. If I do get another horn, it will probably be a baritone sax anyway. The torture never stops.

Lemme explain. A long time ago, I decided that I would like to take up the sax, and because of my love of Ornette Coleman, Charlie Parker, and Eric Dolphy, I elected to get an alto. The circumstances of my musical adventures have led me to play with a lot of rock bands, and as most people know, the tenor sax is the stereotypical horn in rock. What the heck am I doing playing an alto? The range and sound of the alto just doesn't seem to fit the familiar sonorities of rock. What was I thinking? I originally believed that there were enough tenor players in the rock music arena, and if I were truly adventurous I should try to find my voice on another horn.
It's like a square peg in a round hole to put it simply. I do my best to be inventive and yet true to the sound of the tunes that I play with the band, and yet it's never right. And it's all because of my choice of instrument. Nobody else in the band seems to mind, but it's almost torture for me. Let me state for the record that I accept that I'm a fair player, and I've got a few chops. My playing is not bad and no one has told me I should just pack it up and go home. The damned alto sax just isn't played a lot in a rock context, and it drives me nuts.

Last night I had the pleasure of hearing one of the world's best tenor players: Sonny Rollins. To add insult to injury perhaps, his first set started with a blistering rock song that featured his gorgeous tenor sax and his trombonist. Rollins plays with a sound that is massive. He can fill an entire concert hall with a few well chosen notes. It's a jaw dropping, expansive sound that has to be heard to be believed. Every saxophone player in the world has to acknowledge the fact that Sonny Rollins is a standard bearer. And here I am stuck with this squeaky thing that doesn't have the qualities of a tenor sax. I am cursed.

Maybe I should run away from home and become a magician.

If you can't run with the big dogs, get a kat

I sure am taking a lot of heat over this kitten naming thing. Pandora, or whatever her name is, still languishes without a name courtesy of her human, and I'm taking it on the chin for leaving out details like the cat's gender. Geez.

Before PJ and I even got Spot, we decided that we'd heap abuse on the whole feline species by giving our next cat a canine-like name. It was easy. It was going to be either "Spot" or "Rover." We rambled over to Paris ON, just in time to see Cashmere's fine looking litter of three newborn kittens. We saw one that had a spot on it, and thus we found our kitten.

We waited a few weeks until the wee darlings were weaned and then I took the little devil home to a less than charitable welcome by the othercat. The othercat hissed as if to say "who the #%$&@ are you?" We replied "This is Spot." It was a baptism by fire. Case closed.

The aforementioned nameless kitten, relaxing on top of the nice warm television set.  

I met this little guy at Blarney a few weeks ago. He was fidgety, and didn't stay still too long. He's nicely coloured and about the size of a chickadee. I haven't a clue about European birds, so if anyone has a book... 

Nameless Katz

I dunno about my friend Sass sometimes. She has an adorable little kitten that she was decent enough to rescue from the Humane Society a few weeks ago. I applaud her motives, and like her new companion immensely. The kitten is outgoing and friendly. The kitten is old enough that it's not totally crazy like the youngest kittens are, and ... it doesn't have a name.

How hard is it to give a cat a name? They respond to the most basic of stimulus, like "where's the litterbox?". "Where's the food dish?" "That sound must mean the human is trying to get my attention." "That sound must mean the human is angry because I've just attacked the flowers."
It's all about intonation and delivery. Cats really don't have much of a clue when it comes to the English language. That and the opposable thumbs problem.

Oh well. I guess I'll have to wait and see what Sass conjures up to name the little beggar for another week or so. I just figure it shouldn't be that hard.