As you might recall from a previous post, my Baybee fulfilled a long-unrealized reuniting this past Christmas by getting a tenor saxophone to finally replace the one I’d had to sacrifice to make rent back in the mid-90s.
Other than picking it up and playing it badly that first day, the sax has sat in its case, with me and my 12-year-dormant embouchure somewhat intimidated by it.
Then last night, I could no longer resist and I brought the sax into the space off the master bedroom formerly called the Clubhouse but duly redubbed the Sound Chamber, sat my ass in a folding chair, and tried to blow along with Art Blakey’s “Moanin” and Lou Donaldson’s “Blues Walk,” two jazz classics I used to play along with way back in the day.
I enjoyed it, but further cemented the fact that I am reeeeeaaaaally reeeeeaaaaally rusty.
This morning I’m here at home, instead of work because I have a traffic court visit scheduled downtown for early this afternoon for a ticket I got on my bike last summer — one that I decided to fight. I don’t really expect to win, but I’m going to give it a shot anyway since the ticket was unfair and cost me $202.
But seeing as there are few places that make me more anxious than courtrooms, and I had the house to myself, I brought out the sax to sooth my nerves, but under the guise of adjusting a a pad protector screw that I discovered was juuuust long enough to prevent a lower pad from closing once opened. After doing that of course I played a bit, and when Ranger didn’t run howling from the room I decided to record a slice that — since it doesn’t totally and entirely suck — I’ve uploaded for you and posterity and titled:
I hope you enjoy it or at least that it doesn’t send you howling from the room.