fiction and musings from a gay black dude with delusions above his station
Terri Lyne Carrington was born in Medford, Massachusetts in August of 1965. Her father played sax and her grandfather played sax and drums. (Her grandfather once played drums for Duke Ellington.) Ms. Carrington says that her grandfather died before her birth, but that his drums were still in the house. So around age 7, she…
Diamond Cut, the latest album by saxophone great Tia Fuller, received a Grammy nomination this year in the Best Jazz Instrumental Album category. A well deserved acknowledgement. Ms. Fuller used the platform accorded her by this honor to speak on sexism in the arts in general and in jazz in particular. In a thought-provoking piece…
For Black History Month, the gar spot will focus on a handful of the many gifted and talented black women instrumentalist who play jazz. Regina Carter began studying violin when she was four years old. Initially, she studied the European classical repertoire. And then in high school, Carla Cook, destined to become a jazz vocalist, exposed Ms….
For Black History Month, the gar spot will focus on a handful of the many gifted and talented black women instrumentalist who play jazz. Many can easily rattle off a list of some of the biggest names from the Swing Era. Count Basie. Duke Ellington. Fletcher Henderson. Benny Goodman. Artie Shaw. Lionel Hampton. But one…
Rick called on Lionel’s cell just as he was packing up his briefcase. It had been a long ass day filled with too many meetings about too much stuff that they had been dealing with for too long and he wanted to bolt from the office. So naturally, the phone rang. He hadn’t even had…
Sonja didn’t tell her everything. She didn’t tell her about her father’s cackling. But she did tell her about the origin of the pink ribbon. She did mention Rick’s name. And she did tell her that Mickey met his late partner because he couldn’t get over the pink ribbon on Mickey’s horn as he played….
He stood eyes closed and let the notes wash over him as he leaned against the wall, a Diet Coke hanging from one hand. He barely allowed her to speak when she arrived. “Take it out and play something,” he said. She complied. First came the stomper, now crooned the ballad. It threatened to lull…
As soon as Lionel entered the family room, tie undone, shirt untucked, beer can in hand, his eyes fell on the saxophone. It has occupied the same corner, slouched at the same unaltered angle, for the past four days. Dust has settled on its upper slopes. A cobweb draped between one of the keys and…
