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Trommer Sextet: Channeling Socially Distanced Vibrations

Cornell’s Trommer Sextet jazz combo rehearses to develop as a group and prepare videos for the new JazzDesk Youtube series.

The Trommer Sextet gathers in Lincoln Hall after a productive rehearsal.

Six Cornell musicians, instruments in hand; four separate rooms scattered throughout Lincoln Hall; one professor, steering the ship; the Trommer Sextet is ready to play its first notes, and none of the musicians can hear one another in their headphones. After a tweak of the controls, Professor Paul Merrill, director of jazz studies, counts in the first tune and the musicians’ fingers are at work. In any other year, technology used in jazz combo rehearsals plays a minor role in connecting the musicians, but in the age of COVID-19, dozens of black coiled black wires flowing from room to room are an important ingredient to making the magical musical sounds come alive.

Long before the fall semester of 2020 began, Professor Merrill was resolved to make the 2020-2021 Cornell jazz combo program a success. As a result of his careful planning and a determination to simply make the best music possible, the Trommer Sextet had five rehearsals in the books just by the end of September, as well as a recording of Clifford Brown’s “Tiny Capers” on the Cornell Jazz Youtube channel as part of the new JazzDesk series. Before I get too excited about what is to come for the Trommer Sextet, first take a seat in the isolation guitar pod during our second combo rehearsal.

I unpack my Ibanez jazz guitar (the same brand used by jazz guitar greats George Benson and John Schofield), review the chord changes of “Alone Together,” and ensure that my camera, the visual passageway from the main room into my guitar pod, is at the right height. Guitar amp on, levels set, and Evan Kravitz (drums) counts in the tune. “Alone Together” by famed mid-century song-writing partnership Dietz and Schwartz was originally played as a slow ballad, but over time has morphed into an upbeat must-know for all jazz players.

This tune has an AABA form, which allows Samantha Rubin (alto) and Reed Landry (tenor) to split up the melody, and Edward George (piano) and myself on guitar to have equal opportunities to “comp,” or play chords behind the horn player’s melody or solo. As a result, the first and second halves of the song have vastly different types of feel; the tune begins with my lighter comping on Rubin’s softer sound and then quickly transitions to George’s forceful block chords in the spaces of Landry’s staccato-style playing. Throughout the whole piece, Teddy Rashkover (bass) keeps the rhythm locked and steady, which allows Kravitz to punctuate sections with creative fills and hits.

The time comes for Professor Merrill’s feedback, a critical and constructive part of this rehearsal. He challenges the horn players to diversify the punctuation in the melody with a mix of long and short notes, and for Kravitz to outline the sections of the form more distinctly. He also inspires George and me to not restrict ourselves to our predetermined comping organization and to listen to the soloist to know when to add a new color or accent a particular chord. While challenging at first, George and I begin to develop the feel of when to act upon an invitation to contribute rather than play every chord change. After a few takes, Professor Merrill’s advice begins to sink in, and the group loses its rigidity.

With the trio of drums, bass, and piano in one room, and guitar, alto, and tenor each in separate pods, listening to one another far outweighs what one musician plays at a given moment. As six selfless players, the Trommer Sextet is able to sound its best. At every rehearsal, our group continues to make progress musically both individually and collectively, despite the restrictions COVID-19 placed upon us.

Under the diligent instruction of Professor Merrill and our continued dedication to the music, the Trommer Sextet has the potential to develop into a force of nature. JazzDesk, filled with eclectic recordings from all four jazz combo groups, will serve as a hub for the fresh and exciting jazz music Cornell students create this year. Check it out, and you will feel the socially distanced vibrations.

Trommer Sextet:

  • Samantha Rubin, alto
  • Reed Landry, tenor
  • Spencer Nachman, guitar
  • Edward George, piano
  • Teddy Rashkover, bass
  • Evan Kravitz, drums
  • Professor Paul Merrill, instructor
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Joe Bonamassa Reemerges to the Stage in Royal Fashion

Blues-rock titan returns to the Ryman Auditorium with his world-class band to preview his new album Royal Tea.

Joe Bonamassa and band prepared for their first show after six months.

Outfitted in an elegant custom-made suit and black shades typical of his buttoned-up on-stage attire, blues-rock titan Joe Bonamassa dug into his first hard-hitting tune at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee after six long months off the road. For twenty years straight since his debut album, Bonamassa has been touring and recording nonstop, averaging more than 100 shows per year, and releasing 13 studio records and 17 live albums. He had his tour operation down to a science, but when the greater power of COVID-19 forced him to shut down the blues-rock machine in March, he began planning to adapt.

Bonamassa lives for the stage, for his fans, for the music, and most of all – for his guitars. Bonamassa owns about 450 guitars and 400 amps, a testament to his life’s dedication to the instrument. So one can only imagine how this self-proclaimed guitar geek felt when he had to put a halt to his US Spring 2020 tour. Just two months before, Bonamassa and his band of Hall of Fame inductees and highest in-demand session players recorded his new album Royal Tea at Abbey Road Studios in London, and it is set to come out on October 23, 2020. With this recording session completed just before the world changed, Bonamassa had a fresh batch of new material to serve up for fans at his virtual livestream on September 20, 2020.

With the exception of one song and some rearranging, Bonamssa played Royal Tea in full, giving fans more than a glimpse into what the album will sound and feel like. Bonamssa’s vision for Royal Tea was to pay tribute to British guitarists such as Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, and Paul Kossoff, who inspired him to take up the instrument as a budding musician. This new record’s sound is entrenched in late 60s early 70s British music, which is even more apparent upon knowing that Bonamassa co-wrote many of the songs with blues-rock guitarist Bernie Marsden from the band Whitesnake. Eight months later, with cardboard cutouts of fans aligned in the benches, guitar amps turned up to 11, and a setlist waiting to come alive, the blues-rock was ready to commence.

The virtual extravaganza opened with “When One Door Opens,” a heavy tune that awakened Bonamassa fans after a six-month live music drought. Bonamassa is known for playing Les Paul guitars, following in the footsteps of Jimmy Page, Paul Kossoff, and Peter Green, but in this opening song he used a B-bender telecaster, a guitar commonly used by country-style players. This axe gave Bonamassa a unique tonal ability that formed an integral part of the main riff, and the high energy song proved to be the perfect way to start off the album and concert. At many virtual shows, artists have their crew members applauding throughout to mimic the audience’s reactions, but Bonamassa decided to have absolute silence between songs to reflect the current state of the world.

Bonamssa plays his new album Royal Tea at The Ryman Auditorium.

Loosened up from their opening song, the band jumped into “Royal Tea,” the title track of the album. This bluesy song featured backup singers Jade MacRae and Dannielle De Andrea on the verses with the repeated line “royal tea,” as they alternated with Bonamassa’s vocals. “Royal Tea” felt royal and rooted in British culture as the main pulse of the song was very similar to a British marching band prodding down a street. At the breakdown, the song escalated from a riff identical to the intro to Jeff Beck’s “I Ain’t Superstitious,” reaching a climax, and then returned to its original feel to close out the song.

Each musician in Bonamassa’s hand-crafted band is regarded as of the highest caliber on their instrument. On stage left was Reece Wynans, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductee and keyboard player from Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble; on bass was Musician’s Hall of Fame inductee Michael Rhodes; and filling in for his usual drummer Anton Fig from the David Letterman Show house band, was Academy of Country Music Award for Drummer of the Year winner, Greg Morrow. For this gig, Bonamassa also added Rob McNelley as backup guitarist, who filled out the band’s sound with a unique blend of colors, as well as Jimmy Hall, who guested on harmonica for a few songs.

After playing through Royal Tea, the brief intermission gave the band a break before ripping through the powerful encore, which consisted of material from A New Day Now (20th Anniversary Edition), a reissue album of Bonamssa’s first record A New Day Yesterday (2000), as well as a track from his Redemption (2018) album titled “Evil Mama.” Each of the four songs in the encore were more vivacious and jaw-dropping than the previous. The finale, a combination of Jethro Tull’s “A New Day Yesterday” and Yes’s “Starship Trooper: Würm,” ended the concert in royal fashion. For avid Bonamassa fans, this song was particularly exciting to watch as he has not performed this arrangement since 2008. The three chord sequence of “Würm” was the perfect platform for Bonamassa to end this virtual livestream with a melodic and energetic solo, leaving viewers hungry for more.

Bonamassa was mentored by many guitar greats like B.B. King, so he too has given back by helping budding musicians, even more so now that many have been affected by COVID-19. Last spring, Bonamassa launched the Fueling Musicians Program through the Keeping the Blues Alive organization, which provides financial support to artists. A portion of each ticket bought for the virtual concert went towards this worthy cause. What’s more, following the lively Bonamassa show, the After Party Showcase featured performances from a variety of other artists including The Cold Stares, Jared James Nichols, and Tyler Bryant.

Music fans all over the world suffered several long months without live events, but September 20 was a reminder that loud blues-rock is a necessity. Bonamssa’s tour machine lays dormant for now, but when the time comes for fans to experience his mesmerizing live shows in person again, it will be a religious ceremony and a punch in the face all at once.

Setlist:

  1. When One Door Opens
  2. Royal Tea
  3. High Class Girl
  4. Lookout Man!
  5. Why Does it Take So Long to Say Goodbye
  6. A Conversation with Alice
  7. I Didn’t Think She Would Do It
  8. Beyond the Silence
  9. Lonely Boy
  10. Cradle Rock (Rory Gallagher)
  11. Walk in My Shadow (Free)
  12. Evil Mama
  13. A New Day Yesterday / Starship Trooper: Würm (Jethro Tull / Yes)
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Taking Flight

No observer gets higher above Cayuga’s waters then I— except maybe the turkey vulture, red-tailed hawk, jet plane or Reaper drone visiting our lake from its Syracuse aerie. None of these is friend to the Warbler.  My outsized avian cousins would just as soon have me for a bit-sized, grab-and-go snack, and those civil and military flying machines would blithely shred me with their engines and spit me out as feathered confetti, tiny dots of red and white floating down in final descent to the place I love: Cornell!

Even if I now and again venture up to the heights (though never to Cayuga Heights) for the view—look in on the chimes of McGraw Tower, flit over to the twin towers of Ithaca College, or check the progress of the high-rise construction in what our alma mater hopefully calls the “busy humming of the bustling town”—my favored destinations are the trees, bushes and flowers of our glorious campus, the lapidary steps and benches, the sills and eaves of its edifying edifices. Rather than assuming the bird’s-eye-view, I prefer to be quad-level peering out from an oak or maple branch, listening and watching.

It is not only planes that have been absent of late. The university’s quadrangles, paths, and bridges do not see the continual rush of humanity coursing from its buildings every hour or so.  The place appears largely vacant, the humans having apparently taken up the habit of hibernating as if in emulation of the university’s mascot, the bear, but doing so, oxymoronically, even during the summer and autumn.

In the Arts Quad a large tent with open sides was set up. I liked to perch atop its apex or duck inside if a sight or strain caught my fancy. Mostly the temporary pavillon remained empty, though occasionally during the day I spied parents snatching a nap while their toddlers roamed the temporary floorboards. Now and again I spotted an instrumental duo inside or under a nearby tree, and flew down to do what I do best: observe. Sometimes individual lessons were underway, the musicians looking a bit stranded, their music not reaching far beyond the tent stakes. Once I sang my colorful song to encourage a fledgling clarinetist, but my improvised duet elicited only an annoyed glance.  I flew away.

This weekend the wind ensemble came outdoors to present an afternoon concert.  A black grand piano was even schlepped out of Lincoln Hall for the festivities. People roused themselves from their slumbers and emerged from their lairs to assemble for the music, standing well apart from each other, as I’ve noticed they are wont to do nowadays.

The highpoint (like I said, I do like occasionally get high, even if I mostly stay low), was Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, a rousing keyboard concerto that has always set my wings to flapping.  Its symphonic blasts raced across the lawns and echoed off the vacant buildings, while the pianist ripped off his solo part with the brashness of the blue jay and the nimbleness of the chickadee.  The fall afternoon glowed red and resounded in blue—an optimistic, American blue.  The people swayed like trees in a jaunty breeze.  The straps of their masks flexed. Their ears were cocked. They were smiling as they listened.

 

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Trey Anastasio Exhibits Unparalleled Creativity

Trey Anastasio surprises fans during quarantine with the release of his new eclectic album Lonely Trip.

Trey Anastasio yearns for the stage and a concert atmosphere.

Ignore Trey Anastasio at your peril. Widely known for his work as the guitarist/ vocalist of the band Phish, Anastasio has built himself the following to launch a solo career his loyal fans never hesitate to support. COVID-19 has had an extreme impact on people’s work and lives, but Anastasio was able to channel his deep feelings over the last year into a creative and eclectic album titled Lonely Trip. Anastasio recorded and produced this record from his apartment in New York City during the lockdown, and his fans were able to see this project come to fruition as he documented his process and rough versions of tracks on social media.

Lonely Trip’s opening track “Shaking Someone’s Outstretched Hand” commences the album with the feeling of an already ongoing song. The eerie overdubbed guitar and vocals panned right and left leaves the listener unsettled, not quite at ease despite the rock solid drum beat. With a segue into “A Wave of Hope,” Anastasio does a complete 180 between these two tracks in terms of feel, as this next tune is funky and upbeat. The repeated lyric “this too shall pass” appears to be a direct response to the COVID-19 pandemic, and the listener can feel the light of optimism Anastasio expresses about the future. In “Lost in the Pack,” Anastasio strips down to just an acoustic guitar and sings about his feelings of loneliness. His raw folk-style singing voice cuts through the mix of strummed and arpeggiated chords on the guitar, a performance one could find on the porch step of rural country.

While the first seven tracks of Lonely Trip are in the two to three minute range, “Lotus” is Phish-esque in its longer length of 10 minutes and less conventional form with various unexpected twists and turns. The song starts out as what seems like an ordinary soft rock tune, very much in the vein of The Grateful Dead but with a modern twist. Suddenly, the drums cut out and then come back, fooling the listener into thinking that there will be a “part two” of the first segment of the song. Anastasio uses his creativity to catch the listener off guard, and he dives into a sparse section that takes this piece in a whole new direction. Later in the song, Anastasio starts a short-lived hard-hitting groove, but he again deceives the listener as he closes the song with a mellow mood similar to the beginning. The shifts in pace and volume in “Lotus” mirror the very familiar ups and downs of emotion we experience during COVID-19.

Many artists put their title track at the beginning or middle of the record, but Anastasio keeps his audience itching to hear the song “Lonely Trip.” This tune, much like “Lost in the Pack” and “When the Words Go Away,” has just acoustic guitar and vocals. Anastasio brings the song and album to a close with the repeated lyric “perhaps we’ll finally meet at last,” an ambiguous ending with a glimpse of hope for the future.

Track Listing:

  1. Shaking Someone’s Outstretched Hand
  2. A Wave of Hope
  3. I Never Left Home
  4. Lost in the Pack
  5. If I Could See the World
  6. The Greater Good
  7. When the Words Go Away
  8. Lotus
  9. I Never Needed You Like This Before
  10. The Silver Light
  11. Are You There Colleen
  12. …And Flew Away
  13. Till We Meet Again
  14. Evolve
  15. Lonely Trip
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Coronavirus and Collier

(Alternately titled: All I did was listen to one song on loop)

Contrasted against the dire events of the pandemic summer, music and entertainment can seem frivolous. But caught in these endless two week cycles of watching and waiting for coronavirus updates, it is precisely music’s escapist quality, how it enraptures and transports us, which makes it so vital. 

I’m not about to make the claim that jazz wunderkind Jacob Collier’s collaboration with Grammy-nominated Rapsody, “He Won’t Hold You,” is a panacea or even placebo for the very real problems we face. But for a few minutes, it illuminates time, as Collier delivers a powerful elegy for a moment of loss.

The opening gospel choir is plaintive and raw, singing the refrain in equal parts pleading and adamant that “he won’t hold you/ like I do”. Any hint of bitterness in the language is eased by the warmth of the harmonies – rich, bittersweet compound (mostly) major chords punctuating every word, supported by swelling base synths and accented by dulcet trills on the harp and piano. 

He pans the harmonies even wider in the verse to capture a vast sea of sound and colour. But this track is at its most moving in the bridge when the choir surges forward, insisting  “I won’t be alright”, full-throated and anguished on the bass kick, then ebbing into silence with a sigh. 

Collier rarely sings as a solo voice, his multitracked vocals draping mellifluous over the instrumentation. But when we do get Collier on his own, whispering “sing it again” over a lofi crackle, or when the choir frays into individual exhales, these moments create a sense of intimacy.

Collier’s previous work has been criticised for overshadowing emotion with technical gymnastics, but in this song his prodigious talents serve the sincerity of the music. “He Won’t Hold You” speaks keenly to this moment in our lives with a story of longing, heartbreak and ultimately, redemption.

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Guitar in the Pandemic: A Little Constancy in Uncertain Times

In the corner of my bedroom, my guitar.

Everything felt in flux as the Coronavirus crashed upon American shores, sweeping us away from Campus. Suddenly, all forms of social interaction were streamed across screens and spread six feet apart. I craved a connection untainted by the all-enveloping pandemic.

I came home to find her just as I had left her—or perhaps more beautiful. They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder. Her simple dress—a satin finish with white trim—only accentuated her natural complexion. Streaks of ochre flared across her mahogany body, flickering out at her dusky rosewood neck. But enough about looks; guitars aren’t meant to be gawked at. They’re made to be played.

I slid my hand up the strings, pressing into her and plucking her for a response. She answered me in the same reverberant tone as always. Every other conversation I had was held at a distance. Every other conversation I had operated within the context of the virus. The way we spoke, however, was unaltered. Working up the fretboard, she reciprocated every beat, bend, and break of a string with a predictable sonic response. When I reached for a fourth or a fifth, she followed. When I sought resolution, she relented.

As the world changes around us, guitars don’t. They stand stable and enduring with the same strings, the same neck, the same tunings, and the same tones that they’ve always had. Chords and notes, Rock and Blues, they all exist independent of the passage of time. Over a summer characterized by rapidly evolving social, political, and economic conditions, my guitar was a well-needed source of constancy.

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A Rekindled Musical Appreciation

The first time I could successfully say, “Practicing violin isn’t that bad!”

Art by Katherine Ku

Aided with social distancing due to the pandemic, I had ample time this summer to brush up on my scales and arpeggios, relearn Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in e minor, and learn Lalo’s Sinfonia Española. Even more valuable, however, this summer had allowed me to form a new bond with my childhood violin teacher, one with a refreshing and intellectually stimulating space of musical discussions.

This summer, I freed myself from making excuses: no interviews to stress about, no schoolwork binding me to my computer, no late-night social activities I was obligated to attend – just me and my violin. For the first time in my life, I was able to devote full energy and attention to my instrument.

I reconnected with my childhood piano teacher and became a temporary music theory tutor for her students. For the first time since elementary school, I felt enlivened walking into her house knowing exactly (more or less) what I was doing and what I had prepared to bring to the piano and to her students.

How ironic is it that in high school, I absolutely dreaded preparing a piece on my violin for our annual concerts? That when I took piano lessons, I absolutely loathed learning and practicing music theory? That now, as an adult, when there seem to be so many other life events that could spark joy for me, it is these very “childhood tasks” that make me smile? I will forever be grateful for this summer for helping me rediscover this appreciation for my instruments and musical mentors.

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The Tempo of the Summer

This summer played out in a somber minor key, adagio with seemingly no cadences. The pandemic and continuous acts of racism have brought a sense of perpetual doom to many.

After the sadness that came with going home, Cornell students were still able to experience a virtual Slope Day filled with exciting live performances. This made me realize that music can exist no matter the situation, even during a pandemic.

At Cornell, I had to desperately find time to visit the practice rooms in Lincoln Hall. But going back home was actually a blessing in disguise. It gave me the opportunity to fall back into my routine of daily piano playing. The keys under my fingertips transported me out of quarantine and into the worlds of Chopin and Debussy, swiftly evading any feeling of being trapped inside.

Not only did I get to play more, but I also listened more. My favorite artists including keshi, UMI, and Taylor Swift took advantage of this time to bless fans with new releases. I discovered emerging artists too, spending hours browsing through Spotify. I also made a playlist for every possible occasion, from a “oui oui baguette” French playlist to a “my essay is due at 11:59” one (my procrastinator self is listening to this currently). Blasting these in my room felt like my own personal concert, and my appreciation for the artists only grew for giving me this newfound vitality.

After the adagio came, the harmony modulated towards a more light-paced, cheerful tempo. Even with all the minor chords of the summer, musicians, including myself, adapted, creating and listening to more music than ever before. The barriers of masks and social distancing mean little when there is so much music to be heard.

 

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How “Run Away With Me” Infiltrated My Summer

The summer of 2020 was unconventional, but as with every summer for the past four years, by the end, I had three monthly playlists filled with songs – a compilation of old favorites intertwined with new discoveries that left a mark on me this summer. One such discovery that dominated my listening from June through August was Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Run Away With Me”, an energetic pop song that had somehow never crossed my path until this summer.

The song had been introduced to me through a YouTube video entitled “‘Run Away With Me’ by Carly Rae Jepsen: The Best Pop Song of the Century”, by MictheSnare, a music analysis channel. Listening to Nick, the host, go through the song to analyze what makes it creative, complex, and catchy inspired me to listen more closely to the music that I consume and encouraged me to grant Jepsen’s song the elite status of being on my June Spotify playlist.

“Run Away With Me” is a song that I could listen to in any format over the summer, whether I was blasting it while driving with my windows down on one of the few errands that allowed me to leave the house, or in my air pods as I ferociously weeded in my yard. No matter the setting, Jepsen’s energetic song fits perfectly and makes ordinary life a little bit more fun.

Though it is a pop song, “Run Away With Me” avoids the common error of being repetitive and predictable, as Jepsen plays with texture, volume, harmony, and chord resolution. While I may not agree that “Run Away With Me” is the best pop song of the century, it certainly serves as a fantastic example of what pop should be: versatile, purposeful, and never stagnant.

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Summer of Redemption

Spencer Nachman performs for the final time at Prohibition before NYC went into lockdown.

March 2, 2020: The pianist kicks off the intro to Herbie Hancock’s Watermelon Man. The drummer and bassist come in, bringing a deep, in-the-mud groove, a nice combination of the Takin’ Off (1962) and Head Hunters (1973) versions of the tune. After 16 bars of the vamp, a common chord progression in jazz, blues, and funk, it is time for me to come in with the melody.

It is a Monday night after a long school day, but that is no excuse to forget the head to the classic Hancock tune in front of a packed bar. In this moment, I feel the most disconnected from my Gibson Les Paul I have felt in my twenty gigs this year. This was my final gig sitting in with the house band at Prohibition NYC before coronavirus hit New York City, and it took a toll on my musical headspace this summer.

For days, weeks, months, that feeling of being out of control over the instrument on which I have spent 15 years working tirelessly to hone my skills continued to haunt me. If I am not content with my performance at a regular gig, I always have the next one to woodshed and look forward to. But this time it was different.

At first, I spent hours a day obsessing over little phrases that gave me trouble, but the lack of a goal to work towards tormented me. I knew I had to change my mindset: forget the stress and revisit the music that inspired me to play in the first place. I returned to 2112 by Rush that I first learned on my Cordoba classical guitar. I even dared to learn Some Skunk Funk at live version speed. These accomplishments excited me to sit down and play, making this one of the most refreshing and productive musical summers yet.