My Life As a Musician

I like to think I've been a musician my whole life.

One of my earliest memories about music was when I was just before starting kindergarten. My mom and dad had a huge stereo system in our living room that was off limits to me and my brother, Cody. As a kid, I was more of a rule breaker than rule follower at home, so naturally I ventured into the territory I was forbidden. I remember finding dozens and dozens of records and tapes, but what caught my eye was a small box of CDs. I found one with a black and white picture of a man's face and decided I would attempt to listen to it. I have always had a knack for figuring out technology, even at a young age, and I managed to start playing the CD. I had jacked the volume way up and the first thing I remember was this massive wave of sound rushing into my head. Scrambling to turn it down, I fumbled with the controls. Then, I started to listen. I remember falling in love with how it sounded. Not the words, but how the combination of notes, rhythms and sounds layered on top of each other to create a new, more interesting sound. Turns out, it was Elton John's self titled album playing "Your Song."

I remember bugging my mom about wanting to play piano from a very young age. My grandma had an old upright at her house and every time I'd visit, the first words out of my mouth were, "Can I play the piano?" I never really knew what I was doing, but I knew I loved the sounds the instrument made each time I pressed the keys. I loved the sensation of the white ivory under my fingers, having the power to create a smooth, rich sound by merely striking the keys downward. I was fascinated by the ability to control the volume of the sound by striking harder or softer. I eventually began to teach myself basic theory, note names, where they're located on the keyboard and scales. I so clearly remember my aunt teaching me proper form, "Hold your hands like you're holding a bubble, but don't pop it!" Soon after, I began piano lessons.

While quitting piano is one of my greatest regrets in life, I have to admit, I've never really like people telling me what to do and how to do it. Eventually I got to a point where I knew pretty much everything I needed to know in order to be successful at the piano. All I needed was practice. So I quit and begged my mom to buy me a violin so I could be in the orchestra at school. No matter how much I pleaded my mom reiterated her nightmarish past with the violin, listening to her sister practice as a youngster, screeching away. She insisted I wait one more year for band.

My mom played clarinet when she was in school, so naturally, so did I. It turned out, my cousin Mike had an old trumpet he used to play when he was in school, and since money was always tight growing up, I became a trumpeter. Before I even got my hands on the thing, I was at a sleep over at my friend, Sonya's house and her dad was a trumpet player. We found his old trumpet and all of us had a go at trying to make a sound. I was the only one who could get a noise out of it. I remember as soon as I heard the the warm buzz out of the other end of the bell, I just wanted to hear more. Then I got my own.

In band, I picked up on the trumpet very quickly. I memorized notes, scales, and whole pieces of music. I loved to play, night and day, for hours. But after my first year, I hit that point again where I got burnt out. I felt like I knew everything (ha!). I wanted to switch to french horn. Even at that age, I knew the french horn was in higher demand and I could probably get a lot further with a career in music as a french horn player. But my mom insisted I stick with the trumpet. And so did my music instructors. From Mr. Bradley's constant encouragement, Mrs. Carpenter's pushing me to be more confident and Mr. Rine's belief in me, I fell back in love with the trumpet.

In eighth grade, I moved from the middle school band to the junior high. I can't remember if we had auditions that first year, but I so clearly remember the first day of band. The new band teacher was Mr. Rine, and he scared the crap out of me. Actually, I was the first kid to get in trouble in his class for whispering something to my buddy Riley. I was embarrassed and made my mind up that I didn't like Mr. Rine. As the year progressed, I started to notice Mr. Rine's genuine interest in bettering me as a trumpet player. He would answer my questions, spend time with me to get rhythms right and if he couldn't help, would get me the help I needed. At the end of the year, he encouraged me to try out for jazz band. I was nervous and I just assumed I wasn't good enough, but I knew I didn't really have much to lose. I auditioned and Mr. Rine placed me as the second trumpet player for the jazz band. That next year in jazz band literally changed my life as a musician.

Jazz totally redefined what I thought was possible as a musician. I found the rhythms intoxicating, the scales delightful and the improv a challenge. I fell in love, harder than I've even fallen before. I started listening to jazz musicians every waking moment. I bought album after album of Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Count Basie and Louie Armstrong. I learned as much as I could as fast as I could. I ate it up like it was a big bowl of chocolate pudding. And I never looked back.

It so happens, the same time I fell in love with jazz, I took a particular liking to Mr. Rine. I suspected he also had a fondness for me, though I never knew for sure. He had me playing in the top bands at the junior high, gave me solos I never thought I deserved, and put me in full orchestra. When the year began to end, I couldn't help but feel sad to leave the next year. And auditions were coming up. I don't think auditions ever become easier as a musician. I've been to a million auditions, and every single one is as hard as the one I had at the end of ninth grade for jazz band at the high school.

I remember every moment of that audition. I remember sitting in the practice room at the high school, a strange foreign place with a hobbled piano and broken music stands. I remember staring at the sheet music, "Blues In Hoss Flat," trying so hard to get each rhythm right. I remember frantically studying blues scales. One by one, each of us in that practice room were called into the band room. 4 people left. 3 people. 2. Then just me.

Funny, I don't actually remember what the hell I did during the audition. It was sort of like blacking out, because I have no memory of what happened during those 10 minutes until Mr. DePalatis said, "So I think you'll be the lead next year." Wait, what?? I wanted to blurt out, "Do you know who you're talking to? I'm just a freshman! I don't know what I'm doing!" But I just smiled, said thank you and left.

Now I know that was one of the most important moments in my career as a musician. Mr. DePalatis taking a chance on a freshman, a kid he maybe only heard place a few times before, to be the lead in a band full of upper classmen with years more experience than me. That first year playing lead transformed me from a shy, timid band member into a confident leader of the band. I think I owe all of my musical maturity to that man.

When high school ended, I was faced with a choice: to continue with trumpet or not? I chose not. I never regret my decision, but often I miss playing with a band. I've found that when I'm not playing the trumpet, it's impossible for me to survive without some form of music making. I've replaced my first love, the trumpet, with the challenge of learning the guitar.

No matter what the instrument or how well I can play, who I'm with, where I am, I'll always have the need and urge to be a musician. Music is perfect. And the world is perfect when I'm playing.