ripping

This last weekend they had the big jazz festival here — one of the biggest in the nation. Days are for local bands (the Protags only play every couple of years, though, for some reason), and nights are for the big acts. Saturday night featured the slammin' Jane Monheit and the ¨berslammin' Arturo Sandoval, whom we enjoyed from the VIP seats, front and center. What a show.

Afterward, local guru Henry Brun had put together a blowing session at Pete's Pub, right across from the festival. Catherine and I went and enjoyed ourselves so much that I went back the next night. Saturday was traditional swingin' stuff, and Sunday was the smooth-jazz stuff, so it was Chuck Mangione and the Rippingtons, both of whom I neglected in favor of dinner with my wife. At the Pete's thing, though, I showed up just in time to relieve bassist George Prado of his burden for about twenty minutes.

This was amusing, because not many people in the scene here are aware that I even play bass at all, much less that it was my main instrument for a while and I got a bass scholarship at Baylor. So the music was fun, and the looks of surprise were fun too. I even almost did pretty well.

Pianists don't ever get to hear other pianists, because, ya know, they're playing. So this was also fun in that I got to sit right next to the guy from the Rippingtons, who'd dropped in for some fun, and hear him rip. Fine player, with really interesting ideas (we mainly stuck to Latin jazz, of course). So. I jammed with a Rippington.