I think, I've found a place, where I can hang out for a while. Roth's Steakhouse on the corner of West 93rd and Columbus has jam sessions on every Friday night from 10 pm to 1 am (allegedly, that is, the real time was from 10:30 to 2, and the jam part started around midnight), starting with a set, played by hosts, as usual.
First set was actually very good, nicely and tastefully played by a minimalistic piano trio (the drummer had only a snare, a kick drum, a hi-hat and a ride cymbal), the only inconvenience was the location of the stage, which can't be really observed from the bar, so I had to stand for an hour in order to see the musicians: the drummer, the bass player, whose instrument looked like it survived a small hurricane, but was a time or two used as a floating device, and the pianist, working on the weathered upright, seemingly held together by the wall, it was leaning against, and some duct tape.
The repertoire was diverse enough to get my hopes up, just a right measures of post-bebop, mainstream and even some bossa.
Guest musicians started arriving at around 11 pm, some skinny kid with a tenor being first, proving once again, that tenor sax is a single most popular jazz instrument in New York City (I almost miss those blues sessions in Cleveland, where I enjoyed watching endless guitarist play-offs, rarely being challenged by another horn).
I waited for a while, first thinking, that I should at least wait 'till the jam starts, to see what they play and if I am going to fit in with what I have, but the break after the first set seemed to go on and on, and shortly before midnight I broke, marched to my car, got the horn, and went in.
They were starting, skinny kid was already wrapped in some sort of sax-support harness instead of a regular "necktie" which made him look like parachutist or bungee jumper with (of course) 50-years old Mark IV / Otto Link combo (which, apparently, is another must-have for any NYC jazz-sax major) strapped to his chest; it almost made my spankin' 2004 Yamaha "Custom Z" look out of place and totally unprofessional ("So what," though I, "I have a real job, so I can afford buying shiny things...").
They started with some standard, kid played a head and a solo, of course, hard bop, what else (or the modern "student" version of bop, where you go over the changes with a series of fast arpeggios, preferably 1/16 notes, which successfully makes every song sound exactly the same, but sort of shows up your craftsmanship, or so they think).
"Dude," thought I, looking on how hard he was working in his thrill seeker harness, "you need a helmet. You play so fast, you can hurt yourself..."
That unuttered joke entertained me just enough to stop worrying about me fitting in, and just play, and so I did up until 2am, taking turns with the aforementioned kid (which indeed, could play at least twice faster than I can, and was actually very good at it. He will make a good musician one day, when he realizes, that music is not measured by the number of notes per bar), two guitarists, one more tenor, and a trumpet.
My more then modest fingering was, I hope, compensated by the more or less successful phrasing and other musical qualities I humbly possess, because I was told to "come back any time" by the hosting group. It may have been just a polite expression, but hey, that's what I was told to do (twice), and that's what I will.
Things are looking up, I think.
Need to brush up on my standards a bit...
First set was actually very good, nicely and tastefully played by a minimalistic piano trio (the drummer had only a snare, a kick drum, a hi-hat and a ride cymbal), the only inconvenience was the location of the stage, which can't be really observed from the bar, so I had to stand for an hour in order to see the musicians: the drummer, the bass player, whose instrument looked like it survived a small hurricane, but was a time or two used as a floating device, and the pianist, working on the weathered upright, seemingly held together by the wall, it was leaning against, and some duct tape.
The repertoire was diverse enough to get my hopes up, just a right measures of post-bebop, mainstream and even some bossa.
Guest musicians started arriving at around 11 pm, some skinny kid with a tenor being first, proving once again, that tenor sax is a single most popular jazz instrument in New York City (I almost miss those blues sessions in Cleveland, where I enjoyed watching endless guitarist play-offs, rarely being challenged by another horn).
I waited for a while, first thinking, that I should at least wait 'till the jam starts, to see what they play and if I am going to fit in with what I have, but the break after the first set seemed to go on and on, and shortly before midnight I broke, marched to my car, got the horn, and went in.
They were starting, skinny kid was already wrapped in some sort of sax-support harness instead of a regular "necktie" which made him look like parachutist or bungee jumper with (of course) 50-years old Mark IV / Otto Link combo (which, apparently, is another must-have for any NYC jazz-sax major) strapped to his chest; it almost made my spankin' 2004 Yamaha "Custom Z" look out of place and totally unprofessional ("So what," though I, "I have a real job, so I can afford buying shiny things...").
They started with some standard, kid played a head and a solo, of course, hard bop, what else (or the modern "student" version of bop, where you go over the changes with a series of fast arpeggios, preferably 1/16 notes, which successfully makes every song sound exactly the same, but sort of shows up your craftsmanship, or so they think).
"Dude," thought I, looking on how hard he was working in his thrill seeker harness, "you need a helmet. You play so fast, you can hurt yourself..."
That unuttered joke entertained me just enough to stop worrying about me fitting in, and just play, and so I did up until 2am, taking turns with the aforementioned kid (which indeed, could play at least twice faster than I can, and was actually very good at it. He will make a good musician one day, when he realizes, that music is not measured by the number of notes per bar), two guitarists, one more tenor, and a trumpet.
My more then modest fingering was, I hope, compensated by the more or less successful phrasing and other musical qualities I humbly possess, because I was told to "come back any time" by the hosting group. It may have been just a polite expression, but hey, that's what I was told to do (twice), and that's what I will.
Things are looking up, I think.
Need to brush up on my standards a bit...