Again. And again. They seem to be multiplying faster, than rats, but I have come to terms with myself, and my extermination practice. I certainly killed a couple (well, my be, one, and it fought back vigorously) yesterday.
That was an unexpectedly crowded jam at Club Isabella on Friday night. When Evelyn Wright said a week ago at Bop Stop "come sometime to Isabella, we'll play", she didn't specify, when; I thought, it was more, like "see ya tomorrow (later, around, soon, etc.)". I didn't expect her neither to remember me, nor to call me up (by name), when I come, especially that night, when it looked like a family reunion on stage, and sounded like it, too. The quiet background jazz duet we expected to listen to, and, may be, to play with, was there no more, volume was up 200%, and a group of kids was performing a cappella Manhattan Transfer's version of Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square. When they were done, they tried to depart, but were requested back on stage (by Evelyn), sang some more, than left, replaced by another singer, than another, than another (I think, I can recall three more male singers - one of whom was very good - and three more female singers, who were all just gorgeous, over the night).
I was actually called up somewhere in the middle of these festivities, naturally caught unprepared, because I was waiting for a break to get the horn together, and warm up; lost it slightly on the first song (not horribly, just another "no-music-there" solo, partially saved by the fact, that I had no mike, and must have sounded very muted to the audience), got a bit better later, on the blues, I played with the whole company, but, once again, wasn't all that good. May be, just OK, or barely OK (on my opinion).
Audience, however, was extremely welcoming and enthusiastic (90% of the people actually knew each other, being related, or friends of family, and such).
Evelyn knew very little about us after a short shmooz after her show a week ago, but had to say something, so, here he comes, Ilya From Russia (good thing I already had a horn out, so nobody would expect me to pull out a balalaika, or a set of wooden spoons), to play some jazz and blues. So there.
Anyway, that was a good jam, with the exception of my mediocre performance (the demons fighting back, I guess). I should do it again, and be prepared next time around.
That was an unexpectedly crowded jam at Club Isabella on Friday night. When Evelyn Wright said a week ago at Bop Stop "come sometime to Isabella, we'll play", she didn't specify, when; I thought, it was more, like "see ya tomorrow (later, around, soon, etc.)". I didn't expect her neither to remember me, nor to call me up (by name), when I come, especially that night, when it looked like a family reunion on stage, and sounded like it, too. The quiet background jazz duet we expected to listen to, and, may be, to play with, was there no more, volume was up 200%, and a group of kids was performing a cappella Manhattan Transfer's version of Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square. When they were done, they tried to depart, but were requested back on stage (by Evelyn), sang some more, than left, replaced by another singer, than another, than another (I think, I can recall three more male singers - one of whom was very good - and three more female singers, who were all just gorgeous, over the night).
I was actually called up somewhere in the middle of these festivities, naturally caught unprepared, because I was waiting for a break to get the horn together, and warm up; lost it slightly on the first song (not horribly, just another "no-music-there" solo, partially saved by the fact, that I had no mike, and must have sounded very muted to the audience), got a bit better later, on the blues, I played with the whole company, but, once again, wasn't all that good. May be, just OK, or barely OK (on my opinion).
Audience, however, was extremely welcoming and enthusiastic (90% of the people actually knew each other, being related, or friends of family, and such).
Evelyn knew very little about us after a short shmooz after her show a week ago, but had to say something, so, here he comes, Ilya From Russia (good thing I already had a horn out, so nobody would expect me to pull out a balalaika, or a set of wooden spoons), to play some jazz and blues. So there.
Anyway, that was a good jam, with the exception of my mediocre performance (the demons fighting back, I guess). I should do it again, and be prepared next time around.