Sunday, October 12, 2014

The most dangerous garage in the city


(Springy G ponders the sound that just came out of a convoluted brass Fiendish Thingie) Relax ... Relax ... Fill the lungs from bottom to top ...


Ah, that's better.  (starts to play a one-octave F major scale, but gets distracted on the way down and wanders into a cool little riff from "Sing Sing Sing")

Hæ!  I'm out in my garage this fine Sunday evening, sitting on a rolling stool that used to be a desk chair, doing music homework.  I am finally learning how to operate the alto sax I bought back in the spring of 2013.

But why am I here in the garage instead of in my cozy little office?  Two reasons.  First of all, it's kind of crowded in the office at the moment because stuff that should be in the bedroom is in the study, and stuff that should be in the study is in the office.



... Saxophones are loud, with a capital L O U D.  I'd rather be wailing away out here than timidly playing notes that don't even sound like sax notes.

So if you happen to be strolling down a back alley and hear strange noises, approach with caution -- or with a jazz rhythm section.  Don't worry; I'll park the car in front to make room for the drums.