tinpanband.com

It’s been a pretty rough couple of months for me personally and I want to talk about here on these pages. Hopefully this story will inspire you to focus on living out your dreams starting right now.

This story has three strands that run with each other like a braid. The first seems innocuous: there’s a pose in my Bikram Yoga practice called the Camel that always makes me want to pass out. Up till two days ago, I could only do it for a second before I’d have to turn around and lie down. It is supposed to really work the heart. For reasons to be discussed below, as soon as I’d even prepare to do it my breathing would become very labored, I would feel dizzy or nauseous and every fiber of my body would scream, “Stop this at once.”

The second strand begins by me admitting that I lied, or at least partly lied to an ABC news reporter who was doing a story on us. It was a big lie to a big question. She had asked me,

What is your goal with all this music that you are doing.

I responded as follows: “I think I have achieved my goal. Every day we are in a position where we are taking our carear one step further. I feel like I am a pioneer on the forefront of my life. Every day reveals more unexplored territory, opportunity and possibility. As long as this continues I feel I will be satisfied.” Yeah, it’s all true but it’s also a big lie. I want a lot more than just that.

The third strand goes back to my genetics. I was born with a strange heart. As an infant, I had an experimental surgery which basically set things straight. Had I been born only a few years earlier I would have died after a few short weeks. During the procedure, I coded. I was dead on the table. I really shouldn’t even be here. But, thanks to modern medicine, since the age of three I have been perfectly healthy. Last November, I had a kind of medical crisis related to my heart condition. Atrial Flutter: the top part of the heart beats way too fast while the bottom part attempts to hold steady. After a few days in the hospital they actually put some paddles on either side of my chest and shocked my heart back into a regular rhythm! Turns out, and doctors are only figuring this out in the last few years, about 80% of people who have had the surgery I had get atrial fluter when the get to my age. I felt cursed. I felt resigned. Oh well, at least I had a good run at it…

Now back to life and the winter as a musician. It was a pretty stressful time for me especially as I didn’t have health insurance. Writing letters to doctors and hospital administrators became a part time job for many months. Eventually I was able to talk them down to something affordable. Meanwhile, there were a few episodes where I thought I was having a recurrence. I’ll tell you quite frankly that I was freaking out a little bit. I even went to my local doctor and got an EKG only to find that the results were normal. In a way, this was worse. Now I felt that I didn’t even have an accurate gauge of my own state of health. Perhaps I had started experiencing anxiety attacks that stemmed purely from my own fears.

I am writing this story today because all of this has come to a head in the last week. On sunday I started experiencing another bout of this fake atrial flutter. And even though it isn’t “real” it is still a terrible, terrible feeling. It lasted for days at a time. It was making me consider drinking myself to death. It was making me count my moments of life. It was making me feel like I needed to start saying good bye to the world. At the same time, I would take my pulse, recognize that what I was feeling was illusionary, and recognize that I was in the middle of some psychological storm that would hopefully show me something.

During the ABC interview, I was reflecting on all these things and it is this kind of gallows wisdom that lead me to such a Buddhist statement of my life’s purpose. Again, in a way, it is true and quite wise I feel. Needing nothing more than the present and feeling of some kind of purposeful growth is a guarantee of feeling satisfied. It is adjustable. No matter what the external condition of life, the internal feeling of growth and improvement can continue. It seems completely sensible. And even more sensible when one is face to face with one’s own mortality. It is also only half of my reality. The other half was being ignored or hidden.

If I look at my goals and dreams from when I was a kid onwards through my twenties, I see that my real life’s purpose is to be HUGE. HUGE in the sense of RADIATING ENORMOUS AMOUNTS OF ENERGY. If I had a picture of it, it would be a picture of me standing in front of a band of musicians at some venue like Giant’s Stadium with light reflecting off of me into a truly endless sea of a crowd. And, honestly, and without holding back, this energy did not stop at just the people at the show. It continued to radiate OUTWARDS to spread this energy to all of human kind. And not just human kind, animals and plants and all other being as well. And it didn’t just stop with the earth. It was like a beacon of energy radiating outwards to other planets, star systems, galaxies to the very boundaries of the universe and beyond if that were possible. There is a very deep part of me that is accessing this dream every time I perform. With every breath I take. Frankly, I think it is a natural state to assume one is the center of one’s universe as a beacon of one’s essence. Wow. Still with me? And what is this energy? It is all the joy, pain, suffering, love, passion of life.

The other day I was back at the Bikram studio and it was time again for the Camel. I got up on my knees and started to bend backwards. I began to feel the familiar need to abort the pose but for whatever reason, desperation?, annoyance with being afraid?, curiosity? I decided to stick it out and push past. I tried a few different ways of breathing and eventually made it through the allotted time and returned to lying flat on my back with all the others in the class. My heart was ON FIRE!! It was beating so fast and so hard and so rapidly. I could actually hear the valves of the heart clicking open and closed. Believe me, after all the research I’ve done on my own heart, I was pulling up all kinds of detailed anatomical diagrams into my mind’s eye. The thoughts that were coming through my brain were like a revelation, questioning my fear. “Why have you been short selling your ambition? What have you done with your dreams? Are you really satisfied with the moment you are in? What if you died right now? Would you have accomplished what you feel you are here to do?” The answers were charged with passion. “No! I would not be satisfied. I have achieved a good base but that is all. Now is the time remember who I am. Now is the time to move forward towards my real goal: performing for huge audiences all over the world and sharing my radiant vibration with the entirety of the universe – all at once – right now.” No need to run from what I’ve been hoping for my whole life.

The second set of camel was a piece of cake. My heart was still on fire afterwards but there was no resistance, no shortness of breath, no dizziness and no fear.

I work really hard. I push really hard. When I sing, I dive off the boundary of what I know I can do and fly into maximum effort with out any reservation. Even when I’m not performing I am working very hard at making the business side of what we are doing a fruitful, lucrative endeavor. I will not stop till I am where I need to be. It is a good thing to be reminded what I am working so hard for. It is a wonderful mirror to see my passion in. So, ABC, sorry to mislead you. I was tripping. I was circling around fear and stress. I was only giving you half of the story. Yes, I am wise enough to accept and appreciate every moment as a sign of growth. But growth towards what? Growth towards a radiant, joyous energy that is felt to the ends of the universe.
Yours,
Jesse

In 1887, Jerry Thomas wrote one of the 1st published collections of cocktail recipes in the United States.

In 2009, the fantastic friend & cellist, Joel Noyes, asked the all-knowing Lucinda (of Little Branch fame) for a “refreshing whiskey based drink”…and our little posse of friends was introduced to the sublime “Vieux Carre” cocktail.

In 2010, I found a copy of Jerry Thomas’s cocktail book on eBay and won it. While looking through recipes I noticed a drink that could only be considered the precursor to the Vieux Carre.

That drink is the Saratoga:

-1 Part Brandy
-1 Part Rye
-1 Part Sweet Vermouth
-2 Dashes Angostura Bitters

Stir on ice, No garnish…

Simple as pie and damn good…the Mighty Vieux Carre only adds a little Benedictine and Peychoud’s Bitters with some citrus and brandied cherries on the garnish side…

This drink is really good and a great way to get in the world of the Vieux Carre but sit on the “Spicier” side of the drink.

Salud!!!

As I stepped through the doorway of Curry Hill’s famous Kalustyan’s I came face to face with an enormous wall of bitters.

What Delight!
What a Rarity!
What Beauty!
What a trove of delicious flavors!

A seemingly endless variety was placed in front of my eyes:
Rhubarb bitters, Celery bitters, Peach bitters, Clover bitters, Lemon bitters, Grapefruit bitters, Chilean bitters, German bitters, even Bitter bitters…

I couldn’t help but notice the lone, empty aisle where the Trinidadian classic, Angostura bitters normally resides…but alas, I shall survive the drought with my own personal stash!

I grabbed a bottle of the New Orleans stalwart, Peychoud’s as well as Regan’s Orange #6 (quite a hard one to find!) and then reached up and took the last bottle of the German Bitter Truth Aromatic bitters…this is quite a find! Coming in at 3 times the price of the others this is one of the most sought after bottles by mixologists in our fair city. Supposedly it is the Aromatic that the famous Angostura was modeled after yet has never had distribution outside of Deustchland…

It’s mine now!

So now I await the time to experiment!

Nishant: Transitions are the greatest necessity for growth. I’m trying to convince my p€^~s…

Joe: Looming death is inspirational. Perhaps the greatest antidote to procrastination.

The Hunter: Amusing? Oh! A musing!!!

Ivy: Why do I keep attracting gay men?

Clifton: I bought bitters today. Will inform tomorrow…

Shena: wij zitten hier dikke garnalen te eten en ze zijn heerlijk lekker.

Clifton: all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration; there is no death; we are all one conciousness experienceing life subjectively; it is but a dream & we are the immagination of ourselves…

Jesse: oysters. A big plate of oysters. A large varried plate of delicious oysters and then a whole ‘nother plate of oysters.

Lydia: pie crust. There’s a lot of water so you use the vodka instead of water cause it’s colder.

Pete: my moms says it’s because of the gluten. It becomes pasty.

Jose: I has the jumbalaya.

Bruce: [wanders away drunkenly]

Minnow: you guys have soul, man.

Recently I’ve been shedding my bartending chops…

After being a regular customer at many of the fine cocktail bars hidden in nooks & crannys all throughout our fair city I was struck with the revelation that I could make & partake in amazing drinking without leaving the comforts of my own bedroom…

At this point the quality of my ingredients is greater then my technique…and lo how I need some dedicated cocktail tools! But alas, my creations are becoming tastier & more balanced and my success ratio is higher then a Hall of Fame Baseball slugger but lower then a member of the Chicago Symphony.

-3 Parts RYE Whiskey (Rye Kills Bourbon!!!)
-1 Part Sweet Vermouth (Dolan as per Selengut)
-Dash of Bitters (Angostura traditionally but experiment)

Stir on Ice & garnish with dried Bing cherries that you have soaked in Brandy…

Cheers!

Clifton and I went down to Phili on Wednesday to check in with our good friends Wharton and Darren at Plan B studios. It’s always an experience. The goal of the trip was to do some solid work on Wharton’s newest record. It’s an epic saga about a slave ship coming into the West Indies: a heavy story and some dramatic music to boot.

Wharton himself is kind of a bull in a china shop kind of guy. Even though the environment he surrounds himself with seems unbreakable, there are always scuffles with the law, with the city and with certain gun-totin’ “friends” that an air of violence and danger surrounds the long suffering giant known as Wharton Tract. This time was no different. When you are dealing with such a bundle of raw power, conspiracy theory fueled aggression, alcohol inspired madness, kind hearted generosity and burning passion for artistic peaks a very delicate animalistic social dance is required. There is sniffing involved. Like a pack of dogs uncertain of the various levels of Alpha in the room, we all must sniff and re-acquaint and talk and drink to re-establish just the right balance of trust, autonomy, and respect that will allow each of us to help each other.

Hours later, the microphones are set up and yours truly is asked to play some bravura, ultra-high, loud-as-possible, soaring, epic, hair-raising, full-bodied, huge-toned lamentation music over a solid and trashy 6/8 groove. It’s the overture to the whole piece and the voice of the trumpet is the focal point for the lamentations and sufferings held within the cells of a slave ship. Let me go warm up.

The first take was solid but the second take was more broken and plaintive. Eventually a combination of the two will be used with each of them taking turns in the foreground while the other acts as an echo.

The next task was to create a lapping water effect. I wrote out three phrases of varying lengths to be played with three different mutes. The phrases would overlap as they went in and out of phase with each other. Each one had a narrow range of pitches and together the effect was simultaneously tense and soothing. The repetition and the humanness of the sound was soothing but the occasional and arhythmic burn of very close intervals made it tense.

Finally, I recorded three more trumpets and a slide-trumpet track of chortles, wheezes, lamentations, screams, sarcasm, death wishes, fear, pain, and whimpering. The idea was to create a conversation between the slaves at the landing of the ship.

Throughout the process, Clifton is at the helm as producer, giving direction and approving or requesting more. Darren is riding the board, setting up the mics, getting levels, tweaking the pre-amps, re-patching the patches, and generally being efficient, calm and encouraging. Wharton is either hulking in a chair with a glare of severe, glassy rage, his glass of scotch on the rocks tilted downhill, or he is no where to be found, letting the process continue as it might. Whenever he would look at you, you would get a wonderful generosity and caring and appreciation. It always felt like a blessing to have him on your side or for him to think that you are on his side. Did I mention that Wharton is also physically huge: 6′4″ and hulking with hands like shovels.

We spend hours in the basement of the spice factory doing tracking in this and in similar manners before checking with the outside world around 4am. A foot of snow has already fallen and there is no way we are going to be traveling on the morn. Sleep overtakes at 6am and the next day begins and repeats. A banjo player from Rome arrives and records his bit on a dixie-landish number called Chocolate City. I get to play pixie/plunger trumpet trading riffs with him. The electric guitar comes out and is TURNED ALL THE WAY UP TO TEN!! IT IS SO LOUD. But that’s how you get a rock n’ roll sound. Set up the mics and Clifton makes his metal magic. His choice of warm-ups included dazzling and impeccably accurate virtuosic renditions of Jimi Hendrix, Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and David Gilmore from Floyd. Darren Morze kicked the shit out of the Bonham drum parts and the whole thing was an hour of entertainment just getting Clifton to shake off the rock guitar cobwebs via a trip to visit the masters. He slays it. Naturally. We crank up the old Hammond Organ and I get to play a role in the creation of a slave traders desires. Yucky feelings but great dark music and spooky grooves with thick syrup and swirly sweat from the organ. The snow is still sheeting sideways at 4am!

What the Hell is that title about?
Ask Sergio…

So I sit in my apartment waiting to mosey down to the modern day miracle that is the 1 Train in order to exit at the Columbus Circle Station and descend into the bowels of the Midtown Apple Store to get my phone fixed…

I keep thinking that there is something I should be doing but everytime a clear description emerges in my mind’s eye something comes along and HOLY SHIT!!! THE SAINTS WON THE SUPER BOWL…

Dans la rupture, a non seulement la matière du passé violé ; la forme de ce qui s’est produite, d’un imperceptible quelque chose qui s’est produite dans des substances volatiles, n’existe plus même. On est devenu imperceptible et clandestin dans un voyage immobile. Rien ne peut se produire, ou peut s’être produit, plus longtemps. Personne ne peut faire n’importe quoi pour ou contre moi plus longtemps. Mes territoires sont hors de prise, pas parce qu’ils sont imaginaires, mais hors de l’opposé, parce que je suis en cours de schéma eux. Les guerres, grandes et peu, sont derrière moi. Les voyages, toujours dans le remorquage à autre chose, sont derrière moi. Je n’ai plus aucun secret, ayant perdu mon visage, forme et matière. Je ne suis maintenant pas plus qu’une ligne. Je suis devenu capable d’aimer, pas avec un abstrait, l’amour universel, mais un amour que je choisirai, et cela me choisira, aveuglément, mon double, juste comme désintéressé que l’I. Un a été sauvé par et pour l’amour, en abandonnant l’amour et l’individu. Maintenant on n’est pas plus qu’une ligne abstraite, comme une flèche croisant le vide. Perte absolue de territoire.

See what happens when I start learning French!!!

Ugghhh…

Until I figure out what went wrong with this post check this out…I know I will: