On the plane to New York and getting pretty psyched up for these upcoming double trio shows with Reuben, Greg, Larry and Brian. Two phenomenal bassists, two masterful drummers, and one, lone overmatched and under-skilled saxophonist: could ket kinda ugly! We recorded together last March, but this will be the first time for any of us playing live in this sort of configuration. Should be a lot of fun, and pretty wild. Honestly, I have no idea what to expect. But isn't that what jazz is all about? Truth be told, I am more than a bit disappointed that I won't be able to make it down to DC on Tuesday, to witness what is destined to go down as one of the most glorious, uplifting and redemptive events in the complicated history of our deeply troubled yet ever resilient country. Hopefully, though, we'll be able to do a little celebrating of our own through the music....

The past month has been particularly intense – at once exhausting and exhilarating.

First up were a string of dates with Reuben Rogers and Gregory Hutchinson: Berkeley, LA, Santa Cruz and then a couple of gigs in Hawaii (my first time performing in that state). I had a few days off on the Big Island with my family. But, as many of you undoubtedly know, a vacation with a child is, first and foremost, a vacation for the child, not the parents. We had a blast, but it was hard work -- kind of like being on the road, but with even earlier wake-up calls: Our son was up and ready to go at 5am every morning, like clock-work. . . . .

Then came a week with Reuben and Brian Blade at the Village Vanguard. What a thrill it was to be back! I used to play the Vanguard quite regularly during my first decade in New York, but it had been 8 years since my last engagement there (April of 2000, I think). Well, what can I say about the word’s greatest jazz club that hasn’t already been said time and time again. Everything about the Vanguard is special, inimitable, often approaching magical: near-perfect acoustics; riveting intimacy; an amazingly attentive and supportive audience; a totally dedicated, conscientious and colorful staff; the palpable aura and irresistible gravity of over 70 years of music-making on the highest level by some of the greatest jazz artists of all time. . . My heartfelt thanks to Lorraine, Jed and everyone else at the Vanguard for inviting us back and once again making us feel so at home.

And, if that wasn’t enough, less than 10 hours after we played our last note at the Vanguard, we were setting up shop at Avatar Studios, getting ready to start three days of non-stop recording. This session (like my previous one for Back East in spring of 2006) involved multiple bassists and drummers -- in this case: Reuben, Greg, Brian and Larry Grenadier. But, unlike the Back East sessions, with this project we decided to record something with each different bass and drum tandem: a couple of tunes with Reuben and Greg, a few with Reuben and Brian, a few with Larry and Brian, one with Larry and Greg. Perhaps more interestingly, we recorded a fair amount of material with some less familiar combinations: a few things with two bassists and one drummer, and quite a lot of stuff with everyone together. It was, to say the least, a unique recording experience: quite unlike any session I’ve ever done before. Going into it, I had very little idea of what to expect. I’d written a lot of new music, and I had some general ideas about some things we might try. But I didn’t really have a detailed game plan, especially not for the stuff with two bassists and two drummers. I asked everyone to bring in a tune or a sketch, and we did a lot of experimenting and jamming with the tape (hard drive) rolling. The cats, as always, played with the utmost passion, creativity and commitment. And James Farber, the engineer, was incredible in his focus, his musicality, and his instinct for the optimal way to capture the sound and spirit of each configuration. While I can’t possibly hope to have any reliable perspective at this stage in the process; I will say that I can’t remember the last time I felt so positive about one of my recording sessions -- at least at this point, barely a week later. (Or maybe I should say that I can’t remember the last time I felt less negative. . . but that’s a whole other subject . . . )

Finally, the day after the session, Larry, Greg and I flew to Chicago, for a concert at Chicago’s Symphony Center. We were joined there by the great Branford Marsalis, one of my all-time heroes on the soprano and tenor saxophones. It’s always a tremendous honor for me to have the opportunity to share the stage with Branford. I’ve sat in with him on a few occasions over the years; our bands did a couple of extended European tours together back in ’99 and ’00; and just this past June, Reuben, Eric Harland and I got to open for Branford and his quartet at Town Hall for the JVC Jazz Festival. But this was the first time that I’d ever had the chance to play several tunes in a row with Branford. (We did his "Citizen Tain," my "Mantra 5," the Gene Ammons and Sonny Stitt classic "Blues Up and Down," and then "Body and Soul" for the encore.) Moreover, it was especially significant for me to collaborate with Branford in this particular context, accompanied by just bass and drums. That’s because Branford, in my opinion, has produced some of the most creative and exemplary work for that configuration. The band he had in the early 90s with Bob Hurst and Jeff "Tain" Watts was one of the best ever. And "Bloomington," their live album of 1991, stands for me as one of the great saxophone trio albums, right up there with Sonny’s "A Night At The Village Vanguard." Thanks Branford, once again, for the inspiration, and the education.

After all this, I had a couple of days back home. Now I’m in DC this weekend, in the middle of another run at Blues Alley, with Greg on drums and Doug Weiss on bass. More rewarding and challenging work, no doubt. But, relative to last month, this almost feels a vacation!

Well, it's been a long time since I've posted anything here. What can I say? Sure, I've been busy. But that's no excuse. We all are. Guess I've just been lazy – and spending way too much time surfing the internet, toggling between various wine-related sites. (It's the most effective form of procrastination I know!) . . . . Anyway, I thought I'd better give my web browser a bit of a rest and take this opportunity to wish all of you a very, very

Happy Holidays!!!!

This is a season where we're often inundated with annual retrospectives: "best of"s, "top 10"s, "person of the year" etc etc etc. Generally, I don't care much for this sort of stuff. But I certainly am thankful for all the wonderful musical experiences I've had in '07. And since I've only had a chance to mention a small handful of them in previous blog entries, I figured a short list might be the simplest way to at least recognize just a few more highlights of my year. In roughly chronological order:

1) The Dewey Redman memorial concert at St. Peter's Church in New York City on January 7.

2) Getting an advance copy of the new Kneebody recording from Ben Wendel in Calgary in June. Had it on heavy ipod rotation the whole summer.

3) Hearing the young British band Empirical for the first time at the London Jazz Festival (on Thanksgiving night).

4) Touring again (for the first time in 5 years) in November with the incomparable rhythm section team of Reuben Rogers and Gregory Hutchinson. Ah, yes: forward motion!

5) Singing (an excruciatingly out of tune version) of "Hush Little Baby" to my son, every night since I've been back home from this last tour. (Poor child. What horrors I suffer upon him!)

We're in the homestretch, the final leg of our 2 month tour. But, boy, it's never seemed so hard to actually reach the finish line! The last week has been a comedy of errors and mishaps. Actually, more like a tragi-comedy. It all started when we tried to board a plane from Amsterdam to Moscow, somehow having overlooked the small fact that we needed visas to enter the country! Needless to say, we didn't make the flight. Instead of a highly-anticipated two days off in the grand capital (Reuben, Antonio and I had never been to Moscow before), we ended up stranded at Schiphol (the Amsterdam airport), while Paul (our superhuman tour manager) shuttled back and forth to the Russian embassy in The Hague to secure our rush visas. (His misadventures there read like a "Murphy's Law" handbook and could serve as a shining testament to bureaucratic inefficiency.) When we finally did get to Moscow, I was detained for 2 hours at passport control for "technical reasons." During the whole time, I was given no explanation, information or guidance other than "You wait." (OK, every once in a while, I was granted a "You wait, please.") We had a good time in Russia, playing a couple of nights at the "Union of Composers" club to warm, attentive and enthusiastic audiences. Thanks to our wonderful hosts (Galina, Ana and Oleg), we even managed to get a little sight-seeing in during our one free afternoon (The Red Square, a cold war museum housed in a now-defunct nuclear bunker 60 meters underground. . . . ) But, then, just as things were looking up and the end was really in sight ("3 more to go"), we arrived in Stockholm only to discover that none of bags would be joining us. That's right, thanks to the crack team at good ol' Finnair (appropriately dubbed "Thin-air" by Antonio), every single piece of our checked luggage was gone (Reuben's bass, my soprano, Paul's mics, all of our clothes, personal items, etc. etc. etc.. . . .) Now (after barely 12 hours in Stockholm, only about 2 of which could be devoted sleep), we're on our way to southern Spain with no idea where our bags are (still sitting on some cart at the Moscow airport?) or when we will see them again. Man. Quite an ordeal. As Reuben so eloquently puts it, "It's rough out here." Yep. And some weeks are definitely rougher than others. Next time anyone ever tells you going on the road "must be fun," "sounds so exciting," or "seems so glamorous," you tell them to give me a call. Or better yet, have them send me an email, because I don't want to be woken by the ringing phone while I'm trying to catch up on hundreds of hours of lost sleep. . . .

Nevertheless, in spite of all these trials and tribulations, and even in the midst of all my ranting and raving, I can still say, with the utmost sincerity, that I am truly grateful to be able to do what I do. I get to travel the world, playing the music I want to play, with some of the most amazing musicians in the world. Yes, I'm still having a blast (even without clean socks and a toothbrush). And I am especially grateful to be "out here" with guys who are not only incredible players, but also dear friends. I want to take this opportunity to thank Reuben Rogers, Antonio Sanchez and Paul Boothe – not only for their brilliant artistry, but also for their stellar attitudes, their unflagging spirits, their great humor, and their consummate professionalism. With all that we've been through, many others would have turned sour, gotten dark, folded under pressure, maybe even thrown in the towel. But Reuben, Antonio and Paul have kept going, with smiles and jokes no less, and making some incredible music along the way. One thing I know: When you're touring as a musician, there are a lot of things that are just as (if not more) important then the music itself. Never underestimate the value of what happens off the bandstand to the creation that takes place on it. Friendship, camaraderie, cooperation, perseverance, resilience, trust, respect, empathy – these are the things that keep you going on the road. These are the things that get you to the gig and help you make it through the tour. These are the things that preserve your sanity, maintain your focus, protect your inspiration, enhance your creativity. These are the things that make the music possible.

OK. On the road now. For real. Just started the 7 week tour. Between now and July 23rd, I'll be coming home only once, and that will be for less than 24 hours. This will be far and away my longest tour since my son was born. Ouch! I guess I'm pretty much in denial. Just trying to take it one day at a time. Easier said than done. . . . . But we did have a couple of nice gigs to kick things off. On Saturday night, Reuben, Eric and I had a really great show in San Francisco at the Palace of Fine Arts. Everything was very "fresh" and "raw," but in the right way. We hadn't played together as a trio since last August, had no rehearsal, and barely even had a chance to run anything during soundcheck. But the set was surprisingly focused, as well as being naturally free. It felt loose, organic and energetic; but also cohesive, reflective and purposeful. Joe Lovano played half of the concert with us, which was of course the ultimate honor, inspiration and education. Joe is one of the greatest living tenor saxophonists. Period. Brilliance, spontaneity, passion and virtuosity – all beyond measure. A force of nature. A true titan. The entire history of the tenor saxophone, channeled through a sound and conception which is utterly personal, innovative and inimitable (though many have tried). Sharing the bandstand with Joe is always such a thrill. First, because it's an amazing opportunity to witness (at point-blank range) a grand master at work. Second, because he exudes the warmest and most generous spirit, musically and personally. Third, because his creativity is contagious – he's so great that he raises the level of everyone around him. And finally because he approaches the two-tenor thing in the best way – as a dialogue as opposed to a duel, a conversation not a competition. (Thankfully, because if it had been anything resembling a battle I would obviously have been chopped to bits within the first few notes.) It was great to play with Joe again. . . . And it's great to be back with Reuben and Eric again. We've all played so much together, in various contexts, for so long. And this is the trio that actually worked the most together in the months leading up to the "Back East" recording. It's with Reuben and Eric that I really developed a lot of the newer originals and arrangements and began to explore some new possibilities for the saxophone/bass/drums configuration. . . . Our second gig was Monday night at Kuumbwa Jazz Center in Santa Cruz, one of my favorite places in the world to play. A home (not too far) away from home. Honestly, that night I felt like I was struggling a bit musically. (Well, I'm always struggling, but maybe I was struggling a bit more than usual...) I just didn't feel as focused and connected as I wanted; and after the gig, I was pretty down on myself for the way I played (nothing new there!) But still, I had a great time, in no small part because the Kuumbwa audience is so wonderful – supportive, attentive, enthusiastic, knowledgeable, sensitive, respectful. . .everything a jazz audience should be. They kept me going. As did Reuben and Eric, who were spectacular, as always. And for the last tune of the second set, we had a very special guest come up and sit in: Bob Reynolds. Bob is a fantastic tenor player and composer, and I'm a big fan of his music. His debut recording, "Can't Wait For Perfect," is one of my favorite CDs of recent years. Bob and I first met almost 8 years ago, but this was actually the first time I've gotten a chance to hear him live. And it was blast to play together. "Tenor Madness". Hard to go wrong with that!. . . .

I just picked up a CD of "Pilgrimage," the late Michael Brecker's new (and final) recording. WOW! This is some of the most amazing music I have ever heard from anyone, in any genre, of any era. A wonder. A triumph. A masterpiece. This is the kind of album that makes me feel supremely grateful for the existence of jazz music, privileged that I've had the opportunity to listen to (and play) it so much over the years, and proud to be a part of its community. I won't write any more, because words cannot begin to do justice to Michael's brilliant artistry and towering legacy. But I encourage anyone and everyone who might read this to get "Pilgrimage" right away, and to experience it for themselves. Then again, most of you probably already have.

Last night I sat in with Ben Goldberg's band for their gig at the Jazz School here in Berkeley. Ben was on clarinet, Sheldon Brown on alto, Devin Hoff on bass and Scott Amendola on drums. We played songs from Ben's latest CD "The Door, The Hat, The Chair, The Fact" (original compositions inspired by Steve Lacy) along with some of his newer work. Ben's music is wonderful. It strikes a uniquely engaging balance between tonality and dissonance, freedom and structure, logic and emotion, lyrical beauty and angular provocation. And the band was incredible – some of the most creative and versatile musicians on the scene today, and they all live right here in the Bay Area! Nearly all the improvisation was "free," in the sense that there was no strictly predetermined harmonic rhythm; or if one initially existed, it was eventually stretched (and often abandoned) for the sake of narrative continuity, thematic exploration and collective conversation. It was a joy (and an ear-opener) for me to work with musicians so fluent and comfortable in this approach. Everything felt natural, relaxed and without agenda; yet at the same time there was a great energy, intensity and spirit of adventure. Above all, everyone really, really LISTENED, which of course is what jazz, improvisation and music are all about. I hope we get a chance to play again soon. (Besides, Ben, I need another shot at "F13"!)

Just finished a long weekend (Thursday thru Sunday) of trio gigs in DC with Larry Grenadier and Ali Jackson. As always, it was a great pleasure to perform at Blues Alley (one of the best, and most intimate, jazz clubs around), and a privilege to make music with Larry and Ali again. This was the first time the three of us had played together since we did the Back East recording session a year ago and also the first time that we've had a chance to really stretch out and dig-in over consecutive nights. By the end, things really started to click. I'm bummed that it's over, although I have to admit that two sets a night, every night, for four straight nights did kind of take its toll on me. As I joked with Larry on Saturday night, " Maybe I'm getting too old for this!" Of course, it doesn't help that I haven't been sleeping much. (Anyone out there got some advice for insomnia?) But the music kept me going. The Cats were awesome! Larry is one of the most lyrical, musical and supportive bassists in the world, as well as being a true virtuoso and in my opinion one of the all-time greatest soloists on the instrument: A rare combination indeed! And Ali plays the drums with such joyful, soulful creativity – employing a keen intelligence and razor-sharp wit in service of a deep groove and a crisp, crystal-clear swing. Thanks, guys, for the incredible music and for helping whip my chops back into shape! Now I'm looking forward to a couple weeks back home – a chance to recharge before the big tour with Reuben and Eric (and then Reuben and Antonio) begins in June. . . . .

I sure am a lucky guy! . . . for so many reasons . . . not the least of which is that over the past sixteen years I have had the chance to play with some of the most amazing artists in jazz. To the extent that I've accomplished anything myself as a musician, it's been because of these opportunities. I've (started to) learn how to play by consistently, eagerly (and at times perhaps even a bit naively) placing myself in situations where I've been in way over my head – getting my butt kicked by musicians of infinitely greater skill, experience, knowledge and talent. I never went to music school, but the bandstand has been my classroom. And three of my greatest teachers have been Brad Mehldau, Christian McBride and Brian Blade. We all played together from 1993 through 1994, touring pretty much non-stop and recording one album, Moodswing, along the way. Nominally, I was the "leader" of the band. How absurd! Because it was of course I who was being led (propped-up, schooled, instructed, inspired, humbled, spoiled. . . you name it ) by these three musical geniuses (and I do not use that term lightly). Being a "bandleader" was the best (and easiest!) job in the world. Of course, I knew this band wouldn't last forever. But since New Years of 1995 (our last gig), I always looked forward to the day when the four of us would have a chance to play together again. Well, that day (or rather, night) just came. Exactly a week ago (May 4, 2007), Brad, Christian, Brian and I played two concerts at Herbst Theatre in San Francisco. It was part of this year's SFJAZZ Spring Season focus on the music of Thelonious Monk. The theme of these two concerts was the historic collaboration between Monk and John Coltrane. We played the tunes from their legendary Carnegie Hall performance of November 29, 1957 (almost 50 years ago): Crepescule With Nellie, Nutty, Evidence, Monk's Mood, Epistrophy, Sweet and Lovely, Bye-Ya and Blue Monk. What fun! How inspring! (And again, for me, what an education!) On the surface, it might have seemed a little strange that we were coming back together to play this repertoire – as opposed to the music that we had performed and recorded fourteen years ago. But, in fact, it felt very natural, and appropriate. Monk and Trane have obviously been huge inspirations for us all, and it was a thrill to explore and celebrate their influence by approaching their music in our own way, through our own individual perspectives, and with our own collective sound. Obviously, we weren't trying to "recreate" the Carnegie Hall concert. That would have been a doomed enterprise from the start. But with Brad, Christian and Brian, imitation is never a danger, or even an issue. They have such uniquely powerful and mature artistic visions that they immediately take ownership of the material, crafting their own brilliant interpretations, while at the same time honoring the originals – not by the note, or by the style, but rather in the spirit. Oddly enough, for me, the most challenging moment came at the end of the second show, where for the encore we decided to try "Rejoice", a tune of mine that we used to play quite a bit back in the day. It was also the only time during the whole night when I felt just ever-slow-slightly hampered by nostalgia. Don't get me wrong, it was a blast to play that tune again. But I guess I had so many strong memories of how we used to play it, that at times I felt like I was unconsciously trying to to conjure up a vibe from the past, as opposed to just being fully aware and conscious of the moment, creating and discovering the sound of the present. Next time (and I can't wait for that next time!) I'll know better: Even if we're playing one of our "old tunes", I should never expect us to get back to something old. On the contrary, the joy is in the possibility, and the process, of moving towards something new. Walking off the bandstand at the end of the night, Christian commented, "Well, we sure don't sound like we used to." He's right. We don't. And we shouldn't. A lot happens in fourteen years. And a lot changes. And we sounded different, as Brad so aptly put it, "in just about all the right ways." But some things also remain the same. In our case, I think the connection, the camaraderie, the respect and the empathy are still there in force, perhaps stronger than ever. And for my part, I remain just as awed, inspired and humbled as ever by these three master musicians. Brad, Christian and Brian: Thanks again for yet another lesson. I look forward to many more, in the (hopefully not-too-distant) future!