Jazz at Lincoln Center hosted its first jazz summer camp this year, which took place for two weeks in July at the estate of the world-renowned musician and conductor, the late Lorin Maazel. It was a life changing experience for both students and faculty. I wish the Maestro could have been there to share this camp with us, the first jazz education program to take place at the estate, which normally focuses on classical forms.

I’ve never had roommates before, but living with eight other people - sharing a bathroom and kitchen - reminded me that I never went to college (and never had roommates).  It was everything I imagined living in a frat house might be, except that I’m over fifty. Maybe that’s why it actually went so well: all the inhabitants were experienced, respectful and clean. And could cook.

Of course, I can’t speak for the residences that housed the forty-two students who were in attendance for this very intense fourteen days that included workshops, classes, private lessons and performances. The focus of the camp was more about playing in ensembles and preparing for live performances, rather than say, advance theory and improvisation, or composing and arranging.

It was life changing for me because I learned and gained so much from the experience of mentoring the young musicians, whose ages ranged from fourteen to eighteen. Seeing these young, eager minds and souls assimilate in a very short time a pile of new information and turn it into very high level performances was nothing short of inspiring.
Last week my quintet performed at Dizzy’s for three nights of music that was a bit of a retrospective. Warren Wolf (vibes), Steve Cardenas (guitar), Ben Allison (bass) and Matt Wilson (drums) helped indulge me in a journey that embraced “my mythology” - the music and experiences that have shaped who I am both musically and personally.

The program included film music (my father and uncle were prominent studio musicians); my first composition (which I penned at age fifteen and three years later recorded on a Louie Bellson record); movements from original long-form works; and songs by other musicians that inspire me.

This was the first time we five had ever played together, and it was magic. The combination of the coolness of the vibes with the varied attitudes of the guitar, mixed with flutes, saxes and clarinet, created a colorful and evocative front line that was supported and further uplifted by the groovy and creative interpretations of Ben and Matt. The quintet did everything I had hoped for and more.

The performance was lived-streamed and I am hoping it will be archived for future viewings.

Colorado is like a planet of its own. The air is thinner, the trees are greener, the people are nicer. It makes anything you do feel like you are doing it in some otherworldly place. Like you’ve passed through the Looking Glass.

The first few days of our “Blue Engine” tour took place in this idyllic state, starting off with Breckenridge, which, at 9,600 feet elevation is like base camp to Everest. Climbers usually have a few weeks to acclimate, but we jumped right in, playing a full concert the day we arrived. Cats in the band were struggling with reeds that wouldn’t speak, and having to take more breaths during long phrases. The next morning the band had what felt like a collective hangover.

Our second concert was in Aspen, which is a little down the hill. At 8,200 feet the band was still gasping a bit, but I think overall the band sounded better. During the day Elliot and I played tennis, which made my lungs feel like they were going to explode.

Aspen is a popular retreat for celebrities and rich business folk. The drive to the venue takes us past a tiny airport lined with private Lear Jets and later through quaint neighborhoods where modest homes start at around three million dollars.

We have played here several times over the years. In fact, during my first year with the band (1998) we were rehearsing in the conference center at the hotel, preparing for our concert which took place in a huge tent (the concerts have since moved to a beautiful performance space, whose design recalls the tent of earlier years). During this rehearsal things got heated between a couple (former) members of the band and words were exchanged, some of which were of such extreme passion and expression that Wynton had to call an immediate break and ask our student audience to kindly leave.

Our concert here the other night felt better than in Breckenridge, although those of us using reeds were still having sound issues. Despite this we did manage to get a few sweet notes through the horns. After the concert, the very suave actor Robert Wagner came backstage and enthusiastically complimented us.

Next was our return to Denver’s Botanic Garden. The audience, many in shorts and T-shirts, were spread out with lawn chairs, plates of food and jugs of wine. Despite being an outdoor gig we felt intimate and connected to this enthusiastic audience. After our set closer, a ripping version of Dizzy’s Things to Come our long walk back to the main building had us squeezing through cheering and high-fiving fans. A couple rain drops appeared, and despite the insistent ovation, I assumed we wouldn’t do an encore and went to use the restroom, which was a bit of a walk. When I came back to the green room I saw a couple cats putting their horns away and I began to do the same. Boss Murphy, our tour manager, always cool, approached me and said they were looking for me on stage. It was decided we were doing an encore after all, a piece that featured a smaller band. When I arrived at the Garden and made my way back through the crowd, people yelled “There he is. He’s here” and applauded as I stepped up onto the stage where the band was waiting.

Our last concert in Colorado was in Boulder and at just over a mile elevation, the band was well acclimated. This was clearly one of the best, most swinging concerts we have played in a while. We performed a complete range of material, from Duke to some of our band members’ original compositions. Everyone played inspired solos and the ensemble was tight and loose at the same time.

Leaving Colorado felt a little like coming back Planet Earth.




Author John Steinbeck said of Monterey, CA it “is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.”

I experienced many of these things returning to my home state last week to be the Artist in Residence at the Monterey Jazz Festival Jazz Summer Camp. I will never forget it.

First, the setting: coastal California is one of the most beautiful places on earth. Every time I come here I ask myself why I live any where else.

Second, reliving my youth: during my three years in high school I played lead alto in the Monterey Allstate Jazz Band (now called the Next Generation Band), an experience that had a tremendous affect on my development as a musician. It was amazing to get the opportunity to give back to this program that not only had me in a youth band that included fellow students Eric Marienthal, Joe Alessi, Randy Kerber, Steve Bernstein, Larry Lunetta, Larry Koonse (Google them), but great guest artists like Clark Terry, Benny Golson, Chuck Mangione, George Duke, Pat Williams, to name few. Check out my blog about Benny Golson here and Clark Terry here.

Third, a wonderful faculty: working alongside these great musicians and teachers was like stepping into someone’s living room during a party that had been going on for some time, but where you didn’t feel like an outsider.

Forth, the students. Seeing them light up is what it’s all about. It’s what makes 12-hour days of masterclasses, rehearsals, workshops and performances worth every intense minute. And I’m not going to lie: I was exhausted at the end of these four days.

One young alto saxophonist, Marina Panzetta, caused me to smile ear-to-ear when she performed my arrangement of Ornette Coleman’s “Una Muy Bonita” along with her band mate Alili Bradley on trumpet. They brought a beautiful spirit to this difficult piece of music and a willingness to try things they had never explored before. Check out this video of us playing this piece at the concert and my trading phrases with Marina.


Marina and her family were in NY these past few days and stopped by to check out our Jazz at Lincoln Center rehearsal yesterday. A completely synchronistic moment occurred when Wynton called Una Muy Bonita, preparing for a set of Ornette’s music we will perform next week in Colorado.

Tim Jackson, director of the Monterey Jazz Festival, asked if I would sit in on Una Muy Bonita with the honor band at this year’s festival in September. I am so excited to play again with this great group and in particular with Marina, who will be a senior year next.



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This weekend I will be performing with one of the most iconic musicians of all time. Wayne Shorter has contributed more to shaping the direction of jazz music with his composing and playing than just about anyone in the history of jazz.

Wayne Shorter is the guest with the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra this weekend, performing new arrangements by the members of the orchestra of compositions by Mr. Shorter spanning 50 years. At 81 years old he looks and sounds easily 15 years younger. He certainly hasn’t lost that distinctive, soulful sound that has graced some of the most revered recordings of all time.

It has been more than inspiring hearing Mr. Shorter in person after only hearing his recordings all theses years: it has been an education. Hearing him in close proximity I am learning so much about music and being a musician during these rehearsals.

I did an arrangement of Diana (pronounced “Gee-onna” Wayne corrected) from the 1974 release Native Dancer. It was a difficult piece to reimagine for a big band: finding a balance between the transparent sound and subtle implications of the original recording and the density (and sometimes lesser flexibility) of the big band was a challenge. But, as with all new arrangements, we are finding a way to let the music take shape during the rehearsal process. Mr. Shorter himself has been more than flexible. His ability to be truly in the moment is having a great affect on all of us.
Last night was the final concert of a month-long tour that took me through seven countries, four climates and a three ounce deodorant stick.

Entering our third week tour meant saying good-bye to the lovely country of Panama and hello to shorter visits to two other wonderful places: Peru and Chile.

First I want to say one thing about Peru: Mangoes. Well, okay two things: pisco sours. A couple of these local beverages had me quite animated at our promoter-hosted dinner the night we arrived in Lima. The restaurant was set at the base of the remains a 2,000 year old pyramid, and the view was stunning (which had nothing to do with the effect of the indigenous drink).

The highlight in Peru was the education we did and the enthusiasm of the students, one who followed us around, riding on the bus, asking questions, pulling out his horn while we we set up for an afternoon concert for young people.

In Santiago, Chile, I did a masterclass at a local music school, and the instruments arrived just moments before. I walked several blocks in 90-something degree weather to the concert hall to grab my alto, and then several blocks in the opposite direction to get to the school. Sweaty and late, I walked into a small, stuffy room packed with about forty or so students of various ages, wide-eyed and expectant. With no time to check if my reed was working I pulled out my horn and played “Take the A Train” with a group of teachers. The reed was gone, and I could barely get a sound. I spoke for a few minutes about improvisation while I soaked a new reed in a glass or water. With this fresh cane I continued the workshop, jamming on a few tunes with the students.

It was painful we were in Buenos Aires for only 16 hours. This is such a great place and deserves a few days to explore. I remember dancing my first tango here years ago in a late night tango club, an experience directly responsible for the formation of my group Odeon, which fuses aspects of tango, Klezmer and second line grooves with modern jazz.

The last week of this tour took place in Brazil. Coming to São Paulo is always as much a reunion as it is a gig. Over the years I have met so many soulful musicians and people here and coming back is an opportunity to reconnect.

Some of my favorite experiences have been playing with the Jazz Sinfonica Orquestra. This symphony orchestra includes a full big band, and under the baton of João Maurício Galindo presents guest soloists on orchestrations of the guest’s original music. Like many great things, they are suffering economically. But this strain doesn’t affect the passion and feeling with which the musicians play.

This was evident the other day when I invited Ali Jackson and Greg Gisbert down to one of their rehearsals. We smiled ear to ear listening to them play through a program of choros. The musicians in the orchestra certainly have the discipline needed to play in any classical orchestra, but they bring something extra - this thing you can’t really write out or teach; a feeling, a spirit.

Over the years I have gotten to know Vinícius Barros, a percussionist from the Orchestra. When I got to town I reached out and invited him to our concert at Sala São Paulo. I told him to bring a few “toys.” Backstage I introduced him and his shoulder bag of percussion instruments to Wynton who invited him to join us on our closing number. Vinicius rose to the occasion elevating the groove on the tambourine and later taking an expressive solo on the cuíca.

Collaborating with musicians from other cultures has always been something that enriches all of our lives and creates lasting memories. Our experience in Recife, Brazil was the full embodiment of this collaboration. After dinner the night we arrived in this large port town (sometimes referred to as the Brazilian Venice) we walked down cobble-stoned streets to check out the rehearsal of a local frevo band. Frevo is a particular style of music that originates in this region of Brazil. It's very fast and technical; like choros on speed. We joined the musicians and marched in the streets, playing loud and ignorantly, sweating like pigs by the end. A crazy, musical riot.

The climax of our visit here was last night’s outdoor concert where the Spok Frevo band, considered one of the most important frevo groups in Recife, opened for us and then joined us on the last tune, an original composition by the band leader, alto saxophonist Maestro Spok. Due to just a short run-through at sound check, this technically challenging piece had the JLCO a bit out of our comfort zone musically, but right in the middle of it culturally and spiritually.

As great as this month has been, it’s time to come home...
A confluence of events - social, political, logistical and spiritual - caused us to postpone our long-anticipated residency in Caracas. While we were changing planes in Panama City, our layover turned into a five hour opportunity to reevaluate our situation, based on the intel that was coming our way.

Obama released a statement that outlined the growing hostilities between the US and Venezuela. There had already been a strong anti-American sentiment, but now a iffy situation had turned into something potentially dangerous and full of negative political implications.

Out touring staff did an incredible job dealing with last minute decision. At 1:30am we pulled our bags off the plane and went to the first hotel that could accommodate us, a Hard Rock Hotel. The net morning we had a meeting to discuss what would become of the next few days. It was decided we would stay in Panama and create a residency. We reached out to our friends Ruben Blades and Danilo Perez. Within 24 hours we had arranged up a schedule that included masterclasses, workshops, a concert for kids, two nights in a club and even a brunch at the American Embassy (who also came through with money to pay for a large part of our hotel expense).

The whole experience has pulled the band together in the way that difficult situations often do. While there existed the option of sending people home for five or six days, it was the overwhelming sentiment among the band we stay together and go through this as a group, and search for alternative gigs and educational opportunities - not necessarily to raise money (it will be impossible to make up the huge losses incurred) but to complete what our mission has always been: to bring soul, spirit and connection in the form of performances and teaching to places on the world that don't ordinarily have the chance to experience them.

As we get ready to board our plane to Lima, Peru, I reflect on the past week, and it’s clear this was meant to happen. It was no coincidence we ended up here.
When people learn what I do, they often comment that it must be exciting and exotic to travel around the world. Usually, I have to set them straight: often we don’t get a chance to see much; we  travel all day, go practically straight to sound check, eat fast, get dressed, go to gig, up early the next morning, travel all day. Not as romantic a job as it may seem.

But I am not going to lie: the first week of this tour has been almost a vacation. Three days in Puerto Rico with one concert. Two days in St. Thomas with one concert. And then to Mexico City with our first day off in a beautiful part of the city. It’s been everything people assume and more.

Besides playing tennis and paddle tennis, working out in the gym, swimming in azure water, getting plenty of rest and eating great food, we have actually had to wok a little.

But the vacation is now over. This is when the tour gets hard. The last two nights we played concerts on our “B” horns. Because of the nature of this tour - covering so many countries in South America, a with cargo shipments and customs hang-ups, it is necessary for everyone in the band to have a complete second set of not only horns but instrument stands and music.

Last night, as everyone was getting used to where to put their mouthpiece, slightly unfamiliar hand and finger positions, having to overcome leaks, the music felt a little off a times. But the audience was amazing - reactive and knowledgeable, passionate and expressive.

I had some students reach out to me at the last minute yesterday to give them a lesson, and I met them an hour before our show. The security was so tight they were not allowed to come up to the back stage area, so we gathered in a tiny room just before the security guard post. More people joined, spilling out into the hall, to play and ask questions about composing.
Today we fly to Caracas, Venezuela, where, because of a strong anti-American sentiment, we will be confined to our hotel and not allowed to leave unless we are in a large group and with security guards.

Gotta run and get in a round of paddle tennis before we head to the airport.

Yesterday’s concert was without question the best gig we have played this year. When we discovered one of our venues was in Fayetteville, Arkansas, only four hours away from Pine Bluff, plans began taking shape to transport the JLCO, equipment and staff to play an unscheduled, unpaid gig on our day off, and then drive four hours back to Fayetteville.

There is only one thing that would cause twenty or so people to go through this much trouble: love. Our audience: Clark Terry.

For so many people, Clark, as player, teacher, mentor and human being has been a constant inspiration. Without question one of the greatest trumpet players, he also happens to be one or the most giving, loving and funny people to ever grace this earth.

Clark is 94, and his health has seen better days. His recent life was captured poignantly in the documentary “Keep On Keepin’ On” which was just nominated for an Academy Award.

My personal association with Clark Terry started in 1975 when he was the guest soloist with the Monterey Jazz Festival all star band. I was fifteen, playing lead alto in the band. Before this I had only really known him from the Tonight Show, where Johnny Carson would occasionally let Doc Severinsen feature him on a number.

One of the pieces we played at Monterey was a blues, a composition by Clark, and it featured Clark and me. I came out front to join him, getting a better look at the crowd of at least five thousand jazz fans. At the end of the piece Clark grabbed the mic and announced enthusiastically “Ted Nash!” Standing out there playing and hanging with Clark was one of those experiences you will never forget.
(I'm the one with blond hair, just below Benny Golson's left arm)

One year later later my family traveled to New York on vacation. We noticed in the paper Clark was playing with his quintet at the Village Vanguard. Dad and I grabbed out horns and headed to the gig. Clark was, of course, embracing and invited us to sit in. I got my alto out of the case and glanced around at the expectant audience, “Let’s see” written all over their faces. “What would you like to play? A blues?” Clark offered. I immediately snapped back “Cherokee.” When you are sixteen you are brave (i.e. stupid). But I got through it. Clark was as sweet as can be.

So here we are 38 years later (and I am still trying to play Cherokee), on our way to Pine Bluff, Arkansas in four vehicles: two tour buses, equipment truck, and Wynton’s car. Victor Goines was in constant contact with Clark’s wife Gwen, getting updates about Clark’s condition. He and our tour manager, Boss Murphy, worked overtime getting things organized. We pulled up to the hospital where Clark has been under care for the past couple days. The band single-filed down and around a long hallway, arriving at a large multi-purpose room where the hospital, aware of our pending arrival, had organized music stands and chairs.

There was an air of anticipation as the band quickly set up, pulling instruments out, warming up. Wynton called a short set, including some transcriptions Chris Crenshaw did specifically for this performance, songs from a couple of Clark’s recordings.

Someone entered the room announcing “Clark is being wheeled in now.” I felt the emotion well up in me as his hospital bed found its way into the space. We started swinging on Duke’s arrangement of a movement from the Nutcracker Suite. The band was not joking. When there is this kind of emotion and energy in the air the music takes on another dimension of feeling.

They parked Clark in front of the band. His eyes had stopped working a while back, but it was very clear by the smile on his face his ears were just fine. It was a good thing I was quite familiar with the chart because I was having difficulty seeing the notes through my tears.

After we finished the first piece we each took a turn holding Clark’s hand and giving him some love. He was smiling ear to ear with each little visit. “Who is this? Oh yeah, man. Yeah. Love you. God bless you.”

We returned to out chairs and played a blues featuring our vocalist Cécile McLorin Salvant, who stood right next to Clark and sang her heart out. Cécile told me later she had to do everything in her power to not break down.

We played a couple more tunes, and brought out a birthday cake (his birthday is next week), visited a little more before they needed to get him back to his room. Just before they wheeled him away Clark again expressed his love and blessings.

We headed over to Clark and Gwen’s home and ate catfish, succotash and coleslaw. Adorning the walls of house was evidence of the great appreciation for this man: record covers, awards and photos. One picture depicted Clark and Harry “Sweets” Edison playing a concert together. Wynton laughed and said when Sweets died he gave all his suits to Clark. Clark told Wynton a while back to come and get some of them, but Wynton, knowing they had no chance on fitting him, never did.

On the ride back to Fayetteville we watched the documentary “Keep On Keepin’ On,” a copy of which had been giving to us at Clark’s home by the director, Al Hicks, who was in attendance. If you haven’t seen this film, you must.

On our way to Texas...
I have a problem. I have battling with this problem most of my life. It’s embarrassing and inconvenient. I am hoping I can cure this bad habit, this awkward tendency. I need help.

My problem: I’m always on time.

This may not seem like a problem but it is. If I could add up all the time I have waited unnecessarily I probably could have written a symphony.

When I showed up at my producer’s house in Los Angeles recently, right at the appointed time, his response, answering the door with wet hair, quickly tucking his shirt into his pants, was “You’re always on time.” The next day, when I arrived at my father’s accountant’s office, exactly at the agreed upon 2:45, she responded “Are you always so punctual?” It’s just not sexy.

I have tried many tricks, like setting my watch behind, or circling around the block, but it never fails: I am always on time.

Here’s another example of how this trait recently got me into trouble: I was invited to a dinner party at an Upper West Side restaurant. My friend told the dozen or so guests the reservations was for 8:15. I was actually impressed with myself that I did not arrive one minute earlier than the designated time. But where was everybody? i was the only one there. I went to check in at the hostess station and they said “Oh, that reservation is for 8:30. Take a seat in the bar and when everyone is here come back and we’ll seat you.” When I asked my friend if she had changed the time she said “Oh, no, I just told everyone 8:15 to try to get them there by 8:30.”

You see my problem?

I have considered counseling and support groups, but ultimately I have decided to go cold turkey.

So if I am five minutes late for our rehearsal or meeting, you’ll understand it is part of my ongoing treatment.