hubtonic progressions: remembering freddie

January 1, 2009 at 4:57 am | Posted in Black Folks | 5 Comments

pp. i was scrolling through the “all-too-many-feeds” i subscribed to in google reader (like i’m really gonna read them all in this life-time) and caught a glimpse of a black and white youtube clip of freddie hubbard put up by hip hop is read. seemingly random and pleasant, i thought. hmm (mental sigh), i’ll star this and check it out later. never considered what youtube might have had on my all-time favorite brass player. kept perusing, starring other stories i may want to read later, “whoa, freddie again? does he have a new album?” rest.

f. and then i read the title: “for they reminisce over you…freddie hubbard”. this soulful brother had passed. my mind signaled right and moved into memory lane…

dissonance. i started trumpet at 8 years old. my grade school was starting a music program and i was open, day-dreaming about wooing a sardine-can packed audience with my ill arpeggios. i just knew i would be a sax player or maybe even get busy on the snare. but when my moms “persuaded ” me to consider the trumpet, in her “we can’t afford the other instruments, love” tone i was slightly disappointed. well, at least being in band would get me out of a boring class period. oh yeah! and i remember how cool dizzy gilespie seemed puffing his elastic cheeks out behind that bent-up horn of his in stevie wonderful’s, “do i do”. while trumpet was the more affordable choice , it was also the most demanding. with only three keys, searching but never quite finding the right note was common. so you have to get the sound right in your mind before the air even leaves your lips. the sax players didn’t have any problems like that, and they had something called a reed. “how come i don’t get a reed?” mistakes, disappointment and discouragement came frequently. fleeting embrochure, excruciating posture, shortness of breath in mid-note, the designated back row for trumpet players, smelly valve oil, spit valves. and then i found out that the dizzy gillespie’s bloated cheek technique was a cardinal no-no. ergh. rest. i was all but ready to give it up, but with

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