December 2023

The Paco Band is a 9-piece oldies band, consisting of a full rhythm section, trumpet, saxophone, and vocals. Paco, our frontman, is 77 years young, and the leather jacket that he wears on stage may or may not be Henry Winkler’s. I am so thrilled at the opportunity to jam with this fantastic collective of individuals twice this month!

Join us on 12/17 in Lawrence, MA for some fun Christmas tunes; beloved standards and a few originals written by our trumpet player and resident composer/arranger, Chris Dorsey.

Join us on New Year’s Eve in Boston as we welcome 2024 with our favorite timeless classics from the likes of Elvis, Bobby Darin, and Neil Sedaka.

The Dirty Gerund Poetry Show is a weekly open mic at Ralph's Rock Diner on Grove Street in Worcester. I am the house band leader and a regular performer. Any and all are welcome to sign up to express themselves creatively with this loving and supportive community. Open mic list goes up at 8pm, the show starts at 9pm.

Current Creative Endeavors

Tool: A Concert Review

While I like to consider my music tastes eclectic, I tend to be a bit pickier with metal. For me, Tool is a band that I can always come back to to find something new, time after time.

Their songs range from 5 to 15 minutes long, with the average being around 6 minutes. As a progressive metal band, Tool is known for their infectious basslines in complex time signatures, patient building of tension to a climactic release, and unique non-musical in-between tracks, such as bird calls, an eggless hash sugar cookie recipe chanted in German, and the slowed-down sound of a cat being squeezed gently. Additionally, several songs spanning their entire discography subtly and not-so-subtly reference the act of anal sex. The subject matter would indicate that this band doesn’t take their work very seriously; but prior to the release of their most recent album, Fear Inoculum (2019), they sold over 13 million records in the US alone. Serious or not, Tool is a cornerstone of many metalheads’ go-tos.

The complexity of their compositions compel me to listen to an entire album at a time; long car rides and lengthy chores are ideal scenarios. I’ll be the first to admit that most of the time I have no idea what time signature(s) most of their songs are in. I feel a kind of relief from not knowing and allow it to wash over me. The lyrics are cryptic and strange, and sometimes nonsensical, but nothing compares to the powerful energy that the instrumentalists create.

On November 15, 2023, I traveled to the TD Garden with my partner and his brother to see them do it live. It wasn’t a sold out show, but there were easily 20,000 people with us in that stadium. We had balcony center seats, a perfect view. I had been looking forward to this night since June, and it would be my first time seeing their performance. We were eager with anticipation.

A few days prior, my partner’s brother had gone to see them at the Mohegan Sun in CT, and he informed me on what to expect for the Boston show. He revealed that their setlist mostly contained songs from Fear Inoculum; at first this disappointed me. To be completely honest, I didn’t love that album. It was released 13 years after 10,000 Days (2006), and during that time none of their content could be found on any streaming platforms, at the behest of their luddite frontman, Maynard James Keenan. It was their most anticipated record, and received generally positive reviews, but it didn’t impress me. It certainly sounded like a Tool album, but nothing really unique from the others. The main tracks were at minimum 10 minutes long, bringing the album’s total playtime up to almost an hour and a half, their longest yet. I found myself a little impatient with it, and listening to the entire thing felt like biting off more than I could chew from a well done steak. But that all changed on that chilly November evening.

At the start of the show, MJK said to us, “You’re gonna put your phone in your pocket and it’s gonna stay there. We want you to be engaged and present, because we’re gonna take you on a journey. And if you’re good, we’ll let you record our last song.” Simple staging allowed the media to speak for itself: guitarist Adam Jones and bassist Paul Chancellor spotlit up front, drummer Danny Carey's enormous kit in the center rear, and MJK moving between two raised platforms on either side of the drums. Several large LED screens behind them displayed accompanying visuals of psychedelic patterns, anatomic close-ups, and geometric animations, while a variety of immaculately timed colored laser lights enhanced the event for those seated further away.

Even with earplugs, this performance was a full-body experience. I could feel the bass buzzing in my chest and gut. I couldn’t help but move my body in time with the music. I was a sponge, just soaking it all in. Hearing them perform most of Fear Inoculum changed my perspective on that album; namely, I was impressed that they could play it all verbatim, each intricate voicing, each transition so smooth and effortless. I was especially blown away by Danny Carey’s solo performance of “Chocolate Chip Trip” at the top of their second act.The screens behind him displayed a kaleidoscopic overhead drum view; so not only could we see everything he was doing, the visuals were moving in time to the music. My eyes couldn’t believe what my ears were hearing, and vice versa. The opportunity to just simply sit, listen to, and watch them perform was exactly what was needed to help me understand Fear Inoculum and its intention. And now, whenever I listen through that album again, I’m reminded of that experience: the adrenaline rush, the several thousand die-hard fans singing every word, the blanket of intricately constructed sound that swaddled me .

In between the new tracks, they played favorites from their previous albums, such as “The Grudge,” “Swamp Song,” and “Rosetta Stoned.” And as promised, we were “allowed” to record their final song, “Aenima.” As I picked my jaw up off the floor on our way out, I thought to myself, “I gotta go home and practice!”

When I was in high school, I used to think that I wasn’t a real jazz musician because I didn’t listen to enough jazz; as it turns out, it was because I was still a kid and thus incredibly inexperienced. On my own out here, away from any curriculum, the world of music is my oyster, and over 10 years of playing in jazz bands sure as heck makes me a jazz musician. But I draw influence from many genres, much like any other artist. The beauty of one’s musicianship is the unique sound that is created from their interpretations of their favorite artists, and therefore the next generation of musicians that they will inspire. The cycle will continue ad infinitum. Spiral out, keep going.

In Reflection:

Eddie Alex

I began playing the saxophone in the 5th grade. My origin story is not as epic as folks tend to think: a classmate dropped out of band class and they needed another sax player. My friends were all in the band and I wanted to join in on the fun. I didn't decide to play the saxophone; I decided to join the band and that just so happened to be the instrument they needed.

My mother insisted that I begin to take private lessons as well. I was less inclined to cooperate with her initiative because I wanted to try it out on my own terms first before deciding to pursue it more seriously. But as the child of a Chinese mother, what I thought and wanted was often disregarded: I was taking lessons whether I liked it or not, and I would thank her later for it. She found me a teacher in no time: a local woodwind musician and educator, Eddie Alex.

Eddie was a gentle and friendly guy, but strict when he needed to be. At the start of my very first lesson with him, my mom tried to follow us into the practice room; he politely yet firmly asked her to wait outside, saying that he has a personal policy that no parents are allowed to sit in on his lessons. I said a silent prayer of thanks as she closed the door behind her.

Eddie started from the basics: posture, embouchure, scales and etudes, and the importance of practicing at home in between lessons. With each passing week, he could always tell when I didn't practice and called me out on it every time. As his assignments got more challenging, I found myself wanting to practice more, and eventually it became a habit. I kept seeing Eddie for the remainder of my middle school years, and my technique improved greatly.

There were days where I didn't want to be there with him, where my mom had to fight me tooth and nail to get in the car so we could go. I remember at the start of one session early in my journey, I arrived so angry that I slammed my case down on the ground to express what my 10-year-old vocabulary couldn't. He said to me that instruments are delicate things and that I should treat mine like it's my favorite animal. He approached that conversation calmly with understanding, and I remember feeling seen and validated, but also encouraged to continue playing - for myself, not for my mom.

I look back fondly on my time with Eddie. He was an instructor at the arts magnet high school I would attend, Educational Center for the Arts (ECA), and I was looking forward to interacting with him in a different capacity. Sadly that opportunity never came: Eddie passed away from a heart attack the year before I started at ECA. Regrettably, I did not attend his memorial service. My parents found me another saxophone teacher, but my interest in attending those lessons began to waver. Eventually I stopped take lessons, choosing to subsist on the ECA curriculum, which was robust and challenging on its own. After I left high school, I joined the Clark Jazz Workshop and various other smaller ensembles, but finding time to practice on my own was (and still is) a struggle for me.

Now that I’m pursuing music a little more seriously, I’ve found myself wishing I could go back to those grade school years, if only just so I could ask all of my instructors the questions that I have now. I miss having those precious resources available to me, and I feel like I didn’t appreciate them when I did. There were certainly other external factors at play in my home life, which is what helps me forgive myself, but the one guy I’ve truly wanted to reconnect with is no longer around. I tried Googling his name before I started writing this essay and found nothing, not a single trace of his legacy. But I remember him, and I’ll keep his memory alive. I owe so much to Eddie, and I wouldn’t sound anywhere near like I do now without his guidance. Eddie taught me how to love playing the saxophone, and how to put my deepest and truest feelings into everything I played. I think of him every year on my birthday, which was also his, April 24th.

Thank you for sticking with me, if you’ve made it this far! To conclude, I have included some exclusive subscriber-only bonus content, which I will post on my social media accounts in a week. “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” was the first song that Eddie taught me to play from memory, and every time I do, I remember him and think of how far I’ve come since our first lesson.