Graham Connah
June 1999

"Obviously the megacorporate conglomerates that embody the "culture industry" pay some middle level flacks to sit around and try to persuade some idealized demographic that they should consume Jazz."

Sour Note Seven
Evander Music
2001

Reviewed By
Glenn Astarita

Unsung Recordings
Reviewed By
Robert Spencer

By Allen J. Huotari

If you are an avid jazz fan, and have been to San Francisco in the past couple of years, there's a pretty good chance that you've been to Bruno's. If so, you're virtually certain to have caught keyboardist Graham Connah where he's performed in solo, duo, trio, and other contexts on a nearly nightly basis. But what you might not have realized, is that Graham Connah is one of the sharpest new composers on the contemporary jazz scene, not only in San Francisco but anywhere on the planet.

Performances of Mr. Connah's "Sour Note" ensemble at the Monterey Jazz Festival, the San Francisco Jazz Festival, and New York's Knitting Factory have been well received by both fans and critics alike as have his first two cds, Graham Connah Snaps Erupt At Pure Spans (Sour Note), and Graham Connah's Sour Note Six My Dog Has Fleas (Rastascan). Of his music, the SF Examiner writes: "His structures, with their built-in sophisticated harmonies and scatter-shot rhythms, suggest a major composer at work." The SF Weekly continues with: "…striking a balance between the fiery unpredictability of improvisation and the development of fully notated composition." A reviewer at Beanbender's (a highly respected venue for improvised music, located in Berkeley) has simply written: "Graham Connah writes great tunes and makes creative, intricate arrangements…"

Recently, Rastascan has released the third cd to feature Mr. Connah's compositions, Gurney To The Lincoln Center Of Your Mind by Graham Connah's Sour Note Seven (which in addition to Mr. Connah includes Ben Goldberg, clarinet; Rob Sudduth, saxes; Marty Wehner, trombone; Trevor Dunn, bass; Elliot Humberto Kavee, drums, and Jewlia Eisenberg, vocals). Of this recording, AAJ Modern Jazz Editor Glenn Astarita writes: "Gurney To The Lincoln Center Of Your Mind is a recording that deserves some honorable mention and widespread exposure…Connah and his explosive band may not fit the profile of the predominantly conservative Lincoln Center music hall yet the matter at hand presides within this exceptional project…All told, Gurney To The Lincoln Center Of Your Mind is strikingly unique, refreshingly modern, uncompromising yet most of all is thoroughly entertaining. *****"

To follow up the release of this disc, Graham Connah agreed to an interview with AAJ. But before launching into the q&a, a brief biographical sketch is in order:

GRAHAM CONNAH BIOGRAPHY

Although currently living and working in the San Francisco Bay area, Mr. Connah originally hails from Baltimore, Maryland. According to biographical info provided by the Jazzschool website (http://www.jazzschool.com/connah.htm) it was here that "his early training was provided by Dr. Asher Zlotnik from 1976 to 1978. These lessons were so crucial and epiphanous that, really, everything since has been more or less superfluous."

Subsequent to this, and for the bulk of the '80's, Connah lived in Santa Cruz where "he collected jazz records, did the usual circuit of rancid little lounge gigs that we all do, and hosted a jazz radio show on the local NPR station. During this time he took three years of legit piano lessons from Richard Hindman." (http://www.jazzschool.com/connah.htm) Furthermore, Santa Cruz is where his association with Ben Goldberg originated, as did his friendship with drummer Smith Dobson, Jr. (who has performed as a member of the Sour Note ensembles). It was also during this period that Mr. Connah recorded with guitarist Eugene Chadbourne, members of Camper van Beethoven, and was a member of the band Wrestling Worms.

Since relocating to San Francisco in 1990, Connah has obtained a Master's degree in composition from Mills College; was a member of the After the End of the World Coretet; has performed live with clarinetist Ben Goldberg's Brainchild, Pittsburgh's "post-jazz" ensemble WaterShed 5tet, saxophonist Dan Plonsey's Large Ensemble, composer/sound designer Dave Slusser, improvising saxophonist Giani Gebbia, experimental vocalist Bonnie Barnett, and r&b vocalist Brenda Boykin; has recorded with "out-there" rock band The Code, and prog-psych rock band Mushroom (with Patrick O'Hearn); and contributed a track to the Wavelength Infinity: A Sun Ra Tribute 2cd set (also on Rastascan).

But over the past six years, most of Connah's energy has been devoted to composing for and performing/recording with the Sour Note personnel.

ALL ABOUT JAZZ: Many AAJ readers will not be familiar with you and your work. Could you please provide additional autobiographical information?

GRAHAM CONNAH: Since I grew up in Baltimore in the seventies I was fortunate to see lotsa live music at The Left Bank Jazz Society's concerts. They were all ages, non-profit, down home, unpretentious. Hearing jazz in this kind of non-elitist, unselfconscious, festive, hospitable atmosphere was really an experience I'll always treasure. Getting to hear Mingus, Roland Kirk, Sun Ra, and many others week after week, without being under pressure to buy drinks, etc. was awesome. Really, words can't describe what a special place it was. Other ex-Baltimorons like Ellery Eskelin and Kevin Whitehead can vouch for it. In the late eighties when I was still in Santa Cruz, I had some very useful encounters with a great jazz educator named Ray Brown who taught at Cabrillo College. Another thing, when I first got to San Francisco in 1990, and reconnected with Ben Goldberg, we set about performing and exploring tunes by composers we liked. This experience was kind of a launching pad that fed right into our subsequent efforts to write our own music. We had these gigs with Kenny Wollesen and others where we performed songs by Andrew Hill, Steve Lacy, and Charles Mingus. Our approach to Mingus was to try to be true to his arrangements instead of just playing those tunes jam-session style. So, we opened up the forms the same way he did with his own bands (we also investigated tunes by a lengthy list of others, including Eric Dolphy, George Russell, Herbie Nichols, Monk, Ornette, and Dizzy Gillespie). In retrospect, this phase was crucial to getting me started on my own composing.

AAJ: For a recent live performance of the Sour Note Seven, you've been quoted as saying: "If the listener is seeking simply a narcissistic experience reinforcing his or her self image as a 'sophisticated arts consumer,' then the listener is advised to look elsewhere." Could you please elaborate on this comment ? (i.e., Why should a listener who considers himself or herself "sophisticated" look elsewhere? Will they be disappointed? Confused? Offended? Other? All of the above?)

GC: Well, I came up in an age where jazz wasn't something that its labels were trying to "market". There was not much "jazz industry" to speak of. Have you noticed how nowadays all types of music seem to be wings of the Music Business? Every category is like a lifestyle flavor. Obviously the megacorporate conglomerates that embody the "culture industry" pay some middle level flacks to sit around and try to persuade some idealized demographic that they should consume Jazz. You get this feeling when you suss out the marketing of jazz, that concepts like "elegance" and "upscale", etc., are the subtexts. Maybe it is easy to see this in California, a place where there is so much unsubstantive hype abounding, and many people dwell in it and crave it, they've never known a "reality" that isn't totally made up of it (this, it seems to me, is an epistemological transition, the entire globe is experiencing). I mean, you go to the SF Jazz Fest and there are these luxury carmakers sponsoring the whole thing. I think what I am trying to say is that in this culture there are a lot of people in the habit of wearing music the same way they wear clothing, the same way they choose wallpaper for their kitchens, etc. In other words: self-absorption and narcissism. Because of youngish generations' nightlife habits, music tends to get treated as background, not always of course. But, let's face it, many people choose which cultural product to consume in order to impress their friends or their dates or whomever (just like symphony audiences too). Therefore, their main aim is not always to listen to the music, they just want to bask in its glow, the glow that supposedly confers "sophistication" or status, or whatever, on them. Ya see, my group just completed a year of Tuesday nights in a place like that (Bruno's) so we had to play for people like that every week. Many of them could tell, in literally the first few notes, that our primary objective was something other than to provide them with appealing and unobtrusive sonic wallpaper. It wasn't like we tried to alienate them, they could just tell that we were not sufficiently deferential. Doubtless many of those people had shown up at that club because they heard it had "jazz" and they have this vague idea of what they're gonna encounter. I hope this clarifies my earlier statement that you quoted above. I did not mean to imply that "sophisticated people won't like our music". The crux of the matter is "why do people listen to, or consume, music?" If their objective is narcissistic then they'll probably feel let down by us. I can elaborate more on why it is that we can't get it together to give these people some positive reinforcement...to put it succinctly, we are just too focused on trying to actually play the music. That in itself takes all our energy. Probably the people who search out a website like this are not like the people I described above, and maybe in your region you don't witness this phenomenon the way it is here in hyper upscale trendland.

AAJ: Obviously with the record titles MY GOD HAS FLEAS and GURNEY TO THE LINCOLN CENTER OF YOUR MIND, and the band name of "Sour Note Seven" (in addition to the obvious intent, possibly also a word play on the Soul Note label?), it's fair to conclude that humor plays an indispensible role in your music. Furthermore, the SF Weekly has described you as follows: "Pianist/composer Graham Connah is arguably the silliest serious bandleader in town…has crafted an unusual music-man image that's at once off-kilter and rigorously sober…One of the scene's most respected jazz composers, Connah tempers the absurdist bent of his lingual gymnastics with intricate scores…nutty lyrics reinforce Connah's self-styled role as perhaps the drollest, smartest songwriter in Bay Area jazz." With respect to this description, (specifically the words "crafted', "tempers", and "self-styled") does the injection of humor occur naturally for you or is it deliberate and calculated?

GC: Both simultaneously, I guess. Perhaps deliberate calculation occurs naturally for me. Maybe my sense of humor showed up in my music because it emerged from dormancy right about the time I started writing music. Or, maybe the music is an outlet for my humorous side which doesn't show in my moment-to-moment demeanor (I am mostly dour, morose, introspective, etc. and people often think I am rude and aloof though I don't mean to be.) In general I think humor is ok, and it goes well with music that has been attended to seriously.

AAJ: As a follow up, is it meaningful to discuss the role or intent of humor in music? i.e., is analysis of the function of humor in music self-defeating ? Does the presence of humor in music need to be explained, justified or defended?

GC: No need for that. As my hero Peter Tripodi had painted on his drumset: "sworn to fun and loyal to none." I am trying to have fun doing this-our rehearsals are fun, we spend a lot of time laughing. The gigs are fun too and this is how it should be. Despite the fact that we wish someone was funding our records, and we wish we could tour, I still try to just relax and enjoy every gig. The halcyon daze are probably happening right now, so we may as well face the music and enjoy it fully.

AAJ: Dan Plonsey at Beanbender's has written: "…this music and the thought processes behind it all (which are obviously quite complex and conflicted) deserve great and intricate scrutiny." Similar comments have been made by the SF Weekly and SF Examiner. But clearly it's one thing to compose complex music and quite another to have it performed live and/or to record it. Do you write specifically for the musicians that comprise the bands you assemble? If so, does your confidence in their abilities encourage you to stretch, if not stress, your own compositional skills?

GC: Basically the only group I ever wrote for was my own group. I formed the group that is the "Sour Note Seven" when I started writing. Of course, at first they were five, then six with the trombone, and seven with Julia on vocals. I probably could not have started writing at all if I hadn't been surrounded by a like-minded pool of fellow-travelers: Ben, Kenny Wollesen, Trevor (and people outside my group like John Schott, Steve Adams, Will Bernard, and Dred Scott). I stubbornly adhered to the idea of a "band", as opposed to doing a bunch of different projects in succession. I also stubbornly adhered, when possible, to personnel consistency; I tried to avoid the syndrome of constant substitutes that seems to plague the jazz world. I had no interest in doing one-off dates with celebrity "ringers", another syndrome that seems to plague the jazz scene. I was striving for band unity. I think that is part of why my albums have been well received-it seems that listeners can sense the rapport and comfort we have with each other. So, in answer to your first question, yes, I write specifically for those musicians. In answer to the second question, the stretching is not a conscious process. However, in retrospect, we have all stretched a lot. Five years ago we labored over seemingly difficult challenges which nowadays are much easier for us to assimilate. The trust and rapport that come from playing together for five years is essential to the assimilation of new material efficiently. I am generally not necessarily always trying to stretch as a composer. Different ideas have different requirements: some ideas are grandiose, others are frivolous, some are both simultaneously. Our biggest obstacle as a group is scheduling rehearsals (because everyone except me is busy with a long list of activities). Therefore there are some ideas I cannot realize because we don't have the rehearsal time to even begin to bite into them.

AAJ: Besides the band name, is there a difference between the Sour Note Seven and the Gray Attorneys?

GC: No, in fact there have been as many names as I could think of: the Blur of Ephemeral Thrills, the Flood of Somatic Sensation, Fleeting Moments of Unmitigated Glee, Codgers and Flab, Spasms and Rapture, Chasms and Rupture...to name a few. "Sour Note Seven" stuck, especially when we got the steady Tuesday at Bruno's. Even then, after awhile it morphed into Flower Boat Seven, Dour Bloat Seven, Shower Note Shaven, etc. It is worth noting that my very first album was a quintet and the group was referred to as the "Graham Connah Group" but the label and catalog number were Sour Note 7. I hoped that when the "Sour Note Seven" existed it would "allude" to the catalog number of the first album.

AAJ: You're quoted as admitting to being influenced by Frank Zappa and Sun Ra. It's been suggested that Carla Bley, Duke Ellington, and Raymond Scott are also influences. Is this accurate? Are there other influences that should be mentioned?

GC: I have barely ever heard any Carla Bley and Raymond Scott so it is fair to say that they are not influences. I have listened to lots and lots of Duke Ellington/Strayhorn so they've affected me profoundly whether consciously or not. Some key people who feed my composerly muse are: Steve Lacy, Andrew Hill, George Russell, Charles Mingus, plus the abovementioned Frank Zappa and Sun Ra. I have a deep fondness also, for Tadd Dameron, Kenny Dorham, Cal Massey, Randy Weston, Stravinsky, Messiaen, Feldman, and Fred Frith. Eric Dolphy occupies a special place, affecting me in an entirely transcendent way. I spent years by the turntable absorbing swaths of jazz history, so I have a deep connection to a long list of musicians like Sonny Clark, Horace Silver, Wayne Shorter, Elmo Hope, Hassan Ibn Ali, Max Roach, and many others. The music of Santana was my awakening as a youngster. The same people who turned me on to Ra hipped me to Beefheart, Yes, and the Mahavishnu Orchestra. I also admire Tim Berne, Muhal, Roscoe Mitchell, Anthony Braxton, and John Carter.

AAJ: As a follow up, how do you personally avoid crossing the fine line between being "influenced by" and being "imitative of"?

GC: Who knows what else is influencing me that I am not even aware of? And how are those influences manifesting? Okay, since I haven't written music for very long, just since 1993, I still find it a useful autodidactic tool to try to emulate others' scenarios. I don't claim to know what I'm doing, or to be succeeding at what I am attempting. So, I don't worry if someone accuses me of being imitative of someone else. First of all, that's partly their subjective perception, secondly I look up to great people and am proud to imitate them, thirdly I am just feeling my way as we all are. I view a lot of my pieces as failures. One can jump through all kinds of hoops trying to be original and cutting edge (I witnessed some of this at Mills). In these days, syntheses are happening, and I'm sure that's what is happening with me. Since I am so new at this I'm really just getting my feet wet. Also, I don't make systematic study of other composers' work-- I don't sit around transcribing their harmonies and melodies--- so outright "imitation" would be too much work. Composers I like have created "environments" I like to dwell in, so of course I want to use those same spaces in my own music, like take Mingus for example. It is fun, and hard, to play in a scenario where the tempo is constantly changing, speeding up or slowing down unpredictably, while chord changes are still going by. Obviously if and when I do this it is going to sound imitative of Mingus, but hey, maybe that is a sad statement on the inability to this day of most jazz players to get beyond "jam-session strategies" and rise to the challenges he posed thirty years ago (by now if more players were doing this it might not remind listeners always of him). I think players and composers should want to walk through the doors that he opened. There is still a lot of investigating to be done in those areas (I should point out that one person I admire who barks up this particular tree is Gerry Hemingway). Well, that is just one example. Another way to answer the question is to say that sometimes it seems that no matter how hard I try, what comes out is what was gonna come out no matter what. I'm not sure I have that much ultimate control. I wrestle the alligator to the ground and then it eats me.

AAJ: Living and working in the San Francisco/Berkeley area has afforded you to the privilege of collaborating with a wide array of creative musicians. But what musicians would you most like to work with that you haven't yet worked with?

GC: Nels Cline, G E Stinson, and Stuart Leibig. Eli Crews and Oran from Optimist International. A drummer out here named Ches Smith. Myles Boisen. Dave Douglas. Karen Borca. Charlie Kohlhase's group. The members of Melt Banana. Members of Eskimo, a lot of the newer young musicians in town, Ben Folds Five, and Mike Keneally's group. Two reasons why I never think much about this: 1) I am always focused on writing for my existing groups. 2) On a day to day basis, on nightclub gigs playing jazz, I get to play with lots of musicians I admire: Hal Stein, Noel Jewkes, Kenny Brooks, Brenda Boykin, and others.

AAJ: As a follow up, some critics point to the SF/Berkeley scene as typifying yet another "closed" working environment where "intimacy" is confused with "isolationism" (i.e., a pseudo-elitist core). As an added complication, the working environment would seem to be very active, which could inevitably tend towards exhaustion of fresh ideas, especially amongst a "fixed" or "finite" set of musicians. How would you say the working environment you reside in avoids the trap of dilution and homogenization of band identity and sound?

GC: Okay, who are these critics and what do they know anyway? I'll address the words in these sentences one by one. If our environment is closed there may be many reasons for that--high airfares and gas prices, in a nutshell, corporate greed. Intimacy versus isolationism: well, some artists need years to develop whatever they're developing. I spent five years writing for the same group of musicians. Consequently I chose to forego other possible collaborations, and jam situations. So, it is a trade-off. I'm glad I did it because I wanted to build a body of work for that group. The result is you don't find me appearing as a sideman on a lot of one-off albums (I'm not in demand as a sideman anyway). I, for one, choose to question the notion that the scene has to always be characterized by myriad recombinations of personnel. I also question the assumption, which seems to be held by some producers and journalists, that by gathering together a bunch of name players who've never played together before, that you're automatically going to end up with a good album. I think it is better to have at least a few bands with strong Identities. It is true that here in the Bay Area there is not the inflow and outflow of new blood at the same rate that there probably is in New York. But there ain't much we can do about that--we have to make the best of what we have. Some musicians get fed up and leave, I guess. Back to the question of intimacy--I think it is a good thing. In any relationship it can take years to build trust, and an atmosphere of trust can be conducive to good music making and expressiveness in general. On the question, again, of isolationism, if I had lived in New York, I would've ended up with perhaps each album having different players, because of scheduling and multiple commitments, etc. Is that a desirable reality? I think not. Another perspective or two: we are not as isolated as one might think. We listen to the records coming out of NYC, Chicago, Europe, Rossi, New York, Greensboro NC, and elsewhere. This doubtless affects our own ideas. Or, isolation can be a good thing: we are free of some of the factionalism, myopia and self-absorption that characterizes the New York scene. Journalists are still too focused on NYC, in my opinion. I think of John Carter. He stayed put in L.A. and despite the obvious sacrifices, managed to develop his own thing, and it is a beautiful thing. Basically, as you may have inferred by now, I think the question is bullshit. Look, some of us live here, for various reasons (families, jobs, weather, reefer, teenage girls, redwoods, you name it). And while we're here we are gonna make some music. Whoever wants to accuse some one of us as being pseudo elitist can e-mail me personally and we'll discuss it some more. I can't take too much time to even honor that kind of beside-the-point idiocy. Onward...Does the working environment tend towards the exhaustion of fresh ideas? Not necessarily. Sometimes we work, some times we don't. I have to deal with the exhaustion of fresh ideas but for me it is a personal problem. I have personal limits to my own imagination and inspiration, and I am striving to overcome them. I don't have a lot of leftover energy with which to analyze this "scene", and make decisions about who's bereft of ideas. Is it qualitatively different in some other geographic area? I doubt it; I guess it depends on your criteria. Some great artists spend a lifetime fleshing out just a couple of ideas. As far as avoiding the trap of dilution of identity and sound, well, out here there is nobody doing what I am doing. Nobody puts Ben Goldberg in the context I put him in, for example. And, his own music is totally different from mine. The free scene out here is ambivalent about my music because my music is not particularly free. Straight-ahead jazzers aren't that interested in my music either. No jazz group with a vocalist does it quite the way I do it. I don't feel that I am running the risk of sounding the same as a bunch of other groups, either here or elsewhere...despite some obvious comparisons (and besides, if I am wrong I am still willing to live and die by my own efforts, no matter how homogenous or diluted or derivative). I'm not trying to get anyone to validate my originality, I'm just writing the music I feel like writing. It is worth noting right here that the bay area has a rich history, and many of those who made that history are still here: Pauline Oliveros, Carlos Santana, ROVA, Bob Buchla, Francisco Aguabella -- pick yer flavor, pick yer decade. I find it a very stimulating environment.

AAJ: What's the strangest or most unusual project you've been associated with? What did you learn from this experience that has proven useful to you?

GC: Well, I haven't been associated with that many projects since I don't do a lot of work as a sideman. I did one hour with David Thomas and Ralph Carney at Bruno's. It was uncomfortable because David usually performs for audiences that are there to see him, as opposed to audiences that chatter incessantly over whomever is performing in their midst. It was also uncomfortable because Ralph was late, and also because David's m.o. contains a certain amount of browbeating. I learned what I already knew: rehearsal is almost always a good idea. Still, I don't know if I'd call it strange. I think the wedding I was on a month ago where we played "YMCA" was probably stranger. I mean, I am a guy who scrapes a living as a musician, and that in itself is strange.

AAJ: What stimulates or excites you about performing as a "cocktail lounge" pianist? How do your experiences in these environments aid you in your composing and performing?

GC: Well, my gigs as a pianist are more "jazzy" than "loungey". I don't invite requests, and I don't sing, and I only play songs I like: tunes by Dameron, Strayhorn, Arlen, Porter, Rodgers, Kern, Ellington, Gershwin, Benny Golson, Horace Silver, etc.. This is the repertoire I was weaned on and I made it my business to know a lot of tunes, the way any responsible member of a rhythm section should. Piano gigs are a fun outlet, it's recreational and ruminative. This aids me in my own composing mostly in an invisible way, by just being immersed in good "song". In another way, sometimes I write on the gig: if I have an idea I can just play with it and develop it and even stop and write it down.

AAJ: In addition to your skills at composing, you've also been described as being "the king of between song patter". Is this the result of nervousness while performing live, or is it simply a byproduct of immensely enjoying being in front of an audience?

GC: Neither. I have to be in a certain mood to have anything to say at all. Most of the time I say almost nothing. Now that my band has a forum for lyrics, that is where much of my "verbal" tendencies are directed.

AAJ: Do you have any plans to record or perform with a larger ensemble? (such as your NoPorkestra project)

GC: I'd like to record the music for the larger group. I keep putting it off cuz I want to do it right: I am weary of the shoestring habits that jazzers are afforded. Enough of this "throw up some mikes and do it in an afternoon". I need a week in a good studio to do that music justice, and I simply can't afford that. I need someone else to fund some of my projects. I mean, I think I deserve that. I see what else has funding and I think I have music of perhaps equal quality. The large group does a gig every now and then; it remains for me to book one. By the way, Elliot Kavee thought of the name "Noporkestra"-it referred to the high quantity of Jews in the band. He mentioned it in passing but I made a note of it and used it later.

AAJ: Rumor has it that you and Gino Robair (percussionist and founder of Rastascan Records) are considering forming a Sun Ra cover band as a follow on to the WAVELENGTH INFINITY tribute cd. Is this project coming together? If so, could you please share further details?

GC: All that was, was a gig that happened last summer at Yoshi's. 15 or 16 musicians. I just played in it, I was not an organizer. There's a tape of the concert somewhere. I would be happy to do that more often but I can't stop to organize it. I've got my hands full with my own stuff. If there's a gig and I can make it, I probably will but I won't be taking any initiative any time soon.

AAJ: In conclusion, what projects can AAJ readers expect from Graham Connah in the near future?

GC: Jettison Slinky, which may not be your cup of tea: Some of the Tuesdays at Bruno's were devoted to music by an electrified offshoot of my usual group. It's guitar by Alex Candelaria, electric bass, drums, two women who sing, and three horns. I thought it might be art rock or prog rock but it turned out to be more jazz-rock than anything else. Our forthcoming album is entitled "Dank Side Of the Morn". It'll probably be self-generated, and out within a couple of months. There is also a forthcoming live album from the Sour Note Seven: "The Sound Of No Hands Clapping". Also self generated. Unless things change I won't be following the formula jazz pianist trajectory: trio album, solo album, album of standards, etc. I LIKE playing in those contexts, but it is not (yet) a priority to record them. After the aforementioned two forthcoming albums, I hope to make another studio album of the Sour Note Seven, and also do the large group album.

In closing, I'd like to mention that I think music is a great thing and I'm glad so many people do it, in all their dimensions (having said that I also feel strongly that silence is golden, and I wish more clubs would keep their sound systems off when the bands aren't playing).