Jazz

Presently, the Atlantic Canada Jazz Festival is underway. I'm amazed at the quality of local music and the responsiveness of the audiences. I'm weaseling my way into as many shows as possible as a festival volunteer photographer.

More critically now: I recently spent 7 months working aboard a cruise ship as a trombone player. Thinking back, my rationale for taking the job was that having devoted four years of my college-aged life to studying music, I might as well be a professional musician for a while. This conflicted with my better judgment at the time.

I found life on the ship pretty depressing. I assumed and have preached that my depression was linked to ship-life: confinement, monotony, bad food, etc. After leaving the ship and arriving in Halifax, life was great! Great job, great friends, great environment. And then one day, at my request, a friend visiting from Toronto brought to me my trombone.

I started practicing, met some other musicians, felt some excitement about jazz. I went to a jam session. I just played one song. And I hated it passionately. I hated being on stage, I hated the atmosphere, I hated what I played and I hated how I played it. I even hated hearing three people say, "Man, you were awesome." I wanted to tell them they were full of shit, but all that came out was, "thanks." I went home with a cloud over my head, a cloud whose shadow has not been cast over me since my last few weeks on the ship.

Could it be? I've always had a self-confidence issue with my trombone playing, but to think playing trombone could cause me to become depressed. Perhaps I should wait for a spike in the price of brass and have the old 3B melted down for some cash.