Wayne Shorter

Wayne Shorter is the most self-effacing great jazz musician of the last 40 years or so. A composer of stunning originality, he is rivaled only by Thelonious Monk and Charles Mingus in his contributions to the post-Duke Ellington canon of jazz standards. After John Coltrane, Shorter, with Michael Brecker a close second, is the most influential saxophonist of the modern era. His tone and phrasing are recognizable after just a few bars into the opening chorus, no matter whether you are listening to his staccato runs on tenor or his modal, almost free palying on the soprano saxophone. For jazz musicians that came of age in the Wynton Marsalis-led jazz renaissance of the the 1980s, Wayne Shorter is their icon. Argue all you want about the "neocon" sensibilities of Wynton; but he, along with his more open-minded brother, Branford, told anyone who would listen that Wayne was the man. Bands that formed during the 1980s and early 90s made Shorter's tunes a centerpiece of their recorded and live performances. Now 75 years old, Shorter is leading a ridiculously talented band right now, with John Pattitucci on bass, Danilo Perez on piano and Brian Blade on drums. These are all phenomenal musicians in their own right; having seen them play together several times, you can sense the awe in which they hold their leader and deservedly so.

Just last week, my wonderful band, Ocio Jazz, played a show at Twins Jazz in downtown D.C. Before we went on, I saw the calendar for performances that month. Just a few days before our gig, Reggie Workman, who played with Coltrane in his classic quartet with Elvin Jones on drums and McCoy Tyner on piano, did a couple of nights on the same stage. Towards the end of our show, our horn player and leader, Marty Hindel, turned around and said, "Do you know 'Footprints,' it's a Wayne Shorter tune." I almost passed out on the spot -- I was about to play a Wayne Shorter composition on the same stage where Coltrane's former bass player led his own band a few nights before. On the original 'Footprints' recording, Workman played bass.

We counted "Footprints" off -- in 6/4 -- and off we went. The tune snapped and crackled, and the whole time I was in a state of disbelief that I was getting to play that tune. Soon after, we ended our set. Twins provides a drum set, so all I brought with me were my cymbals and sticks. I left the club and walked onto U St., heading east to my car, which I parked at the Reeves Center. Waiting for the light to turn, a group of people walked up next to me, noticed the bag I was carrying on my shoulder, and asked, "Are you a musician?" Here I was, a suburban dad playing music with friends because I love it, and it never occurred to me to think of myself as a musician. Still floating, I thought, "You know, I just played a Wayne Shorter tune. That makes me a musician." So I answered, "Yes, I just finished a gig over at Twins."

"All right, my man," came the response. "Have a good night."

The light changed, and I crossed the street, carrying my cymbals and sticks, getting looks from passers by that said, "You must be a musician." I'd never thought of myself as a musician before, considering myself a drummer who played with "real" musicians -- the kind that can read music and quibble about key changes and such. To hell with that. I played a Wayne Shorter tune on stage in real jazz club. And that is about as good as it gets.