Word: jazz
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During my first weeks on campus, like found like, and the jazz nerds of the world united. None of us planned on making jazz our lives, but we expected it to be a big part of our college experience. Five us formed a group, self-consciously dubbed a “Collective” because, hey, we knew all about that pretension. We probably couldn’t have found gigs in the real world, but luckily, there are a thousand Harvard organizations that need light jazz for cocktail parties, holiday functions, and formals of various stripes?...
...Collective also played with the Harvard Jazz Band, which allowed us to perform with guest artist luminaries such as Jon Hendricks, Roy Hargrove, and Roy Haynes—musicians I’d been listening to since middle school. That jazz band made us the main act, and for once people sat and listened to us instead of eating hors d’oeuvres in our general vicinity. The group threw around money so that we could play with artists I’d idolized for a decade; even as my technical abilities stagnated, the largesse of Harvard gave...
That realization hastened jazz’s fade into the background of my own life. The curious alchemy of Harvard also played a part; my time here transmuted my interests in mysterious ways. I had once treated jazz as a possible future occupation, but during my time in college I stopped practicing and found that I couldn’t ignore the allure of rap and rock (I guess I’d been missing lyrics). I became increasingly interested in writing about music, not playing...
...weeks ago, the Harvard Jazz Collective, after almost four years of existence, played its last gig at the Adams House Formal. We’re close friends now, and the experience meant a lot to us, if not to the modest, probably trashed crowd in the dining hall that inexplicably preferred our take on “swing” (mostly later Miles Davis) to the DJ upstairs. For most of us, it was probably our last chance to play the working musician; we were closing our instrument cases on a decade’s worth of practice. We packed...
...realizing that some things I considered integral parts of my identity were fated to turn into hobbies; that, as time progressed and possibilities were whittled away, not every bullet point on that college application was destined to become my life’s passion. I never planned on making jazz my life—I simply don’t have the love for the saxophone that turns eight hours of practice daily from a chore into a routine—but I never thought it would be relegated to the background to the extent that it has been here...