Covid Sax

Every week begins on Friday.  Remember when Fridays were the cusp of the weekend, two days free of work, for time at home, for sleeping in, for social gatherings, for honey-do projects, for golf or tennis or swimming with the kids?  Now every week begins on Friday because it was a Friday some twenty-one weeks ago that COVID-19 began to inkle its demands about staying in, staying apart, and changing everything.  Bubbles used to be something kids created with a plastic ring and a bottle of soapy water.  Now bubbles are the safe spheres of each person’s world.

 

Confronted with life in a tiny bubble of two human beings, I did the obvious thing.  Decided to teach myself to play the saxophone.  I did fail, however, to consider the potential effects on the other beings living in our bubble – our two labradoodles.  Winnie, my wife, has ample capacity to bury her head between two pillows in the room furthest from my office but Eva and Quincy have never encountered sounds like those that emanate from this new device.

 

My journey began by ordering a saxophone on eBay.  It seemed relatively cheap and the delivery was promised in just three days.  I was as anxious to get started as any naïve artist.  On the third day I got notice that delivery was delayed but for an added fee, I could get the sax in 10 more days.  A little research uncovered that the supplier of this cheap and fast saxophone was in Singapore, the manufacturer in mainland China. So I spent most of our first month of sequestration getting my payment refunded.  Welcome to Covid era on-line commerce.  You might have thought this would have overcome my impulse purchase but no... I remained undaunted.  

 

I’d already purchased a twelve-lesson on-line instruction program for alto sax and, to learn to play saxophone, it is relatively important to have a saxophone. So, I searched Craig’s List for used instruments and Google for domestic and reputable suppliers of beginner saxophones.  The cost of a typical student instrument was about twice what I’d paid on eBay but I was committed and ordered a Roy Benson alto sax from Sam Ash Music Company.  It arrived from a store in Tennessee within a couple of days.  All of the easy stuff completed, now I had to figure out how to make beautiful noises with an instrument that would soon screech like a wounded albatross in the hands of this inept beginner.  

 

For Father’s day, my daughter gave me the music to the Yardbird Suite, a Charlie Parker classic.  I don’t know if her tongue was in her cheek but just looking at the music made me sympathize with a freshman math student looking at the formulas for a rocket shot to the moon.  The gift, however, did cause me to read and learn more about the players who’ve made the saxophone sing.  Charlie Parker’s biography took me on a journey through the tuning of a saxophonist’s heart as he made soulful music with his horn.

 

The basic lessons about how to dampen and install the reed on the mouthpiece, how tight to make the ligature, and how far to slide the mouthpiece onto the instrument are essential.  The only way to get sound out is to move air from your lungs through three feet of metal tube littered with holes and valves.  Learning to breathe, to blow, to operate the valves comprise the core of saxophone lessons.  Some lessons on music theory and reading music help a student make the kind of noise that doesn’t cause folks to grimace.  But the essence of the saxophone is found by a student in the lore of musicians and in the music of players who made the instrument touch the soul of listeners.  

 

This Covid virus, primarily transmitted by people breathing the same air, makes playing a saxophone almost a criminal offense as it adds lots of droplet laden breath into the air.  But I have privately persisted.  I’ve completed about half of my initial lessons and have managed to make a couple of tunes recognizable to those who couldn’t escape earshot.  Mostly I practice alone with my office door closed.  First, of course, I allow the dogs to escape into the back yard.  My practice involves blowing into the mouthpiece, depressing the keys, and starting over to try again.  Some Covid hours are spent and modest improvement achieved.  

 

I’ve discovered that almost all of my saxophone idols are black men whose lives were as different from mine as the saxophone is from a harp.  The music they created can make me mellow or call me to action.  Their notes linger in the air like a balm sent to quiet the fears and frustrations of this time of separation.  Their music gave John Lewis some tunes but he added the words and the actions.  Their songs can be hummed by policemen on duty or sung by those who gather to peacefully march for a cause.  I imagine in ERs everywhere their notes soothe the sick and inspire the care givers.  

 

I plan to continue.  I’ll practice in a private space and hope to keep the breath and noise pollution confined.  I’ll never play with a band or perform for adoring crowds.  If all goes well, by the time we emerge from Covid confinement, I hope to have learned to play the Yardbird Suite inoffensively.  With all kinds of angst so rampant in these times, I hope to hear and play songs of trust, of love, of respect and sacrifice.

 

Covid gave me the time to indulge my silly impulse.  The sax has opened doors I didn’t know I’d closed.  If I could come to play this sax by learning what those sax men felt, my Covid time would be a blessing.   I hope to walk a step or two in the shoes of every sax man who blew the notes that brought me here and the songs that will see me through.

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