Awesome.

The Secret Revealed

A Step to the Left - Pit Stop

On the second day, I rested. Or whatever.

On the unofficial second day of my journey (I say unofficial because there was no physical traveling), I took time to sleep a few hours and reorganize my life on wheels.

Aside from being a welcome rest for driver, it also ended up being something of a wonderland for my two turtles in a half-shell (turtle power). I can't say for sure, but I think it was their first experience with grass. It must be similar to southerners first time experiencing snow - with a little more burrowing.

What a trip it's been for them - from parts unknown, to China Town, to the Upper West Side, to a Wisconsin front yard, to... California (and all parts in between). I can't say they can tell the difference, and maybe for them there is none, but they liked the grass anyhow.

It was nice to see the house, and even nicer to see the folks. I said I didn't want a gathering or a dinner or any of those things my extended family seems to live for, but when the inevitable happened, it was nice.

After the party left and a short rain storm blew through (the last one I've seen for two and a half weeks), we reshuffled the load. I couldn't have imagined adding more, but we found a way. With two bikes, a bed, dresser, table, some lamps, a vacuum and a restored antique moped, no one was going to accuse me of traveling light. Oh, did I also mention I picked up a travel buddy? I did - my sister (and future roommate).

After plenty of unwelcome but helpful words of advice, we hit the hay (so to speak), and got ready for our 5 AM call to arms.

A Step to the Left - Notes from Day 1

After packing up (and tearing up) and running head first out of New York with all of my junk, I have amassed the following notes of the first day or so of my journey.

(Note: all times Eastern Standard and estimated)

9:14 AM - Arrive at truck rental trailer-park, located in the part of Manhattan typically reserved for gang fights between the mob and Batman.

9:43 AM - Without much fanfare, I'm on the road with a 16 foot truck, which to my surprise has a much coveted CD player.

10:15 AM - Pick up some donuts and find eight of my closest friends sitting on my front stoop reinacting a scene from a Molly Ringwald movie I once saw half of.

10:34 AM - After four minutes of negotiation, I convince a very stupid women that her car will fit through the space between my truck and the van across the street.

11:44 AM - I'm packed and ready to squirt some.

11:50 AM - Pulling away from my home for the last 3 years without any idea of where I'm going, except that it's west of here and there will probably end up being more trees and less pigeons. (After a few minutes I find my directions and feel more prepared)

11:52 AM - I'm lost.

11:53 AM - Thank you sweet Jesus for the iPhone.

12:02 PM - I catch a final glimps of the NY sky line and wonder when, or if, I'll be back.

12:45 PM - New Jersey does kind of suck, but it's fun to drive.

1:30 PM - Pennsylvania sucks.

2:00 PM - Pennsylvania sucks.

3:00 PM - Pennsylvania sucks.

cont...

3:32 PM - Apparently, other drivers hate people in moving trucks.

3:32 PM - A man passed me, stuck his hand out of his window, and made a very lame pointing jesture to the right. Initially, I believed he was pointing out something cool on that side of the highway, but later realized he wanted me to change lanes. What I told him by not changing lanes was that no one cares what he thinks.

4:10 PM - After stopping for gas at a quant roadside-mall/gas station I decided to take some pictures of some very tasteful, but deadly, 3-d leopard art work (pictured below) that seemed to be featured on every wall. The leopard got the last laugh however, as that very photo killed my phone battery.

4:12 PM - After the leopard incident, the nice, seemingly hillbilly, gas station attendant informed me that while they sold an iPhone car-charger, I would have to wait 20 minutes for his manager to return and open the case it had been stored in. A case that featured such high price merchandise as $9 jelly head phones and the aforementioned $15 phone charger.

5:14 PM - Drank some iced coffee and some peanuts.

cont...

7:25 PM - I was a bit surprised with how emotional I was leaving this morning. It's funny how some things don't outwardly effect you while others do. There had been a lot of build up to today, and I had been hesitant to let it get to me in any sentimental or emotional way.

7:56 PM - After about 8 hours of straight driving, I'm starting to get the hang of working the truck. I no longer feel like an old man driving an unruly lawnmower.

9:00 PM - I'm in Ohio.

9:10 PM - After passing a strangely familiar farm, I'm starting to have flashbacks of coming to New York 3 years ago. I felt so much more stressed coming than I do going. I think NY is inherently stressful to some degree, but I also think I've grown.

11:11 PM - Crossing into Indiana - "Crossroads of America"

11:40 PM - Consumed by me on this leg of the journey so far: 3 Iced Coffees, 2 Bags of Peanuts, some string cheese, a gallon of Apple Juice and a gallon of Orange Juice (w/pulp).

11:49 PM - Weird late night trucker headlight signals. I don't know what 3 short and one long means, but I bet it's dirty.

12:18 AM - Smashmouth's version of "I'm a Believer" on the radio. Hello middle school.

12:19 AM - 90's week on Indiana radio. Love is in the air - along with heavy rain.

2:18 AM - Smooth Jazz while passing through Chicago. Really brings me back.

2:53 AM - Sting's "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic" while passing Six Flags Great America.

3:00 AM - A roundup of the tolls I've paid today: New Jersey - $5, Pennsylvania - $7, Ohio - $13, Indiana - $4, Chicago - $1:50 + $3 + $1.50 = $6 (they're so tricky).

3:33 AM - On an empty highway in Wisconsin. I think everyone's sleeping. How come I'm not?

4:08 AM - Highway 41 on the way home. Elton John's "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues." I'm no longer worried about staying awake. But dammit, I want to make it without stopping for gas again.

4:14 AM - The first time on my trip that I can see the stars.

4:27 AM - Starting to have waking visions. But Genesis' "That's All" is rocking it out!

4:38 AM - I've heard a remarkable amount of Journey so far - I would be fist pumping if I wasn't so concerned with 10 and 2.

4:40 AM - More Phil Collins... The clock is my enemy. Why do I care what time it is? Almost there.

5:05 AM - Me and my truck sputter into to Neenah, WI.

Ending stats: 998 miles, 17 hours, 7 States, 4 iced coffees, and 1 bed waiting for me at the top of the stairs.

That's how it went, so far. Only 2,000 miles left to go...

The Jazz Mortuary

After a long discussion with one of my other About.com cohorts, Jacob Teichroew, about the recent column (Can Jazz be Saved?) by Terry Teachout and the internet onslaught that followed, I have a few words on the subject of the so-called "Death of Jazz." (insert minor 7th chord please)

My main argument is this - although jazz as an art form is alive and well (ten million strong and growing), commercially speaking, it's not a player. And it hasn't been, really, since the 1950's - early 1950's. And by the time of its commercial decline, it had really only been going strong (ie. been the popular music of the day) for 15 years - tops.

How does this affect current jazz musicians or listeners? It couldn't affect them less. It's not like any of us that are playing or listening to jazz (okay, maybe there's a few of you 80-plus-ers that are crying right now, but lets be honest, you're not reading this because you don't know how to turn on a computer) were alive during the hay-day of jazz. So what did we have that we are now missing?

And again, this says nothing of jazz's vibrance as an art form or as a creative enterprise.

As a jazz musician just don't expect to sell anything. To me, to anyone. Just don't do it. Don't try to get 100 people to your gig. Don't try to make money from your recordings. Just play, and be a badass while doing it. If the plinko ball falls in your slot and you do sell a million records (hello Norah Jones) have fun with it.

But really, there's nothing you can do, nothing you can tell the younger generation, that will "make jazz a popular music again." If that's what you want, I guess my advice is build a time machine and head on back - cause otherwise, sadly, you're fishing in an empty pond.

Is jazz dead? No. But if it is, it's nothing new. It's been dead for a couple of decades now.

(Update: to read Jacob's response, please head over to jazz.about.com)

Ten Things I Hate About You (or people like you)

Ten things Jazz Singers do all the time that I hate:

10. Drink tea while someone else in the band solos.

9. Pretend they're a drum of some sort (excluding Bobby McFerrin, who actually is a drum of some sort).

8. Say they don't listen to singers, just instrumentalists. Or, vise versa, just singers and not instrumentalists.

7. 8 Bar intros and three times at the end (a great piece of arranging buddy).

6. Talk like they were born in Harlem in 1932, when actually they were born in Minnesota in 1974.

5. Move their hands around (especially in a Z Zorro type motion) while they improvise.

4. Call Sinatra cheesy. (We're talking about a man who could kill you with his bare hands here)

3. Sing in Portuguese when they clearly don't speak Portuguese.

2. Call out the person's name and instrument at the end of their solo ("Bill Johston on the Sax!").

1. Snap. Snap at any time.

People Dispensers

One of the hardest things for us to except, with our special abilities and unique personalities, is that we're replaceable. We're like the soda dispensers at the convenience store - take one of us, and another one slides into place. It may not be exactly the same in every way, but it'll get the job done (a coke always goes well with Jack).

Into the Wild

I think had I seen this movie at a different time in my life it would not have been so ground breaking - or heart breaking. But I did and it is.

Coming from someone who's currently packing up all the junk they own and carrying it across the country - this movie has made me think more than twice about chucking it all and moving on.

Alas, I'm not that interesting of a person. I'll live with not being that cool.

For now.

On the Road

As you may know (although you probably don't), I'm leaving New York next week. I'm headed West to California for many reason - but probably the biggest reason is change. They say a change will do you good, and I'm hoping they're right.

I've felt a myriad of emotions the past few weeks - since the decision to leave was officially made. The one I feel most often lately is frustration. I'm quick to anger, which has never been a trait of mine. While it may seem very mild to others, it's much more than I'm used to. It's part of my mourning process - it is after all, the end of something very big to me.

Up to this point I've been hesitant to let people in on my reasoning for leaving, even the fact that I'm leaving has been a tightly kept secret. I had planned on making a quick escape and slipping off into the night, but more and more that is seeming difficult. I don't deny that I've made some real and lasting connections here - and that in itself is the hardest part about going. Saying goodbye to the people I've come to rely upon (being basically all alone in a big city), is very difficult.

But I know now that it must be done.

Over the next few weeks I will take this space and use it as a chronicle of my journey both geographically and spiritually from East to West.

Another Legend Gone

A legend died yesterday, but it's hard to say he was in his prime. At 94, Les Paul had a career and life that anyone would aspire to. Besides having his name on a billion guitars all over the world, he was a musician who up until the WEEK HE DIED had a regular gig. My father back home in Wisconsin has always bugged me about not going and seeing him during his weekly set at the Iridium... Now I'll never get that chance.

A Sit Down with Kate McGarry.

Check out my interview with Kate McGarry for about.com:

http://jazz.about.com/od/interviews/a/KateMcGarryInterview.htm

Concert Review: Kurt Elling sings Sondheim and Styne

Please take a minute to check out my review of the 92nd St. Y's Jazz in July Concert Series Concert Sondheim and Styne, featuring Kurt Elling and Bill Charlap.

Making It

Here's a reenactment of a short conversation I had with jazz vocalist Kate McGarry a little over three years ago:

Charlie: So, how does it feel to have made it?

Kate McGarry: Well, I guess I don't really feel like I've made it.

(I told you it was short)

Kate McGarry has gone on to make it about as much as any real jazz vocalist can. She's permformed with many of the important musicians of our generation, from Maria Schneider and Donny McCaslin to Fred Hersch and Kurt Elling; she's toured the world; and this year was nominated for a Grammy. Any way you slice it, that's making it to me.

But the struggles of the New York scene have been felt even by her, as she's been forced to leave town and head south for nicer weather and an easier day to day. We wish her the best of luck, and hope she returns often.

Time, Time, Time is Fine

It's funny to me how much our lives are based on time - I would go so far as to say it's the most defining aspect of our existense - our perception. It all just seems so arbitrary. I'll see you at 7 PM, call me after 9 AM. Why? What changes besides the position of the sun?

The Joy of Driving

Please take a second to download my new album, The Joy of Driving, at the link below.

http://www.mediafire.com/?gnnqkmiq3ty

This album is inspired by the idea of a night drive through the country. While there isn't much country in my neck of the woods, I've definitely taken my fair share. I think the album's also about travel in general - so if you've got any planned, this is the perfect companion... well, this and some sandwiches.

While you're downloading stuff, if you haven't heard my other albums, they can be found here: http://www.mediafire.com/charliechristenson

Please enjoy and let me know what you think.

Just a Little Secret

There's a funny thing about secrecy in our culture. Knowing something that someone else doesn't makes us feel powerful. Not knowing makes us feel helpless. In the case of artists, mystery is a very thin line to walk.

I can break it down into four general areas - we'll call them mystery zones (I apologize if this seems TOO much like a horoscope).

Mystery Zone 1 (maximum secrecy): Your shows are underground, no publicity, only word of mouth. No one really knows the name of the bass player, except that he has a weird nickname like Cirpico or Quiet Storm. You can't find your music on iTunes or Amazon, but that crusty old record store has some below the counter. It takes a lot of work to be this incognito, and the ones who have actually heard of you are way into it.

Mystery Zone 2 (moderate secrecy): Fans may know who's in your band, but they know nothing of your personal life. People can find your shows, but it's not because you go on and on about them on your Myspace page. You sell your music on your website - iTunes only has your most recent stuff, which isn't the stuff the real groupies are into anyway. This zone is about keeping your fans at an arms length - you value your privacy but don't let it consume you.

Mystery Zone 3 (little to no secrecy): Everybody knows how you met and why you named the band what you did, but you don't give a zillion interviews and show up on VH1 every night. Your shows are prominently posted, but not crammed down anyone's throat. You can find your albums anywhere and you don't have many imports from Japan. You don't ever really think about keeping anything from your fans. If they want to know so bad, whatever.

Mystery Zone 4 (full disclosure): What did you eat for lunch today? Well, lets just check your twitter. Do you feel good about every single little overdub you recorded today? I don't know, I haven't had time to read your blog. You're basically every where all the time. We know who you dated for how long - we know your parents names - and we probably even know what you look like naked. You spam us constantly about your gigs, and hustle like crazy. I can buy your album on the sidewalk in Harlem if I feel so inclined - and you know what else, I can get the special edition at K-Mart. You spend a lot of time letting everyone know what you think and how you feel, and some people still can't get enough.

Okay, so it's pretty clear how I feel about all of this: if I had to pick, I'd probably go somewhere around zone 2 - a little mystery is fun. But come on, your talking to a Led Zeppelin guy here - are you at all surprised?

About Stuff

I'm on the verge of (finally - come on) doing some writing for a website that people will actually read - about.com. If you want to check out where I'll be setting up shop, head over here and take a gander. Should be tons of fun and a bucket full of monkeys (at least a small box full of them).

A "Nun" Direction

So, very shortly I will begin a series of Video Blogs, or V-logs if you like.

I've decided to take the blog in a slightly different direction - more fun, less pun.  Or less nun maybe - I still have a lot to work out.

Anyhow, check back in a few days and see how things have changed.

Kisses,

Charlie

Do it in the Backyard

As I ferviously cleaned my apartment today I oft thought to myself: "wouldn't it be nice to live somewhere where I could take this outside and clean it..." Yes, it would be nice. Especially since I almost started a fire with the vacuum... But I digress.

It would also be nice to practice guitar outside - which has become of a bit of an obsession for me as of late. I haven't really practiced this much or consistently for a long time. I think it's great. It'd be nice to do it in a backyard.

My Fee

"If you're good at something, never do it for free."  

So says The Dark Knight's Joker, and so says I.  Except for the fact that, as musicians, as artists, we do it all the time.  We do it almost exclusively.  We practice, we write, we hustle - all with no immediate reward.  And we have done it our whole lives.  

We pay a private teacher to tell us to practice.  We pay a school to tell us to write.  We pay a band and we play.  We practice enough until we are good enough that someone will pay us - a tiny bit - once in a while.  But that is not good enough.  So, we practice some more, and we get slightly more gigs.  

We write some good songs, and maybe get paid a little less for not doing covers - but it's more satisfying and we get better in a more complete way.  We finally get to a point were we are considered a master on our instrument and an important thinker in our genre.  We are officially "good at it," but guess what?  We still have to teach to make ends meet.  We still have to do that summer camp.  We still have to practice.

If I were a hit-man, and good, I would never kill for free.  If I were a butcher, the best, I'm not putting on that smock without getting paid my fee.  As a musician I am almost always at work - and I almost never get paid.