By Day 4 of any trumpet conference, I’m suffering from trumpet hangover. I open the car door at 8 AM, I hear a kid outside the garage playing a trumpet and my heart just sinks. After three consecutive fourteen-hour days of in-your-face trumpets, it takes something pretty special to keep you engaged, let alone get you excited. Despite that, it was a pretty amazing day. 

Our final rehearsals for the Festival of Trumpets were this morning, this time with rhythm section. The pianist, bassist and drummer were the ones who accompanied Rob Murray and Marvin Stamm two nights prior, and the ITG Jazz Competition finalists last night. Claudio Roditi talked them up yesterday, but I didn’t know I’d be playing with the same guys. It was great fun.

Tim Weir, the lead player on Short Stop, ended up joining my other combo for Crisis. Tim’s an excellent player and a good guy. He and I have become fast friends (despite his murderous Australian heritage), and I hope he makes it to a gig the next time the Army Field Band comes through New England.

I arranged to switch shifts at the Army booth with my colleague James Wood so I could attend Claudio Roditi’s masterclass on Brazilian music. I felt really fortunate to have established a relationship with Claudio yesterday, and since I missed his appearance on last night’s big band concert, his class became top priority.

Claudio was accompanied by the same rhythm section (with a new drummer), and had several brazilian musicians in the audience. He played a beautiful tune on his signature rotary valve trumpet, spoke at length about the form and tendencies of brazilian songs, and invited one of the brazilians to join him on a piece. I don’t have a very good handle on Brazilian Portugese at all, and can’t tell you either the name of the tune or of the player, but he played beautifully, and as soon as I get home I’ll be searching for that tune.

A few minutes later, Claudio spotted me in the audience and spoke to me:

“Phillip!” he said. “Did you bring your horn?”

“No.” I said, kicking myself. “But I’m sure there’s one in here…?” I looked around, silently begging for someone to loan me their trumpet.

“Where is it?”

“A 15-minute run from here. But I’d be glad to…”

“Do you mind playing my rotary flugelhorn?”

Claudio invited me onstage to join him on a tune he composed (in marker). Another player was also invited up: Michael, another military man formerly of DC. We quickly tried to make sense of the notation while Claudio introduced “Piccolo Blues,” which he performed on rotary piccolo trumpet. It was an unforgettable experience, the kind of thing that only happens at events like this. Once again: Claudio is a beautiful guy.

An hour later, I was invited to a Keith Johnson Alumni reception. It was attended by Keith, his wife, a few friends, and dozens of trumpet players who studied with him over the last thirty years. There were players there from the U.S., Canada, Brazil, Russia, and possibly others. Many of them went on to do tremendous things. It was a great honor to be in such company, and a real pleasure to see so many old friends.

That night was jazz night: Clay Jenkins and Dominick Farinacci. Clay Jenkins I’d heard of but never studied; Dominick Farinacci I’d never heard of at all. I’m ashamed to admit that, because they were both unbelievable. Jenkins was one of the most inventive trumpet players I’d ever heard; he was constantly exploring, and never repeated himself that I could hear. Many improvisers sink into ruts, falling on comfortable, reliable patterns and phrases in their improvising. I can’t imagine that’s a problem for Clay Jenkins.

I’m not sure how to describe Dominick Farinacci, except to say that he’s the complete package. He has terrific command of idiomatic jazz language, and obviously knows the history of his instrument in the medium, but his displays of technical facility set him apart from most players, making him a rare virtuoso. Clay Jenkins and Dominick Farinacci are both officially on my jazz trumpet short list.

Waffle House with old friends was the perfect ending to such a kick-ass day. This has officially been my favorite ITG ever. One more day. Tomorrow, my colleagues and I play the Festival of Trumpets, pack up the booth and head for home.