Skaffa

Several lifetimes ago I was in a Ska band called Jimmy Skaffa. When I started playing alto saxophone in that sometimes-ten-piece-band I was 15, and because I only had a learner's permit I had to get carted to and from rehearsal by the elder statesmen of the band. All of them were somewhere in their 20's except for me and formerly-18-year-old Matt Nelson, the trombonist. We played Omaha, Chicago, Manhattan, KS, Minneapolis, Kansas City, and a few other places that I've blocked from my memory.

It was in that band that I learned how early gas stations in the Midwest close on a weekday. We had just played a random bar in Manhattan, KS (or was it Kansas City?), and decided to get gas once we got out of town instead of turning around when we realized that we were in desperate need of a fill-up. Now it's been a good solid decade since this went down, but I remember this: we were at least 20 miles away from anything in rural Kansas, it was around one AM, the needle was well below E, and I had school the next day. We found a bunch of gas stations that were shut tight for the night, and there was a how-to discussion on syphoning gas (make sure you spit out the gas once it gets to the end of the tube). There were no cell phones in the band, because it was 1993 and would've cost fifty dollars a minute to use a cell phone in the middle of a Children-of-the-Corn field. Right after despair had settled in, we found the only 24-hour gas station in between Omaha and Kansas and I avoided peeing my pants, swallowing gasoline, being killed in a cornfield/vegetable patch, or missing school (it's safe to say I had some Lisa Simpson tendencies happening back in the day).

Another memory of the band: the 15 passenger van we drove was originally owned by a lawn service company, I think. There were still remnants of the paint job and logo, but fortunately no smell of manure. I remember trying to sleep in the van on one of those brutal nights heading back to Omaha from a far-off gig and Ross Manheart, the singer, was listening to the loudest, fastest punk rock I have heard before or (thankfully) since to keep awake will driving. It brambled my scrain. Now you know why I am the way I am.

Why am I telling you all this? I got a friend request from the band today. Apparently they ska-ed together for another seven years after I left the band in '95 or so. I don't think we'll be winning any lifetime achievement grammy awards, but it's fun to turn back the clock to my first band experience.

In other news, I sat in with my friend Robby Marshall last night at SevenGrand in beautiful downtown Los Angeles last night. The band was great, and it felt mighty fine to play my horn. I'm playing a jazzy jam session today with a horn player friend I hadn't seen in a while till last night. I guess you could say I'm really getting back into the swing of playing jazz.

I'd like to find some other way to end this blog than with a horrible jazz joke, but I think I've done enough damage for one day.

I'll be seeing you Saturday in Ventura, CA at Zoey's if you're able.