Russell Gunn: No Safety Net, No Overdubs, Just Pure and Original

One of the reasons podcasts have become so popular is they provide listeners with the experience of hearing people live, raw and unedited with no safety net as opposed to reading an article in a magazine or on the Internet. Even a Question & Answer interview is edited to remove repetitive comments and all the "ums" and "yeahs" that occur in normal conversation. It is similar to the difference between listening to a studio recording and going to a live show. You could be hearing an amazing album with ten killer tracks, but it can never contain the immediacy that captivates you from buying a ticket and seeing a musician perform those same ten tracks in person.

I say this because as the interview was being transcribed, I was wishing readers could hear Russell Gunn describe growing up on the harsh streets of East St. Louis, being inspired by his high school music teacher, accepted despite his hip hop style by Wynton Marsalis because he could play the heck out of the trumpet, telling stories about Miles Davis and Marcus Miller, Lee Morgan and Benny Golson, Oliver Lake and Johnny Taylor —absolutely Johnny Taylor, wearing gold rings on each of his fingers and wanting to know just who was going to vouch for this new kid in the band. If you read just one part of this interview, scroll down to where you see Johnny Taylor's name and start there.

There is a second must-read section, though, and it is about Miles Davis in a recording session with Red Garland, The song is "Round Midnight" and the studio chatter can be heard as Davis is cajoling Garland into playing a certain way. How Gunn describes it cannot be put into words sufficiently. The only way to tell the story is with some scat singing. "Red plays dung-ding-dun-dun, ding-din-do-do-dah Cling! Clunk-clunk-clunk, and Miles said (high register) dih-dih-dih do-do -dee-do, the most beautiful shit of all time in just 20 seconds." You appreciate now why this would have made a great podcast?

You can read the account, but it is like trying to put a jazz solo into words. The writer can analyze it, describe the improvisation, chord changes, the beat, inflection, but the reader still is unable to hear it. You must use your imagination and hope the writer is a good enough wordsmith to allow for that to come through.

Russell Gunn answers all the questions in his unique, colorful way, and listening to him tell his stories was an absolute blast. But to be genuine, you would need to write how Gunn described the way Miles Davis played the call and response of "No Blues": Like, "it goes did-do-did-do, piano, and di-do-di-do, yeah." Now, that's jazz. You feeling him?

Good. Now if you read the interview, know that it is the best that could be offered under the circumstances —printed word vs. podcast. You will probably know more about Russell Gunn than you did before, or maybe you are just finding out about him. But listen to his record, Origin Story (Live at the Velvet Note) (Self Produced 2024). Better yet, go out and catch his show. That is the best way to know the man.

All About Jazz: You started trumpet at the age of ten, but I read that you were initially interested in the drums. Why trumpet as opposed to saxophone or other horns?

Russell Gunn: Well, actually I've never been a real drummer, and I didn't study drums at all before trumpet. I've never studied drums; I just really like playing the drums. Not that you'll ever see me playing drums on a gig. Why I started playing the trumpet was because I'm old enough to where there still used to be music in the schools. So, during that time when you were allowed to pick an instrument to play, I wound up playing the trumpet. Initially I wanted to play the saxophone because in those days, every time you heard a recording on the radio, like a r&b song or a pop song, there was always a saxophone. So that's what I wanted to play. But it just so happened, my best friend at the time, he wanted to play the trumpet and said, let's play the trumpet together. So, I said, okay. And that's the only reason I started playing the trumpet. I mean, it was great for me, but that's really the only reason. There was nothing that drew me to it at all.

AAJ: You grew up in East St. Louis, which I did a little reading about. It has a lot of projects there, some violence and poverty. Did music help you make your way through what was probably a tough upbringing?

RG: Well, a lot of people don't know this, but St. Louis and East St. Louis are actually two different cities. St. Louis is in Missouri and East St. Louis is in Illinois. They're right next to each other, separated by the Mississippi River, and so they are two different cities. But of course, being so close, everything is shared. It's kind of like Memphis, Tennessee and West Memphis, Arkansas; East Chicago, Indiana and Chicago, Illinois, like that. But to answer your question, yes, I grew up in the '80s and there was a lot going on with the introduction of the new drug at the time.

AAJ: Was that crack?

RG: Yeah, we didn't have to say it, but we remember what it was. There was a lot of that going on. My high school band director, who just passed away recently, his name was Ron Carter, not the bassist, but the educator. He provided us, not just me, but a lot of students with a place to be. We wouldn't have to be outside all the time and deal with what was going on outside. Yeah, you could say music was the savior.

AAJ: Could you learn much music in school, though? I know what the high school band was like when I went to school. I mean, they went out there on the football field and pounded on the drums and blew the horns, but kids didn't really learn too much about music.

RG: Well, I learned a lot. And that's because of Mr. Carter, how he taught. I remember one of the first things he said to me when I got to high school was that when you leave here if you don't play better than I play now, then you don't have a chance. We thought he was crazy for saying something because he played saxophone great. We thought he was the greatest musician that ever walked the earth. We was like, oh my, how could we be as good as him? But a year or two under his tutelage, and then you realize it's like, okay, maybe he's not the greatest player in the world, but he's given to us, and I have a philosophy about teaching because I do teach sometimes. My philosophy is that a teacher, well, the first thing is you can't teach what we do. It's impossible to teach it. Only thing you can do is give good direction, point people in a direction and go listen to something because it's all self-study. Nothing is going to happen unless you sit alone and listen to recordings and try to emulate and understand what's going on, get the sound of the music ingrained in your head. That's the only way it happens. I mean, a teacher can teach you about two-five-ones and turn backs and the cycle of fours and all that shit. None of that matters if you can't really apply it in the real world way.

AAJ: I saw a post on your Facebook about Mr. Carter taking his victory lap. There was a picture of a bunch of kids that must've been your class in school. I couldn't figure out which one you were back then. It was a very moving tribute to him. There was a shout out to Wynton Marsalis. He was the only professional musician, not from St. Louis, who was brave enough and generous enough to recognize Mr. Carter's efforts,

RG: How people feel about Wynton within the jazz community, well, it could go either way. A lot of musicians feel a certain way, positively. A lot of musicians feel a certain way, negatively. I've always felt positively. He actually gave me one of my biggest legs up when he allowed me to be in Jazz at the Lincoln Center in my early twenties.

AAJ: You were in the Blood on the Fields orchestra as well.

RG: Yeah. That was my introduction into the bigger world of what we do, our thing. A lot of musicians talk to talk, and talk about being there for the kids and all of that kind of shit, but the reality, it's always with an asterisk. You know what I mean? It's always like they might visit some affluent school or somebody that has enough money to bring them in, things like that. But Wynton, whenever he was in St. Louis, he came over and most people wouldn't do that. Even the professionals from St. Louis wouldn't do that shit. So, I have nothing but gratitude for the man.

AAJ: Being with Wynton, well, you had a different look than the sport jacket crowd, Wynton and his brother and Christian McBride and all. How did you become involved with his band?

RG: Well, I can explain that because another big misconception about Wynton is that a lot of people think that the external look of it is what's really important to him, and it's not. What's really important is how a person plays. And I grew up in a time and in a place where I didn't look like them. I didn't dress like them. That wasn't my upbringing. That wasn't the culture I was involved with. I was involved with, I guess what would be considered the classic hip hop culture at the time. You know, I was a kid and that's how I looked and that's what I was about. But I was still about trying to learn how to play the music, and I was relatively good. I wasn't good enough, trust me, but he saw the potential, I guess, and gave me a chance, regardless of what the external looked like. I remember rehearsals, summer rehearsals where the entire band would be in fucking suits, and it is like eight or ten in the morning. And I'm like, we rehearsing? I was like, whatcha y'all doing? It's like, why are you dressed like this? Are we going to church afterwards? What the fuck?

AAJ: Thinking about the TV series Treme. There was a character sort of based on Wynton Marsalis, the son of Albert "Big Chief" Lambreaux, who was a Mardi Gras Indian chief. The son used to come down from New York where he was playing the supper clubs, and of course he was dressed to the nines. He was concerned about his father, and that reminded you of differences in generations.

RG: It was the early '90s, and I would be there with my big giant coat, big giant jeans. Timberlane boots on and my hair braided. But the bottom line is none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered is what came out of the instrument.

AAJ: Getting back to school days and starting out, who did you listen to, as you say, to get the music ingrained in your head?

RG: Well, my first influence, of course, was Lee Morgan because his sound was everything to me from being a Midwestern kid. I mean, it was the blues that was in it, the kind of direct brassiness, the attitude. All of that really spoke to me at the time. And it was a really great introduction into falling in love with how the music goes. And then my only real-life goal was to be a Jazz Messenger. That's the only thing that I ever wanted to be. And I never got it. Of course, because he died, Art Blakey. Yeah, because he died when I was young,

AAJ: Blue Note just released a big box set of Lee Morgan's old recordings for the label.

RG: Yeah, that's good. Anyway, after Lee Morgan, I started listening to other trumpet players. Clifford Brown, of course, was one of the biggest influences. And I liked singers. I liked Nat King Cole, and all of this is because my grandmother had boxes and boxes of records. My grandma's living in Chicago, which is where I was born, and I would spend summers there with my grandma. I was one of the only grandchildren at the time. It was usually just me and her around. And I didn't have a lot to do, so I would just sit in the room and listen to those records. She had everything. I really loved listening to Nat Cole for some reason, and Lee Morgan, of course, Clifford Brown. I mean, when somebody asks this kind of question, it's so hard to just say this was the guy, you know.

AAJ: I get it. You were learning to play by listening to the records. Did you go to school anywhere after high school was over?

RG: I did. I went to Jackson State University in Mississippi, and I marched in the marching band for one year. Then, during my second year of college, I left school because I thought I wanted to be a professional. So, that's what I did. I played around St. Louis for a little bit, but I wasn't really making a living, so I went and worked on a cruise ship for Carnival. When I left Carnival and came home, serendipitously something happened and I went and had a gig in St. Louis. And this is one thing I always try to tell people, too, is if you stay ready, good things will happen to you if you're really about trying to be in this life.

So, I had a gig and I really didn't want to do it. I was sitting in my apartment thinking about ways to get out of it, and I couldn't so I went and did it. After the gig, Oliver Lake —I don't know if you know he's from St. Louis —was in town for something, I don't know what it was. After the concert, he asked me would I do a concert with him in Brooklyn, and I said, oh yeah, of course. And this is my ignorance. There's a Brooklyn, Illinois, which is right next to East St. Louis. And I'm thinking, man, why does somebody like him want me to do a concert in Brooklyn?

AAJ: Why did he?

RG: I'm like, okay, sure. Lo and behold, he sends me a plane ticket and I get to Brooklyn, and it was just like being in a movie or something. I was looking at the buildings in downtown Brooklyn, and I was like, oh my God, look at how big these buildings are. It's like a movie. Anyway, long story short, he took me out that evening to the Vanguard and Mulgrew Miller was playing. It was really late in those days, like the last set starts at 3:00 a.m. or some shit like that. It was really, really late. There was not a lot of people in there. But I do remember I was looking around the Vanguard, looking at the pictures on the wall and just being amazed.

Then he took me to a place called Viglione's. They used to be on the corner of MacDougal and right down the street from the Blue Note, only it's not there anymore. After that, I went to the Blue Note where they were having a jam session. They wouldn't let me sit in at Viglione's for some reason. I forgot the band. I wish I could remember what band that was, because Oliver Told me to ask if they'd let me sit in. And I went and asked them; they said no. And then I went back to the table, and Oliver asked what did they say? I said, they said no. And he was like, who do those motherfuckers they think they are? I didn't think anything of it, but I went to the Blue Note and I got to play. It just so happened that Wynton's assistant, his name was Dennis Jeter, just happened to be there. We got to talking and I went back home. I didn't think anything of it. He told Wynton about me and Wynton remembered from when he would come to my high school. He remembered me. He's like, oh, so he's on the scene, and he called me, and that's how I started doing Blood on the Fields.

AAJ: So, you played in Oliver Lake's band for a while?

RG: I played with Oliver for a little while and did my very first recording with him. It was called Dedicated to Dolphy (Black Saint, 1994). It was for a record label from Italy. The first time I got to go to Europe in a real professional capacity was with Oliver to tour for that record.

AAJ: Before Oliver Lake, you played some with Johnny Taylor, didn't you?

RG:R and b. Yeah, man. See, a lot of people don't know I played with Johnny Taylor when I was in college at Jackson State. His record label, Malaco Records, is in Jackson. His band was basically made up of musicians from Jackson. And a friend of mine who was playing trumpet in the band called me once. First of all, if you were in Jackson and you got to play with Johnny Taylor, that was like the thing, you know what I mean? That was being in; that was the highest you can get. I actually didn't know who Johnny Taylor was at all. I did know, but I didn't know, I'll put it like that.

I go to get on Johnny's bus to go to Memphis, Tennessee, and there was a man, standing right how you walk up the steps to the bus, kind of leaning over the rail to the left of me, and on all eight fucking fingers were giant diamonds. I go to the back of the bus and sit down saying to my friend. I said, man, who the fuck was that? He was like, c'mon man, that's Johnny. Okay, forgive me but this is a great story. Johnny comes to the back of the bus, and he looks directly at me and says, all right, who's going to vouch for this man? And I'm saying to myself, who's going to vouch for me? Why do I need somebody to vouch for me? I didn't understand how shit was really, and before I can even open my mouth to say something stupid, my friend said, I vouch for him, Johnny. He's cool. Still at this point, I really didn't know who he was until we get to Memphis, and at soundcheck we start the first song —"Who's Making Love to Your Old Lady?" And the drummer goes "clack-t-clack-t-clack" and the band is just right on that shit (mouths rhythm). I'm like, that's who this is? I've heard these songs at my house all the time growing up. I was like, oh my God, so that was my introduction to business. He actually took me to New York once. We played at the Benson & Hedges Blues Festival back when cigarettes used to do sponsorship. We opened for B.B. King, and that's when I knew I was moving to New York.

AAJ: While looking through your Facebook, there's a picture of you with your homeboy Bruce Green. You had to go crosstown in East St. Louis just to get to band practice,

RG: We lived on the complete opposite side of town of the high school, but we went to the high school specifically to be around Mr. Carter. There was another high school that was half the distance that we was technically supposed to go to. We would have band practice at seven every morning before school started. So, we were on the city bus at 6:00 a.m. every day for three years.

AAJ: Under that picture it said, "I never imagined I could one day be sitting between two of the biggest Chiefs/Kings in Our Thing, Kirk Whalum and Fred Wesley, rehearsing for a gig at The Newport Jazz Festival."

RG: Oh, yeah. That just happened recently. That was in Newport, this last Newport Jazz festival. We were playing with Chris McBride. It was great. It was Chris, Dianne Reeves, Christian Sands was playing piano. Me and Whalum and Mr. Wesley were the horns.

AAJ: Whalum has a new record out, Epic Cool, which is really good.

RG: Whalum is the greatest. I mean, that line between what people call smooth jazz and whatever you consider jazz to be? There's a step in between that shit. Those players like Kirk Whalum and Stanley Turrentine Those are true boundary players. They straddle both of those worlds really well. And there's a real difference between players like Whalum and people that just kind of pander to the music.

AAJ: Isn't it kind of like a jazz pop sort of thing?

RG: Yeah, but it's still done at a level, a musical level. That's still something that you have to strive to be able to attain, and you really have to understand it to understand. You just can't play like Whalum and Turrentine and Grover the same way you could play the millions and millions of pop saxophones out there.

AAJ: It's hard to put into words, the difference. I used to listen to David Sanborn a lot. Some people would say, well, that's not really jazz he's playing. But I thought it was good music mostly. He just died recently.

RG: I love Sanborn. I played many concerts with Sanborn. He's from St. Louis. Yeah. I mean, I love Sanborn more than I love most people. He was one of the coolest people. I've played a lot with Marcus Miller. He and Sanborn were collaborators early on, so a lot of things I did with Marcus were also with Sanborn.

AAJ: There's a great shot of Marcus Miller on your Facebook page, and you're in the band.

RG: He's truly a musician's musician. He's not bounded by boundaries. I mean, he could actually function in any musical setting, and that's why he's so valuable. He could swing like a motherfucker, too. As a matter of fact, in our concerts, we take about 20 minutes where we're just swinging. I mean, there's a reason why he's that person.

AAJ: When you're playing with his band, you're fitting in with what he wants to play more or less. He's the leader. What do you learn or how do you approach that as opposed to being the leader?

RG: Well, the thing is I've been fortunate to be with as a side man really great band leaders, and really great musician band leaders like Wynton and Branford and Marcus. The thing with Marcus, though, his compositions, maybe not the really popular ones, but the ones that the jazz musicians who probably don't listen to the rest of the record listen to are some really, I don't want to say complicated, but sophisticated, harmonically and rhythmically. I mean, it's really, really sophisticated music. And I appreciate and am glad because I like to be in the lineage of people. What I mean is that when I was in Johnny Taylor's band, I know that Johnny sang background for Sam Cooke, and Sam Cooke sang background for somebody else. And I'm in that line because I played trumpet in Johnny Taylor's band, and when somebody plays saxophone or piano in my band they are a part of that line. That's the way I feel with Marcus. All of the people that he's worked with, produced for, written for, played for, I'm in that line.

AAJ: It's kind of like a football coach and his assistants. For example, Bill Belichick when he coached the Patriots. A lot of his assistants have gone on to coach other teams. There's a word for it now sportscasters use —the coaching tree. All the branches going to other places.

RG: Exactly. They picked up knowledge from him and added to what they know.

AAJ: You mentioned Branford Marsalis. What did you take away from playing in his Buckshot Lefonque project?

RG: Well, the funny thing about when I got in Bradford's band was that, I mean, musically, I had been thinking like that all along anyway before I moved to New York. And it just so happened that at that time, there weren't too many people like me on the scene in New York. Most people tended to try to be in the Wynton Marsalis way of looking and fitting in. There wasn't a lot of people like me. Besides me there was Roy Hargrove, and Roy was so great. He was always the first person anybody called for trumpet. Roy actually played on, not that record that you see behind me (Music Evolution, 1997), but there was one before. Of course he couldn't tour, so Branford called me. No, actually his brother Delfeayo recommended Branford call me. And that's musicians. He had never heard me play. I don't know if he had even heard of me. He certainly had never heard me play. But his brother said, you should call him.

AAJ: So, in essence, he vouched for you?

RG: (laughs) Yeah, that's it! He vouched for me. He called me and next thing I knew; I was on the plane to Switzerland to go do the first concert.

AAJ: You've played with some diverse artists: Ceelo, Maxwell, D'Angelo, Lou Reed, who was into martial arts. His tai chi master came from a similar lineage as my tai chi master. You wrote, "Sifu Chung Kwok Chow taught me how to breathe the BS away." He teaches Wing Chun Kung Fu in New York City which is where Lou Reed learned tai chi.

RG: He was my second kung fu teacher in New York, a great martial artist. I learned so much from him, of course, from a martial arts standpoint. But I also learned one of my biggest lessons in life from him. Since I'm a musician, I tend to try to make sure I really understand what's going on. When I was just beginning with him, I would advance faster than the other students because I was really focused on the fundamentals. Just like in music, if you don't learn the C major seventh, what the basic building blocks of that chord is, it's going to be hard for you. So, long story short, I really made sure I understood the fundamentals, consequently I was advancing a little faster than the people that came in at the same time I did. I studied Wing Chun because it was for smaller people, and I'm really short, like five (foot) six. I was at another (kung fu) school before and was getting my ass kicked because they were really specific about how you fought. Anyway, I found him and was advancing. So, we have an exercise called Sticky Hands Chi Sao, and in this exercise, basically all you are doing is locking arms, and you feel the other person's energy to counter them. You understand?

AAJ: I know what that is. In Chen tai chi, the exercise is called push hands or tui shou in Mandarin.

RG: Okay, you know what I mean. So, I was feeling it one day in class, and I'm just locking students, just (makes motions with his hands). He comes over and pushes the student out the way and said, alright, I'm going to tell you one time, you have to keep your wu sao up, which basically means your protective hand. You have to keep it up. And I'm like, oh, I'm so fast. Nobody's even touching me. I don't have to. He starts practicing with me, and he locked me and kind of feinted. He was going to hit me and came about this close. He said, I told you to keep your fucking wu sao up. And I was like, okay, this will never happen again. Two seconds later, he punched me in my mouth so hard. The thing was that he knew what I did for a living. He knew I was a professional trumpet player, but I was there to learn and I was being a little obnoxious. Later on, I got on the D train and went home. My mouth was swollen way out here, and I learned that day when somebody knows what they're talking about, listen to them.

AAJ: When you're with those masters, they're so grounded and heavy, it's incredible. When they put their arms on you, it's like their arms are filled with lead. Did you ever talk to Lou Reed about martial arts?

RG: No, the only interaction that I ever had with him was when I made that recording. Oliver Lake called me to do some horns for this record for some man named Lou Reed. I didn't know who he was at all. Now, I'm the person who shows up on time. That's what I do. I show up early. So anyway, I showed up to the studio that day. I was the first one there besides the engineer, and then this guy walks in. Of course, just like the Johnny Taylor thing, I didn't know who he was. And he says, okay, I guess you're the responsible one. When the record came out, I remember showing it to a girlfriend I had at the time. Check this out, I said to her. I played on this. And she said, are you fucking kidding me? That's Lou Reed. I told her I'm sorry. I didn't know.

AAJ: You're living in Atlanta. What's the jazz scene like in the city? Sam Yi's used to be the celebrated jazz club. Churchill Grounds was an Atlanta institution for twenty years but they closed.

RG: The only place that's on a national level is the place on my record, the Velvet Note, and it's North of the city, not right in downtown like Sam's place was. Sam has been trying to open a new place, but it hasn't happened. So, the Velvet Note is probably the only place that brings in musicians. There's another place called St. James Live that's close to where I live. That's a little more like the pop jazz type of scene. But there's places around town where musicians can play like Gallery 992 and Variety.

AAJ: Okay, let's discuss Origin Story (Live at the Velvet Note) in your hometown of Atlanta. It begins with "Neo (a.k.a. Teo)." Tell our readers a little about what went into making this album and its lead track.

RG: Well, the reason I made this record is because I just wanted to, for so long, because Miles Davis Live at the Blackhawk was my favorite fucking record. That was the record that really made me want to do this. That was the record where I learned all of my slick trumpet shit, how to get around and play like Miles during that particular era, which I thought was the best. I thought that was his greatest band, too. A lot of people disagree, but I always thought Jimmy Cobb , Paul Chambers and Wynton Kelly was, to me, that was the rhythm section for Miles. In that particular time, he was so strong. The band, the rhythm section, was so locked in. To me, that was everything.

All of the tunes on Live at the Blackhawk were the tunes that I would sit around and listen to and play along with and try to learn. So that's why I made this record. It was something personal, a personal thank you that I felt that I had to do at some point. That song, "Neo," of course, Miles recorded it before, and it was called "Teo." Same tune, written for, I'm assuming Teo Macero, the producer. I actually had Jimmy Cobb play a few concerts with the Blackhawk Band, and I remember we was sitting backstage talking about it, and I was asking Mr. Cobb, can we play "Neo?" And he kept saying "Teo." He would never correct me, but he didn't want to play it for some reason.

AAJ: Why did you call the tune, "Neo?"

RG: I mean "Neo" means "new." Maybe they did it for some publishing reason, but whatever. That was always one of my favorites because the soloist dictates when the chords change. There're only really three chords that you play over it. This is not super unusual, but with the rest of the songs during that time that were just the standard Broadway show tunes, you know, AABA type tunes, it wasn't really a thing. Also, you could tell that this was the beginning of what was coming next, just being able to play on one chord and explore like that. That's why I love that "Neo" or "Teo," whatever.

AAJ: You're not modulating to another key, you're just playing different chords?

RG: Yeah. Well, the tune starts like on F, and the melody is just on that. And then the solos dictate when it moves. There's only two other chords, and then it settles on one chord that leads you back into the top of the form. It actually goes from F and then it goes to E, bridging, then it goes to D, bridging, and so on. Then, when you're winding it down, it settles down to a D minor-ish, something like that. And it goes back to the F at the top.

AAJ: What about "Pfrancing (a.k.a. No Blues)." It took a little thought to get the thing with the aka.

RG: That's because the tunes had different names at different times. And if you're going to put a record out, you have to have whatever title the shit is for publishing purposes and copyright purposes. So yeah, I mean, that's just a blues. It's really fun to play on. It's a typical Miles type of thing, too, because it's a call and response melody. It goes "did-do-did-do, piano, and di-do-di-do, yeah." The blues has always been Miles' thing, and it's really evident in that melody, which I love so much.

AAJ: Let's talk about "Solar" now. The first few measures are inscribed on his tombstone. Guess you could say it's a quirky take on a blues. It reads root, 3rd, 5th, 7th, and 9th and takes off from there.

RG: I don't think Miles wrote that. I've read a bunch of stories about the guy that actually wrote it. I think it was like a trombone player or something. But in those days, everything got a little convoluted. That's a tune I like playing so much. And the form is a little different. It's like a 10-bar form or something. I can't remember exactly the number of bars in the form, but it's kind of like a blues, but it's not really a blues or kind of like a minor blues, but it's not really a minor blues. And I remember learning Miles' solo from "Solar." Mr. Carter was asking us to play something so he could see who could solo and stuff. And I learned that solo and went and played it. He sat back in his chair and went, oh shit. I was like, yeah, I'm learning that shit now. I'm getting ready.

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