“Aging is not for the faint of heart.
It requires a slower pace, a steadier step,
and the wisdom to say goodbye without fear.”
—Meryl Streep

“I never heard of a jazz musician who retired.
You love what you do, so what are you
going to do, play for the walls?”
—Nat Adderley

I’ve been thinking about retirement.

For old road dogs like me, retirement is a tricky proposition.

Do we even want to retire? We love what we do. Why should we stop?

Occasionally you'll hear about a musician retiring “from stage to page,” exchanging public performance for the solitary work of composing music or writing a memoir. Others become painters, poets, or novelists. That's less retirement than reinvention.

Nobody expects us to retire. Most of our heroes didn’t. Unlike professional athletes, jazz musicians don’t “age out” of the business. When our strength, stamina, or chops begin to wane, we adapt. We simplify. We change our style.

Most of us can’t afford to retire. Self-employed artists rarely make enough to build any real retirement savings, and many end up with modest Social Security benefits. We’re responsible for our own healthcare. We don’t get paid vacations. We don’t receive paychecks, pensions, or 401k matching funds. We’re out here on our own.

A fortunate few get to expire on the bandstand. Bonus points if you drop dead during the applause, right after your brilliant solo! This exit strategy is called The Big Finish. We should all be so lucky.

The retirement plan for most of us, however, is The Slow Fade. You keep working because you must. Over time your health, mobility, and mental sharpness begin to decline. At the same time you experience a decrease in professional activity and cultural relevance. It feels like ageism, but it’s entropy. Fewer gigs, smaller crowds, less attention. A gradual slide from relative notoriety into obscurity and, eventually, total anonymity.

Fading out was never my plan. I wanted to finish the story on a high note. I wanted to go out on top.

When I was first starting out, I envisioned my career as a steady climb upward until finally, in my ultimate season, the capstone: a glorious Farewell Tour! I imagined joyously returning to all my favorite festivals, clubs, and concert halls for one final performance. I would play my heart out, then retire to a quiet life of leisure.

Now both of those dreams—the steady ascent and the victory lap—sound grandiose and incredibly naive to me. I've had a good run, but it felt less like scaling a mountain than navigating a winding river. Not a disciplined escalation so much as a cunning negotiation of life’s twists and turns, ebbs and flows, ups and downs.

Nevertheless, the idea of “a quiet life of leisure” sounds pretty good right about now.

After ten thousand gigs and half a century of hustling, I'm ready to rest, though the rewards of a life in music rarely arrive in a brokerage account. Most of them are non-monetary. I can't afford to quit working—not anytime soon, not in this economy.

I’ll need to keep earning a living for the foreseeable future—and perhaps that’s for the best. Creating, performing, and contributing are what give my life meaning. I would surely miss the connection with the audience and my bandmates, were I to leave it all behind.

But I can’t just keep going until the wheels fall off, and I won’t wait around for the slow fade to occur naturally. I must shape the process intentionally, little by little.

This body, mind, and spirit call for a deliberate downshift to a sustainable pace.

Maybe “retirement” isn't the right word. Maybe what I'm after is merely a gentler tempo.

I’ll continue to make the best music I can for as long as I can, for whomever is listening. I’ll simply do more with less: smaller projects, shorter tours, fewer gigs. From here on, it’s quality over quantity.

No retirement party.
No celebratory splash.
No farewell tour.

Just a long, slow decrescendo.

Diminuendo al niente.

That’s a wrap on the first quarter! 

So far, so good.

RA-wise, I’m doing better. The pain is manageable, but the fatigue is frustrating, especially on show days.

I’ve never been a particularly powerful player, but I now require lots of rest breaks. Fortunately, my bandmates don’t mind spelling me from time to time.

The biologic medications are definitely helping. Progress is slow, but the rheumatologist advises me to be patient and stay the course. For the foreseeable future that means daily meds, weekly injections, monthly blood tests, quarterly x-rays, and regular doctor visits. I’ll begin physical therapy as soon as the insurance approval comes through.

Meanwhile, I’m making progress learning how to live and work with this condition.

We played twelve gigs this month, just enough to cover expenses. There was one cancellation due to weather, a significant loss financially, but the surprise “snow day” was a welcome gift.

As we prepare for more travels and adventures, I find myself reflecting on the month of March and why it always feels so laden with meaning.

March heralds the arrival of spring, a fertile time of natural and spiritual renewal, when new life begins as winter melts away.

Named for Mars, the god of war, March is also a battle cry. When spoken aloud, the word itself may trigger a visceral response. “March.” It strikes the ear like a command, to move forward.

Now here’s where it gets personal. 

Throughout the 1990s and early aughts in San Francisco, March was “Matheny Music Month,” when we staged the annual Dmitri Matheny Home Season. 31 days and nights filled with special programs, including workshops, commissions, charity events, scholarships, artists-in-residence, collaborations, premieres, symposia, talks, and performances for the home town crowd.

We borrowed the idea from dance companies: build a program in the winter, showcase it in the spring, tour it in the summer and fall.

The formula worked.

Our March series became an annually anticipated event in the jazz community, while providing the framework for one energetic, somewhat delusional, young flugelhornist to launch a career in one of the world’s great cultural meccas.

It enabled me, fresh out of college, to immerse myself in the vibrant Bay Area arts community, collaborating with respected elders, creating new connections, building audiences. And it provided the means to maintain a visible profile at home while making a name for myself on tour.

My heart swells with gratitude when I remember all our partners in the project, from our fellow creatives, to the generous patrons who made it all possible. I’m especially grateful for the journalists and volunteers.

Remember, email was brand new and social media didn’t yet exist. To get the word out, we relied on word-of-mouth, postal mailings, and coverage in the traditional print and broadcast media.

We organized volunteers into “mailing parties” and “street teams.” The older folks would sit around my kitchen table, sticking postage stamps and address labels onto thousands of invitations, newsletters, and media releases. The younger ones distributed stacks of handbills and flyers to nightclubs, cafes, community bulletin boards, coffee shops, grocery stores, libraries, laundromats, and other high-foot-traffic areas in the region. It was a monumental undertaking on a shoestring budget.

Sigh. That was long ago. We made a splash at the time, but in the scheme of things, did it matter? Many of the venues, publications, and people involved are sadly no longer around. 

And yet. I still feel the tug and twinge of those “March Madness” years. Like the itch of a phantom limb after amputation, March awakens something in me.

Call it vestigial ambition. Embers from an old fire. Forgotten, but not gone.

Now April is here and we’re on the road again. 17 events in Washington, Oregon, and Northern California.

I’m not worried. I’ll take my time and enjoy the journey.

My only job is to pace myself.

This is The Year of Slow Living.

The mission is to pace myself and persevere.

February was just right — the perfect balance of work and rest.

We’ve enjoyed the rain this month, ideal for cozy evenings by the fire. Sass is disappointed we haven’t had any snow, but personally, I don’t miss it. Winter driving is no joke, especially over these northwest mountain passes! No snow or hail for me, thanks. But rain? Rain is life.

On show days I endeavor to practice effortless action. Easing into the morning calmly and mindfully, I do what is necessary, one thing at a time. Then I pack up the van and hit the road early, allowing plenty of stress-free travel time. I listen to music and enjoy the drive, remaining alert, taking breaks.

When I arrive early, the performance takes care of itself. Prepare, adapt, enjoy.

We gave our new program a “soft launch” this month on a couple of low pressure gigs, and the results were encouraging. This show is a crowd-pleaser, lively and entertaining, but isn’t overly demanding. The flashy flugel-heavy moments are balanced by opportunities to rest while we feature other members of the band.

These strategic breaks will prove especially important when we play consecutive shows, but I hope to avoid too many back-to-back engagements this year. So far the itinerary looks manageable. We have 81 confirmed gigs, and will accept no more than 100, so we can be selective as new opportunities arise.

On the RA front, I have good days and bad days. The biologic medications are definitely working, and I’m grateful for the functionality and mobility they help to make possible.

Some stiffness and soreness has returned, however, since I went off prednisone. Occasionally I have flares, random periods of pain and brain fog, and I often experience extreme fatigue the day after doing anything strenuous. Recovery days have become mandatory.

When I ask about remission, the rheumatologist reminds me that “this is a marathon, not a sprint.” I dig, but marathons are exhausting. Nevertheless, we move forward.

Today is the first day of March and the beginning of our busy spring season. 

Important to stay on top of things without becoming overwhelmed. 

Slow living is the key. Rise with the sun, tend my garden, play my role. 

Rest. Repeat.

I love the month of January, when it’s my custom to take a break from traveling and performing.

January is when I return to myself. I stay home, reflect, recharge, plan, and prepare for the year ahead.

Mornings are spent fireside, writing music, practicing, and scheduling new tours and concert appearances. Afternoons are for puppy walks and errands. Evenings are pure relaxation.

This year I really needed the reset. 2025 was utterly exhausting! I’m determined to do a better job of pacing myself in 2026, which I’ve christened “The Year of Slow Living.”

So far, so good. January 2026 was just what it needed to be: both rejuvenating and productive.

Accomplished month one objectives while maintaining a relaxed, measured, calm and deliberate pace. No stress. Wu-wei.

Visited two doctors, the dentist, and mechanic, prepared most of the quintet arrangements for this season’s show, broke-in my new horn and mouthpiece, adapted to my new RA meds, and confirmed 75 of the 100 gigs we will play this year. Excelsior!

Also caught up on sleep and dreams.

Now it all starts up again.

Ready? Let’s do this.

RESOLUTIONS 2026 — THE YEAR OF SLOW LIVING
I resolve to embrace the slower pace of this stage and season.

Slow down. Take my time. Do things right.

Protect the sanctity of my slow morning routine.

Embrace calm contentment. Reject hustle culture.

Do less of everything! Work less, eat less, spend less.

Be more selective. Say “no, thank you” easily and often.

Simplify! Live frugally. Prepare for retirement. Eliminate debt.

Get plenty of rest. Take naps! Relax. Refresh. Recharge. Rejuvenate.

Favor working close to home. Sleep in my own bed whenever possible.

Schedule 25% fewer shows. Accept no more than 100 bookings throughout the year.

Limit tours outside the region. Seek run-outs and residencies. Build rest days into every trip.

Take it easy on show days. Conserve energy during gigs. Alternate sitting and standing. Take breaks.

Master the art of living with RA. Learn how to better manage pain, inflammation, stiffness, and fatigue.

Spend more time outdoors. Align with circadian and seasonal cycles. Take nature walks. Go fishing.

Preserve mental health. Avoid negative people. Limit consumption of news and social media.

Prioritize gentle exercise: walking, stretching, swimming, chair yoga, tai chi. Motion is lotion.

Downsize! Minimize visual distractions. Declutter, sell, gift, donate.

Stay curious, calm, playful, and — most of all — grateful.

2025 By-The-Numbers

This year, with your generous support, we:

charted 27K spins and streams

traveled 21K miles

added 2K followers and subscribers

employed 515 musicians

delivered 131 performances

staged 50 “Jazz From The Silver Screen” shows

directed 24 school workshops

played 22 new venues

presented 21 vocal collaborations

wrote 11 new quintet arrangements

completed 5 extended residencies

headlined 4 music and arts festivals

made 3 big band appearances

created 2 new touring programs

made 1 more glorious trip around the sun

Heartfelt thanks and warmest holiday wishes!

Here’s to 2026!

Cheers,

Dmitri

I resolve to maintain a simple, stress-free lifestyle built on gentle, sustainable habits.

1. Physical Health

Drink black coffee, unsweetened tea, and water.

Eat one meal a day, favoring vegetables and protein.

Limit consumption of alcohol, sugar, snacks, dairy.

Prioritize a daily nature walk and afternoon nap.

Stay current with prescription medications.

Visit the doctor and dentist twice annually.

Monitor blood pressure and weight.

Get plenty of quality sleep.

2. Mental Health

Avoid burnout. Say “no thank you” easily and often.

Stay connected. Reach out. Make time for friends and family.

Begin each day with affirmations. End each day with gratitude.

Talk less. No need to complain, explain, or entertain.

Schedule a multi-day solo retreat every 3-4 months.

Curtail consumption of news and social media.

Read. Rest. Sit quietly. Listen to music. Smile.

3. Finances

Practice frugality and minimalism. Limit spending to essentials. Give and receive simple gifts.

Make one money move (deposit, investment, bill payment, debt reduction) each and every day.

Pay off high interest cards and loans. Maintain current accounts. Keep credit utilization below 30%.

Avoid air travel and rental cars. Van-camp whenever possible. Don’t waste money on lodging.

Keep van and horn in good repair. Schedule an inspection before every big road trip.

Maintain OMAD and warrior diet protocols even when traveling.

4. Music / Business

Pace yourself. The hustle-and-grind years are over.

Do less of everything, but more deeply. Make it count.

Cast a wide net. Offer opportunities, follow-up, move on.

Never multi-task. Focus on a single project or tour at a time.

Value efficiency and sustainability over productivity.

Strive for slow, steady, incremental improvement.

Focus on community and collaboration.

Be purposeful, not ambitious.

Stay curious and inspired.

How do I feel as this hellacious year reaches its conclusion?

I feel rather like one of those marathon runners who collapses just as he crosses the finish line. Exhausted, utterly spent, but grinning ear-to-ear.

I’m not going to lie, this one was overwhelming. Instead of the calm “Year of Quiet Confidence” I’d planned, 2024 delivered an avalanche of creative projects, collaborations, and tours. The pace never let up, and it plum wore me out.

But I survived! And now that it’s done, I’m overcome with gratitude for all our travels and adventures, and deep appreciation for the support from friends old and new.

In 2024 we:

traveled 34K miles

charted 12K spins and streams

added 3K followers and subscribers

employed 519 musicians

delivered 139 performances

enjoyed 67 nature walks

played 54 Mancini tributes

directed 45 school workshops

headlined 13 music and arts festivals

accompanied 9 talented vocalists

completed 4 extended residencies

wrote 3 new compositions

hosted 2 visiting artists

made 1 more glorious trip around the sun

Thank you for making it possible.

Here’s to 2025!

Cheers,

Dmitri

This year I resolve to work smarter, not harder.

I plan to pace myself, take my time, and do things right.

I’ll talk less, walk more, and appreciate every moment.

1. Sustain my daily routine at home.

• Wake up before sunrise. Walk, stretch, make bed.
• Handle all business before noon; reserve afternoons for music.
• Practice flugelhorn long tones and rudiments. Prepare repertoire.
• Read, study, walk dogs, run errands, and finish chores before daily meal.
• On gig nights: allow extra time, drive carefully, arrive early, and read my book.
• On free nights: enjoy television, movies, music, and podcasts.
• Before bed, put the day up for review and plan tomorrow.
• Practice deep breathing and mindfulness meditation.
• Sleep soundly for six hours or more.

2. Make the most of every road trip.

• Service van and replenish supplies before every tour.
• Plan ahead. Research each day’s driving route, meal, and nature walk.
• Drive no more than six hours daily. Rest every two hours.
• Schedule one (but no more than two) engagements each day.
• Cut costs to increase margins. Overnight with Harvest Hosts when possible.
• Maintain personal hygiene and stick to a regular sleep schedule.
• Recharge devices and handle business each morning.
• Plan breaks along the way for visits with friends.

3. Prioritize mental well-being.

• Relax, smile, and laugh. Choose to be in a good mood.
• Limit exposure to negative people and influences.
• Watch no more than 30 minutes of daily news.
• Spend no more than 10 minutes on social media.
• Get outdoors. Appreciate nature. Play with dogs.
• Schedule seasonal solitude retreats and staycations. 
• Make time for real conversations with friends.
• Be of service. Offer help and follow through.
• Avoid complaining, even to myself.
• Stay humble, hopeful, and grateful.
• Memento mori. Amor fati.

4. Prioritize physical health.

• Enjoy food and drink in moderation.
• Limit consumption of caffeine and alcohol.
• Follow OMAD and Warrior Diet protocols.
• Visit the doctor and dentist regularly.

5. Maintain financial discipline.

• Boost contingency fund by 20%.
• Increase retirement savings by 10%.
• Pay off 100% of consumer debt.
• Protect home and credit rating.

6. Shut up and listen!

• Hold few opinions and express even fewer.
• Listen more. Speak less. Two ears, one mouth!
• Remain curious, interested, and open-minded. Become laconic.
• When possible, try to make the point in one sentence, without preamble.
• In conversation, pause to think, then choose words carefully before speaking.
• When performing, settle down. Be a supportive listener, not a cheerleader.
• Rather than reacting impulsively, respond thoughtfully.

Made it home safely to sweet Sass and the fur-babies!

Since my bio-clock is still on midwest time, and Scout is a “morning person,” we’ve added an early AM neighborhood walk to our schedule. During today’s chilly moonlit ramble I reflected on Michigan, why I love the place so much, and why I keep returning.

The Great Lakes State figures prominently in my origin story. 

It’s the first place I lived after leaving home, where I first became serious about music, and where I found out what it means to live as an artist. It’s where I learned the values and habits that have nourished and sustained me: how to be creatively resourceful, emotionally resilient, financially independent. How to be a citizen of the world. It’s where the boy became the man.

So many “firsts” happened for me in Michigan. It’s where I met my first benefactor and my first great music mentor. It’s where I prepared my first concert as bandleader, and where I played my first paid gig. It’s also where I first experienced romantic obsession and heartbreak. 

I accepted my calling there, that “mournful yet grand” destiny of which Liszt spoke, the internal narrative which has shaped my entire life. The place is absolutely redolent with personal meaning, and each time I return to that poignant landscape, its familiar sights and sounds and smells bring back a rush of emotion, and my affinity for Michigan only deepens.

When I was planning this trip, I intended to include other favorite midwest venues in Chicago, Milwaukee, and Cleveland, but I simply ran out of time. Before I knew it I had filled every available date with “mitten bidness” — 21 concerts and workshops in as many days! 

I’m glad it worked out that way. 

The trip felt like a homecoming, not just back to my beloved Michigan, but back to myself. 

These past few years have been challenging, ruminating over the loss of my father, facing my own mortality, dealing with the financial impact of the pandemic, struggling with anxiety.

Yet in Michigan, standing before the brilliant Diego Rivera frescoes at the Detroit Institute of Arts, I had this epiphany: returning here has reminded me of who I am. 

Road life is rewarding, but it can also be exhausting, especially after so many trips around the sun. 

However, today I feel rejuvenated. I now believe I have another decade of traveling and performing in me, something I doubted before. 

October is the perfect time to visit Michigan. 

Criss-crossing the state, driving those winding backroads through the tunnels of trees, past all the rivers and lakes and farmhouses in the mist, with the autumn leaves swirling? Absolutely magical.
 

The other thing that made this trip so healing? The people.

My bandmates and I shared a big house together in Detroit. Lisa cooked Korean food for us, Tom shared several excellent bottles of wine, and we all talked late into the night about anything and everything. 

Our performances got stronger as we grew closer, something I haven’t experienced since my international travels with Amina Figarova years ago. 

But it wasn’t just my colleagues on the bandstand. 

All the venues were so warm and welcoming. 

The students and teachers were so inspiring. 

And the audiences were amazing! 

So much kindness, soulfulness, and generosity. So much joy.

Thank you, Michigan.

For our final quintet performance of the tour we convened at GRNoir in the heart of downtown Grand Rapids. What a magnificent venue! 

Heartfelt thanks to owner/founders Shatawn and Nadia Brigham and artistic director Kevin Jones (a renowned, respected artist in his own right) for creating and sustaining this cultural treasure where everyone feels welcome.

Also grateful for my beautiful bandmates: Tom (my great friend and mentor for over 40 years), Lisa (all the world is waiting for you, and the power you possess), Jeff (my brother from another mother), and Jordan (so soulful and creative, he always elevates the bandstand).  

Special thanks to Blue Lake Public Radio Jazz Director Lazaro Vega for making the scene and helping to fill the house, and to tap artist Heather Cornell for sharing her gifts.

Bright moments!

After our thrilling show at the Blue Llama, I drove through the night to the quaint little village of Shelby in western Michigan for a 7 AM workshop. (Pro-tip for night-drivers: staying awake is easy when you’re scream-singing along with Olivia Rodrigo’s “Vampire” at the top of your lungs!) 

The Shelby HS students were brave and bold — everyone improvised! — and their delightful teacher, Erin Ray, even played drums for our session. 

Upon returning to Detroit, I visited the Dearborn HS program under the direction of Brian McCloskey. His jazzers meet even earlier — 6:40 AM — but these kids showed up ready to work!

Back-to-back “zero hours” on opposite sides of the state are no joke for a tired old road dog like me. Nevertheless, I’m grateful for the opportunity to work with such inspiring young students and teachers. Their energy and enthusiasm always seem to replenish the spirit. 

Excelsior!

Ann Arbor’s Blue Llama Jazz Club is a spectacular venue with award-winning cuisine, aesthetic lighting and design, excellent sound (right on, Jacob), and a very hip crowd. Warm thanks to owner Don Hicks, artistic director Dave Sharp, and the professional staff for taking such good care of the band. And much appreciation to our guest soloists: my longtime friend vocalist Joan Belgrave, rising stars trumpeter Carter Haugen and saxophonist Tim Grieme, and the man himself, Don Hicks, who played some tasty licks for us on an historic trumpet that once belonged to none other than Miles Davis. What a night!

Be a man. Cowboy up! Don’t whine. Don’t complain. Just do what needs to be done.

Accomplish more with less effort. Use the tools of habit and ritual. Be resourceful.

Book extended tours: midwest (2023), western states (2024), east coast (2025).

Recommit to meal planning, black coffee, portion control, and nature walks.

Use fewer words. Say precisely what you mean and then stop talking.

Update duo, quintet, and big band repertoire. Prepare new sets.

Make time for long, meandering conversations with friends.

Maintain tourbus in excellent condition. Service regularly.

Update home security and emergency response plans.

Boost income from workshops by raising fees 20%.

Seek a mentor, a drinking buddy, and a side hustle.

Make the composition retreat an annual event.

Schedule a full week of rest in every season.

Stay humble. Stay hopeful. Stay grateful.

Take Sassy on a birthday vacation.

Selectively apply for grants.

Reduce debt by 10%.

Listen to the rain.

Learn to bowl.

Prepare.

Adapt.

Words fail to express how much we appreciate your generous support over the past year — the Year of CASCADIA — and the warm reception this project continues to receive from radio, retail, music journalists, and most of all, from friends like you. 

In the four months since its release, CASCADIA has been covered by dozens of online and print media publications internationally, garnering positive reviews from CD HotList, LA Jazz Scene, Earshot Jazz, Something Else, Jazz Views, Jazz Weekly, Midwest Record, and more.  

The album received 4-Stars from All About Jazz, spent over three months on the JazzWeek Top 100, is playing on radio stations all around the world, and was recently among the Origin Records releases submitted for Grammy Awards consideration. 

We’re grateful for all your lovely messages and social media comments about the album, too. But nothing compares to the thrill of performing live for folks who already know the songs because they’ve been listening to CASCADIA at home! 

Music brings us together and lifts our spirits. 

Thank you for lifting ours. 

We appreciate you! 

Dmitri

Finished the tour in Ashland, only a 375-mile drive from home, and the rain began to fall, as if on cue, just as I crossed into Oregon. 

The Old Siskiyou Barn is neither old nor a barn. It’s a hidden jewel of a recital hall, tucked into the canopied woods in the hills just south of Ashland. It boasts exemplary acoustics, a terrific piano, the earthy fragrance of ancient wood, and a metal roof that sings when it rains. It’s perfect. 

Darrell and I first performed here back when Starlight Cafe was released in 1998, and we’ve been fortunate to return many times over the years with our duo. 

This weekend we played a few favorites from the old repertoire, some new selections from our current recordings, and a brand new piece dedicated to the beautiful souls who created this place. Our friend Ed, concert producer and guitarist, joined us for a couple of songs including the premiere.

It occurs to me that I’ve worked this same circuit, up and down the left coast, for decades now, yet this trip felt different. Emotions are heightened. Everything carries a patina of significance. 

For one thing, audiences are just so delighted to finally be out of isolation, enthusiastic about returning to live events, and eager to connect with the performers. The pandemic is far from over, however, so that enthusiasm is tempered with an awkwardness about intimacy and proximity. Every post-concert meet-and-greet now has this oddly nervous “first date” energy. 

Also, there is a weird apocalyptic undertone to everything now. The steady drumbeat of negative news over the climate crisis, wildfires, disease, war, economic hardship, political extremism and more, is creating an atmosphere of fear that these may be the end times. I exaggerate, but only a little. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear doomsday language sprinkled into even the most mundane of verbal exchanges. People don’t feel safe anymore, all situations seem tenuous, so we’d better get serious and make sure whatever we’re doing matters. Admit it, you feel it too. 

But what really made this trip emotionally rewarding was all the reconnections with important people from my past.

Someone once said “the best mirror is an old friend.” Many of us have reached an age at which we’re reassessing the past and rethinking our place in the world. Some of us are even starting to question long held beliefs. There's nothing like a conversation with an old friend to help you find your way.

I really needed these reunions. It felt to me, on this tour, as if we were drawn together magnetically. Our conversations felt somehow predestined, or guided by the divine, if such a force exists. 
 

My heart is full.

Said goodbye to Sunset Beach this morning and headed down to Monterey. 

Listening to NPR on the drive, I heard the news that Ramsey Lewis has died. 

It seems like we lose another hero every few days, but this one hits hard. 

30 years ago in May of ’84, Ramsey Lewis came to Interlochen Arts Academy for a performance with our studio orchestra. I was a senior in high school and he was the first “big name” jazz musician I’d ever met. 

He made a huge impression. I was blown away by his infectiously joyful performance and his extreme generosity toward me and the other student soloists.

It couldn’t have been very rewarding for him, sharing the stage with a bunch of teenage amateurs, but I can still see his thousand-watt smile, still hear his howls of approval, as we launched into “The ’In’ Crowd” and “Hang On Sloopy” — big Ramsey Lewis hits from the year we were all born! 

After the concert Mr. Lewis took the time to speak with each of us individually, encouraging us to pursue our dreams. Yes, he did. And we did. 

After that I began checking out his discography in the listening library, beginning with Upendo Ni Pamoja, the album recommended by my classmate Frayne Lewis, Ramsey’s son.

Later I discovered Mr. Lewis' collaborations with Maurice White and members of Earth, Wind & Fire, one of my all time favorite bands, and I was hooked. 

I suppose it’s no coincidence that tonight it will be my privilege to work with Leon Joyce, Jr., a longtime member of the Ramsey Lewis Trio.

Or that this weekend in Ashland, Oregon, Darrell Grant and I will play Mr. Lewis’ theme song, the spiritual “Wade In The Water” — a staple of our repertoire for 25 years.

Ramsey Lewis was far more than a Grammy-winning, chart-topping jazz and pop star. He was a true Gentleman of Jazz, the kind of Great Man that Kipling wrote about, who walked with kings but never lost the common touch. 

Mr. Lewis proved you can be both a serious artist and a crowd-pleasing entertainer. His worldwide reach and influence as a performer, educator, broadcaster, and recording artist, is profound, deep and lasting. 

He was called, he served, he counted. 

His legacy is secure.