Applying For Academic Jobs is Like Moneyball: Part 1 - Read the Job Description
The academic job market is tough. Surely, nobody would argue with that point. However, one of my passions is getting the information out there about how applicants can improve their application materials and increase their chances of winning a job. To me, the very basics of this comes down to one thing: you’re playing Moneyball.
Yes, Moneyball. The 2011 movie starring Brad Pitt and Jonah Hill as Billy Beane and Peter Brand, respectively. For those who might not be familiar, Moneyball is a film about the Oakland Athletics and their General Manager Billy Beane’s attempts to build a competitive baseball team with less-than-adequate funding. The movie is based on a 2003 book by Michael Lewis called Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game, and the movie details Brand’s quantitative approach to winning baseball games.
So much of academic job interviews can be lost in what we do not learn. I have read so many job applications from great candidates who did not paint themselves in the best light due to not knowing conventions that career academics have known for years. However, instead of being shared in the classroom, so many of these things are made available through informal mentorship. This kind of mentorship is often missing from those who are historically underrepresented (minoritized communities in gender identity, race/ethnicity, socioeconomic status, and disabled communities to just name a few) in academia.
You might wonder, “Where am I going with this?” I’ll get there. So many times, hopeful candidates have put their heart and soul into job applications only to receive a generic rejection email that doesn’t tell them anything constructive about their application. I realize that this part of the system is difficult to change because if you get into the weeds with this, questions emerge such as:
1) Whose job is it to give this feedback?
2) How much feedback do you give to each candidate?
3) Is it possible that such a provision would open up an additional can of worms that would be undesirable for HR departments to wade through?
4) Search committee chairs are already tasked with so much in addition to our usual duties (yes, I know that committee service is part of the deal)—is asking an additional thing like this (or in some cases, 200 additional things) too much?
5) Lastly but not least, the question of “Could we be sued for this?”
However, if you want to get a full time, tenure track job in academia, you have to know a few things. I’m hoping this series is enlightening and gives at least one person a better shot at getting their materials another look.
On to part one of the series — yes, because you’ve been so patient to make it this far! But first: back to Moneyball.
In Brand’s first meeting with Beane (that is, the stats guy’s first meeting with the General Manager), he states “Baseball thinking is medieval. They are asking all the wrong questions, and if I say it to anybody, I’m ostracized…”
There is a substantial parallel to what we’re first taught as job applicants. Many job seekers will say, “If I am qualified, I will get the job. The job will go to the most qualified candidate.” The actual truth of the matter is that universities are looking for candidates who best suit the needs of their institution, and with job applicants for a single tenure track position coming in at 100-200, the it is a so-called buyer’s market (in real estate terms). This means of course that due to a surplus of qualified applicants, institutions are left to be able to be incredibly selective. How, then, do you win a job? You speak to THEIR priorities.
Read. The. Job. Description.
Yes, based on the hundreds of applications I have evaluated, the bold, italics, and underlined text are all necessary.
I suppose that I could stop there, but instead of just pedantically screaming this at you like so many search committee chairs might, I want to shed some light on a few specific tips that will help you on your journey.
1) In order for you to maximize your chances of getting shortlisted, your application should speak to how you meet mandatory AND preferred qualifications. If you see the words “The ideal candidate will…” highlight them. In your initial reading of the job description, copy and paste the job description into a new document in the word processor of your choice (google docs, Microsoft word, etc.). Go through and highlight the qualifications with different colors for the ideal candidate (preferred qualifications) and required qualifications. Then, list all of the ways in which you can satisfy these requirements and work them into your documents.
2) Always consider the context of the school. The various types of institutions will tell you about what they prioritize. Investigate their website and see how they view themselves. You will see this through what they choose to share about their students, faculty, and community. In general, spending too much time discussing your research/scholarship/performance careers/publications in a letter for a liberal arts college or a teaching-focused R2-3 institution, is not generally advised unless it is significantly mentioned in the job description.
3) Note the application review date. If you submit your application after this date, it may still be reviewed, but for best consideration, submit well before the deadline and get into the habit of doing so.
4) Read for specific requirements for an application and make sure you meet them. If there are specific video requirements, such as one, unedited 20-30 minute rehearsal clip or 2-3 video recordings from conductor viewpoint, try to find time to make a submission that fits these requirements instead of re-using what you already have. Attention to detail matters.
I hope these tips are helpful to you. I know that these searches can seem daunting (on both sides of the table), and I hope that by providing these resources, I can ease at least a little of the anxiety that accompanies searching for these jobs. Remember; applying for academic jobs is Moneyball: the more you make the shortlist (get on base), the more potential you have to win the job.
For more information like this, feel free to contact me to work together on your job application materials.
I was recently a guest on the Musician’s Guide podcast if you’re interested in what else I have to say on this topic.
Deep in the Soil Liner Notes
Born in Korea and raised in Michigan, Jordan VanHemert counts himself among those youngsters that got involved in his school music program by starting out on the alto saxophone. Also like many of his fellow saxophonists, VanHemert eventually moved away from the smaller horn to devote his full energies to the tenor sax, an instrument emblematic of the jazz heritage. "In my formative years, I was almost exclusively an alto saxophonist," VanHemert explained from his current home base in Oklahoma.
In looking at his previous four albums as a leader, the saxophonist is indeed heard predominantly on the larger horn, making this new effort somewhat of a unique affair. "I don't think a lot of saxophone players these days are doing both alto and tenor. Sonny Stitt was an exception and he clearly made a significant mark on both horns. Coltrane used to play alto back in his early Navy band days. So, for this project, I really wanted to revisit the alto and give it some love."
Far more than a way to discriminate one album from another, VanHemert's choice of Deep in the Soil importantly delineates the multiple meanings inherently suggested in the title. "This album represents a literal return to my roots as a saxophonist," VanHemert insists. "The first jazz performance I ever heard was Charlie Parker's recording of "Stella by Starlight" from 'Charlie Parker with Strings.' It made me fall in love with this music at a time in my life when I hadn't even chosen to play an instrument. There was something magnetic about it and I am really honoring that part of me who first heard Bird and was obsessed with that sound."
When further considering the analogy of a growing plant and the journey of a professional musician, it's obvious that the deeper the roots, the more stable and vibrant the end results will be. The point is not lost on VanHemert who says, "Getting in touch with your roots and those of the jazz tradition means digging down deep into that soil. I think it's really important to know where you came from as a musician. I am speaking specifically about the origins of the music and what came before you. Without any of that, none of us would even exist."
Integral to his efforts in getting back in touch with his musical past are singular musicians coming from a comparable perspective. As an educator, VanHemert has developed a network of talented colleagues predominantly from the Michigan area. Bassist Rodney Whitaker is a Detroit jazz legend and esteemed jazz instructor at Michigan State University. He first crossed paths with VanHemert when the saxophonist was teaching at Hope College. "The bass is such an important sound that also happens to be integral to my writing. I love the way that Rodney plays so naturally and his presence in the studio is also really special."
As for pianist Helen Sung, VanHemert presented her as a guest artist when he was on staff at Columbus State University of Georgia. A veteran of the New York scene since 1999, Sung is a technically gifted artist who is capable of speaking volumes in both the classical and jazz realms. "She is so inspiring because her creativity, energy, and technical velocity make her an incredible addition to any project," VanHemert states. "She hears everything and it's an incredible treat to play with her. Our working relationship has been a bit shorter than with the other folks on the album, but I hope it will be long lasting."
The catalyst for filling in the rest of the ensemble would be producer Michael Dease, a world-class trombonist and educator in his own right. "I asked Jordan if he could prioritize his approach and concept to me and he started talking about swinging, playing the blues, and telling his unique story through the institution of jazz music," Dease remembers."I said, 'Hell, yes!' and the rest was easy. This all-star dream of a band appeared at the mention of those powerful words and we had a beautiful experience in the studio building Jordan's 'house of soul,' brick by brick."
Firmly implanted in VanHemert's mind was the idea of a front line featuring alto and trumpet for a few of the tracks. "I had mentioned to Mike my love for the sound of Cannonball and Nat Adderley together on all those classic Riverside records. As a result, Mike suggested right away that Terell Stafford was the right person for the job. He goes all in every single time he plays, so that can't help but be inspired when you are in the studio with him."
"Bringing Lewis Nash onto the project was Mike and Rodney's idea. We were talking about drummers and we threw a couple of names back and forth. In the end, Lewis just seemed like the most logical choice," asserts VanHemert. "Не has this way of getting energy into the band and he's on 'Random Abstract,' which is one of my favorite Branford Marsalis records. I was really happy that Mike was able to get him on the gig because the drive that he provided was invaluable to what we were doing."
Kicking off a very diverse and exceptional program of tunes, "Call to Order" is a clarion plea to swing that is promptly answered by Stafford and Sung. When VanHemert enters, he sagaciously quotes the opening notes of Joe Henderson's "A Shade of Jade." Integral to this combustible platform, Nash offers a highly musical statement of his own. Composed by saxophonist Sharel Cassity and heard on her sophomore release, the piece has the kind of energy deemed fitting for opening the album. "In this contemporary era, we have so many great writers, and yet nobody really plays each other's tunes," VanHemert laments. "I really wanted to feature one of Sharel's tunes because she's one of the eminent alto saxophonists on the scene today."
Waxing nostalgic for the music of an artist whose career lasted some seven decades, VanHemert offers Jimmy Heath's "A Sound for Sore Ears." The clever number that mixes a backbeat feel with a swinging turnaround first debuted on The Heath Brothers' 1982 album 'Brotherly Love. VanHemert's alto tosses off quicksilver phrases before passing the torch to Stafford, who rolls out a bristling solo that casts radiant light on his impelling style. "Not only was Jimmy a titan of the tenor saxophone, but he was also a really incredible writer and I really wanted to pay homage to him with one of his tunes."
Making the scene at a time when jazz and rhythm and blues often shared some of the same gifted musicians, saxophonist David "Fathead" Newman first made a name for himself with Ray Charles before becoming a session musician with credits that included Aretha Franklin, Gregg Allman, and even Natalie Cole. VanHemert tips his hat to one of Newman's most iconic numbers, "Hard Times," with Michael Dease's trombone filling out the incendiary front line. Sung's rollicking piano rapidly sets the stage for some fervent sermonizing. "I know a lot of people have done that tune," VanHemert says, "but I wanted to hop into that conversation too because I feel like it's an alto player's rite of passage."
A lyrical and haunting ballad statement, "Everything Changes, Everything Stays the Same" is one of two of the saxophonist's originals. In terms of his approach on the alto, this is a key moment in appreciating VanHemert's many inspirations and multifaceted sound. It's one that embraces the swing legacy, but also bebop strains and the advancements of this current generation. "To me, a ballad seems very deep and personal; it's the definition of a soul of a musician," insists VanHemert. "I really wanted to write something that was similar to the tunes that I had grown up hearing my heroes play. I'm thinking of albums like John Coltrane's 'Ballads' and the Coltrane and Johnny Hartman album."
A celebrated performer known for composing some of the greatest songs of the past fifty years, Stevie Wonder's originals have been jazz fodder for scores of improvisers with a short list including Grant Green, Freddie Hubbard, Donald Brown, and Sullivan Fortner. VanHemert arranges his own take on "Superwoman (Where Were You When I Needed You)," swapping a backbeat groove for the original feel and featuring Whitaker's highly musical accompaniment and an alluring solo. "Growing up in Michigan, you can't help but be a Stevie fan," VanHemert claims. "It was pretty loaded for me to arrange one of his tunes because I admire him so much, but I tried to treat it with the utmost reverence as his music looms so large in my heart and mind."
A very important factor in assembling this album was the idea of varying the size of the instrumentation. As the saxophonist succinctly states, "The band shrinks, expands, and contracts throughout the record." An intimate duo performance, "Autumn Song" features just Sung and VanHemert in a provocative conversation that finds both artists using space and filigree to imaginative ends. "What makes autumn beautiful is that the trees are going dormant for the winter and essentially dying. I think there is something special about finding beauty in such things. It's somber and bittersweet and the intimacy of the duo really punctuates that feeling."
Nash animates the Messenger-esque melody of Dease's "ST in the House." It's all hands on deck for the solos and some final trading with the drums to wrap up a bracing romp. "In addition to his role as producer, it was great having Mike play with us and contribute a tune," VanHemert proudly states. "What he brought to the table as a producer was just outstanding." Speaking more specifically about the palpable energy in the performance, the saxophonist adds, "When you have musicians of that caliber throwing down on a tune, you can't help but feel excited by that atmosphere."
The closing "Blues for JT" is a Terell Stafford original that the trumpeter debuted on his 2007 live set recorded at the Dakota. It's all hands on deck for this send-off, with Nash cultivating the syncopative groove throughout. "The vibe is so infectious and Terell was generous enough to let us play it on this date," explains VanHemert. "It has an element of timelessness and the blues are so deeply embedded in everything that we do as jazz musicians. As a result, it seemed a fitting way to close the record."
Having attended the recording sessions for the album at hand, this writer can attest to the camaraderie and level of professionalism that helped make the results such a resolute success. Summing it all up, VanHemert enthuses, "This project is a little snapshot of where l'm at currently from a musical standpoint. Having a record under my belt with a lot of references to the tradition was really important to me and definitely speaks to that idea of the roots going deep."
-C. Andrew Hovan
C. Andrew Hovan is a jazz journalist, photographer, and drummer based in Northeast Ohio. He is a regular contributor to Down Beat and allaboutjazz.com.
New Record Reflections
My teammates for this project:
L-R Andrew Kim; production assistant; Chris Glassman, arranger; Michael Dease, trombone/producer; Rodney Whitaker, bass; Lewis Nash, drums; me; Helen Sung, piano; Terell Stafford, trumpet; Corey DeRushia, tracking engineer
Not pictured: C. Andrew Hovan, liner notes.
We are officially in pre-release for my new record, Deep in the Soil, which comes to Origin Records and all your favorite streaming platforms on April 19. As this is my fourth (fifth by some counts) major project, I have been taking some time to reflect on what it means to me to record and release music in this day and age.
I saw a post on threads from one of my professors at the University of Illinois, Tito Carrillo that kind of encapsulated the first part of what I wanted to say, and that is that it’s such an incredible task to even take on a recording project in the first place. Here’s Tito’s thread:
PS, go follow Tito on threads and on IG https://www.instagram.com/titocarrillomusic/
It can be scary to record. After all, nobody’s perfect, and if there’s anything that makes you realize that in the moment, it’s a recording studio.
Yes, some criticism is bad and painful, but far outweighed is the ability to express yourself.
I didn’t record this project to be perfect. I recorded this project and all my others, because I have something to say. I can’t help it.
Literally. I can’t.
When I stop writing, playing saxophone, creating, working with groups I lead—I do not like the person that I become. It’s like all of that energy is just wasted and dormant and I become a more anxious person.
But when I make time to perform, compose, record — I feel so alive.
Is there a part of recording that is scary in that you deal with the positive and negative consequences? Yes. Do I enjoy people’s negative thoughts about my music? Not at all.
That part, however, is far outweighed by the joy I feel when I’m creative and the growth that I have experienced through this project. And when I think about that, I don’t think about being afraid.
I think, bring on April 26.
In Memoriam Stephen Jenkins (1951-2023)
I recently heard that in the waning days of 2023, my dear friend Steve Jenkins passed away. He was one of my first musical mentors in high school and he was very generous with this time and talents. We remained in touch even through October 2023, when I dropped by to visit him during Dimitri’s Michigan tour. During this visit, I was heartbreakingly aware of his condition and that this would likely be the last time that I would see him, and that made it a rather emotional visit for me. I think Steve would have found it charming that I have chosen to compose a remembrance of him in a blog post, as he was so fond of writing in his own blog as a means to process everything he so voraciously devoured, but more on that later.
One of the things I’ll remember most about Steve is that he was so earnestly curious—truly, by definition, a lifelong learner. He was an insatiable reader and enjoyed books of all kinds, especially poetry — and if you were lucky, he would show you he cared by lending or gifting you with a book he had read and thought you’d enjoy. Whenever we spent time together, he would excitedly tell me about what he was reading—and I could always be sure that it was something.
Steve gifted me some books over the years…here’s one of my favorites.
Steve was a great musician with some of the most eclectic tastes in music I have ever seen. He played marimba, guitar, organ, piano, (also trumpet, in his adolescence) and recently, a harpsichord that, as his obituary mentions, he took great care in assembling himself. He was also an avid composer and songwriter.
One of Steve’s songs, which we played at his coffeehouse gigs.
He loved any piece of any genre that sounded good and loved sight reading new music as well as composing and improvising. He played shows of original music at the local coffeehouse while it still hosted live music and was his church’s music minister, playing on a beautiful organ whose installation he oversaw. I think he was largely misunderstood by local musicians, save for a few of us, because he didn’t really love the status quo and was not afraid to make his rejection of trivial things known. Nonetheless, if Steve cared for you, you knew it based on the generosity of his time that he’d give you. He was always really curious about my thoughts on jazz, and we didn’t always agree, but I always appreciated the fact that he challenged me to think more deeply about the music I was studying in college.
More than anything, he was authentic. You could always count on Steve to be himself at all times, and I think that he truly understood that taking little things so seriously was not really worth it. Steve’s generosity with everything he learned from his life was unmatched. He always had time for you. In all of my years having known him, especially when I was younger, he was so generous with his time. We’d spend hours drinking tea and playing together. He was always so excited to tell me about what he’d been reading or practicing and I did the same. He is someone who loved fiercely and is missed by many.
Rest peacefully, my dear friend. You are already missed so dearly.
Here’s a link to Steve’s obituary in the local paper of the town where he resided.
Rhonda Edgington, Steve Jenkins, and Jordan VanHemert. October 2023.
Jeremy Wilson’s Aurora Now Available
Today, Jeremy Wilson’s new album Aurora is out on all platforms.
My piece As the Willow Tree Grows, is included among seven other beautiful works for trombone. You can read all about the piece on Jeremy’s blog. All are rendered in a way that only Jeremy can.
As I listen to Jeremy's final rendering of the piece, which I have not heard until today, I’m flooded with gratitude. Here's the thing: I never really thought I’d be a composer. Don’t get me wrong – I tried. I tried a lot. Almost all those attempts ended in failure.
When I was a kid, I used to improvise for hours. I would hear all these crazy ideas in my head and try to write things down…each time ended in failure and frustration. I dreamed of writing for wind band. Orchestra. After failing so much, I resigned myself to never really being that kind of composer. Sure enough, every composer who I met seemed to be anointed by God with this “gift” for writing music.
And they were all white guys.
I didn’t really see a space for people who looked like me in the classical composition world. I’m glad that with the emergence of voices like Kevin Day, Reena Esmail, Nicky Sohn, Omar Thomas, Texu Kim, Gabriela Lena Frank, and many others, kids don’t have to grow up in the world that I did, seemingly devoid of people who looked like me (don’t get me wrong, there were people around…and they were writing music, but I never saw them).
I remember something Omar Thomas said while he was in residence at the Schwob School of Music. One of my students had essentially vocalized every insecurity I had in being a composer. Every fear. Every sinking feeling of inadequacy.
Every “Oh you just write jazz. Writing concert music is so different–you’re not a real composer.”
Every time someone has told me “I’m a composition major, you don’t write music like that.”
Every single time someone said “Oh, you write tonal music…tonality is so basic and boring.”
All the “I have perfect pitch so composing is really natural for me. Most composers have perfect pitch.” Oh no, I don’t.
I would then ask peers how they wrote music like they did and they would describe this elaborate and esoteric process that their teachers had said and they seemed to make it purposefully confusing as if they were saying this just to keep plebes like me from replicating it (in hindsight, they may not have been, but it sure felt that way).
I could go on for days, but I’ll get to the point.
Every time someone had said something like this and I believed (and internalized) every word they said.
Fast forward back to that day at the Schwob School of Music. As I felt my jaw clench waiting for Omar’s response, his eyes filled with empathy.
He said (paraphrased):
“If you want to be a composer….be one. Write music. Don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t or define who you are. You create that reality for yourself”
Jeremy and I after the world premiere in Nashville.
A few months later, I met Jeremy and through the encouragement of my dear friend Greg Simon, I began sketching out As the Willow Tree Grows.
That process was not easy..I don’t think we talk about how difficult composition can be emotionally and that we kind of just expect notes to show up on paper, but composition is so much more than that.
Even in my lowest points, I had encouragement from other composers…namely, Josh Trentadue and Kevin Day, both incredibly prolific composers — and they both gave me the encouragement I needed to keep going.
—-
Today, as I think about the ramifications of having this piece of music, which is so dear to my heart, included on Jeremy’s album, I’m so proud. I’m grateful for the opportunity to have my music played by an artist and human being like Jeremy, who took such good care of the piece.
Why am I telling this story? I want people who have ever felt this way to know that they’re not alone. We never write down or verbalize times when we feel like this. it’s time to take away the stigma. Don’t wait for permission to be who your heart desires. Be that person. It might be bumpy, but living into authenticity is a lot easier than constantly denying your heart who it longs to be in the name of being who you’re “supposed to be.”
I’m aware that there are some who will still read this post and say I’m not a real composer or that I should have done this or that, etc. I don’t care. Those people will say what they’ll say.
Congratulations, Jeremy, on your album release. I am so grateful for you taking a chance on me. Thank you, Karen, for setting this in motion. Thank you, Greg and thank you, Omar; none of this would be possible without you both being exactly who I needed when I was younger.
Here’s a clip of the track if you’re interested in hearing it. If you like it, I urge you to head over to Jeremy’s website to buy it.
Take Care of the Music and It Will Take Care of You
“Teaching music absent of context is noise”
Working with the rhythm section at West Ottawa High School
A recurring theme throughout my masterclasses in Michigan was encouraging students and their teachers to examine the context of the music they’re playing.
Simple, right?
Well, it’s not really as simple as I had hoped.
Given that much of the music that we play and teach, particularly in the realm of the big band, was written in the 1940’s-1980’s (or based on jazz standard repertoire that was written around the same time), students in college and high school in 2023 are so far removed from life in that era.
To be fair, I wasn’t alive during those times either, so I have done my best to seek out mentorship from musicians who played with great jazz ensembles, including the Count Basie Orchestra, the Thad Jones Mel Lewis Orchestra (now known as the Vanguard Jazz Orchestra), the Jazz At Lincoln Center Orchestra, and more.
Context is our most powerful teaching tool, because it drops students directly into an era which they have not lived. However, it’s also the most difficult to utilize because unless we have a direct source, it can often be based on legend, myth, or worse—conjecture.
Here’s an example of the power of context. When you play Duke Ellington’s music, you have to understand that Duke Ellington didn’t write music for instruments, he wrote music for people. He wrote for the specific musicians in his band and to emphasize their strengths and sounds.
Baritone saxophone solo? You’re playing music specifically written for Harry Carney. The vibrato and resonance in the baritone saxophone tone in the beginning of Ellington’s landmark composition, Ko-Ko — a key part of Carney’s signature sound on the baritone saxophone. The pull on the string of the walking bass line solo two minutes in? That’s the iconic Jimmy Blanton, one of the first great jazz double bass virtuosos who paved the way for all other jazz double bass players who followed him. Knowing the context is a powerful tool that helps us to fully understand the music through the lens of the humans who created it and its importance cannot be overstated.
But are you supposed to just know all of this? No, this is all learned information and nobody inherently knows this — however it IS part of what we must seek out as musicians.
If you don’t know, ask. If you don’t know who to ask, feel free to ask me! There are plenty of friendly people who are happy to answer questions such as these that deepen our understanding of the music and therefore make our performances better and more informed.
Educators, students, musicians — no matter what the music is, don’t forget the context when you hit the rehearsal room.
Blog Relaunch: Hello Again
“I don’t believe your zip code should prevent you from accessing great music or effective teaching.”
Teaching a masterclass to the Grand Rapids Community College Jazz Ensemble with my dear friend, Dr. Shannon Shaker.
Well, hey.
It has certainly been a while.
After a while blogging, I had kind of stopped for a while because in my own mind, I could not really find anything that I thought people would want to read.
However, as it stands, I had what I would consider to be a mini-epiphany while I was in Michigan touring with flugelhornist extraordinary Dmitri Matheny.
While I was doing a Q&A at a high school a student asked me what made me want to get into music as a career.
My answer is this:
I love music so much that I have to share what I know, so I sought out all of my incredible mentors to gain the knowledge, skills, and experiences to be able to get the best information in everyone’s hands.
I grew up in a rural area of West Michigan. I remember my friends from college, many of whom were from suburbs of Detroit or Detroit all saying that they had grown up going to see the Detroit Symphony Orchestra on a regular basis. I never had access to that kind of concert experience and as a result, I felt like I had missed out.
The question is: why am I here, blogging again?
It’s because I don’t believe your zip code should prevent you from accessing information from lifelong experience.
This blog is going to be a resource for anybody who wants to know more about my areas of expertise: jazz, improvisation, saxophone, recording albums, and more. I have worked hard in my career to become the best teacher and performer I can be and to put myself in situations where I, myself, am learning from direct torch carriers of my profession.
And I care so much about teaching that I want to share this with YOU.
Join me as I journey through frequently asked and not-so-frequently asked questions. I hope to create a space that assists anybody reading this in their journey to grow as a player, educator, composer, or artist.
Have a question? Great! Comment, and I’ll plan future blog content around it.
Until next time!
What is DEIBA?
Diversity. Equity, Inclusion. Belonging, Accessibility.
These words can be daunting, yet in the current landscape of our world, they are ubiquitous—one cannot go very far without hearing at least one of these words, let alone all of them. So I thought I would take a few minutes here and explain what they mean to me:
Diversity is getting everyone in the room. Yes, everyone. If you can’t fit everyone, make a bigger room. Build a bigger table. Everyone deserves to have a voice, but equally important: everyone deserves to see themselves reflected in not only the physical makeup of an organization but also the values of an organization.
Equity is the act of acknowledging how systemic power imbalances affect our daily lives AND making sure that this power is re-balanced to make sure that all have what they need to bring their full voice to the table.
Inclusion is the process of continually welcoming all perspectives to the table, acknowledging that all of these perspectives matter and are heard.
Belonging is encouraging individuals to bring their whole selves. While we have only recently started talking about this in our industries on a more significant and collective level, it is the only way for businesses and other organizations to realize their full potential. You cannot have belonging without all three of the previous processes: diversity, equity, and inclusion.
Accessibility is making sure that everyone has the tools they need in order to succeed—and if there are any barriers to success, dismantling these barriers to entry.
I have gotten questions about these topics for a long time, so I decided that I want to be a part of the solution in getting DEIBA to be a part of people’s everyday personal and professional lives. This can happen in big ways like organizational vision-mapping or smaller ways like changing the way you program and use language as an educator or organizational leader—both make significant impacts. I have built a business to help creatives, organizational leaders, musicians, and other change makers, and I am excited to announce that it launches today! There are no small DEIBA changes, and they can seem daunting but every journey begins with a single step.
And that’s why I’m here to help. There is no shame in not knowing, so long as you are wholeheartedly seeking the information. I have seen people struggle and I am dedicating myself to be a part of the solution. If you would like to connect about this, please feel free to contact me to set up a meeting.
Change happens slowly and over time, but if we don’t commit to starting the conversations and leaning into the discomfort of not knowing, we will fail to change our world for the better—we can be a part of the growth that must happen in order for our world to evolve.
Nomad Retrospective
I really don’t like Facebook memories. They seem really good at dredging up posts from the past—the cringiest ones—and reminding me “hey, remember this guy? Yeah, he’s still in there somewhere.” And that makes me feel all of the feelings—but that’s another blog post.
A few days ago, Facebook reminded me that it has been just over a year since we went into the studio to record Nomad. Having a project like this in the rearview mirror is always so interesting, because it feels like a long time ago that we recorded it, but in reality, the project was released only a few months ago. What that seems to mean for me is that I have the perspective of being somewhat removed from the myriad of emotions and “Am I good enough to be doing this?” feelings of the recording session, but the feelings are still fresh enough for me to remember all of them and to be able to transport myself back to that recording session and the subsequent months of the album release. Nomad was my second record, and I learned a lot from the first one and made some adjustments.
The first thing I learned was that it was nice to have someone else’s perspective on my music for the liner notes. Liner notes are not always something we think of…and as a matter of fact, for my first record, I Am Not a Virus (hereafter referred to as IANAV), I wrote my own notes about the compositions. That was sufficient for that project, but liner notes were not something I had really thought about until it was too late.
While nobody knows the music as well as I do, it was helpful having the incomparable David Adler write my liner notes, because he experienced the music with fresh ears. So much of this process can get bogged down by the fact that an artist is listening to this music for months/years on end—and at a certain point, it ceases to be new. Having someone else write my notes was something I will likely do again for future projects, because the freshness of David’s ears really helped to illuminate aspects of the music I had not necessarily thought about. In short, my primary thought was: am I going to be the only person listening to this music? No—my target audience is other people, so I should have an outside source listen to the music and give their impressions.
Of course, this is all ironic, because I love reading the liner notes for any given project and will insist on getting a copy whenever I listen to a digital and physical album. I have always loved reading about the stories of the music, and when I think about it, liner notes are such an important part of the storytelling of the album, but there are so often overlooked due to the prevalence of digital albums. Even if the digital album has a PDF of the liner notes—much like a physical booklet of liner notes, there is no guarantee that a listener will read them. A question I’m asking myself moving forward is: how do we center the stories and the experience of reading the liner notes as we discover a new project for the very first time in this era of digital albums, streaming, and so much more? This is a new world for artists, but it has not been new for that long, so it’s time that we explored new paths forward. I am seeing books of music paired with streaming services (H/T to my friend Dr. Damani Phillips), but I would be interested to exploring more — maybe that’s best left as a problem for future Jordan and the next record.
Something else that I learned is to make the band as comfortable as possible, and that while it is important to have a plan for the session, it is equally important to be in the moment enough to accept that some of the best ideas may come from the band at the recording session.
One of the most incredibly profound parts of playing and recording music that involves so much creation in the moment is that it is never the same each time you play it, even if you play the same roadmap of the same tune with the same band. That being said, while we were recording, I was really open to different possibilities from the music that my bandmates were inspiring. One example of this was the duo version of “Spring in My Hometown.” I had intended to play that with the full trio, but I asked Rodney if he would be okay with a duo version, because I really wanted to highlight the stability of his time and how much energy and life it had—what better way to do this than to really focus the listener’s ears on the bass by eliminating the drum element from that track? I love the energy of the track and its simultaneous intimacy (to me) only serves to underscore the presence of Rodney’s bass playing.
Along those lines, I think that the more comfortable and relaxed in the studio I am, the better everyone plays. Running a session, I have never necessarily thought of myself as a “leader”—I want everyone to have input into where the music goes and feel comfortable expressing themselves to the fullest extent. However, I have noticed that the person who calls the session often sets the mood or tone of the recording session, and depending on that mood or tone (and I’ve been in situations with all sorts of them), the band will feel differently and therefore perform differently. A preference that I have had in the past is to play with multiple people in one room, thereby eliminating the need for headphones—something I’ve learned to live with is that most people actually seem to prefer playing in isolation. This allows the engineer to shape the sound of one instrument to its full potential without affecting the sound of the others….while this sounds really simple, it was not something I considered for my first record, and one never does really know just how much bleed can infiltrate the bass mics from saxophone or drums until one has experienced it. I have experienced it, and it makes post-production way less fun.
With jazz records, even though one technically could, it’s not like you’re isolating to punch in every beat/note—but even the fact that you are able to do this seems to make the band more comfortable and at ease. That’s a win in my book, and ironically, it seems to lead to less edits in the long run.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, I am learning that the album isn’t really about the album. Yes, it’s fun and exciting to release projects of great music for people to hear, but in retrospect, this record has brought me far more than just itself. I have made new relationships with a label and new colleagues. The project has allowed me to travel and bring my music to wider audiences. The project has connected me to other audiences and new musicians and it has led to new experiences playing with those people.
When I went into the studio to record my first project, I was a bit anxious at first, because I needed the project to be really good—and that was all I could think about. In the release, I had saved up money to record and produce the album, and all I could think about was “what if this is the only album I’m able to record?” I also centered this thought. Coupled with the craziness of Covid, it made for an interesting release, to say the very least.
With the release of Nomad, IANAV was not my only record. However, it did teach me something about recording: for every person who might be anxious about recording like I was—have you ever considered that your best music is yet to come? When I think about this, it helps me to put less weight on each project and see the big picture…that each recording is one step or snapshot of what it means to be you. When I see the big picture, it makes being in the moment far easier, and being in the moment and enjoying it fully is one of the keys to great music. So instead of asking about what projects people are working on, maybe I should make it a goal to ask: what moment do you get to enjoy these days?
In Memoriam José-Luis Maúrtua
I had originally written this just for myself, but I am deciding to share it in case it helps anyone get to know what a brilliant man we lost this weekend.
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Finally starting to get a few words about Dr. José-Luis Maúrtua’s passing beyond the initial shock.
The first thing that strikes me is that when he passed yesterday, he was 57, which, in my mind, is just far too young. Though I am certain that I am projecting my earthly thoughts onto him, I immediately thought that he had so much more music to write—to play, to conduct. More life to live. More wry smiles to give.
For those who did not know him, Dr. Maúrtua was my theory professor. By all accounts, this could be written off as a relatively unremarkable interaction—after all, I was just one person in a class of 20 or so music majors. However, when I met Dr. M., I was a kid from a small town who didn’t really have many opportunities to study music theory on this level. While many of my peers took the equivalent of our first year theory classes or had advanced knowledge in this area, every bit of it was new to me, and I found it enthralling.
Many people had told me up to that point that understanding music that deeply is a curse…that one can never really “un-hear” or turn their analytical brain off to enjoy the music—on the contrary, I think it adds to the magic. My theory teachers (Drs. Jennifer Campbell and José-Luis Maúrtua) were proof of this–about how understanding something like music so deeply and intimately knowing score upon score could make the magic that much more real.
And that’s where Dr. Maúrtua came in. I so deeply admired the musician he was—a composer, a theorist, a formidable pianist, a great teacher. Partway through my time at Central Michigan University, Dr. Maúrtua began directing the orchestra. While I did not play with this group, I admired his work because it was clear to me that he was passionate about it and I had noticed a change in my peers who were playing in the orchestra. I had thought it was a little strange at first but when I saw the first concert he conducted, it felt like exactly where he was meant to be.
José’s inner ear was an immense gift that he shared with those in his classes—from continuing beyond the written page of an example to rendering orchestral reductions and other pieces to demonstrate theoretical concepts at the drop of a hat—it was easy to be blown away by so much of his brilliance. I have so many fond and detailed memories of Dr. Maúrtua talking about a theoretical concept and then spinning off four or five different examples of where we could find it, slowing down ever so slightly when he reached the chord in question. Sometimes that kind of brilliance can lead a person to be off-putting or selectively distant…or above you—with José, this brilliance was accompanied by a trademark kindness that drew people to him. He never shrugged off a question from a student, no matter how small.
When I think about Dr. Maúrtua, I remember his joy the most. It was infectious. Even in early-morning theory classes, there was so much love in everything he did. So much life. Such passion. With every day that he sat at the piano to teach us the building blocks of harmony, it was clear to me that so much love in every aspect of his life, even if it was difficult at times.
Bringing it back to that kid sitting in Dr. Maúrtua’s theory class who was just excited to be learning about something he loved. People say to do what you love and you will never work a day in your life. What they don’t tell you is that by making your passion your work, there is a brilliance that fades. The grind of daily life and especially thehustle of academia can really bear the joy and creativity out of music. The magic starts to fade and all of the sudden what was once a career that promised you the magical and joyful days of your life becomes just another grind.
If there’s one thing that Dr. José-Luis Maúrtua has taught me by just being himself—that he perhaps never even knew—it’s the joy and love and gratitude in getting to live this life of a musician. It isn’t always easy, but I am grateful for it, and I am most grateful for the kindness of mentors like Dr. M., who, despite all of the mire of academia, still managed to show this small town kid what it meant to be a consummate musician, a joyful composer and theorist, and a kind human being. He was not overly effusive–but in his classroom, you knew he cared. I remember this so deeply even years after my last class with him.
And you see, that’s what made Dr. Maúrtua such a special person–It was the ordinary interactions that were graced by the presence of an extraordinary person. Extraordinary talent. Extraordinary passion and care for his students. Extraordinary love.
To his many students, colleagues, and his family, I am sending positive thoughts. RIP Dr. José-Luis Maúrtua. Thank you for the music and all of the lessons. No te olvidaré.
Some Midwinter Encouragement
Midwinter is a difficult time. In a lot of ways, February is the shortest month of the year but feels the longest. At this point in time, during a pandemic, I find it all the more important to remind myself that days that feel long and arduous don’t last forever. Here are some encouragements that I have needed and have told myself in the past few days. I’m sharing them in hopes that they might lift you up as well.
Take a break—and don’t feel bad about it.
I used to feel really bad about taking breaks. Consequently, the things I enjoyed doing when taking breaks—walking, playing games, hanging out with friends—didn’t feel as fun. Listen to your body and your mind…if you need a break, take one. You will come back far more refreshed and ready to work. Now, we may all know these things, but here’s the reminder: rest is not something you earn for being good enough—you just get to do it, because you’re a person and it’s a necessity.
Summer seldom remembers winter’s toil.
When we’re feeling good about life and work—or rather, when we’re at the point in the creative or other work cycle that sees us reaping a lot of rewards but not really having to sow much—it can make the difficult times far more difficult. My encouragement to you to trust the process, but also trust yourself. Even if you can’t see it right now, the seed that is planted and taken care of will soon grow, given that it is planted on good soil, and yes, in case you need to hear this: you’re the good soil. There’s nothing you can do to make yourself better soil—you are already the fertile ground.
Failure is inevitable. And okay.
Last week, I was making one of my favorite Korean dishes and it just bombed. I was making my favorite homemade rice cakes and they disintegrated in the sauce and I was left with a disgusting, gelatinous mess (in what was admittedly a tasty sauce). Does this mean that I will never cook again? No. Does one failed dish make me a bad cook or human? Also no. Always remember that you are not your failures (you are not your successes, either, but that’s another blog post). Repeat it with me; “I made a mistake, but I am not the mistake I made. A mistake is what I did, not who I am.”
If you have a chance, always hype up your friends.
Reminded by Jerry Won, we all win together. You never know the difference that hype can make for your friends. Afraid they might get opportunities and you’ll be left out? That’s normal, but unfounded in most cases. Competition is useless when it involves edging people out of the table where a finete number of opportunities to succeed and be heard do not exist. There is a place for everyone, and even in the case where people from minoritized communities are not allowed in the room, that just means we need to build a bigger room—not that anyone should be excluded from it.
We are living in really difficult times. I hope this post reminded you of how awesome you are. We could all use a little more light in these short, dark days. Stay safe and healthy.
I AM NOT A VIRUS: A Look Back at 2021
A few days ago, I received a beautiful frame commemorating the release of my first record, I AM NOT A VIRUS (IANAV). I'm not quite sure why, but when I saw it, it prompted a flood of emotions and memories--everything from the hopelessness and anger that I felt when I decided to record this particular album in March 2020 to the feeling of gratitude for the musicians who came alongside me to record this project.
Oh wait, I know why.
It's December -- it's typically that time of year when we look back on everything we've done over the course of a year with all of the feelings--regret for the things we didn't do, joy at the wonderful places we have been, and pride at what we have accomplished.
But what happens when that year has found us on the tail end of year 2 in a pandemic? What then?
I remember this time in 2020. I was wishing for an end to this pandemic. An end to the suffering of my community. Yet through all of the chaos and mire that had become our daily lives--all of the isolation--it was clear to me that people need this. People need music.
I wondered about the frivolity of what I was doing. "People are dying," I said as I gaslit myself, "Why am I releasing an album? Why not do something real?"
In the end, I released IANAV for a few reasons:
1) Asian stories are important, and they deserve to be told through our own eyes, un-redacted. Throughout history, Asian stories have been silenced and erased. Suffering has been turned into euphemisms--euphemisms like "internment camps", for example, that erased the suffering of Americans who were wrongfully incarcerated for no other reason than being Japanese. When we're not imprisoned, our stories are erased...our real, lived experiences are suppressed. COVID or not--I share music to tell my/our stories.
2) Representation matters, and a lack of representation is violence and erasure of communities of color. I never saw anyone who looked like me growing up doing what I do now. Granted--there are a few examples--but Asian jazz saxophonists are not entirely plentiful in the US (Shoutout to Francis Wong, Danny Jung, Rudresh Mahanthappa, Jeff Kashiwa, Jon Irabagon, and others who have paved the way for my existence). This record was a gift to 5 year old Jordan who first heard "Stella by Starlight" from Charlie Parker With Strings and fell in love with the saxophone. Representation matters--and every kid deserves to be able to see themselves as the main character of the story. It matters equally for the kids who are not Asian or BIPOC to be able see us in the driver's seat.
3) To redefine what it means to be Asian American. To be Asian in American means that according to the mainstream perception of our people, you have to be a certain way. I remember growing up as a jazz musician, I was the "wrong kind" of Asian.
"Why are you going to college for music? What a waste--you should be a doctor or lawyer or something."
"Shouldn't you play violin?"
"Oh, you're the janitor, right?"
"Didn't I see you working last night at the Chinese restaurant? You're one of the good ones."
To be Asian in America to me is to be limitless. We don't owe anything to anyone.
4) So we would never forget this unique time in human history. I never wanted to forget what I felt as an Asian American in 2020--and before. This record is my time capsule and when I look at it--I see everything that white supremacy had led me to believe about myself, and I say:
ENOUGH.
I hope you enjoyed my trip down memory lane. Thanks again to PARMA Recordings for helping me to share my story and for the lovely memento. And to my BIPOC fam, and particularly all of the Asian Americans out there: