Jethro Who?!

People often ask me, "you must really like Jethro Tull, don't you?" I guess they presume that anyone playing a flute in a rock context must actually be an Ian Anderson cover-boy. Now, don't get me wrong; I certainly appreciate what this progressive brit rock band has done to improve a flautist's chances of getting laid after a bar gig. But Anderson-emulation was never my goal -- just a means to an end. I always tolerated the terminally lame saloon customers screaming, "Locomotive Breath," knowing that the lead guitarist would soon suffer a similar level of degradation when it came time to request "Smoke on the Water" for the third time in a two hour span.

To say a jazz-rock flautist naturally draws upon Ian Anderson for inspiration is tantamount to saying all jazz-rock guitarists have a John Scofield fixation. If all you've ever known is vanilla, a neopolitan cone probably isn't the first thing that comes to mind. For me, Ian Anderson is a rich, creamy gourmet french vanilla with whole vanilla bean imported from Zanzibar.

Some background: Flute is a second-language. I picked it up after years of brass instrumental proficiency. It seemed like a good way to impose myself on four-piece ensembles. And it worked. But my role models didn't even play flute. First, I wanted to (eventually) trade blistering leads with the guitar. Jethro whatsisname didn't do this. Second, I could wrap my puny little prefrontal lobe around blues and freely improvise. Again Jethro presented a plethora of styles but the blues flute was somehow never exploited to its logical end.

And then I heard Don "Sugarcane" Harris. Wow! Who'd've thought you could play soulful, playful bee-bop and tasty blues on a violin? Soon thereafter I heard the SF seminal band, "It's a Beautiful Day" doing their tribute to Don Harris & Dewey Terry. But rocked up a bit. Double-wow! Suddenly I realized my goal was to play flute like that cat plays fiddle, and never mind what the neighbors say. He and Dewey had developed a synergy, and achieved what was eluding me. For Don & Dewey, the fluid ability to cross over into another instrument's domain and share its soul was for me the example I had been striving for.

Fast forward: As my flute proficiency increased I pissed of one lead guitarist after another. There can be only one lead guitar, you see. Unless that guitar is a flute. I can't count the number of times on all fingers and toes when a really great guitarist told me, "I love playing with you, you energize me, the combination of guitar and flute leads is fantastic," only to be fired from the band later that evening by the drummer (who was of course put up to it by the guitarist.)

Flash forward: It has taken over twenty years for me to learn to lay out and listen, and an equal number of years to present my style gradually rather than abruptly. It has saved many relationships with guitarists. And with all of that new-found silence, I can actually think ahead a bit and avoid the inevitable lead instrument contests. But make no mistake about it. The flute is my voice. And when the strongest voice in the choir is playing an electric instrument, I make my tubular acoustic axe coexist in the sharp-edged and aggressive atmosphere of guitardom.

Now, if I can only get my guitar playing friends to start thinking like a flute ;')