Last week I learned I’m a distant relation to jazz giant
Stan Kenton. His name brought back an old memory. It was my first performance as
part of a college jazz band and on an electronic keyboard. Stan Kenton was the
guest of honor seated close enough to hit me with a rock. We opened with Kenton’s
arrangement of the Leonard Bernstein/Stephen Sondheim number “Somewhere” from
West Side Story. It starts with a haunting piano solo that I knew like the back
of my hand. My teacher always said, “Study until you know the piece better than
anyone in the room.” This doesn’t help when the guy who wrote it is in the room. The conductor
raised his baton, I began my solo and the keyboard made no sound at all. I soldiered
silently on. Halfway through the number a technician reconnected a loose cable
and I was suddenly too loud. Would I have been less embarrassed if I’d known
Kenton was my seventh cousin twice removed? Probably not.
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