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Gonzo Report: Young Lions roar at Panama 66
A metal man jumps into jazz
Gilbert Castellanos: even the pros need to warm up.
“Wait, what? Protein? Gimme some steak!” The staff member taking my order at Panama 66 in Balboa Park had nearly left me resigned to eating a quinoa salad, a vegetarian meal, because I was unaware of the option of dead animal flesh as an add-on. I’m not here to half-assedly follow a healthier lifestyle. I’m here to see the future of jazz — in the form of Young Lions Jazz Conservatory, which trumpeter Gilbert Castellanos founded to give young people a voice in the community. My project is challenging enough even with steak, because jazz is not really my thing. But the death of Robert Bush, who wrote for this paper, has left a deficiency in jazz coverage in general and for this paper in particular. I don’t delude myself into thinking I will ever approach the broadness and depth of that man’s knowledge, but jazz is an important part of our local music scene, and I am willing to be educated. But first - food!
The musicians in the band are easy to spot: they are all young, maybe high school age, and they exude the energy universal to performers pre-gig. It’s not frenetic; it’s an aura, waxing and waning with increased rapidity as the clock ticks closer to performance time. The show takes place in a room attached to the restaurant, and a line is forming to get in. It’s all pants and dresses — not really formal, just no Slayer T-shirts. Except mine.
My outfit, for lack of a better word, isn’t the source of my anxiety. It’s the notion of having to sit at a table with people I don’t know. A sense of relief flows through me when I spot a section with nobody in it for several feet on either side. Videotaping is set up, along with professional-looking photographers, and a man doing sketches of the musicians who comprise the Night Dreamers Ensemble, who begin to play. They’re a septet, seven members (hey! I learned something already!) who have clearly practiced. They are prepared. Ciara Ascherfeld’s vocals both serve and support the songs, and she includes some scat singing. Cool stuff, like the end of AC/DCs “Back In Black,” not annoying, like The Red Hot Chili Peppers just making random sounds instead of finishing lyrics. Yosuke Pillette’s Alto Sax and Elias Nuspl’s trumpet playing remind me a bit of Dick Parry’s contributions to Pink Floyd. Paden Flaster’s guitar and Alex Flores’ piano weave melodies that vary from hypnotic to biting — again, serving the song. Mateo Brettillo’s drums and Plax Willoughby’s bass provide a solid bottom with the occasional foray into solos.
While I’m unsure about exactly what an alto sax is, I know the other instruments — especially the bass, which always draws my focus. When I close my eyes and listen to the music, the age of the musicians evaporates from my noggin, and I can hear without a qualifier. They play well to my ears, which, while unaccustomed to jazz, know what they like. When I open my eyes again, I have so many questions for the band. How many hours do they practice? Why jazz? Are they band nerds? What do they think of progressive rockers Opeth? I can’t imagine them as anything other than dedicated and focused. Not a flibbertigibbet amongst them. But the fact is, they’re minors, so I will need to make arrangements for clearances and consents before so much as snapping a photo. I’m not sure of the legal ramifications, as it is a public space and performance, but if someone was taking videos of my child without consent, they’d end up with their camera servicing an unplanned colonoscopy.
I check in with Castellanos, who tells me, “I’ve gotta go warm up before I make a fool of myself” without the least trace of a smile on his face. He’s not unpleasant, just very matter of fact. He probably doesn’t register my confused amusement as he walks away. I’m familiar with the process of warming up to play a gig, but something tells me he takes it way more seriously than I do — that his warmups are focused and don’t involve chain-smoking Camel Wides for oxygen regulation. But the thought of Castellanos being capable of making a fool of himself dumbfounds me. The man was a professional before he was a teen, and played with Dizzy Gillespie before he could legally drive. And he was just getting started. Even a jazz dolt like me knows who Dizzy Gillespie is. I look forward to learning more.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: Young Lions roar at Panama 66
A metal man jumps into jazz
Gonzo Report: Young Lions roar at Panama 66
A metal man jumps into jazz
Gilbert Castellanos: even the pros need to warm up.
“Wait, what? Protein? Gimme some steak!” The staff member taking my order at Panama 66 in Balboa Park had nearly left me resigned to eating a quinoa salad, a vegetarian meal, because I was unaware of the option of dead animal flesh as an add-on. I’m not here to half-assedly follow a healthier lifestyle. I’m here to see the future of jazz — in the form of Young Lions Jazz Conservatory, which trumpeter Gilbert Castellanos founded to give young people a voice in the community. My project is challenging enough even with steak, because jazz is not really my thing. But the death of Robert Bush, who wrote for this paper, has left a deficiency in jazz coverage in general and for this paper in particular. I don’t delude myself into thinking I will ever approach the broadness and depth of that man’s knowledge, but jazz is an important part of our local music scene, and I am willing to be educated. But first - food!
The musicians in the band are easy to spot: they are all young, maybe high school age, and they exude the energy universal to performers pre-gig. It’s not frenetic; it’s an aura, waxing and waning with increased rapidity as the clock ticks closer to performance time. The show takes place in a room attached to the restaurant, and a line is forming to get in. It’s all pants and dresses — not really formal, just no Slayer T-shirts. Except mine.
My outfit, for lack of a better word, isn’t the source of my anxiety. It’s the notion of having to sit at a table with people I don’t know. A sense of relief flows through me when I spot a section with nobody in it for several feet on either side. Videotaping is set up, along with professional-looking photographers, and a man doing sketches of the musicians who comprise the Night Dreamers Ensemble, who begin to play. They’re a septet, seven members (hey! I learned something already!) who have clearly practiced. They are prepared. Ciara Ascherfeld’s vocals both serve and support the songs, and she includes some scat singing. Cool stuff, like the end of AC/DCs “Back In Black,” not annoying, like The Red Hot Chili Peppers just making random sounds instead of finishing lyrics. Yosuke Pillette’s Alto Sax and Elias Nuspl’s trumpet playing remind me a bit of Dick Parry’s contributions to Pink Floyd. Paden Flaster’s guitar and Alex Flores’ piano weave melodies that vary from hypnotic to biting — again, serving the song. Mateo Brettillo’s drums and Plax Willoughby’s bass provide a solid bottom with the occasional foray into solos.
While I’m unsure about exactly what an alto sax is, I know the other instruments — especially the bass, which always draws my focus. When I close my eyes and listen to the music, the age of the musicians evaporates from my noggin, and I can hear without a qualifier. They play well to my ears, which, while unaccustomed to jazz, know what they like. When I open my eyes again, I have so many questions for the band. How many hours do they practice? Why jazz? Are they band nerds? What do they think of progressive rockers Opeth? I can’t imagine them as anything other than dedicated and focused. Not a flibbertigibbet amongst them. But the fact is, they’re minors, so I will need to make arrangements for clearances and consents before so much as snapping a photo. I’m not sure of the legal ramifications, as it is a public space and performance, but if someone was taking videos of my child without consent, they’d end up with their camera servicing an unplanned colonoscopy.
I check in with Castellanos, who tells me, “I’ve gotta go warm up before I make a fool of myself” without the least trace of a smile on his face. He’s not unpleasant, just very matter of fact. He probably doesn’t register my confused amusement as he walks away. I’m familiar with the process of warming up to play a gig, but something tells me he takes it way more seriously than I do — that his warmups are focused and don’t involve chain-smoking Camel Wides for oxygen regulation. But the thought of Castellanos being capable of making a fool of himself dumbfounds me. The man was a professional before he was a teen, and played with Dizzy Gillespie before he could legally drive. And he was just getting started. Even a jazz dolt like me knows who Dizzy Gillespie is. I look forward to learning more.
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