Concierto Navideño 2020—Music Arranged By Jordan Ferrin

Wow! What a video! What an experience! This is a good, wonderful thing that Amigos, Tu Iglesia has made for us all.

I was given the great honor to arrange the performed music in this video. The arrangements are all from the work of Luis Miguel, with the exception of an arrangement of “El Niño de Belén.” I owe an abundance of gratitude to my longtime friend Fernando Penaloza for asking me to put together this fantastic music for our small but mighty band. Many thanks also to the fantastic Fidel Barron, to all of my bandmates, and of course to Amigos, Tu Iglesia for having us spread the spirit of Christmas into the world!

The world is hard right now, but there is joy to be found. And so I wish you all a Merry Christmas. Much love!

SINGLE RELEASE! “From the Thames to the Pacific,” and My Process in its Creation

I’m so excited to have delivered this into the world. I’ve been working incredibly hard in the last few months to refine it. This piece had come to represent London and the Thames; yet when I flew home to California, the piece tied London to Long Beach, and the Thames to the Pacific…. Now, it’s about all of that and more: interconnectedness. I want it to bring that realization, along with movement, joy, and the gorgeous hope we have for better times ahead.

This is a solo-saxophone piece that is based in the spirit of EDM, in that repetition plays a key factor in both the piece’s identity and its development. Overall, though, improvisation is king when it comes to the evolution of the piece as a whole. Moreover it is structured improvisation; i.e. there is a main melodic idea that carries itself throughout the piece, used to signal both predesignated tonal centers and form. Transformations and variations happen, planned and unplanned, that grant an additional compositional element to the improvisation. Much of the unplanned improvisation happens from about 60% through, where there are several minutes dedicated to spontaneous creation. Though there are predetermined melodic and tonal centers, improvisation plays a role in “filling out” the rest of the details in the main melody, tonal centers, and especially the transitions between.

And I do this all while maintaining a groove in time. This was the biggest butt-kicker! My mental workouts with planned and unplanned material had to be in time, the whole time. I truly enjoy the challenge of putting pieces like this together, for they allow me to have fun, make music to move and groove to, and push my musicality, technique, and audiation ability to its limit.

Audiation? What is that? This term has become central to what I play and what I teach. Throughout this piece I’m remembering what I had played, and what I’m about to play, in the moment I’m playing. I’m giving meaning to the music in my inner ear and my memory, or in other words, audiating that music. Audiation is the process of mental music comprehension. It goes beyond merely thinking about a musical phrase or song. For example, just as we give meaning to words by forming sentences as we speak in context of a conversation, so we can give meaning to musical patterns, phrasing, and harmony in the context of tonality and meter as we perform. Of course, music is not language, and in the moment of performance and listening it is more multi-modal than language. Nevertheless, the more a musician can strengthen their inner ear and their memory through practice, the more able they are give meaning to the elements of music in their minds, whether in composition or performance.

Jazz musicians are professional audiaters. We audiate all the time when we improvise. In a musical performance, a musician both recalls and predicts the music that will come. This is an essential practice for any musician, but to recall and predict with understanding is an essential practice of audiation. Constant audiation is therefore a main feature of improvisation, as improvisers react both to the sounds physically present in the moment and to what they are audiating in the moment.

In this video, I am the only performer. Therefore, I am relying mainly upon my audiation ability, while maintaining a sense of time and groove.

It’s a shame that audiation is not spoken of much in the jazz world. A jazz musician who digs deep into audiation will realize a deeper, holistic understanding of everything they study, from feeling rhythmic complexities, to learning “licks,” to ear-training and harmony. So, besides making music I love, I want to bring audiation the attention it undoubtedly deserves in the jazz world.

Thoughts and Other Things: Post-London Melancholy and the Five Senses

Taste

There’s nothing quite like a big American meal.  The USA’s cultures-within-cultures result in many kinds of meals, but I’m talking about the stereotypical. Peas and mashed potatoes.  Steak and pot-roast.  Corn-on-the-cob and cottage cheese.  Spaghetti like your folks used to make. 

Well, and that’s just it; I was living with my Dad for three weeks before moving “down the hill” to the beach.  He has particular tastes that I grew up with, and they continue to this day.  Between the many things with which I occupied myself in the desert, the meals he prepared graciously for us brought me back home in a special way.  Each night we’d talk and talk, from the mundane to the philosophical, amidst the starchy and fatty goodness.

Once I moved to Long Beach, a new car in my possession, I was free to roam, and that meant Mexican food.  That meant In N Out.  That meant Trader Joe’s smoked gouda. That meant Taco Bell…which is NOT Mexican food (this statement is to the benefit of my foreign friends).  Wordlessly, taste gave deep meaning to where I now was. Taste is the slowest but most enduring of my senses.

Smell

Smell, almost as enduring, conjures memories in the most immediate, powerful way.  My Dad is a smoker.  His place and his car had that immediate, powerful familiarity it always had.  My childhood flashed across the screen of my mind.  It continued to do so in those three weeks. 

Once I moved to Long Beach?  Well…smell both anchors me to and detaches me from the present.  The anchor involves the smells I’ve known forever.  The sea, and the salty wind.  The gentle chimney smoke of autumn and winter.  But the detachment happens in my new home.  Many scents here repel me.  They are unfamiliar, to the point where I feel out-of-place.  Like I’m just observing myself live here.  Like I don’t belong.  I know this feeling will pass, but for now the unfamiliarity is one of several things that makes me yearn for London.

Sight

Ah, sight…. That which makes me belong in two worlds the most deeply.  That which makes me yearn for London the most. 

The vista stretches on and on, into the mountains and crumbling rock-hills of the high desert.  It holds beauty especially in its vastness. 

Rosie’s Dog Beach stretches on and on and on….

 
I will always be in awe at my infinitesimal self next to the Pacific.  I will always know interconnectedness to the world, next to the Pacific.  Here, as always, my mind comes back to its natural state of calm and peace.  Since moving I have gone almost every day. Each time I go is better than the last.  I am me at the beach.  Always have been.  Always will be. 

These days, however, something is hallow within.

As spring turned into summer in Greenwich Park.

And as Autumn bared its beauty in Greenwich Park. The vista stretches to many, many sights.  A collage of wonder and awe, history and people, nature and the spirit of being alive.

Within the entrance to Greenwich Park, 2019.

I miss London with a total passion. I am empty of that passion, this phenomenal palette with which I can imagine in the best way.  

Yes: weather is far better in Long Beach.  Yes: my family and old, dear friends are here. But as the season changed from summer to autumn, my mind always thinks of London.

The grounds of the Old Royal Naval College, and of Trinity Laban Conservatoire—my old school; 2018.

To experience the collage of London within the golden aura of nature is gorgeous in its own right.  Yet it is beyond that entirely.  Experiencing London in autumn means the potential to grow into your best self.  In London, history, people, and nature exist in a balance which brings great wisdom when one attunes to that balance.  And that wisdom seems boundless during autumn.  It is a spectacular change that tells us, “change is all around, all the time, and this is inherently good.” Impermanence is the boundless wisdom of the present moment. In London, it is effortless to feel impermanence in this time of year.

Rosie’s Dog Beach, 2020.

In autumn 2020, it is difficult for me to feel full in Long Beach.  In similar fashion the beach and Signal Hill—a singular hill from which you can see the entire Southland—become a wellspring of interconnectivity, and a beacon for the impermanent. 

And yet I have to make the effort here.  It was effortless in London  Why?  It’s because London changes with the seasons.  Southern California barely changes.  For all its sunny weather, it lacks imagination.  It lacks manifestations of impermanence. London gave to me the deepest joy through its awesome history, people, and nature as as they all—unquestionably, inevitably, and gloriously—changed. 

The best stories change with chapters. They grow with chapters.  The phases of our lives are like chapters.  I yearn, most of all, for chapters in the place I call home.  Chapters by which I can know the best parts of life.  I miss autumn in London.  I miss the seasons in London. Terribly I miss them.

Touch

One night, I was chatting with my roommate shortly before going out to practice.  I stepped into our backyard to get a glimpse of the Moon and Mars, that fine pair in the calm of evening. Instant knowledge. Instant peace. The feeling gripped me completely.  It was the cold, dry air.  The cold, dry air that only California can give at the end of the year.  I was put fully into the present, limitless flashbacks of my life shining on the screen of my mind.

The Orange Circle in Orange, CA. A total favorite place of mine, and many others.

Downtown Santa Ana, during the autumn season in Orange County, 2020.

My mind overflowed almost dangerously. My inner peace grew and grew.  My yearning for London diminished.  For all I knew I may have stayed in the US….

Hearing

Music, though, always brings me to my true self.  Hearing is what made me.  Music is what makes me still.  And music is equal to sight in how I yearn for London.

The first drive of the new car. What. A. Feeling. When was the last time I drove? Christmas-time…nearly nine months ago. I could swear that it felt like years ago….  Suffice it to say, I felt free.  The smell of sweetness which permeated the car since its last owner.  The taste of coffee still on my tongue from the morning.  The sights of the grey-black road and the grey-blue, brilliant sky.  Me.  Free. 

At times like these, I feel compelled to listen to meaningful music. The choice is indescribable; all I know is that the choice comes from something further beyond my mind, something from the realm of the transcendental. So I selected something which has evolved to complement my most beautiful experiences in London: Wayne Shorter’s “Black Swan,” off of his 90’s album High Life.  So I set off…and just as suddenly the music had filled my being.  Immediately I had tears. Immediately I pulled over. 

And I just sat.  The road, the sky, the car, and all of my senses were gone.  It was just the music and my memories of London.  My mind was no longer the screen for projection. It was now reality of the moment.  I projected onto it that which I left behind.  I reached inward, deeply, to reach outward, straining, hoping London was just outside, just around the corner….

“Black Swan” is a brief, moving piece.  It moves beyond reason.  Emotion, like the piece’s harmonies, grows and calms like the tide, and the wind picks up, and up again….  Then it is gone. 

Memories, after all.  And so more tears welled up…. 

This car, this place, California…this is my reality now. 

Epilogue

November 7th, 2020.  Rain had come and gone.  By late morning the wind was ample, and the clouds were artful. The sky was clean.  The world was changed.   Cold, but damp air blew in fresh droves across Long Beach. Rain came, then went. The world was changed, yet my mind was monopolized by one thought: this is a typical autumn day in London.

I drove out to Signal Hill, to get a glimpse of sights I know and love: downtown Los Angeles, and the city of Long Beach. 

This weather convoluted my sight; my smell; my taste; my touch; my hearing.  I perceived Long Beach, but my senses knew only London…on day like this…in Long Beach, California. 

The skyline of Canary Wharf in summer…

This day, November 7th, 2020, is a day when I knew the presence of both cities, together.  In the most profound way my reality became a duality. I stood, dumbfounded, at this incredible wisdom.  My melancholy ebbed and flowed with the winds as much as my gratitude did. Melancholy moves wistfully in the finite, though. It’s the latter—gratitude for friends, fortune, and especially family—that stretches beyond any horizon I’ve known.

…meeting the skyline of Los Angeles in autumn, way in the distance.

So I stood there, perceiving both London and Long Beach at once—and a small balloon displaying “Biden-Harris” drifted past the vista.  Alas: there was something to which both cities could relate.  There was something to which the whole world could relate. 

Only moments later, an SUV pulled alongside the cul-de-sac. Two men got out—Asian-American and African-American—and left the doors open. They talked and stretched for a run. Even then, they had a gait. “Here Comes The Sun” played joyously from the SUV’s speakers.  Light danced upon the landscape.  The balloon wafted lazily away into a little speck.  The sun came; for a time, at least. I closed my eyes, perched against the guard rail, smiled, and let it all be.

One of the guys said to the other: “yeah, I mean, that’s a whole different feeling when you’ve got the world on your shoulders!” 

Well…

…I feel that, man.  Absolutely.

Interview With Geisa Fernandes of QuaranJazz

This interview is also available on all major platforms, including Apple Podcasts, Deezer, Spotify, SoundCloud, Google Podcasts, and iHeartRadio.

I had the total pleasure of being welcomed to Quaranjazz, a new global jazz podcast run by the wonderful Brazilian singer/songwriter and researcher Geisa Fernandes (check her music out; it's lovely and moving, at all once). In this interview I go in depth. I go in depth not only into my music, but the stories behind the music, and how both story and music combine and complement one another.

Quaranjazz is dedicated to jazz, but also to observing the perspectives of jazz musicians in our changed and stalled world. I, for one, had considered recording this music in the studio before the pandemic hit. However, I only have audio clips from my live gigs in London that I'd had filmed. They turned out great, nevertheless, and so I do hope you enjoy our interview!

The Jordan Ferrin Storyband: December in the Gardens by the Bay

Covid-19 still has its grip on the world. My last gig was in March, when London was only beginning to become aware of the necessity of social distancing I wasn't planning on filming this gig...but something told me this would be my last gig fro a while. I was right. So it's not professionally shot, nor recorded at that standard. But man did my mates really delivered this piece of mine well. I did what I could to document my last gig for a while.

For those of you who haven't see me play live, this is what my project, the Storyband, is about. I talk--for a bit--and then we play. The music goes beyond the story but blends together with it, too. Though the stories are about deeply personal experiences, my aim is to use them to give each listener their own personal experience. I'm thankful to my bandmates for helping me do this!

New Music: Jordan Ferrin and Will Brahm

Will is an absolutely beautiful musician. He has been a name on the Los Angeles scene for years now. But to me he is a dear, dear friend of nearly a decade. Every time I have played with him, I learned something. We came together, via technology and the resilience of creative media, to play Darn That Dream. We hope you enjoy this, as there’s surely more to come!

Thoughts and Other Things: New Music, and Memories of Warm Weather

What does music represent to you? For me, it represents images, doused in past experiences and limitless imagination.

London has been experiencing some amazing weather in the past two weeks. Sunny. Bright. Warm like a winter duvet. Memories of Southern California and of the Mediterranean have been welling up inextricably to mix with this present. Add to that some great music, and everything burgeons more significantly.

Lately I have been listening heavily to John Surman, the fantastically creative British jazz saxophonist. I have not yet listened deeply to his electronic music yet, because I have been listening to Svartisen instead. It was co-written by Italian guitarist Maurizio Brunod and Norweigian bassist Bjorn Alterhaug, with Surman on saxes. I’m entranced by this album, in all the best ways…. The delicate, atmospheric beauty created among the band is absolutely my kind of aesthetic. It is part of what I strive for artistically.

The fjords of Norway never left the ship’s side for twenty days in the summer of 2013.

Cruising out of some Northern Norwegian fjords in July, 2013, at 2am.

“Isen” and “Gaucho” are two pieces from the album that strike deeply at my aesthetic. They are both different, but they relay things musically as a whole to me which go beyond to whelm my emotions. “Isen” is at once tense, dissonant, and surreal—and then it evolves into something bigger. The tension becomes heroic; the dissonance becomes understandable; the surreal turns epic. This piece transports the listener to Svartisen Glacier itself, in a way, with the gigantic echo of the guitar moving impossibly fast and omnipresently through the soundscape.

What would you feel when looking out over something so much more massive than yourself?

From Olden, Norway, and into the fjords. 2013.

A lovely square outside the Old Town of Nice, France. 2018

Palma de Mallorca, 2018.

The album then intsigates a calm shift. “Gaucho” is a total change: contemplative, intimate, acoustic, and delicate in an endearing way. Memories of hot days swam in my mind as I listened to this piece. The sounds of instruments and music we associate ourselves with is always unique to listener. That being said, over the past few years I have developed a kinship with the acoustic guitar, slow tempos, Latin/”world” rhythms, and melodic strength as representations for relaxation; peace; memory; and contemplation of deep things.

It is these two pieces that I listen to the most these days. I makes me think of both the epic and the intimate at once.

John Surman’s playing can be so fierce, yet so intimate, yet so melodic. Furthermore, I am just now diving into electronic music…something which is one of his strengths. New music is always good; yet when it completely agrees with you, there’s a horizon at an infinite distance, and the journey is the best part.

A scene that captures the essence of both “Isen” and “Gaucho:” the ever-stunning view of Nice from Castle Hill.

Thoughts and Other Things: A New Take on the Present Moment

Since starting my study of Tibetan and Zen Buddhism five years ago, I have become reverent of the present moment. Impermanence in all things is a universal truth—that all physical and mental phenomena are ever-changing. This applies, of course, to the present moment.

This morning I woke up at 5:20am. I could not get back to sleep. Recent personal events had my mind on overdrive and left me as upset as I was uncertain.

I have a habitual routine: open my smartphone (limiting myself to fifteen minutes), get up, open up the daily workout app, and turn on NPR One (for my non-American friends, NPR is a renowned American radio station for news, talk shows, podcasts, and more).

NPR is partnered with a radio show and podcast called On Being, which delves into what it means to be human and what Life means to us. I had been so taken by the podcast On Being since I began listening to it two months ago. It is hosted by author and award-winning broadcaster Krista Tippett. This morning, I heard a quote from a particular episode that left me kneeling on the ground after my workout. In the latest episode titled “Devendra Banhart"—When Things Fall Apart,” Tippett interviews Banhart, a Venezuelan-American musician/songwriter, poet, and visual artist. They discuss When Things Fall Apart:, a seminal book written by the Tibetan nun and teacher Pema Chodron. Tippett reads a passage from the first chapter of the book:

”Impermanence becomes vivid in the present moment; so do compassion and wonder and courage—and so does fear. In fact, anyone who stands on the edge of the unknown, fully in the present without reference point, experiences groundlessness. That’s when our understanding goes deeper; when we find that the present moment is a pretty vulnerable place, and that this can be completely unnerving, and completely tender, at the same time.”

There are moments in life that leave you at a loss to do anything because of the impact. This was one of those moments. A great breadth of vision blooming in all directions. A permanent shift of the mind. Only my most moving travel experiences can compare with this revelation.

We are in the midst of a pandemic. The world as we know it is forever changed. It is almost natural to feel the nerves being wound tight in daily life. Indeed the unnerving feeling may be dominant at first glance. Yet as we navigate our day-to-day, and moment-to-moment lives, the tenderness and disconcert of the present moment are actually intertwined in a beautiful way. This coexistence has always been there with us, no matter how personal and world history progresses. All of this is wrapped up in that universal truth of impermanence—that change is the only constant—and this in itself lends itself to one of my favorite quotes: “relax: nothing is under control.”

My understanding of the present that I was supposed to reach an eventual point of peace, compassion, and freedom of attachment to concepts and things through mindfulness. I never thought to leave the disconcert and the bad stuff out. Yet it is always there too, this disconcert, and fear, and uncertainty. I now hope to use this newfound wisdom to work with both the beauty and the anxiety the present moment holds.

Finally—I’m going to buy myself a copy of When Things Fall Apart after I finish this post.

International Jazz Day 2020 Solo Sax Performance!

I call this “White Sky Through The Window.” I’m not using pedals or laptops or anything (yet). The form is pre-thought out in terms of development. It’s a kind of “structured improvisation” concept I’ve been working on for a few years now. For this I combine jazz, funk, EDM and other electronic music influences. I am completely humbled and honoured to have been selected as part of the #JazzDayAtHome global submissions for 2020.
#internationaljazzday

Stay tuned for more news!