I sing “Dah, Dee, DAH!” to the bearded man on the screen.

“Good, Chris. Now let’s hear that same tongue position on the horn. Remember, keep the stream of air going, keep your shoulders relaxed, and if that altissimo G comes out, it comes out.”

I follow the man’s instructions while he watches. I make a noise like an angry goose.

“OK, don’t keep trying if it doesn’t come out. Take a break and try again later.”

This patient man at the other end of the Zoom call is Noah, my saxophone teacher. Back before the pandemic, I’d arrive in his basement studio every Monday night at 6:30, and he would guide me toward my next goal on the saxophone. There’s always a next goal.

These days, we Zoom it. I’m usually working on memorizing a jazz standard, so the lesson usually begins with my performance of said standard. I start the background band on my phone and go for it.

“Looooooove forrrr saaaalllle!” I wail on my horn, as Noah listens intently. “Appetizing youuuuung looove for saaa-aaa-aaallllle!”

When I finish, after the usual five to fifty screwups, Noah has a question for me.

“Chris, how do you feel about the quality of that first high C?”

Ah-ha! This is a patented Noah question-that’s-not-really-a-question! What he’s saying is there’s something about that first note that I need to pay attention to. What is it? What is it?

“Um, well, uh, it is kind of screechy?”

“Yes. We’re interpreters of this music, and we’re free to use our own judgment about what to emphasize and what to cut short. Would you want to hear a singer belt ‘Loooooooooove’ at the start of a tune with no change in dynamics?”

“No, Noah.”

“OK. Why don’t you try it again, and this time, start that note out soft and let it build.”

“All right.”

And so it goes, for 55 more minutes. I struggle to demonstrate my progress on some technical aspect of sax playing, and Noah calmly directs my attention to the things that matter the most. I think he was born to do this, because he possesses that rare combination of extreme talent and extraordinary kindness. But it’s kindness with an edge. Noah won’t butter you up with false praise, and he won’t let something slide if it’s important.

I started seeing Noah a few years ago, based on the recommendation of my friend Marcia. Before my first lesson, I checked out his web site and watched some of his performances. Man, was this guy an amazing player. At that first lesson, I prayed that we’d talk the whole time, so I wouldn’t have to unleash my piddly tone in front of him. It took me months after that before I could relax enough in front of Noah to play something I knew I could play.

What made the difference? Noah did. He paid attention to my anxiety immediately and focused our first weeks of work on relaxation, self-affirmations, and other techniques that allow you to relax and play even when your autonomic nervous system is pulling the fire alarm.

“Chris, write this down: ‘I am relaxed when I play the saxophone because I know I am well prepared.’”

(I suppress an eight-year-old’s groan.) “OK, Noah.”

“What we say to ourselves before we play can make all the difference. If you can come up with five or six affirmations to tell yourself before a performance, you can have an impact on your anxiety.”

It was my first taste of the measured, disciplined instruction that Noah practices. It’s been several years now since those first lessons, and I still get nervous before I play for Noah, or for anyone, but he gave me some tools that help me ease that tension. In lessons, he was simultaneously the cause of my nervousness and the source of the cure.

These seeming contradictions are what I’ve come to expect from Noah. He’s unflappable, but he’s not rigid. He’s the most accomplished, highly technical player, but he’s not stuck up. He believes in serious concentration, and self-discipline, but he’ll sing the baby shark song on a whim.

Last year I had a performance scheduled with a small group, at a club in DC, and I mentioned it to Noah at my lesson. I told him how excited I was, and we talked about anxiety management. I didn’t expect him to come, but when the night rolled around, he came through the door to surprise me. Susan and I talked with him for a bit over beers, and he wished me luck.

As I played on stage with my bandmates, I told myself “I am relaxed when I play the saxophone because I know I am well prepared” and it really helped! After the show was over, Noah came up to congratulate me and say goodbye. He said, “Chris, I took some notes and some recordings and I emailed them to you.”

Hahaha, what a funny guy! Of course he did not! This was a jazz club! There’s no note-taking in jazz clubs.

Yes, he really did send me detailed notes and some recordings of my playing. Susan confirmed that he was on his phone the whole time we were playing, typing and recording. Can you believe this guy?

One reason I started these blog posts, aside from inculcating a daily writing habit, is to occasionally spend an hour noticing something I’m grateful for, and shine a light on it. Today that light falls on Noah Getz. Thanks, Noah! (And next week he’ll likely ask me what I think of that third paragraph’s word flow.)

P.S. Dialog in this post is not verbatim. In fact, it’s mostly made up, but the gist is so true!