I played bari in a small room full of sweaty middle-aged guys last night. It was a blast. We blew the roof off with Cheese Cake, us horn players huffing and puffing through our musicians’ masks. The tenor guy had a homemade sock-and-slit contraption strapped to his face that I’m still not sure about. The trumpet player’s mask had a door in front that lifted up to allow his mouthpiece in. My mask looks like it was inspired by Jockey: two flaps that you spread apart to slide your mouthpiece through.

This is the Jazz Band Masterclass, and it’s all Jeff Antoniuk’s baby. Jeff is a prolific musician and educator, and he specializes in making us old dudes better. When Jeff started one of his solos last night, my jaw dropped (though no one could see through my mask). He played just one long tone, then another surprising note, held out, and then another. So simple, yet so unexpected.

This group is a stretch for me. Each guy in the band can really play, and my job is to try to keep up. But I’m learning that the best strategy for growing to the next level is to find simple melodic or rhythmic thoughts and milk them. Rather than chase after dozens of notes and risk losing the beat, play one note, with feeling. Shape it. Let it resonate. Then do the next thing. Repeat.

We’re playing a show next month, and we’ve got our work cut out for us (some of us more than others). There’s a thrill that comes with being on stage, no matter how small the room. I know I’ll be super-nervous, because I always am, but the nerves tend to give way to an overwhelming hopefulness. Another step on my musical journey. Another chance to surprise myself.