On Thursday June 27, 2019, I received a message from Ash. The message stated, “My band director wants you and me to play at Busker Fest. Do you want to play and possibly bring a friend?”

“Yeah, for sure!” I replied. “See you there.”

 Heading into downtown Fort Wayne, Indiana, I went to play drums with three of my friends Ash, Takota, and Dain. Ash carried a tenor sax; Takota was armed with a tenor sax; Dain wrangled his trumpet, and I manhandled drums. We looked scared as hundreds of people gathered downtown near the ashen plaza of the State Bank. None of us knew where to go.

Eventually, all of us went to this vast blue tent in the middle of the street to go sign papers that stated what we could and could not do. Several family and friends helped us set up in a shaded area.

Fortunately, Ash and Takota are extremely passionate players, and they both have talent that is fire. We started our warm-up. Dain sat there nervously looking at Ash and Takota with stunning amazement.

Eventually, I told him, “You will do great, Dain. Go out there and show how much confidence you have.”

 “Hopefully, Ash and Takota are amazing, though!” replied Dain.

Soon, we started playing our first charging tune “Black Orpheus” by Wayne Shorter. It appeared as a dark particular menacing piece of music, and I initially realized people were either amused or ignoring us, and not many were amused. Some people I saw cautiously came up to see us without giving us any money. We craved the mood to start playing something creative, new, and motivating.

Ash claimed, “We have to play something new and refreshing for people. The jazz standards are being ignored by the people.”

I announced to the group, “Let’s all start something exhilarating that is not a jazz standard.”

All of us started this song that we have never played called “Jazz Crimes” by Joshua Redman Quartet. All four of us kept leeching off each other’s musical abilities, and I watched actively behind them. I kept a steady funky groove, and the three of them started improvising passionately. Our quartet deeply synergized together as one, and portrayed what we had up our jazz-like sleeves. I noticed people bopped their heads, and some came and gave us money. 

A stranger yelled, “Keep on going!”

I realized my solo would be coming up shortly, and I am definitely not the best soloist. I thought to myself, I have to show people something creative, eccentric, and powerful. I felt my sticks get heavier, and my stomach started to tingle; however, I hit the solo, and all my nerves went away. I played a crispy solo and wacked certain objects such as the side of my drum, ground, stands, and different cymbals. People clapped after my solo, and I felt another good tingling feeling inside my stomach. Afterword, the tune ended. We played a few more jazz standards, and people started to fade away.  

Eventually, we all started to recognize that our time was almost up for making decent money. We wanted to play more, but we were physically and mentally exhausted from playing too much. We made eighty-three dollars that day, and that was like a million to us. All four of us had to split it, but we still considered it a generous amount of money. I was extremely proud of the four of us and appreciated what we performed. As I was packing up, Ash and Takota’s parents started helping me put up my drums. We had all thanked each other for the experience during that time.

Ash added, “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yes,” I replied, “that would be amazing!”

Playing jazz in the middle of downtown Fort Wayne soothed me for a long time. Pride and a sense of accomplishment enveloped me, and I felt somewhat sad that it had ended. I wish to do it again someday soon.