In 2004 I noticed the intriguing name of Duck Baker in the score of John Zorn’s collection of guitar etudes, The Book of Heads.  Several months later I attended a concert at Yoshi’s in Oakland, alone, and was seated at a small table occupied by a man and woman.  It was a small table, intimate even, and we felt obliged to introduce ourselves at which time I came to shake hands with Duck himself.  At one point in the concert, during a bass solo performed by Greg Cohen, Duck leaned over to me and whispered “this is the best bass solo I have ever heard!” 

Around the same time the session guitarist Jay Graydon retreated to my home town a few hours up the coast from what had become a caustic Los Angeles.  Part of his penance would require some community service.  Being proximate to Jay, I agreed to help, and along with another musician we began the task of reconciling his life by playing music at a convalescent home on the outskirts of town.  Jay was bebop inclined, but I seem to remember a healthy repertoire of standards as well.  However, our audience was not impressed – often yelling out “play one we know if you want us to be happy!” 

A few years later I was handed a diploma by Wayne Shorter, the distinguished guest at my college graduation.  It was a quick exchange, a smile and handshake, but meaningful nonetheless.  A year later I was working the cash register on the third floor of the massive Grove Barnes and Noble in Los Angeles.  I looked up to find Wayne at the head of the line.  I helped him find a new science fiction book that was freshly released and deeply anticipated by the saxophonist.  Again, our meeting was modest yet meaningful, but also served as an uncomfortable frame, juxtaposing a bit of a decline in my creative circumstances. 

After this encounter, my wife and I moved to San Francisco where, due to an irregularity in the economy, our modest apartment overlooked all of the Bay from the relaxed height of Twin Peaks.  The world flowed in. It was here that my work with Jacob Zimmerman, Caleb Nichols, Jayn Pettingyl, and Theo Padovous began to incubate.  And in which further encounters with Art Lande, Fred Frith, Ben Goldberg and Michael Coleman rippled around me, a current that might topple me over like a rounded stone at the most unexpected moment.