Hi Bob, a big thanks for the hard work you do converting to music, I am 48 years of age and use this music in my practice for Ipswich Jazz Band (Australia) .. many thanks ..chris Thomas
Great Transcription. I got this album from a friend that knew Fred and It was originally released as a Cassette. I think it was before he found a label to put it out. Just about wore my copy out.
Hi Rob, it says on the link that the product cannot be found - have you taken it down or is it a problem on my end? Would really like to get hold of this if possible!
very nice and all... but does anyone else get the feeling a trombone sounds like an exhausted, traumatised saxaphone? I just want the solo to end so the poor thing can have a nice long sit down and get it's breath back... :(
@@tonysolis9616 Oh golly, Tony, if you only knew the half of it. The fact you've referred to me and the word "trombonist" in the same sentence is enough to give me shivers. You see, Tony, I grew up in the shadow of domineering father - not in a physically overbearing sense, you understand. No, his authority over me was expressed through musical denial. More specifically, he forbade me access to the living, breathing world of the trombone. What might have seemed to many kids my age like honking, deformed bathroom plumbing was to me a forbidden, enchanted realm. My father played the instrument. He practised in his study most evenings. Not very well, it has to be said, but to me it was like God’s husky tenor was serenading me from on high. My father was aware of this, as he’d often catch me outside his study, listening to him practise. He’d shoo me away. “Go listen to some pop,” he’d bellow. Rather than embrace my love of his tromboning, my father drew sadistic pleasure from offering me only tantalising peaks of him in action. He’d shout down to me, beckoning me to his study, and after hurrying up the stairs I’d see him standing there in the doorway, his gleaming instrument raised to shoulder height, the mouthpiece pressed against his lips, cheeks bulging with inhaled air. Against all hope to the contrary, I knew what would come next. After blasting out the first bars of Curtis Fuller's solo on Blue Train, my father would immediately slam the door shut with his foot. I’d hear his demented cackles as I stood there, dejected and bereft. Those three inches of oak separated me not just from my father but from Glen Miller, Fred Wesley, Grachan Moncur.. all the greats. My childhood experiences at the hands of my father scarred me mentally. To this day I can’t walk past a woodwind shop without opening the door and shouting abuse at the proprietor. My love of the trombone has, it seems, turned to hate. So forgive me, please, Tony, this is something I’m working through. And with the understanding and encouragement of everyone on this Facebook thread I hope one day to conquer my demons so that I too get to press my mouth to the business end of that great horn and to commune with the Almighty.
I wake up most days of the week wishing I was Fred
Wow! who knew Freddie could SWING like that? I've always considered him the funkiest of the funky... but man-oh-man!, am I ever impressed.
He played with Basie.
i love his tone. sounds so funky. he adds his own little funk to this
Hi Bob, a big thanks for the hard work you do converting to music, I am 48 years of age and use this music in my practice for Ipswich Jazz Band (Australia) .. many thanks ..chris Thomas
Great Transcription. I got this album from a friend that knew Fred and It was originally released as a Cassette. I think it was before he found a label to put it out. Just about wore my copy out.
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE this! Thank you
Great playing!
Wow just wow
Ben Sexton this in EbM right?
I’m pretty sure c minor
Man this is awesome! Could you transcribe the piano solo after too?
yea I was about to say is this really Fred Wesley? that's awesome
Thank you!
Love it!
@stevewagner1123 - you must be one of those folks that's only familiar with Fred's funky side. did you know he also played with the Count Basie band?
This one is easy sight-reading!
Fuck yeah!!!
the link in the description doesn't work! please fix :) thank you for your patience.
I did it xD I put it in full screen + imp pant button + paint
Holy shit either he has ben practicing or way under playing in those funk groups!
Nah, it's just that he expresses a different style with funk
His jazz chops are what make his Funky stylings so distinctive
He plays organ trio now, standards, everything. Generations, I think the group is called.
Hi Rob, it says on the link that the product cannot be found - have you taken it down or is it a problem on my end? Would really like to get hold of this if possible!
Hmm...I'll look into it.
That’s a lot of notes
What does transcription mean exactly?
Rob listens to Fred's solo and then writes down what he played.
Thx
What recording is this?
Fred Wesley-To Someone is the name of the Album or C.D.
I’m sorry his name is what now
very nice and all... but does anyone else get the feeling a trombone sounds like an exhausted, traumatised saxaphone? I just want the solo to end so the poor thing can have a nice long sit down and get it's breath back... :(
Absolutely not
You gotta be trolling
@@stevenfrioux525 no.. i'm just offering some criticism that's all... musical beauty's in the ears of the listener, after all
@@tonysolis9616 Oh golly, Tony, if you only knew the half of it. The fact you've referred to me and the word "trombonist" in the same sentence is enough to give me shivers. You see, Tony, I grew up in the shadow of domineering father - not in a physically overbearing sense, you understand. No, his authority over me was expressed through musical denial. More specifically, he forbade me access to the living, breathing world of the trombone. What might have seemed to many kids my age like honking, deformed bathroom plumbing was to me a forbidden, enchanted realm. My father played the instrument. He practised in his study most evenings. Not very well, it has to be said, but to me it was like God’s husky tenor was serenading me from on high. My father was aware of this, as he’d often catch me outside his study, listening to him practise. He’d shoo me away. “Go listen to some pop,” he’d bellow. Rather than embrace my love of his tromboning, my father drew sadistic pleasure from offering me only tantalising peaks of him in action. He’d shout down to me, beckoning me to his study, and after hurrying up the stairs I’d see him standing there in the doorway, his gleaming instrument raised to shoulder height, the mouthpiece pressed against his lips, cheeks bulging with inhaled air. Against all hope to the contrary, I knew what would come next. After blasting out the first bars of Curtis Fuller's solo on Blue Train, my father would immediately slam the door shut with his foot. I’d hear his demented cackles as I stood there, dejected and bereft. Those three inches of oak separated me not just from my father but from Glen Miller, Fred Wesley, Grachan Moncur.. all the greats. My childhood experiences at the hands of my father scarred me mentally. To this day I can’t walk past a woodwind shop without opening the door and shouting abuse at the proprietor. My love of the trombone has, it seems, turned to hate. So forgive me, please, Tony, this is something I’m working through. And with the understanding and encouragement of everyone on this Facebook thread I hope one day to conquer my demons so that I too get to press my mouth to the business end of that great horn and to commune with the Almighty.
@@squoocher This is a tragic story. Thank you for sharing Chris. Your views are absolutely welcome here amongst us trombonists.