This story warrants a chapter in a book, but for the brevity of this newsletter, I’ll share the shorter version of this chapter in my life.
I came to New York City in 1988. Two weeks into my adventure, wet behind the ears and full of zest, I navigated my way to midtown – the world’s music store epicenter. The very same neighborhood where, in the 50’s, Bird, Sonny, Dexter, and Hawk had walked and played. Hallowed ground. Times Square in the 80’s was filled with hookers, heroin, and hustlers.
After navigating the streets, I stumbled upon a saxophone store up a flight of stairs and walked in.
My time in South Africa before this as a musician was inspired by a handful of people. My teacher from the UK, Chris Vernon, and some of the other incredible artists I was lucky enough to get to know and perform with. Some of these people fill stadiums today, and others have lived in obscurity. These were my peers at home, and I had one music hero I admired from afar.
David Sanborn.
Back home, I had worn out the vinyl and cassette of every album he recorded. I played his songs at every opportunity at every gig I performed. I replicated his equipment setup from his mouthpiece to his neck strap. His music struck a chord in me so profoundly that it connected me to an emotional place where only art can take you. To say I idolized him would be an understatement. His voice on the instrument was unique and, most importantly, genuinely authentic. He did for music what Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, and Thelonius Monk had done and changed its course.
While I was walking around the store on 48th Street, one other person was inside.
David Sanborn.
If we’re lucky, we experience profound, rare moments that impact and shape us forever. This was one of those moments for me. When Dave played his first note in that store, and I heard his sound for the first time LIVE, it was transcendent—a lightning bolt.
I introduced myself to Dave and told him how much I loved his music, and 30 minutes later, I found myself driving with him in his car through Central Park. We talked about music and why I came to this city with big dreams. He welcomed me and made me feel that everything would be ok.
An hour later, I found myself playing the saxophone with him in his apartment.
A few weeks later, I sat in a rehearsal studio watching his band of world-class musicians prepare for his upcoming world tour.
Three years later, I sat quietly in the control room with the engineer while he recorded his album “Another Hand” with Charlie Haden and Bill Frisell.
Over the next few decades, I saw Dave play TV shows in small rooms and large concert halls. We spoke sporadically on the phone and after his gigs in the green room whenever I could get to the gig.
In 2014, what would be my most personal and important real estate assignment, I sold Dave’s townhouse for him.
Last August, my wife and I watched Dave play his final show at the Blue Note, and four weeks ago, I spoke to him on the phone, and he told me he felt like he was the luckiest person in the world—the irony. We were the lucky ones.
Dave’s music will live on forever. It speaks for itself. Always gracious, humble, welcoming, kind, and generous with his time, I am lucky to have known the man behind the music—a rare breed of human who gave the world so much.
Over the years, I spent many hours with Bill Singer. Dave’s (and my)repairman and an unsung hero of the music industry. He knew Dave and wrote this beautiful entry in a post that sums it up beautifully and succinctly.
“Dave Sanborn came into our lives like a comet streaking across the midnight sky. All of the civilization looked upwardTaking notice of this amazing light that left a trail of sparkling wonderment before it vanished beyond the horizon. Thank you DaveOn behalf of all of us”– Bill Singer
Side Bar:
There are so many incredible moments of music that Dave gave the world, I don’t know where to begin with a recommendation, but I always feel that hearing an artist LIVE is the truest reflection of their artistry.
Let’s do this.
– Shaun