One of the biggest issues in my essay as of right now is how clinical my writing has been, focusing more on defining jazz and not allowing myself to sprinkle in my own experience. My plan is to take out the content that sounds encyclopedic and add in some pizzazz. This is about my home, after all.

I grew up in a small town. Most people would rather spend a Friday night watching the local football team play old town rivals. It’s a very “good ol’ boy” type area, and I would be impressed if someone new what a trombone was, let alone actively seeking out music that wasn’t written about a tractor. My first experiences playing live were in front of audiences of parents and their screaming babies, who would get up and down throughout performances. There were a few mornings in high school where the jazz band would attempt to put on a concert in the cafeteria during breakfast, only to end up covered in cereal and hash browns. It wasn’t until I joined a community group that I ended up in front of audiences who appeared to genuinely enjoy their time and the music. As much as I love playing my horn, playing in front of an enthusiastic audience makes the experience that much better.