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With appearances on over 2,500 albums, Ron Carter is easily one of jazz music’s most-recorded upright bassists. I began to grow a deep appreciation for his trademark playing style from the work he did with Miles Davis’ second great quintet – the expression and tone he coaxes out of his upright is unmatched. Below is a track off a 1970′s Japan-exclusive recording of the Herbie Hancock Trio… he, Hancock and Tony Williams played a stripped down set that allowed each musician to shine.

My love for jazz music is reverse-engineered. I grew up on hip hop and alternative rock, but didn’t begin to listen to jazz until my college years. It was only through curiosity of the samples that various producers used that I was able to begin discovering the music that inspired so much of the east coast golden-era hip hop sound.  A few years ago, I realized that I had heard Ron Carter’s playing in middle school before I even knew who he was. It was no secret that Ali Shaheed Muhammed and Q-Tip leaned heavily on jazz samples for the group’s beats, so it was entirely fitting that they invited Ron Carter to play the bassline on “Verses from the Abstract” from Tribe’s legendary album The Low End Theory. That’s where it all came full circle for me: I was a fan of jazz before I was a fan of jazz.

The symphonic orchestras have sponsors, people who give them endowments, and I think it should be the same way with jazz — because this is a national treasure! This is the only national art form that’s here, and they do everything they can to dismiss it and put it aside. It’s really a shame the way our country treats its artists. I’ve had people ask me: ‘If you feel that way, why don’t you go to Europe’ And I always tell them, ‘first of all, I like Europe, like to see it as a visitor —but this is my home! This is my culture!’

I’ve often wondered why the guy who owns the luggage store a few doors down from me comes to work all dressed up. Every day around noon, he walks down Orchard in a suit and newsboy cap with paper and briefcase in hand to open up shop. His wife, who runs the store with him, dresses simply and casually; it’s not really a job that requires your Sunday best.

This morning, as I was walking to the bank to deposit some cash into our bank account, I saw a man dressed in a suit standing outside a building silently passing out flyers. As I strolled by, I thought to myself that it looked a lot like the guy who owned the luggage store a few doors down. On the way back it was unmistakable – we locked glances for a second as I passed. I didn’t wave hello; perhaps I was worried that he’d be embarrassed that I noticed him there working his second job. I wondered to myself whether he had a son who’d end up spending that money on a new pair of Jordans.

It took a chance encounter during my walk through Chinatown to remind me of the immigrant struggle and how much I have to be thankful for. My parents have also made sacrifices to afford me the many opportunities that I have today, and it’s important for me to think back on them every time I feel like I’ve got it tough. Fact is, I’ve got it pretty good.

On progression (or lack thereof):

If you’re playing something that’s supposed to sound like it’s supposed to be . . . and you’re perfecting this mandatory expression with mandates all around it, it’s nothing more than a statue. Like polishing a statue.”

Dizzy used to tell me that I am playing too hard. He used to say to not give everything. Miles used to tell me that too.