Just back from Toronto and an enjoyable conference of the IAJE (International Association for Jazz Education). Friday’s panel on blogging was moderated by Neil Tesser, who engaged me, Darcy James Argue, David Ryshpan and Carl Wilson in an hour of fun and productive discussion. Lots of schmoozing later with the good folks of the Jazz Journalists Association — one of whom, Larry Blumenfeld, gave a compelling multimedia talk on the recovery effort in New Orleans. The light attendance at Larry’s session spoke to a continuing neglect of the city: if the jazz community can’t be counted on to seek out the info and act on it, who can?
I heard far less music at IAJE than in years past, but Darcy’s Secret Society North gig was nothing less than explosive. Guitarist/banjoist Tim Posgate had a good set with his Horn Band, featuring Howard Johnson on tuba and bari sax. I missed François Houle but managed to catch the funny-chopsy Montreal group Les Projectionnistes and Barry Romberg‘s Random Access Large Ensemble, which was packed with great players but didn’t quite have the bite of his small-group recordings on the romhog label (maybe I was sitting too far back in the massive Constitution Hall).
Interesting experience getting back into the United States.
On the customs line, I walked up to the next available border agent, a middle-aged African-American man who immediately upbraided me for leaning my elbow on the counter. He began to flip carefully through the pages of my passport and I just knew what was coming. When he reached the page with the stamp that reads “Republic of Iraq – Kurdistan Region,” he gave me a cold, unsettling look.
“Why were you in the Middle East?” he demanded.
Accompanying a journalist friend on a professional trip, I answered.
“In Turkey?” he asked. Yes, I said.
“Where else?” I responded truthfully about my 2006 excursion. He continued to press for more details about my work life, and finally, in a tone of maximum disgust, said:
“Your name is David Rubin Adler and you were running around in Iraq?”
For a moment it seemed like he’d been briefed by my parents and told to say this.
I muttered something about Kurdistan being very pro-American. He shook his head, stamped my documents and that was that.
Re-entry from Paris back in November was no problem, so it all just depends on the agent you wind up with. Obviously if I’d had a different sort of middle name, it could have been far worse.
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