I came to NYC eight years ago from Sydney. With a clarinet in hand and a bag full of dreams (and reeds), I jumped the fence at Mexico (don't tell Trump) and made my way to New York City—or “the big smoke” as we describe a big city back home.
What did I find? Well, for starters—there was a lot of concrete and not a kangaroo in sight. (Nobody rides kangaroos? Then how do the kids get to school?!) And. . .where was the beach? A two hour train ride away. Dear lord. Not that the beach was at the top of my list—I came over in March. With a temperature at around freezing, I pretty quickly realized that you probably need a scarf and gloves if you were going to live here. And though I had never even owned one before, I realized that in Manhattan, a scarf was far more important than a surfboard.
My first question on arrival: why did people live here when there's bad weather, no beaches, and no kangaroos? Ah yes, the music. Without a beanie, my brain had frozen over and I'd almost forgotten why I came here.
New York is an overwhelming place for a newcomer. People came out here every night of the week! Furthermore, New York City has cleverly designed apartments that are too small to actually live in, so that people are forced to go out every night. Genius!
And what a thriving jazz scene! Not just the “modern” stuff, but a whole new generation of traditional jazz musician
