Sax in the city

An early spring day in 1993, I boarded SAS flight SK907 with destination Newark, New Jersey. Mission – to acquire a new saxophone. Preferably a Selmer Mark VI. Throughout my Berklee years I stayed loyal to my «Dolnet» tenor. Inherited from my grandfather, one of whose many achievements was to co-found Sandefjord big band. But over the course of my 3 year stay at Berklee, I was confronted several times by my teachers concerning my saxophone and the condition of it. «You need a professional instrument, and a Mark VI is the solution to that problem». Beeing the rookie that I was back then, I took the advices dead serious and never questioned it. This was back in the day before the internet was a household name, meaning acquiring general information about such a horn, its whereabouts and its condition were close to impossible. Even so, it appeared quite obvious to me that New York was most likely the place for such an iconic instrument to be obtained. Add to the fact that John Coltrane, Michael Brecker and numerous other saxophonists played a VI, there was no doubt in the mind of a young unprofessional saxophonist from Sandefjord that a Selmer Mark VI would pave the way to jazz royalty and international fame. Upon arrival in New York in early May 1993, I head straight to a friend's place in the village. This would be my base while scouting for saxophones in the city. New York was really a different city back then, and I remember an incident that took place the day after I arrived.

As I'm walking around in the neighbourhood, (the meat packing district between 14th st. and Gansevoort st. all the way to the west side to be exact), I was approaced by a group of gang members. A limousine parks up ahead of me and out of the car comes 5 or 6 black guys, all dressed in red trainging outfits wearing black berrets and shades and tons of gold chains around their necks. It was the hippest and scariest thing I've ever seen in my entire life as they walked towards me in a straight line. When the first guy passed me he snapps his fingers right next to my ear as to say “I'll pop you right here, right now”. And every other gangmember repeated the same ritual. When the last guy had passed, (I think I had my eyes closed at this point), and I relized I wasn't dead, I ran as fast as I could and didn't stop until I reached the flat iron building which is located on 23rd st. and 5th ave. That is the fastest 2,5 km I've ever run.

The next day was probably the most «New York» of days that I've ever experienced. As I headed out that morning I walked straight on to the set of «Carlito's Way». A Brian De Palma movie starring Al Pachino as a petty criminal who wants to retire from the criminal business. It was shot literally on the doorstep of my friends apartment. I'm not gonna reveal the plot of the movie, but I watched Al Pacino getting in and out of a taxi several times under very dramatic circumstances. (That scene is the very last scene of the movie btw.) This was around 9.00 – 9.30 in the morning, and to my astonishment they were still shooting that scene when I returned that same evening. It really gave me a perspective as to how slow a process making a movie must be. After watching Al Pacino for a couple of hours, I hailed a cab to go uptown to where all the music stores used to be – between 47th and 50th something street. As I got out the cab, another cab pulls up behind me and out climbs no other than David Letterman. Standing 7 feet away from my late night hero, (we always watched Letterman back then), was even more overwhelming than meeting Mr. Pacino a couple of hours earlier. Filled with an immense joy of just having met two of my absolutely biggest entertainment heroes, (and it wasn't even noon yet), I continued pursuing my quest. I visited several shops, (names forgotten unfortunately), but the saxophones I tried just didn't feel right. During my earlier visits to New York, I met someone who informed me of a sax repair guy who also occasionally had instruments for sale. The repair man's name was Perry Ritter. I believe the person who told me this was the British saxophonist Richard Cottle. (I could be wrong though). At least I met somebody, somewhere claiming to be David Bowie's sax player at the time, and he strongly recommended Mr Perry Ritter. Upon arriving in Perry's workshop I immediately spotted «my» horn. High up on the wall hung a beautiful saxophone which I instantly fell in love with. He pulled it down and handed it over. It sounded amazing. The horn was beautifully taken care of. He had done a great job overhauling it so every note came out clear as crystal. The patina of the horn was equally stunning and fit the sound perfectly. It was an absolute match, and it was for sale for the neat sum of $ 3.000. Although I knew I have found my horn, I asked Perry to hold it for me to until the end of the day considering I had more shops to visit. Just out of courtesy to my own promise I checked the other stores on my list, but I didn't find anything remotely close to the Selmer Mark VI (#116373), that was in Perry's workshop. I was trembling with excitement as I was heading back to 56th st. to purchase the horn. Perry Ritter's workshop was tucked away in an alleyway right next to Carnegie Hall, between 56th and 57th street. (He has later located to 71 West 47th st.).You couldn't see his place from the street, so you had to go a bit into the alleyway to find the entrance. As I was doing so, I could hear someone play the saxophone from inside the shop. The music that was flowing out into the courtyard and entering my brain had an unmistakably signature. The sound and the phrasing could only belong to one man. A saxophone colossus no less. It was unreal experiencing it up close. Right there in front of me in that crammed little workshop was Sonny Rollins, giving «my» horn a test drive. After a few moments he sat the horn down, looked at me and said; «nice horn!». It was over before I even had time to absorb it. He said a couple of words to Perry and then he vanished into thin air. I didn't ask for an autograph or even a selfie. Come to think of it, I don't think selfies had even been invented yet. Fourteen years would pass until I saw Sonny Rollins again. Oddly enough in the same exact neighbourhood. Across the street, as he commemorated the 50th anniversary of the first time he played Carnegie Hall. Shaken but not stirred I handed Mr. Ritter 3K's in cash, and walked out of store as the proud owner of a Selmer Mark VI, #116373, (manufactured September 1964). Sonny Rollins had approved of the horn and my future laid ahead of me......

Since then I've done hundreds of gigs on it. Spent thousands of hours practicing it. It has accompained me around the world several times. I have repaired, adjusted and fitted it more often than I can remember. I have opened the case and assembled the horn more times than I can count. It has brought me joy and frustration, ups and downs, heartfelt memories and some not as memorable moments. It has won me awards, gotten me gigs, put my kids through college, bought me an appartement, later a house. It has put food on my table and clothes on my body. It has entertained drunks and royalty. Kings and peasants. It has accompanied celebrities as well as average Joe's. It has gotten me laid, and it has opened my eyes. It has made people dance, cry and cheer. (Not at once!). It has even had it's own five page spread in a Norwegian newspaper, (Dagens næringsliv). It has been who I am, it has been my identity, my trademark and my soul. It has been my most valued possession alongside my kids. It has been me and I have been it. Until now. Today I'm parting with it. We've agreed to separate. It's unbearable, but in my heart I know it's the right thing to do. I am heartbroken but at the same time uplifted. Over the last couple of years I've felt an urge for change. It's hard to pinpoint exactly. Perhaps it is an age thing, or maybe boredom, frustration and/or lack of inspiration. God only knows. What I do know is that my mindset has shifted, and as a result of that I've come the conclusion that I need to express myself with a different sound. With an instrument not rooted in the old school, dark, dry, traditional sound of jazz. Although I love listening to it, I cannot defend playing it anymore. I need to hear something different in order to keep myself inspired. Just as fashion and haircuts change over time, so also should sound. It's 2025 and the sound of my Mark VI's belongs to the the 50's and 60's. For me it is time to move on. The search for the perfect sound is not over. It has just begun.

I'm aware that this post comes across as a bit pretentious, but I just needed to get it out of my system. And if you have read this far, I guess you're a nerd like me thus justifying the time spent reading this. So goodbye #116373. I know you will provide many years of enthusiasm to whomever holds you near. I'm sure your new owner will care for you just as I did and in return you will provide the uttermost entertainment, fascination and pleasure. I love you, that's why I'm leaving you.

Larvik 19/6 2025