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THE COOLEST GARAGE IN TOWN; Behind one Teaneck house is a shed any musician would love to own
The musicians' term for practice is "woodshedding" -- a throwback to a simpler day when a player could make a racket out in the barn without bothering anyone. Most musicians these days don't have an actual woodshed, but Rufus Reid, the Teaneck jazz bassist, comes close.
What Reid has is a detached garage that, in the past 15 years, he's modified into a rehearsal studio par excellence: a place where he can jam with the boys, prepare material for a concert tour, and get out of his wife, Doris', hair when he wants to make a little noise.
See Also: What are the top best car audio speakers | The best Rated car stereo speakers reviews on the market
"If I get inspired in the middle of the night, I can come out here, and I don't disturb anyone," Reid says.
The little mustard-yellow building with brown trim that sits in back of Reid's house is close to -- but not 100 percent -- soundproof, courtesy of lead sheeting in the walls, Reid says. A small amount of sound, he allows, does sneak out of the skylight and from the room's single window. But he wasn't about to turn the room into a sunless prison cell for the sake of a few decibels.
"I don't feel closed up like I used to do when I practiced in my basement," he says. "I'd feel like a mole coming up for air."
Over the years, any number of famous musicians have come to jam here: among them Milt Hinton, Art Farmer, Jane Ira Bloom, Victor Lewis. At about 11 feet by 11 feet, space is limited, Reid admits. "It'll do six, but that's pushing," he says. "It's really made for trios, on up to a quartet."
It's a thorny issue, a musician's work space.
Other professionals have a study to repair to, a home office to work out of. In a pinch, they have a corner of the bedroom, with a desk and a lamp. But musicians make a living making sound, and sound is liable to disturb people -- if not the immediate family, then neighbors. Most musicians, if they don't actually have a space like Reid's, wish they did.
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"I think this is something all musicians would like to have -- a place they can call the music room," he says. "This is my space."
As musician, composer, conductor, and teacher, Reid is an institution. He's toured internationally with everyone from Dexter Gordon to Dizzy Gillespie, appeared in such films as "Do the Right Thing" and "School Daze," written books, and for many years was the director of the jazz studies program at William Paterson University in Wayne.
Reid's music room is a natural place for souvenirs, including posters of gigs with the J.J. Johnson Quintet, the Kenny Burrell Trio, and Michael Brecker. It also serves some of the functions of a storeroom. Road cases, sound equipment, and music stands abound; leaning up against one wall is an instrument case the approximate size of King Tut's sarcophagus, on which is written: "Inside this case, I am a BASS. I'm made of WOOD, and if you drop or hurt me, I will be no good!"
Mainly, though, this is a place for making music. Against one wall is a Gretsch drum kit, bequeathed to him by drummer Mel Lewis. "He was my first boss," Reid says.
In another corner of the room, on a raised platform, is a grand piano for guest artists (Reid uses it for composing now and then). Near it is Reid's bass. And between the two instruments is a full-length mirror, for musicians to watch themselves as they play. "I think all students should look in the mirror, regardless of what instrument they play," Reid says. "It's good to watch your posture and watch your hands, so you see what other people are seeing."
The raised platform and the carpeting are not merely for ornament. They absorb vibrations. Sound can literally shake you up, as anyone knows who has passed a car with booming bass speakers. Reid, who moved to Teaneck in 1976, learned it the hard way 30-plus years ago, when he was thrown out of his apartment in Sacramento, Calif.
"Everybody in the building went out to work, and the people above me were a really old couple who couldn't hear very well," says Reid, who has always kept the traditional musician's hours -- out at night, home during the day. "I used to turn up my speakers,because I thought no one could hear it. But the bass went right through the wall. I got evicted."
When Reid moved to Teaneck, long known as an enclave of jazz musicians (the current roster includes Jon Faddis, Ray Drummond, and Lisle Atkinson), he gave serious thought to creating dedicated space.
Early on, a tree came down in a storm and damaged his garage. He had planned to tear it down and build a new one but learned that the old garage had been grandfathered in: The current building code wouldn't allow him to create a new structure that size on his lot. Faced with the necessity of repairing the existing structure or doing without, it occurred to him that the building had better possibilities as a music studio than as a home for his car.
"I said, if I'm going to have to repair it, let me see if I can make it a more functional space," Reid says. "I'd always wanted a place where I could rehearse."
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Over the years, he's created a little room with all the comforts of home. Well, almost. There's no telephone -- and not by accident.
"That's why I have an answering service," he says. "My wife knows, unless it's truly important, not to bother me when I'm out here."
The musicians' term for practice is "woodshedding" -- a throwback to a simpler day when a player could make a racket out in the barn without bothering anyone. Most musicians these days don't have an actual woodshed, but Rufus Reid, the Teaneck jazz bassist, comes close.
What Reid has is a detached garage that, in the past 15 years, he's modified into a rehearsal studio par excellence: a place where he can jam with the boys, prepare material for a concert tour, and get out of his wife, Doris', hair when he wants to make a little noise.
See Also: What are the top best car audio speakers | The best Rated car stereo speakers reviews on the market
"If I get inspired in the middle of the night, I can come out here, and I don't disturb anyone," Reid says.
The little mustard-yellow building with brown trim that sits in back of Reid's house is close to -- but not 100 percent -- soundproof, courtesy of lead sheeting in the walls, Reid says. A small amount of sound, he allows, does sneak out of the skylight and from the room's single window. But he wasn't about to turn the room into a sunless prison cell for the sake of a few decibels.
"I don't feel closed up like I used to do when I practiced in my basement," he says. "I'd feel like a mole coming up for air."
Over the years, any number of famous musicians have come to jam here: among them Milt Hinton, Art Farmer, Jane Ira Bloom, Victor Lewis. At about 11 feet by 11 feet, space is limited, Reid admits. "It'll do six, but that's pushing," he says. "It's really made for trios, on up to a quartet."
It's a thorny issue, a musician's work space.
Other professionals have a study to repair to, a home office to work out of. In a pinch, they have a corner of the bedroom, with a desk and a lamp. But musicians make a living making sound, and sound is liable to disturb people -- if not the immediate family, then neighbors. Most musicians, if they don't actually have a space like Reid's, wish they did.
For more information: The New car audio speakers system | Automotive speakers for car to buy
"I think this is something all musicians would like to have -- a place they can call the music room," he says. "This is my space."
As musician, composer, conductor, and teacher, Reid is an institution. He's toured internationally with everyone from Dexter Gordon to Dizzy Gillespie, appeared in such films as "Do the Right Thing" and "School Daze," written books, and for many years was the director of the jazz studies program at William Paterson University in Wayne.
Reid's music room is a natural place for souvenirs, including posters of gigs with the J.J. Johnson Quintet, the Kenny Burrell Trio, and Michael Brecker. It also serves some of the functions of a storeroom. Road cases, sound equipment, and music stands abound; leaning up against one wall is an instrument case the approximate size of King Tut's sarcophagus, on which is written: "Inside this case, I am a BASS. I'm made of WOOD, and if you drop or hurt me, I will be no good!"
Mainly, though, this is a place for making music. Against one wall is a Gretsch drum kit, bequeathed to him by drummer Mel Lewis. "He was my first boss," Reid says.
In another corner of the room, on a raised platform, is a grand piano for guest artists (Reid uses it for composing now and then). Near it is Reid's bass. And between the two instruments is a full-length mirror, for musicians to watch themselves as they play. "I think all students should look in the mirror, regardless of what instrument they play," Reid says. "It's good to watch your posture and watch your hands, so you see what other people are seeing."
The raised platform and the carpeting are not merely for ornament. They absorb vibrations. Sound can literally shake you up, as anyone knows who has passed a car with booming bass speakers. Reid, who moved to Teaneck in 1976, learned it the hard way 30-plus years ago, when he was thrown out of his apartment in Sacramento, Calif.
"Everybody in the building went out to work, and the people above me were a really old couple who couldn't hear very well," says Reid, who has always kept the traditional musician's hours -- out at night, home during the day. "I used to turn up my speakers,because I thought no one could hear it. But the bass went right through the wall. I got evicted."
When Reid moved to Teaneck, long known as an enclave of jazz musicians (the current roster includes Jon Faddis, Ray Drummond, and Lisle Atkinson), he gave serious thought to creating dedicated space.
Early on, a tree came down in a storm and damaged his garage. He had planned to tear it down and build a new one but learned that the old garage had been grandfathered in: The current building code wouldn't allow him to create a new structure that size on his lot. Faced with the necessity of repairing the existing structure or doing without, it occurred to him that the building had better possibilities as a music studio than as a home for his car.
"I said, if I'm going to have to repair it, let me see if I can make it a more functional space," Reid says. "I'd always wanted a place where I could rehearse."
For more information: Top rated best 4 inch car speakers on the market | best 4' car speakers reviews
Over the years, he's created a little room with all the comforts of home. Well, almost. There's no telephone -- and not by accident.
"That's why I have an answering service," he says. "My wife knows, unless it's truly important, not to bother me when I'm out here."
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