Today I will perform a concert of Gershwin tunes at the brand new SFJAZZ Center. As I practice my material it dawns on me this will be my fourth occasion where I have been asked to sing in tribute to Gershwin.

The first time was probably the most knee-knocking. I had been playing at the Alta Plaza every Tuesday night without amplification and somehow managed to catch the ear of San Francisco Symphony director Michael Tilson Thomas. He invited me to participate in an all-Gershwin program with the symphony and my heart leapt for joy at the amazing opportunity. MTT is a bit of a history buff and he wanted to show that Gershwin was a "Negrotarian" so he included some jazz/blues songs that influenced his work. For that portion I was able to bring some musicians and I chose bassist Marcus Shelby, who had just moved to San Francisco from LA. The other portion had me singing with the full symphony doing songs such as "Fascinating Rhythm" in a key more suited to Frederica Von Stade than myself. MTT had recorded a program of Gershwin with Sarah Vaughan and had several amusing stories about her that I hungrily consumed but made me even more self-conscious of the large shoes I had to fill. I was young and green and so nervous that I was almost as happy to be finished with the concert than I was to do it.

The second time was in the wine country for band that saxophonist Benny Miller put together. I often subbed for jazz singer Mary Stallings at Bix when she was out of town, and so her band often called me to do things when she wasn't available. This band was a singer's dream: Merle Hoover on the piano, Wyatt Ruther on bass, Harold Jones on drums and Benny Miller. It was so easy to sound perfect with that band. Jazz was steeped in their blood and grew watered with their sweat. My experience with MTT had taught me that if I was to do tribute to a composer I should also do the verses whenever possible.

I knew I had to sound perfect and for this particular gig Mary had taken Merle with her on tour so there was a substitute pianist whom had dismissed me in the past and I wanted to impress. Al Plank was kind enough to teach me several verses and rehearse the songs for me. During his years playing at the Playboy Club he had learned every verse imaginable. In those days, it was difficult to get that type information; jazz recordings and jazz "fake" books rarely have the verse, and the sheet music that does contain the verse is not written well and doesn’t have jazz changes. Most importantly there is way to breathe and pace on a verse that is almost impossible to transcribe yet Al did just that for me even though he was not on the gig. The show went off without a hitch and after a singing a particularly emotional medley of "Summertime" and "My Man is Gone Now," the band looked at me impressed. My mother had died shortly before and Benny whispered to me, "That one was for your mother."

The third time was for the Mabel Mercer Cabaret convention. I was a last-minute addition. I heard a rumour that "da Mayor" himself, Willie Brown, had asked them why I wasn’t included and foundation head Donald Smith rectified the omission. Because it was the last moment, absolutely every song seemed to have had been taken. And I needed to pick two tunes. I was performing in the newly opened Teatro ZinZanni and there was a tap dancer named Wayne Doba in the show. I asked him if he would perform with me and we did "Slap That Bass" together in a little skit reminiscent of Judy Garland and Gene Kelly that ended with an amazing tap solo by Wayne. I had my old Alta Plaza band — John R. Burr on piano and Terry Miller on the bass — and so everything was stellar.

Tonight I have to admit I am more concerned about packing up my daughter’s playpen for sound check than the music. So much has changed since that very first Gershwin tribute, but it is very fitting that I play with the same bassist that I played the first time around: Marcus Shelby!

The brouhaha around NPR intern Emily White and other people who make unauthorized copies or downloads of CDs reminded me of my youth and how hard it was to obtain music. The time and cost associated with making someone a mixed tape was considerable. Heck, we had albums that we didn't even bother bringing out unless there was special company present.

I ruined many a LP playing it too much while trying to cop the changes to a song. Or putting pennies on the needle head to stop skipping on a scratch. Searching around for recycled bins of records or begging someone to make you a rare copy. Fixing a tape that popped from fast rewinding with scotch tape.

Now it is incredibly easy. Almost everything is YouTube or iTunes and not only can you listen to a CD umpteen times, but the software to burn a CD or record yourself and burn a CD is bundled into almost every computer. And blank CDs are considerably cheaper than a 90 minute blank cassette, although I doubt an Ella Fitzgerald CD has the same glass-shattering power of Memorex.

Copying music has become so simple and cheap that the younger generations cannot fathom the idea that what they are doing is illegal. If you do not believe me, just read the comments from "An Open Letter to Emily White," published on The Trichordist website a few months back.

Of course maybe they do realize it, and it is just a matter of technology making things easier. I certainly was no saint in my youth. Back when I earned maybe a hundred dollars a week and my rent was $200 a month I managed to save up enough money to get a TASCAM 4 track recorder. It is what any serious musician did back then. You couldn't really make a demo tape with a boom box and expect to a get a fancy club gig. While hanging outside of Muziki Roberson's jam session at the Tropical Haight, a street person sold me a SHURE Beta58 microphone for $50, case included. In hindsight I am sure it was probably hot, but as a struggling wanna-be artist all I could think of was, "This is a great price and I really need it!" I hooked up that mike to my TASCAM and started recording. I didn't have a rehearsed band to record with nor could I afford pay to pay a band to record so I did the unthinkable. I recorded with a Jamey Abersoll.

For those of you who doesn't know who (or rather, in this case, what) a Jamey Abersoll is, I will explain. Jamey Abersoll is jazz educator who released a series of "Play-Along with the Masters" albums. They were great and terrible at the same time. Great because Kenny Barron, Ron Carter and Ben Riley were playing multiple choruses for you to solo over. Terrible because Kenny, Ron and Ben can't actually hear you and comp to what you are playing, so you are very limited in what you can do.

I had a few of these albums, except for the blues one. I didn't need that one because I used the piano solo from "After Hours" on the Dizzy Gillespie album "Sunny Side Up" to practice the blues. Jamey Abersolls were intended for saxophonists to "woodshed" over so they have far too many choruses for a vocalist to sing or even scat over for a demo tape. Instead, I spiced it up a bit by having a friend, Tony Gairo, come over and blow some choruses on his tenor sax ending in enough time for me to take the head out.

Then I took my little TASCAM Abersoll cassette demo around town and shopped myself for hire. None of the club owners ever called me out on it so I don't think they noticed.

What do you think? Was shopping around an Abersoll demo with Kenny Baron, Ben Riley and Ron Carter for club gigs more or less worse than Emilly White having 11,000 songs in her library... yet only paying for 15 CDs?