Rick Trolsen

My mother, Lillian, loved music and played piano. Among her favorite tunes were “The Basin St. Blues,” “Just an old Shanty in an old Shantytown,” “Don’t Blame Me,” and many other such songs. She was a romantic, but didn’t play professionally for the most part. Her Father, my grandfather (Percy) played accordion and harmonica. He was a character and I loved being around him. He showed me just how much fun it was to play music. I used to play “When the Saints go marching in” with him. I had no idea how many more times I would play that song! My older brother played guitar with rock and roll bands in the 60’s when I was just a kid. After I developed an interest in music, he saw to it that I was exposed to a wide spectrum of music such as Frank Zappa, Chick Corea, Charley Parker, Stravinsky, Mahavishnu Orchestra, and Miles Davis. My parents too, had records that exposed me to the big bands of the 1940’s, Tommy Dorsey, Glenn miller, as well as the music of New Orleans such as the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Louis Armstrong, Pete Fountain, and Al Hirt. My high school band director was the next major influence for me when he introduced me to the music of Count Basie…that stuff swung! I got hooked on it and for a long time, I only wanted to play in swinging big bands. As no luck would have it, the big bands were on the way out. J I went to college at Berklee College of music in Boston, and studied with the famed trombonist, Phil Wilson…he was another one to ingrain in me the importance of having fun playing music. After all, there’s no money in it, so you might as well enjoy what you’re doing. Shortly after college, I joined the U.S. Navy Band in order to start making a living. This is how I originally arrived in New Orleans. Though I didn’t thoroughly enjoy my time with the “canoe club,” it provided me a means to meet New Orleans. As a kid, I never really thought about living in New Orleans, but by chance, I’ve made it my home for more than 25 years. It’s always been a nurturing atmosphere for artists and musicians alike. It’s where I started writing my own compositions. I can’t think of a better place to live…especially as a jazz trombonist. There’s an organic vibe to the place that inspires creativity, and there’s a community that supports it. After my stint in the Navy, I decided to play “hippie.” I was a young man with an attitude that didn’t want to be a part of “society.” I found a migrant job planting pine seedlings for paper companies. I lived in a “shack” that I built, in the back of a 66’ Chevy pick-up truck. Inside the plywood camper, I had a small electric piano, a 4-track recording device, a drum machine, and sequencer, all running off of a marine battery. I would plant trees from dawn to dusk, not easy work at all, and eat dinner and go to bed early. I would wake up around 4 am, start a pot of percolated coffee (community coffee with chicory,) smoke a little something, and start recording music. Some of the tunes I wrote during this time, I still perform today. We only planted trees in the winter season, while they were dormant. So during the off-season, I found through a fellow tree planter/musician/hippie, a farm in Arkansas where I could hang out. “Our” part of the farm, was a wooded 20 acres that belonged to a Baptist preacher…a good ole’ boy. He gave his son the 20 acres to do as he pleased. It was called, “Deadhorse Mountain,” due to all the horse skulls found there. There was about a dozen of us who lived there all the time for the two years I was there, but people of all types unemployed came through for varying amounts of time. This is where I REALLY started writing; tunes came through my head like beer goes through my system. I was dreaming music. Myself and two other fellow tree planter/musician/hippies formed a trio, and only performed our collective original songs. This is where I wrote the title cut to my first CD, “Mother’s Call.” I was on a tremendous amount of chemical amusement aid jammin’ with my friends reaching otherwise unknown heights of genius when My Mother calls just to say that she loves me and she’ll always be behind me. WOW! You know that hit me like a ton of bricks! In the two years that we were together, we played only once at a club. The majority of our performances were on the farm in front of bonfire with people playing drums and shakers, dancing and singing and all together being goofy. Some of my greatest musical experiences have been with “non” musicians. Myself, I believe that everyone is a musician; it’s just that some can’t handle the poverty. I went to sleep with the crickets, and woke up with the rooster’s that would wander by the converted school bus I resided in. At some time or another I moved back to New Orleans for a short time with a girlfriend who was a painter, like the Van Gogh type, though she never actually cut off here ear. I picked up a gig soon after we moved down, on a Riverboat…(yes just like Louis Armstrong and Joe Oliver), broke up with Vincent, and started flying in and out of New Orleans so that I could spend my off time at “Deadhorse.” I wasn’t about to give up playing hippie just then. I would work two weeks on the “boat” and spend six weeks contemplating my contempt for “society” …and continued writing. On the boat, I learned all the traditional jazz tunes one could ever need. This would really come in handy when I finally moved back to New Orleans. This is where I got my “trad” chops. I gained a great respect for this musical style that I never had before. I grew up a be-bop guy, but when I started playing this music, I discovered another music that I love dearly. We played 2 dance sets and 2 shows at night. Around 4 am, I would wake up, start the coffee, smoke a little something, and write. There, I had with me my 4-track recorder, and electric piano, just like my camper…the room was about the same size as well, though it had indoor plumbing. The beautician on the boat took an interest in my music. She would be the one that returned me to New Orleans for good. We fell in love and married. I’m a very lucky man indeed. As if I hadn’t met her, I might still be living at Deadhorse Mountain contemplating… By the time I moved back to New Orleans, I had written a plethora of material. I soon found it necessary to create a voice for the music, so I formed a band called “Neslort”, (my family name spelled backwards). It was a varied mixture of jazz, rock, and the experimental, as I was after all, a great admirer of America’s best composer ever, Frank Zappa. We never really had good attendance back in “the day” but years later, after I had abandoned the project, people everywhere were asking me when we’d play again…so recently, for your enjoyment, or by popular demand, I have resurrected it. Neslort has arisen again! I consider, and originally adapted the name as my muse. Neslort is my mind…I love to come up with stuff I have never heard before. It’s a lonely journey. Gringo do Choro, at least at the moment, is my heart. Gringo do Choro is my passion. Brazilian music is love. People sing along, dance, flirt, eat, and drink to the music. Much like New Orleans, the audience is part of the band…there is no divide. The end of the stage is in front of the show, no matter where you stand. It’s like singing around a campfire. Everyone’s looking at each other…yea, that’s they way music should be.So I think that brings us to now, the only moment.I am juggling. I have several projects that I love to do. I’m going for it. You can’t stop trying. What else is there to do anyhow? Do what you love, and die trying if must be. It’s the art of schizophrenia. It doesn’t have to be a disease. Variety is the spice of life. Taste all of life as often as you can. Life is fleeting. Quench you thirst. 5 hours of sleep a night…what more does a man need?