It’s hard for me to explain how much Matt shaped my life. But let’s start in his Orwig office. It’s first-year orientation, and I’m sitting with three other jittery teenagers, talking with our first-year advisor. It’s Matt. he pours us tea and helps us pick our classes. I ask him about Jazz Band auditions. I ask if I, a first-year, had a shot at making into the big band on bass. He told me I already had the spot based on my audition tape.

Cut to every Monday and Thursday night for four years in Fulton Rehearsal Hall. Matt is standing in front of about 20 musicians, guiding us through big band charts. Some are corny (I’m looking at you, Badger Blues). Some are really hip and difficult. No matter what the tune or who’s playing, Matt remains calm, genuine, and honest with us. In those twice-weekly rehearsals, Matt showed us that responsibility, both in person and in playing, was the thing to value most. It wasn’t the soloist who could blow in all twelve keys, or the one who would jump at any chance to be in the limelight. It was the one who showed up on time. The one who was ready to play their practiced part, in tune, when the downbeat dropped. The one who listened to their bandmates both when they were playing and when they weren’t. It was that responsibility to one another, the willingness to listen, that made us a team.

And we were a team. We went to the Azores and played in a monastery. We went to Cuba and got smoked by the baddest group of high schoolers that ever lived. We played dozens of concerts, played even more sweaty basement shows, wrote pieces with each other in mind, held jazz jams, lived together, got in trouble together, and became parts of each other’s lives. We loved being on the team.

Photos from the Brown Jazz Band trip to the Azores:

In my senior year, my family hit hard times. My father was in the hospital, and I was barely holding things together. Matt was there. He understood when I had to skip a rehearsal. He helped me apply for a grant to travel to Puerto Rico on Spring Break and “conduct research” for my thesis, which he was the advisor on. When it came time for the performance of my year-long work, I stood in front of my band, my team, and faced the audience of friends, family, and faculty. Behind them stood Matt, recording the performance for the eventual mix and master.

A few months later, I walked through the Van Wickle Gates on Commencement day. On the other side of the wrought iron, in the glistening explosion of people and cheers, stood Matt doing what he does best: leading the band. He put his baton down and stepped over to give me a hug.

At all of those moments, it was hard for me to thank Matt in person. Even now, as I write this, it’s hard to relive some of these things without getting overwhelmed with a combination of grief and gratitude. Grief over the times gone, over the team that now lives all over the world. Gratitude for a college experience that felt bigger than four years, filled with love and music. And even though Matt’s office in Orwig will no longer be his, he’s still here, with tea and music and the will to listen.

Love,
Ana Gonzalez (‘15)