Big Train traces back to my grandparents’ living room floor. I was just a kid, lying beside my Papa — a jazz trumpet player with a profound reverence for life and music. That day, we watched Wynton Marsalis’ Big Train performed live on PBS: a sprawling jazz rhapsody that unfolded like a movie in sound. It painted vivid scenes, carried me through twists and turns, and left me captivated by the journey itself.

Papa had a way of turning music into life lessons. I called it Papaismology — his running commentaries on how to live fully. Two of his favorites became signatures: "Carpe Diem," (which he named his boat, long before the phrase was popularized by Robin Williams in Dead Poet's Society) and "Now, Then..." — a quirky transition he used whenever he shifted to a new thought. As an adult, I noticed how often he said it, and helped him recognize it as a slogan of sorts. Today, it’s engraved on his tombstone.

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NOW, THEN...

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When he was dying of COVID in 2021, those words and lessons echoed in my mind. I knew I wanted to honor him the best way I could — by writing a song.

I began shaping Big Train as my own rhapsody: forward-moving, layered with scenes and emotions, always pushing toward momentum the way rails pull a train. “Now, Then...” became a lyrical refrain, repeating like the heartbeat of his voice, a call to keep moving forward.

I carried the conductor’s baton, guiding the vocal lines and themes. Liz Aday joined me in this vision with extraordinary care. Taking the vocal stems I recorded, she helped expand the arrangement in ways that honored the rhapsody vibe I was reaching for. Her ear brought depth and texture, adding colors that carried the piece into a fuller cinematic life — while still staying true to the pulse and story I set in motion.

Big Train is my tribute to Papa — to his trumpet, his lessons, and his unforgettable Papaismology. My hope is that as you listen, you catch a glimpse of that living room floor, and the magic I felt learning that life, like music, is meant to be experienced moment by moment, scene by scene — with reverence for the journey, not the station.