Maynard Ferguson is an old man. Because of his status as a jazz trumpet legend who has championed and cultivated the louder-higher-faster style of play since the 1950s, and because of his more than 60 albums, and because of his experience as a man who has mentored and played alongside younger phenomenal players such as Chick Corea, Chuck Mangione and Arturo Sandoval, one might expect Maynard to have developed an elitist attitude and a well-deserved arrogance onstage. However, in the true spirit of jazz, the man is nothing less than a big ball of joy. Surrounded by musicians half (or less than half) his age, Maynard walked around the Beethoven Hall stage Sunday night in San Antonio with the lovable exuberance of a grandpa in love with music, passionate about spreading that love around. It is no wonder that he takes a mentorship role--a King Oliver of modern jazz--or that he openly focuses on bringing jazz to young students. His passion for music education should demand the respect of anyone, not only jazz lovers.

The music was exhilarative, but not precisely for the reasons one might assume. Maynard spent most of his time walking around stage or sitting, not playing his horn. His Big Bop Nouveau Band is made up of a premier pick of some of the best young players on the scene. The three players in the trumpet section were obvious Maynard disciples, as the first player could, in Maynard’s own words, “play a double high C rather casually.” Maynard’s charm, ripened by his old age, teemed as he injected, “I won’t let him do it though. It’s my show!” The stellar band was complimented by a truly excellent young drummer who played with all the subtleties of an experienced jazz great.

Maynard himself played much less than he would have in his prime, but his characteristically flamboyant vibrato and huge sound filled the humbly sized theater with overwhelming force nonetheless. I noticed an elderly couple quarreling quietly and inconspicuously leaving about half way through the show. I presumed that the band was just too loud for one of them to handle. Maynard played low melodies on one ballad, which was beautiful, but for the most part he did what he is famous for: he blew the crowds’ heads off with notes higher than Louis Armstrong could have ever imagined (when he first hit the jazz scene in 1950, he played higher than any trumpet player in history, and he did so with accuracy). His control in the uber-high range was impeccable, and his sound was as thick as ever. After a short thrilling solo he would proceed to set his trumpet down and casually snap while directing his talented band as they soloed and played with true professionalism. I only wish that I was around during the decades when a younger Maynard was able to play his horn more. His unique, sharp sound transports you to another place and fills you with the same joy that he so warmly overflows with onstage.