There comes a time in every New York musician's life, when he must load up his vehicle, point it east, and embark on a journey to the largest of New York City's five boroughs, Queens. In order to reach this strange and wondrous place, one must travel on a road which begins at the exit of the Midtown tunnel, and terminates 71 miles later at Riverhead, Long Island. Its name, which strikes fear into the heart of the most punctual of musicians, is the Long Island Expressway.

Our intrepid musician emerges from the tunnel onto a modern three lane highway, the urban sprawl of Queens in front of him, and the majestic skyline of Manhattan in his rear view mirror. He is pleasantly surprised at the ease in which he is able to achieve speeds of upwards of 50 miles an hour, and he begins planning a diversionary trip to Starbucks to kill the inevitable hour of free time that awaits his early arrival. That is until, mere minutes later, he crests a hill and is confronted with the stark reality of bumper to bumper traffic. He begins to formulating an excuse for his late arrival when he spots a possible escape valve.

There is an alternative, but few have possessed the wherewithal and the moxie to attempt it. I'm speaking of the infamous Maspeth cutoff; which has been rumored to have shaved as much as forty minutes off of driving time. Developed by Henry Hudson in the 17th century as a trading route with the Massapequa tribe, it eventually fell into disrepair and was forgotten, resurfacing for a brief period in the 1920s when Franklin Delano Roosevelt used it to decoy press and paparazzi on his way to the Jamaica OTB.

That was the last anyone had heard of the Maspeth cutoff until, one afternoon, late for work and stuck in traffic, I had the gall to exit the L.I.E. Off I went into the bowels of western Queens, confident in my ability to succeed where untold others had failed. This is the story of why I failed, and why others after me will fail:

The L.I.E.is not a straight East/West road, but a series of long, arcing curves. The city streets are not perpendicular, but veer off at 40 degree angles, confusing the driver into believing he is heading east, when, in fact, he is driving south. I shudder with terror as I recall the series of one way streets which lead onto narrow, pock-marked roads, which dead-end at vacant lots. There were chop shops, a towing pound, warehouses that produced toxic gases, and chemical factories. Each road steered me further and further from my destination.and it soon became apparent that I had lost my sense of direction. I broke out in a cold sweat as the minutes became hours. I asked for directions but no one could tell me how to return to the L.I.E. Very few of them had ever left Maspeth. Eventually I came to the cold realization that I could never leave and I began to look for an apartment. I found a cold water flat on Eliot Ave, eventually marrying a Romanian slubberdoffer named Uzana. You see, one does not escape from Maspeth, he settles there.

And so, a cautionary tale for you. the reader. Do not leave the highway for any reason whatsoever. The choice is yours. You can be late for a gig, or you can live in Queens.

Notes on the music. This date, inspired by the perils of Western Queens, represents the composing and the playing that I have done with my trio over the past three years. Bim Strasberg and Taro Okamoto are not only two of my favorite musicians, but two of my closest friends. I met Taro on my very first gig in New York City, over 25 years ago. He doesn't remember that muscle-bound kid with the young Burt Lancaster looks and the Mercedes convertible. And it's no wonder -- that wasn't me. Taro, however, made a great impression on me, and I was delighted when years later we would reconnect as members of trumpeter Richie Vitale's quintet. Taro has worked, and recorded with Richie Vitale, David Schnitter, Hank Jones

I have known Bim Strasberg for almost as long, working in a myriad of musical situations, some dubious, but most great. There was the time we played for Madonna's CD release party wearing asbestos suits while on fire. But I've said too much. During the early 1990s Bim and I became co-leaders of the NY HardBop Quintet. Through several tours of the U.S., Japan, and Switzerland, countless club gigs in New York, and four CDs on the TCB Music label we forged a close personal, as well as musical friendship. Bim has worked and recorded with Charles McPherson, Bootsie Barnes, Mickey Roker,

The Group begins the date with a great introduction from Taro, and after some hilarity involving a B flat minor chord and various household appliances, the song reaches it's conclusion. Jerome Kern's Nobody Else But Me, features Bim, who is one of the most lyrical players I know. It was pleasure to hear his conception of this song. Every record needs a boogaloo -- at one point, I believe, it was in the bylaws of the union. Ours is a tribute to my best friend, the Bronx's finest, Jeff Mazzei. Lucy is my daughter and this, along with the old HBQ songs Little Jake, Leevin Von Cleefe, and Debra, completes my bevy of family songs -- unless I start on the cousins. Bim and I came up with some interesting changes to Cole Porter's I Concentrate on You many years ago when we were perforrning it during an early HardBop (Trio!) tour of California in 1992. We never quite worked it out for quintet, but about a year ago I came up with a fresh arrangement and began performing it. The vamp was a lot of fun to come up with, but tricky to play over as there's no real tonal center. A little vodka usually solves that problem on the gig, but for the recording I used the motivational technique of donning lederhosen and screaming "damn the torpedoes!" Now it plays itself.

And that, my friends, is a show. We hope you enjoy this affectionate tribute to the borough of Queens, and remember, don't drive drunk.