If you tell someone in Los Angeles you’re playing a gig, you usually have to text them the address, explain the parking situation, and convince them to make the drive. But when you tell people you’re headlining the Friday night jazz series at LACMA, they just say, “Oh my God. Congratulations. I’ll be there.” Everyone knows where it is. It’s an institution that has been running for decades.
Still, when I stepped out onto the Smidt Welcome Plaza stage yesterday, May 22, 2026, I was feeling the weight of a very specific test. Anyone who knows me probably knows that I’m not big on prayer. I will participate in other people’s prayers, I’ll be completely respectful, and I’ll even say Amen. But I’m not really someone who has done a lot of praying in my life.
Recently, though, I learned a specific prayer for musicians. As I walked up those stage steps at the beginning of the evening, I stopped and said it quietly to myself:
“Higher Power, let me play good for the people and let me take away their troubles for a short time.”
After Mitch Glickman introduced us, I stepped up to the microphone and I shouted, “Helloooooo LACMA!” into the plaza. I said it a second time right after—the first was to get their attention, and the second was to get them completely fired up. Once the crowd locked in, I said, “Tonight’s performance is dedicated to the memory of Ryan Porter” then I turned and counted the band into the first song “Samba de Outono.”
The Architecture of a Set
Lately, I’ve been rehearsing the quintet with a heavy focus on how to present my music to a larger audience. My material is built for intimacy. It’s tried, tested, and true in small rooms—places like Sam First in LA, The Grape in Ventura, or Agua Caliente in Palm Springs. In a small room, you can feel the audience breathing with you.
But a massive, wide-open outdoor plaza is a completely different animal. You never truly know if the nuances of your arrangements are going to translate to a crowd of that scale.
As it turned out, every single song worked exactly on the level it was supposed to work. To put it succinctly: the band was on fire. Everybody rose to the occasion, which I knew they could do. We have rehearsed to the point where I almost didn’t have to cue the band anymore. That is a rare level of communication—when you don’t have to tell anyone anything anymore, and you can just count them off and play the songs.
Kicking off the second set with “Molly & Vern” as the plaza lights come up.
A massive part of that telepathy belongs to the rhythm section. Steve Cotter on guitar, Chris Colangelo on bass, and Kendall Kay on drums connect on so many distinct levels. Their ability to leave open spaces, and then flawlessly fill the spaces where they need to be filled, is astonishing. Kendall has this incredible gift where he can create absolute thunder on the drums without the kit ever sounding loud. It’s a masterclass in touch and dynamics.
I opened the entire concert with a samba because I wanted to get a specific dance feeling moving through the crowd right away. That is one of the most unique things about playing at LACMA: there are always people around the sides of the stage, behind the stage, and spilled all over the plaza, just dancing.
Let me reiterate that: dancing to jazz. In its purest form, the movement they are doing is so incredibly pure and elegant. They are hearing the music and simply reacting to it physically, letting their bodies take them in all kinds of different directions. Music and dance are, at their core, one single entity. To see that connection happen spontaneously right in front of the bandstand is magical.
The beautiful, spontaneous energy of the crowd connecting and dancing to “Jane’s Domain.”:
There is truly nothing on earth like people connecting with your original music in that way. Because we trusted that connection, we stuck strictly to our structural blueprint, executing our intended setlist exactly as written without cutting or adding a single tune. In the first set, we also included Footprints as an homage to Miles Davis, whose 100th birthday is coming up on May 26th:
First Set: Samba de Outono, Old Friends, Footprints, Hot & Cold, My Dreams, and Orange Bench Chat.
Second Set: Down with Downs, Molly & Vern, The Meaning of the Blues, Jane’s Domain, and To Be With You.
The Sound of Thirty Years: Breathing Together
Standing on that stage yesterday also brought up a flood of history. This marked the fourth time I’ve led a band at LACMA, though I’ve played there many other times as a sideman. My history with this pavement goes back a quarter of a century:
2001: My very first time leading a band here. The first person to ever book me at the museum was the late, great Dorrance Stalvey. It turned out to be a freak summer occurrence—we were literally rained out and forced to perform inside. That young, hungry band included Marcel Camargo, Josh Nelson, Dan Lutz, Lorca Hart, and the brilliant tenor saxophone player Keith Fiddmont.
October 2017: I returned to command the outdoor stage as a leader with the Gnu Sextet.
May 2021: During the height of lockdown, for the 30th anniversary of the concert series, booker Mitch Glickman hand-picked my quartet (with Steve, Chris, and Kendall) to film a video shoot on an empty plaza. You can watch that unique, surreal session here on YouTube.
Yesterday, the circle fully closed. Not only were the live crowds back in full force, but Keith Fiddmont was right there beside me in the quintet—25 years after that first indoor rainout—locking in on Samba de Outono, the very same tune we played together on this gig in 2001.
Yesterday, Keith and I were connecting on another level entirely. We’ve been playing together since the mid-to-late 1990s, and it’s almost impossible to describe what a musical relationship and friendship like that feels like. The sheer level of trust and intimacy that comes from knowing someone that well pours out over an audience in a way that is entirely palpable. They might not know exactly what is hitting them, but they feel it.
After the show, Mitch Glickman came up to me and said, “When you and Keith play in unison, it’s so powerful. I have never heard anybody lock in the way you two do—the way you’re phrasing together, the combination of your sounds, and the way that you’re breathing together.” Hearing that from Mitch, who has heard literally every major jazz artist in Los Angeles and beyond, meant the absolute world to me. I deeply appreciate his dedication and support of my music and me over the years.
Before the downbeat, Mitch and I sat down for an interview that will be aired on the jazz station, 88.1 KJazz. To be completely honest, I always feel incredibly awkward in interviews. I tend to babble a lot. When people ask me a question, I fill up a lot of space with words, but I’m never quite sure I make all of the points I’m trying to make. Hopefully, they can edit my ramblings into something that sounds coherent! But while talking into a microphone might make me feel out of place, playing into one alongside this band makes me feel entirely at home.
A Thousand Words in the Courtyard
Yesterday, LACMA wasn’t just full; it was absolutely packed. I suspect there were easily 2,000 people crammed into every possible space. What is truly astonishing about this series is how long the audience commits to the day. The band arrived at 3:30 p.m. to set up and soundcheck, and the parking garage was already completely full. The parking lot was full hours before showtime because people know what a special event this is. The concert didn’t even start until 6:00 p.m. That shows you how many thousands of people hang out all Friday afternoon, enjoying the wonderful courtyard and the fabulous museum, just waiting for the music to begin.
The weather could not have been more perfect. It was a beautiful, sunny, very mild day. As the sun went down, it cooled off beautifully into the evening—crisp, but completely comfortable.
The pictures and videos from the night truly tell a thousand words. Looking out from the stage and seeing that massive sea of faces completely locked into what we were playing was nothing short of amazing. But the most beautiful part of an institution like LACMA is who shows up. I saw people yesterday that I have known for 35 years or more, representing different chapters of my life’s journey.
I knew that an old friend of mine, Duane Nichols, was a big fan of the Friday concert series, so I had a sneaking suspicion he might come out—but with a crowd that size, you just never know. When I actually spotted him in the audience, the gravity of the moment hit me all at once. Duane and I worked together at the Polo Store in Beverly Hills back in the early 1990s; he was out on the floor selling suits, and I was working loss prevention for the store. He knew me when I was in my early twenties, keeping watch by day and struggling to become a professional trumpet player by night. He was there by my side during the devastating time when my father passed away. He has watched me develop through all of these decades, block by block.
Seeing Tobi and Clyde Kaplan out there in the crowd was also absolutely amazing. I’ve known the Kaplans since I was in my 30s. I used to teach their son trumpet when he was in middle school and high school, and I even went to his Bar Mitzvah. They have remained close family friends ever since.
As I was playing, I looked over to the side and spotted Christine Rosander, my kids’ piano teacher, quietly standing there listening and supporting us. I also saw my great friend Wally Bagot and his wife Tanya. Wally was actually a trumpet student of mine back in the 90s, and we have since reconnected and become wonderful friends.
To look out from the stage during a moment where I felt so utterly triumphant and see a plaza filled with old friends, family, former students, and people who knew the kid who was just trying to survive the storm... it was incredibly overwhelming. To share that victory with them meant more than I can easily put into words.
The Morning After
Sometimes for me, music is a deeply, completely overwhelming emotional experience, and yesterday was absolutely one of those occasions. Keeping that quiet prayer and dedication in mind, I left everything on the field. I gave everybody who came out to hear us every single thing I had inside of me. From my trumpet to my voice, they heard the absolute limit of what I can do.
To see the material go over so well with a crowd that size, and to know we truly took the audience’s troubles away for a short time, was completely overwhelming. I’ll be honest: I found myself weeping this morning just sitting with the thought of it—thinking about how much love was on that plaza and how good of a time everybody had.
As musicians, we spend hours in solitary practice rooms questioning our work, adjusting the details, and wondering if it matters. Last night was incredibly gratifying.
To everyone who came out, cheered, danced, and shared the evening with the Brian Swartz Quintet—thank you.
If you’d like to see the Brian Swartz Quintet we will be at Sam First in Los Angeles on September 10, 2026. You can find the latest updates at www.brianswartz.com.
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