Today we’d like to introduce you to Brent Birckhead.
Alright, so thank you so much for sharing your story and insight with our readers. To kick things off, can you tell us a bit about how you got started?
Music was always around me growing up. My dad played Earth Wind & Fire, James Brown, Parliament Funkadelic in the car. My ears always went to the horns. The first jazz album I remember was Kind of Blue. Cannonball and Coltrane on the same record. That one stuck.
My brother played trumpet so having music in the house was normal. But I didn’t really connect with it until I joined the jazz band at 13 and figured out I could improvise. I was a shy kid. Finding that I could say something through the horn changed everything. It also showed me how much work I had to do. That hunger never went away.
Howard University is where I found my people. Late nights in the practice rooms. Teachers who pushed me hard. I got thrown into the lead alto chair my sophomore year before I felt ready. That’s how Howard worked. You rose to the moment or you didn’t.
After school I toured as a sideman. Lauryn Hill, Nas, SWV, George Duke. Big stages. Audiences of 40,000. That taught me that music is about people, not just playing. Eventually I came back to Baltimore. This is where I’ve always belonged. I planted myself at the Keystone Korner, started leading my own projects, released three albums. Now I teach at the Baltimore School for the Arts and Morgan State.
And the journey keeps going. I’m about to head out on a world tour with Stevie Wonder. Still hard to believe that sentence is real. Baltimore made me. And it keeps sending me out into the world.
Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
Smooth? No. Not even close.
The music part I could figure out. The business part took years of hard lessons. Nobody teaches you about money when you’re coming up. You’re so focused on the craft that the business side sneaks up on you. I played shows I didn’t get paid for. Signed on for gigs with no contracts and learned why that was a mistake. You show up, you deliver, and sometimes the check doesn’t come. That’s a real thing that happens and nobody warns you about it.
One of the hardest lessons was canceling work to go on tour and then watching the tour fall apart. You give something up that was guaranteed for something that feels bigger, and then it disappears. You’re left with nothing on the calendar and bills that don’t care about what happened. That one stings every time.
The shyness was its own battle. Finding my voice on the horn was one thing. Finding my voice in a room, negotiating, advocating for myself, saying what I was worth out loud, that took a lot longer.
The pandemic forced a reckoning with all of it. When everything stopped I had to look honestly at how I was running my career. I rebuilt my practice, my writing, my habits. But I also got serious about the business side. Understanding contracts, knowing your worth, building relationships that are mutual. The music is the gift. Learning how to protect it and sustain it ,that’s the work nobody talks about but everybody needs.
Thanks – so what else should our readers know about your work and what you’re currently focused on?
I play saxophones, flutes, and clarinets. Each instrument has its own voice and I’ve worked hard to develop a real voice on all three, not just double on them, but actually say something on each one. That’s something I take seriously.
What I’m most proud of is being able to walk into any musical setting and stay myself. Whether I’m on a jazz bandstand, a stadium stage with a major artist, or a small club in Baltimore, the voice doesn’t change. The context does. I’ve played for 40,000 people and I’ve played for 40. The goal is the same either time.
People tell me I can connect with someone who’s never heard jazz in their life and a musician who’s been studying it for 40 years in the same performance. That means a lot to me. I don’t want to make music that only works in one direction. I want it to reach people where they are.
The pandemic changed something in me though. It made the music more purposeful. When everything stopped I realized that connection wasn’t just something I enjoyed about performing, it’s the whole point. No matter where I’m playing, no matter the setting, that’s what I’m there for. To connect. To give something real to whoever is in the room.
That’s what sets me apart I think. Not just the technique. The intention behind it.
We’d love to hear about any fond memories you have from when you were growing up?
Some of my favorite memories are from my middle school winter concerts. I was in the band and the choir so I had double the pressure. Getting dressed up, trying to remember choreography, being absolutely nervous out of my mind.
But that’s exactly what I loved about it. That feeling right before you go on, when everything is on the line and you don’t know how it’s going to go. When it went well the reward was that much sweeter because of everything you put into getting there.
Looking back I think that’s where it all started. Not just the music but the performing. Learning early that the nerves aren’t something to run from. They mean you care. And when you channel them right something special happens on that stage. I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.brentbirckhead.com
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/brentbirckhead/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/brentbirckhead
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@BrentBirckhead
- Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/brent-birckhead
