Remembering Anthony Ant, Trumpeter and Indefatigable Scene-Builder

Anthony Ant spent his adult life bringing the Bay Area music scene together. On Thursday night, the scene convened at the Starry Plough in South Berkeley to dance, shout, jam and comfort each other over the shocking and sudden loss of their friend, colleague and tireless champion.

A powerful trumpeter versed in funk, jazz, R&B and soul, Ant, 40, was a binding force in the region’s far-flung musical community, connecting hundreds of musicians through a succession of East Bay jam sessions. He also played countless club dates, corporate gigs, weddings and parties.

The news of his death — Ant was shot by Alameda County sheriff’s deputies in an early Monday morning confrontation outside his home in San Leandro — was still raw and undigested for many. The Starry Plough, where Ant produced the weekly Free Funk Glory Jam, had already seen impromptu vigils on Tuesday and Wednesday, but Thursday’s was officially organized by his family.

The response was legion. At 10 p.m., fed by a steady flow of newcomers, the crowd spilled out onto Shattuck Avenue, making the corner unpassable.

Inside the packed club, guitarist Stu Silverman’s Stu Crew kicked off the music after leading a call-and-response declaring love for Ant. Shortly before taking the stage, he and his bandmates praised the trumpeter, who was born Anthony Anderson and grew up in Berkeley.

“He did more to connect people and create happiness than anyone I know,” Silverman said. “They should name a school after him.”

“He was a true community musician,” added saxophonist John Palowitch. “Anthony never looked to go out on tour. He was focused on here.”

Ant’s adopted name was apt. Like the diminutive picnic staple, he was ubiquitous on the Bay Area stages, impossible to miss at jam sessions and shows. But his most ant-like quality was an ability to lift dozens of times his weight, carrying an entire music scene on his back.

“He manually sent out text messages to hundreds of people every week, so everybody would have a chance to participate, for their voices to be heard,” said Kaila Love, who helped organize the tribute.

Ant’s primary vehicle for this roiling musical democracy was the jam session, starting at The Layover in downtown Oakland in the mid-aughts. “He took over from me when I went on tour,” said bassist Stephen Paul Godwin. “When I got back, the place was packed, like 200 people. It got too big for the club.”

Ant organized sessions at other Oakland joints, including Legionnaire and the Starline Social Club, before settling in at the Starry Plough. “He’s been building this for 15 years,” said trumpeter Mario Silva. “Early on, it was thin, but he refused to give up.”

Jam sessions can be treacherous. If a player is unfamiliar with chord changes, or falls a beat behind, or simply doesn’t exude confidence, they can feel a draft of dismissal. Ant was the antidote to getting vibed. As word of his death started to circulate on social media, dozens of musicians described Ant welcoming them onto the scene. Those stories were echoed by many at the Starry Plough.

As a high school student in San Jose, Joy Hackett was an aspiring jazz keyboardist searching for a jam session, and “this was the one that everyone talked about,” she said. “I drove up with a friend, walked in the door and my mind was blown. It was shoulder-to-shoulder, and I hear Anthony on the mic: ‘The glory!’ I made it up and took my solo, and knew I found the place I need to be.”

Perhaps the greatest testament to Ant’s support of the local music scene is that he literally changed people’s lives. On Thursday night, Scott Chowning recalled how he’d played French horn in a Navy band, but gave it up, and had walked away from music.

“Anthony heard me noodling around on keyboard and called me for a gig, my first one in 10 years,” he recalled. “Now I’m a full-time musician.”

Family members are planning a memorial for Anthony Ant, with details to be announced soon; a GoFundMe page to support his family and funeral expenses is live now.