Slain trumpeter united East Bay’s music-loving community, friends say

Friends of Anthony Anderson, the 40-year-old East Bay musician killed in a police shooting on Feb. 9, say he was more than a phenomenally talented trumpeter or a skilled teacher, able to bring out the best in his music students, of all ages and abilities.

His great gift, they say, was his facility in organizing jams – bringing together musicians and singers from all over the Bay Area at Berkeley’s Starry Plough or anywhere else, where he performed his beloved funk, jazz, R&B and soul music in a fun, improvisational way.

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“He was doing jam sessions all the time, or he would go to a party and make a jam session happen,” said his girlfriend, violinist Allison Irvine. “He would talk to the people throwing the party: ‘Do you want music? Is it OK if I invite some musicians?’ And he would go through his list and curate the musicians who will come, and these are the ones who will play best together.

“I think it was an art to him, how to choose and organize musicians,” Irvine added.

Indeed, bringing people together to make and enjoy music was Anderson’s significant contribution to the region’s arts scene over the past decade, which is why his friends, colleagues and students are reeling from his sudden and shocking death.

Known professionally as Anthony Ant, the San Francisco-born son of classical-musician parents is remembered as a singular personality, a uniting force and modern-day impresario who connected thousands of performers through his regular East Bay jam sessions, or via the innumerable club dates and private parties he performed at. Friends recall his generous, upbeat nature, the way he always had his instrument with him, ready to play, as well as his focus on promoting the careers of other Bay Area performers.

Shahin Naima, manager of the Starry Plough, the iconic Irish pub and gathering place, said he doesn’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that 80% of Bay Area musicians coming up since the early 2010s got their start because of Anderson. Given the challenges of trying to make it as a performer here, many musicians were ready to “give up on their dream,” Naima said.

“But Anthony gave that back to them,” he said. “They wouldn’t be artists right now if he didn’t create that space where he said, ‘Get up here, come up on stage, sing a song.’ He gave them that confidence.”

Naima also credits Anderson with putting his family’s Shattuck Avenue pub back “on the map” as a destination for live music with his Thursday night Free Funk Glory Jam. Growing up, Anderson lived around the corner from the Starry Plough and said his dream had “come true” when Naima asked him, around 2012 or 2013, to produce weekly jams for him.

“Long story short, he took over Thursday nights, and after six months, there were lines out the door,” Naima said. “It was like we were the heart and soul of the East Bay music scene, because of the funk and it just [being] so incredibly epic and fun.”

Now, Naima and others are trying to cope with the profound shock and grief they’ve experienced since hearing news of Anderson’s death.

Anderson was fatally shot outside his home in San Leandro in an early morning confrontation with Alameda County sheriff’s deputies. Deputies went to the home after receiving a call from someone who said he had a gun and wanted to talk to deputies. They said a man, later identified as Anderson, came out of the residence and “presented an immediate threat,” prompting the deputies to open fire, the agency’s statement said. Anderson’s death is being investigated by the California Attorney General’s Office, under a state law authorizing investigations when the person killed by police is not armed.

For their interviews, Anderson’s friends did not want to talk about his death.cBut it’s safe to say that the report about him being a threat to police don’t align with the person they knew.

“Anthony was such a goofball,” said friend Alexandria Dwyer, who sings under the stage name Honey. “He was glorious and undoubtedly the most unique character I have ever met. Anthony’s character is a culmination of all things pure-hearted, the spirit of the unicorn. He has all of these little colloquialisms that make people smile.”

Dwyer is one of a number of artists who have spoken about Anderson’s interest in lifting up other people, professionally and personally, and doing so in the place he called home. They became friends prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, through – how else? – one of his jams. He began helping her organize her own musical events and, during lockdown, they and a few other friends spent a lot of time together, making music and talking about the joy of making music.

In an Instagram post from back in 2019, Anderson had said his recent travels had him realize that “music is literally ‘love,’ a force that binds us, make us unite and feel.”

Dwyer credits Anderson with building up her confidence to apply her classically trained voice to R&B and soul, picking out tunes that he thought could showcase her operatic vocals, such as Teena Marie’s 1980 song “Behind the Groove.”

“He made me feel way more confident about my own voice, because it was about getting on the mic and improvising,” Dwyer said. “He was just, ‘Get up there and, you know, express yourself and feel free.'”

Saxophone player Chris Hoog, a friend since 2013, said Anderson’s generosity to other musicians came in part from his quiet confidence in his own abilities. Anderson wasn’t showy or attention-seeking when he performed with his band Oakadelic or other musicians; he would mostly be still on stage, immersed in the music and the moment.

“He always had plenty to say on his instrument without having to yell,” Hoog said.

Besides mentoring his contemporaries, Anderson was training the next generation of musicians, by teaching children and teens how to play trumpet, trombone or other brass instruments in the Tri-Valley.

“With Anthony, I think teaching for him just came naturally, just like hosting jams and playing in bands comes naturally to him,” Dwyer said.

Anderson’s colleagues and students at Ingram & Brauns Musik Shoppe in Pleasanton are devastated, according to guitarist Zack Ingram, whose family runs the shop and offers lessons to about 1,000 students per week.

“We really miss him as a teacher and as a player and as a friend,” said Ingram, who said he was sometimes recruited to play with Anderson at his gigs.

That Anderson’s death is affecting people in the suburbs is testament to his reach in the Bay Area’s tight but far-flung music community.

But amid this devastation, Naima and others are trying to figure out a way to keep the Thursday night jams going at the Starry Plough, even though they know they can’t fill his shoes.

“Everyone’s like, they don’t want to rush things, but I know he would want the music to continue in the name of the community and just the epic times and good energy,” Naima said. “Every time I saw him, he was like, that’s our purpose to make sure the funk night goes on forever.