David Dinsmore, RIP

Upon hearing of the passing of one of the most-loved folks in Denver's music scene — trombonist/singer (and more) David Dinsmore (of Judge Roughneck, Lost Dog Ensemble, and more) — we reached out to a few close friends of his to see if they would be willing to comment on his impact in the scene, and fellow trombonist Dave Flomberg (of Reptiles and Samurai and Tivoli Club Brass Band, among many others) graciously allowed us to share his heartfelt post in honor of Dinsmore. Read on:







Please indulge me for a minute as I talk about my dear friend and trombrother, David Dinsmore, gone way too goddamned soon. I first met David Dinsmore back in 1997 when he was playing with Judge Roughneck. My roommate back then was my dear lifelong friend Zachary Pietlock. He was asked to join up as their drummer, and Zach introduced us.

The Denver 'bone scene is small enough that most of us who play professionally know each other. And for the most part, we all get along pretty well. (Not like those egomaniacal trumpet players... I kid. Mostly.)

David and I circled around each other in scene for years; I subbed in once or twice for him in Roughneck; then followed after him playing with FaceMan on occasion when they wanted a horn line. My old band Money Plays 8 and Judge Roughneck shared a few bills back in the late '90s. We had great chats when we'd run into each other. But finally, several years ago, Dean Hirschfield started the Tivoli Club Brass Band and invited me to play. Troy Thill joined up on sax, and he and David were already attached at the musical hip, so Troy convinced David to join up too. I was elated to be playing with him.

David was a helluva player. Better than me. I had no issue with that. No one ever hires more than one 'bone player (legit ensembles aside), so here I had the chance to pick up a few more tricks from someone I already considered a friend, and I was grateful for it. I have my own style; David had his. We both bring different things to the table, and I think we complemented each other pretty well. Although he thought he was funnier than me. And I knew I was funnier than him. As a result, we had each other laughing in rehearsals most nights.

Dean built us a family with Tivoli Club Brass Band. Rehearsal is every Sunday night, and Dean loves to cook, so we all show up around 6, eat, talk, hang out for an hour or so, then go play music in Dean's basement for another couple hours. It really is a family. I've been in a lot of bands over the years, and with TCBB, it's the unique kind of thing you really want in a band — that familial chemistry. We've played a lot of gigs together, toured together, drank too much together, yelled at each other, shoved each other into hotel pools, cried together. Sometimes all in the same weekend. All of the things you and your closest cousins or even siblings might do. Even when you're annoyed with each other, you still love each other. And we all really do.

David's love of music was probably the biggest inspiration to us as musicians. His musical vocabulary was encyclopedic in nature. He listened to everything and was constantly bringing in something new for the rest of us to hear. His tastes were truly across the spectrum. Like Duke said (maybe apocryphally, who knows), "there's only two kinds of music. Good, and the other kind." David listened to the good. And David lived it. He loved his family and you could see it when they were all together. His kids reflect the best of David, and that's the most any parent can hope for. David's sense of justice ran deep. He and I were very politically aligned in supporting and championing those who need it. Marginalized communities were something that David cared deeply about, and he very much believed in the righteous causes. He and I talked at length about my own lived experiences as a Jewish journalist covering antisemitism, and his sense of understanding and empathy really stood out in those talks. Especially lately.

The other thing that I always marveled at was David's support of the music scene in Denver as a whole. David was 6 years older than me — he used to get annoyed at me for calling him "The Elder Statesman of Trombone" (emphasis on elder, just to rub it in) — but he had far deeper reserves of energy to get to a show and support other musicians than me. Or anyone else for that matter. Bar none, really. I'm reasonably sure no one in Denver saw more other Denver bands play than David. And when the pie is so small here and everyone's hustling to get people to show up to a gig, that means a lot to folks. When I'm playing with one of my other bands and I look out in the audience and see David, it makes me smile. Especially since he didn't even hit me up for a guest pass. He lived the life and walked the walk for us all. He set the example of what it is to support local music.

David was also someone who enjoyed when other people were excited about something. When I got the bell of my horn powder-coated blue, he was first in line to talk about how cool it looked. Got new ink on your arm? David wanted to see it. See a great movie or read a new book that you liked? David wanted to hear about it. That's the kind of green flag you look for in a friendship. But an even bigger green flag is when your friend is willing to disagree with you on something or hold you accountable for something you said. David was willing to do that as well. Respectfully, most of the time. And if it got heated, David would also be the first to hug it out later.

When someone close to us dies, it's our default to often canonize them and only talk about their good qualities and paint a largely unrealistic picture of them. David wasn't perfect — just like every other human on Earth. But he was definitely better than a lot of them. David was tall, but he cast a much longer shadow than his 6'3" frame would suggest.

And that long, beautiful shadow wrapped its arms around us all — his family, his friends, his bandmates and this entire city of musicians and artists and weirdos and orphans — and embraced us all for our imperfections, too.

I'm going to miss him. My dearest trombrother.

There’s a go fund me link for the Dinsmore family to help cover the burial costs. You can make a contribution and see the full details HERE.