Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Post-election hangover.
This is lame, I admit, but I hope I will at least be believed -- if not respected, quite -- when I say that this year's election run-up and all the incredible economic news of the past few weeks has had me completely obsessed and distracted. I promise to be back to music-related thoughts very shortly. Luckily, I am already very good about going to the gym so I have extra space for blogging in my New Year's Resolutions!
Friday, October 24, 2008
The value of being older than most in a young person's game.
Tuesday night I met up with drummer Frank Russo, bassist Amy Shook, and guitarist Chris Kennedy at the studios of WTMD 89.7, Towson University's awesome independent public radio station, to do a taping for its weekly "Baltimore Unsigned" show. We recorded four of my originals and one cover song (Radiohead's "Fake Plastic Trees"), which will be broadcast along with an interview of me on November 4 and again on November 8.
I knew it would be a good musical experience, because my bandmates are just so, so professional in every way. Chris and I have been playing a lot together lately, but Frank and Amy aren't often available. I've always loved how they can just show up, set up, take a quick rehearsal-ish looksee at the charts I've brought, and then slam out the tunes as if we've been playing them every night of the week for months. In the case of the Radiohead tune, not only had we never played it all together, Frank and Amy (being a bit more jazz purist than I) had never even heard the original song. But we ran through the taping beautifully and gracefully, and didn't even have to make use of the one "mulligan" the producer would have allowed us.
Point one in favor of being past forty even while you're just launching a music career: You get to play with grown-ups.
The producer of Baltimore Unsigned, Nick, and the host, Sam, were both really nice and easy-going, which helped eliminate any last bit of nervousness or fear I had about live-taping. DJ John Matthews was doing his show, and when it was over I got to talk with him a little bit, too. One thing that sort of became clear as we were all talking...these guys must often have to deal with teenage or twenty-something musicians who, although they may be talented and ambitious, haven't really figured out how to comport themselves like adults. From the stories these guys told, some bands come in so ill-prepared for their taping, it's almost like they're doing a rehearsal in-studio. They'll start and stop tunes, and ask again and again for do-overs. They'll take hour upon hour to crank out the requested four originals. They won't have any idea how to answer interview questions in a sensible or meaningful way.
They're not necessarily idiots, of course--they're just very young. I might have been just that ill-prepared at the same age. The sad thing is, as long as they're having so much trouble handling the business & networking aspects of what they do, it may not matter how well they play or how cool their songs are. After putting up with their b.s., who's going to want to invite them back?
So, point two in favor of being older than most "new" musical artists: When opportunities arise, you know how to behave in a way that might actually lead people to offer you more opportunities....
Why do I bother to explicate all this here? Because I'm sometimes still not immune to the critical, regretful inner voice that says, "Damn, I wish I'd been doing this stuff when I was still young and had more energy...."
Well, yeah, maybe....but then again....maybe not.....
I knew it would be a good musical experience, because my bandmates are just so, so professional in every way. Chris and I have been playing a lot together lately, but Frank and Amy aren't often available. I've always loved how they can just show up, set up, take a quick rehearsal-ish looksee at the charts I've brought, and then slam out the tunes as if we've been playing them every night of the week for months. In the case of the Radiohead tune, not only had we never played it all together, Frank and Amy (being a bit more jazz purist than I) had never even heard the original song. But we ran through the taping beautifully and gracefully, and didn't even have to make use of the one "mulligan" the producer would have allowed us.
Point one in favor of being past forty even while you're just launching a music career: You get to play with grown-ups.
The producer of Baltimore Unsigned, Nick, and the host, Sam, were both really nice and easy-going, which helped eliminate any last bit of nervousness or fear I had about live-taping. DJ John Matthews was doing his show, and when it was over I got to talk with him a little bit, too. One thing that sort of became clear as we were all talking...these guys must often have to deal with teenage or twenty-something musicians who, although they may be talented and ambitious, haven't really figured out how to comport themselves like adults. From the stories these guys told, some bands come in so ill-prepared for their taping, it's almost like they're doing a rehearsal in-studio. They'll start and stop tunes, and ask again and again for do-overs. They'll take hour upon hour to crank out the requested four originals. They won't have any idea how to answer interview questions in a sensible or meaningful way.
They're not necessarily idiots, of course--they're just very young. I might have been just that ill-prepared at the same age. The sad thing is, as long as they're having so much trouble handling the business & networking aspects of what they do, it may not matter how well they play or how cool their songs are. After putting up with their b.s., who's going to want to invite them back?
So, point two in favor of being older than most "new" musical artists: When opportunities arise, you know how to behave in a way that might actually lead people to offer you more opportunities....
Why do I bother to explicate all this here? Because I'm sometimes still not immune to the critical, regretful inner voice that says, "Damn, I wish I'd been doing this stuff when I was still young and had more energy...."
Well, yeah, maybe....but then again....maybe not.....
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Two whole months have passed since Camp MMW, can you believe it?
I know a lot of my fellow campers have been feeling quite dramatic changes in their playing, their practice, and their attitude toward music since we were joyously immersed in the MMW worldview this past August. For me, the changes have been pretty subtle, I think...part of a long-term, cumulative journey toward artistic and spiritual plenitude. But I will say this: almost immediately after that unique experience in the Catskills, I noticed a small but definite new boldness in my playing. A deeper sense of freedom when creating. I think it comes in part from watching John Medeski up close for so many hours over just a few days. It's sort of miraculous to see how...unseparate he is from his keyboards. He's got everything integrated, knows his music and his technique and his different instruments so thoroughly that there's not even a hair's-breadth gap between intention and action. He sings through his hands.
There are days when I get a glimmer of how that feels...when I achieve that unseparateness, that integration, if only for a song or a solo or a few phrases at a time. Sheer bliss.
There are days when I get a glimmer of how that feels...when I achieve that unseparateness, that integration, if only for a song or a solo or a few phrases at a time. Sheer bliss.
Nonchalance in the face of rejection.
I just had a brief but interesting phone conversation with the guy who books one of the more active music venues in Baltimore, Joe Squared Pizza. Earlier this year, my quartet (i.e. the "B band") had played three gigs there in what was supposed to be a regular monthly spot. Then we were abruptly killed with no explanation--or at least, with semi-explanations that didn't really make sense. Since we seemed to be a hit there (I'd brought in 25 or more people, and also gained a good number of fans and sold a few CDs there), my best guess was that, in the opinion of the restaurant owner (a different guy than the booker) we were too loud for the dinner slot we were given.
Since then, I've continued to receive mass emails from this booker whenever he has dates to fill, and I've occasionally responded in the hopes of grabbing a performance slot. I've offered to bring the band in for a late-night slot, again on the premise that what we did was too loud for dinner hour. I've offered to come in as a solo piano/vocal dinner act. And the booker would never respond...yet continue to keep me on his mailing list for whenever he had open dates or band cancellations.
Today I called him to say, essentially, What the hell is up? And he was finally straight with me. "Look, as I told you, I like your stuff, I think your CD was really great, but Joe just didn't like you."
The booker basically apologized to me for the fact that the owner doesn't dig my music, and then he went on to say that he never knew exactly how to handle such situations. I told him that as far as I was concerned, I'm aware that not everybody is going to like what I do, but I'd much rather have the honest painful truth than the aggravating mystery. "I'm much happier," I told him, "knowing that I should never bother again to try to get a date at Joe Squared, rather than wondering from now until forever whether I just haven't been persistent enough, or something." I told him there were no hard feelings and that I'd appreciate him taking me off his email list, although he was welcome to keep me on his own personal performance list (he's a DJ).
So it turns out that owner Joe of Joe Squared Pizza doesn't like my music. So what? I'm so incredibly happy to be in a place in my life where a little bit of rejection feels like one single drop of water beading down my back, instead of a downpour.
Since then, I've continued to receive mass emails from this booker whenever he has dates to fill, and I've occasionally responded in the hopes of grabbing a performance slot. I've offered to bring the band in for a late-night slot, again on the premise that what we did was too loud for dinner hour. I've offered to come in as a solo piano/vocal dinner act. And the booker would never respond...yet continue to keep me on his mailing list for whenever he had open dates or band cancellations.
Today I called him to say, essentially, What the hell is up? And he was finally straight with me. "Look, as I told you, I like your stuff, I think your CD was really great, but Joe just didn't like you."
The booker basically apologized to me for the fact that the owner doesn't dig my music, and then he went on to say that he never knew exactly how to handle such situations. I told him that as far as I was concerned, I'm aware that not everybody is going to like what I do, but I'd much rather have the honest painful truth than the aggravating mystery. "I'm much happier," I told him, "knowing that I should never bother again to try to get a date at Joe Squared, rather than wondering from now until forever whether I just haven't been persistent enough, or something." I told him there were no hard feelings and that I'd appreciate him taking me off his email list, although he was welcome to keep me on his own personal performance list (he's a DJ).
So it turns out that owner Joe of Joe Squared Pizza doesn't like my music. So what? I'm so incredibly happy to be in a place in my life where a little bit of rejection feels like one single drop of water beading down my back, instead of a downpour.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
My "B" band has eclipsed my "A" band.
When I set out to record my debut CD, I hired the best jazz freelancers I knew, hotshots in the greater DC area who are constantly working, composing, running their own combos, teaching, etc. The record was made so much better simply because my sidemen are top-drawer, highly interactive players, extremely sensitive and appropriate in all their musical gestures. In most cases, we rehearsed a song for only a half-hour or so, and then recorded it in no more than two or three takes. Not only did they make me sound my best, they also saved me a ton of money in the studio....
These fantabulous players are constantly busy, as I mentioned. They seem to truly enjoy playing my music and performing with me, but they rarely are available for dates. They're booked solid, months and months in advance.
They're also the kind of musicians who are used to being paid a minimally decent amount, so I try not to even ask them to play unless I can give them $100 or $150 a player. But I am still in a position where I can't always say no to a gig just because it's offering far less than that. Basically (as many of jazz players understand), if it's a wedding or restaurant gig where we're going to be expected to play standards, I will not do it for less than $100/player, but if it's a scene where I can play my originals and possibly add some names to my email list or sell a CD or two, well hell, sure, I'll play for free or nearly free....
So for these reasons and a number of others, I started a "secondary" band last January. The guitarist is the same guy as in my "A" band--he's got a full-time day job as a producer in a local studio here, so he's willing to play for free or nearly free--but the bassist and drummer in this outfit have careers in other fields and are simply looking for more and better playing experiences.
At first, I didn't want to impose on these guys, so I didn't ask them to rehearse too much. They learned my existing book by listening to my CD and rehearsing once or twice before our earliest gigs. I've been writing about one new tune a month, so I'd just show up at events and throw new charts in front of them, and they'd sightread them the best they could.
Recently, though, the drummer came to me and said he'd really prefer it if we rehearsed, and worked toward creating real arrangements and a unique group sound for ourselves, rather than just treating every gig like a pick-up jazz hit. I agreed, and was relieved that he'd come to me with the suggestion. Luckily, my bassist and guitarist felt the same way. So for about two months now we've been rehearsing every other week.
And guess what? (as if it shouldn't be perfectly obvious). Although this band collectively has far less playing experience and far fewer chops than my recording band, we've become a tighter, deeper, much more interesting outfit. We played a gig at 49 West in Annapolis this past Wednesday, and it was simply amazing. The confidence we've gained by rehearsing the material enables us to be very highly interactive....there were incredible subtleties and nuances happening that night, and an overall feel and excitement as good as anything I've ever achieved with my "A listers." Afterwards, my newly hired, very music-knowledgeable publicist said to me, "You don't need Frank and Amy [i.e. the hotshot drummer and bassist from my CD]! Mike and David sounded terrific!"
This made me incredibly happy, but it must have truly thrilled Mike and David, the bassist and drummer in question, who were in earshot when Paula said it. Both of these guys are a little like me: talented folks who got very little support and tons of discouragement when they were young, and let themselves be sidetracked into other non-musical careers.
I'm so happy and grateful that I've been able to create this band, not just as a viable performance outfit with the possibility of getting somewhere on a local and regional basis, but as an opportunity for these two guys to Get Back To Where They Once Belonged.
These fantabulous players are constantly busy, as I mentioned. They seem to truly enjoy playing my music and performing with me, but they rarely are available for dates. They're booked solid, months and months in advance.
They're also the kind of musicians who are used to being paid a minimally decent amount, so I try not to even ask them to play unless I can give them $100 or $150 a player. But I am still in a position where I can't always say no to a gig just because it's offering far less than that. Basically (as many of jazz players understand), if it's a wedding or restaurant gig where we're going to be expected to play standards, I will not do it for less than $100/player, but if it's a scene where I can play my originals and possibly add some names to my email list or sell a CD or two, well hell, sure, I'll play for free or nearly free....
So for these reasons and a number of others, I started a "secondary" band last January. The guitarist is the same guy as in my "A" band--he's got a full-time day job as a producer in a local studio here, so he's willing to play for free or nearly free--but the bassist and drummer in this outfit have careers in other fields and are simply looking for more and better playing experiences.
At first, I didn't want to impose on these guys, so I didn't ask them to rehearse too much. They learned my existing book by listening to my CD and rehearsing once or twice before our earliest gigs. I've been writing about one new tune a month, so I'd just show up at events and throw new charts in front of them, and they'd sightread them the best they could.
Recently, though, the drummer came to me and said he'd really prefer it if we rehearsed, and worked toward creating real arrangements and a unique group sound for ourselves, rather than just treating every gig like a pick-up jazz hit. I agreed, and was relieved that he'd come to me with the suggestion. Luckily, my bassist and guitarist felt the same way. So for about two months now we've been rehearsing every other week.
And guess what? (as if it shouldn't be perfectly obvious). Although this band collectively has far less playing experience and far fewer chops than my recording band, we've become a tighter, deeper, much more interesting outfit. We played a gig at 49 West in Annapolis this past Wednesday, and it was simply amazing. The confidence we've gained by rehearsing the material enables us to be very highly interactive....there were incredible subtleties and nuances happening that night, and an overall feel and excitement as good as anything I've ever achieved with my "A listers." Afterwards, my newly hired, very music-knowledgeable publicist said to me, "You don't need Frank and Amy [i.e. the hotshot drummer and bassist from my CD]! Mike and David sounded terrific!"
This made me incredibly happy, but it must have truly thrilled Mike and David, the bassist and drummer in question, who were in earshot when Paula said it. Both of these guys are a little like me: talented folks who got very little support and tons of discouragement when they were young, and let themselves be sidetracked into other non-musical careers.
I'm so happy and grateful that I've been able to create this band, not just as a viable performance outfit with the possibility of getting somewhere on a local and regional basis, but as an opportunity for these two guys to Get Back To Where They Once Belonged.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Re-befriending the blues scale.
I have to confess something. By the second or third day of Camp MMW, it was starting to drive me crazy listening to so many pianists play almost nothing but blues scales. Or am I exaggerating? I suppose it just seemed to me that every time I wandered by a jam session or even just one of the many wildly out-of-tune old pianos scattered around the resort, somebody was hammering out some classic (perhaps even cliche) old blues licks. It struck me as weird and funny, although perhaps that's only because when I started to learn how to improvise, my first jazz band teacher pushed us hard to play/solo on the actual chord changes of the 12-bar blues form, rather than just bullshitting blues lines all over the place.
(For those without a whole lot of jazz theoretical knowledge, I'll explain: Let's say you're playing a 12-bar blues that goes from F7 to Bb7 to F7 to C7 and back finally to F7--or some variation thereof. You can actually muddle your way through by playing the F blues scale (F-Ab-Bb-B-C-Eb) the whole way through, without worrying about the underlying chord at that moment. But to move past that basic level and into a more sophisticated jazz sound, you actually play the F dominant scale over F7, then move to the Bb dominant scale over Bb7, and so on....)
So I suppose my jazz snobbery was asserting itself a little bit. But then something happened. In keeping with all the other transformative moments we each experienced over the week, I had a little epiphany about how John Medeski manages to play things that are at once so "out there" and yet so grounded, and it has everything to do with the blues... Not only the blues scale, of course, but the whole sound, feeling, vibe of classic blues musicians.... And suddenly I realized that all those pianists playing blues licks were helping me reacquaint myself with a sound I'd been avoiding, for no good reason.
True, I think as a developing musician I was fortunate to have teachers who challenged me to learn other harmonic ideas, to KEEP learning and filling up my musical vocabulary, and not just get stuck in familiar sounds.
That said, I've been having so much fun practicing the F blues scale lately so I can wail on it in my new song, "Monster." On the piano, F blues is so easy, so comfortable under the fingers. A lot of my other tunes incorporate more modern chords and trickier, unexpected progressions...and I love playing on those, figuring out how to voice-lead on those, devising beautiful melodies over surprising harmonic movement. But last night we rehearsed "Monster," which is the closest thing I've ever written to a true headbanger rock song...and it's clearly going to be a great set-closer for us when we play 49 West in Annapolis and the Streetbeat Festival in Baltimore next week.
What fun it will be to send our love out to the audience one last time, and get down and dirty with the blues.
(For those without a whole lot of jazz theoretical knowledge, I'll explain: Let's say you're playing a 12-bar blues that goes from F7 to Bb7 to F7 to C7 and back finally to F7--or some variation thereof. You can actually muddle your way through by playing the F blues scale (F-Ab-Bb-B-C-Eb) the whole way through, without worrying about the underlying chord at that moment. But to move past that basic level and into a more sophisticated jazz sound, you actually play the F dominant scale over F7, then move to the Bb dominant scale over Bb7, and so on....)
So I suppose my jazz snobbery was asserting itself a little bit. But then something happened. In keeping with all the other transformative moments we each experienced over the week, I had a little epiphany about how John Medeski manages to play things that are at once so "out there" and yet so grounded, and it has everything to do with the blues... Not only the blues scale, of course, but the whole sound, feeling, vibe of classic blues musicians.... And suddenly I realized that all those pianists playing blues licks were helping me reacquaint myself with a sound I'd been avoiding, for no good reason.
True, I think as a developing musician I was fortunate to have teachers who challenged me to learn other harmonic ideas, to KEEP learning and filling up my musical vocabulary, and not just get stuck in familiar sounds.
That said, I've been having so much fun practicing the F blues scale lately so I can wail on it in my new song, "Monster." On the piano, F blues is so easy, so comfortable under the fingers. A lot of my other tunes incorporate more modern chords and trickier, unexpected progressions...and I love playing on those, figuring out how to voice-lead on those, devising beautiful melodies over surprising harmonic movement. But last night we rehearsed "Monster," which is the closest thing I've ever written to a true headbanger rock song...and it's clearly going to be a great set-closer for us when we play 49 West in Annapolis and the Streetbeat Festival in Baltimore next week.
What fun it will be to send our love out to the audience one last time, and get down and dirty with the blues.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Every gig is a learning opportunity.
On Saturday I played an annual event I've been involved with for years, an Amnesty International benefit hosted by my friends Annie and Eric, who live on a small farm in Loudon County, Virginia. In years past, I've always wrangled up a group for a sort of pick-up jazz event with at least a drummer and bassist, if not also a guitarist and a few horn players. This year, nobody was available, so I did a two-set headliner performance all by myself. I and my friends were all a little worried about having a solo artist in the main slot (there was a trio before me and a duo afterward), but it turned out incredibly well.
As much as I love playing with a band, there was something very interesting and intimate about sitting up there on stage by myself, playing and singing and telling stories. It reminded me that what I do these days is not so different from what guitar-playing singer-songwriters do, and that therefore I should try to get more solo gigs.
But more importantly, it reminded me that I have a good deal of self-sufficience as a musician. I don't need a drummer to keep my time honest or a bassist to hold me to the harmonic form. I'm on top of it, all by myself. Playing and interacting with a band is nirvana, for sure, and I would never give it up. Rehearsing these past few weeks with Sandcastle, putting some of Billy's and John's and Chris's collaborative ideas into practice, has been terrific fun.
But playing solo for people is a kind of interaction, too. Their claps and cheers and laughter, and even just their silent sitting and listening, are part of a give-and-take. What a privilege to be able to do it, to be offered the chance to communicate with old friends and new ones in this manner....I hope to do more of it.
On a practical level...now I'm not nearly so nervous about the solo performance I'm doing at the New Haven Lounge this coming Saturday...
As much as I love playing with a band, there was something very interesting and intimate about sitting up there on stage by myself, playing and singing and telling stories. It reminded me that what I do these days is not so different from what guitar-playing singer-songwriters do, and that therefore I should try to get more solo gigs.
But more importantly, it reminded me that I have a good deal of self-sufficience as a musician. I don't need a drummer to keep my time honest or a bassist to hold me to the harmonic form. I'm on top of it, all by myself. Playing and interacting with a band is nirvana, for sure, and I would never give it up. Rehearsing these past few weeks with Sandcastle, putting some of Billy's and John's and Chris's collaborative ideas into practice, has been terrific fun.
But playing solo for people is a kind of interaction, too. Their claps and cheers and laughter, and even just their silent sitting and listening, are part of a give-and-take. What a privilege to be able to do it, to be offered the chance to communicate with old friends and new ones in this manner....I hope to do more of it.
On a practical level...now I'm not nearly so nervous about the solo performance I'm doing at the New Haven Lounge this coming Saturday...
Monday, September 8, 2008
Steal from the best!
So....as I've mentioned, and as Cameron and a few others witnessed firsthand at camp after the very first master class, I got a little obsessed with John Medeski's explanation of how he plays C blues licks over alternating "inside" and "outside" harmonies (Cm and EMaj) on "The Lover."
Well, it's a little less outside than that, but I've been fooling around with playing F blues in my RH over an alternation between Fm and BMaj. F blues scale contains a lot of the notes of B Major 7, so as I said, it doesn't sound quite as dissonant and surprising as C blues over E Major, but it still has a kind of cool "wrong-but-right" flavor to it, especially if I catch a C natural in my RH while playing B in my LH. In any case, this "inside/outside" harmonic structure has become the bedrock of a brand new tune, called "Monster." I'll give you just the first part of the lyrics....
MONSTER by Sandy Asirvatham BMI (c) 2008 all rights reserved..
[verse 1]
I built a monster in my basement
and tried to teach him how to talk
But he never managed more than
an unintelligible sqawk.
I sent him up to the state college
to earn his history degree
But what he learned there was so gruesome
Back to the basement did he flee...He say,
[chorus]
Words, they fail me, they fail me, they fail me, he say,
Words, they fail me, they fail me.....every time.
[verse 2]
I got a parrot for my parlor
And waited long for her to speak.
But she preferred to perch in silence,
Patiently burnish her mystique.
I wondered if she was a goddess
Reincarnated here and now.
Does Polly really want a cracker,
Or does she want me to kow-tow? She say,
[chorus]
Words, they fail me, they fail me, they fail me, she say,
Words, they fail me, they fail me.....every time.
...more to come!
We'll be rehearsing this in my Sandcastle meeting tonight...after I put the guys through some heavy stridulations!
Well, it's a little less outside than that, but I've been fooling around with playing F blues in my RH over an alternation between Fm and BMaj. F blues scale contains a lot of the notes of B Major 7, so as I said, it doesn't sound quite as dissonant and surprising as C blues over E Major, but it still has a kind of cool "wrong-but-right" flavor to it, especially if I catch a C natural in my RH while playing B in my LH. In any case, this "inside/outside" harmonic structure has become the bedrock of a brand new tune, called "Monster." I'll give you just the first part of the lyrics....
MONSTER by Sandy Asirvatham BMI (c) 2008 all rights reserved..
[verse 1]
I built a monster in my basement
and tried to teach him how to talk
But he never managed more than
an unintelligible sqawk.
I sent him up to the state college
to earn his history degree
But what he learned there was so gruesome
Back to the basement did he flee...He say,
[chorus]
Words, they fail me, they fail me, they fail me, he say,
Words, they fail me, they fail me.....every time.
[verse 2]
I got a parrot for my parlor
And waited long for her to speak.
But she preferred to perch in silence,
Patiently burnish her mystique.
I wondered if she was a goddess
Reincarnated here and now.
Does Polly really want a cracker,
Or does she want me to kow-tow? She say,
[chorus]
Words, they fail me, they fail me, they fail me, she say,
Words, they fail me, they fail me.....every time.
...more to come!
We'll be rehearsing this in my Sandcastle meeting tonight...after I put the guys through some heavy stridulations!
Dave Arntsen is all grown-up, but feels like a baby.
Oh, he’s a full-fledged adult, no doubt about it: hard-working litigation attorney, responsible father of five, devoted husband of nineteen years. But Dave Arntsen’s experience at Camp MMW reduced the 6-foot-something New Yorker to a spiritual infant—soft-skinned, eager to learn, immensely vulnerable, and always a breath away from either crying or grinning.
This sensation of being a baby hit Dave hardest during John Medeski’s Thursday master class on music and the collective unconscious.
“I left that class in tears,” Dave told me, when I got a chance to speak with him about two weeks after camp. “I took me literally an hour and a half of walking by the brook and hearing the dirt under my feet—you know, listening to everything as Medeski had taught us—[to regain my composure].”
Medeski’s class was the pinnacle of his experience at camp, Dave says. He’ll never forget the moment toward the end of the class, when Medeski asked everyone to close their eyes, and you could the wind in the trees and hear the roof expanding and contracting…and then into that beautiful peacefulness, John began to introduce a few new sounds—the sruti box, the melodica….
“At a certain point, part of the music shifted,” Dave remembers. “It went from something a little discordant to a brief passage of something very pretty, melodic, moody. Johnny Sneed was sitting behind me, and I heard Johnny gutterally go, Uhhh…, a totally visceral response. And I just started crying. It was such an epiphany for me.”
He’d had plenty of similar moments of sudden enlightenment throughout the week. Dave says he remembers arriving and feeling this tremendous urge to jam, to get in there with the guys in the café and play…and then for a moment being a little irritated by how it was turning out, with some of the younger campers constantly putting themselves front and center.
“But then I realized, for some of these young guys, this may be their first opportunity to play with other people in this kind of situation. When I realized that, it became all good. And I also realized, I’ve got a lot to learn from these guys, too.”
Dave’s pre-camp expectations were pretty modest. He wanted at a minimum to come back home as a better bass player, and to bring his band some new ideas for rehearsing and composing.
But the effect of the experience has been a lot deeper and broader than anticipated. Although he’s been basically a “rock guy" for decades, and a pop-oriented singer-songwriter, Dave came away from camp saying he doesn’t care if he ever gets to perform again—he really just wants to compose. “Now I totally see a connection between some of the pretty structured melodic ideas I like to rely on when I compose a song, and the completely random and the cataclysmic way” that MMW invents music on the spot, he says.
The changes taking place inside him were immediately obvious the first time Dave got together to play with other people after camp. One evening his very talented, high-caliber band-mates got together to hang out and drink a little and play—it was Dave and one of his best friends, a fantastic guitar player, along with a drummer and another blues guitar player. Someone picked up an acoustic bass and started playing it, and Dave (perhaps thinking back to all the drum circles Billy had spawned with his stridulations exercises) was inspired to start banging on the aluminum Budweiser bottle in his hand. Then he picked up a stack of poker chips and started beating a nice little percussion pattern on the table. “My buddies were laughing at first, but one guy was looking at me and seeing it. He kept saying, ‘You guys, look. Dave’s not laughing. Dave’s not laughing.’ And it’s true, I wasn’t laughing, I was trying to get into it. And then everyone started to get into it, started to feel it.”
Eventually the laughter petered out and everyone really started improvising. “This is real for me now,” Dave says. “I used to watch MMW when they did their thing, and I couldn’t always connect to it. I always respected it, but now I understand it from the inside.”
That’s not to say the process has been demystified for Dave—far from it. If anything, he says, he’s even more in awe of the depth and spirituality and freshness possible in this music. “That’s why I say, I feel like a baby.”
I asked Dave whether he had any thoughts about returning to Camp MMW next year, and he had some fascinating things to say. First of all, he says he wonders whether the trio will even want to have the same campers back. He thinks it’s entirely possible that John, Billy, and Chris will deliberately hunt for a whole new crop of musicians with whom they can share their skills and vision.
But beyond that, Dave says, he feels almost as if he’s been initiated into something of a religious experience…that he was among the lucky seventy-six people disciples first invited into the temple.
And so now, what’s his job, his mission? Is it to return again and again, year after year, trying to do the impossible, i.e., recreate that amazing first-time-ever experience? No, Dave says. Although the baby in him may want to stay young forever, the grown-up in him knows that you can never go backward in life, only forward.
So it’s his mission now to go out and spread the word. Spread the music.
This sensation of being a baby hit Dave hardest during John Medeski’s Thursday master class on music and the collective unconscious.
“I left that class in tears,” Dave told me, when I got a chance to speak with him about two weeks after camp. “I took me literally an hour and a half of walking by the brook and hearing the dirt under my feet—you know, listening to everything as Medeski had taught us—[to regain my composure].”
Medeski’s class was the pinnacle of his experience at camp, Dave says. He’ll never forget the moment toward the end of the class, when Medeski asked everyone to close their eyes, and you could the wind in the trees and hear the roof expanding and contracting…and then into that beautiful peacefulness, John began to introduce a few new sounds—the sruti box, the melodica….
“At a certain point, part of the music shifted,” Dave remembers. “It went from something a little discordant to a brief passage of something very pretty, melodic, moody. Johnny Sneed was sitting behind me, and I heard Johnny gutterally go, Uhhh…, a totally visceral response. And I just started crying. It was such an epiphany for me.”
He’d had plenty of similar moments of sudden enlightenment throughout the week. Dave says he remembers arriving and feeling this tremendous urge to jam, to get in there with the guys in the café and play…and then for a moment being a little irritated by how it was turning out, with some of the younger campers constantly putting themselves front and center.
“But then I realized, for some of these young guys, this may be their first opportunity to play with other people in this kind of situation. When I realized that, it became all good. And I also realized, I’ve got a lot to learn from these guys, too.”
Dave’s pre-camp expectations were pretty modest. He wanted at a minimum to come back home as a better bass player, and to bring his band some new ideas for rehearsing and composing.
But the effect of the experience has been a lot deeper and broader than anticipated. Although he’s been basically a “rock guy" for decades, and a pop-oriented singer-songwriter, Dave came away from camp saying he doesn’t care if he ever gets to perform again—he really just wants to compose. “Now I totally see a connection between some of the pretty structured melodic ideas I like to rely on when I compose a song, and the completely random and the cataclysmic way” that MMW invents music on the spot, he says.
The changes taking place inside him were immediately obvious the first time Dave got together to play with other people after camp. One evening his very talented, high-caliber band-mates got together to hang out and drink a little and play—it was Dave and one of his best friends, a fantastic guitar player, along with a drummer and another blues guitar player. Someone picked up an acoustic bass and started playing it, and Dave (perhaps thinking back to all the drum circles Billy had spawned with his stridulations exercises) was inspired to start banging on the aluminum Budweiser bottle in his hand. Then he picked up a stack of poker chips and started beating a nice little percussion pattern on the table. “My buddies were laughing at first, but one guy was looking at me and seeing it. He kept saying, ‘You guys, look. Dave’s not laughing. Dave’s not laughing.’ And it’s true, I wasn’t laughing, I was trying to get into it. And then everyone started to get into it, started to feel it.”
Eventually the laughter petered out and everyone really started improvising. “This is real for me now,” Dave says. “I used to watch MMW when they did their thing, and I couldn’t always connect to it. I always respected it, but now I understand it from the inside.”
That’s not to say the process has been demystified for Dave—far from it. If anything, he says, he’s even more in awe of the depth and spirituality and freshness possible in this music. “That’s why I say, I feel like a baby.”
I asked Dave whether he had any thoughts about returning to Camp MMW next year, and he had some fascinating things to say. First of all, he says he wonders whether the trio will even want to have the same campers back. He thinks it’s entirely possible that John, Billy, and Chris will deliberately hunt for a whole new crop of musicians with whom they can share their skills and vision.
But beyond that, Dave says, he feels almost as if he’s been initiated into something of a religious experience…that he was among the lucky seventy-six people disciples first invited into the temple.
And so now, what’s his job, his mission? Is it to return again and again, year after year, trying to do the impossible, i.e., recreate that amazing first-time-ever experience? No, Dave says. Although the baby in him may want to stay young forever, the grown-up in him knows that you can never go backward in life, only forward.
So it’s his mission now to go out and spread the word. Spread the music.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Embarrassing revelations about my ear or lack thereof.
1) Apparently, I can't always tell the difference between sus2 and sus4.
2) Apparently, if I'm rushing, I sometimes confuse the sound of diminished triad and augmented triad.
3) Apparently, I need a LOT more basic ear training.
2) Apparently, if I'm rushing, I sometimes confuse the sound of diminished triad and augmented triad.
3) Apparently, I need a LOT more basic ear training.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Eb major triad over C major triad: love it, love it
I'm in love with this particular bitonal tension. Here's something interesting. I could easily rearrange the notes in these two triads to make it conform to a C dominant 7 sharp nine (so-called "altered dominant") kind of thing, a very common jazz sound...and yet if I don't try to box it in like that, if I keep envisioning and playing and hearing it as two separate triads sounding simultaneously, the mood and feel is entirely different from altered dominant.
I've been playing with it this way: 'comping simply on the root position triad in my LH while noodling on the opposite triad in my RH, i.e., Eb major "over" C major for a bar, then switch to C major "over" Eb major for a bar, etc etc ad infinitum. It's fun. I highly recommend it.
I've been playing with it this way: 'comping simply on the root position triad in my LH while noodling on the opposite triad in my RH, i.e., Eb major "over" C major for a bar, then switch to C major "over" Eb major for a bar, etc etc ad infinitum. It's fun. I highly recommend it.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Everybody's driving the bus, and to the same destination.
I wish I could remember which song John Medeski was talking about when he proposed one of the most important ideas I heard all week at camp....I'm pretty certain it was the VSOP band (Herbie Hancock, Freddie Hubbard, Ron Carter, Tony Williams, Wayne Shorter) but don't remember the track. In any case, Medeski made this beautiful set of gestures with his arm to convey his idea, and it stuck with me. He compared a traditional jazz standard performance by sweeping his arm up and down and up and down in small arcs, like a roller coaster's motion. This represented each soloist taking his turn to tell his own story, then stepping back to let the next soloist take his turn. A fine way of doing things, not to be belitted when it's done well in a casual setting like a jam session or informal pick-up gig, or as a step in one's development as a soloist.
But the arguably greater achievement of a band like VSOP was something Medeski represented with a single big sweeping arc of his arm. He used that gesture to emphasize that each tune is a singular journey--one in which an individual soloist doesn't just get his chance to say "his thing" and then step back...instead, each soloist uses his time to add to the overall narrative arc of the whole tune, to push the band further into the groove and higher into the specific feel and sound of the tune.
Obviously, this is exactly what MMW does so well, and to some extent it may be obvious, and yet I really appreciated John making the idea so explicit and clear.
It's something I think we manage to do fairly well in a natural way with both the bands I run, but now that I've had it illustrated and pointed out so well, I'm going to try to focus on it the next time we play. (Sandcastle actually played last night and I do remember moments of thinking, 'Wow, we're doing it, we're really achieving that collective thing.')
If anything, the goal of a single narrative arc pushed along by everyone in the band may help me from getting hung up on the "false goal" of playing a great solo. It's not supposed to be about ME so much, even if it's my turn to take over the steering wheel for a few choruses. It's still and always about US and getting us all to the other side in the same big beautiful vehicle... I like that.
But the arguably greater achievement of a band like VSOP was something Medeski represented with a single big sweeping arc of his arm. He used that gesture to emphasize that each tune is a singular journey--one in which an individual soloist doesn't just get his chance to say "his thing" and then step back...instead, each soloist uses his time to add to the overall narrative arc of the whole tune, to push the band further into the groove and higher into the specific feel and sound of the tune.
Obviously, this is exactly what MMW does so well, and to some extent it may be obvious, and yet I really appreciated John making the idea so explicit and clear.
It's something I think we manage to do fairly well in a natural way with both the bands I run, but now that I've had it illustrated and pointed out so well, I'm going to try to focus on it the next time we play. (Sandcastle actually played last night and I do remember moments of thinking, 'Wow, we're doing it, we're really achieving that collective thing.')
If anything, the goal of a single narrative arc pushed along by everyone in the band may help me from getting hung up on the "false goal" of playing a great solo. It's not supposed to be about ME so much, even if it's my turn to take over the steering wheel for a few choruses. It's still and always about US and getting us all to the other side in the same big beautiful vehicle... I like that.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
"You will learn generosity toward your own work by becoming more generous with others."
This was the advice that Cary Tennis, Salon.com's longtime advice columnist, gave to a frustrated, blocked young writer. She'd been working for a small publishing house and had become so depressed and agitated by the poor quality of "slush pile" manuscripts that she was now paralyzed in her own writing. Every piece of immature or poorly edited or incompletely imagined fiction that she saw made her feel simultaneously arrogant ("how can this person possibly believe he/she is a writer!") and paranoid ("what if I'm every bit as bad and self-deluded as these would-be writers?"). As a result, over time, this woman's own creativity had come to a grinding halt as she found herself caught between impossibly high standards and a deep lack of self-confidence.
Cary Tennis said a whole lot of things in response but these were the words that jumped right out at me:
You will learn generosity toward your own work by being more generous to others.
What a beautiful thought. I wish someone had said this to me when I was a young would-be novelist caught between my impossibly high standards and my deep lack of self-confidence.
I'm a musician more than a writer now, but the sentiment still holds. I am going to try to put it into practice.
Cary Tennis said a whole lot of things in response but these were the words that jumped right out at me:
You will learn generosity toward your own work by being more generous to others.
What a beautiful thought. I wish someone had said this to me when I was a young would-be novelist caught between my impossibly high standards and my deep lack of self-confidence.
I'm a musician more than a writer now, but the sentiment still holds. I am going to try to put it into practice.
Can't get MMW "The Lover" out of my head.
I'm completely obsessed now with the tune Medeski and the boys broke down for us on the first full day of camp: "The Lover." It's the one where he's playing C blues scale in the right hand over an alternating left-hand vamp of C minor 7 to E Major 7. I know a lot of pianists who can credibly go "outside" the changes of a tune from time to time and make it work, but this usually involves taking the RIGHT HAND improvised line far away from the steady chord progression. It works especially nicely on changes that are very well known...."All the Things You Are," for example, which is one song John M. played during his talk on "The Ins of Taking It Out." But what I DON'T hear often is this concept of keeping the RH line playing the same scale (in this case, C blues) idea while the LH works alternatively "with it" (C minor) or "against it" (E Major). If I get a chance, I'll have to ask John whether he knows of other artists who've done that kind of thing, or if it's his own concoction. Maybe it's an organist's way of thinking? Please weigh in if you happen to know....
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Bassist Amy Shook told me, "Listen harder than you play."
Amy Shook is this amazing DC-area bassist with whom I've had the pleasure of recording and performing from time to time. (She's several leagues above me in terms of accomplishment and experience; I call her when I've got a gig or a session date, but she would never really need to call me for one of her projects, there being many, many great pianists in this area...)
In a classroom setting I once heard Amy say, "Always listen harder than you play." During camp, Medeski and Martin and Wood (along with their friends Ribot and Bernstein and Scofield) continually reinforced that message, explicitly in what they taught, and implicitly in how they played and interacted with each other.
I figure listening is both an attitude and a skill set. I think I can rearrange my attitude readily to become a better listener, but it sure would help if I knew and thoroughly understood what I'm hearing. In that spirit, I've decided to start spending serious time again in ear training studies. I've got a great software tool for this but have been neglecting lately. I'd really recommend this program to anyone who wants to grow bigger ears: Ear Master Pro 5. Check it out.
I've got other tools--some of jazz educator David Baker's materials, as well as the relative pitch course from that guy who also advertises his "perfect pitch" course in all the music magazines--but for now I'll stick with Ear Master and try (slowly, steadily) to live up to its title....
In a classroom setting I once heard Amy say, "Always listen harder than you play." During camp, Medeski and Martin and Wood (along with their friends Ribot and Bernstein and Scofield) continually reinforced that message, explicitly in what they taught, and implicitly in how they played and interacted with each other.
I figure listening is both an attitude and a skill set. I think I can rearrange my attitude readily to become a better listener, but it sure would help if I knew and thoroughly understood what I'm hearing. In that spirit, I've decided to start spending serious time again in ear training studies. I've got a great software tool for this but have been neglecting lately. I'd really recommend this program to anyone who wants to grow bigger ears: Ear Master Pro 5. Check it out.
I've got other tools--some of jazz educator David Baker's materials, as well as the relative pitch course from that guy who also advertises his "perfect pitch" course in all the music magazines--but for now I'll stick with Ear Master and try (slowly, steadily) to live up to its title....
Friday, August 15, 2008
piano practice, post-camp Week One
Following John Medeski's interpretation of Ran Blake's polytonality exercise, I've been calmly, patiently checking out the sound of C# major triad over C major triad all week, so much so that I can now accurately sing the C# triad while sounding C major...and it feels "tense" but not "wrong." Cool stuff indeed.
Next week I will briefly sit with D major triad over C major, but not too long since that's just Lydian mode and I hear that pretty readily. Eb major over C major will be fun, I'm certain....
Next week I will briefly sit with D major triad over C major, but not too long since that's just Lydian mode and I hear that pretty readily. Eb major over C major will be fun, I'm certain....
Mance Lipscomb says religion is love
I grew up with the kind of people who use the Bible as a bludgeon--a blunt force instrument to keep curious young minds from asking too many questions or thinking too independently. So I can perhaps be excused for my allergy to religion.
But I couldn't help but me moved while watching "A Well Spent Life," director Les Blank's documentary about bluesman Mance Lipscomb, and hearing the sweet old man talk about religion (shortly after talking about how many parentless or might-as-well-be-parentless children he has helped to raise over the years). "Religion is just love," says Mance Lipscomb. If only more people thought that way, the world would be a different place...
Meanwhile, those of us without organized religion take our spiritual sustenance where we can find it. We build private virtual churches deep within ourselves.
During one week in the Catskill Mountains with the jazz/funk/free trio Medeski Martin & Wood at their first annual music camp, I sort of felt like we were all embarked on building a new religion...but specifically one in praise of music itself, without any particular creed, code, or body of legend that needed to be adhered to. Watching the Mance Lipscomb film late at night, after hour upon hour and day upon day of workshops and ensembles and performances from MMW, was like hearing a really great heartfelt sermon from the one preacher in childhood you could actually trust. Here's a guy with a resilience and good humor and gratitude about life even when it's grindingly difficult. A person who's learned to sing his blues rather than get bogged down by them. We would all wish for such grace.
Speaking of grace...after 17 years making music together, it turns out that John Medeski, Billy Martin, and Chris Wood are also graced with a gift for teaching. I could not get over how much they gave us and kept giving us during this weeklong musical adventure: their advice and ideas and musical philosophies; their cool stories; their innovative practice suggestions; their incredible, intimate performances in that beautiful little space at the Full Moon Resort; the extensive, eclectic, but very concrete songlist of music that had influenced and informed them...it went on and on.
Sure, this camp was a savvy business move for them. I am certain that with their kids growing up and they themselves reaching middle age, M and M and W are all looking for ways to make a living in music without being on the road constantly. And besides, they're just human beings. For all I know, John Medeski never pays his taxes on time, Billy Martin is mean to his mother's cat, and Chris Wood once did or said something that made his junior high school prom date cry in the girl's bathroom. None of us is a saint.
But for one week in early August in the Catskills, these fine gentlemen built us a little church of music and welcomed us in. It was a savvy business move but also an act of service, humility, and love.
But I couldn't help but me moved while watching "A Well Spent Life," director Les Blank's documentary about bluesman Mance Lipscomb, and hearing the sweet old man talk about religion (shortly after talking about how many parentless or might-as-well-be-parentless children he has helped to raise over the years). "Religion is just love," says Mance Lipscomb. If only more people thought that way, the world would be a different place...
Meanwhile, those of us without organized religion take our spiritual sustenance where we can find it. We build private virtual churches deep within ourselves.
During one week in the Catskill Mountains with the jazz/funk/free trio Medeski Martin & Wood at their first annual music camp, I sort of felt like we were all embarked on building a new religion...but specifically one in praise of music itself, without any particular creed, code, or body of legend that needed to be adhered to. Watching the Mance Lipscomb film late at night, after hour upon hour and day upon day of workshops and ensembles and performances from MMW, was like hearing a really great heartfelt sermon from the one preacher in childhood you could actually trust. Here's a guy with a resilience and good humor and gratitude about life even when it's grindingly difficult. A person who's learned to sing his blues rather than get bogged down by them. We would all wish for such grace.
Speaking of grace...after 17 years making music together, it turns out that John Medeski, Billy Martin, and Chris Wood are also graced with a gift for teaching. I could not get over how much they gave us and kept giving us during this weeklong musical adventure: their advice and ideas and musical philosophies; their cool stories; their innovative practice suggestions; their incredible, intimate performances in that beautiful little space at the Full Moon Resort; the extensive, eclectic, but very concrete songlist of music that had influenced and informed them...it went on and on.
Sure, this camp was a savvy business move for them. I am certain that with their kids growing up and they themselves reaching middle age, M and M and W are all looking for ways to make a living in music without being on the road constantly. And besides, they're just human beings. For all I know, John Medeski never pays his taxes on time, Billy Martin is mean to his mother's cat, and Chris Wood once did or said something that made his junior high school prom date cry in the girl's bathroom. None of us is a saint.
But for one week in early August in the Catskills, these fine gentlemen built us a little church of music and welcomed us in. It was a savvy business move but also an act of service, humility, and love.
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