Saturday morning, 10:45, with no impulse to write save the impulse to stay with the program and keep to that particular discipline which has been serving me well. I'm also disciplined these days in getting my workouts in, riding the bike, getting to dance class etc. I don't have a lot of work this week, but at least I'm keeping active in body and mind. So no complaints.
Yesterday I got an audition, based on my phone calls of the day before, to go and play some music at a home for memory patients that's on the west side of town. I had thought I was just going to meet the director at 2pm, but when I got there, I saw that a whole crowd was gathered and that I was going to do a freebie. That's fine, no big deal, so off I went.
Interestingly, I was a tad late, two minutes maybe, due to hitting every traffic light and getting behind some terrible drivers, and I was cursing and impatient most of the way there. It's one of those things that happen from time to time, I'm running late, I shouldn't be driving anyway, as I could have put my guitar on my back and used the bike, but Tiger Woods was rolling at the Masters, and I wanted to see him play one more hole. (Yep, it's hard to not watch the Masters). So there I am running late, pissed off at the world, even making a wrong turn, so by the time I arrived at 2:02pm, I was in a lousy mood. And as I walked up to the house, the thought occurred to me, 'Can I go ahead and play music as if nothing had happened and I were in a great mood?' I figured that the answer would be 'yes', and sure enough, that's what happened.
It's fascinating how that happens, and it's certainly not the first time. I can remember a number of occasions when I was working with kids and I just did not have the energy. 'How can I get out of this?' I would think to myself. Then the class shows up, and I'm immediately transported into another dimension and my own little mind trips melt away immediately, as if they were a figment of my imagination (which they were, of course). Yesterday was one more example of that phenomenon.
I walked in, met the director, Arliss, and she brought me to the parlor, in which about twenty folks were waiting for the music to start. There was a spinet piano at one end of the room, bright sound, pretty much in tune, and I had my guitar along as well. The group was a mix of old timers and younger folks, who all had some kind of brain thing going that required them to be living in this nice lock up. I did my thing, interacted well, got some laughs, took requests, and of course it was successful. There were a bunch of singers in this group, so it was a very fun experience to make the music come alive.
Arliss has this philosophy that the residents themselves get to vote on who they want to have come and entertain, and I hadn't heard that before, though it makes total sense. They liked country music, so I'll need to learn some more Eddie Arnold and classic stuff like that. They enjoyed having me there, and now they'll be in my book for a gig per month, first Thursday of the month at 2pm. It's only $50, but if I were to have twenty of them per month, that's a thousand bucks per month of fun public service in the early afternoons. I enjoy each and every one of those old-timer gigs, and it's good for both my repertoire and my music practice. So I will keep adding them to the book.
Am I sick of working with kids? Not exactly, but I definitely feel the movement toward the senior set. It's like a get to do a history lesson every time out; I get to play Gershwin and Berlin and Porter and country and western songs for people who grew up on that music (like I did). It's just better stuff to play, traveling around the circle of fifths, getting jazzy and bluesy. And often, when people are losing their memory, the old songs are the last things to go, so there is a lot of satisfaction and success that they can feel when they remember the words and the good times. It's all positive on those gigs, so it's no wonder that I'm moving in that direction.
And sometimes I marvel about 'how did this happen?'. How is it that I turned into the guy who plays like it's 1935 and does the razzamatazz and the old time hidey ho here in 2011. I think about growing up in New York, kind of immersed in that world of show tunes and Tin Pan Alley, even though I was a generation or two removed from it. I wish I could go back and hear my grandfather play those songs again on the piano, because I know he could teach me some things, some songs I wasn't familiar with etc. It's a New York legacy somehow, like hearing "Heart and Soul" on the piano every time you went to a place with kids and a piano. It's just ground zero (if you'll pardon the expression.
Last year I was driving around south Florida with my dad in his Caddy, and he's listening to the oldies station, mostly big band stuff. And it occurred to me that out of a hundred people in my age group, I'm likely one of the only ones who would think it's cool to listen to that music. We came up on the Beatles and Stones, the Who and the Jefferson Airplane, and most of us thought that the music of the thirties and forties was not worth listening to. I was definitely into rock when I was a kid, and God knows I still love the Beatles, but the stuff that came before is just great, and the older i get, the more I love to swing.
It's about craft, how to turn a phrase, how to guide the music into a satisfying journey, how to explore different sounds and then bring it back around to the top. Those are the skills that interest me and that make me want to go and create something new, even though it sounds old. I should probably put out an album of the songs I've written in that old time style. And what makes the old time style? In a word, I'd say it's the diminished chord. Let's see, here is a list of my grown-up songs that are kind of old school.
If I told you that I love you
When I was ready for you
Sweet as cherry pie
All I want this holiday...
One little glance
Because I want you
Friends
American song
The older I get (the more I got to swing)
Talent show
Sentimental me
Saturday Market
That's an album's worth right there. I don't know who would buy it, but if I record it, then at least it will outlive me. Got that, Rashid? This is part of your father's creative output, and maybe you could share it with my grandchildren. Keep the circle going...
