Here’s a link to part 7.

Quick recap: When it comes to playing solo piano, I’m always wrestling with physical issues, aesthetical issues with audiences and subsequently, issues getting gigs.

I decided to pursue solo piano for a number of reasons. One reason was because of its lack of representation. What do you think the ratio is between ensemble jazz pianists versus solo jazz pianists? How many jazz pianists have released more solo records than ensembles records? My guess is that it’s very unbalanced. I see an opportunity; there’s a void to be filled!

Side Note: Why is it unbalanced? Is the community to blame? The pianists? The listeners? The business? The tradition?

I’ve come to terms with many of the aesthetical issues surrounding solo piano. I mentioned previously that I can’t change listeners’ interests and that all I can do is share mine. But then again, maybe I can change their interests…

From part 6: “Could a Joe ever become a Bob? Whose job is it to convert him?”

If Joe represents an individual, then no, I don’t think he can ever change. But if Joe represents the culture or community, then yes, change is possible…gradual change. After my performance at Hermann’s in Victoria BC in October, I had a number of listeners comment that they wished Hermann’s would host more solo piano performances. That’s a start!

It was a magical evening; solo pianists can make powerful impressions. My hope is for students to pursue the glory of solo piano, as I am.

You can expect much more solo piano from me in the coming years!

Thanks for reading!

Here’s a link to part 6.

Quick recap: When it comes to playing solo piano, I’m always wrestling with physical issues, aesthetical issues with audiences and subsequently, issues getting gigs.

In July 2008 I participated in the Nottingham National Jazz (Solo) Piano Competition. Twenty minutes before we performed in the final round, we were each notified that we had to alter our predetermined programs to include a blues. The judges were sending a message: Solo jazz pianists should be adaptable and spontaneous. I was very disappointed; their aesthetic undoubtedly contradicted my own.

Solo pianists have the freedom and luxury to access a vastly wide spectrum of musical vocabulary and repertoire. I consider adaptability and spontaneity a means to an end. More ironically, I consider them limitations, both physically and aesthetically. Besides, what use is adaptability when you have no ensemble to adapt to? What use is spontaneity when it would spoil a perfect score?

Of course to a certain degree, adaptability and spontaneity are important skills for solo pianists. I always need to adapt to the piano, the room, the audience and their energy. But judges requiring a last minute substitution of a blues to test adaptability assume a very shallow view of adaptability, especially in a solo piano setting.

Side note: The Nottingham judges also criticized me for sounding “too Classical.” Their aesthetic undoubtedly and severely contradicted my own!

Stay tuned for Part 8!

Here’s a link to part 5.

Quick recap: When it comes to playing solo piano, I’m always wrestling with physical issues, aesthetical issues with audiences and subsequently, issues getting gigs.

The following sums up many of the aesthetical issues; Peter Hum received this message from an Ottawa Jazz fan (I’ll call him Joe):

“Should I go to Paradiso Saturday evening?  Do you think Chris will play anything different? As good as his solo work is, I've heard it enough - his CD, last gig at Paradiso, and the JazzWorks fundraiser. I await your guidance.”

Peter asked for a response from me and I wrote:

“Listeners may be interested and find enjoyment in every facet of music-making. This could include process, evolution, creation and re-creation. I can’t change their interests; all I can do is share mine.”

For some people, there isn’t enough variety in solo piano performances (no matter how good you are!). For others, spontaneity is the highest virtue, and there isn’t enough variety in written/prepared music (especially after the second or third listen!). When I started exploring solo piano, I predicted that I would encounter listeners like Joe. Of course, if I were exploring trio music, I’d encounter listeners like Bob. You can’t please everybody.

My experience has shown me that, there are more Joes than there are Bobs in the jazz community. Many clubs aren’t interested in solo piano. If they are, then they’re often only interested in one short set or an opening set. Before I released ‘Solo,’ I spoke to a record company who was interested in working with me, but only if I was releasing a trio record. They told me that solo piano records are more successful if they’re released by artists who already have a reputation for playing in ensembles. Apparently, that’s how it’s “usually done.”

Here are two good questions: Could a Joe ever become a Bob? Whose job is it to convert him?

In the meantime, my marketing plan is simple: Find the Bobs; ignore the Joes.

Stay tuned for Part 7!

Here’s a link to part 3.

Quick recap: When it comes to written music and improvised music, I try to make the best with both worlds.

The question I ask in “Which is More Impressive?” is a bit loaded. Both options are honourable undertakings that require serious discipline and have their own set of challenges. But besides building vocabulary, there’s another reason why performing written music is important to me.

Through studying written music, I’ve gained an appreciation and often strive for a perfect realization in a score. A perfect score means that every music-making material is in perfect synchronicity with one’s tastes. Personally, if I consider a score perfect, I wouldn’t dare waiver from the written music; it doesn’t require any amount of improvisation or embellishment; it’s perfect just the way it is! It just requires execution.

Side Note: Striving for a perfect realization has implications for composing too, but these posts will only deal with performing.

My experience as a solo pianist has shown that performing written music or heavily prepared music poses some problems. I’m always wrestling with physical issues, aesthetical issues with audiences and subsequently, issues getting gigs. I’d like to reflect on these in the next few posts.

Beginning with a physical issue:

Performance repertoire that’s written or heavily prepared requires maintenance. And harder music means more maintenance. Memory fades! Maintenance is unavoidable, but there are things you can do to minimize it. Here are my answers to Peter’s questions:

“I wish I could have my entire performance repertoire in my immediate repertoire, but memory fades and maintenance can be very time-consuming…It’s a balancing act. If I put more tunes in my immediate rep, then I won’t have as much time to learn new rep. If I spend more time on new rep, then I’ll have less time to spend on maintaining my immediate rep. I think I’ve found a balance that works for me.

Generally, I derive balance from my concert programming, which is always changing and evolving. I don’t maintain repertoire that I don’t intend to perform! I’d be very interested to know how maintenance differs from pianist to pianist. How long does it take them to bring repertoire back to a performance level after not playing it for a certain amount of time? What factors are involved? How did they find their balance?

Stay tuned for Part 5!

I had a brief moment of clarity the other day:

While practicing, I stopped for a moment and looked at my piano. For some reason, at that instant, I no longer saw a musical instrument; I saw a wooden box.

I didn’t recognize it; my emotions didn’t respond; the relationship disappeared.

I couldn’t appreciate its function. I didn’t know its function; I didn’t care to know.

Its 300+ year-old legacy was reduced to a blip in time. All the past masters whom it served are dust. The current masters will be dust but not before they make an impression. And future generations will be mastering a highly evolved, unrecognizable and radical instrument.

My piano is a museum piece. And even still, it won’t last forever; it won’t survive duration.

The best thing one can hope for is that it will make our duration better.

That’s why I play music.

Technique or Music?

Which comes first?
Which came first?

Having the ability to perfectly execute your improvisations?

Or

Having the ability to perfectly execute a written score?

(Related is my post on: Perfect Technique)

In case you missed it, please read my reflection on music competitions (Link)

Australian pianist and friend Daniel Gassin recently shared his views of music competitions on his blog. He was a participant in the 2007 Montreux Piano Competition. I’m planning on responding to Daniel’s post in the near future. I’d like to address his questions and discuss musicians who’d “rather be doing gigs and tours with leading musicians than winning competitions.”

In the meantime, I wrote this:

Let’s face it: Competitions are here to stay. The concept may be absurd, but they’re not going anywhere. There will always be presenters to host them and artists to participate in them. So rather than fight against music competitions, I thought of a few ways to enhance them. Ideally, I’m searching for a formula where my idea of excellence can always be achieved.

Competitions are often geared towards young professionals. They’re tempted with prize money, but what they really need is business relationships. Prize money has a fixed value; business relationships can be priceless.

So imagine there is no prize money. Instead, all participants are compensated for their travel, accommodation and performance. Emphasis is placed on participants interacting with other participants. Those relationships are valuable and competitions should highlight that. Expenses are paid so that participants have an equal opportunity to take advantage of that.

Top prizewinners are offered the services of a booking agent who will organize performances and tours over the course of a year. Most likely, the prizewinners would tour as a unit. Let’s say the 2nd and 3rd prizewinners split a set, and the 1st prizewinner plays the entire second set. They would be compensated accordingly. It seems to me that this would be the most market-friendly way to organize performances.

Side Note: Variations on the prizes could include the services of a recording studio, teacher, photographer, videographer and/or a publicist.

Here’s the hook: The participants are also the judges. They will represent excellence. Prizewinners are voted for on a private ballot. No discussions! I don’t like the idea of judges discussing and trying to persuade other judges to be ‘more moved’ by a performance than they naturally are. Otherwise, excellence is at the mercy of a persuasive judge and there would be no point in having more than one!

What do you think? It’s a rough draft and may need some tweaking, but it’s a start!

A week before my performance in Ottawa on November 14th, Peter Hum contacted me and asked me a few questions regarding playing solo piano. This was prompted by a message he received from an Ottawa jazz fan:

“Should I go to Paradiso Saturday evening?  Do you think Chris will play anything different? As good as his solo work is, I've heard it enough - his CD, last gig at Paradiso, and the JazzWorks fundraiser. I await your guidance.”

Peter’s questions and my answers are below. In the coming weeks, I’ll be reflecting on his questions and other issues with playing solo piano in more detail.

1. How many tunes are in your solo "book?"

I always have at least two sets of music (14-16 songs) in my immediate repertoire (songs ready to go at anytime). But my entire performance repertoire (tunes I’ve performed at least once) is probably triple that. I wish I could have my entire performance repertoire in my immediate repertoire, but memory fades and maintenance can be very time-consuming.

It’s a balancing act. If I put more tunes in my immediate rep, then I won’t have as much time to learn new rep. If I spend more time on new rep, then I’ll have less time to spend on maintaining my immediate rep. I think I’ve found a balance that works for me.

2. What is the split between originals and other people's compositions?

In my immediate repertoire, it’s usually one-third originals and two-thirds non-originals. The balance in my entire repertoire is more like one-fifth originals. One of my long-term goals as a composer is to invert that balance.

3. What are some of the criteria that attract you to developing other people's compositions for your own performance? What are some specific examples?

I ask myself two things: 1) Does this composition move me? 2) Am I capable of sharing/re-creating this experience for my audiences? If the answer to both questions is “yes,” I’ll take steps to incorporate that composition into my performance rep.

• Yes, Doug Riley’s music moves me. Yes, I think I can re-create that experience.
• Yes, My Foolish Heart moves me (especially Bill Evans/Tony Bennett’s rendition). Yes, I think I can re-create that experience.
• Yes, Bach’s music moves me. No, I don’t think I’m physically capable of playing his music.
• Yes, Kapustin’s music moves me. Yes, I think I can re-create that experience (just barely!).

Being mentally capable is also important, but it’s not part of my initial criteria. I usually make that discovery while practicing for a performance or on the bandstand. I’ve made last minute changes to set-lists because I didn’t think I was mentally/emotionally capable of performing something in that moment.

4. What's involved in bringing some of your material up to a performance level?

For written/prepared music, most of it is memory work. I try to memorize a piece on every level: visually, aurally and physically. In my ideal world, I should be able to pass three tests before my material is ready for a performance.

• Play all notes from memory as you want them to be played.
• Write out the score from memory away from the piano.
• Sing every note in the score from memory.

I rarely achieve 100%, but that’s what I’m striving for!

Preparing to perform improvised music is a little less systematic, but still follows a few patterns. It usually starts with a concept or a sound and then I develop/study a vocabulary to realize it. The concept could be bebop or Doug Riley or something original. If improvising is a creative act of regurgitating vocabulary, I’ll know a tune is ready for a performance when I think I can freely regurgitate within that concept.

Of course, I never really know if my material is up to a performance level until I’m actually performing it. That’s the ultimate test!

5. What would you say to a fan such as the writer above, who seems to be suggesting that he wonders if your performance Saturday will not be "different" enough from previous performances that he's heard?

Listeners may be interested and find enjoyment in every facet of music-making. This could include process, evolution, creation and re-creation. I can’t change their interests; all I can do is share mine.

6. Do you have any new tunes up your sleeve?

I always have new tunes up my sleeve! I try to mix up my set-lists when I know I may be performing for audiences I’ve performed for before.

Specifically for the Paradiso performance, I’ll be performing some new excerpts from my Metamorphosis set. I’m also going to dedicate an entire set to the music of Doug Riley.

The jazz community has many heroes.

Naturally, we emit a pressure on players to sound a certain way and to take after our heroes. Eventually though, every player has to trace out his/her own path.

I remember sitting down with a Bill Evans record once, dedicated to transcribing every note. I struggled because I didn’t really dig Bill Evans. After a few hours, I put it away; I was too frustrated. I learned an important lesson that day and vowed never to put my heart and soul into something I didn’t dig 100%. Otherwise, I’m succumbing to that pressure. That was a moment of clarity for me and I began tracing my path.

You will be criticized for not sounding enough like the heroes. You will also be criticized for sounding too much like the heroes. That’s sacred ground! How do you deal?

Ignore them. Be yourself.

I have a history of listening to Lady Gaga and enjoying it.

You see, my wife and I have a playlist of songs for fun. It includes artists like Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Kanye, Beyonce, Fergie, Akon, etc. etc. But I get bored of their songs quickly, as if they’re only meant for a specific time and place. Now that those times and places are gone, the songs are meaningless.

Mixed in the playlist is Ray Charles’ Let the Good Times Roll. I feel I could listen to that a million times and never get bored. One might say it’s timeless.

I stand by my observation that listeners are the difference between good and bad music. But I’m still looking for an alternative.

Our ears change. Our tastes change. My good music today, could be bad music tomorrow. But sometimes, my good music is always good music.

Is everybody more likely to get bored of Lady Gaga than Ray Charles?

Someone asked me: “How does one find his or her voice?”

I wonder who started using the word ‘voice’ to express an artist’s individuality. It runs deep. Everyone’s looking for their ‘voice’ and getting frustrated when they don’t find it!

The obvious answer: “Everybody has a voice! Your voice is right under your nose!” This is true. If you look hard enough, you’ll find individuality in everyone.

(Side Note: Is having a ‘voice’ dependant on other people’s ability to recognize it?)

But this answer is useless. It isn’t good enough to call off the search. When we use the word ‘voice’ then, we must be referring to something else. Words like ‘clarity’ and ‘confidence’ come to mind. Maybe those individuals are still searching because they’re not comfortable with the voice they already have! Maybe the question should be: “How does one find confidence in his or her voice?”

I picture two musicians in two practice rooms. One is searching for his/her voice while the other is searching for confidence. It sounds like two entirely different game plans. I like the second one better. It accepts that you already have a voice but that it needs some attention. It needs a direction and a concept. The rest is practice.

Now we’re on to something!

“How does one find his or her voice?”

I replied: “Speak with confidence!”

It’s overrated.

We think a closed-minded artist is a fanatic. But an open-minded artist is a sellout.

Speak publicly about despising Coltrane’s music and they’ll put a bounty on your head. But telling someone: “He’s great!” goes against their expectations and your calling to be an honest artist.

The pressure from the community could be overwhelming, which is why we’ve developed escape phrases: “He’s great!” “She’s great!” You sound great!” “Great band!” Say no more, say no less; they won’t suspect a thing, but you’ve got to live with it!

I admire the artist who doesn’t succumb to that pressure. They’re the real deal. I’m not talking about the people who vibe you, I’m talking about the old school. The guys who know you better than you know yourself! They’re underrated. They don’t vibe and they don’t praise. They don’t change with the times either. That would be blasphemous!

I admire that.

While we’re on topic: Versatility is overrated too.

From Ali Berkok’s Facebook-comments on Another Elephant (Facebook link):

“I really don't think a kid younger than 16 is at all ready for jazz.

I'll elaborate a bit: I think you can teach a younger person how to swing. I think a good jazz player, however, should have an understanding of how most of the developments in the music come from a degree of rejection of what went before. There's also the concept of musical movements being couched in greater social changes of the time they come from. You also have to know enough standard practice period music to get how jazz turns those conventions on their head (i.e. rhythm). I suppose there are some pre-teens who might be able to handle all that, but I've never met any.”

I disagree so strongly that I consider this a non-issue. The fundamentals for a jazz education can start at age three. Kids can improvise and play tunes at age ten. Pre-teens can communicate musically in jazz ensembles. Mid-teens can write tunes and start their own jazz ensembles.

I know this because I lived it. And kids are still living it at the Humber College Community Music School.

But there’s still something lingering:

Jazz education is maximum 40 years old in Canada (if not in North America and the world). Programs have been springing up (some with considerable resistance) in colleges and universities all across the country. Naturally, jazz is gradually seeping down into high schools where graduates of these colleges and universities are teaching and making a living.

Side Note: Remember this post? It fits nicely, especially these few sentences:

“Arts institutions serve much broader a purpose than creating performers…Not all graduates have the skills, perseverance (or desire) to be performers. But that experience remains with them forever. They have a unique perspective. They have a cultured perspective.”

I’m very fortunate that I’m part of the first generation of music students who had access to a jazz education from when I was 3 years old (at HCCMS). To my knowledge, it was the first of its kind in the world and is still at the forefront of jazz education today. I’m excited to think that more programs like HCCMS will be appearing over the next 20 years!

Unfortunately, this movement is challenged at the post-secondary level by classical-music education. That’s beginning to change. The jazz community also challenges it. That’s changing too, but there are still plenty of issues out there creating resistance (The Carolina Shout incident, Teachout’s article, Old vs. New, Ali’s comments etc.). They’re all related in that they expose the community’s disunity. I hope that ironing out these issues is only a matter of fully realizing the education movement. After all, how many of them would exist if jazz education was 80 years old?

I’ll be bold: I think this 40-year-old process is part of a greater movement that can change the face of music education. It can change the world! It’s only a matter of blood, sweat, tears and patience!

My job: Pave the way; Promote unity.

Speaking of quotes that have moved and inspired me:

“The artist has only to take care that everything stands clearly before us in its most authentic form so that we can sense it. He is on guard against all that is vague or ineffective, zealous to find the most accurate depiction of all objects, and diligent in thinking of a good form for his work whereby its totality becomes interesting.”

- Johann Georg Sulzer, General Theory of the Fine Arts (1771-74)

I was going to write a reflection, but wouldn’t that have defeated the point?

What’s the difference between good and bad music?

This post is a reflection on my experience as a participant in the 2009 Montreux Solo Jazz Piano Competition in July.

A truth about music competitions: Their objective is to reward excellence; Prizes are given to the most excellent participants.

This truth breaks down when you define excellence. Most people assume it refers to artistic excellence, but they’re often disappointed when they realize that artistic excellence can mean so many different things to different people. They’re especially disappointed when excellence is sought in non-musical forms. Like a participant who is excellent at drawing a crowd, or excellent at creating hype, or excellent at influencing judges! When it comes to music competitions, you can’t rule anything out. What do you expect when things are built on shady principles? No arts competition is immune to this inherent paradox: Presenting excellence objectively.

An interesting thought: Notice that even though we are aware of this absurdity, people rarely question the merits of competitions and competition winners because the language in their presentation compels us to assume artistic excellence is always achieved. Especially when we are far removed from the actual experience. For example, you may pick up a newspaper and the headline reads ‘Joe wins first place in music competition,’ or you see a two-minute news segment on a local pianist who is awarded first prize in a piano competition. Their presentation and language will always demand that you accept the implied objectivity.

From an extreme viewpoint, one could say that anytime we organize, participate in, or acknowledge the validity of music competitions, we are promoting this absurdity and giving in to the language that’s describing the impossible. It’s the willing suspension of disbelief. It can occur obviously, like being a judge or a participant. But it can also be subtle, like reading ‘Chris Donnelly places 2nd in the 2007 Jacksonville Jazz Piano Competition’ and subconsciously validating my name and music.

It’s too bad that competitions are so enticing; there’s something in them for everyone. For artists, it’s a great opportunity to network with other artists and (if lucky), walk away with some money! Judges are paid and held in high esteem. For presenters, they act as great marketing gimmicks. And for the public, they can be engaging, satisfying, dramatic and participatory. Music competitions will demand that everyone form an opinion despite their level of expertise thus they act as a means for the public to participate in the music community (and the absurdity). Everyone only has to sell his/her soul!

Actually, I’d like to believe I’m leasing it…hence this blog.

In regards to Montreux, excellence was at the mercy of these judges:

Chucho Valdés (Cuba) - presiding judge
Al Copley (USA)
Moncef Genoud (Switzerland)
André Manoukian (France)
Denis Matsuev (Russia)
Aziza Mustafa Zadeh (Azerbaijan)
Leo Tardin (Switzerland)

I didn’t speak to the judges about their decisions. I have my opinions, as does everyone else. But I decided that my experience as a participant overrides my experience as an artist, pianist and educator and so, for a number of reasons, it would be inappropriate for me to express them here. But I would encourage you to make your own decisions! The participants:

Zoltan Balogh (Hungary)
Elmar Brass (Germany)
Claude Diallo (Suisse) – Encouragement Prize
Chris Donnelly (Canada)
Thomas Enhco (France)
Beka Gochiashvili (Georgia) — 1st Prize (Shared)
Christian Li (USA)
Regina Litvinova (Russia)
Jorge Luis Pacheco (Cuba)
Peter Pinter (Hungary)
Mathis Picard (France)
Kuba Pluzek (Poland) – Encouragement Prize
Isfar Rzayev-Sarabski (Azerbaijan) — 1st Prize (Shared) & Public Prize
Matthieu Roffe) (France)
Xaview Thollard (France)
Franz Von Chossy (Germany) — 2nd Prize

Did the judges make the right decisions? I’ll let you decide. Maybe you agree, maybe you disagree.

But one thing’s for sure: The winners were excellent!

From my previous post:

“We take for granted how limiting most people’s vocabulary is for describing music… Open up their capacity to express themselves. Guide the development of their vocabulary.

I’ve heard people express contempt for post-secondary music institutions. Their viewpoint is that communities are being flooded with musicians who are offsetting the balance between supply and demand. There are too many players and not enough gigs.

After writing the previous post, I was opened up to implications that are far above and beyond the issue of supply and demand. Arts institutions serve much broader a purpose than creating musicians, and it relates to the quoted text above.

For one thing, arts institutions also create directors, promoters, programmers, agents, managers, presenters, donors, sponsors, educators, journalists, critiques, radio hosts, page-turners, presidents, CEOs, public officials, taxi drivers, factory workers, moms, dads and a host of other arts appreciators and supporters. Not all graduates have the skills, perseverance (or desire) to be performers. But that experience remains with them forever. They have a unique perspective. They have a cultured perspective.

Here’s another benefit: Arts institutions often host a plethora of cultural activities for the public to experience. Just at the University of Toronto’s Faculty of Music there are hundreds of performances every year that are open to the general public. Every performance is an education. All audience members are broadened with new expressions and granted a means to express it.

How does all of this affect society? How does this shape the human spirit?

This is new territory for me and I have more exploring to do. I’m just skimming the surface. But I’m not interested in the issue of supply and demand any longer. Let’s talk about the bigger picture.

You have perfect technique if:

• You sound exactly how you want to sound and
• You’re not injuring yourself

Your listeners will think you have perfect technique if:

• You satisfy their tastes

These three words are often used to describe the creative-music process. But doesn’t it also describe our learning process in general?

When I finished my formal music studies, I needed to formulate a business plan. So I researched a number of successful musicians, copied what they did and eventually found my own path.

If you want to study biology, (or any field for that matter) you would first study the science while reenacting experiments and observations. Aren’t all textbooks and curriculums just opportunities for assimilation and imitation? Eventually you develop interests with a particular focus and create your own experiments.

How do we learn how to speak? Same process.

(Side note: There’s an element of lineage here. It’s an evolving lineage. For future thoughts: Is there an aesthetic explanation (not just biological explanations) for why we evolve? Why do we innovate?)

It seems to me that everything we do first develops from copying something or somebody else. When we’re children, we act as sponges, soaking up and imitating every bit of experience around us. All of that experience adds up, mixes and merges to create individuality.

Lets say all of this is true. Then my logic tells me that either these three words are redundantly describing a process that is already encapsulated in the general learning process, and/or everybody in some form or another is inherently creative and artistic.

The second option is much more interesting!

Thanks to Ali Berkok for the post! I’m going to try and open the discussion. (Mostly with my own questions!)

1. Do Jazz musicians have a responsibility to be culturally relevant?

Musicians are culturally relevant whether they accept the responsibility or not. People are culturally relevant whether they accept the responsibility or not. How is it possible to be culturally irrelevant?

2. Do post-secondary institutions have a responsibility to highlight the supply vs. demand problem (i.e. too many players vs. too few gigs)?

If we’re analyzing from a supply/demand perspective, we would have do be more specific about what is being consumed (music, jazz music, listening music, background music, etc.). I’m also not convinced this is a problem. Is there any documentation on the subject? Could you give me an example of how an institution could highlight the ‘problem?’

3. What is your idea of career success?

Success can be measured in many different ways and there are many different paths one can take to achieve it. It’s a very important question to ask, but it’s also very personal and subjective.

4. To what extent ought musicians train to be creative artists? To what extent ought musicians train to be tradespeople? Does one come at the expense of the other?

What’s the difference between the two? Why is it exclusive? I think the answers depend a lot of an individual’s idea of career success.

5. What, if any, problems are inherent in identifying as a jazz musician?

From a marketing perspective, it’s potentially limiting to consistently group your music within a particular genre. When targeting a particular market, why not wait for them to identify you? If they call you a jazz musician, you’re a jazz musician. If they call you a pop musician, you’re a pop musician. You can’t change how they identify you, so why does it matter? Personally, if you’re hiring me, you can call my music anything you’d like. As long as I can still play what I play!

I haven’t written in 5 days! Why?!

I’m thinking too much. I have to narrow in on the issue and not cloud it with fancy words and long sentences. Think of the economy of expression.

There! Isn’t that an interesting thought? Only three sentences long!

Another person weighing in on the issue of cultural preservation:

My original post
My second post
Dalton Ridenhour’s response

My response to Dalton:

Hi Dalton,

Thanks for your post.  I'm happy that you're passionate about stride piano!  I love stride piano and ragtime and grew up listening and playing Scott Joplin, Art Tatum and Jelly Roll.  In university, I spent many hours in the library reading about the history of ragtime and practicing ragtime pieces.  I wrote essays on the subject, did a number of presentations and performances.  Earlier this year, I memorized Gershwin's piano preludes, and all his popular song arrangements.  I have plans in the next year to fully transcribe a bunch of Teddy Wilson's recordings.  I hope to post the transcriptions for everyone to download on my website soon.

Although we're blogging in a light-hearted sense, and I enjoy a good debate,  I take slight offense that you think I'm not educating myself properly, or that I expect to be spoon-fed.  It's also presumptuous to think that of the other piano players.  Our music, resumes and accomplishments speak for themselves.  

These presumptions also further divide the community on an issue that's supposed to unite us!    Nowhere in my posts on this issue do I say responsibility rests solely on the teacher.  Please don't ignore the title of the post: It's a compromise!

One note about the Kodaly quote. Don't forget that he says culture will vanish unless each new generation wins it for itself.  It doesn't say 'each individual,' or 'each person.'  It says 'each new generation,' which implies a collective effort.  Everyone is a student and everyone is a teacher...that's the compromise.

Chris

I’m humbled that my post is getting some attention! I’d like to reiterate a few things.

In case you missed it:

The original post
Peter Hum’s response
Ted Gioia’s response
Jacob Teichroew's response

A quick recap: Ten diligent pianists (me included) are sitting in a room. We don’t know the song Carolina Shout. Whose fault is it?

A quick defense: As I said in my previous post, I consider myself a diligent student of music. Trust me, I’ve checked out lots of music including music from the early 1900’s. No, I didn’t see the Ken Burns documentary; I was probably busy in the other room practicing Scott Joplin!

(Side note: right now I’m working on some Teddy Wilson, Nikolai Kapustin and Doug Riley. Do you know who they are and their contribution to culture? That’s okay if you don’t. Hopefully one of these days we can have a listening session!)

Don’t forget the title of my original post. It’s a compromise! We’re all in this together. We’re all students of music and we’re all part of the culture! I can’t stress this enough.

Understand that if ten young pianists don’t know Carolina Shout, there is something more meaningful happening. Whether you believe it or not, it means that the culture of Carolina Shout is fading. 50 years ago, it was five young pianists. 100 years from now, it will be twenty. You can’t assume they all lack in diligence.

Do you feel passionately about Carolina Shout? Do you feel passionately about early jazz? Do you feel passionately about music in general? That’s great! What are you going to do about it? First, don’t assume that everybody has seen the Ken Burns documentary, or reads Do the Math, or had a father playing so-and-so’s rendition of Carolina Shout when they were young. Not everybody shares your experience. A few thoughts:

How can we share our passions? How can we preserve Carolina Shout?

Do you perform? When was the last time you recorded and performed Carolina Shout?
Do you write? When was the last time you wrote about Carolina Shout?
Do you lecture? When was the last time you spoke about Carolina Shout?
Important: When was the last time you tried to promote this music to kindergarten students?

Lastly, I’d like to close with a quote that my good friend Cathy Mitro sent me. She is extremely diligent and is at the forefront of jazz education in Canada and North America. ‘Food for thought’ as she put it:

“Culture cannot be inherited.  The culture of previous ages will vanish unless each new generation wins it for itself again and again. Only that for which we have worked, or even suffered, truly belongs to us. Music will only enter our souls, live within us, if we plow our souls with our own efforts, with our own music making.”  Zoltán Kodály

UPDATE - I wrote a response to Dalton Ridenhour (Link)

Sometimes I like listening to written music and pretend it’s improvised music.
Sometimes I like listening to improvised music and pretend it’s written music.

An artist I respect and admire once chewed me out because I wasn’t familiar with James P. Johnson’s Carolina Shout. The message was very clear: “Every jazz pianist should know this piece. Otherwise, you have no true relationship with the jazz piano tradition.”

Of course, my initial response to this statement was defensive. Who cares?!

Second: Guilt. Yeah, I should know this piece. I’d better check out Johnson if I want to be a true jazz pianist.

Third: Confusion. I do respect the jazz tradition. I’ve checked out lots of music from the 1920’s! I like music from the 1920’s! Why is knowing Carolina Shout so important?

Last: Acceptance. I don’t need to know Carolina Shout to make meaningful music. Maybe we’ll cross paths in the future, but for now, I’m going to keep on doing what I’m doing.

But one question remains: Why don’t I know Carolina Shout?

Here’s what I do know:

Most importantly, I know that I’m seriously dedicated to my craft and that if something warrants checking out, I check it out! I would describe myself as a diligent student of music.

But out of 22 years (I’m 25 now) of being in pre-school, elementary school, high school, music school, music camp and university, not one of my teachers ever mentioned James P. Johnson. I’ve been to many live concerts and I own a lot of music. I’ve never heard a performance of Carolina Shout. I’m not a jazz scholar (clearly), but I’ve read my fair share of biographies, blogs, essays, history books and theory books. I’ve never read about James P. Johnson. I’ve never seen or heard his name on television, the radio, magazines, newspapers, the Internet or any other form of mainstream media. And since hearing his name for the first time on this occasion, I haven’t heard of him since.

The real question: Why isn’t anybody talking about James P. Johnson?

I have no doubt that Johnson is an important figure in music history and that he contributed significantly to jazz culture. But if nobody talks about him, nobody’s going know him! If people talked about Johnson like they talk about Scott Joplin, George Gershwin, Oscar Peterson or J.S. Bach, then people would check him out!

The most telling part of this story is that I was one of ten pianists being chewed out that day. They never heard of him either! I’ll admit that some pianists are less diligent than others, but regardless, you have to admit that this isn’t only a case of pianists neglecting the jazz tradition. If ten diligent jazz pianists have never heard of a cultural icon, then something more revealing must be happening. I would argue that this is also a reflection of society neglecting the value of cultural preservation.

The deep question: Who’s responsible for preserving culture?

You are! We are!

If something moves us so deeply that we feel the duty to preserve it’s impact for later years and future generations, then we are responsible for making that contribution. The bottom line is that unless we do something about it, our generation is going to forget and worse, the next generations won’t know it ever existed! Write about it, speak about it, record it and perform it. And do it often!

It’s silly to assume that the younger generation will preserve culture. Not because their negligent, but because they can’t preserve what they’ve never heard of. The younger generation also won’t preserve what doesn’t move them. Carolina Shout was written almost 100 years ago. In cultural years, that’s a long time ago. And in many cases when it comes to art, the older it is, the harder it is for them to relate. Which is why you need the older generation to pass on their passion and enthusiasm. When I was young, my habits were at the mercy of the previous generation. Unfortunately, they missed an opportunity when it comes to the preservation of Carolina Shout.

(Side Note: This isn’t about Carolina Shout anymore. There’s a much bigger picture here. One that involves learning from our ancestors and not being part of a regressing culture.)

While we’re on the subject, a colleague of mine once gave me a funny look because I wasn’t familiar with Randy Weston’s playing. My best friend doesn’t know any songs by The Beatles and yesterday I heard someone laugh because their friend didn’t know who Susan Boyle was. For the diligent, this raises the last issue: You can’t know everything.

The lesson: Don’t chew people out for not knowing something. The reason they don’t know is because you never told them!

A compromise: I’ll give you permission to chew me out, but only if you chew out the entire jazz community too. We’re all in this together!

UPDATE: I’ve written a response (link)

I recorded a demo today to submit to various competitions and festivals. I always have problems when I’m preparing material for competitions. If you’ve ever experienced a pre-screening process, you may know what I’m talking about.

First of all, competitions are useless to the advancement of a career unless you can get past pre-screening. If that happens, then can you can start cultivating relationships, perform live for your peers and maybe even walk away with some money!

So when preparing for pre-screening, there’s a struggle. You really want to make it to the next round and so your demo has got to be bold. You want to make it clear to the judges in the first 30 seconds that you can play fast, groove hard, be creative, acknowledge tradition, retain interest and attract an audience. The problem, considering all of these things is that it’s very difficult to make an honest statement that represents you and your musicality. Should you play for the judges, or should you just play?

Competitions are unpredictable. The most deserving doesn’t always win. Sometimes it’s the person who’s the most commercial, or the person with a touching story. Maybe it’s the person who’s the best looking. The point is that you’re never going to know what judges want. I’ve come to realize that you’re best shot is to stop thinking about it, find the zone and do what you do best.