To A Young Jazz Musician Letters From The Road

Chapter 1. The Humble Self June 4, 2003 Dear Anthony, Today would have been a good day for you to hang with us. We just pulled into Maine for a performance. Did the usual bit: check in at the hotel, head to the venue for sound check, back to the hotel to change for the show. Oh, and look for lobster. I also had a chance to talk to some kids about playing. They were high school age, a bit younger than you. People filled the school auditoriumdads, moms, brothers, and sisters, cousins. All watched the kids in the school's jazz band. Those kids did okay. It touched me to hear them play so earnestly, to watch them listen so intently in their effort to get better. And I love the feeling of pride and expectation that pours out from the families as they enjoy the results of hard work on display. You should have seen the drummer; fifteen years old. Trying to be so cool we called him Ice. He looked great, but damn sure wasn't swinging. Afterward, I ended up telling 'em the usual: stay encouraged, play with each other, and keep practicing. I wonder sometimes if saying "practice" is enough. Practice what? Talking with those kids brought to mind something someone once asked John Coltrane, "Trane, when do you practice?" "I only practice when I'm working on something," he replied. Yeah, man, you can play tunes forever. Play enough, play every night, and you'll get to blow on a lot of songs. Experienced players get to know the changes and play a lot of standards. But you, and those kids in Maine, don't have Coltrane's experience. Y'all need to practiceand practice the "something" Trane talked about. It could be your sound, a deeper swing, solo construction, or just hearing bass lines. The bottom line is practice"something" every moment you can. Don't just sit around and wait for something to happen, that same something is waiting on you. So, I spent some time thinking about what we should talk about in this first letter, and I came to the notion of humility. You consider yourself humble? Ever really think about it? Let me tell you, humility is the doorway to truth and clarity of objectives for a jazz musician, it's the doorway to learning. Check it out. When you start playing, you've got to have objectives: What are you playing? Why are you playing it? How do you want to sound, and how will you achieve that sound? When you have those things clear in your mind, it's much easier to teach yourself, and ultimately, that's what you have to do. No one's really going to teach you how to play. I've been lucky: Early on in my career I spent a good deal of time around great musicians, for instance Art Blakey. You might ask me, "What did Art Blakey teach you?" And I'd tell you "nothing," at least in the way your probably meant the question. Art didn't say "play your scales" or "play a G on this." You'd start playing, and he would tell you something like, "You need to be more physical." Or he would come in and say, "You're bullshitting." That was your lesson. What did that mean? Stop bullshitting. That's Art. That's what he taught you. Today you have all these universities putting out loads of jazz musicians. But these institutions breed misconceptions, particularly the one that says you need great technique. How many times have you heard of an older cat grumbling that these young kids can't play nothing but fast nothing? But what they really mean is that everyone's being educateMarsalis, Wynton is the author of 'To A Young Jazz Musician Letters From The Road', published 2004 under ISBN 9781400063994 and ISBN 140006399X.