Sugar-Free Jazz

For at least half of my life, I assumed that I’d eventually become a full-time professional musician. Heck, why not? It was practically my sole interest & the chief foundation of my social structure. Music was the only place that I found clarity and a sense of self. Besides, I’m good at it; & isn’t that the reason that most people choose to do what they do? Because they crave results? Well, eventually that wasn’t what I was looking for (but I’ll get to that).

I wrote music constantly as a kid. Humming, making stuff up, adding to songs on the radio & rewriting lyrics when I couldn’t recall the words. Riding in the car with my mom at about age 5, I remember telling her that I could guess what was coming next in a song. I still have that knack for guessing what’s next in a tune I’ve never heard (but usually because pop-tunes are all following the same basic musical formula). About the same time, I decided that if they could write then so could I. Usually, I would sing about Christian stuff. After hearing my uncle preach about hell-fire & damnation, taking the Lord’s name in vain, and other concepts of this wrathful jackass of a God, I worriedly asked my father if Jesus thinks it’s okay that I make up songs about him. His exact response was, “He’s tickled pink about it.” Thanks Dad. Perfect answer. :o) Probably, all he did was delay my departure from the church for a few more years. Most likely, I would have fled the the Church anyway, spurred by the music dancing in my mind in anti-point with a desire to be a "Good Christian." Eventually, the passion for music would have burst out of my chest like an alien; and I’d have burned my Bible in effigy to “DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince.” :o)

Kids rebel against everything. Can you believe that I hated going to piano class? My parents were nice enough to send me to the Yamaha school for beginning keyboard lessons, but I’d ditch as often as I could. Partially, it was the fear of performance that kept me from enjoying myself. That pervasive fearfulness was the major bane of my musical exploration for years to come. I loved playing in small ensembles because of the sharing and communication, but couldn’t bear my own tremendous expectations. I’d even have tiny panic attacks from time to time, but didn’t really understand what was happening. All in all, I was a pretty off-balance kid; expanded through the intrinsic understanding of the world that I was born with, but chained down by attachments to what "should be."

(All of this being said, one wrench removed from this otherwise heart-wrenching story, is that I’ve always been quite “aware.” My Dad & Lian know the most about this, and it’s hard to describe. I’ll write about it at some point. Suffice-it to say that I was born with a funny knowledge-base that I’ve had trouble integrating into “John’s life.” So, don’t feel too sorry for me. Even as a young child I knew that none of this stuff really mattered. Like most people, I suffered because of a desire to do so. )

In the 5^th grade, my cool grandma gave me the gift of an ancient stolen sax. She had played on it years before, and then donated it to the John cause. Initially it was just another thing to be afraid of. Looking back I can say that it remains one of the best holiday gifts I’ve ever received (alongside a dog & a taiji lesson). Once again, my parents were generous enough to pay for private lessons to help me to excel. Later, we replaced my old sax with a rented tin-can of an instrument, which was replaced by another & another. eventually, I purchased my own dream saxophone, and was the last I’d ever own.

As the years rolled by, I did manage to practice nearly every day. Sadly, there was rarely any joy in it. Mostly a grudging sense of “needing to practice so that I don’t suck.” For some reason, I had difficulty connecting my own great passion for music with actually playing the instrument. Certainly, my skill improved daily, and I was considered very talented within the music community; but I rarely played for “fun.” It’s as if the sax was an invitation to get into the party, but was not the celebration itself. Much later I uncovered part of the reason for this impression. In school, I became a music major & even gigged around LA a little. While living in Sedona, I would go to the river at night and play to the red rocks. I was part of a reasonably successful sax quintet, did jam sessions, studied solos of the sax greats, & even got a job at a jazz club so that I could learn from the pros. …And did it help jump-start my passion for performance? Nope. Not even a little.

In my 20’s, Lian and I moved to Tucson to help a troubled friend. To pay for the transition, we sold my super-sax and I stopped playing completely. It was a pretty hard decision! When I started graduate school I realized that I needed to focus on becoming a capable doctor. I’ve never been good at dividing my attention. When I do, I tend to fail at both subjects. So, I promised myself that I would restart playing when I graduated. During schooling, though, I uncovered my great love of the internal arts. This increased my sensitivity & self-awareness many-fold. I became conscious of why I never enjoyed actually playing the sax. Other than the mental-emotional binding, my body just didn’t respond to the physical process of playing sax very well. It made me feel bad, but I had been too disconnected to notice. Whenever I wanted to just chill out and play music, I would hang-out on the piano. For some reason, it feels better under my fingers than any other instrument. (Pretty funny, huh? Finally returning to the Yamaha classes!) So, I’ve decided to give up woodwind instruments permanently in exchange for the piano. It’s pretty tough to start over as a musician (back to scales & finger-position), but I’m happy to try.

Now, where’s my sheet-music for “Mary Had A Little Lamb?”…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.