The annual True Blue Jazz Festival is this weekend, and with it another opportunity to stretch the wings of quartet concept that was introduced in a special edition Mainstay Monday earlier this year. All 4 of us knew each other, but had never been assembled as a single unit. Amy pitched the idea to me of bringing this group together to pay tribute to the Stan Getz and the Oscar Paterson Trio album (1958), something that she and Scott already had on their drawing board. The 4 of us share a center of gravity (or love) of classic, hard swinging jazz, so this was perfect.  With the help of a sponsor, we presented the concept for a Mainstay Monday show in February, and had a blast. A few months ago, Amy was given the opportunity to suggest a group for this year's True Blue livestream event, and pounced on it, on behalf of this project (go Amy!). Now that we've ventured beyond the Mainstay (and beyond the realm of "what's Joe going to do this week?"), we needed a group name. In one of my (few) linguistical (or linguisticated) accomplishments, I suggested the combination of our 4 last names: Sholbertshire. It doesn't tell you anything about what we do (though swingtet does tell you something), but it's fun. And another livestream opportunity is in the works, so this concept will live on (to swing another day). 

The music of Oscar Peterson strikes a chord (or a flurry of notes) deep within me. So much so that I've long held a dream of getting to the point where I could credibly release a recording titled "Oscar In My Soul". I don't have anything near the technical facility of Oscar, but I do believe I have a connection to the feel (or feeling) that he expresses with every note. More than the amazing technical displays of note flourishes that Oscar is capable of (and sometimes overdoes), his deeply musical and soulful delivery of each note is what paints a mural in my heart. Years ago, I wore out a cassette tape, listening over and over to Oscar playing a single note ("plink") at the end of a phrase. And it may be fair to say that this single note has been among the most influential music I've encountered. I have practiced to this ideal from the day I first heard it. So what a wonderful opportunity to share in this concept with these 3 hard swinging, soulful cats. And, despite that this in in tribute, in part, to Oscar Peterson, my goal is not to play so many notes. Rather, to express, in each one, the connection I feel, in my soul.

My thoughts may have sharpened a bit lately, distinguishing between 2 approaches to musical performance. Or perhaps 2 prototypes, or something. These aren't mutually exclusive, and to some degree, overlap in all performing musicians, I would imagine. But I do think these may represent contrasting starting points of individual temperament, considered as something like opposite ends of a continuum: 

Performance as proclamation versus performance as expression/channeling/connection. 

And it may be fair to say that some, if not most musicians could probably identify where they are on this scale, in their approach, if they thought about it. As for me, I appreciate the contributions of many great pianists, though have found that the ones I am most drawn to (or that most deeply penetrate my heart) are those whose primary trait is (as it strikes me, at least) what is expressed through their instrument, as opposed to what is produced by it, if I can make that distinction. And, as I already mentioned, this dichotomy seems to me to be more of a function of the temperament of the musician. We all have things that work for us, and we all have things that don't. Case in point: I was listening to classical music radio in my car some time ago, and was captivated by the pianist. The playing felt intuitive, like the personal expression of the performer (which is always what I want to hear from classical music, while, of course, remaining true to the composition/composer). As the piece ended, I held my breath in hopes that the announcer would come on and tell me who the pianist was. He did. It was Lang Lang. So it didn't surprise me to later read an interview where Lang Lang gave this advise to students, "Don't just play the note, feel the note, and make every new piece your best friend". Yes. I realize that some classical music folk don't like Lang Lang, and I get that. But when he expresses what he feels, I can feel it too. Not formulaic or mechanical or calculated (not always, anyway). Felt. Some weeks ago, in this blog, I made reference to reading an interview of Smokey Robinson where he declared that he certainly wasn't a great singer (he went on to list other singers, like Celine Dion, who do have great chops and know how to use them), but he can feel what he sings, and believes his audiences feel it with him. Yes. And the jazz musicians that have impacted me the most deeply are perhaps less those that I am in awe of technically (save, maybe Oscar Peterson) and more those who move me to tears, or leave my heart full. I'm presenting this expression vs. proclamation as a dichotomy, which, of course, it isn't. Or not exactly. Or perhaps it is. Actually, now that I am confronted here to write cogently about this, it is probably both/and. Or, perhaps another way, both are required, to a point. And whatever I do with this corner I may have just painted myself into, the bottom line is something I've said for nearly as long as I can remember saying things; that we express and reveal who we are when we make music. And Keith Jarret may have a point when he says (at least about improvisational performance) that, for a musician, it is less important to work on the music and more important to work on yourself.

As we travel the path, this may become increasingly true (for me, at any rate).