Positive words for the week (Zen parable: Moving to a New City)

Moving to a New City 

(Zen parable): There was a person coming to a new village, relocating, and he was wondering if he would like it there, so he went to the Zen master and asked: 

Do you think I will like it in this village? Are the people nice? 

The master asked back: How were the people in the town where you come from? 

“They were nasty and greedy, they were angry and lived for cheating and stealing,” said the newcomer. 

Those are exactly the type of people we have in this village, said the master.

Another newcomer to the village visited the master and asked the same question, to which the master asked: 

How were the people in the town where you come from? 

“They were sweet and lived in harmony, they cared for one another and for the land, they respected each other and they were seekers of spirit,” he replied. 

Those are exactly the type of people we have in this village, said the master.

(Life Lesson): I think there a two closely related lessons to be learned from this parable. (1) What we end up seeing and experiencing in life, is what we choose to see and experience; and (2) some people deal with life with a winner's mindset and others with a loser's mindset. 

Musically speaking, I can be naively optimistic when it comes to seeing and experiencing the positive side of life, especially when it comes to the listening to music.

I’ve attended concerts where the person I’m with might say to me afterward, “That sax player doesn’t play changes very well, ” or “That piano player's rhythm is weak.”--typical things you'd expect from someone listening with an objective ear. Because I was listening with a more subjective ear, what I actually heard was a sax player improvising with a more open harmonic concept, or a piano player having his or her own way of feeling the time. 

By me not judging these musical scenarios as bad or wrong, allowed me to hear these things not as mere flaws but as new and different musical possibilities. I'm not saying that this is always a good thing, especially if you are a teacher and you're paid to listen with a critical ear. But I am someone who has the ability to enjoy music using both subjective and objective listening. This was not always the case. People who know me from earlier years, also know I could talk smack with the best of them. While I was a student at Berklee in the mid-80s, unfortunately, talking negatively about others was our favorite past time--a conversation for another day

But I'm happy to say that I did evolve.

Regarding the second lesson of the parable: having a winner's and loser's mindset. 

Ben Carson came under fire during a radio interview with conservative media personality Armstrong Williams, for expressing similar views regarding poverty.

Here are some statements taking from the transcript of the interview:

 “I think poverty to a large extent is also a state of mind.” Carson, then he went on to say, “You take somebody that has the right mindset, you can take everything from them and put them on the street, and I guarantee in a little while they’ll be right back up there.” And lastly, Carson said, “You take somebody with the wrong mindset, you can give them everything in the world — they’ll work their way right back down to the bottom.”

Political affiliations aside, I’m afraid I have to agree with him. 

Many political pundits spun this as him saying that if you’re poor, it’s your fault. Which is not the case at all. He’s basically saying that some people have a rich or successful person’s mindset, some have that of a poor person's, no matter their income--not much different from the man in the parable who only saw people in their village as "nasty and greedy."

In many ways,  most jazz musicians have a winner's mindset when it comes to experiencing life. 

Most of us who play this music (and there are the exceptions) live on very modest incomes. But we actually have a lot of in common with those who make up the upper echelons of the socio-economic ladder. 

If you think about what rich society folks like to do, it's usually:

• traveling to foreign countries (other than the Virgin Islands and Mexico), 
• going to museums,
• enjoying healthy food, 
• eating at nice restaurants, 
• being connoisseurs of fine wine, 
• reading classic books, 
• watching movies by non-Hollywood indie filmmakers, 
• attending operas and ballets, 
• and appreciating art music like jazz and classical. 

I’ve just described 80 percent of all of the jazz musicians I know. And the point I'm making is that jazz musicians do not let the absence of wealth prevent them from experiencing the riches that life has to offer. Many live modestly but have the aesthetical mindset of someone with 10 times their income.

At the other end of the spectrum, look at wealthy pop music entertainers and athletes (or even lottery winners), that come from modest and sometimes impoverished
upbringings. Even though they go on to accumulate a lot of wealth in a short period of time, many still live with a poor person’s mindset and, consequently, often end up broke. Their bank accounts are abundant, but their aesthetical value system is in a deficit.

This is why you might see some these celebrities in $200,000 cars, pulling up to a KFC drive-thru. Or opting to go to strip clubs instead of the opera. And my favorite: Walking around with a $300 bottle of Dom Perignon, drinking it like it's a 40 ounce of Old English. 

You’ve rarely seen an episode of MTV’s Cribs where the guests showed off their vintage record collections and libraries of classic books. It’s usually nonsense like having a chair with fish aquariums in the armrests or having a basketball court next to their bowling alley.

I don't mean to come across as holier than thou. Like the traveler from the parable who only recalls encountering the "cheaters and thieves" of his town, I, too, am often a victim of my own poor person's mindset. I feel I can speak about it because I live it. 

And let's not forget the lottery winners.

According to the National Endowment for Financial Education, about 70 percent of people who win the lottery or come into huge sums of cash, end up broke in a few years. And I won't deny that greedy folks in their lives find ways to exploit them. But much of their downfall can be attributed to their mindset. It's a harsh but unfortunate truth.

So as the parable teaches us: Life is what you make it. You can fill it with great people. You can fill it with horrible people. You can fill it with music that sounds good, or music that sounds bad. You can fill it with riches, you can fill it with poverty. These choices belong to us. 

The Soprano Stylings of Lucky Thompson

During the 20th century, Paris served as a musical and financial sanctuary for two of our greatest soprano players: Sydney Bechet, who moved there in 1925, and Steve Lacy who relocated in 1970.  And this also holds true for a third under-rated master of the straight horn: Lucky Thompson.

Thompson's tenure in Paris was more short-lived than that of Bechet and Lacy, both of whom resided there for the majority of their careers. Thompson lived in Paris between 1957 and 1962. The city offered more work, more hope, and more respect--as it did for many American jazz musicians, including Bud Powell and Dexter Gordon.

And for Thompson, this is also where he began to explore the soprano saxophone more deeply.

I can't say for certain, but I suspect that since the Selmer company introduced the Mark VI line of saxophones in 1954, only three years before his arrival, Thompson probably had access to some of the best-made sopranos in the world, in terms of instrumental mechanics and pitch accuracy. This would certainly make a saxophonist less hesitant about trying out the pitch-defiant horn.

Below are 10 notable soprano saxophone performances by Thompson. Bare in mind, these are performances and recordings that I find interesting. In no way are these being presented as Lucky Thompson's greatest work.  Just some cool soprano playing I thought you might enjoy,

What's interesting about these performances is how comfortable he sounds on the instrument. His tone is pretty uniform, in-tune throughout the registers, and very airy--which is very difficult to achieve on the soprano.  Even when employing many of his swinging double-time runs, there is still a strong melodicism that permeates throughout.

On the slower pieces, Thompson proves why he was one of the great balladeers in jazz. In fact, he was one of the first to come along to accentuate the instrument's sensuous side. Even Sidney Bechet while playing ballads on the soprano approached them pretty aggressively and majestically--much in the street parade style of Louis Armstrong. Bechet's fast and wide-vibrato approach was far from soft, sweet nothings in your ear. Thompson, on the other hand, was much more of a straight horn crooner, with a sound and approach that was less robust, more intimate, and more smooth. Saxophonists like Grover Washington Jr. and Kenny G took this idea of smoothness on the soprano to the extreme, but it was Thompson who introduced this sound into the soprano's sonic lexicon.

Video 1:"Lover Man (Oh Where Can You Be?)" was recorded in 1968 at the Blue Note in Paris, France for a French television broadcast.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone
Alice Coltrane - piano
Pierre Michelot - bass
Kenny Clarke - drums

Video 2: "I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)" was recorded live at the 1962 Moldejazz festival Molde, Norway.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone
Unknown - piano
Unknown - bass
Unknown - drums

Video 3: "On Green Dolphin Street" was recorded for Dutch national radio on November 22, 1968, at Jazz Club B-14 in Rotterdam.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone
Rob Madna - piano
Ruud Jacobs - bass
Eric Ineke - drums

Video 4 - "The World Awakes" from his album Soul's Nite Out, released in 1971 on the Spanish label Ensayo in 1971.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone
Tete Montoliu - piano
Eric Peter - bass
Peer Wyboris - drums

Video 5: "When Sunny Gets Blue" from his album Soul's Nite Out, released in 1971 on the Spanish label Ensayo.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone

Tete Montoliu - piano

Eric Peter - bass

Peer Wyboris - drums

Video 6: “You Don’t Know What Love Is” from his album Happy Days, recorded March 8, 1963- February 16, 1965, released in 1965 on the Prestige label.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone
Tommy Flanagan - piano
George Tucker - bass
Walter Perkins - drums

Video 7: "Einsames Mädchen Am Meer" from the album  Four Brothers, released November 25, 1960, on the German label Sonogram.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone (on this cut)
Helmut Brandt - tenor and baritone saxophones

Bent Jaedig - tenor sax
Barney Wilsen - soprano and tenor saxophones

Roland Kovac - piano

Larry Atwell - guitar

Jürgen Ehlers - bass

Rudi Pronk - drums

Video 8:  “In a Sentimental Mood” from his album Lucky Strikes, recorded September 15, 1964,  and released in 1965 on the Prestige label.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone

Hank Jones - piano

Richard Davis - bass

Connie Kay – drums

Video 9: "Beautiful Tuesday" from the album Lord, Lord Am I Ever Gonna Know?,  released in 1961 on Candid Records.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone

Martial Solal - piano

Peter Trunk - bass

Kenny Clarke - drums

Video 10: “Have You Met Miss Jones” from the album Lucky in Paris, recorded January 14, 1959, and released in 1999 on High Note records.

Lucky Thompson - soprano saxophone

Martial Solal - piano

Michael Hausser - vibes

Gilbert Gassin - bass

Gerard Pochonet - drums





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The 65th Annual Critics Poll: An Objective Perspective

 Yesterday the results of the 65th Annual Critics Poll for Downbeat Magazine were publicly announced. I'd first like to congratulate all of the talented musicians who placed in their respective categories--especially those who attained the number one spots. Jazz is a highly competitive and over-saturated musical genre, so I take my hat off to anyone who was able to successfully make their way to the top of the heap.

The Downbeat critic's polls are often greeted with mixed feelings and reactions. For some, it's a time for rejoicing and hope. For many, it's a time for resentment and despair. My message to all: Don't take any of this stuff too seriously. If you're knocking it out of the park, it doesn't mean that you are a genius and that you will redefine jazz as we know it. And if you're perpetually ignored it doesn't mean that you and your music are insignificant. Some of my favorite musicians rarely get recognized in these polls. This is often the result of a multitude of variables, that can change at any time.

When I first moved to New York, people were convinced that you had to be young and black to have a career. This was not completely without merit. Today, this is hardly the case. Now the narrative is that you have to be white and experimental,  or a 70 plus black cat. There was even a period when people thought you had to be South East Asian to get noticed--which really makes me laugh. As you can see, trends can change pretty drastically. So my point is that you should not be concerned about these things and should be mainly focused on developing your music and presenting it to the world.

The pendulum of jazz-world preference will swing in many directions during our careers. So the best thing we can do is be ready for when our number does come up. And even if it doesn't, that's ok too.  At least we'll be prepared.

Many musicians are pretty tough on the critics who vote in these polls, often labeling them as tone deaf and clueless. In rare instances, this might be true, but typically it's not. Jazz writers are usually pretty knowledgeable people. Some can't hear all of the fine nuances of the music like a professional musician, but this is not always necessary. Then again, many trained professionals can't write.

And besides, the life of a jazz writer is not glamorous.  They often receive low pay, little recognition, and they certainly don't get the girls. So if they're in this business, most likely it's because they have a deep love and passion for the music. They're not all frustrated musicians with a personal vendetta to make sure that "you don't get to have a career." Jazz writers tend to be too busy trying to drum up work to get so personal.

Because I enjoy writing, I actually like reading a professional writer's perspective on my music. It's a learning experience for me. I don't harbor the kind of animosity towards jazz writers that I've seen in some musicians. This was not always the case, mind you. Now, I can respect the craft, even if some of the things expressed are incorrect. This is the chance we take when working in the subjective realm. Some may not understand or get what I do, so in many ways, I feel it's my job to explain it to them--something I don't mind doing. In fact, having to articulate my vision helps to crystallize it in my mind. It's funny because sometimes it works against me. Some of my more recent reviews have ended up being my liner notes copied and pasted. But at least they had their facts correct.

Regarding the polls: check them out, learn from them,  maybe even congratulate some of the winners. But ultimately it doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, whether you placed at number one or we're totally ignored, you still have to practice, play, compose and continue to win fans over one by one, gig by gig. So again, congrats to all who won, all who placed, and to all who have made a commitment to this music. We are all winners.

And congratulation to Jane Ira Bloom for securing the number one spot in the Soprano Saxophone category. Not an easy feat. 

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The Straight Horn of Keith Jarrett

As someone who plays soprano exclusively, you might figure me for someone with unusual and eclectic musical taste.

One of those unusual and eclectic gems I like to enjoy is the soprano saxophone playing of Keith Jarrett. Musicians typically look at me with an air of suspicion whenever I mention him as one of my favorite soprano players. Their response is usually,  "Keith Jarrett, the piano player?"

I always thought it would be hilarious if there actually was a guy out there named Keith Jarrett who only played the soprano. That would be funny!

In this post, I'm going to examine Jarrett's progression on the soprano saxophone from 1968, while a member of the Charles Lloyd Quartet, to 1976, when he was leading his acclaimed American Quartet.

Being first a piano player, Jarrett has an aesthetical advantage in that he can play the soprano from the perspective of someone who is not doubling on it. His approach sounds solely soprano-centered. I can't say for certain, but I imagined he didn't start off playing alto and tenor in the junior high stage band and later developed the soprano as an extension of one of the much larger saxophones.

He approaches the soprano like it's a folk instrument. It's very primitive, in many respects. You don't hear the typical post-Coltrane language commonly played by saxophonists during that time. Most of what he plays is organic, melodic language. In fact, he sounds more from the Ornette Coleman lineage than anyone else.

VIDEO 1: The first video features Jarrett playing with the Charles Lloyd Quartet on a television series called Jazz Casual, hosted by jazz critic Ralph Gleason on National Educational Television (NET), the predecessor what we now know as the Public Broadcasting Service (PBS). It was based out of San Francisco, California and featured 30-minute performances by legendary jazz groups such as the John Coltrane Quartet, MJQ, and the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra. It was quite an oasis.

The first clip is from June 18, 1968, when the Charles Lloyd Quartet appeared on the show with Lloyd on tenor saxophone, Ron McClure on bass, Jack DeJohnette on drums, and the 23-year-old Jarrett on piano and soprano saxophone.

During this period, you can hear that Jarrett is still grappling with the instrument. His sound is not yet developed nor distinctive, and he seems unable to keep up with Lloyd's sheer power and energy.  Mind you, he is only 23 and is first an accomplished pianist, so we can probably cut him some slack. But you can still hear that there's something there--a uniqueness that will be more evident in later clips.

VIDEO 2: This second clip features Jarrett alongside his working trio with Charlie Haden on bass and Paul Motion on drums. Recorded in 1970 at a concert in Germany, here, we hear a 25-year-old Jarrett, who's starting to come into his own in terms of sound and overall comfort with the instrument. His tone is more distinctive, fuller, more in tune, he's utilizing the different registers, and you can hear him starting to employ what became known as his signature throat growl. What I like most about the clip is how he utilizes space. I imagine part of this stems from his limitations on the instrument along with his innate sense of musicality. I would have loved to have heard an entire set of Jarrett in this configuration.

VIDEO 3: This next clip features a 29-year-old Jarrett on soprano with his American Quartet with Dewey Redman on tenor saxophone, Charlie Haden on bass, and Paul Motion on drums. It was recorded March 5, 1974, at the Jazz Workshop, located in the basement of the Inner Circle Restaurant at 733 Boylston Street in Boston, Massachusetts. The Jazz Workshop was another one of these now defunct musical oases that featured groups led by jazz greats passing through Beantown, like John Coltrane, Herbie Hancock, and Sun Ra and his Arkestra.

Here, we are going to listen to a piano-less quartet with Jarrett and his group exploring the type of free-form improvisation and group interplay forged by Ornette Coleman’s free jazz trios and quartets and those inspired by them. I love the chemistry between Jarrett and Redman. Jarrett has a lot more command of the instrument than he did with the Charles Lloyd group and is able to hold his own with Redman—and in many cases being the initiator of musical directions. You can also hear some of the Redman influence has rubbed off on Jarrett in terms of language and tonal inflections. There are even times, I feel he sounds like Dewey up an octave. Let me know what you think.

VIDEO 4: This fourth and final clip is from a live concert recorded at the Theater am Kornmarkt, Bregenz in Austria in May of 1976--unfortunately, this is just audio. It was later released on a 1979 ECM recording titled The Eye of the Heart, which featured the members of his American Quartet with Dewey Redman on tenor saxophone, Charlie Haden on bass, and Paul Motion on drums.

Now we hear a 31-year-old Jarrett who now has a fully developed musical voice on the instrument. And many ways, Jarrett was extremely lucky in that he spent years working with three of the most distinctive sounding saxophonists: Charles Lloyd, Dewey Redman, and Jan Garbarek. In fact, Jarrett's sound seems almost a mixture of the three, topped with lots of Jarrett, mind you.






CONCLUSION: It's interesting hearing Jarrett's progress on the soprano throughout the years. It almost seems unfair that he has distinctive voices on instruments from two entirely different musical families. But I guess some of us have it like that. And I'm glad he does. It's great that we get a chance to hear the soprano from a new and unique perspective.

One funny anecdote, before I go: Several years ago,  I was taking the Amtrak with Dewey Redman, going from New York to Boston to play a gig with the Matt Wilson Quartet at the Regatta Bar. This was a cool gig, by the way, with Joel Frahm playing tenor saxophone, Yosuke Inoue on bass, and Matt Wilson on drums.  Matt and the others drove up, and I was asked to ride with Dewey to make sure he got there "safely." A few hours into our trip, after hearing all of his amazing stories about Coltrane and Ornette, I asked how he liked Jarrett's soprano playing. I thought for sure he was going to share my sentiment about his unique and original approach to the instrument. I imagine we'd be like two connoisseurs of rare wine bonding over a $23,000.00 bottle of 1945 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild. Wrong! His response was nothing like I expected. His exact words were, "Man, every time he pulled out that thing, I would cringe!" Ouch! I was crushed. But I was not about to debate him. After all, he was Dewey Redman. Even though he said that I'm convinced he meant it. It's obvious that Jarrett was no hack. 

But then I thought, maybe it's a straight horn thing.  

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Albert Ayler on Soprano Saxophone

Many know saxophonist Albert Ayler as the 1960s free jazz tenor saxophonist with the big and brawny sound, infused with blues, gospel, and R&B. He was also an interesting soprano player.

Let me begin by saying that refined is not the first thought that comes to mind when you hear him work out his ideas on the straight horn. Spirited is probably a more accurate summation.

The recording, My Name is Ayler, is his first as a leader on the Debut label, a small Dutch record company based in Copenhagen. This album features Ayler wailing and screaming his way through five jazz classics and an original titled “C.T.”

 It is on the Ray Henderson/Mort Dixon piece “Bye, Bye, Blackbird” that we hear Ayler on the soprano. After hearing only a couple of bars, there is no hiding that Ayler was influenced by Coltrane’s extended version of the song (17 minutes and 55 seconds, to be exact) which he recorded on the tenor saxophone two years earlier on an album of the same name on Pablo Records. Coltrane was a mentor to Ayler, often loaning him money for food and bills, and was even the catalyst behind Ayler getting signed to the Impulse! label in 1964, which afforded him the financial stability he hadn't yet experienced during his career.

Ayler's approach to the soprano is undoubtedly more textural than melodic. I imagine he didn’t feel comfortable enough on the instrument to play it melodically. This is often the case. Typically a saxophonist playing the soprano has two choices to make: either rein it in or let the instrument run amuck, like a wild boar. Personally, I like hearing both. I even enjoy playing both ways when I’m able. One of the paradoxes of the soprano is that it’s an instrument on which it's much easier to play wild and uninhibited than to play simple and melodic.

To say that Ayler is overblowing the soprano on this recording would be a gross understatement. In fact, he sounds like he's dismantling the conventional concept of notes and is veering straight into the realm of noise--but the good kind of noise. This was not uncommon for him, even on the tenor. I'd be curious to know if Ayler is using the stiff synthetic Fibrecane reeds that he typically used on tenor. This would certainly explain the coarseness of his sound.

What I also find interesting was Ayler's tonal flexibility. He seemed to be able to employ the long glissandos for which he was known on tenor, giving his soprano playing a primitive but vocal-like quality.

The other players heard on this track are Niels Brosted on piano, Niels-Henning Orsted Pederson on bass, and Ronnie Gardiner on drums. As you’ll hear, his sidemen take a more conventional approach to the song. In fact, in his Allmusic review, jazz critic Thom Jurek, who gave the album three stars, wrote, "This is a strange record, like a soloist mismatched with the recording of another band…”

Even though the recording is aesthetically imbalanced, as suggested by Jurek, containing only the extremes of avant-garde improvisation and straight-ahead swing, there is something very cool about hearing Ayler doing his thing on soprano, no matter how raw and unrefined.  But enough said...

Outer- and Inner-Directed Forms of Improvisation

Since my last recording,  I've come to realize that I rely heavily on two distinct forms of improvisation: outer-directed and inner-directed. Outer-directed improvisations are those heavily influenced by the musical values of those with whom we're playing. Simply put, our improvisations are shaped by external influences. Whereas with inner-directed improvisation our musical ideas are direct results of our own musical values and thoughts. Our improvisations are shaped by few if any external influences. This is very common with solo performances; this is also one of the reasons why playing solo is so difficult. 

Jazz by its very construct is an outer-directed improvisational process. Being the communal art form that it is, what we create is heavily influenced by those around us, whether it be a rhythm section player, another horn player, or a singer that we are accompanying. Our ideas are often reciprocations of their musical influence. This is the norm in jazz--which is why we are very careful about who we choose to hire or even accept gigs with.

Inner-directed improvisation, like many of the pieces on Sopranoville, is a different creative animal. The improvisational reciprocations are to my own prerecorded musical ideas, which were composed in real time. This is one of the reasons I've likened my inner-directed form of improvisation to the self-appropriated portraits of Frida Khalo. She, too, found inner-direction to be the mode of choice.

Inner-directed improvisation certainly has its pros and cons.

Pros:

• It's easier to obtain musical clarity.
• Having sonic uniformity is less challenging.
• There's more textural uniformity.
• Performers have more aesthetical control of the music.

Cons:

• Music can lack variety.
• Music can become too predictable.
• Music can become emotionally leveling.

Now, the same can be said for outer-directed improvisation.

Pros:

• There are more musical ideas to be influenced by.
• There is more musical synergy between the performers.
• Performers have to work less hard to stay inspired.

Cons:

• Sometimes you cannot control the direction of the music.
• Too many musical influences can create less clarity.
• Having the correct assemblage of performers is a must.

I would not say that one approach is better than the other. But outer-directed improvisation certainly is less limiting, which is why it's probably more commonplace. But then again, inner-directed improvisation might allow you to arrive at music that sounds original. It forces you to go more deep into yourself. When it's just you, you have no choice. My advice:  Give them both a try. Weave in and out of them as you venture down your artistic journey. 

And check out the most recent review of Sopranoville by Raul da Gama

Zen Parable: Maybe (The Art of Indifference)

Zen parable: Maybe

 Once upon a time, there was an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. “Such bad luck,” they said sympathetically.

  “Maybe,” the farmer replied.

  The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. “How wonderful,” the neighbors exclaimed.

  “Maybe,” replied the old man.

  The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune.

  “Maybe,” answered the farmer.

  The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son’s leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out.

  “Maybe,” said the farmer.

This story is a reminder that there's a natural order to life. Within this order, there are highs and lows, sunny days and cloudy days, good times and bad times. We do not know whether these events in our lives will bring good fortune or misfortune. These things are out of our control. Life is a perfect chain of events, connected by perfectly arranged, imperfect links.

For each event that happened in the farmer's life, he had the wisdom not to get too excited over the good things, nor too upset over the bad--for all were necessary for his journey. And where each of these events eventually led, were revealed in due time.

As musicians, we must approach our music and careers with the same wisdom. Whether we're seeking the high-profile gig, the sweet record deal, top billing on festivals, or accolades from those in the industry, we should not put too much importance in any of these. Some of these things will lead to our happiness, some will leave us perpetually sad. And as demonstrated in the story about the farmer, you just never know.

I used to be roommates with a guy named John, who kind of approached life in this way. John always appeared negative or pessimistic, because every time something seemingly good happened, he would always respond with "We'll see." Our conversations we're usually Like this:

Me: Hey, John, your two-week tour in Europe should be nice.

John: We'll see.

Me: John, when your record comes out, that's going to be some great exposure.

John: We'll see.

Me: John, your new girlfriend seems nice.

John: We'll see.

I always looked at John as a skeptic. He was never really emotionally invested one way or the other. Today, however, I understand his feelings. 

Thinking about all of these things takes me back to 1999 when I got signed to a record deal with Columbia/Sony. I finally thought that I had a chance of having a career as a solo artist. Unfortunately, I was dropped from the label a year later. As you can imagine, I was pretty devastated. But like the unfortunate events in the farmer's life, this, too, ended up being a blessing in disguise.

Losing my recording contract taught me that relying on others for my sound was artistically too risky because all of my success was too beholden to others. Consequently, I was forced to dig deeper to find my own sound, which I was able to do through recording solo saxophone CDs. Playing solo taught me how to be interesting as a player and tap into that which is uniquely me. I never would have discovered this with my group Global Unity. I was too preoccupied with trying to project my vision through the members of my band rather than through my own instrument. So where I lost an opportunity to have a successful career as a solo artist, what I gained was a musical voice--which is much more valuable.

As musicians, we must approach life, our music, and careers with a certain level of indifference. Like the farmer, we must not get too emotionally invested, one way or the other. Our story and the effects of our music will continue long after we're gone. That album you released that only got two stars in Downbeat, might change lives decades later. That tune that you wrote, last minute, might define your legacy. You just never know.