Check out this hilarious clip on New Wave vs. Jazz from the BBC. I’d be curious to hear some responses from musicians and non-musicians alike re: what aspects of jazz are alienating. It’s going to be a topic in future posts. For now, enjoy!
Fondly,
Patrick
Esteemed musician and scholar Peter Narvaez passed away early this morning in St. John’s, NL. As an undergrad, I took one of Peter’s Jazz & Blues courses at Memorial. It’s one thing to listen to great blues recordings on your own and be amazed at the depth of feeling captured on wax. But when Peter would bring his guitar to class and play, we were exposed to a living history. He had an endless supply of stories detailing his life in music with some of the heaviest players. Peter’s commitment to scholarship and performance is one of the aspects of Peter’s life that inspires me most. One serves the other. I came to realize that a thorough and intimate knowledge of where music comes from deepens the experience of performance and listening.
We remained in touch casually over the years and he was always extremely supportive of me in my own efforts as a teacher and performer. He offered me several excellent suggestions as I designed the Jazz History course here at UVic. Most recently, we chatted happily about his recent CD The Superpickers which I am proud to be a small part of. Peter Narvaez is one deep, inspiring human. I am eternally thankful that he made his home in Newfoundland. What is it about Newfoundland that attracts so many amazing, insightful and talented folks from away?
Click here for a full biography of Peter including some priceless pics.
Peter with my main man Steve Hussey at Steve’s place in Portugal Cove.
My thoughts are with Holly and all of Peter’s family and friends.
Fondly,
Patrick
I have recently moved into a lovely home in Esquimalt, B.C. The attached pic is literally from my front door. It’s bigger than any other place I’ve lived, and maybe a trifle spooky. The first night I slept here, I became acquainted with the new house sounds. There are the obvious sounds of the ocean and wind, along with sundry creakings and clicks common in older homes. Normal, explainable phenomena. But mere moments from dreamland, I heard an unfamiliar sound, something between a metallic squink and a galonk, that induced a crippling sense of fear in me.
“Someone’s here!” my boyish inside-my-head-voice whispered. “Two giant men from central casting carrying baseball bats with poison tipped nails in them. They are going to beat me and force me into indentured servitude.” This was the most rationale explanation.
I carry a Swiss Army knife with me at all times (seriously, they are amazing…I own this one). I unfold ‘the big one’ and patrol my new home using every ounce of skill I’ve learned as a Massey College Porter. My heart is pounding, but I preferred to engage Biff and Sully head on in hopes my well known operatic womanly scream might incapacitate them should the need arise. Alas, no Callas. I saw nothing suspicious, and went back to sleep after securing the perimeter.
This experience, no matter how pathetic, lead me to the following new ideas about improvisation. Playing a new tune or improvising with new people is a lot like sleeping in a new house. You might hear something strange – an unfamiliar rhythm or peculiar harmony – but until you [quickly] secure the musical perimeter these sounds will remain strange. It might be easy to stay scared or avoid engaging that which is unfamiliar, but that impedes all growth and stagnates the musical moment. The initial strangeness may morph into something valuable and aesthetically pleasing, and even if it doesn’t you are that much further to creating your own sound concept for the future. The boyish whisper that says ‘retreat’ might eventually proclaim ‘engage…right now.’
Fondly,
Patrick
Many jazz musicians discuss improvising in terms of conversation. There is a constant give-and-take on the bandstand. Personally, I don’t know which I enjoy more: good conversation or good improvising. I do know that I can’t stand playing with ‘energy thieves’. We all have them in our lives. They are people who prattle on endlessly about their own problems and agendas and leave little or no room for you to get a word in edgewise or feel cared about. There is is nothing worse that working with a musician who shares this mindset. What do you do in those situations?
I talk about conversation in my Doctoral dissertation Improvisation and the Politics of Error. Here is a short excerpt.
Fondly,
Patrick
Recall a time when you improvised with a group of musicians. You had a clear idea of what you wanted to play in your minds ear. Yet upon execution, something occurred that affected your original intent. In the time between thought and action, the musical texture may have shifted, making your gesture a less than ideal fit for the musical moment. One, some or all of the following occurs: someone unexpectedly stops playing; you make a wrong fingering or your stick slipped from your hand; there is feedback; you have a squeaky reed; or there may be some type of audience or environmental interference. Whatever the case, you are faced with the task of mediating the immediate. Out of the panoply of possible next steps, one is selected. Do you continue with your original idea, or adapt to the newly minted situation? Your next decision was, quite precisely, a decision: a determination arrived at after consideration. In every performance situation, this process cycles into the next musical moment, and so forth. Jazz musicians make thousands of decisions in the course of performance.
The above sequence of events can be re-contextualized as a conversation. Conversation is one of the most significant metaphors for improvisation. Imagine you are at a party listening to two friends discuss a pending vacation. Again, you have a clear idea of what you want to contribute to their conversation. Perhaps you know a hotel where they are going and you would like to recommend it. Yet upon uttering your phrase, something affects your original intent. By the time you get a word in, in that ephemeral space between thought and action, one, some, or all of the following occurs: the conversational topic may shift; someone else joins the group; the doorbell rings; someone spills a glass of wine. Whatever the case, something occurs that makes your conversational gesture a less than ideal fit for the moment. Do you follow through or hold back? Can you be comfortable in the silence of holding back? If you don’t hold back, can you assert yourself in such a way that the gesture can make sense? Riding the wave of conversation, deciding what to say or not say next, is very similar to riding the wave of improvisation in music-making.
Welcome to my revamped online home. Thanks for stopping by!
The focal point of this new site is my blog. I have notebooks full of ideas big and small, useful and useless, and I need to throw them online for others to read. This is a blog where I will write about music, improvisation, jazz, composition and life as a performer and teacher. But my main interest is in creativity. I’m curious to know how people in different disciplines create and sustain new ideas, especially in groups. SO LET’S TALK! More and more, I find the spontaneous, fast-paced decision making that happens jazz music is so similar to the types of negotiations outside of music.
Don’t worry, chums. This blog won’t entirely be dictionary words and academic googaw. I’m just as interested in YouTube clips of sneezing pandas and the latest Bette Midler gossip. So there’ll be a broad range of topics covered.
For those of you in Victoria, B.C. I’m playing with the Patrick Boyle Group on Sat Oct 15 @ Hermann’s Jazz Club (753 View Street). The group features some of the finest players in Western Canada including Roy Styffe (sax), Oliver Swain (bass/vox), and Josh Dixon (drums). Full details on the LIVE page.
Huge thanks to Jimmy Rose and William Suarez for their help in getting this site off the ground.
I’ll leave you with this, a clip of myself and Duane Andrews in Memphis some years ago. It was quite late, if you know what I mean, when the best music slips out of the night and into strange hotel rooms.
Fondly,
Patrick Boyle
p.s. follow me on The Twitter. If you don’t think my tweets are funny right away, just keep reading.
