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