2019 has shaped up to be an invisibly productive year thus far. I say that because I haven’t much to show for it. Save a couple pit gigs and a one-off crashing of a Forgotten Prophets show, my itinerary has been empty. That said, in some ways I’m in the best musical shape since my son’s arrival over four years ago. I’ve made a conscious effort to batten down the hatches and consistently practice with an eye toward goals both big and small. Some tangible victories include:
- My clarinet playing being the best it’s been. It’s an instrument I’ve never really enjoyed playing, doing it only when I must. But I did have a few days this year where—gulp—I had fun playing it.
- Reacquainting myself with a number of forgotten jazz standards. A decade ago I could do a 4-hr. jazz gig and barely need charts except for the original tunes. That said, I haven’t had a regular jazz gig in a number of years, and therefore no need to retain or practice them. It’s been nice to wake those particular muscles.
- Progressing with some long-intended transcriptions.
- Learning some new classical literature. Putting together a recital or something similar at this point would be completely impractical, and nothing I’m that interested in doing. However, it’s been great to be able to get back in that mindset to some degree.
- Glacially paced improvement in music technology matters, including some recording here and there.
So, those are some wins. Of course, there have been drawbacks:
- Ensemble performance. The pit gigs were fine, but I definitely felt caught flat-footed a couple times on stage with the Prophets. Even though I was just sitting in on the show with little prep, I definitely felt rusty at times when it came to playing in a live, improvised setting. I don’t know how it sounded or appeared, but I definitely had some internal unease. It’s a scenario that, years ago, would’ve been a non-issue.
- External momentum. While I’ve been diligent about sheddin’ in the basement, I can’t say the same for playing beyond my property. Much of that has been because I’ve hit a brick wall with trying to make inroads locally. The union is a social and political network that I can’t seem to crack, despite having joined years ago and making and reaching out to contacts over the years. In other words, “Seat’s taken!” Turf wars and the cold crossfire of competitive self-interest. Such is life in a metropolitan area where seemingly everyone’s a townie or close to it.
Still, I suppose I should focus on the silver lining. There have been improvements, even if only I know about them. And, playing aside, I’ve made a point to do much more active listening these last several years. One consequence of that—or was it the other way around?—is that I’ve gone on a CD-buying tear since moving from Michigan, increasing the frequency I’d already been maintaining. In the beginning, I’m sure part of it was retail therapy to go along with the move. But also, for a time, I was just a few miles from Buffalo’s Record Theatre, a local institution that I’d been frequenting for nearly a decade. Of course, it was just my luck that it permanently closed the following year. Anyway, the shopping has generally continued nonetheless. I’ve yet to get into vinyl, so CDs are my physical copy of choice. I know, it makes me a ridiculous luddite, yada yada. I still think there’s value in curating a personal library. Also, it’s nice to not be completely reliant on the cloud for all my needs.
Eventually my schedule and availability will lighten up some, particularly when the little guy goes to school, at which time I’ll be able to plant more irons in the fire. And when that happens, I’ll be glad to have spent this time buffing out the wear and tear—taking the time to actually work things out as opposed to maintaining between gigs.
Music (mostly) aside, I’ve also made a point to consistently read more for pleasure. Not only has that been good for the eyes to lose the screens for a bit, but it’s just been good for the mind to focus on longer narratives, fiction or otherwise. (This does include re-reading Norman Mailer’s Ancient Evenings. Of course.) Right now I’m nearing the end of Dr. Mark Berry’s new Schoenberg biography, which I’m quite enjoying.
And here we are: June 2019. I only really know that from looking at the calendar. That’s fine. The seasons keep changing and the work continues. Whether it’ll amount to anything is an open question. Admittedly, my not-quite-suppressed nihilism make me think it doesn’t really matter either way. But at least I’m enjoying doing it.