The Keys to the Kingdom

It was 19-never mind in Boulder, and I was sifting through a bin at the used record store at 19th and Arapahoe.

Billy Taylor with Four Flutes.

What?

Oh, yes. Phil Bodner. Frank Wess. Herbie Mann. Jerome Richardson. Chano Pozo. Riverside. The jacket was in two pieces, taped together, and there was popcorn in the sound. But honey, with music this good, who cared? Billy Taylor was wonderful. I played that record all the time.

Once in New York I heard music coming out of a bus. I soon learned it was the Jazzmobile. This was one of Billy (soon-to-be Dr. William) Taylor’s many contributions, one of the many ways he educated people about jazz, got us to listen.

For me, jazz and love will always be connected.

Maybe a year before I found that Billy Taylor album I saw a record on my roommate Julie’s shelf.

“What an odd name,” I thought.

Some time after that I fell in love with a pianist (or developed a serious crush, your choice) and, in hearing the music he played, also acquired a love for the man who became one of my creative guiding lights.

The name of that composer? Same as the one on Julie's album back in Boulder: Thelonious Monk.

Years later, I was lucky enough to win a fellowship to study fiction writing at Cranbrook in Michigan. Great. Just one small problem. The teacher turned out to be Janet Kauffman, I had studied with her in the MFA program (meaning she’d seen all my stories), and I had a couple of days to write something new.

I called WEMU, the local jazz station, and asked the disc jockey (I was madly in love with him, too; I fell in love a lot at the time) to play Joanne Brackeen.

“Nope,” he said, “I’m playing the new Monk album.”

“Well,” I said, “If you’re playing Monk, I’m not going to argue with you.”

I heard the first song. The second. By the time the third one started I was writing, and wrote the whole first draft of a story called, “Suite For Frank* and Monk” while listening to that album.

Monk saved my neck.

And it was thanks to Billy Taylor that I even listened to Monk. Sure, the crush on that piano player helped. But Billy Taylor opened the door. And he didn’t just play the music. He educated people about it. Billy Taylor wasn't interested in coasting on being hip. He wanted to make sure you knew what the music was about.

Because when you learn more about something (or someone) you love, that love has a chance to keep growing deeper.

Billy Taylor provided the keys, literally and figuratively, to make that happen.

Thank you, Dr. Taylor. Thank you, Billy. And thanks to everyone who keeps it going.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/12/29/AR2010122904818.html

*O'Hara. Who started out as a piano player. Who knew?


©2010-2014 Laynie Tzena.

Pass It On

Heading to the coat check at an event the other night I saw a woman I had heard speak about a year ago and thought was great.

Now I'm sure of it.

We said hello. Then someone came up and she gave her a hug. I said, joking, "I didn't get a hug."

Being Edith, she turned and immediately gave me a hug. She then told me the other person was a relative. Boy, was I embarrassed! But notice the sequence: first the hug, then the explanation.

What if we all made a habit of that? Not asking for hugs--though I think that we could all use more of them--but offering support first, then feedback?

Instead, it's tempting to begin by telling people what they've done wrong. Funny thing about that. When you tell someone, "You just blew it, and here's how," the person very rarely says, "Tell me more." No. It just creates bad feeling.

Patrick McKenzie, in a piece I call "Customer Service 101, 201, 301, and 401," because I think it says it all (look for it here: http://www.kalzumeus.com/2007/02/16/how-to-deal-with-abusive-customers/) points out that when you bend a business policy to help a customer, the customer doesn't think, "What a pushover." Or, at least, most people don't. They just appreciate the fact that you cut them some slack. (And they come back.)

Susan RoAne tells a story of how Patricia Fripp, talking with some people at a mixer, suddenly noticed someone standing just outside the circle. It's so tempting, in those cases, to just continue your conversation, to almost view that person as an intruder. But Patricia did something different. She stepped back to include the new person in the circle.

I heard Susan tell that story a few years ago, and the grace Patricia Fripp showed in that moment has always stayed with me. As will Edith's kindness the other night.

Oh, and by the way, Edith doesn't know this yet, but we actually are related. I decided long ago that my family was not limited to the people who fed me breakfast and sent me to school when I was a bit shorter (though I'm grateful for that). Family is anyone you treat with love.

Pass it on.


©2010, 2012 Laynie Tzena.

Rumor Has It The Sun Rose Again This Morning

Many years ago I told my friend David that a guy I'd just met had spent the entire time we were talking looking at my chest.

For the record, the chest in question is decidedly average--not Twiggy, but also not Pamela Anderson or my sister who, when pregnant, went from a D-cup to a G- [which my late uncle referred to at the time as "G-Whiz!"]).

David suggested that if I ran into the fellow again and he continued to address his remarks to my breasts I might respond, "They can't hear you."

I thought of that tonight as I found myself addressing the radio with just a touch of the vernacular, and then turning it off.

And why was I doing that?

Because it was another bloody program about the recession. Not that there's anything wrong with talking about the recession. Or that we should stick our heads in the sand (which, incidentally, somebody now says ostriches do not do).

But could we at least get off the doom?

Because some of us saw the movie. We know exactly how bad it was. And we'd like to move on.

Yes, we know it might take a while for things to get a whole lot better. But we'll settle for pretty good and a focus on the good news, thanks so much.

I'd be willing to bet the classical stations are doing really well these days, and the oldies ones, too, because a lot of us have had it up to here with more and more information about how truly bad it still is in some parts.

We know it. If we're not in the thick of it ourselves, we have friends and family who are. And while we're not advocating walking away from the challenges it may present, we don't want to spend one more minute analyzing it. We don't want to give it any more time than we absolutely have to. We have lived with it for what seems like forever.

And now we would like to move on.


©2010 Laynie Tzena.