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.