Conversation in Mid-Air

Today I'm writing on the communal nature of making jazz. It is one of the rare forms of art that is created in a group. The painter works in isolation. The poet sits alone under a tree. The sculptor is sequestered in the studio. But the jazz group works as a team.

This weekend, saxophonist Mike Carbone and I kidnapped bassist Tony Marino. We took him down to the Deer Head Inn, our regional Jazz Mecca, to hear a group assembled by bassist Martin Wind. Martin brought in Bill Mays on piano and Scott Robinson on horns, two of the great musicians we heard a week ago in a concert of Gerry Mulligan's music. They were joined by drummer Matt Wilson, one of the most exciting musicians I've ever heard. 

When Tony saw the guys, they embraced like brothers. That's precisely the point. 

I was reminded of this when my nephew Matt joined me for a recent field trip to Geneva, New York. Today marks the 60th anniversary of a enormous loss to the jazz tradition: the late-night car crash that took the life of bassist Scott LaFaro. It happened about 1:45 am, as Scott and a friend from high school returned from an evening of hanging out and listening to music. It appears LaFaro fell asleep at the wheel, drifted off the road, and hit a tree. After a bit of investigation, I think we found the tree - it's on the right.

The tragic accident sent Scott's colleague, the pianist Bill Evans, into a tailspin. With drummer Paul Motian, the three of them had re-created the music of a jazz trio. Rather than confine the bass and drums to supportive roles, the Bill Evans trio functioned as a small community. Each player had an equal voice. Nobody dominated. Everybody was valued. It was like listening to a three-part invention in motion, a conversation in mid-air. It was a musical reminder of what it means to belong to one another.

So I went looking for LaFaro's grave. He's buried next to his father in the city cemetery. It took a while to find, but I'm glad we made the effort. Maybe I'm just weird, but I want to honor those who teach me deep lessons. One of the great lessons in jazz is that the sum is greater than the parts. A community has all the necessary gifts for its vitality, as long as there is mutual respect, strong encouragement, openness to what others offer, and a shared sense of trust. 

Some years ago, I found a tremendous - and truthful - quote by Stephen Nachmanovitch. He nails what happens when creative people work together:

Shared art-making is, in and of itself, the expression of, the vehicle for, and the stimulus to human relationships. The players, in and by their play, build their own society. As a direct relationship between people, unmediated by anything other than their imaginations, group improvisation can be a catalyst to powerful and unique friendships. This is an intimacy that cannot be reached through words or deliberation, resembling in many ways the subtle, rich, and instantaneous communication between lovers.[1]

So today, I remember Scott LaFaro and his contribution to the music. I lament what we lost when we lost him. And I reaffirm how important it is to make creative room for one another. 

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[1] Stephen Nachmanovitch, Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art (Los Angeles: Jeremy P. Tarcher, Inc., 1990) 99.