Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
THE FIRST MEASURE - Groove
MEASURE TWO - Notes
MEASURE THREE - Articulation/Duration
MEASURE FOUR - Technique
MEASURE FIVE - Emotion/Feel
MEASURE SIX - Dynamics
MEASURE SEVEN - Rhythm/Tempo
MEASURE EIGHT - Tone
MEASURE NINE - Phrasing
MEASURE TEN - Space/Rest
MEASURE ELEVEN - Listening
THE LAST MEASURE - The Dream?
CODA
About the Author
Praise for The Music Lesson
“Victor Wooten has been doing things on the bass that nobody dreamed of, and we bass players can’t help but hunger for some insight into what inspires him and how he does it. Here, as in his Music, he surprises us and gives us more depth than we expected, more of himself than many would dare. This is his journey, his mystical quest, not merely to play the bass but to fully encounter and understand Music itself.”
—Tony Levin, world-class bassist, Peter Gabriel Band
“Wooten takes readers on a firsthand journey of his own musical self-discovery. Through his warm, humorous narrative—and with the help of some larger-than-life, guru-vy guides—Wooten reveals the laws of sound, vibration, rhythm, and creation in ways that help unlock the musical being in each of us.”
—Chris Jisi, senior contributing editor, Bass Player magazine
“Read a chapter and change your playing. Read the book and change your life. This little book will inspire you to grow as a musician and a better person . . . Lacing the book with imaginative metaphors and unlikely comparisons, there’s more wisdom contained in these pages than most musicians will ever learn in a lifetime.”
—Tony Rogers, guitar instructor, 95 North recording artist
“A masterpiece of a book written by a master musician. Illuminating, motivating, riveting, and honest, it’s a book you can’t put down, one that you’ll want to read over and over again . . . I feel it is destined to become one of the most important ‘instruction’ books of the new millennium. It’s the best I have ever read.”
—Bob Franceschini, saxophonist, composer, and arranger
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THE MUSIC LESSON
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2006 by Victor L. Wooten.
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PRINTING HISTORY
Vix Boox editions / October 2006, March 2007
Berkley trade paperback edition / April 2008
eISBN : 978-1-436-22066-8
An application to register this book for cataloging has been submitted to the Library of Congress.
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Acknowledgments
Thanks to everyone at Penguin Group (USA) for publishing this book. Special thanks go to David Shanks, Norman Lidofsky, Leslie Gelbman, Susan Allison, Howard Wall, and Shannon Jamieson Vazquez. Thank you all for helping me achieve this dream.
There are many people who deserve credit in making this book a reality. All of U have taken part in my life knowingly or unknowingly in a way that has allowed me to become who I am. Whether U know it or not, U are a contributor to everything that I do.
This book is but one aspect of our endeavors together. I would like to thank U all for reading, proofreading, editing, advising, teaching, suggesting, criticizing, complimenting, putting up with, and helping me in some way or another, or not. It is all very much appreciated.
Special Thanks, Kisses, and Hugs go to:
My wife, Holly, and my kids, Kaila, Adam, Arianna, and Cameron, for loving, teaching, and inspiring me and for helping me to be a better me. I Love U!
My parents for teaching me about Life; My brothers Regi, Roy, Rudy, and Joseph for teaching me about Music; Paul Hargett and Rod Taylor for countless hours of help, editing, ideas, advice, and inspiration;
Danette Albetta, Steve Bailey, and Dave Welsch for continued friendship, guidance, help, and support;
All the members, crews, and supporters of The VW Band and Béla Fleck & the Flecktones;
My Music teachers—too many to mention—for sharing your gifts and her gifts with me;
My Nature teachers Tom Brown Jr., Charles Worsham, Richard Cleveland, Seth Recarde, Hilary Lauer, Colleen Katsuki, Jon Young, and others for awakening me to a new world and for showing me another way to see;
All the participants of the Bass/Nature Camps and Bass at the Beach for allowing me to experiment on U;
Richard Bach, Neale Donald Walsch, James Twyman, John Mc-Donald, Genevieve Behrend, and others for your inspired writings;
Kay Roberson, Denise Pilar Yver, Jennie Hoeft, Michael Kott, Sam Hunter, Jonathan Chase, and all who have helped and inspired in a special way;
And a big THANKS to my musical instruments for allowing me to express through them.
A Very Special Thanks goes to Michael and to Music for allowing me to write about them.
Thank U!
I Love U All!
Peace!
Victor L. Wooten
WARNING
Everything in this book
may be
all wrong.
But if so,
it’s
all right!
Truth? What is truth? . . . And by the way,
if I always tell you the truth, you might
start to believe me.
—Michael
Grace Note
I believe that Music, herself, had something to do with you holding this book. What does that mean, "Music herself ”? I once asked myself that same question.
I’ve been playing the bass guitar since I was two years old, but I started playing Music before that. The youngest of five musical brothers, I was welcomed into a unique wo
rld rarely seen by outsiders. It is a mystical musical world where, it seems, all are allowed to visit but only the chosen are allowed to remain.
Whether you play an instrument (or not), this world awaits you. How to get there is up to you. There are no directions given. My mom used to give hints when I was younger. She would say to my brothers and me, “You are already successful; the rest of the world just doesn’t know it yet.” I will put that into musical terms. “You are already musical; you just don’t know it yet.”
When I was younger, my brothers were like my extra parents, guides, and teachers. Actually, they are still that way to me. But now that I’m older, I understand the value of what they didn’t teach me. I also understand their reasons for occasionally and strategically saying nothing when I asked a question. Under their guidance, I was allowed, and sometimes forced, to figure things out on my own. Thus, at an early age I became my own teacher.
In my forty-plus years of performing, I have come to a few of my own ideas about who and what Music really is. In my videos and at my clinics and camps I have begun to share some of these ideas. Some of them took courage to talk about openly. My friends kept telling me that these ideas needed to be voiced and that people were ready to hear it. They urged me to write a book. I knew that they wanted an instruction book. That’s exactly what I didn’t want to write.
Instruction books are often sterile and viewed as the author’s authoritative viewpoint. They steer the reader down a narrow road toward a destination not of their own, but one set forth by the author. This is not a road I want anyone to travel.
Also, I wanted to separate the information from myself. In other words, if the information raised a question, I wanted the reader to question the information, not me. That’s another way of saying that I didn’t want to have to defend what I wrote. For example, how could I explain to someone that Music is real, female, and you can have a relationship with her? I can’t prove it—that’s something you have to discover for yourself.
Like one hand clapping, a one-sided relationship never works. It is clear to me now. For a relationship to work efficiently there must be equality in every way. Both parties must give to each other, take from each other, respect each other, love each other, and listen to each other. Only recently did I begin a complete relationship with Music. Previously, the relationship had been one-sided. Once I allowed Music to play a part in the relationship, things changed drastically. Of course I took from Music, but I always gave Music my best. At least I thought I did. My mistake was that I never really listened, not in a truthful way.
Here’s what I mean. I listened to Music in the past but only in a one-sided way. I only listened to what I wanted to hear, not what Music had to say. It was as if I only wanted to hear my own opinion. Have you ever had a conversation where you didn’t really listen to what the other person had to say? Of course you have. We do it all the time. We are usually so anxious to say the next word or phrase that we don’t fully listen to what anyone else is saying. We feel the need to get our point across—the need to win. That doesn’t cultivate a good relationship. It won’t work with Music either.
Music exists inside each one of us. An instrument offers different forms of expression and allows others to hear how musical you are, but you don’t have to play a note to be musical. I know that Music is not found in my bass guitar. It cannot be found in any instrument. My understanding of that has changed my Music and my relationship with her. No longer do I try to create her. I feel her and I listen! I know that I must listen to her for our relationship to be complete. A friend once told me, “An instrument laid on the ground makes no sound. It is the musician who must bring Music forth, or not.” Notice, he did not say that we must create Music. There is a difference.
In a few pages, you’ll meet the man who introduced me to a whole new way of looking at Life. Many ideas were brought forth and walls were broken down under his tutelage. I may have never met Music without his guidance. He helped me become the musician and the person that I am today. Yes, there were others who helped along the way, but I must credit this one person for helping me find, once again, that magical musical place I had somehow forgotten.
To my friends: This is the book you’ve been waiting for. It’s probably not what you expected but believe me, what you asked for is here. It’s up to you to find it.
Remember when I said that Music, herself, had something to do with you holding this book. Well, she had everything to do with it. You’re not sure how to feel about that, are you? You have reservations. No worries; so did I. Trust me and keep reading. We’ll help U out; Music, me, and Michael.
Enjoy.
PRELUDE
The Beginning
“Boy, do I have a lot to learn!”
There is nothing new about this statement, but the story I’m about to tell you may have you saying the same thing by the end. You can resist, as I did, but if not, it will only take you a moment to find a whole new world awaiting you, one you never before knew existed. Plus, resistance wouldn’t stop him.
I’d been a musician for a long time. Well, let me change that right away; I’d played the bass guitar for a long time, about twenty years before I met him. Yet it wasn’t until I met him that I learned the difference between playing the bass and actually being a musician, and better yet, the difference between being a musician and being musical. I thought I knew a lot about music already. I even thought I knew a bit about life, but what happened over the next few days proved to me that I was just a babe in this world.
I also thought I would never tell this story for fear of ridicule. At least, that’s what I always told myself, but I actually knew it was because I wasn’t sure if this story actually happened. And if I didn’t fully believe it was real, how could I expect anyone else to? Who would believe me anyway? I mean, I never found out who this guy really was or where he came from. The more time goes by, the more I start to think that maybe, just maybe, he came from my imagination, from some unused portion of my mind, where he’s now gone back to live. I can still hear him knocking around in there much of the time. It’s as if he’s constantly rearranging the furniture. I can hear his voice ringing in my mind saying, “Real? What is real? And tell me, what importance does reality have anyway? Did you learn from the experience? Now, that is important!”
He was a strange man, unlike any other music teacher I’d ever had. There was really nothing ordinary about him. He stood about six foot three with long, straight black hair that hung down past his shoulders. His facial features were distinct, yet in a way that made it hard to tell where he was from. He appeared to be part Native American and part . . . something else.
I’ve yet to meet another person with eyes like his. They were powerful. They were also as crystal clear as a Colorado mountain stream. When he would lecture me, standing nose to nose, as he often liked to do, the transparency of his eyes allowed me to look as deeply into them as he did into mine.
Also, on any given day, his eyes seemed to change color. One day, they would be bright blue. Another day, they would appear green, and yet another, they appeared brown. I never knew what caused it, but it was a great device for grabbing my attention.
Not only could I tell from his eyes that he was a healthy man, but also that his body was incredibly strong. Like a fine tool used for whatever task he chose, his body never seemed to falter or tire. Though I often saw him run, jump, gallop, and climb, I never saw him break a sweat. How he managed to stay so trim and fit, even though he ate and drank whatever he wanted, was a mystery. To him, a meal was a meal, and it didn’t matter what it was or from where it came.
He also used his eyebrows as a tool. He could control his eyebrows better than most musicians could control their instruments. He could get a point across without speaking a word, just by wiggling one or both of his dark eyebrows.
His mannerisms were unpredictably quirky, and his clothes were always the type that drew attention, yet he never ever seemed to worry about what other people
thought about him. Just about every time I saw him, he had on a different outfit. His shoes, when he wore them, were either an unnamed brand of boots or a pair of old worn-out sandals.
I almost hate to admit it, but I actually miss the little irritating qualities about my eccentric friend. He was the most, how should I say it, “free” person I’ve ever met. He wouldn’t hesitate to strip off all his clothes, hop a fence, and jump in for a quick refreshing skinny dip in a private, off limits, outdoor swimming pool. Although he was always polite enough to ask me if I wanted to join him, hopping a fence naked in the middle of November for an illegal swim was not my type of fun. He possessed many of the qualities I would like to have, and I envied him for being able to do these things with seemingly no concern, worry, or embarrassment.
The Music Lesson Page 1
