“Great!” Michael said as he stopped the click and turned off the appliances. “You latched onto that one very well. You figured out how to adjust your hearing dynamics quickly while soloing. Now playing in situations where it is hard to hear will be a piece of cake, and it won’t matter who you are playing with. You could use some help with your timing, but we’ll get to that.”
“Man, that’s amazing and simple to understand,” I commented.
“Oh, we haven’t touched the tip of the iceberg yet,” he remarked. “You wouldn’t believe some of the other things you can do.”
“It sounds exciting. What I would really like to see is how you use this stuff live with a band,” I told him. “I would love to hear you play a gig.”
“Really?” Michael asked.
“Yes, for real,” I answered. “As quickly as you’ve helped me open up, I would love to see and hear you play in a real situation, a real gig. I’ll bring the vacuum cleaner.”
Michael smiled.
Just then, the phone rang. It was a musician I knew named Cliff. His band, The Cliffnotes, was very popular around town. Playing with him had helped keep me afloat when I first moved to Nashville. He always booked the highest-paying wedding gigs and somehow he was able to generate enough club dates to make many musicians want to play in his band.
He hadn’t called me in a year. I didn’t know why. Knowing that my rent was due and that I had no gigs lined up made me eager to take his call.
“Hey, Cliff, what’s up?” I said. “Tonight?! Sure, I’m available! Okay! Thanks! Panama Red’s. I’ll see you at nine.”
Finally, a gig. I was happy about the thought of income. It wasn’t gonna pay my whole rent, but it would be a start, and maybe another gig would come out of it. I was in high spirits for a few seconds. The bottom dropped out of my excitement as soon as Michael spoke.
“I thought you wanted to hear me play a gig,” he said.
“Well, yeah, but . . .” I didn’t know what to say.
“Call Cliff back!” Michael demanded.
“What?”
“Call him back,” he repeated.
“But he asked me to play,” I whined.
“Call him back. It’ll be okay. Just call him back.”
“Okay,” I answered hesitantly.
I got Cliff on the phone and told him that my teacher Michael was in town and was actually a better player than I. Even though I hadn’t heard Michael play much on the bass, I recommended that Cliff hire him instead of me. Knowing how badly I needed the money, it was hard for me to do.
Cliff told me that he had double booked his band that night and was also looking for a guitar player. (Because of their popularity, he would frequently book the band in two different places at the same time and on the same night. Since Cliff was a guitar player himself, that would leave one of his bands without one.) I told him that the guitar was Michael’s main instrument. To my surprise, Cliff hired us both for the same gig. Since he wouldn’t be there that night, and since he hadn’t heard Michael play, I assured him that all would be more than fine.
What a strange coincidence. Michael didn’t seem surprised at all. He just continued to smile.
After he left my house, I battled with the anxiety I was feeling. I was both excited and nervous about playing a gig alongside of him. Not knowing how to handle these feelings, I decided to ease my mind by getting ready for the performance. It didn’t work. After loading my equipment into the car, deciding what to wear became the next challenge. I felt a headache coming on. Not knowing what to do, I sat down trying to relax. I wondered if Michael was going through the same dilemma. After a short break, I left for the club wearing the clothes I’d had on all day.
Wanting to look really dedicated, I showed up two hours early. Most of The Cliffnotes’ gigs are very laid back, so showing up that early is uncommon. I was the first one there. When Ralph, the drummer, arrived, we talked and caught up for a while. I made up a story about why he hadn’t seen me gigging around town lately and acted as if I was interested in what he’d been up to. I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to explain who the weird guy was walking through the door carrying a skateboard and a guitar.
Michael was dressed as usual—that is, unusually. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a pair of knickerbockers. He wore a different color sandal on each foot with checkered socks up to the knee. A hole in each sock allowed his big toe to stick out, securing his sandals to his feet. I guessed that he’d left his shirt at home, because he wasn’t wearing one. His long flowing hair hung down, partially covering his suspenders.
His guitar, well, it wasn’t his. It was mine, the one that served as a coat rack in my living room. I hadn’t realized he’d taken it. Maybe he’d grabbed it from the house after I’d already left. I knew that he didn’t need my key to get in. Rather than upset me it made me chuckle.
How he could waltz in dressed like that, carrying my beat-up guitar without a case, was bewildering. I secretly wished I could be so bold, but I knew that I’d never be. Michael has enough boldness for both of us.
After the rest of the band arrived, we introduced ourselves to one another. It’s not uncommon to show up for a gig of this type and not know many, or any, of the other musicians you are about to play with.
My equipment was set up on the hi-hat side of the drummer, so Michael set up to my left. Fortunately the club had a guitar amp for him to use. I wondered if he was unprepared or if he’d somehow known the amp would be waiting for him.
The sax player was warming up by religiously playing scales and practicing his fingerings. I pulled out my bass to do the same. Michael was sitting there reclined in a wooden chair with his feet resting on the stage. His eyes were closed. His guitar was lying on the table.
“Don’t you need to warm up?” I asked him.
“Do you?” he replied, looking up at me.
“Yes, I do.”
“How long you been playing?” he asked.
“About twelve years, or so.”
“And you’re not warmed up yet?” With that comment, he closed his eyes again.
“I want to be ready for tonight’s gig. It’s important to me,” I answered.
“I have been warming up my whole Life for this gig,” Michael explained with his eyes still closed. “It’s an important one for me also. All the previous gigs were just rehearsals for tonight. It all leads to now.”
I didn’t know what to say. I also didn’t know whether I should continue warming up or not. The sax player overheard our short conversation. He stopped playing, walked over, and made a snide comment to Michael.
“Dude, you might wanna pick up your axe before the gig starts. I don’t want you warming up on my time.”
The sax player obviously didn’t know who he was dealing with. I would’ve tried to save him if I’d had the time or the inclination. I awaited Michael’s response.
“I see,” Michael said, slowly sitting up in his chair. I could tell by his smile that he was going to enjoy this interaction. He stood up, which allowed him to look down on the sax player. Staring him straight in the eyes, he continued speaking.
“You’re warming up with your fingers because that’s all you use when you play. I can already hear it. Me, I use my mind. We can compare notes after the gig if you want. You let me know. I’ll be right here.”
Michael sat back down, propped up his feet, and closed his eyes again, waiting a while before letting his grin fade. I knew it was on purpose.
The sax man was perplexed. Michael’s words had stopped him in his tracks. He just stood there not knowing what to do. I could see him thinking about it, but he didn’t dare try to argue although I silently hoped he would. I wanted to see Michael in action. Maybe after the show, I hoped.
The rest of the band came over to talk about a few songs. Once the set list was confirmed, the music began.
The first few songs went by rather smoothly, and I was feeling good about my playing. But eventually, I notic
ed that the people in the bar weren’t listening. That had always been a pet peeve of mine, and it started to bother me. Michael didn’t seem to notice or maybe he just didn’t care, but it was already getting the best of me. Finally, he spoke.
“Do you see that guy talking at the far end of the bar?” he asked. “He’s wearing a white jacket.”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Watch him.”
Everyone at the bar was talking. The only people listening were the few people on the dance floor. The rest were either sitting at the bar or at a table, not listening. I didn’t know what I was looking for or what Michael was planning to do. I just kept watching the man in the white jacket.
Almost immediately, the man turned and looked at the stage. Someone noticed the band. This is a first. Less than a minute later, he picked up his drink and walked to the front of the room taking a seat at a table almost directly in front of Michael. He wasn’t looking at him, but that’s where he sat. Michael turned to me and smiled.
I was baffled. I wasn’t sure if he had caused the man to sit there or not. Maybe he could read lips and overheard the man’s plans to sit up front. Unlikely. I knew that Michael was strange, and by now I was pretty sure that he had something to do with all the strange things that happened around him.
“How did you do that?” I asked (losing the beat in the process) . Ralph looked at me and frowned. I gave an apologetic glance in return.
“On the break; wait ’til the set break. I’ll explain then,” Michael told me.
I could hardly wait for the first intermission. Most bands take more breaks than I’m used to, so when it came time to stop, I was ready but also surprised that it came so soon.
“Okay Michael, fill me in,” I said, not even waiting for him to unhook his strap.
“Dynamics,” he replied. “I used dynamics.”
“Can you teach me to do that?” It wasn’t until after I’d asked the question that I remembered his outlook on “teaching. ”
“Can you learn how to do that? That is a better question,” he answered.
“Yeah, yeah, teach me, show me, learn me, blah blah blah. How can I do that? That’s all I wanna know.” That made him laugh. We walked outside where it was quiet, and there, he filled me in on his method.
“All right, here’s what I did. It was obvious that the guy wasn’t listening to Music, so I needed to get his attention. All I did was alter the dynamics of my playing. Not just the volume but also the dynamics of all the elements. That got his attention. If you noticed, he glanced at the stage a few times before making his way up there. Once I knew I had him, I turned up the dynamics. Again I’m not just talking about volume. My volume actually got softer. That’s what drew him in. You see, most people play louder to get someone’s attention, but getting quieter can stop a bull from charging.”
"That’s downright amazing,” I said.
“No, it’s even better than that,” he answered. "That guy had no idea what attracted him to the stage. If he knew anything about our world of Music, he would have noticed what I did and would have paid direct attention to me. Because he didn’t know what hit him, I was able to influence his thinking. This is both awesome and dangerous for both parties involved. If you can do it to him, it can be done to you. Think about it. We are only dealing with Music in this situation.”
I didn’t totally understand what he was talking about, but one phrase caught my attention. “You said ‘our world of music. ’ Are you including me in your world?” My eyebrows rose as I smiled a hopeful smile.
“Yes! You must be a part of this world to manipulate the elements in that way.”
I felt proud to be included in his world but chose not to show it. “I see. Can you show me how to manipulate the elements in that way?” I asked.
“It’s easy,” he answered. “I’ll show you how to make the audience applaud for whomever is soloing. They will go crazy for the soloist without realizing it was you who caused them to do it.”
That sounded way cool to me. “You have got to show me how to do that.” I was ready to get on my knees if I had to, and Michael knew it.
“Who’s the best?” he asked, opening his arms and raising one eyebrow in a playful manner.
“You are, Michael. You are.”
“Who do you love?” The familiar, knowing smile was now showing.
“You, okay? Now stop it and tell me what to do.”
It was a rare thing to hear Michael joke in that way. He never asked for affection or seemed to care about it. Even though I could tell he was joking, I was willing to do anything in order to learn what he had to teach.
“Okay, now I’ll show you,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s so easy. Here’s what you do. When we go back up there and the horn player starts to solo, pay attention to when he’s about to peak. Before he does, I want you to go up two octaves and ‘pedal’ a note.”
(Pedaling a note is when the bass player stays on one note, repeating it over and over, even though the chords may be changing. Got it? Okay, back to the story.)
“As you pedal the note,” he continued, “you must bring the volume down really low. Bring the volume down without losing the intensity. Think Curtis Mayfield. The drummer needs to follow you with this dynamic, so you may need to get Ralph’s attention. Pedal the note for eight to sixteen measures. How long is up to you, but it must be timed correctly in order for it to work. Direct your full attention to the horn player as you do it. Draw no attention to yourself.
“During the last two to four measures, your intensity should grow. I want you to crescendo as you descend, working the notes back down to the original octave. Then start playing your original bass line again, grooving real hard. At that point, if you’ve done it correctly, the audience will start applauding for the soloist. You can take credit for it on the inside, but on the outside, the credit goes to the soloist. In other words, you keep quiet about what you’ve done. This quiet world is the world you live in as a bass player.”
"That sounds easy,” I said, excited to try it. “Basically, I pedal a note for a few bars, then walk back down and start playing the groove again, right?”
“Yes, but you can’t forget about the dynamics. You must bring the volume down and back up at the appropriate times. This is crucial in order for it to work.”
“Okay, I’ll try it and see if it works when we get back up there.”
“No! Don’t try it! Do it and make it work! You can work out the kinks right now in your mind if you want to, but when we’re up there on the stage, it will be time to make it work. ‘I don’t want you rehearsing on my time.’ ” He spoke the last line loud enough for everyone to hear. The sax player gave a glance but dared not comment.
After a quiet chuckle, I closed my eyes and thought through the whole process. I could hear the music in my mind and realized that if I pulsated between two notes while pedaling, it would be easier for me to make it groove, even at a low volume. I was excited and couldn’t wait to try it. I mean, I couldn’t wait to do it.
When we hit the stage, we started with an instrumental piece. Once the sax player started soloing, I listened intently, planning my attack. This is the perfect time. As soon as he started his third chorus, I dove in, pedaling the root note and the minor seventh, two octaves up. I hadn’t told Michael that I was going to use two notes, but when I did, he gave me an approving nod.
I brought the volume way down, and Ralph followed. Michael stopped playing chords and went to a single note rhythm that really created space. It was then that I realized what we were doing. We were creating a hole right in the middle of the music that allowed the soloist to stand there out in the open. We also simplified the music, directing all of the attention to the soloist. The sax player was standing there in the middle of a musical vacuum, and the audience had to take notice. They really did. The whole audience stopped what they were doing and started listening to the saxophone solo. It was brilliant.
The Music Lesson Page 13
