Who Got You Here? When? Why?
We represent the people we learned from, and they represent their teachers and influences, and the ones before them, and so on…
In the last four years, I have lost three of my private music teachers: Ed Anderson (Indiana University), Phil Teele (Hollywood studios), and Floyd Cooley (Chicago, via DePaul University). They make up significant fundamental parts of my professional and musical success and I think about them every day I pick up the bass trombone. Thankfully, many of the other amazing teachers in my bio and on my resume are still with us, but, you know… time and stuff. It happens, whether you are ready for it, or not.
We are the sum total of the thousands of people who impacted our lives who resonate for eternity.
The one-on-one interaction of private music instruction fuels musician's passion, drive, and discipline. Through this work, we strive to become great artists, and every note we play after those life-changing moments, honors their time, their talent, and their experience.
Plus, we paid them a lot of money to share their opinions, so there’s that...
When I thought about the kind of bass trombonist I wanted to be, it was a sonic amalgamation (which would have been the title of my solo album if I ever bothered to record one) of all the amazing artists I spent time with. I wanted the independent musical creativity of Jeff Reynolds, the rock-solid chops of Phil Teele, the exhilarating tone of John Engelkes, the simplified approach of technical execution of Ed Anderson, and so much more.
Decades later, I am transferring that artistic excitement into my writing. My hope is that I can develop my voice and talent using the same building blocks of passion and diligence I used for music. Yet, as much as I attempt to successfully cross-reference the two art forms in practice, some things equate, and others don’t.
But I’m trying, Ringo. I’m trying real hard.
So… Who am I, and what got me here?
The Phantom Tollbooth by Norman Juster taught me what was beyond possible to tell a clever story. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson taught me that boundaries should not be observed as you know them. On The Road and Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac taught me there’s more than one way to describe a car ride and a hike (and sorry Tolkien fans, I chose the beat poet on that walk.) They may not be the same as two years of weekly lessons, but there’s a lot to gain from great stories.
Nonetheless, there’s great writing out there, in many forms I wish to emulate.
As a writer, every time I sit down behind the keyboard, I try to capture…
-the visceral vocabulary-impact of Chuck Palahniuk
-the unbelievable bat-shit craziness of Hunter S. Thompson
-the transparent truth of Margaret Atwood
-the poetic grace of Gregory Maguire
-the effervescent descriptive talent of Leone Ross
-the well-timed humor of Christopher Moore (and George Carlin, Mel Brooks, Kyle Kinane, Monty Python, Judy Tenuta, Bernie Mac, Sam Kinison, Iliza Shlesinger…)
-the meandering bebop energy of Jack Kerouac
-the painful honest vulnerability of Charles Bukowski
…and the list goes on.
(Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what that list looks like. A lot of angry white dudes, some of which are or were pretty reprehensible humans. Trust me. I’m expanding my Goodreads list as fast as I can in all directions. I’ll bet you haven’t read all-the-everything either, so why don’t we both get back to our TBR lists and check in a year from now, mm'kay?)
Obviously, I didn’t study with at least six of the above-mentioned writers since they’re dead. You probably guessed that, but I wanted to set the record straight. I did get a ❤️ or two from Leone Ross on social media and lemme tell you, that alone is a semester’s worth of encouragement for each like.
My private trombone lessons taught me such helpful adages, such as
-Make the horn in the hand match the horn in your head,
-The beauty of sound is your calling card
-Smart musicians serve the music. Dumb musicians serve their ego.
…and my intellectual favorite
-Blow the living shit out of it and you still won’t be loud enough.
What are the writing equivalents?
-I’m done writing stories to cater for others, who aren’t even interested. This time, I’ll write for me with my own voice.
-Description begin’s in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.
—Not a wasted word. This has been a main point to my literary thinking all my life.
-Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open.
-I just give myself permission to suck. I delete about 90 percent of my first drafts… I find this hugely liberating.
Do you know who you are?
Whose voices are you carrying across generational lines from their pages onto yours? What careful word choices are you making because you read similar ones previously? What writing heroes and teachers and mortals and legends remain immortal through your words?
Maybe you cross-pollinate your art forms…
Do you write prose like a Jackson Pollock painting?
Do you shape a musical phrase like a Michelle Wolf joke?
Perhaps you can pencil sketch a visualization of Chuck D’s menacing baritone voice?
I bet you can.
I hope you do.
Your heroes, teachers, influences, and mentors may be with us, or they may have already passed on. It is the responsibility of the previously-moved (you) to move someone else (your reader).
So... get moving.
Write on!
"It is the responsibility of the previously-moved (you) to move someone else (your reader)." Succinct and powerful. Thanks, Jay.
I appreciated this post having studied with one of the people on your list. Ed was so kind and what I needed. I've enjoyed watching you express yourself in other art forms from ink drawing to writing. I've been trying to write a little myself and find the right voice. I'll keep reading your stuff. Keep writing!