Coming From a Different Place But I Still Got Here...

 I had a fellow musician, a person with a lifetime of  distinguished work, achievement and accomplishment tell me, "You are coming from a different place." This was after listening to a recording of one of my pieces. I can't remember now exactly which composition it was or what instrument I played. It might have been an instrument I broke specially for that moment of inspiration. I think my friend did recognize something musical in what I was doing. He may not have really liked it and it's possible it had the same effect on him as bebop jazz has on my wife. It makes her want to slap someone. I don't play bebop around my wife and when I do play in groups organized by my friend I play the music his way but all this does make me wonder what place I come from to play music. 

I do consider myself to have some deep roots in musical knowledge and training. I came up through public school band programs and attended college participating in the music department. I was influenced by respected and famous mentors. I had become a discriminating listener and record collector and by my late teens had left most popular music behind in search of deeper more artful forms. I had performed in marching, concert and symphonic bands and small ensembles. I had branched out from my original instrument of tuba to the guitar. 

In addition to my own performances I had seen a variety of other music and with my interest in guitar this meant large rock concerts and as I got older I was able to gain admittance to bars to see small combos, professional musicians all. In college I began to encounter a different kind of musician at backyard and deep woods beer keg parties. It was the sitting under a tree playing for free musician. One in particular sticks in my mind. 

I don't recall the place or the year. I do remember it was out in the woods. College students could chip in and gather up $20 to purchase a sixteen gallon keg and haul it out to the middle of nowhere where all the guys brought large empty pickle and jelly jars to fill from the tap as they gathered around the cheap free beer. It seemed like freedom and there were usually campfires and guitars. At this party there was a guy sitting leaned up against a tree with his guitar. Long stringy black hair, a thin moustache, blue jean jacket with ragged faded denim trousers he dressed like most guys dressed in that era. He sang and played into the drunken evening as we refilled our recycled reusable glasses. The songs don't themselves don't stick in my mind and I have no idea if he was performing covers of folk singers like Bob Dylan or Texas Outlaw Country singer songwriters that were having their heyday in cities just a couple of hundred miles from where we sat, drank and listened. Due to the influence of the beer that night and the passage of time I cannot really tell you if his playing and singing were of good quality but it was magic by that campfire in the still night and I have not forgotten that feeling.

I like to think that evening is where I come from. This past week I sat in a local park and played Christmas songs on the tuba. Children played on swingsets and slides to kill time waiting on Santa. Walkers and joggers hustled past on the trails burning unwanted holiday calories. I played and thought how I saw a guy sit under a tree and play songs to whoever would listen. He's well into his 60s and maybe older. I wondered if he remembers that long ago night by the campfire or even still plays guitar. I keep on playing and pull these old experiences up in my mind and hope anyone that hears me play feels some magic too. It's how you find a different place to come from.