So we took ourselves down into the city to have dinner at The Russian Tea Time and go to Buddy Guy's 90th Birthday Celebratory Concert with Carlise Guy & The Nu Blu Band. Both events were excellent. At The Russian Tea Time the smoked salmon, caviar and horseradish vodka all got top marks.
The concert was really exceptional for a variety of reasons. First, it was incredibly loud. I have, as many of us have, become used to controlling much of the way we listen to music. I haven't been to anything except classical music concerts since the Woodstock era - circa 1969. I kept wanting to turn down the background music and punch up the volume on the soloists. Carlise Guy & The Nu Blu Band and the other members of the Guy family were excellent, and the presentation of the family birthday cake was a nice sentimental moment. But two solo performances were simply celestial.
Music - both instrumental and vocal - is a freakishly demanding discipline. First, I firmly believe, you have to be very, very lucky to have been born with talent. It's like sports. I could spend hours in the gym and never play in the NFL. Russell Wilson was a student of mine at NC State, and when he went to the NFL the naysayers tis-tisked "You can't coach height." - a knock on Russell's 5'11" stature. But apparently, as his career proved, talent trumps height. A couple of folks at the concert had "off the charts" talent.
First, of course, is Buddy Guy. When one goes to hear a 90-year old musician you are often prepared to be sympathetic. "Isn't it remarkable that they are still performing. S/he used to be awesome." Well, he still is. The truly exceptional world class musicians stay that way - the expected decline just doesn't happen. Guy's voice was never his claim to fame. The blues are inclined to growling, wailing voices, and Guy pulls that off just fine. But he was best known for making a guitar sing, talk, holler and weep. A voice outside the body that defines a whole other level of artistry. He can still do that. That's what I wanted to be able to isolate - turn the other stuff down.
The second instance was a bit of a surprise. Every concert comes with some "down time" while the band noodles around getting ready for the next set. Well, one of the primary "noodlers" was a guy named Dan Souvigny. Who, I have learned on my computer keyboard, is a musical keyboard artist who has played with every contemporary jazz artist of note. Go ahead search for him on your own keyboard. Play some of his cuts. He can do on his instrument what Guy does on his guitar. He creates an additional voice outside the body. Sweet.
Which brings me to the link with today's title: Practice, practice, practice. To put it plainly, being born with incredible talent just isn't enough. OK, here is how I remember it. [An increasingly fragile facility.] I went to high school with a guy named Steve Hahn. He was in choir, so liked music. But that isn't why he is important. After we had all graduated, gone to college, got married, had kids, etc., we would often try to get together when we happened to be back in town. But Steve was never available. Always taking his daughter to violin practice, contests, concerts. Well, his daughter's name is Hilary, and all that practice has led Hilary Hahn to concert appearances all over the world.
On the other side of the coin is my personal experience with the piano. A friend of my parents was the local piano teacher, so my best friend and I somehow became her students. OK, this is around junior high school age, and to say we became her students is a bit of a misnomer. Rather, we went to her house for lessons. For me, "practice, practice, practice," was more like "pra, OK, maybe later." I remember one instance where my buddy and I were supposed to do a duet at a recital - a piece called a "tarentella - a fast-paced, traditional southern Italian folk dance known for its quick steps." But as Willy Nelson sings in Me and Paul, "I don't know if we went on that night at all."
But I do know that I am incredibly envious, not only of the great artists like Guy and Souvigny, but also of anyone who can sit down to, or pick up, an instrument and make it sing a little. Gives them a voice outside their body. So parents, no matter how they whine about wanting to go out back and shoot some hoops, or go to the mall, or whatever, make them sit down and "practice, practice, practice." They will thank you for it.
Eventually.
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