Playing the Changes

There was a brief window in my life, when I was about 26 or 27, when I considered myself to be a professional musician. Not that I was making any money at it, mind you. That goes without saying. And yes, I’m aware that the bedrock, final, and most salient definition of “professional” is “earning your keep.”

But that wasn’t the point. It was a mindset thing, and I remember being happy trying on this new guise for once, for real. The band I’d been playing with for the last few years had finally come into its own. The line-up had stabilized — we were the Spinal Tap of keyboard players — and we were getting positive nods on our second CD. We had a brief tour lined up opening for a mid-level band, with shows that would put us in front of more people in one night than we’d usually see in a year. Things were looking up.

So I woke everyday with that in mind, greeting the morning inspired to hone my craft, up my game. I let my hair go shaggy, grew out sideburns and a douchey soul patch, and bought a new amp. I walked into the local dives with my head held high, knowing that I could hold my own against any power-chord-slinging kid on the scene.

That didn’t last. The tour was fun, but didn’t turn into any sure slots, just hand-shakes and vague reassurances. Pre-Spotify, we were faced again with seducing fans one-at-time, hawking discs and t-shirts out of our trunks, and booking random gigs without guarantees. With marriages and mortgages and kids on the horizon, the fuel ran out a few months later.

The next two decades or so have been a blur — from diapers to teenagers, between job shifts and relocations — but for some reason I’m still at it. Through fits and starts, solipsistic nights and gospel mornings, I’ve managed to hold on to some of my chops, tame my voice, and learned a lot about what it feels like to sound like me.

Life’s about playing the changes. That’s a jazz term, if you don’t know. Here’s the idea: When it’s your turn to solo — to stand in the spotlight and take the lead — you should keep in mind the structure of the song. Be aware of the chords as they come along. Some notes that kill over one bar might be a mistake against the next.

Don’t be boring up there, just noodling away at the same old thing, letting lazy fingers fall into habitual, unevolved grooves. Find the new sounds that work in each moment. Stay alert, be aware of what’s happening now, and then…wail, baby, wail.

But here’s the other thing with jazz: No matter how far you stretch, how many outside skronks you shriek from chord to chord, in the end you’ve got to come back to the root, to the melody. You’ve got to find resolution, find your way home.

So now I’m back at it, doing the grunt work: cold-calling venues, woodshedding, memorizing new charts. Upcoming gig or not, these daily duties must be done if you want to be ready when you get your shot. And doing the work feels right, brings satisfaction.

It’s been good, these years of playing the changes — nailing some, failing a few — but now I’m coming back ’round, back to the tonic, back to the sound, catching lost echoes of my own mislaid tune.