great lick

One of the odd things about being a jazz musician is that you never play something the same way twice. Erroll Garner said he never even played something the same way once.

I know how he feels. I regularly play things that I can't really play. I'm much more of a composer than I am an instrumentalist; that's why I move so easily from instrument to instrument. I rarely think pianistically when I'm at a piano. I'm always thinking orchestrally. So, when I get off a really incredible lick, I become jealous of myself, because I know I'll never pass that way again. In general that's good, but I was just listening to a clip I have of one of my first jazz compositions, Lunitude. (I treasure the moment, about halfway through the clip, when the improvisation takes off and the whole thing steps into the room of cool.) Right toward the end, on the most unstable two chords of the thing, a B+7#9 and then a Bb13#11b9, I bip up to a high peak and then toss off a descending right-hand figure that tumbles and trips down to its resolution.

That's one of the coolest things I've ever played; I'm just glad the tape was rolling. I actually captured that and printed it out on a staff, and tried to figure out how to finger it and play it. After several hundred times through it, I was finally able to execute it, but I still can't deliver it like I did just that once, off the cuff.

That's why you have to be there.

Jazz!

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