Back in the 1970’s, when I was 17, I assumed the role of co-leader of a St. Louis 8-piece jazz-rock bank we called “Ego.” It was great fun (you’ll find a photo here). We learned a lot about performing music and we learned even more about people. I loved playing music back then—it unleashed something in me, something ineffable. Five years later, though, I was fully absorbed with law school, because I had come to the conclusion that I needed to have a stable career. I made this choice assuming that I could always play music on the side. But then I became a lawyer, a career that is a demanding mistress. Over the years, there was always something else that had to get done, much of it law-related, so I haven’t played much music for the past few decades, not until this past year. During the past year, I’ve been working hard at becoming a better guitarist, and there’s no better way to do that than by practicing an hour every day. That’s what I used to tell hundreds of guitar students during the nine years that I taught lessons. I told them to practice every day and that they would see dramatic results, guaranteed. It’s absolutely true. I’ve also worked hard to improve my singing over the past year. I never considered myself to be a singer, though I occasionally sang. Over the past six months, I’ve received a few voice lessons from local musician Leslie Sanazaro, and more recently a lesson from Charles Glenn, the other co-leader of Ego, whose talents are well-recognized in Saint Louis. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the result of putting time into music again. My guitar chops have improved dramatically. I am now a better jazz player than ever before. My voice is now something that no longer embarrasses me; I now see my voice as an instrument that has the ability to command at least as much attention as my guitar playing, and I’ve worked hard to shape my voice to mesh with various types of tunes.
[caption id="attachment_11977" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Image by clearviewstock at Dreamstime.com (with permission)"]
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Last week was a benchmark of sorts. I performed at the Culinaria, a downtown grocery store for three hours. I was joined for thirty-minutes by an excellent violinist named Stephanie To, but the remainder of the three-hour session consisted of me playing the guitar and singing (pop, jazz and folk). Since that performance, I was invited to sign up to perform two additional gigs, and there are several others in the works at local Saint Louis establishments. I am now feeling that once again I can honestly and proudly claim that I am a “musician.” It was ironic that after making music a significant part of my life again, I came across Yusuf Islam’s DVD, Yusuf’s Café. Islam, formerly known as Cat Stevens, is an extraordinary musician (songwriter, guitarist, pianist and vocalist) who rebelled against the pace, the superficiality and the artificiality of life (his lyrics were autobiographical in these regards). As a result of this mismatch back in the late 70’s, he jumped from his then-hectic world into a much simpler world permeated by the Islamic faith, a world where his family and his God were priorities. For almost thirty years, Yusuf Islam had been under the belief that the Islamic faith did not allow the performance of his type of music, so he totally gave it up. He didn’t even own a guitar.
