On a Saturday Night

On Friday afternoon, the day before, I was having a discussion with a friend about childhood experience. There were elements of that friend’s past and present interaction with their parents which were uncomfortable and discouraging. I could identify, so I shared what I learned the hard way through my experience with my mother.  There was that which she was able to give me, which was very positive, and at the same time my childhood experience was a bit traumatic in that my mother would say some very disparaging things.  However, she also used to say, "I did the best that I could for you children." 

What I learned in adulthood was that for my success, I needed to become reconciled with what my mother was and wasn't able to give me in childhood.  As I gained greater empathy for my mother’s life experience, I came to accept that she did the best that she could with the spiritual, physical, financial, emotional, and mental resources she possessed.  As an adult it was incumbent upon me to make the most of what I was given and overcome what I was not given as a child. 

However, just a couple of days before that conversation with a friend, I had to confront that truth from the opposite direction examining my parenting of my son, Elliot.  I remember that he once missed out on a great opportunity because I was not in a place to support him in it.  He had auditioned and been accepted in the All-American Boys Choir. His ear for music was recognized a couple of years before when I was in the post office and ran into a colleague, psychologist Julie Patterson.  Elliot was running around the post office at around five years of age whistling and humming a tune.  Julie turned to me and remarked, “He has perfect pitch, doesn’t he?" Still, when he was accepted to the All-American Boys choir I was separated from his mother and financially overwhelmed with supporting their household while surviving on my own.   I did not want him traveling the world without a parent chaperone, and I did not think I was in the position to support his mother or me going. 

Instead of going on to be a musician, Elliot became an aircraft maintenance professional living in Indiana.  However, he was recently in town for a couple of weeks to help a friend who was moving to Oregon.  He came in town on a Wednesday night, but I did not have opportunity to sit down to dinner with him until the following Wednesday.  I was waiting dinner for him when he texted me that he would be running late because he was recording. 

When he arrived, he told me about a recording session he had with some friends of his that he has played music with over the years. I discovered that he was a songwriter and lead vocalist for the group.  He played a few clips, and I was impressed.  He was so comfortable with his voice. He has so much resonance in the baritone range, but he performed facile  leaps into the upper register to the domain of tenors. 

I am a boomer and his father so I could not resist the impulse to give him some advice: “You have a great voice, a beautiful instrument.  You should not stop developing it. If you ever get a chance to take some vocal lessons or study more music theory, take advantage of the opportunity.” I realized that suggestion could be heard wrong, as criticism.  His voice and musical instincts are excellent.  I wanted him to appreciate that he was blessed with a wonderful gift that he can build upon.  He should not bury his talents in the ground.   The fact that he was enjoying a meal I had prepared of poulet a la moutard over an open face baked potato and a side of braised green beans in a balsamic vinaigrette might have softened my words.

A few days later, on Saturday, would be his last day in town before he left to help is friend Jesse drive up to Oregan to complete his move.  Because he dedicated his time to helping Jesse pack, we had not spent much time together during this visit, but then I got a text message from him at 5:20 pm asking if I could be at a certain address by 6:00 pm for a jam session.  I saw that the address was a music studio, but it took me a few minutes to process that he was asking me to come and participate.  I showered, grabbed instruments and moved.

When I arrived, I awkwardly charged into the studio when they were in the middle of a song.  I sat in my chair and whipped out my trumpet. I listened to them go back to the beginning of the song.  At a break, I asked them what key they were in and the guitarist and bassist said something about being in one key but then they detuned down a half step. I was not following the transposition math on that, so I just listened.  The first composition had elements of rock and blues.  At first, I put on my head phones, plugged my mute into the Yamaha Silent trumpet System so that I could hunt for the mode without embarrassment of unexplained dissonance.  However, I quickly realized that it was an E-minor blues progression. 

Getting a feel for the song, I switched to a metal mute and played fills until the chorus.  Then I caught a riff, and the other musicians gave me the nod for a solo. Before a second run-through of the same song, I was asked what my horn sounds like without the mute. I took it out and played a sample which was met with approval. For the second run-through I played some muted and unmuted parts

When it was time to move on to another song, my son advised me that the trumpet would not fit.  I listened to a start of the song and felt something.  When they cut to go back to the beginning, I interjected, “What would go well with that rhythm would be some African drumming.  Let me go grab my djembe.” Elliot expressed skepticism, but I ran to the car and got it anyway.   When I got back and the drummer and I had a good time with me playing a fast rhythmic counterpoint to his accented beats.

Finally, we ended the night with a song that had elements of smooth jazz and rock.  I just went with what I felt as far as fills after Elliots lyrics. My contribution was minimalist until the chorus.  Then Elliot heard something and wanted to go back to the beginning. With his voice he quoted something I played during the chorus and gave it a little bit of a twist.  He instructed me to play that as the lead-in to the song. It took a few takes, but we seamed it in and played the song through.

The session was over too soon. I wish I had gotten there sooner and played with them more, but I realize it was probably just enough. I admit I was elated because I had not heard my horn acoustically since a year-and-a-half ago when the new management gave me a 30-day notice changing my terms of my lease with a specific clause, “No playing of musical instruments without written consent of the management.”  I had not played the drum since then, so I was ecstatic to play it with a group.

However, my true elation was in getting to witness and share in the manifestation of my son Elliot’s gifts. Those gifts were not just in musical ability but his social intelligence , through which hea had formed some solid friendships. Sitting around talking to the fellas in the band afterward I learned that they all acquired their musical skills playing in church.   My joy in the moment was in seeing my son magnifying that which I was able to give him, while overcoming to encumbrance of what I did not provide him in childhood to become not only a good vocalist but also a quality person, my best Saturday night in a long time.