So, for a while, I just listened. I listened, watched, and wondered. Here was a player whom I idolized, yet dared not touch. He seemed to transcend my parochial understanding of music, and therefore I separated him in my mind from my other heroes. I was lucky enough to see him perform with his most famous band, the Julian Lage Group, at the Freight & Salvage in Berkeley. After the concert I knew that my feelings were legitimate. At the time, it was the single most exciting musical experience of my life (a later Lage concert would eventually take the honor). The group's incredible dynamic of interplay and understanding made for a remarkable show. Moreover, they seemed unhindered by genre or style. Certain influences were undeniably present, but I still struggle to define the sound. That realization--that music can exist outside the lines--was liberating in and of itself. Still, though, I couldn't find ways to translate my ideas to the fretboard.
After that concert, Julian had a big new fan. Not me, but my mom. After the show she told me that she had been less than excited to drive an hour to see an artist that she had never heard. She ended up thanking me and buying both of Julian's albums (Sounding Point and Gladwell, both highly recommended) as soon as possible. I bring this up because it was she who pushed and prodded me to audition for the Stanford Jazz Institute, an exclusive one-week intensive program for young jazz musicians that Lage taught at each year. I was hesitant to audition because 1) it was already a month past the deadline for submissions, 2) I didn't think I would make the cut, and 3) it would require recording, which always ends as a vain attempt at reaching perfection when you're undeniably imperfect. The recording process was difficult, but I came away with two adequate takes to submit. I was accepted the next day--probably not due to an extraordinary display of talent, but because they needed more guitarists (remember, this was several weeks past the deadline). Regardless, I was in.
To be honest, I wouldn't have signed up for the program if Lage weren't on faculty. He was far and away the greatest motivator for me to attend. I hoped to see him play, and I dreamt to maybe shake his hand and get in a few questions. There probably wouldn't be much time but I was determined to maximize whatever opportunity I was given and extract as much information as possible. I even considered covertly recording whatever conversation I had--if any--on my phone in order to discern the full meaning of his words. I perceived him as the purveyor of guitar gospel, and I wasn't afraid to treat him as such.
I arrived at the institute without any expectations for anything besides Lage. The day before the program began, I discovered that I had to go through a placement audition to see which combo I would be placed in for the week--somehow this fact had eluded me until then. I showed up for the audition and got on the waiting list. In the meantime I met another guitarist, James, from South Carolina. When we ran out of things to talk about we jammed. That's what's nice about the guitar: you can play harmonies (chords) and melodies* with an instrument that you can carry almost anywhere. My audition went as well as I expected, but I didn't even hope to be placed in a top combo. I got dinner with James and afterwards we went up to the practice rooms to play again. Of course, in a camp full of extremely dedicated musicians, the rooms were booked. But, being guitarists, we were content to settle down in the halls and play un-amplified.
We were playing "Minor Swing" when everything changed. Victor Lin, one of the long time teachers at the camp and an all-around great guy, walked by and stopped to listen. After my solo we started chatting about Django Reinhardt, one of my guitar idols. The conversation then took a serendipitous turn: "Have you ever heard Julian Lage?"
I stood dumbfounded. "Uh, yeah. He's actually kind of my idol."
"Oh, well, in that case, do you want to play with him?"
Someone should have pinched me--maybe then I could have mustered a response.
"I could put you into his combo. Sound good?"
This time my joy broke through: "OH MY GOD, THANK YOU SO MUCH!"
"Hey don't mention it. Sounded good, man!"
And, just like that, I was given the opportunity of a lifetime. I would spend the next week working with my hero in a private setting. Nothing better could have happened. Utter serendipity.
That night, before I went home, I was so overjoyed that I had to call my parents. I probably sounded like I had just gotten engaged, I was so happy. I was nervous, though. Would Julian be a nice guy? What would he think of my playing? What would he think of me?
All of my fears were put to rest when I met the man. I will simply say this: Whoever says that you shouldn't meet your heroes should meet Julian Lage. He is truly a constellation of near-perfect qualities. He is soft-spoken, humble, empathetic, curious, kind, good-humored, generous, gracious, intelligent, understanding, and talented, to name a few of his virtues. While I may be extolling his personality beyond credibility, I can assure you that these impressions are genuine.
As if learning directly from my hero were inadequate, I was placed in a special type of group with Lage and one other lucky student. Rather than playing guitar in a five or six piece band of other campers, I was playing in a trio. The other guitarist, Justin, and I would take turns playing with rhythm section accompaniment. The best part? The other members of the "trio" were counselors. I had a professional rhythm section to keep me afloat while all of Julian's attention was on the guitars.
I would love to explain what I learned from Julian in words. I would love to record my countless epiphanies and breakthroughs for posterity. Yet, here I am, several weeks later, and I still can't process most of what I experienced. I'll try to give you the gist of it.
Julian teaches guitar like a philosophy course. He spent more time explaining his mental approach to music, including how he picks up the guitar each morning, than he did on his mechanical approach, like his pick technique. To him, mindset is most important. He often shared parts of his practice routine, but each exercise had undertones that went far beyond technical skill. For instance, he suggested starting with a simple CMaj7 chord and moving individual notes up half-steps, one beat at a time. This is not an exercise designed to increase dexterity; it is a free-flowing exploration in harmony, as the music melts into surprising dissonances and elusive consonances that may or may not sound good. Ideas like this were abstract enough to create interest but practical enough to apply every day.
Possibly the most valuable lesson I've taken away was from Julian's approach to improvisation. He generally thinks of it in three ways: playing rhythm and time, playing thematically, and playing free. By rhythm and time, he means running through scales and licks along with the underlying chords. To play thematically, you have to establish a motif and expand your creativity around a central idea. Finally, there's playing free. And by free, he means anything and everything is worth considering. Ostensibly, this is the easiest way to play; you should be unhindered by theory and only your natural taste and musicality should dictate your playing. Of course, after years of playing by the rules, it's hard to break tempo, play the "wrong" notes, and spend time figuring out how to make new noises on the guitar (with smashing, tapping, scratching, and feed-backing). This revelation essentially demystified half of his improvisations and saved me the time of fruitlessly trying to follow the theoretical aspect of his musical thoughts. It also put his music into a new light: I began to appreciate the immense musicality that, after years and years of practice, seemed to flow effortlessly from his fingers. His music has become inseparable from his being, resulting in a beautiful marriage of art and soul.
Ultimately, I must admit that I am liable to forget much of his advice over time. I will never, however, lose my awe for his music and personality. His light-hearted, open-minded approach to life is something to strive for. If I can ever begin to emulate him, I will emulate the part that always has a smile on for himself and an ear open for others. The music, however, will be my own, and I thank him for that.
 |
| Julian and me. |
Ode to Elvin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icQ7qMrXazE)
Just Friends (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BY5MtRVbW2g&feature=related)
The Best Thing For You and a Guitar Etude (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6HUlWCwaUwI)
Margaret (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VlEQ89C0FBs)
Li'l Darlin' (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3QfovGl4Qg)
Sweet Suzanne (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JK9Vzdjtxtg)
Freight Train (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q5uaUb8KnvE)
Do yourself a favor and don't stop here. Take the effort to search YouTube for a while and find yourself perpetually amazed. After that, you can buy his albums--you'll thank me later.
*The guitar is noteworthy for its place on the musical spectrum. It lives in the shadow of horns due to the limited scope of expression. Yet, unlike a horn, it can produce harmony. The guitar is still not ideal, though, because instruments like the piano can produce ten part harmonies (using all ten fingers) whereas the guitar is limited to six strings. Still, this tradeoff is not without its fair compensation--when was the last time you heard a pianist bend a note? In this case, the guitar has superior expression. In the jazz world, the guitar remains extremely marginalized: it is not uncommon to see guitarists make way for pianists to comp, and you rarely hear a guitarist sing through their instrument during a solo. You can't have it all, and that's why bands exist.
