Pam Howell loves jazz more than she loves shoes and wine, combined - which is to say, a LOT. An administrative professional and aspiring author, she is not a musician (listeners can breathe a sigh of relief); rather, she discovered her passion for jazz by sneaking into her father's LP collection as a child. Pam is committed to jazz outreach and when she is not editing news content for LAjazz.com, she can typically be found in one of many local jazz clubs tapping her foot and furiously scribbling notes. Read her posts at: www.lajazz.com/blog14.cfm
Those who read my blog regularly (thanks, Mom and Dad) may know that I typically begin each entry with the title of a jazz standard. This time, I'm mixing it up a bit, and using the title of a B-52's instrumental instead. True confession time: I like pop music. While I'm at it, I also like opera, heavy metal, reality TV, microwave popcorn, and certain wines in a box. There. I said it.
This tale, however, is not about my shameful hidden passions. It is instead about an experience I had at the Hollywood Bowl recently. I was fortunate enough to be in attendance in great seats at a sold out show. A sold out show at the Bowl may not be a big deal to some, but a Tuesday night show at the Hollywood Bowl at capacity? 17,000+ Angelenos willing to neglect the Viper Room, the Dodgers and late-night plastic surgeon appointments to support the LA Phil? Inconceivable.
Because I love the Bowl so much, I'd sit in the parking lot if I had to, and it's not uncommon for me to procure $1 seats in the tippy top just to be in the crowd. This time, I was fortunate enough to have a box way up close, and five dear friends were there to enjoy the evening with me. Leonard Nimoy was seated about 5 feet away from us, and just next to us was Joe LaBarbera, one of the finest jazz drummers in all of the land, which goes to show that if jazz folks can get out there for classical shows, the classical folks might wanna consider hitting up a jazz gig or two.
Although our seats were so great we could easily see the stage, I found my attention directed to the "JumboTron" instead, because I was so mesmerized by Yo-Yo Ma's face as he played. His expression was one of complete rapture. As I watched him make his cello sing, it was clear that there was no place on earth he'd rather be. The sounds that came from his instrument - sighs, smiles, even tears - all told a story, and given that the cello was no doubt hundreds of years old, I suspect there were lots of stories to be told.
Placido Domingo was similarly in his element. Although he is approaching 70 years of age, he seemed like a child on a playground as he served as the evening's conductor. The orchestra played with him, Yo-Yo Ma played with him, and the audience was part of an experience of play instead of work, of participation instead of performance. It was entirely magical, and I was moved to tears.
As I sat there letting the music and the magic wash over me, I realized that just next to me was another musician whose music and magic has similarly captured my attention. Whether it's an audience of 17,000 or a group of 25 people holding down the midnight set at a jazz club, Joe LaBarbera gives it his all every time he sits behind the trap set. I don't know him well personally, but if he is like the other great jazz musicians I know, when faced with praise he'd be the first to point out places where his performance was not what he wanted it to be.
It's something I love about jazz - my favorite performers all have a confidence that is borne of humility. Every time they play, they give it their all, but they are constantly thinking of ways to make it better. But guess what? The jazz audience doesn't notice if it's not "perfect." What we do notice is when you hit that sweet spot where there's no other place on earth you'd rather be. We feel special because we are there with you. And because the music is created in the moment just for us, every time, we get to join you as you follow your bliss.
[Jazz] went from the classics to ragtime to Dixieland to swing to bebop to cool jazz.... But it's always jazz. You can put a new dress on her, a new hat, but no matter what kind of clothes you put on her, she's the same old broad.
– Lionel Hampton
Dill piccolo: a wind instrument that plays only sour notes.
