Guest Column, Part 2: “How I Got Over”

Here’s Part 2 from our friend Lenni Bukowski.

“Without music, life would be a mistake.”  – Friedrich Nietzsche

“Nothing will ever take the place of you.“ Well, if you’re a collector, something has to, correct?! I mean, all this energy/devotion has to go somewhere. I began the first post quoting from Mr. A‘s email to me wherein he touched on an important part of ceasing to collect records: “How to find a place in our lives for the passion we get by collecting, listening and playing jazz.” The realization that I could exist without being a “record boy” was similar to the one depicted by Harvey Pekar in American Splendor #4, “How I Quit Collecting Records and Put Out A Comic Book With The Money I Saved.”

Yet, I had no inclination to produce a comic book. Nor did I wish to follow the example of an acquaintance, Bruno Johnson, who sold his record collection to finance the start of a CD label, Okka Disc. So, I faced a decision; in Gurdjieffian thought, what do I want to be? Now, this time around.

Part 1, Dancing in Your Head, ended with young Lenni on the cusp of an adventure. There was another adventure at that time that directly involved music. Not long after the purchase of the Charlie Parker LP “Night and Day,” – it was the title track that altered my being – I bought myself a saxophone.  This was the time when State Street in Chicago, north from the river to Rush street, was a neighborhood, before it became a glass and steel canyon. Stores, dwellings, shoe repair stores, hey, remember when there were such places, places that repaired shoes, tv and radio repair, tailors, all before we became inclined to throw everything away, no more fixing. But I digress.

North of Chestnut Street, there was a violin shop on State Street, I recall the name of Pinders, a time when such places could exist, small music stores, and one day as I was walking past, in the window was a silver alto saxophone, nestled in a case against the purplish lining. I had to have it. And I paid for it, slowly, using allowance and such. It was a Conn or Buescher, I don’t remember and I am sure it needed work, but I bought it and it was mine and I taught myself to play it. To play reasonably well.

And this reasonably well playing served me until this year. My first horn is long gone, traded for another. I turned to the tenor, as it had a sound I felt. I can play the tenor saxophone proficiently and read music and still have a pretty good ear and figure out tunes. BUT what to do about theory, what to play over A minor 7th flat 9th. What about tritone substitutions? What about really becoming a fluent improviser?

And then I came to realize what I wanted to be, what I want to do with my time remaining on the planet, what I would use to replace collecting. I want to become the best musician right now that I can be. As a teenager, I always wanted to attend a band camp. Family situations and then a decade of mistakes got in my way. Getting recent adverts from such jazz camps rekindled that desire. But actually go to camp?. Well, being at an older age, I have no desire to sleep in a dorm nor walk down corridors to use water closet facilities.

To me, as a former teacher and as a person, it is most important to know what you don’t know. And arriving at that knowing, if so desired, to gain the knowledge. So I sought a teacher. It was hard for me to admit I needed help. However, I came across a player who teaches and is most proficient on the saxophone, who went to band camps, to universities for music degrees, who is sought after for gigs, who is some 40 years younger than me. I told him I want to know.

We’ve been working since February. And last month I told him I want to be in your band camp, I want you to create such a thing for us, I want an intensive study, I need to know this, the how’s and whys, because I can’t rely on my ear, rely on “fakin’ it” anymore, rely on hoping what I’m playing fits in, rely on guessing.  We meet twice a week at the music store where he works. An hour lesson each time. My confusion level reaches new peaks after each lesson; yet my excitement/exhilaration also intensifies after each lesson.

You should know this. Not only records did I collect, I once had five tenor saxes, a baritone, an alto, a soprano and umpteendiddley mouthpieces all at the same time. Because, you see, if I was having difficulties, I took the way of it isn’t me, it’s the horn, mouthpiece, reed, etc. Now I have one tenor, my main focus, one mouthpiece. And a soprano with one mouthpiece. That’s all. Because I need to become self-reliant, to use what I have to achieve my goal, to gain the knowing. For if I’m constantly changing my tools, how will I now when the change comes? And too much of anything I now realize for Lenni doesn’t work.

Yes, I still have some records, and as I type this I have singled out more for disposal/dispersal. Bird was it early for me, but I don’t need every Bird lick. That’s Phil Schaap’s job. Every note of Trane, well, not really. I don’t need every Charles Gayle CD, every Ayler, every Lester. I need what resonates. And such diminishes as I learn the how’s and whys of music. I still look at listings and of course follow Jazz Collector. I enjoy the looking at records and the reading of lists, of others’ acquisitions; I have no desire to return to the physical getting.

So, here it is. My coming into knowledge. How I got over. Knowing a new passion, I gave up the old. Somewhat easily. There’s a regret here and there over departed records; as Bill Chavers of Olde Wells Record Shop on North State Street (of course) back 40 odd years ago would often say as I bought something, “goodbye old record.“

I have a passion still, a new one, and am giving my all to it. I made a change, driven by a new desire. Such may come to you. Or not. It really doesn’t matter. It’s just that I feel the love of what you’re doing should be the impetus, the drive to continue. Otherwise, this reduces your passion to the mundane-ness of a job, “ho-hum, I have to buy another Blue Note to fill in a missing number in the series.” And then the joy of music becomes a mistake.

Thanks to all for reading of my changes. May your love of Jazz music continue to enrich your lives, no matter how you participate.

“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.” – Aldous Huxley