Co-Creation

It's always been clear to me why I was attracted to Zen Buddhism and left cold by Christianity, Judaism, Islam. Zen is the only religion that doesn’t ask for faith, worship, or obedience to a Creator of the Universe, that doesn't demand that we feel shamed in the presence of the almighty Buddha. Instead, it suggests that each of us awaken as Buddha did to our true nature as shared vehicles of consciousness, as co-creators of the universe. 

 

Even if there was a single all-powerful omnipotent deity that made the rivers and trees and stones and mountains and all living beings, He/She/It also endowed us with the intellect and imagination to create, the heart to feel and express emotion, the opposable thumbs that allow us to sculpt and paint and shape clay and write poetry and play the piano or the clarinet. As such, our highest aspiration should be to be co-creators, taking the raw material of the original Creation (no matter where it came from or how fashioned) and constantly re-imagine and re-arrange it all to express a timeless and universal beauty in this present moment and particular place. 

 

When I create— be it planning an inspired class, writing a Sibelius Orff ensemble arrangement, improvising/ arranging an old jazz standard, writing a poem by artfully arranging the tumble of words that rise out of dream— I feel the power of the Biblical God’s masterwork. For example, in the recent Flower Piano performance that I arranged and programmed and rehearsed with two fellow brilliant musicians, Joshi Marshall and Marty Wehner, it felt like making a world in seven tunes. 

Though I am painfully aware of my limitations in company with master jazz pianists, I surge forth in confidence that I sometimes can get to the essence of a feeling through sound— virtuosity and fancy solo licks be damned. What I lack in pianistic pyrotechnics I make up for in a felt sense of a program that visits the different houses in the psyche. That it also follows a historical progression and teaches something specific about the evolution of jazz is an unexpected treat, but more important is the intention and ability to dig deep into each emotion and communicate. And so this program from yesterday's concert, with some of the attending emotions that you can never guarantee, but can strongly suggest:

 

1.     Motherless Child (Spiritual)— Grief felt and transformed to a soulful pathos.

2.     Maple Leaf Rag (Ragtime)— March released from stiffness and uplifted into spirited dance.

3.     Struttin’ with Some Barbecue (New Orleans style) — Freewheeling unabashed collective joy. 

4.     St. Louis Blues (Blues)— Sorrow and sadness transformed into powerful presence.

5.     Sunnyside of the Street (Jazz standard)— Cheery toe-tapping optimism.

6.     I Mean You (Monk composition)—Playfulness within a complex intellectual playground. 

7.     Estate (Bossa Nova)— The tender and gentle lull of the waves on a summer day. 

 

(We did three other tunes as well, but for poetic effect, here’s my creation of the World in seven days.)

 

From the quality of listening from the 150 or so folks seated out in the grass on a cloudy/sunny day in Golden Gate Park, it felt like the three of us— four counting guest singer Ella Ford who was my music student at SF School from 3 years old to 8^th grade and now is in 11^th grade—indeed communicated a wide range of feelings worth visiting. Which made it feel like it was a successful concert that hit deeper than a bunch of interesting notes. 

Again, I am riddled with doubts as to whether I qualify to be in the jazz club (both the literal club and the community of artists who have paid far more dues than I have), but if you can somehow evoke any of these feelings above (or all) and bring them forth from their hiding place within, well, that’s the supreme power of music at its finest. And as some listeners have testified, sometimes I get it right. It’s the opposite of the quick dopamine hit or distracting sensation pumped up to hyper-volume and aural assault. Silence is woven throughout any good piece of music and the intelligently crafted sounds combined with the needed technique and felt emotion is the antidote to addiction. 

 

Thanks to Flower Piano for the invite (more, please!), to Joshi, Marty and Ella, to the jazz composers and improvisers who created the material and to all who came out to listen. It was a most marvelous hour and worthy of God's creation.