In the back of my mind, I have carried reminders of evenings engaged
with Keith Jarrett’s 1975 The Köln Concert recording of improvisations
played on a Bösendorfer Imperial Concert Grand. Solo piano is a precise
arena for many a pianist. At once revealing, yet intimate and rewarding.
Much to do with the broad range, possibilities, command, touch, and the
instrument at hand. Jarrett achieved something few before had ever
tested in front of a vast audience. Sit behind the piano and play. No
script, no set list, no banter between entertainer and admiring crowds.
With Paradise Blue I explore the range of emotions, the many shades of
the colour blue. Six of twelve tracks are improvised. The blues, a touch
of classical and the accidental improvisational curves of jazz. And
there is a backstory to my relationship with the piano.
In the ‘50s, Era King looked after the boys as dad worked the night
shift at Colgate’s, and mom hemmed parachutes at the Quartermaster
Depot. Era was my grandmother, old country in style, manners, and as
stern as a woman could ever be. A weary upright piano stood near a soft
lit window, the centrepiece of her daily life. Mid afternoons, the soap
opera The Edge of Night and other Christian programming held her
interest.
When playing, Era whispered along, invariably something sacred. I’d
study her squinting eyes as they peered above wired-frame glasses while
she leafed through a hymn book, hair rolled in a bun, and understood the
wheezing soap opera organ in the background, the soundtrack of her
daily life. The hymnals - a reprieve from separating agitated kids and
averting the devil’s grip.
It was the most primordial sound. Melody and broken chords. No frills,
just the occasional inverted triad, one that never disrupted a lyric or
directive from the Lord. Slow-moving melodies, distinctive and
meaningful. Folkish and rooted deep in civil soil.
I’ve long been intrigued with melody. The cry of a single note as it
seeks a partner, suddenly a community member, and then a composition.
It’s those moments when sound moderates the brain, and one tunes in. How
and when a single note, a second, and third merge - stream down through
the soundboard resting at the feet of the damper pedal.
Paradise Blue is the piano talking back at me. That light in the head
momentarily eclipsed, hands in receipt of inspiration. Junctures of
sweeping colour and others of blue intent. Fingers jabbing and prying at
the space between black and white notes, the overtones, the undertones,
wedged between the crevices. A solitary moment where melody and harmony
linger beyond invitation.
In memory of those piano teachers that brought so much joy and clarity
to my playing. Eva Smith, Don Murray – The Louisville Academy of Music,
Jamey Aebersold, Oscar Peterson, Composition studies at Ursuline College
and piano at the Louisville Conservatory of Music. That other worldly
miracle of influence, pianist Martha Argerich.
Remembering Doug Tipple whose Yamaha C-3 resides in our kitchen, a gift
from Laura Tipple and the love and care Doug shared with his beloved
friend. Big hugs to my piano finder and friend – Helga Stephenson.
To Kristine for the lovely cover art, Jesse - cover design, Mike Haas
the critical mastering – friends, Gary Slaight, Derrick Ross, Pat
Silver, FYI MUSIC News, Saturday Night Jazz, Mark Ruffin, Martine Levy,
Jane Harbury, Stephen Smith, Ilona Kauremszky, Jessica Bellamy, Ken
Stowar, CIUT 89.5 FM, Gloria Martin, Mark Hebscher, Susan Perly, John
Harris and my brilliant cousin, Linda Michelone Lang.
