Essay: Transcendence

If you've been lucky, you've managed to catch a show, where everything simultaneously stops and takes a leap forward. Where the music suddenly clicks in a way that tells you that you're hearing a perfect instant. Maybe it was Jeff Beck's wailing guitar beating against Jan Hammer's keys. Maybe it was BB King's effortlessly smooth phrasing, speaking straight to your heart. It could have been Karl Denson blowing sax, where you know what he's got to play next, even when he doesn't. It might be when James Whiton is playing "upright death machine" on a song like Bus Driver with Eric McFadden Trio. These are all moments I feel fortunate to have experienced. For sure, transcendence is in the ear and mind of the beholder, but you can see it in facial expressions of the players, too. They know that something special is happening right now and that they are blessed.

Every now and then, I've had glimpses of that place myself: where the band is all hitting their stride and the music is just materializing in my hands. That first gig with Cool Runnings, when it became clear that all of my notes about what I should be playing were irrelevant. That I'd need to listen and just roll where the music went. I remember that first set finishing and being so happy and breathless. I was just amazed at the flow and I couldn't wait for the break to be over.

I've also had those times jamming with my acoustic crowd: Sunny Jim, Dave Hughes, Jim Harlan, Susan Spackman, and others. We'd keep playing a song because we didn't want to lose the flow. The sound of everybody's voices coming together in harmony; everybody finding the perfect hole to place their musical offering to the song.

One common element for me is getting to a point where I can hear the total, without obsessing on my piece of it. Getting that context and then really hearing how everything fits. It's like receiving a wonderful gift. Most of the times I've hit this level, I've been playing with other musicians. More rarely, I've had brief moments alone where my hands are on auto-pilot and I become aware of how I can stretch out my voice just a little bit further and it might be something amazing.

Since I've been playing with looping, I've started to see how I might be able to create the right conditions by building enough complexity into my looped parts. But it's hard to know whether I'll surprise myself because oftentimes the song will just collapse into noise. So far, I've played it safer on stage until I can harness that.

Still, regardless of whether I pull this off in my solo performance or find the right band to get me closer, transcendence is my goal. I hope some of you are there to witness it or help create it.

What are your magical musical moments? Throw a comment out there...