A Never-Ending Search

Some months back, for the first time, I heard pianist McCoy Turner's take on Speak Low, a Kurt Weill standard many jazz musicians play. Listening carefully to Tyner's amazing interpretation, I began analyzing my tepid version of this tune, one I've played steadily for several years. The journal entry I wrote not long after finishing my analysis oozed self-pity. Not my best moment.

Fast forward to a recent conversation with an ex-guitar teacher. When I shared how discouraging it can sometimes be to listen to someone with the speed and superhuman technique of Tyner or guitarist Joe Pass, he reminded me of the days when Miles Davis shared a stage with Charlie "Bird" Parker. What if Miles - my old friend asked me - had allowed himself to be discouraged by Bird's prodigious gifts? Think - he coached me - of what the world would have missed if Miles hadn't used what he learned playing alongside Bird as a path toward finding his own musical voice. 

I've been searching for my voice on the guitar most of my adult life. And I'm grateful for those fleeting moments when it feels like I'm getting close, especially if I'm improvising at the time. But I decided long ago that it's unwise abbreviating and calling myself a jazz guitarist. I'm a guitarist who has studied and enjoys jazz, likes to improvise, and favors tunes from the Great American Songbook and jazz standards. It's a much longer explanation but a far more accurate one. Joe Pass, Wes Montgomery, and Pat Metheny are jazz guitarists. And so is that ex-teacher of mine who reminded me recently to keep searching for my voice and remember that speed is just one element, and sometimes not the most important one. 

Nomophobia or Rudeness?

Nomophobia - Wikipedia

This cranky and contrary old fart is finding it harder all the time to differentiate between nomophobia and garden variety rudeness. And yes I realize that my decision to make minimal use of a cell phone puts me in a rapidly shrinking and marginalized minority. 

That said, I'd like to ask all of you - enamored of or tethered to your cell phone or not - what might have been your reaction had you experienced what I did in my local public library this a.m.? Allow me a brief but wholly accurate set-up.  

Between the lobby of the library and the quiet study area where I placed myself there are no fewer than thirteen signs (counted after the fact) that read "Please restrict cell phone use to the lobby area". This includes one sign on each of the three tables in the study area and one on the wall directly above each. The library lobby is a distance of twenty paces away from those tables (also counted after the fact).

I'm guessing you can predict what happened moments after I sat down. What might surprise you is how the librarian blithely responded after my sheepish request that she intervene with the patron who began a cell phone conversation. "Oh, don't worry about it. This happens every day."

What possible rationale could anyone offer under these circumstances for disturbing others? Didn't see all thirteen signs? Didn't want to walk the twenty paces? What? My frequent use of the library is partially motivated by a wish to avoid the ubiquitous assault of the 24/7 news cycle - abetted by a TV in nearly public space - and the nearly inescapable presence of cell phones, both in the public and private spheres. 

Nomophobia or rudeness?  

A Snob Is Born

When it comes to movies, I am close to being indiscriminate. I'll watch almost anything and put off doing urgent things needing attention when I spot something I haven't seen. In the age of streaming, it's become effortless to indulge myself; my geek cup has runneth over.

It's also been easy sliding into less discernment because, putting aside the "I could be doing something more productive" internal conversation, being a movie geek is a largely benign habit. But I recently stumbled across a downside to my geekdom. And the downside comes wrapped in a little story.

The downside: Being indiscriminate has taken away some of my passion. Because I've seen so many, some of the conventions of genre movies (Westerns, romantic comedies, sports films, musicals, etc.) are no longer as fresh for me. I find myself a tad cynical when able to predict how these types of films will turn out. The story: I've begun to give offbeat, unusual, or non-genre films more credit than they sometimes deserve. Yes, this film geek could be morphing into a snob. This type of thing ever happen to you? If not with movies, how about with literature? Music?  

Occurred to me it's possible this road I find myself on may be the same road professional critics find themselves on from time to time. Ever notice how there are a few critics who rarely seem to like anything a lot of us "regular" folks like? Perhaps those critics have seen or read or listened to so much of what they're paid to criticize that they've gotten cynical, then told themselves a story, and presto = a snob is born. Your thoughts? Strategies to assist me from descending into reflexive snobbery?