My Lessons with Colgrass

   Michael Colgrass, the Pulitzer-winning composer, came into my life at a critical moment.  I was a young professor, desperately trying to prove myself while managing family life (I had a toddler at home and a baby on the way).  I was practicing myself into physical and mental injury on a regular basis, and those injuries had slowly leaked into my personal life at an alarming amount.

After performing Colgrass' "Urban Requiem" with extensive rehearsals under his supervision, he reached out to me when I was at an all-time low.  He recognized that I was sourcing my value as a human being entirely from my musicianship.  He introduced me to the following life-changing idea:

"Who you are" is separate from "what you do."

By self-identifying as "saxophonist," "teacher," or even "husband and father," I was failing to allow for the possibility that the self is transcendent from the roles that we play in our lives.  A good performance, a career accolade . . . none of these things make you a better person.  Even more critically, no amount of failure can reduce your worth as a person.  None.  Ever.

Michael gave me a copy of his book "My Lessons with Kumi."  I read it,  and I faithfully did the exercises in the first few chapters.  This completely changed the thoughts and behaviors that surround my work.  I began to rewrite the neural circuitry that was causing me to be unhealthy in my practice and performance.  I teach these methods to my students on a regular basis, with the understanding that they require regular, disciplined practice to take effect.

I stayed in touch with Michael over the years, letting him know how my practice was going, and telling him how grateful I was for his mentorship, even if it was long-distance and mostly through the book.  I wrote him once to tell him that I had used "squeeze fingers - bzzzzt" to center myself when my garage was flooding into my house during a torrential storm.  He congratulated me for finally mastering the technique to the point of being able to use it under severe stress.  It felt like I had completed my Jedi training, if only for a few moments.

My first experience with Michael's music was when I played bass clarinet on his "Winds of Nagual" at the University of Massachusetts, under Bill Rowell.  I had never even played bass before, and I struggled to play the part, but the music was transformative.  A decade later, I found myself working directly with the composer.  Michael Colgrass is now a part of my musical and teaching DNA.  He is also singularly responsible for teaching me to protect my true self from the ups and downs of my career.

In the 16 years since my first dance with his "Urban Requiem," I have meditated extensively on the lessons of that experience.  The biggest realization for me is that we must enjoy the process of preparation, and prepare as vigorously as possible.  Only then can we fearlessly throw ourselves into a performance.  By knowing myself as a person, and insulating my value from "what I do," I am able to safely risk everything in the concert.  The gift is that we can make ourselves vulnerable on the stage, to be completely open to our fellow musicians and to the audience.  "What we do" can reveal "who we are."

It is an honor to perform "Urban Requiem" once more, and this time with my incredible students.  It is my personal farewell to a man that gave me an immeasurable gift in my work, and in my life.  Rest well, Michael.  On Wednesday October 23, 2019, we will ring the bells for you.

https://jmuforbescenter.com/events/2019/10/21-cmf.shtml