(This article originally appeared in Saxophone Today, May/June 2017.)
I was blessed with some of the best mentors in the business. Although they are mostly retired now, and some are no longer among us, they live within me every day and their words unfailingly guide me through my career. One of these great mentors gave me a piece of wisdom that is with me always: “You must trust the integrity of your preparation.” This is no piece of refrigerator magnet wisdom; there is a depth to this advice that goes way beyond a catchy turn of phrase. You can believe in yourself until the cows come home, but this does you no good if you haven’t already *invested* in yourself. I keep a [handmade] sign outside my teaching studio that says “THE INTEGRITY OF PREPARATION.”
I live by this motto, but lately I have been thinking about how little we do to teach integrity in the arts. We teach craft, and we hold our students up to certain standards, but where exactly does integrity come into the picture? In this issue, I reflect on my own experiences trying to keep integrity at the center of my work.
Say “Yes”
When I was a young man and an aspiring artist, I recognized that I had a long path ahead of me. I had a bit of chops and a general lack of fear on the stage, but I knew that I had major gaps in my musicianship. I learned early on that the young musician has to say yes to as many things as possible. I went to jam sessions, I played for cheap, and I said yes. A lot. I played musicals. I bought my first clarinet because I said yes to a gig that required clarinet. I bought it along with some reeds and a fingering chart. I showed up early, wearing the right clothes and a big smile. I practiced hard, and I tried even harder on the bandstand. I was never too good for a gig. I wish I knew how many weddings that I have played, but my best guess is well over a hundred. I played with blues bands, rock bands, pop bands, big bands, smooth jazz groups, jazz combos, classical saxophone quartets, and more. I played bar mitzvahs, wine fests, house concerts, and high school festivals. I said yes because I knew that I needed experience to develop craftsmanship. I needed to crash and burn (and boy, did I!) to identify the gaps that needed to be filled. I said yes.
Identify Your Values
You can’t be true to your values if you haven’t articulated them. Once I started building a resume, I imagined what I really wanted to do with my life. I knew that I didn’t want to play gigs forever. I wanted to play concerts, and to say something with music. I wanted to be an artist. When I was a student, I had the luxury of playing gigs outside of school while my academic life provided me with opportunities to perform more serious music. After I completed my masters degree, I took a year off and taught private lessons and gigged. It became very clear to me, and in very short order, that certain gigs were no longer of interest to me. In fact, they pulled me away from the time that I needed to invest in the music that I truly loved. Worse still, all those short rock solos were leaking into my jazz playing - you are what you eat, after all. I reevaluated my strengths and weaknesses, and I made a five year plan that moved me away from gigs and into a career that would feed my passions for teaching and creativity. In my case, that meant a focus on art music (of all styles), so that I could move towards a professorship.
Say “No”
I got into a doctoral program and my wife and I packed up and moved from upstate New York to Miami. I made up my mind that it was time to say no to anything that didn’t directly move me towards my goals. I said no to weddings. I said no to gigs with synth backing and click tracks. I said no to a teaching gig that would have taken up too much time without adding anything uniquely meaningful to my resume. I sharpened up and dug in. Musicians are not good at saying no. We are taught to always say yes. We are also taught to always be on the defensive. This is good advice for a young person, but if you find yourself in a position of no longer needing the money, perhaps it is time to reconsider the value of your time. Be gracious, be humble, but don’t be afraid to say no to something that isn’t worth your time.
Say “Maybe”
Not everything is as simple as a wedding gig versus a concerto or a commission. Sometimes it becomes very important to think it over. For example, in my early twenties I was offered a chance to write and record my music for multiphonic saxophone and jazz combo. I said yes, because I knew that it was a one-time opportunity and it was the chance of a lifetime. It was also a project that meshed perfectly with my long-term goals. Later on, I was offered that chance to do a project that was even larger in scope, but out of my wheelhouse. I ultimately declined on that one, even though it felt crazy to pass on such a great opportunity. In retrospect, I made a good decision. I didn’t have the broad skills necessary to knock that project out of the park, and with a little time to reflect, I knew that I would have had a hard time doing a really good job.
More than twenty-five years into my professional life, I have slowly but steadily become a saxophone soloist. I don’t even play clarinet anymore. I have the luxury of focussing on the instruments that I love, and the music that ignites my passions. I am still open to performing in a variety of situations, but only when there is a compelling reason to say yes. I might play a wedding for a person that I love, or with musicians that I admire. I know when to say “maybe,” and how to use my set of established values to think it over and to ultimately make the best decision for my career.
Look to Your Heroes
You have heroes. They are your heroes for a reason. They probably have, or had an incredible amount of integrity over their careers, which is how they became artists that you admire. Emulate your heroes. They obviously did some things right. Analyze their work carefully, and examine the path that they traveled. If you love an artist, figure out how and why you love them. Reverse engineer their successes, and incorporate their work into your own. Your preferences will illuminate your values, so pay attention to what you like, and to whom you love.
Be a Hero
Many of my heroes are gone - some died before I was even born. As I enjoy what I gratefully call “mid-career,” I keep in mind that the younger generation is looking up to me. Like the story of Coltrane being mortified when Coleman Hawkins walked in on him “walking the bar,” I think about the message that my current work sends to my peers and to my students. I choose work that I am proud to hold up to the light. I do my best to emulate my heroes, and to use my artistic values as a compass. I hope to forge a path that will inspire the rising artists of the next generation. As my heroes melt away into history, I owe them a debt that can only be repaid by stepping up to take the torch. I will obviously never be Coltrane, or Yusef Lateef, but I will aspire to be the best version of myself, and to prepare with an intensity that will allow me to put full faith in the integrity of that preparation.
Don’t Leave
Another of my great heroes, and a model of artistic integrity in the saxophone world, is Ellery Eskelin. When Ellery reflected on his decades of work in NYC, he gave an incredibly potent piece of advice: If you want to make it in New York, don’t leave. It seems obvious, but I know so many cats that saved up, moved to New York, ran out of bread, and moved home to save up for another attempt. Ellery has it right. Find a way to stay, and don’t leave. For me, a professorship was the equivalent of making it in NYC. I worked hard, kept at it, and refused to quit. Obviously, there will be times to retreat and regroup, especially when physical or mental health are on the line, but one must always consider the long-term cost of stepping back. It is normal to be frustrated, but do your very best to keep working.
Know Yourself
Part of becoming an artist is knowing who you are. It is vital to build craft, but those skills are only building blocks for your life’s work. You must clearly identify your long-term goals, and devise a pathway for success. This will involve serious practice, discipline, devotion, and a huge amount of risk. You will never know that you are an artist until it becomes the consensus of your peers, and that takes many years. At some point, you will stand alone with only your courage and the integrity of your preparation. Prepare well! §
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