of jazz & friends - new york style

Note to self:  taking a red-eye flight from San Francisco to New York isn't the smartest idea.

Original plan:  sleep during the flight, arrive in New York after a restful slumber, then roam the streets in search of great ideas.

Reality:  four 1/2 hours of flight time with insufficient leg room contracts to 1/2 hour of sleep.  Arrive in New York tired and groggy, then stay in brother's apartment to sleep through the entire morning.

To jazz up my trip after the long nap, I attended Parlor Jazz at Marjorie Eliot's with my cousin Debbie and her fiancé Alex, also a jazz pianist - not that I, Alex, am a jazz pianist, but that Marjorie is one as well.  You understand my point.

My first live jazz performance and two hours at this legendary institute was nothing short of extraordinary.  This institute is actually the home of Marjorie Eliot, who for the past twenty years has assembled a few other jazz musicians every Sunday afternoon to offer New Yorkers and tourists a taste of jazz.  A few measures into their first piece and after a few strokes on the ivory keys and plucks of strings on ebony wood, I knew these were masters of their crafts.  The ever cerebral guy that I am, I couldn't help but as Debbie whether they had all the music memorized or were improvising from start to finish.  I was instructed to feel and not think.  Probably the best advice I got all year.

So I tried to stop thinking.  I stopped trying to feel too.  What I got in return was being mesmerized by a couple of solo piano pieces by Marjorie and a piano and flute duet.  I remember well a couple moments when the piano came to a pause, and the brief silence before Marjorie played the next note was simply perfect and sublime.  It's hard to describe these silent pauses in music - there really isn't an exact formula for their lengths (not that I know, anyway); you just recognize a perfect pause when you hear one.  I got two that afternoon.

The piano and flute duet was another kind of magic.  The flute started out alone with a pensive and spiraling melody.  A couple of minutes later, the piano joined in - subtly but assuredly.  It was like a good friend who is always just behind you even though you don't know whether exactly he is.  At the right moment, just when you need it most, he steps in and offers a supporting hand.  That's what Marjorie's piano sounded like as it joined the flute - like a good friend who has always been there then quietly appeared.

After the performance, the lovely Marjorie personally greeted every guest, several of whom were foreign tourists.  The first thing she said to me was:  "Are you an actor?"  To a physician-turned-screenwriter, this was high compliment.

I told her no, but one day I hope to have fibbed.

Parlor Jazz at Marjorie Eliot's