A follow-up to I’m Just a Girl Standing in Front of a Jazz Band
So I made myself go to a jam session. I had played approximately one improv solo in the last twenty years, but I wanted to put a flyer for my girls’ jazz band on the cafe’s corkboard, and I also thought I should probably dust off the old chord extensions before teaching them.
I walked in as the band (five men and no women) was setting up, and I took my trombone out of its case. Is that how these sessions work? Do you just show up and take out your horn? I didn’t remember, but I’m old now and didn’t care if I was doing it wrong. I took out my horn and waited for someone to tell me what to do or at least introduce himself. No one did. Of course, I didn’t introduce myself, either. Finally I went and sat at a table by my mom. Four of my husband’s (male) high school students had come with their instruments, too, and I overheard another patron tell them that there’d be a sign-up sheet out soon.
When the sheet appeared, I went and signed up, writing “any” under the “song” category. I’m indecisive, and I also figured that “any” might seem impressive while also covering for me if I sucked. How terrible would it be to suck on a song that you chose as the one you’d most like to play in front of an audience?
And there was an audience—a small but friendly one. After the house band played two tunes (loved the bass player) they called me up and the drummer said to the other band members, “Caravan?” I could have misread the body language, but at least one band member seemed to think Caravan was a poor choice, and I thought it was because they had no idea what level player I was. The drummer asked me, “Do you know Caravan?” “Yep,” I answered. At least I used to, and I hoped it would be like riding a bike. Well, not exactly like riding a bike, as I haven’t gotten on a bike since an accident landed me in the E.R. when I was nine.
I had forgotten about the pain I get in the pit of my stomach as surely as I had forgotten the chords to our second song, “God Bless the Child.” No one seemed too impressed with my playing, and I have to admit I kind of wanted to get on the mic and say, “I’m the girl who wrote that blog. Some of you probably read it? Kind of a poignant moment here.” But of course I didn’t. My playing fizzled, and I went back to my mom. I don’t think she even told me I played well.
My husband’s students played their songs. (Mercifully, I knew beforehand that one of them could play circles of fifths around me.) A man sang “It Had To Be You.” And then my husband’s students and I all went up for the last song of the night, and one of the band members called “Mercy Mercy Mercy.” Now I know the melody of that song, but I didn’t remember the name, so I didn’t know I knew the melody. “What are a few of the chords?” I asked, trying to be funny. Gospel blues. B flat. “You’ll find something out about yourself,” the drummer said.
I wish what I had found out about myself was super dramatic. The drummer’s setup statement sounded so prophetic! “You’ll find something out about yourself!” I thought that I might discover that I had more in my soul than I had ever dreamed over a C minor 7 and the clinks of the dishes in the kitchen. Alas, here’s all I found out. 1) I should have gone pee before the song started. 2) I should have used my new irealpro app at home a few times instead of making my poignant return to improv in public, and 3) No matter how many times I heard “Mercy Mercy Mercy” before it was my turn to solo, I would not notice the very obvious lead-up to the C minor 7 chord.
I left feeling a little sad. The men were not rude, but I was the only woman, and that stirred up old feelings. While I played, I almost felt like I had to force myself to play more than whole notes. “Whatever, here’s a simple lick. Here it is again changed a little to fit the new chord.” I know it’s a form of fear of failure. Don’t let yourself care, and it won’t hurt when you suck. I remember it well. I’m back in the E.R.
Mercy. Mercy. Have mercy on me, Lord, and help me help my students to reach higher than I ever did.