Once
you reach the age of twenty or so, birthdays become less important.
Sometimes all the hoopla and gifts that your family might
bestow upon you become boring and just another chore to live
through. This happens to me quite often but when I remember
Bill's birthday things are a little different. Bill has turned
out to be the center of my musical soul. His birthday, the
day he died, June in the Village Vanguard, both in 1961 and
1980 and many other dates provoke me to explore again the
question, Why I like Bill's music more than Mahler, Beethoven,
and any jazz musician, and any other type of music?
Part of
the answer is that Bill's notes, chords, and musical lines
seem to be closer to the surface of my mind, more that any
others. Sure, I can still recognize other composer/performers
even when their music has been bastardized and deranged for
television commercials. Bill's music is always on the top
of my consciousness. After waking up in the morning what is
the first thing in your mind's ear? In my house, if someone
has the TV set blasting away I turn it off immediately, (sometimes
handing the TV listener a set of headphones) so that I might
"clear the pallet" of my small brain and let Bill
's music flow. I don't even need to listen to recordings anymore
to let Bill rise to the surface. His is always with me, sometimes
playing an integral part of my dreams.
It's interesting
to consider that Bill's music has never enjoyed the absorption
by the masses that other music has, and, I think that is a
good thing. We as Bill Evans devotees recognize they we are
a special breed. We hear the beauty in music in a different
way. We treat Bill's music almost as a personal religion,
holding it above all others, respecting it and safeguarding
it from corruption. We maintain a constant vigil on our Bill
Evans recordings, never to lose sight of them; lest we forget
any of the great passages we have heard. Bill is a part of
us to the point of being inseparable, like a good pair of
shoes, knowing that we would become stressed-out if those
shoes ever became lost, stolen or damaged.
Most of
you know that fellow pianists and other musicians gave Bill
a party on his fiftieth birthday just a year before he died.
Some of us have heard the poor quality private tape of some
of the piano playing that went on at that party. Bill's playing
was not as serious on that occasion, choosing to participate
by going along with the humor of the moment. Bill became "one
of the gang" in that gathering, hammin' it up right along
with the others, playing as an equal, not on the higher plane
where all the participants knew and recognized he belonged.
The party did them good and it was good for Bill.
The organizers
of the party knew that their time with Bill was limited and
they wanted to express their esteem for him and his music
while he was still with them. Now, on his seventy-sixth birthday
we don't have the same opportunity for the live, "in-your-face"
recognition of his art. But we can still reflect on the "why
and how" of our personal
relationship with Bill's music. Indeed, it is very difficult
to put into words but it is still fun trying.
---Win
Hinkle
