Full to Bursting

Sometimes all it takes is music

Friends and readers—happy Friday to all y’all! Nod to an annoying ssouthern colloquialism usually accompanied by a sweeping hand motion to indicate all y’all.

In the last few weeks I’ve felt a bit like Laird Hamilton in the middle of an epic swell at Jaws off the coast of Maui. I’m paddling my ass off—sometimes getting towed along—up the face of a monstrous and seemingly insurmountable wave—climbing—climbing. Suddenly I’m cut loose and the only direction is down and fast. I’m forced to use all my wits and skills to keep from being plunged into the void under the crushing power of nature’s force. Emotion can be like that. We are swept forward—upward—downward—sideways relentlessly—mostly without control. The only thing we can do is be aware of what is happening and adapt. Talking to a good friend Bill Small the other day we spoke about allowing space for our emotions rather than fighting against them.

Laird actually taught me to stand up and navigate the surf on a longboard at Huntington Beach one day long ago. I was announcing the Bud Light Women’s Pro-4s beach volleyball event that weekend—and Laird was in an early courtship—chasing around his now-wife Gabby Reece.

I digress.

Unlike Laird Hamilton I’m a swimmer not a surfer. I don’t have the luxury of staying atop a board or a jet ski or a boat to navigate the pounding surf. My mental health requires that I’m in it. As a recovering addict I do not have the luxury of floating over—drowning in—or stuffing down—my emotions. Been there and done that. It got me in heaps of trouble. My sobriety and my emotional well-being require that I must feel. I must be aware. I must deal with what comes at me—chemically-free.

When emotions—good or bad—threaten to overwhelm—music is one of my most reliable coping tools. Today I want to reveal why one particular artist seems to always be there for me—as a lifeline—when I’m drifting in emotional seas.

Please enjoy. I welcome your comments if you’re so inclined.

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Jazz is a music genre that invokes passion from its fans—and disdain from its critics—in equal measure. Calling Patrick Bruce Metheny just a jazz musician would be akin to calling Elon Musk just a businessman. Metheny has three gold albums—20 Grammy awards—and is the only person to win a Grammy in ten different categories. His influence is felt far and wide in the broader music community.

I’ve always had eclectic taste. I can switch effortlessly from Fogelberg and Jackson Browne to Eminem and Anderson Paak. From Sinatra and Nat King Cole to Foo Fighters to Chris Stapleton to Vivaldi to Leonard Cohen. There are constants—Fagen and Becker. And Pat Metheny.

photos courtesy of Freepik.com

There is something different in the way that instrumental music moves me. Without the lyrics to sing happily along with—I’m more free somehow to melt into the music itself. You can’t ignore the horns—the guitar—the bass—drums—the strings. That’s why I seem to drift towards jazz and classical when I’m feeling or exploring emotions.

Jazz Fusion. Crossover Jazz. Latin Jazz. Hard Bop. Modal Jazz. Smooth Jazz. Jazz-R&B. What is jazz, really?

An American invention of the late 1800s originating in New Orleans—Jazz began in the African American communities and draws heavily on swing and blues influences from big bands—complex chord structures—call and response vocals prevalent in gospel music—and improvisation. Its evolution as a genre continued through the Jazz Era of the 1920s to the 1930s dance-oriented swing styles to a more musician-centric style of BeBop in the 1940s. Hard bop and cool jazz became popular in the 1950s with a predominance of saxophone and piano. The ‘60s and ‘70s saw the birth of Jazz Fusion which combined the improv of jazz with the electrification of instruments—the larger stage presence—and the beats of rock n’ roll. Smooth jazz—referred to by some critics as elevator jazz—and popularized by FM and satellite radio—has become what most people think of when they think of jazz.

The earliest written record of the word Jazz is in a 1912 article in the LA Times in which a minor league baseball pitcher described a pitch which he called a 'jazz ball' because it wobbles—and you simply can't do anything with it.

There is a snobbery to jazz fans. Substack’s very own Ted Gioia is a renowned jazz fan, critic, and reviewer—and just up the road from me in Austin. We’ve never spoken or met—but I have learned much about jazz standards and jazz history from reading his work. My own jazz knowledge is much less learned and isolated to my own listening.

photos of Pat Metheny credited to KJAZ

In my musical life Pat Metheny preceded any love of jazz. In my listening experience there might in fact be a direct line from Metheny to a love of jazz—but one exists separate from the other. As a teenager growing up in the suburbs of St. Louis I listened to KSHE 95. The powerful FM station was at the time one of the top independent stations in the country. While they had a distinct sound—they were also widely known for sampling regional talent across any number of musical genres. Metheny didn’t fit with KSHE’s Real Rock Radio format but that didn’t stop them from playing the kid from Lee’s Summit—a Missouri town located a half-hour southeast of Kansas City.

Metheny’s path to guitar prodigy began at home. He was born to musical parents. After being spotted playing in a Kansas City club at 15—through scholarships to University of Miami and Berklee School of Music—Metheny built a reputation as a prodigy. His musical resume is beyond compare—one of the most prodigious creators and producers of his own music that I’ve ever witnessed. Look him up if you want to know more.

Why does Metheny’s music allow me the space for my emotions?

After all the life I’ve lived—suffered—joyed—laughed—glided—fought—and survived through in the last 50 years since being introduced to him—his music touches me at my core. Just Tuesday a PM song brought me to mixed up tears while working out in my home gym. Right there—under the surface—the emotions that I’d been managing for the last few weeks. The absolute joy and love of my honeymoon trip with my bride Ann to the Mediterranean. The fear and worry about what my parents were going through while we were gone Dad having had a mild stroke just before our departure. Crushing reality—grief—and hope added to the blender mix all last week supporting my dad in Arizona. I’m pumping hard on my Yosuda stationary bike—my interval timer telling me to kick up the RPMs—and I hear the beginning chords of Slip Away from Letter from Home—the 1989 album release by Metheny and partner Lyle Mays.

photos of Lyle Mays credited to Michael Delsol

Quick sidebar: Lyle Mays made up at least half of the Pat Metheny Band for decades. The humble and accomplished pianist from Wisconsin by way of the legendary music college North Texas State in Denton—met Metheny at the Wichita Jazz Festival in 1975—and together they formed the Pat Metheny Band. Lyle Mays died on February 10th—my birthdate—in 2020 at the age of 66—my current age.

Back to the moment on this morning in the gym—and Slip Away. The moment that Argentine vocalist Pedro Aznar began his soaring vocal mimicry of Metheny’s guitar—I lost it. Tears mixed with sweat on my t-shirt as I pedaled away furiously. It came at once. It came from a big achy pile of pent-up feelings stuck somewhere down in my heart and belly. I let it rip.

I’m not a crier per se—although I am much more in touch with my feelings and emotions since burying Johnny Walker Black in a backyard grave 14+ years ago. But that’s kinda beside the point. Pat Metheny’s music has affected me this way throughout—drooling drunk as snot—jackrabbiting around on coke—stomping my way through the loss of a forsaken relationship—standing atop a 14,000-foot peak in the Rockies with my golden retriever Bogart. The gifted right hand of the mop-haired Missourian comes off the guitar and strums my soul in a way like no other artist ever has.

But what is it?

What makes Pat Metheny’s music stand alone from other incredible and creative and talented peers? For me—it represents joy. And hope. There’s a unique and creamy—like butta—sound to Metheny’s guitar work. He alternates playing several favorites guitars—a 42-string Pikasso custom—a collection of hollow-body acoustic Ibanez 12-string PM Signature models. Metheny was an early proponent of using 12-string in jazz and also an early user of synthesized electric in jazz.

Moat people can appreciate musical mastery even without loving Jazz. Improvisation is what loses most people in jazz music. They prefer the softer—more melodic—stylings of smooth jazz. Ann and I went to a Blue Note Records retrospective concert a month ago and marveled at the 90-minute display of musical mastery by the all-star quartet. But even for us it felt like four individual performances knitted together by a loose understanding of the melody lines. That’s raw—improvisational jazz—not everyone’s cuppa.

What Metheny brings is a complex—yet distinctive and easy to follow—composition to his intricate musical mastery. The other members of the band are essential tendons holding the song together with periodic solo features—but it never sounds like STOP and listen to me and how well I play this thing. Even when Metheny goes off on a riff of his own it feels only like an essential element of the stew rather than the only meat.

My favorites?

Depends on the moment but there’s a few that rise above. Years after its release, Still Life (Talking) is one of the most recognizable and significant jazz recordings ever. Its ability to cross musical genres and enthrall listeners with its evocative and deep soundscapes has left it with an enduring legacy.

American Garage—released in ‘99 with its oft-sampled Cross the Heartland is how many non-jazz fans found Metheny. Many new fans were brought in by the song This is not America that he made with David Bowie for the PM-produced 1984 Falcon and the Snowman movie soundtrack.

Top of my personal list are two albums: the aforementioned 1989 album Letter from Home—winner of a Grammy for Best Jazz Fusion Album. Secret Story was released in ‘92—recorded with the Pinpeat Orchestra of the Royal Ballet of Cambodia—rich with Asian influences—and winner of the Grammy for Best Contemporary Jazz Album.

I’ve seen him live seven or eight times. The first time was at Chatauqua Park over 40 years ago—a majestic outdoor venue at the base of the red and gold-tinged foothills overlooking Boulder. I saw him again in NYC alongside my other musical hero Donald Fagen as part of the Rock n’ Soul Revue. The Paramount in Denver. One World Theater in Austin—where I was able to introduce my bride to his music from 20 rows away. Each PM concert is different.

If you’re unfamiliar with Metheny’s musical genius I’d suggest you listen. Set aside some quiet time and some great speakers or headphones. You won’t be disappointed.

For me—I’ll continue to use Pat Metheny to soothe me when emotions are high and to lift me when they threaten to bring me low—because I need to stay in the crest of the waves.