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Twenty-Five Years of Listening & Just Beginning

Tom Everett, 25-Year Honorand

I appreciate this opportunity to address you and to share some thoughts and experiences I've had during my teaching in the Harvard Extension School.

Tom Everett

Twenty-five years. . .a third of a lifetime, a quarter of a century, as well as a quarter of the history of my specialized subject matter: Jazz. A milestone? Or a measuring stick upon which to reflect?

I cannot think of any activity I would rather be involved in, or would receive more satisfaction from, than teaching and sharing music. Or, as I envision the challenge: creating an open, shared environment of curiosity and stimulation in which the instructor serves as a catalyst for the individual student. The thought is that this catalytic experience encourages students to discover the unique power of music and to have insights into creativity.

After 25 years of Wednesday evening lectures, I continue to leave each class reviewing the evening's interaction with students and their questions. These exchanges continue to challenge me as well as to provide insights, connections, and points of view from diverse groups of students. My personal growth and human understanding continue to expand, thanks to these students. I often smile to myself, while walking across campus, (capturing cautious stares from undergraduates, Extension students, and faculty) in disbelief and satisfaction that I am blessed to have been able to share music as a career.

I am told by my parents that my earliest indication of any musical interest or talent was demonstrated at about age two, when I would constantly pull out all the metal pots and pans from beneath the stove and beat on them with spoons--to no humanly discernible pattern.

My earliest recollections of hearing music are sitting on the living room rug in front of a huge wooden piece of rectangular furniture that was the centerpiece of the living room--it was a combination phonograph (the top lifted up to reveal a turn table) and radio (with two dials in the middle, one was the off/on and volume dial, the other the station tuner), with a speaker (encased in the single piece of furniture, much like a jukebox). My parents' small collection of 75 rpm shellac record albums--mostly on the Decca, RCA, and Columbia labels--consisted of vocalists Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, Bing Crosby, and Mario Lanza, as well as instrumental music by the smooth strings of the Montevani Orchestra, the wild and hilarious Spike Jones Band, and the popular swing dance bands of Tommy Dorsey and Glenn Miller.

The radio programs I remember might be described as "mystery soaps" (such as "The Shadow" or "The Adventures of Dick Tracy," with frequent use of electronic organ for "eerie" and dramatic effects). There were wonderful commercials--all live, usually with music, and just 15 seconds in length. There were also talent/variety shows. My favorite was the Arthur Godfrey show, which I believe was a daily show during the week.

Along with the intriguing instrumental sound effects of the Spike Jones Band, the mellow swing of Glenn Miller's Band ("In the Mood"), and the liquid, seamless lyrical style of trombonist Tommy Dorsey, the first specific musical sound and instrument that captured me was the trombone introduction to the Godfrey Show.

At the start of each broadcast, a solo trombonist would play a slow, sensual, ascending glissando gradually leading the orchestra into the Godfrey theme song. I identified with these fascinating trombone sounds even though I had never seen a trombonist in person.

In hindsight, I realize that my brain was wired in such a way that I was attracted to mid-range instrumental sounds and timbres. These musical colors were more compelling to me than words or lyrics. These musical sounds held meaning for me, creating vivid images that stimulated my imagination. Music had the power to trigger a part of my being, a thought process and curiosity that was not reached by anything else. These nonverbal experiences captured me and had the ability to transform and energize. They provided connections to other disciplines and new ideas.

This musical experience reminds me of the holistic physician/philosopher Depak Chopra, who said, "The purpose of art is to make time stop." Professor Howard Gardner of the Harvard Graduate School of Education, who through his recent research and books has enlightened us on the significance of music in the development of intelligence, indicates music bridges connections to other concepts and disciplines.

Professional playing can offer other learning situations. In 1967, I toured a short time with the Tommy Dorsey "Ghost Band." The telegram offering the job instructed, "Be at Ballroom of the Syracuse Hotel (NY) by 7 pm. Bring trombone, cup mute, two white shirts, black (tux) pants, socks and shoes and report to band manager, Mo." There was to be no rehearsal before my first evening performing with the band. Upon arrival and seeking out "Mo," I was instructed, "See that steamer trunk over there? Get yourself a tie, jacket, and we hit at 8:30."

I went to the well-traveled steamer truck with TD initials all over it and opened it to find a pile of blue sequined jackets and, in a shoe box, a bunch of hairy bow ties. The bow ties, I'm told, at least by older band members, were actually rabbit fur. Unfortunately later that evening (under bright, hot lights) something started to itch and move around in mine. The blue glitter jacket, way too big, was wrinkled, had cigarette holes in it, and cigarette butts in the right pocket. Welcome to the big time!

There was a strong sense of community within the band. Even though the "new guy" was often the brunt of jokes, when it came to the music, everyone listened and worked together. The "old-timers" were helpful, often sharing their "trombone slide secrets."

I'd like to share some advice from three jazz masters. First, the timeless Duke Ellington, whose centennial birth we are celebrating: "There are just two kinds of music: good and bad."--Be cautious of categories.

Harry "Sweets" Edison, one of the original trumpet soloists with the late 1930s Count Basie Band: "I'd rather be the world's worst original than the best imitator."--Be yourself.

And from one of modern jazz's true icons, Thelonious Monk: "Always make the drummer sound good."--Think about that. Finally, "There are two kinds of mistakes in music: the visual ones and the ones that don't sound too good."--Creativity involves risk.

In closing, this poem is dedicated to all Extension students and alums, and especially to those students I've been privileged to work with. It is a poem written by the thirteenth-century teacher and philosopher, Rumi.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

  Don't go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.

  Don't go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill

  where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.

  Don't go back to sleep.

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