Shapes of Success

I started playing the piano when I was only four. My family had a beautiful Steinway Grand in the house – a wedding gift from my grandfather to my parents. My mother would diligently take me to my lessons every week. I remember sitting with her at the piano, and she would help me practice out of my first John Thompson book, my feet barely reaching over the edge of the piano bench.

Around the age of 7, I was introduced to Scott Joplin’s music, and soon after practicing the “easy” versions, I was playing the “Rags” by heart. One of my favorite childhood memories is of going on a family vacation to Disneyland and there, on Main Street, at one of the old-time ice-cream parlors, was a piano player dressed in a red and white candy-striped suit. I approached him and asked if I could play. He gave me a patronizing look and said he was sorry, but no; he had heard “Chopsticks” one too many times. Somehow, during his break, I decided to go up to the piano anyway, and play “Maple Leaf Rag.” A small crowd started to gather. I continued on with “The Entertainer” and, when I finished, to my young ears sounded as if a thunderous applause arose from the crowd. The last thing I remember is turning around to see that candy-striped piano player, his mouth agape, his eyes wide as saucers. Needless to say, my parents had not tried to stop me from showing him up!

Somehow, during the course of the next couple of years, I began to play by ear. I reproduced on the piano what I heard on the radio, and also began composing my own tunes. As primitive as my method of notation was at the time, I would write down the letter names of the notes to remember certain melodies. One of the things I loved most was to call the local radio station before I left to catch the bus to school in the morning. The DJ’s knew me there, as I would often call to request certain favorite songs. Eventually, I would offer to play and sing new compositions for them over the phone. One day, unbeknownst to me, one particular DJ put me on the air. That morning, my parents’ radio alarm-clock went off, and they were shocked into the new day hearing their 11 year old daughter singing and playing over the local airwaves!

By the time I was thirteen, I had reached a certain level of proficiency in my classical playing. My teacher had assigned me some Chopin “Etudes,” The Ravel “Sonatine” and a Mozart concerto that we would perform at the next recital with two pianos. My parents noticed that I was slacking off a bit on my practicing, that I was spending more time playing from the books of Broadway show tunes, the ‘real version’ of the Scott Joplin ‘Rags,’ and various popular sheet music that cascaded atop our piano. Our record collection, outside of an extensive classical repertoire, included 8 track tapes of John Denver, Karen Carpenter, and several Broadway shows. One day, my dad asked if I would be interested in taking some jazz piano lessons. I remember looking at him and asking, “Jazz? What’s jazz?” To which he replied, “I’m not exactly sure myself. But perhaps we can find you a teacher.”

The Longy School of Music in Cambridge, Massachusetts had a small jazz department – actually, a one man jazz department. His name was Peter Cassino, and when I called him one day and said that I was fourteen, he said he was sorry, but “I don’t accept any jazz piano students under the age of eighteen. You see, one just needs too much classical facility to play jazz.” Somehow, my father was able to convince Mr. Cassino to allow me to audition. “Just an audition,” he said. “You can listen to her play, and then whatever you decide, we will respect.” I have no recollection of the audition; I can only imagine I played one of the Chopin “Etudes” or some simple Bach “Preludes” that I’d been working on for years. All I know is that my lessons began soon thereafter.

One of the first things I remember Peter Cassino telling me was that I had to have the LP, “Kind of Blue,” by Miles Davis. Jazz was a music that was to be felt, listened to, and absorbed by the soul. I remember going to a used record store, finding the record, and bringing it home to play on the old turntable/speaker/am/fm radio set that sat atop my dresser. When I put on that record, I felt an urgency inside, and I knew that this was the music I really wanted to play. There were two pianists on that recording – Wynton Kelly and Bill Evans. When I listened to Bill Evans, I felt that I was hearing an angel from another world. He was the first and greatest influence on my foray into the world of jazz piano, and continues to be to this day.

I remember finding out that Dizzy Gillespie was going to be performing at a jazz club in Harvard Square one fall night, and my father was more than willing to take me to hear this living legend. We stood in line with the rest of the people, until at last we descended into the dark, cave-like chamber where night and day blended into one. It was my first experience in a jazz club, so I didn’t know what to expect when the man at the door looked at me, then asked my father how old I was. Upon learning I was sixteen, he shook his head; I was not to be admitted. My heart sank, but my dad put up a protest, and the man motioned him inside, while indicating that I was to wait by the door. A few moments later, my dad came back and, while my heart pounded, we were led to a table near the back of the room. My father had managed to convince the club manager that I was a serious student of the music and was there to listen, not to drink.

It turned out to be one of the most memorable nights of my life, and to this day we love to reminisce about how funny Mr. Gillespie was, how he flattered the audience with exaggerated compliments, like the one about what a great honor it was to be performing in one of the “Great Jazz Meccas – the Great Capitol of the Jazz World – Boston Massachusetts.” His horn looked funny, with the bell bent upward, toward the sky, and every time he took a breath his cheeks puffed out like a huge bullfrog’s. Somehow, it was both grotesque and captivating all at once. And then there was his sound – that incredible sound! Those incredible lines, and that rhythm, hypnotizing, electrifying, stirring up within me feelings that could not be matched by merely listening to a record. This was my first live concert, and it was here that I realized that jazz had to be a major part of my life.

Find me at: http://www.sarahjanecion.com