My Jazz Life During the 2020 Pandemic
Author: Alrick Huebener
[email protected]
Date: October 14, 2020
Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and are not necessarily those of Ottawa Jazz Happenings or of JazzWorks Canada.
When pianist and fellow jazz camper David Miller asked me to write something about life in the time of COVID, I agreed, thinking I could toss off a few charming words about being productive with Zoom music lessons, practising, participating in safe-distanced driveway concerts, watching live streamed music, and chatting with friends on social media.
All those things are happening. But it is dawning on me that we are just in the first half of the first year of this pandemic. Maybe a vaccine can be rolled out quickly, maybe not. But the smile is beginning to feel painted on.
First, I feel a sense of deep loss because of the pandemic. There is the tragedy of so many elders dying prematurely, including a bevy of jazz artists, part of the harsh march of a rising death count. But numbers numb. It is the loss of a fine local bassist, Howard Tweddle, that brings the pandemic up close and personal.
And there is the loneliness from the cancellation of all my musical activities with friends. Jazz with Thomas and Roch on Monday. Folk music with Roberta, Richard, and Julie on Tuesday. Jazz with David, David, Louis, and Derek on Wednesday. Jazz and general creative madness on bass and piano with Chris on Thursday. Then there were special projects, jazz jams, tai chi at the R.A. three days a week, concerts to attend, pubs for a pint, friends to just hang with – all of the beautiful moments that made up my life as a retired person. As someone said, the salad days are gone and now we are in the dessert stage of life. It tasted decadently sweet. All the sweeter when one senses that after dessert you may be allowed just one more aperitif before the permanent night.
I resisted playing with people at all earlier in the pandemic, but in the last few weeks have been playing at safe-distanced outdoor performances with Glebop, acutely aware that I am playing the charts – and with the personnel – that Howard Tweddle used. I hope I do him honour. There are no rehearsals; we just play from the charts and do the best we can. In some ways it is even more true to jazz than a fully rehearsed band. It feels really good to play in real time with real people like John Haysom and Bert Waslander, the surviving members of the Glebop Trio they had with Howard. Growing tired of just practising at home, they organized a series of neighourhood concerts. Helen sang. So did Betty Ann and Floyd, maintaining the Glebop tradition of inviting singers to their gigs. They also put the music to work to do good for our community. Each concert was a fundraiser for the Ottawa Food Bank. The audience hunger for live music was translated into generosity and, at latest count, some $4000 had been raised for the Ottawa Food Bank. This organization serves very real needs in our community, which have been amplified by all the job losses due to COVID. So it feels good to play. It also feels good to do good. Music is a high art. It is also a service. In this case it serves to put soul in the minds of listeners and food on the table of people in need.
I don’t mind playing with iReal on my iPad, but human beings are so much better. I went to a cottage driveway a few days ago and played with some jazz buddies there in a new configuration determined by who was available that day. My jazz buddies, David and Chris, turn up on bike and we have safe-distance conversations in the front yard. I cherish each of these moments. Alas, winter will soon arrive and we will need to find other ways to connect safely.
My feeling is that this a game of patience, focus, and endurance – not a sprint to quick victory. In a strange way, that is very much like jazz. It’s what you do day after day and how you stick with it over the years that pays off. Behind the flashes of brilliance in the soloing of a great jazz artist is a lot of determined and systematic work over many years. All of the great jazz artists also persevered in the face immense discrimination and used their creativity to knock down walls.
I am learning some things about myself. As the song says, I try to accentuate the positive. I try to keep my social media postings in that vein so that I do not contribute to the growing burden of gloom. Wake up and smell the flowers. I do. I enjoy our garden and flowers are frequent subjects of my videos. They are beautiful and incredibly cheap to hire.
I love Zoom. I hate Zoom. It is another screen to look at, but it is a vital connection to people and services we need. I love TV. I hate TV. I dealt with this not by cutting back, but by expanding services. I now get Netflix, Disney Channel Plus, and Apple TV. Disney is better for kids, so it may be replaced in a year’s time by Acorn or Britbox. I love FaceBook. I hate FaceBook. I saw the documentary about how we are all being manipulated. But I value my friends and family who hang out there. And it is a place to publish my crazy music videos (example). Some people actually watch them. It is my strange retirement hobby.
I am learning that it is possible to have a creative, rich life even in these circumstances. Although I get a bit tired of it, Zoom is a wonderful tool for my guitar lessons. Recently I also started cello lessons on Zoom. It is not perfect, but it is good enough. Other than playing with people when I can at an outdoor event or recording, I am not playing much bass. But my guitar lessons are on 7-string guitar, so Tim Bedner has me doing bass lines on the low B string. I have had my first cello lesson with Marion Elizabeth. Her tips on improving my bowing can be applied to bowing the upright bass. I had a chance to try that out bowing a chorus of a Beatles song at a gig at Unitarian House. So in branching out I am also seem to be returning home. It is all another turn in the circle of song.
I also fear for the future. We are not out of the woods. I am just a few molecules away from infection. The path of those molecules is determined by my behaviour and that of others in my community. Most are cooperating quite well and they have my respect. But, boy, there are sure some dummies, fools, and misguided and mischievous folks out there. My safety depends on that population being small, and right now the statistics are headed the wrong way, so they don’t give me comfort.
My plans are:
I feel very fortunate to be part of such a creative community of folks at JazzWorks who seem very informed about the pandemic, who share jokes, and who are pursuing artistic goals to keep body, mind, and spirit intact, and thriving through it all.
In a way, I feel a bit like this is a form of extended jazz camp. We have all gone to our separate practice cabins to work on stuff and will emerge from it all to make one hell of a loud and interesting concert at the end.
Alrick Huebener
All those things are happening. But it is dawning on me that we are just in the first half of the first year of this pandemic. Maybe a vaccine can be rolled out quickly, maybe not. But the smile is beginning to feel painted on.
First, I feel a sense of deep loss because of the pandemic. There is the tragedy of so many elders dying prematurely, including a bevy of jazz artists, part of the harsh march of a rising death count. But numbers numb. It is the loss of a fine local bassist, Howard Tweddle, that brings the pandemic up close and personal.
And there is the loneliness from the cancellation of all my musical activities with friends. Jazz with Thomas and Roch on Monday. Folk music with Roberta, Richard, and Julie on Tuesday. Jazz with David, David, Louis, and Derek on Wednesday. Jazz and general creative madness on bass and piano with Chris on Thursday. Then there were special projects, jazz jams, tai chi at the R.A. three days a week, concerts to attend, pubs for a pint, friends to just hang with – all of the beautiful moments that made up my life as a retired person. As someone said, the salad days are gone and now we are in the dessert stage of life. It tasted decadently sweet. All the sweeter when one senses that after dessert you may be allowed just one more aperitif before the permanent night.
I resisted playing with people at all earlier in the pandemic, but in the last few weeks have been playing at safe-distanced outdoor performances with Glebop, acutely aware that I am playing the charts – and with the personnel – that Howard Tweddle used. I hope I do him honour. There are no rehearsals; we just play from the charts and do the best we can. In some ways it is even more true to jazz than a fully rehearsed band. It feels really good to play in real time with real people like John Haysom and Bert Waslander, the surviving members of the Glebop Trio they had with Howard. Growing tired of just practising at home, they organized a series of neighourhood concerts. Helen sang. So did Betty Ann and Floyd, maintaining the Glebop tradition of inviting singers to their gigs. They also put the music to work to do good for our community. Each concert was a fundraiser for the Ottawa Food Bank. The audience hunger for live music was translated into generosity and, at latest count, some $4000 had been raised for the Ottawa Food Bank. This organization serves very real needs in our community, which have been amplified by all the job losses due to COVID. So it feels good to play. It also feels good to do good. Music is a high art. It is also a service. In this case it serves to put soul in the minds of listeners and food on the table of people in need.
I don’t mind playing with iReal on my iPad, but human beings are so much better. I went to a cottage driveway a few days ago and played with some jazz buddies there in a new configuration determined by who was available that day. My jazz buddies, David and Chris, turn up on bike and we have safe-distance conversations in the front yard. I cherish each of these moments. Alas, winter will soon arrive and we will need to find other ways to connect safely.
My feeling is that this a game of patience, focus, and endurance – not a sprint to quick victory. In a strange way, that is very much like jazz. It’s what you do day after day and how you stick with it over the years that pays off. Behind the flashes of brilliance in the soloing of a great jazz artist is a lot of determined and systematic work over many years. All of the great jazz artists also persevered in the face immense discrimination and used their creativity to knock down walls.
I am learning some things about myself. As the song says, I try to accentuate the positive. I try to keep my social media postings in that vein so that I do not contribute to the growing burden of gloom. Wake up and smell the flowers. I do. I enjoy our garden and flowers are frequent subjects of my videos. They are beautiful and incredibly cheap to hire.
I love Zoom. I hate Zoom. It is another screen to look at, but it is a vital connection to people and services we need. I love TV. I hate TV. I dealt with this not by cutting back, but by expanding services. I now get Netflix, Disney Channel Plus, and Apple TV. Disney is better for kids, so it may be replaced in a year’s time by Acorn or Britbox. I love FaceBook. I hate FaceBook. I saw the documentary about how we are all being manipulated. But I value my friends and family who hang out there. And it is a place to publish my crazy music videos (example). Some people actually watch them. It is my strange retirement hobby.
I am learning that it is possible to have a creative, rich life even in these circumstances. Although I get a bit tired of it, Zoom is a wonderful tool for my guitar lessons. Recently I also started cello lessons on Zoom. It is not perfect, but it is good enough. Other than playing with people when I can at an outdoor event or recording, I am not playing much bass. But my guitar lessons are on 7-string guitar, so Tim Bedner has me doing bass lines on the low B string. I have had my first cello lesson with Marion Elizabeth. Her tips on improving my bowing can be applied to bowing the upright bass. I had a chance to try that out bowing a chorus of a Beatles song at a gig at Unitarian House. So in branching out I am also seem to be returning home. It is all another turn in the circle of song.
I also fear for the future. We are not out of the woods. I am just a few molecules away from infection. The path of those molecules is determined by my behaviour and that of others in my community. Most are cooperating quite well and they have my respect. But, boy, there are sure some dummies, fools, and misguided and mischievous folks out there. My safety depends on that population being small, and right now the statistics are headed the wrong way, so they don’t give me comfort.
My plans are:
- Survive
- Take care of the people I love
- Be a friend and good neighbour
- Do no harm
- Emerge healthy and a better musician and person
I feel very fortunate to be part of such a creative community of folks at JazzWorks who seem very informed about the pandemic, who share jokes, and who are pursuing artistic goals to keep body, mind, and spirit intact, and thriving through it all.
In a way, I feel a bit like this is a form of extended jazz camp. We have all gone to our separate practice cabins to work on stuff and will emerge from it all to make one hell of a loud and interesting concert at the end.
Alrick Huebener