Chord Changes

-- By MitchellHokanson - 31 May 2017

I cannot count how many times I thought about quitting. Every time I picked up that trombone to play, I felt scared. Those small letters atop the measures, the tangs of the cymbal, the ever-walking bass – they overwhelmed me. I always felt dizzy.

Solo Practitioner

I never had monk-like focus, nerve, or memory. When I was just starting out, I felt nervous every time I had to stand up and deliver my piece. My tongue as dry as sandpaper, the rest of the band miles away, I felt alone and lost.

Over time I got a little better. My chops improved, I amassed licks, and got more comfortable—with everything but improv, that is.

Improv worried me because I was afraid to play a wrong note. I didn’t want to ruin the song that we had all worked so hard to create, so I typically passed them on to another. In the organized chaos of jazz, I wasn’t going to be the one to destroy the beauty of it all. It was nerve-wracking and paralyzing.

But I got over it.

Taking a Shot

Getting over the fear of making the wrong decision was easier than I had imagined. I simply decided that the next time I stood up, I would make a choice and stick to it—no what-ifs, or second guesses.

So I did. I played my heart out, sticking to the chords mostly, but not completely. I strayed from the changes, I tested the limits of my musical knowledge, and I felt a spark of creativity. I spoke through my horn – as easy as a conversation with an old friend – and my dread transformed into a craving for more.

I realized then that there are no wrong notes. There are only notes that you play and like, and notes that you play and hate. Sidney Bechet, born jazz-infused in New Orleans, made a better argument than I ever could.

He shot at a guy for telling him he played a wrong note.

Now, I am not advocating shooting people who disagree with this perspective, but Bechet had a point. Jazz is not just about the notes you play—it is about the feeling those notes are imbued with. Jazz is art. Jazz is passion. Jazz is choice. Jazz is about making your notes count.

Cannonball

The first year of law school has come and gone. It was difficult. I went in one person, and came out the other side largely the same, but weathered, like a projectile that comes screaming out the end of a cannon.

Like that cannonball, I have felt like I have been hurtling to a future out of my control. Aimed at Lower Manhattan, and fired from the Upper West Side, the only thing that could affect me, I thought, was gravity.

And for the most part, I have been okay with it. I was scared to try to change my trajectory, lest I miss out on the lucrative future that people say is mine to lose. If I accept and follow the normal path, I can have riches and security. That sounded nice to me.

Suspension

But after my last final, I took a seat in my most comfortable chair and put on one of my favorite jazz albums—I needed to relax. The first song of the album, Mohawk, was one of the first songs I learned to jam on (chosen because ‘Mohawk’ conjured up an image of the rugged individualist I fiercely wanted to be, and because I wanted to learn to play like J.J.).

It made me nostalgic.

But more than that, it made me remember just how much I loved that feeling of choice. That feeling you can only get by dancing amongst the chords, rolling with the changes, and conversing with the drums, bass and keys. Driving on to discover my own path, like air through the horn, is one of the most exhilarating feelings I have ever felt.

That’s when I realized that if I had any shot at feeling the same way in my law career, I was going to need to bring along a lesson from the chords of my old life to the chords of my new one.

Resolution

I guess I am not like a cannonball, in more ways than one. I can choose to alter my course, just like I can choose the notes I play. It is not for anyone else to decide, but me. As long as I choose my path, I can’t go wrong.

But this attitude does not mean that I am just going to fly by the seat of my pants for the rest of my life. I will keep collecting licks and keep developing my chops—which is just as important in law as it is in jazz. So long as I keep learning, I can always change key if I find myself in the wrong place.

Call me Nat

I am not a new person, nor am I a Bird, a ‘Trane, a Duke, or a Cannonball. I’m a listener, an artist, a student, and one day I’ll be a lawyer. But no matter how my life or the chords change, the one thing I will not be is stagnant.

It seems like Columbia has sentenced me to five years labor, but I think I’ll forge my own path instead. Working and slaving on the big law chain gang breaking rocks is not going to bring me the satisfaction I need to survive—I think I’ll make my own decisions.