I’m really not sure what tone to strike with this retirement blog about last week’s summer school. It would be all too easy to focus on all the negatives but I’m going to try to tease out the plus points. Of which there were a number but which are all too easy to over-look.
First, and I suppose foremost, there is the stone cold fact that I did it, all four days and the evening gig as well. Some proof in the photo above, not very clear and me circled doesn’t really help but that’s what I got. This latter aspect – the gig – of summer school verges on the terrifying, for me. Until the last year of a live summer school (as against the Zoom version of last year and lockdown) I had bottled it as we professionals say and stayed at home. This year for the second time I went.
On the additional plus side I played on all 6 songs (the only musician to do so). On the slightly less positive side I decided not to take a solo during the gig. A sensible decision as I hadn’t really played one to my satisfaction during the week so didn’t have one I could call on at the gig.
I said I’d start positive and I have but this solo business hints at one of the great paradoxes or confusions of summer school. When the tutors are going round the room calling on people to have a blow (code for take a solo, even on the piano) I’m sitting there half of me wanting to be chosen and the other half (and you can’t get more of a paradox than that) desperate to be avoided. But, as I say if you don’t try out solos during the class you haven’t got one ‘under your fingers’ for the gig.
Another proper positive is that I got 5 or 6 (who’s counting?) compliments about my playing. That’s a welcome change from previous years. Mrs Summerhouse asked me who I performed for. Was it for my own satisfaction or did I want the praise / recognition from my peers? Now I’m no fool, I know the right answer to this question but the truth is of course quite different and it brings to mind one of my favourite Brian Clough stories as told by and starring Martin O’Neil.
This story will mean little to you if you’re not an (English) football fan and familiar with the legendary Brian Clough, manager of Nottingham Forest. But here goes. Martin was an every day journeyman of a footballer. Played solidly and unflashingly in midfield. The back bone of the team. Did the hard yards, rarely scored goals. The type of player every team needed but didn’t get much glory.
A bit like my piano-playing in a jazz context in case you’ve missed the point. He told how John Roberston, a skilful, tricky goal-scoring left winger who got lots of glory. For example, from Brian Clough when he did something spectacular, which was often, he got a thumbs up. Brian was not an effusive manager so a thumbs up was high praise indeed. Martin, when telling the story, said he would have killed for one of Brian’s thumbs up, but never got one.
So a bit like my experience at summer school except this time I got a few thumbs up. Of course it’s never enough and making a mistake felt far more significant. Except I didn’t really make any mistakes simply because I kept my performance very low key. I tried to make sure I played within my skill level (a life message here?). Hence keeping my solos to a minimum during the week and none at all at the gig.
I’m not sure how I feel about this choice in retrospect but then this typifies the confusion that summer school causes for me. Like the ‘ask me to play / don’t ask me to play’ business. Another confusing area is the social side of the week. I’ve commented on this before in my reviews of past weeks. My social skills, specifically my humour, have no chance to shine. What would usually be one of my strengths lies buried under my insecurities.
I’m not by nature a shy and needy sort of guy, until summer school rolls around. I don’t feel able to introduce myself with a charming, hi, I’m Peter, I’m your piano player, kind of way. I let them come to me and here’s the thing, they don’t. True, once again, there was a little bit more social interaction at lunchtime than in previous years but not one hell of a lot.
And speaking of previous years I always used to rate the week around criteria such as – did I have fun? How did the social side go? And one about how much did I learn? I’ve probably said before that I do not think summer school is a great format for learning – too many people at different levels but with a generally higher skill level than me, most of the learning aimed at the horns not the rhythm section. All this I knew so I can’t really complain. Although I am. And yes, that’s the way predictably it was last week.
And finally let me return to a frequently-visited theme of my recent retirement blogs. Namely setting myself challenges. Yes, it’s that ‘rage against the dying of the light’ thing again and hopefully I’ve got the quote right this time. There’s healthy, keep the dementia at bay, challenge and against this, plain, bloody stupid stress-generating challenge that does nobody, least of all a retired person, any good.
I thought about this ‘paradox / contradiction’ as I played. I also thought about Martin O’Neill and his need for a thumbs up. I thought about a lot of things. I wondered whether this would be my last summer school (my fifth I think). I thought about the people who were usually there but weren’t this time. The guy who, because of the pandemic, was depressed and couldn’t bring himself to get on the bus. About the drummer and a guitarist who had just disappeared from the scene and I realised with their absence that I was now the oldest person at the gathering.
I asked one of the guitarist who remained how old he was (hoping he’d be older) he was 72. When I told him how old I was, 73, he punched the air. Bastard, nice guy apart from his age. You can see why I find summer school such a puzzling experience and quite hard to write about in any kind of balanced way. But there we are, I’ve tried.