CYCLING AND THE ART OF SOLO PIANO

When I was asked to play a set of solo piano jazz for a wedding reception a few weeks back, I became quite nervous. I’d been playing piano in combos, big bands and everything else in between for the last 4 years, but always only by “hammer and tongs”. Briefly, this style splits the RH for improvised melodic lines, and the LH for rootless chords to establish a harmonic reference and outline the form. It’s used by 90% of all jazz pianists in the world today, and it’s the most effective method when playing with a rhythm section, since the bass lines will be laid down by the bassist and the pianist occupies a different space and minimize clashing. If the pianist tries to do too much in this context, he risks doubling up on the bassist, sounding very muddy and amateurish, and pissing off the rest of the band in general.

However, playing solo is a very different kettle of fish. Great soloists come to mind, eg Art Tatum, Martial Solal, George Shearing and McCoy Tyner. Never mind trying to emulate these masters, I don’t even think I measure up to some nameless lounge pianists (whom I greatly respect) who ply their lonely trades night in, night out for minimum wage. So as the gig loomed near, I had to force myself to sit down at the piano and re-learn everything I know about playing jazz, or risk boring or irritating the hell out of the invited guests.

There is freedom on the piano and the bike.

One of life’s greatest contradictions is “freedom”. It is a concept which most reasonable people will agree is a fundamental need and human right. Yet, it is ironic that many do not know what to do with it when it is handed to them on a silver platter. Many end up abusing it. Others, like prisoners who have spent many years being told what to do and when to do it, have been conditioned to live without freedom and when it is time to be released, they face fear and apprehension and actually prefer to stay in prison.

Like the prisoner, I was terrified of the prospect of playing solo. It meant that I could no longer rely on others to complete the musical picture or give me cues as to what to do next. I was utterly on my own, responsible for every mistake and bum-note. It was truly, indubitably scary.

My first few attempts to play a song (I think it was “Long Ago and Far Away” ballad style) were clumsy and musically inept. I struggled to find artistic meaning in what I was doing. Instead of shunning bass lines like I would normally do, these had become mandatory. But I also needed to make my playing interesting rather than just play stride (a type of pattern that goes “bass-chord-bass-chord” like a Joplin rag) or worse yet, the bane of all amateur pianists, the LH-repeated-10^th-arpeggio (a la Richard Clayderman). On top of all that, I had to bring the musical message across to the audience. It was all getting to be a bit much, and I was on the verge of calling it quits, until all of a sudden, it dawned on me. The thing that I feared the most – freedom - could also work in my favour.

One of the best things about being able to play jazz piano is harmonic freedom. I discovered that as long as I stay within the bounds of the song form, I am able to take off into flights of fancy that I would never have been able to do in a band setting. The strait jacket, as it were, is taken off and the freedom takes a bit of getting used to. I realized I could make use of all the little harmonic devices I had found so interesting over the years, but had no opportunity to use in a combo or big band. I was able to inject these harmonic ideas, sometimes a little passing chord or substitution, at other times extended forays into modal arguments, into the song without fearing that I would break down the musical glue that is necessary to hold me to the rest of the band. As long as I keep strictly within the boundaries of the song form, and respect the time-keeping and standards of good taste, the sky is the limit as to what I can do for the song. Once I got going, and let my fingers and mind go free, the adrenaline and endorphin rush which accompanies a particularly daring push into the unknown (with a tether to safety) makes me feel as if I am flying, and nothing else matters at the time. I am “in the zone”, a place which musicians refer to as the “headspace”. By the time I am done, I feel as if the piano and I have become one, and through the instrument, I have explored another dimension of life, however briefly and incompletely.

Solo cycling is very similar. Some cyclists don’t like to ride alone, but that is a shame because there are immense joys to be found in cycling by oneself. Everything that is humdrum and routine about our lives, every worry and anxiety, vanishes the second we push off on our bicycle. The wind pushes against our face gently and blows away all cobwebs and dust from our brains. It is putting our head into that space where only one thing matters – the experience. We enter the zone almost immediately, without need for lengthy rituals, incantations or ingestions. When cycling by himself, the rider:

·         Has absolute freedom to go wherever he wants, at whatever speed he wishes, to improvise the ride as it were.

·         Answers to nobody and only has himself to satisfy or compete against.

·         Is alone with his own thoughts and is able to use this time to work things out, just like the way legendary martial artist Bruce Lee uses his daily running time to organize his thoughts and prioritize his life.

·         Can try out little tricks which may be risky in a group ride (eg riding without hands or taking an inside line on a corner).

·         Can push the limits of his endurance and power, with no one else there to think or worry about.

All through this, the bicycle becomes a physical extension of the cyclist. He is flying through the air as it were, using nothing but his own steam, and giving his body a thorough workout. It may only be 2 kilometres, or 200, it doesn’t matter. Cyclists usually report that after a ride, although they may be exhausted and spent, somehow they also feel refreshed, and somehow spiritually renewed.

Like the piano, the bicycle is not just a tool, but the instrument through which we find ourselves entering into a different realm. Through it, we obtain freedom without strings attached, without side-effects, without undue sacrifices. Perhaps it is this tremendous ability to achieve freedom with such ease and at such relatively low cost that makes the bicycle (and the piano) hold a very special place in the hearts of many people.