datamusicata

Coming back from the gym this morning, I realized that I enjoy that routine. I like to get up and go to the gym first thing, mainly because if I don’t do it then, most likely I won’t do it. And that got me thinking about routines and the benefits of them.

I remember my friend Paul Zollo inviting me to participate in a Dylanfest at the Knitting Factory in Hollywood. I didn’t really know any Dylan songs, so I went thru his catalog and picked a couple that I thought I could do justice and then I began practicing those songs.

If I may digress for a moment, I had gotten to a bad place psychologically with regard to my music, my abilities, my age, etc. I had an old road guitar that needed a lot of work and I thought “why bother?”. I mean I was despondent. But I began practicing every day, because I wanted to not look bad up there against all the other folks—sometimes the ego is a very useful thing.

As I began to practice every single day, I started getting better. (duh)   More authority, more control, more joy in the doing, and the doing became easier and easier. I ended up so in love with making music that I went out and bought a beautiful new Taylor guitar that played and sounded so much better than my old Washburn. And my playing improved more.

But the point here is that I played every day for two hours for about three weeks and the improvement was remarkable. I vowed to do that every day for the rest of my life. That lasted about another week and then life intervened and the routine fell by the wayside.

Looking back at that, I can’t help but wonder where I would be as a musician, composer, singer, and performer if I had kept that vow and been practicing solidly at least two hours a day since 2000.

There is the apocryphal story of Robert Johnson disappearing for six months and coming back full of brilliance. Some say he sold his soul to the devil, but I think he just did the woodshedding work that is required to become great. There is the same story about Frank Sinatra. He disappeared into some lodge/saloon in the mountains of New Jersey for six months and practiced day and night. He came back to become one of the greatest vocalists of the last century. But I have a first hand story that really drove the point home for me.

When I lived in Santa Cruz, across the street was a family with a little mother-in-law unit over the garage. They rented it out to some fellow, who moved in with a suitcase and a piano (which he rented and had delivered). Every day at 9 am, this guy would start playing the piano. I could faintly hear him from my home. It was an acoustic piano and not loud, but discernable.

He played that simple left hand boogie woogie figure that we all know. He was terrible. But somehow he kept at it for hours and days and soon he added his right hand doing chords and blues figures. He lived there for six months and he played, I kid you not, six hours a day. He must have saved up and then went away to devote himself to learning to play boogie woogie piano. He didn’t seem to have a job, just this practicing and resting and practicing, six hours a day. At the end of the six months he was playing his buns off.

Now few of us can devote that kind of time to our passion. And few of us have the discipline to actually do it. But this I promise you. If you can do an hour a day for forty days in a row, you will not be able to NOT do an hour a day after that. And you will be astounded at what you can do after that commitment.  Maybe not great, but you will most definitely be on the road to greatness.  I’m making that practicing commitment right now. One hour a day, no matter what for the next forty days. Coming with me?