Three Word Thursday: McCoy Tyner
McCoy Tyner was a great jazz pianist. In a workshop in the 1990s, he said three words that stuck with me.
I’d spent summer weeks at the Stanford Jazz Workshop for about five years when pianist McCoy Tyner showed up on the faculty.
My first reaction was surprise and a little disorientation. Jim Nadel, the resourceful founder and director, had brought some of the 20th century’s greatest musicians to the Workshop faculty. But..the pianist who played with saxophonist John Coltrane when Trane was considered the most important player of several decades? Then left Coltrane and became a band leader on his own because he didn’t agree with the atonal free-jazz direction the band was going? Daunting.
During the week, Tyner seemed reserved but accessible. Still, his reputation and professional stature always seemed to accompany him as he walked around the campus.
The workshop had coaching and instructional chores that most of the faculty’s jazz greats took in stride. McCoy agreed to listen to a student ensemble performing for an audiece of other students, then critique their group performance as a group and as individuals. About eight students performed an uptempo ballad.
McCoy joined them on the bandstand and worked his way around the group. To the student on his own instrument he said, “Mr. Piano Player, you’re getting pretty adventurous with those chords. You’re creating a harmonic composition and not listening to your bandmates. You’re going to get too concentrated on your next chord and lose your place in the song form. Then you’re going to have to pause and listen to the band for a few bars to figure out where you are in the song. Then, everybody’s going to know what happened—the people in the band, the audience—everybody.”
He had taken no notes, but gave each player a similar analysis. He wasn’t harsh but didn’t seem to concentrate on what a student had done well.
The alto sax player was among the last few player to hear from Tyner, who said, “You’re not playing rhythmically.”
The student said, “The bass and drums are keeping the rhythm. That’s not my job. I’m improvising a melody.”
McCoy Tyner’s posture shifted. You could tell something was coming. He lifted his gaze to take in first the band, then the whole student audience. He waited until he had everyone’s attention.
”Everybody plays time.”
“Time” is a word musicians use interchangeably with “rhythm.” Everybody in the room knew that they had just gotten a significant course-correction to apply to their own playing. Nope, you’re never off the hook for playing rhythmically. It’s your job to figure out how to work with the band’s rhythmic pattern and pulse every second, and contribute what’s natural and appropriate for your instrument to sharpen the rhythmic feel and reinforce the other players’ rhythmic pulse.
On the final day of the workshop, McCoy joined a group of faculty and students under a canopy for beer and conversation.
I made my way to speak with him and said, “I appreciate what you said during the combo critique. I’ve heard that thought many ways, but never stated more clearly.”
He smiled a little and said, “I’m glad I said something that made sense!”e f
This is the first in a series of posts about the power of short, clear statements. I’m calling the project Three Word Thursday. I will post pieces on Thursdays that are built around a three-word statement that has clarity and power.