Tuesday Favorites: The Day the Music Died

My music of choice has always been classical or jazz. I like some old rock as well, but I am decidedly behind on whatever music is popular now. I think the last concert I attended was Earth, Wind, and Fire, for goodness' sake...

Among my very few favorite contemporary musicians is the jazz pianist and singer Peter Cincotti...

...and he's sort of a long story.

I was introduced to him towards the end of a miserable relationship by an old friend of mine. He was all of 20 years of age when she saw him perform at the Ella Fitzgerald Festival in Newport News. She played me the first song of his first cd and I was instantly hooked at the playful piano and bass echoing each other. The song lyrics had a certain... late teenage arrogance to them... but the music itself was just great, energetic jazz. He reminded me so much of myself... my inelegant habits of twisting my bitterness into braids of art. His other lyrics on the album were brilliant, sad, but striking. His piano skills are extremely impressive. And I love the sound of his voice... mostly because it's so average, but has obviously wanted to say so much. He's not trying to be Frank or Dean or even Tony... he's being himself.

He actually performed Rainbow Connection on this album... how much more simple and beautiful can you get? Just him and the piano... and a tribute to Kermit the Frog.

After hearing this cd, another one came out with an updated band, a slightly different sound. There are a few uninteresting pieces that still reflect a young man working towards adulthood, but the instrumental talent and vocal honesty continued. He wrote one of my favorite songs for this cd entitled He's Watching. This is another very simple song with his voice, the band playing softly, reverently alongside him, and some violins for the climax. The song is dedicated to his father who died a year or two before the album was released. I always felt as though we were reaching up and grabbing cloud fluff together and I would think of my grandmother.

With this music to comfort me, I survived what I refer to as "the bad year" of having my self-confidence and worth trampled upon. It was toward the end of this year that the opportunity arose - Peter was on tour. I found that I had the chance to attend two of his performances.

I went to the first one with my dear, late friend, Mister John. He had seen much of my trouble that previous year and made a gift of a trip to Morgantown, WV. The performance took place in the university theater. We sat a little further away than I had wanted... but, even from a distance, I could still tell the performers were tired. The music was amazing, but I recognized a droopiness to their moments between songs.

I blame this fatigue on the events to follow.

I saw people working their way to a back room while the bulk of the audience was leaving the theater. I curiously followed the first group of people where a widely smiling woman greeted me. "Oh, hi! Go on in! Peter will be down in just a few minutes. Grab some dessert and coffee!"

"Um, okay."

I texted Mister John asking him to hurry back to where I was... he took pictures of my stupid, nervous moments with him...

Peter walked in... seemed a little taller than I thought he'd be. Seemed tired. As I stared, Mister John poked me in the side. "What's wrong with you? Go talk to him! Save him from those idiots!" Peter had been cornered by two obnoxious girls asking him if they looked Latino to him (Gd, give me patience). I pushed my way through and Peter and I laughed together momentarily about the two girls. I asked him a handful of questions as coolly and casually as I could despite my ridiculous, adolescent, heart-pounding, butterfly feelings.

I learned just a few things... among them, concerning a ring he always wears on his pinkie finger. In all his pictures online or on his albums, he wears that ring. Of course, I considered this tacky... until I found out that it belonged to his grandfather. I pointed to the ring I always wear on my third finger. My grandmother's wedding band. The briefest moment of strangers knowing each other arrived... and went.

He also admitted that he and the band were worn out from traveling. They got off the bus and walked right on stage it seemed. I worked through my congratulations since it was still a wonderful show and mentioned I'd be at the concert in Maryland the week after. He said he'd see me then.

I talked to his bass player after I left him... now completely wired from the experience. The musician seemed amused by my enthusiasm. He mentioned that I should come out with him and the band after the concert next week.

"Well, okay."

The next week, I stayed with Anya and we ventured out together to a really interesting venue. It was a small hall in a restaurant, tables packed into the room l practically on top of each other. My table was so close to the stage, that if I reached out and leaned over, I could have touched Peter's piano bench. He played some of my favorites as well as new material he was working on for his next album (and I'll come back to that album). I wrote furiously in my journal to commemorate the occasion.

After the concert, the bass player called me on my cell to ask me where I was. He and the sax player came to the coffeehouse where Anya and I were having an espresso with a lady we met at the concert. We all walked away together to some club a block or two down the street. I could get into the specifics, but I think I'm content to leave most of that evening in my journal...

I will say, however, that Peter is different when he's rested and awake. His guard was definitely up and he was less warm, less familiar. The only honest moment I was able to squeeze from him came from a conversation I had to steal from one of the other band members. I told him I couldn't imagine what it was like to be him. He shrugged, sighed. Looked me dead in the eye. "Hell - I don't know what it's like to be me..."

My guess, after listening to his third album, is that he still doesn't.

I'm about two years behind in hearing anything from the latest album. It sounds like he took a lot of "good advice" from people in the biz... because it doesn't sound like him anymore. The great piano playing is still there, but now there's so much... stuff. He used to be in a jazz band. Now he has synthesizers and guitars and who knows what else. It's as though he's trying to be... isn't there a band called Coldplay? He's throwing his voice out... I mean, it feels like over-cracking your back. His lyrics are still bittersweet, and at moments thought-provoking... I still hear things with which I used to strongly relate... but the soul is lost. This is not what he started out trying to do. The new songs he played for us years ago are on this album... but they've been stripped of the pure, awesome jazz band sound they had that night...

I realize to a certain extent that you have to appeal to the masses before you have the freedom to do what you really want to do with your art... but, I guess I don't care. I miss looking forward to that which I knew he was capable. I looked at his new official website... it used to be clean and friendly. There were casual pictures of him goofing off with his band members in countries around the world. He was like that guy with whom you went to school who always made everyone laugh. He could have been your first love or your best friend. There was something about his earlier work, his original look, his older, pure sound that made him someone I knew... but this smarmy guy on the website with the stupid hair, the fake coquette tilt of the head, the pop-y garbage veiling his true talent...

...it makes today the day that the music which spoke to me most died.