A Little Improvisation

For years business pundits have been telling us that we should all innovate like jazz musicians.  You know--improvise around a theme, solo only when we’re supposed to, harmonize precisely when we should, and always swing in the groove with our bandmates.  IBM even has “a technology platform for collaborative software delivery” called Jazz.  (If that confuses you, quoting now from the website, “You can think of Jazz as an extensible framework that dynamically integrates and synchronizes people, processes, and assets associated with software development projects.”)  Just like jazz, see? 

The clear problem, of course, is that few of us listen to jazz, and almost none us know how to play it.  We might as well be told to “structure our Sales meetings like a fourteenth-century architect would design an archivolted portal,” or maybe “set strategy like they used to make bratwurst in Bavaria.” 

The truth is, if we knew how to play jazz, design an archivolted portal, or make bratwurst, we’d probably be off doing those things instead of running Sales meetings or setting strategy in the first place.

So I was delighted to finally find an example of how improvisation is really done in jazz—and in life--when I stumbled upon a story about Wynton Marsalis playing at the Village Vanguard in August 2002.  This was an especially hard time for Marsalis, who had for two decades, according to author David Hajdu, “ruled the jazz universe, enjoying virtually unqualified admiration as a musician and unsurpassed influence as the music’s leading promoter and definer.”

But by 2002, some of the wheels had come loose on the wagon.  Marsalis had parted ways with Colombia.   His work running Jazz at Lincoln Center was coming under fire.  And he himself was being roundly and increasingly criticized for his seemingly narrow definition of jazz.  On the bandstand that evening he looked, to Hajdu, “older and heavier. . .[like] there was a weight upon him; he didn’t smile, and his eyes were small and affectless.”

Sounds like what goes on in my bathroom mirror every Monday morning. 

But here comes the lesson in improvisation, and you’re going to like it:

Marsalis and his trumpet were being showcased with the ballad, “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of a Chance With You,” easily in the top ten of the most plaintiff, melancholy songs ever written.  Hajdu wrote, Marsalis “performed the song in murmurs and sighs, at points nearly talking the words in notes.  It was a wrenching act of creative expression.  When he reached the climax, Marsalis played the final phrase, the title statement, in declarative tones, allowing each successive note to linger in the air a bit longer.  “I don’t stand. . .a ghost. . .of. . .a. . .chance. . . .”  The room was silent until, at the most dramatic point, someone’s cell phone went off, blaring a rapid sing-song melody in electronic beeps.  People started giggling and picking up their drinks.  The moment—the whole performance—unraveled.”

I hate when that happens. 

I suppose, at that point, there were questions if Marsalis would simply storm off stage.  Throw his trumpet.  Rage at the audience.  Curl up in the fetal position.

But here’s what happened instead:

“Marsalis paused for a beat, motionless, and his eyebrows arched.  The cell-phone offender scooted into the hall as the chatter in the room grew louder.   Still frozen at the microphone, Marsalis replayed the silly cell-phone melody note for note. Then he repeated it, and began improvising variations on the tune. The audience slowly came back to him. In a few minutes he resolved the improvisation--which had changed keys once or twice and throttled down to a ballad tempo--and ended up exactly where he had left off: “with. . .you. . . .” The ovation was tremendous. 

That I get.  That’s how we really innovate, or at least, try.  That’s improvisation, clear as day. 

At your worst moment, when the ringtone of disaster threatens the solo of your life, may you improvise the way Wynton Marsalis did that night.  Just like a jazz musician.

(This story is from a terrific article, “Wynton’s Blues,” written by David Hajdu in The Atlantic, March 2003.  The link is above.  Marsalis, of course, recovered beautifully and has gone on to even greater heights.  See my post about his recent book here.  Incidentally, my research into jazz is coming to an end and I'll be shifting gears soon, so I promise not too post much more on the topic.  Besides, I'm saving the best stuff for the book.)

Posted by Entrepreneur Generations

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