"Mellow-Yellow"

As I write these words, I am working on a sixties performance with Noam Tsur, a new friend from the hi-tech sector who is a rip-roaring guitarist and musician. Three weeks ago we were putting together a song list for our show (it now includes some of our favorite tunes including “Jet Plane, Don’t Think Twice It’s Albright, Feeling Groovy, So Long Marianne and many others”). We were talking about one of my (everyone’s?) top musical heroes of that era, Donovan and wondering which of his songs to include.

A few days later I was on my way to attend DLD, a weird and wondrous annual event in Munich, invited by Yossi Vardi and the folks at Burda who organize this amazing conference (check it out at http://www.dld-conference.com/. This meeting brings together about 800 amazing people, many from the internet and publishing sectors, but also world class scientists, philosophers, business folks and so on. At the opening of the event, the co-organizer, Steffi Czerny introduced the musician to open the conference. You guessed it, Donovan!!!!!! He sang briefly (green guitar, long hair) and then sped off to prepare for his performance in Munich that evening. I immediately regretted not having gone over to him, to shake his hand, tell him how much joy he had brought me over the years.

To my great fortune, he appeared again at the end of the meeting (for a wonderful rendition of ‘Atlantis’, he hasn’t lost anything of his musicianship and charm). This time I did gather the courage, went over to him, had my picture taken, told him how much I loved his work. And he sped off again.

Earlier that morning, I had the great fortune of singing a spontaneous duet with Randi Zuckerberg, an awesome singer who supports her musical career by working at Facebook (joke, she is Mark’s sister and one of the chief movers and shakers at FB). Steffi kindly reciprocated by inviting me to lunch with a cadre of the amazing folks who lectured at the meeting. I asked Itay Talgam to be my ‘date’ and we sauntered over to the restaurant for lunch. Actually we sauntered quickly since it was about -10 C outside.

Guess who was sitting in the corner of the restaurant at a table with Steffi and other dignitaries? None other than Donovan. I dared not go over to say hello, having prostrated myself at his feet only an hour earlier. At some stage during lunch, Itay pulled me over to the piano (didn’t take much pulling) and I started to play. Next thing you know, Donovan passed by. “Donovan”, said Itay, “why not sing a song with us (Itay you should know is a ballsy guy and a world famous conductor himself). Donovan replied that he hadn’t brought his guitar along. I started playing "Mellow Yellow", and the next thing you know, there we are, Donovan and me, jamming together. There is no proof, except for a few pix that Itay took on his cell. And Itay, who was there, and now has to outlive me, in case anyone doubt this story, he was there.

I then got up, went over to Donovan , hugged him, told him that actually my favorite song of his was “To Try for the Sun”, and the next thing you know, there we are, singing it from memory (his better than mine).

“And who’s going to be the one,

To say it was no good, what we done,

I dare a man to say I’m too yo-u-n-g,

For I’m going to try for the sun…”

Donovan is about 63, and hasn’t lost a bit of his hair or his charm. His agent told us he would be starting a world tour, including Israel, so I am starting a local fan club on Facebook. Check out why the whole world fell in love with him when he was about 19 years old "Catch the Wind".

But here's the thing. Imagine an 18 year-old me back in 1969, sitting on Kibbutz Urim, and strumming "Yellow is the Color of My True Love's Hair" on guitar, using the chicken-plucking technique that Steve Plaut has just taught me. Along comes an apparition (bearded translucent and wearing a white robe, hovering six inches above the floor) and says "Young Mel, I am your rock and roll angel from above. If you behave yourself, forty years from now you will be singing "Mellow Yellow" with Donovan." Who would have believed?

Frank Parkinson

It is the early summer of 1959. Ottawa. The crocuses have blossomed.
I have just completed my first year's study of piano with the formidable Sandra Coupal (I am glad to see there is now a prize given in her memor each year). She is a stern, but excellent teacher of classical piano on Daly Street. I am one of her better young first year students, and am elected to play God Save the Queen at the yearly concert. My other piece is Clowns by Kabalevsky. I can still hum the tune.
After months of practice and preparation, the day of the concert arrives. The students are catatonic. Like gymnasts, we stick our hands into powder, to keep the sweat from causing our fingers to slip. I can still remember how nervous I was.
The concerts take place at the cavernous Academic Hall. It seems to me like there were five hundred people in the audience (more like 150 according to my parents). I finish my pieces thankfully, and can lean back and listen to the others. Helen Fields was good. But the best of all was another first year student, who was about sixteen at the time.
His name was Frank Parkinson, and he was awesome. I can't remember the piece he played, but it was daunting for any first year student of any age.
Two years later, another concert at Academic Hall. I can't remember the pieces I played, but I recall Frank's performance like it was yesterday. He played Rhapsody in Blue for two pianos, accompanied by our teacher, Sandra Coupal. It was awesome. Frank blew the audience away. Gershwin was bopping in his grave. It was clear to all of us that Frank was on his way to becoming an international musical
phenomenon.
Where did Frank go from there? I have no idea. He disappeared. The very next day he stopped playing the piano. As it turned out, Frank's dream was to play Gershwin's masterpiece. He did, and that was that.
I have no idea what mountains he has climbed since. But I remember his remarkable tale to this very day.

What Jazz means to me

Life is funny. Back in 1975 I had the chance to sit backstage at a Frank Sinatra concert in Jerusalem, and blew the opportunity. I guess I wasn't enough of a Sinatra fan at the time. What an idiot I was then! When I entered Hillcrest High School in 1964, I could have learned saxophone and played in the school big band. Instead I signed up for woodwork (a disaster for me and the poor remains of the trees I abused), and waited thirty years to start learning to play that divine instrument. By the way, the saxophone was invented in about 1840 by Adolphe Sax, who spent his life trying to convince people to play it, and fighting off imitators. The problem was, Adolphe invented the sax about 80 years before it found its ultimate cosmic role as the soothing melodic voice of jazz. Poor Adolphe Sax. He didn't live to see his great triumph. But if you go to Belgium, try to see his museum.

Tonight is remembrance day in Israel (all holidays and events start and end here in the evening, in accordance with Jewish custom). One of the great friends I lost here over the years is Gaby Ben Artsi (Friedlander), who was killed in a military exercise thirty years ago, this very month. He was one of the most brilliant people I ever met, cut down at 21. He was an airplane pilot (navigator), loved bridge, basketball, and mankind. About six weeks before he died, I helped him buy a Yamaha saxophone. He was making progress on it when he died. After his funeral, his parents asked whether I wanted to play his sax. I couldn't bear to. It took me almost twenty years to hold a sax in my hands. But as soon as I did, music started to come out. And it hasn't stopped since.

I started playing classical piano in grade three, but didn't find out about jazz till I was about twenty. Classical music is great, but it involves a sort of bondage to the composer, however brilliant, who wrote the piece. You are limited as to how much leeway you can take with a classical composition. But jazz is all about leeway. You take a 'standard', or 'blues', or original composition, or whatever, and go with it where it takes you. In jazz there are also some forms and rules, but if you break them in an appealing way, then you may be on your way to stardom. I love the way that playing and singing a jazz standard frees you to put a lot of yourself into it.

Jazz, like many music and art forms is a language, and wherever you travel around the world, you find others who speak it. You might not be able to exchange a sentence, but you can play a whole tune together. One of the great things is walking into a place with a horn, and 'sitting in' on a tune or two. I've done this in London, Vancouver, Washington, Tokyo, Brussels, etc. and it's a great feeling (actually it feels even better when you play well).

Jazz is also about teamwork and sharing. Good jazz occurs when the musicians are attentive to each other's playing, and inspired by it. I've met some great and wonderful jazz singers who have shared their knowledge freely (Sheila Jordan who's in this picture with me, and Anita Wardell), and have jammed with some really super sax players with true camaraderie for greatly inferior players (such as myself), Ian Ritchie, for example, who tours with Roger Waters.

More on music on a future posting.