The Distance Is You
Within the last few months, I realized I was enduring a unique and perpetual challenge: cultivating mountains of creative energy, and desperately trying to find places to put it. Wherever it went, it had to exit my being and manifest into something tangible – or my limbs would politely explode, letting out confetti, screams, and streamers of guts filled with creamy dissatisfaction. If you’re blessed with a long-term project, you have an opportunity to learn, indulge, and experience. Involvement is an artist’s dream; inclusion is an individual’s dream. That being said, there is a level of impermanence to what we do. Our art is both actively present and inevitably fleeting. The work is never ending, and that is good and bad news. However, I do believe there is a level of dependency we have on others that can hinder creative expression. Of course, community is why art is able to flourish and heal. But, I do advise against solely waiting for opportunities to come to you. If you are willing, and begin seeking and creating independently, what you want to find will also find you – things so good you would not know how to ask for them. I do acknowledge there is a level of privilege involved with the freedom to create and seek opportunities void of others, but not I argue it’s not as inaccessible and unobtainable as one may believe. Everyone starts somewhere, and this is how I decided to start: I realized the distance between me and what I wanted to achieve was me.
When I was in 4th grade, I did a book report on Ella Fitzgerald. So, when I eventually moved to New York City, and lived minutes away from countless jazz clubs, it was safe to assume that they would soon have all of my money. After attending a few jazz sets alone, I invited one of my friends to come along with me. We got there absurdly early, because of my anxious punctuality, and we sat in the front. Whether it be because we were attractive women or that they could sense palpable enthusiasm, two men – who were a part of the band – approached us. Amidst the obligatory small talk, the man I invested the most time in was the drummer. He seemed knowledgeable and I wanted to pick his brain on how to get performance opportunities for singing. Without missing a beat, he says, “Oh, well have you been to jam sessions?” “Well, given that I don’t know what those are, no” I say but with charm and wit – of course. We exchanged Instagram’s and later that night he direct messaged me a list of a few places that had jams. We never spoke after that, but, if I ever see him again, I will thank him profusely for planting that seed.
After that, I started going alone to Smalls Jazz Club’s Jam Sessions because they had no cover charge and a one drink minimum – which for me was a Diet Coke. I wanted to participate, but I went to a couple and only let myself watch. I studied the etiquette, the format, the people performing, the tone, the manner, and especially how the singers cued the band in. One night I decided it was do or die, and I marched my happy self down the street and went to a midnight jam. I was the youngest girl amongst a crowd of middle aged, deeply experienced professionals and/or Julliard jazz professors. I walked up to a man with goggle-like glasses – who was hosting the jam – and told him I wanted to sing. I didn’t tell him I had never done it, I didn’t tell him I didn’t know how to do it, all I told him was that I wanted to sing. I got on stage, ready to rumble, but the goggle-like-glasses-man cued my ballad in with an upbeat tempo – which, for my non-music folks, is basically making a very slow song, very fast! At that moment, though completely unplanned, I felt myself actively learning about a hundred new things, all at the same time. I learned how to adjust to a new tempo, switch between melodies, and jam with other people I had not rehearsed with before – just to name a few. After my set ended, though with a lesser quality performance than I would’ve liked, I sucked in my adrenaline tears and talked to professionals the whole night – all of whom had lots of advice to give me…and a few business cards. Though an extremely overwhelming experience from beginning to end, what mattered most was that I took the risk and did it. I went to this jam alone, nobody came with me, nobody was forcing me to do it, and yet I gained everything. Now, I go back to Smalls every once in a while to keep myself sharp (and, let’s face it, humble), but what an amazing thing to prove to oneself. It is both an excruciating pressure and incredible relief that it only requires me to create opportunities. Once one acquires this feeling, then one can begin inviting others back in. As I started this article, community and collaboration is ultimately what makes people successful, but everyone has to want it individually. This kind of drive is contagious. For example, I reached out to a few of my music friends and I started writing songs with their accompaniment. Additionally, I’m going to try and take a music production class over the summer to refine my skills. Moreover, I want to write and act in a play, so I have begun collaborating with other writers to make that happen. My next adventure will be attending a poetry slam alone – I got a lot to say.
All of this being said, I am at the very beginning of my artistic journey. I am still figuring out what I want to create. But, something I like to remind myself every once in a while is that art is meant to be shared. The more comfortable one becomes with sharing, the easier it is and the more often it happens – but you have to fight for it.
Since I was graciously granted a list on one fateful night, here is my list, do with it what you will ;)
Jazz Jam Sessions; https://arthurstavern.nyc/, https://www.smallslive.com/
Poetry Slams/Open Mics; https://www.nuyorican.org/, https://www.bowerypoetry.com/