On the Therapeutic Value of Music

Sometime in the early 1970s, a couple of “Wild Oats” bandmates of mine (Ron LeGrand – banjo; Mel Durham – bass) and I decided that it might be fun to play music for some of the folks living in Orange County CA convalescent homes. I was in my early 20s, Ron was in his mid-30s, and Mel was in his mid-50s. Of course, Ron and I felt obliged to tease Mel about the risk he’d be taking — what if they wouldn’t let him leave? The three of us also joked privately about the fact that we’d be playing for a captive audience that couldn’t escape the banjo. Those tasteless jokes aren’t so funny anymore. I’m 75, and both Ron and Mel have since passed on.

Anyway, after about three years of playing those unpaid “gigs” nearly every Sunday afternoon, the three of us realized how much fun they were, not only to us but to the “old folks” as well. One particular Sunday, as we had just finished our set, a sweet old lady rolled up in her wheelchair and said she had something to tell me. It went something like this: “Son, I remember you from when you were here two years ago. I was feeling pretty lonely and missing my family, and you sang that song about being on your Grandma’s farm and sleeping in her great big feather bed. I did that too.” Both of us had tears in our eyes. She followed that with “Now, whenever I feel old and sad about not having any family left, I just replay that song in my head. It always makes me feel better.” What a wonderful thing the music had done. A mere song had been her go-to elixir for two years! From that moment on I understood that music is therapy. It can make folks feel better — both emotionally and even physically.

A few weeks ago some new friends of ours asked if they could stop by for a visit. My wife Barbara and I were delighted to welcome Jonathan, his wife Robin, and her 96-year-old mother, Rhoda, into our home a few days later. Jonathan and Robin asked to see the upstairs master closet. Wisely, Rhoda begged off because of the stairs. I thought she might be tired too, and I was happy to stay put and keep her company. When we were “alone at last”, I asked if I could sing her a song. With a wry grin, my new 96-year-old friend said, “Sure”. So I grabbed a guitar, pulled up a chair, and kicked off “My Blue Heaven” (Gene Austin, 1927). At first, Rhoda grinned from ear to ear, then she began to shuffle her feet in time with the music, then she began clowning around, moving her elbows up and down like a duck, and when I got to the next chorus, Rhoda sang with me. What a joyous moment!

After 60 years of playing the guitar and singing, I had finally realized how therapeutic music can be. And now I’m ready to “share the wealth.” If any of this little blurb has piqued your interest in the therapeutic value of music, get a copy of The Music Therapy Studio: Empowering the Soul’s Truth, by Rick Soshensky (New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021). Carve out some time for contemplation, pair it with the right music (perhaps the Bach Unaccompanied Cello Suites by Edgar Meyer), and let the resulting therapeutic vibe empower your inner core.

Warmly,

Steven

Hurt Feelings And Ruffled Feathers

Having spent 40 years standing in the front of university classrooms (1974 – 2014), and having read a boatload of graduate student papers (my favorite topic was “What Grade I Deserve in This Course and Why”), I have been compelled to tell many smart, ambitious young adults they couldn’t write.  I didn’t say it that directly, of course, but it was part of my job to help them grow as wordsmiths and effective communicators.  I was gentle about it.  Still, I know I hurt many feelings and ruffled many feathers in the process of trying to help my students put their best foot forward in organizational life.

My official job title is now Professor Emeritus (translation: “out to pasture”).  I took early retirement and left a profession I loved.  Happily, I love running Blue Night Records and Blue Night Soundscapes (bluenightsoundscapes.com) just as much.  I still occasionally hurt feelings and ruffle feathers, though.

Songwriters, composers, and performing artists regularly submit their music to me. They’re looking for recording or licensing deals.  What should I tell them when the music just isn’t good enough?  Unfortunately, the norm seems to be “Nothing, just don’t respond.”  That’s unconscionable.

Maybe I’m wrong about this, but anyone with the ambition and confidence to send me music they’ve created deserves a response.  It’s not always the one they want to hear, but if I care about their well-being and growth as artists (I do), they deserve honest feedback.  I need 40 more years to get better at it, though.

None of us like to get negative feedback.  Most of us hate it.  For example, in a guitar workshop a couple of years ago I was playing and singing with Uwe Krüger, one of my favorite performers.  Uwe is also one of the most gentle, sweet guys on the planet.  We wrapped up the tune, and I waited for him to tell me how well I had done.  He just looked at me, in front of about 30 of my fellow “advanced level” guitarist classmates, and said “You play too loud.”  I wanted to crawl into my guitar case, and my feathers were definitely ruffled.  Since then, especially when jamming with today’s guitar luminaries (I know, it’s a tough job), I remember Uwe’s sound advice (no pun).  I still “play too loud” sometimes, but I hear it and “cut ‘er back some.”  So thanks Uwe, for caring enough about me and my playing to be honest.

To all of you who have and will send me music for recording and/or licensing consideration, if I reject it, I’ll tell you why.  Because I care.

Happy Trails.

 Steven

So You Want A Record Deal?

A long-time good friend of mine recently asked me why, over the twelve years I’ve owned and operated Blue Night Records (BNR), I’ve never asked him to join the ranks of BNR recording artists?  He’s an above-average singer, a pretty talented musician, and has a boatload of stage presence.  Here are the reasons his dream (and it really was one) never came true:

            Talent.  I used to think if I played guitar at least six hours per day I could be as good as John Carlini, Dan Crary, Jim Hurst, Jeff Jenkins, Uwe Kruger, or Scott Nygaard.  That was when I was in my 40s.  Now, in my (insert advanced age here), I realize that these guys have way more than chops.  They have the good sense to know when to use them and, more importantly, when not to use them.  They also have something special --- let’s call it talent.  It’s something extra, and it goes beyond playing hot licks.  Part of it may be physical (hand and arm shape, for example), but an equally important part is confidence.  I truly believe from my experience in the recording studio with A-list musicians that there is something special about our musical heros.  They have it; most of us don’t.  That doesn’t mean we can’t have just as much fun as they do when we play music.  It does mean, though, that most of us will never see our names on CD covers --- or even in the credits on the back.

            Intelligence.  In selecting potential employees, many sophisticated employers use devices to measure the extent to which candidates can “think on their feet.”  It’s a very specific type of intelligence, which seems to have no connection with the skills that enhance high scores on “achievement” or “intelligence” tests.  Consider Django Reinhardt for example.  He was illiterate, and he couldn’t read music either.  When a formally trained musician asked Django what key he wanted to play in, or if he knew a particular tune, Django would reportedly say something like, “Just start it off, and I’ll jump in.”  Not only did he jump in, he nailed it.  A-list musicians can do that.  They have minds quick enough to play brilliant solos in a tune after hearing it only one time through.

            Creativity.  The musicians you hear on the radio and the internet generally don’t limit their playing to what they’ve memorized; they play whatever comes into their heads.  I once asked noted jazz guitarist John Carlini what he thinks about when he’s playing a solo.  He answered: “Well, hopefully, nothing.”  It made me think that these luminaries focus on what comes to mind as they listen to the other players, and they don’t let themselves get bogged down by the mechanics of playing the notes.  Watch accomplished jazz musicians on stage.  After one plays a particularly creative solo that still reflects part of the tune’s melody, you might hear some of the others say “yeah.”  That one word speaks volumes.  It means: “Wow, that solo was brilliant --- it took the rest of us to a place within the tune that we hadn’t thought of going to ourselves.”

            Availability.  When I consider adding an artist to the BNR family, I want to make sure he or she is available to tour and willing to hit the road --- cheerfully.  We know from our geographical research that live concerts sell CDs and downloads, and that music consumers like to see and hear the artists live.  Touring also helps our radio promotion efforts.  If an artist is coming to your city, it gives your local radio programmers reason to put BNR tracks into their playlists.  That, in turn, helps your local music venues make a profit (this is not a bad word), it helps fans learn about the upcoming concert, and it helps artists build and/or enhance their national reputations.  There are lots of accomplished, talented musicians out there, but if they have full-time jobs or other obligations that take up an inordinate amount of their time, they are simply not attractive additions to a record label’s roster of artists.

            Humility.  Surprised?  I don’t know about you, but I’m turned off by prima donnas (i.e., those who are vain and tempermental).  Here at BNR, we’re blessed with a roster of artists who are real people, not nose-in-the-air “celebrities.”  Don’t get me wrong, they’re all accomplished, famous people in the acoustic music community.  But they don’t act like it.  They’re all friendly, down-to-earth folks who look out for one another as much as they do for themselves. 

            Money.  I saved the most controversial criterion for last, as I know some of you are critical of the profit motive.  After all, some might say, this is music.  It should be free.  It should flow from the heart of the artists to the hearts of the listeners --- without regard for monetary revenue.  While it’s true that there are psychic rewards to what we do at BNR, it costs anywhere from $20,000 to $30,000 to record, release and publicize a good “album.”  That’s probably the main reason I didn’t hug my good musician friend and say sure, man, I’ll book some studio time for you next week!

We’re going to keep releasing new recordings because we love to do it.  We also hope that we’re contributing to the legacy of acoustic jazz and American roots music.  And I know from some of the letters we’ve gotten that our releases have helped people get through some pretty tough times.  I’m the first to acknowledge that those rewards are more special than monetary revenue streams could ever be.

Until soon,

Steven

Steven Briggs, President

Blue Night Records