>> write // blaaaags and reflections // change after five
As the fifth year of my nascent music teaching career approached, I asked myself some significant questions. In fact I had written, for a provincial professional music educators journal, an article about examining one’s teaching conscience. In the article, I asked questions such as: "Was I entrenched in perceived ‘tried and true’ methods? Or, was I always experimenting with ideas to the detriment of ‘what works’? Could I see the benefit and value of learning from fields apart from music?" 
Life has appeared to move in five year cycles for me. It took me five years to complete high school: in the province of British Columbia secondary education goes from eighth through twelfth grade. While my Bachelor of Music in Jazz Studies degree was only supposed to take four years, I took five (and completed a Certificate in Online Publishing in the process). At the conclusion of each of these periods, a significant change occurred in my life: from high school to university, then from university to career. So, it seemed to follow that five years as a high school music teacher was enough prompting for some significant reflection and reassessment. As my life primarily revolves around music, it seems only nautral that music theory and music makers would inspire and influence me to make (non-musical) changes in my life. Coincidentally, the number five and its occurrence in music theory also figured prominently.
As I explain below, the perfect fifth as an interval of consonance connotes a sense of sonic reliability. The circle of fifths is a theoretical visual map showing the close relationships of pitches and tonalities. The dominant seventh, or in more common parlance, the five chord, drives toward some sort of harmonic resolution. The metaphors for me are these: (1) Change is a constant in life (perfect fifth); (2) Change is relational and never accomplished in isolation (circle of fifths); (3) We must answer the call to change (five chord).
(If this all seems rather obtuse, then I apologize in advance. It is the result of my inability to accurately convey into words how aspects of music theory inspired me to make [non-musical] changes in my life. If the jargon laden text that follows causes you to have to call out for an aspirin, then simply skip to the part where I write about the musicians.)
The Perfect Fifth
Change is a Constant in Life
The distance between the notes C and G is an example of the perfect fifth interval. As a highly consonant harmonic interval in tonal music, the perfect fifth is so-called perfect because of its sonic reliablility and because the interval belongs to both major and minor chords. The perfect fifth can be heard when an army bugler sounds a morning reveille on his horn, when a Hindustani (North Indian) tanpura player plucks the drone strings on her instrument, or when a guitar player plays the visceral power chord with distortion in a punk band.
Jazz guitarist Pat Metheny was once quoted as saying that the perfect fifth interval "sounds right to everybody."  It is not to say, however, that everyone understands the "meaning" of a perfect fifth in the same way, but rather, the perfect fifth as an interval is perhaps present in the scales and modes of many of the world’s music systems. Perhaps, in a sense, the perfect fifth in a kind of sonic imprint embedded in our aural DNA.
The clarion call of the perfect fifth, the sonic reliability it inspires, and the constant consonance it connotes tells us that change is a reliable part of life. To change, then, is an accurate and reliable reaction to our human need to evolve and change is something we can count on in life.
The Circle of Fifths
Change is Relational and Never Accomplished in Isolation
Mike Reveley, founder of the Capilano College jazz studies program and an excellent jazz theory teacher, explained that tonal harmony (including much Western European art music and straight-ahead jazz) was simply an elaborate "aural game played with twelve different musical pitches the object of which is to return to or evade the tonic or fundamental tone in the most interesting way you can think of given the current rules of play." 
The circle of fifths represents a visual way of identifying relationships between pitches and tonalities in conventional tonal harmony. In technical terms, the twelve pitches of the chromatic scale and the key signatures associated with the major and minor keys of those pitches are arranged in a circular-geometric way moving clockwise. By simply playing all of the pitches on a keyboard an interval of a perfect fifth apart (one at a time starting on middle C then moving to G, and so forth) we can hear all twelve pitches in the chromatic scale. Eventually, we return to the C that we began with.
If we agree with Reveley’s definition of tonal harmony, then the circle of fifths becomes a convenient map by which we can playfully analyze the musical relationships inherent in music. Applying this idea life, the circle of fifths, as metaphor, reminds us to bear in mind the human relationships in our lives as we move forward in our journey to joyfully return to (or evade from) our calling. We are social beings working in connection with one another and so change can never really be accomplished alone nor are the effects of change isolated to the person making the change.
The Five Chord
We Must Answer the Call to Change
In tonal harmony, the dominant seventh chord, (or, as it is more colloquially known, the five-seven chord) aurally signifies an impending resolution toward the tonic, or, the one chord. This drive toward musical resolution has to do with the instability of the tritone, two notes that are an interval of a diminished fifth -- less than perfect -- apart, which is contained in the chord.
In medieval times, the tritone was so dissonant to human ears that it was labeled as diabolus in musica, or the devil in music. Dissonance was drawn toward consonance. So, in a way, the tonic is calling the tritone toward resolution. Renamed, the One is calling home the rebel who strayed. How fitting that music would give me such an apt metaphor for answering a call: there was so much dissonance in my life after five years of school music teaching that I needed to follow a new direction.
If music making and music teaching are indeed arts, then artists need to reinvent themselves and they need to grow artistically in order to continue to communicate their craft effectively. Perhaps not coincidentally, many of my music heroes also made moves when they realized that new directions were calling them. Here, then, are five musicians who answered the call to change directions on their journey of artistry.
A New Groove
In 1996, the Canadian progressive rock trio Rush, produced the album Test for Echo. By many critics accounts, the effort represented a return to a much more guitar-heavy sound from the synthesizer-laden sound of their 1980s recordings. The dominance of the guitar was equally matched by the presence of a more distinctive groove from master drummer Neil Peart. This was the result of Peart’s reinvention of his technique.
After seeing fellow drummer Steve Smith perform at the Buddy Rich Memorial Scholarship Concert in 1992, Peart noted Smith’s improved technique. Smith revealed to Peart that studying with noted drum pedagogue Freddie Gruber was the secret. Having developed a significant facility playing metronomically and with click tracks, Peart felt the need to re-examine his playing. Peart studied with Gruber and worked on approaching and playing the drumset in a new way, in effect trying to change thirty years of style, habits, and groove. In his own words, Peart recounted that studying with Gruber changed "the way I held the sticks, the way I moved my hands and feet, the way I set up my drums, the way I sat at them." 
In 2007, Cathy Rich, the daughter of the late Buddy Rich was once again producing a memorial concert in tribute to her father and invited Peart to play again. Unhappy with the way he played the first time around, he resolved to study groove, swing, and drumset technique once more. At the suggestion of bass guitarist Jeff Berlin, Peart studied with Peter Erskine for several months in preparation for the concert.
After undeniable success, popularity, and idol-worship from many (air) drummers around the world (including me!) why would anyone want to reinvent their technique? Because, after all of these years, even master drummers can learn a new thing or two.
The Sound of Surprise
One of Neil Peart’s drum heroes is Bill Bruford. Indeed, Peart had Bruford play on a disc called Burning for Buddy that Peart had produced shortly after the first set of scholarship concerts.
After recording Close to the Edge with Yes, Bruford felt he had achieved a feat that he could not and would not want to repeat. The recording process for the album was tedious and he was irritated by song titles like Total Mass Retain. Having come to these realizations after having played 594 concerts, and with a replacement drummer named Alan White waiting in the wings, he gave notice and left Yes surprising his peers and many fans. He had given his all to the band, to the process, to the music, and much more.
Bruford’s fellow Yes compatriots were puzzled as to why he would choose to leave a group right at the top of artistic and commercial success for a band that was of unquestionable artistry but questionable commercial success, and for a band that had been having difficulties in retaining its musicians. Furthermore, Yes’s manager Brian Lane, had made Bruford literally pay for leaving the group. Bruford gave the incoming White a new shiny set of drum cases, half of his royalities on Close to the Edge, and he had to pay the band ten thousand dollars to leave. Just as Bruford was set to make a lot of money, to go on a lavish tour in support of the album, and to see Close to the Edge rise to the top of the charts, he pulled the plug. But, to Bruford, it was all worth it and he had his sights set on another band: King Crimson.
In the video Bruford and the Beat, Bruford remarked that Yes was a "sunny, diatonic, A major" kind of group while King Crimson was an "improvising, dark, minor key playing band." Bruford was really an improvising jazz player at heart. And, in jazz, one often plays with a variety of players. This kind of cross-pollination gives the musician an opportunity to grow and mature. In Close to the Edge: The Story of Yes, a biography by journalist Chris Welch, Bruford remarked: "It was just a feeling that I had to move on. How could I develop on the instrument unless I changed? I firmly believed it is a musician’s obligation to do so. I’m not an entertainer. I’m not a juke box. There is a difference. Your obligation is to move on, otherwise audiences can rightly demand their money back!" 
In 2009, after 41 years of innovative metrical tension and release, mixed metres and time signatures, sticking techniques, electronic and acoustic timbres, all with solid timekeeping, Bruford retired from music making altogether, much to the dismay of many. While the music world was stunned, Bruford took it all in stride but did admit that he was surprised by the reaction. Musicians weren’t really supposed to retire. He didn’t give up; he moved and made way … for younger musicians to make their contributions. And, in the lengthy list of innovative things that Bruford has done, he innovated again by retiring from music and did so while surprising his peers and his fans.
Retreat and Reemergence
The co-founder and guitarist of King Crimson (the band that Bruford left Yes to join) is Robert Fripp. An iconoclastic musician who began his musical life tone deaf, left handed (Fripp plays the guitar right-handed), and without rhythm, Fripp transcended all of these handicaps to formulate a truly unique approach to guitar playing. Critics widely acknowledge that the release of In the Court of the Crimson King, King Crimson’s debut album, ushered in the era of progressive rock. To Fripp, however, embarking on the adventure of group music making was a true education in the liberal arts. King Crimson was more than just a music group, it was, in Fripp’s words "a way of doing things."
Under the weight of the music industry and all of the promise of the liberating 1960s giving way to a cynical 1970s, Fripp recognized in 1974 that the world was changing. He saw the music industry as an old dinosaur ready to collapse in on itself and corporations and institutions folding to give way to a new vision and a new world. In Eric Tamm’s biography Robert Fripp: From Crimson King to Crafty Master, Fripp recounted a future apocalyptic vision beginning with "a decade of considerable panic in the 1990s - collapse on a colossal scale. The wind-down has already started ... It's no doomy thing - for the new world to flourish the old has to die. But the depression era of the Thirties will look like a Sunday outing compared to this apocalypse. I shall be blowing a bugle loudly from the sidelines."  (In hindsight, Fripp may have been off by about two decades, but he nevertheless was right about the evil outcomes of unethical business practices by large mega-corporations which begat the economic collapse of the recent decade and which led toward the Great Recession.)
In 1974, the night before King Crimson was set to record the album Red, Robert Fripp read the text of a lecture to JG Bennett's International Society for Continuous Education called the Second Inaugural Address. He explained some five years later in an interview for Melody Maker that after reading this text, the "top of his head blew off," and that he "could not see how it was possible to be a musician and a human being simultaneously."
Shortly after completing the Red recording, Fripp made the decision to disband King Crimson and he subsequently enrolled at JG Bennett's International Society for Continuous Education. Fripp worked to develop a greater sense of awareness, purpose, intention, and aim in his life. Just as King Crimson was on the verge of solidifying its status as a bonafide "successful" progressive rock band of the 1970s, Fripp pulled the plug to address more immediate needs. He recounted for author Sid Smith in In the Court of King Crimson that this move was "not a product of considered reflection: it was an immediate and instantaneous recognition of personal necessity."  Perhaps, as Eric Tamm had remarked, "one of the marks of the superior creative talent is precisely knowing when to quit, when to seek out a new vision." 
Fripp felt a call back to the music industry after his time with the International Society for Continuous Education. Labeling his return to the industry as "The Drive to 1981," Fripp recognized that working in music could realize what he had labeled as the four criteria for work: work should allow one to earn a living, be educational, be fun, and be socially useful. He also described this "Drive" as a "campaign on three levels: firstly, in the marketplace but not governed by the values of the marketplace; secondly, as a means of examining and presenting a number of ideas which are close to my heart; thirdly, as a personal discipline."  After collaborating with Peter Gabriel, Daryl Hall, and releasing his solo album Exposure, Fripp formed a group called Discipline which eventually took on the name King Crimson after he recognized that the group was worthy to be called as such.
After the release of three albums by this edition of King Crimson (Discipline, Beat, and Three of a Perfect Pair), Fripp sensed that the band had come to its natural conclusion and was preparing himself to embark on another retreat, this time to the Claymont Society of Continuous Education. It was at the conclusion of this time of retreat that Fripp entered the world of teaching. Fripp had envisioned a way of approaching guitar playing as a way of attending to development of presence, community, and intelligence and he realized this vision by setting into motion Guitar Craft.
Twenty-five years after he started Guitar Craft, he announced in 2009 that Guitar Craft would cease to exist. He recognized that for this endeavor to flourish and evolve, it was necessary for a cycle to complete itself. For something to live, something had to die. Today, Guitar Craft exists not as Guitar Craft but in different formations, all with various aims, working in multiple networks. Fripp could simply have let Guitar Craft exist but instead saw the value of "burning it down" so that something else may arise from its ashes.
The cycle of retreat and reemergence has been ever-present in Fripp’s career. Each time Fripp stepped back from the limelight, it was to focus his attention on addressing a need that he felt he needed to fulfill. He never succumbed to the pressures of the marketplace but instead he chose to commit to his singular vision for being in the world, one that involved music.
"... I always thought that music had no boundaries, no limits to where it could grow and go, no restrictions on its creativity. Good music is good no matter what kind of music it is. And I always hated categories. Always. Never thought it had any place in music." 
Miles conveyed these words in the autobiography he wrote with Quincy Troupe. The categories that musicians, music theorists, and music historians have placed on Miles’s music have been exhaustive, and it is unlikely that the iconic trumpeter would have described his music using any of those labels. Nevertheless, categories are convenient containers for the logical-linear mind. Here, then, are five of the major categorical styles of jazz that Miles helped to bring to the fore with his artistry.
Having come up in the heyday of bebop with Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, Miles felt the need to move on and do his own thing. Having grown tired of bebop, Miles recorded and released Birth of the Cool, a collaboration compilation album between him and Canadian arranger Gil Evans. Miles in his autobiography stated that "Bebop didn’t have the humanity of Duke Ellington."  With the recordings and releases of the Birth of the Cool sessions in 1950 (the actual compilation record was released in 1957), Miles effectively ushered in the era of cool jazz, which featured relaxed tempos, innovative arrangements, and unusual instrumentation (French horn and tuba were not usually a part of small group combos). As a reaction against the frenetic gymnastics of bebop, cool jazz was much more suited to the melodic concept that Miles was developing. Miles and Gil Evans would go on to collaborate on a number of future recordings including Miles Ahead, Porgy and Bess, and Sketches of Spain.
Hard bop had elements of bebop and mixed them with rhythm and blues and gospel music, and was seen by some jazz critics as a reaction toward cool jazz. The drummer Shelly Manne was quoted as saying that hard bop demonstrated the more intense lifestyle of the east coast while cool jazz reflected the relaxed lifestyle of the west coast. With a series of albums for Prestige Records culminating with the Steamin’, Cookin’, Workin’, and Relaxin’ sessions, Miles’s work with his quintet (which at that time included tenor saxophonist John Coltrane, pianist Red Garland, bassist Paul Chambers, and drummer Philly Joe Jones) Miles catapulted hard bop forward to the mainstream jazz movement. Other jazz luminaries like Tadd Dameron, Sonny Rollins, Art Blakey, Horace Silver, Jackie McLean, and Cannonball Adderley (amongst many others) along with Miles solidified the hard bop genre as a successor to the earlier bebop movement.
With the release of Kind of Blue in 1959, Miles innovated once again with modal jazz. (Though Miles previously experimented with modal concepts before this album’s release, it was with Kind of Blue that these concepts would be fully realized.) The music featured improvisation based on scales and modes rather than chord changes. Miles desired to play music that was much freer and "less Western." Influenced by George Russell’s Lydian Chromatic Concept of Tonal Organization for Improvisation, Miles wrote number of sketches of melodies before the actual recording date. He also hired Bill Evans who was a Russell protege familiar with the concept that Miles was going to incorporate into Kind of Blue. Each tune on the album became a jazz standard and the popularity of the recording has transcended the jazz world to make its mark in the wider general culture.
"... if you put a musician in a place where he has to do something different from what he does all the time, then he can do that - but he’s got to think differently in order to do it. He has to use his imagination, be more creative, more innovative; he’s got to take more risks." 
"Critics always like to pigeonhole everybody, put you in a certain place in their heads so they can get to you. They don’t like a lot of changing because that makes them have to work to understand what you’re doing. When I started changing so fast like that, a lot of critics started putting me down because they didn’t understand what I was doing. But critics never did mean much to me, so I just kept on doing what I had been doing, trying to grow as a musician." 
In 1969, Miles released In A Silent Way, considered by critics and fans to be the first definitive jazz fusion record. As before, Miles had experimented on previous records with the sonic elements that would develop into what we now know as jazz fusion. Miles was influenced by the times and by the funk, soul, and rhythm and blues of James Brown, Sly and the Family Stone, and Jimi Hendrix, the musical innovations of German composer Karl Stockhausen and English composer Paul Buckmaster, and the emergence of electronic music and electric instruments. He used these elements in his music in a way that transcended the fads of the time and in a way that was true to his vision of exploration. He continued to develop his concepts most prominently on Bitches Brew, Live-Evil, and On The Corner.
"Some people around this time felt that I was trying to do too much, trying to do too many new things. They felt that I should just stay where I was, stop growing, stop trying different kinds of things. But it didn’t go like that for me. Just because I was forty-seven years old in 1973 didn’t mean I was supposed to sit down in some rocking chair and stop thinking about how to keep doing interesting things. I had to do what I was doing if I was going to keep thinking of myself as a creative artist." 
Miles withdrew from the music scene for a period of six years as he tried to get his personal life back together. He had struggled with various drug and alcohol addictions throughout his life and his physical health had deteriorated badly by this point. Feeling spent and drained, Miles attempted to restore his health. Having not picked up his horn for a period of five years, Miles came back onto the scene in the early 1980s with the release of several albums which combined fusion, funk, rock, and pop.
"As a musician and as an artist, I have always wanted to reach as many people as I could through my music. And I have never been ashamed of that. Because I never thought that the music called ‘jazz’ was ever meant to reach just a small group of people … I always thought it should reach as many people as it could, like so-called popular music, and why not?" 
Miles used elements and ideas from the popular music of the time specifically drawing influence from Prince, Cindi Lauper, and Michael Jackson, and he incorporated this into his music, as he had done before. These influences can be heard most clearly on the album he released in 1985 called You’re Under Arrest which featured "Time After Time" and "Human Nature", both tracks originally recorded by Lauper and Jackson, respectively. The following year, Miles made use of the recording studio as an instrument itself using synthesizers, samples, and loops. The results of these experiments are heard on Tutu. Miles explored the realm of hip hop and more intentionally experimented with sampling on his final album Doo-Bop. He did not complete the album and it was released posthumously. Miles died on September 28, 1991.
Miles had this uncanny ability to combine groups of musicians together who could challenge him, and who could give help to extend his vocabulary as he explored and developed new styles. He had a relentless need to use the tools and ideas of the time to advance his music while simultaneously staying true to his vision. Miles, himself, could have have rested on his laurels secure in the safety in any of the genres he developed. Instead, he pushed forward.
"(The musician’s) got to play above what he knows - far above it - and what that might lead to might take him above the place where he’s been playing all along, to the new place where he finds himself right now - and to the next place he’s going and even above that!" 
"Right now, I just want to get away for a while. I think I need a lot of things. One of them is time … time to study and finish some things I started a long time ago … I never seem to have time to work, study, and write." 
One of Miles Davis’s early collaborators and supporters was tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins. Sonny is the quintessential jazz musician: humble, always searching, and never satisfied with their sound, their concepts, or their ideas. Sonny was always moving forward. This is perhaps in contrast to much of straight-ahead jazz today that is seen in some circles as revisionist or against the true spirit of jazz: the search. In Eric Nisenson’s Open Sky: Sonny Rollins and his World of Improvisation, Sonny said: "My battle has always been with myself, trying to get things better, trying to get myself better. It has always been me trying to improve myself for my own reasons." 
He was one of the first musicians to use the pianoless trio format preferring the freedom that bass and drums accompaniment would provide. Using this format, he recorded The Freedom Suite, an album that featured bassist Oscar Pettiford and drummer Max Roach. The title cut was a testament where Sonny wanted to musically comment on the idea of freedom while bearing in mind the socio-political context of the United States of the late 1950s and specifically the civil rights movement. Sonny received a fair amount of recognition for his various innovations from both critics and fans.
However, he was not satisfied with the state of his musicianship. So, at the height of his success and popularity, Sonny made the brash move of withdrawing from the jazz world to rededicate himself to his instrument, the tenor saxophone. He found a space by Williamsburg Bridge, a big open expanse that was not frequented by anyone except the tugboats trolling along the East River in New York. It was a space that would allow him to concentrate on rudiments - technique, fingerings, intonation, arpeggios, scales, and intervals - the basics.
Sonny returned to the scene feeling more confident. Critics and fans, however, were expecting a change in style. What Sonny offered in return, however, was a deeper exploration of his sound, his concept, and his ideas. And, he did so by recording The Bridge with guitarist Jim Hall, bassist Bob Cranshaw, and drummer Ben Riley in commemoration of his sabbatical.
Sonny took another sabbatical in 1968 to address more existential questions. He was disillusioned with United States society, more generally, and with the record business, in particular. He explained his decision to withdraw once more to Eric Nisenson: "I was also getting deeper and deeper into spiritual pursuits as a way of getting away from all of that, and finding some sort of answer. I had begun to realize that it was impossible to get, on a day-to-day level, any kind of satisfaction out of this world. … I was getting more and more into the spiritual things. I decided to go to India because I believed that it was the place where I would be able to get deeper into the spiritual element of life and be able to find a way to deal with that kind of reality." 
"I learned a lot about what I had to do with my life, which was that I really had to get into my music and play. That was what they call karma yoga, which means a life of work. This is how you find your salvation." 
On Change and Transition
Compelling reasons, significant encounters, or instinctual recognitions appear to be the common themes between all of these musicians when they made their moves. Achievements and commercial success seemed to have figured very little; being true to one's vision and calling, on the other hand, figured prominently. History has acknowledged the contributions of these musicians and they each, in their own way, have left a legacy of work that continues to inspire musicians today.
To discern a new direction, to answer a call, and to embark on the actual journey can be a frightening proposition for all sorts of reasons. For one thing, we might move away from the stable surroundings of safety and security, from known habits and patterns of living, and sometimes from familiar faces, friends, and families. These musicians, though seemingly able to move stealthily and swiftly from one stage to another, recognized their need to change artistically in order to remain true to their calling.
Change is a difficult prospect for many people. The subsequent transition can be even more frightening. There are both benefits and risks involved and to accurately discern both required a lot of prayer and introspection. And, I recognized the need to make changes in my own life personally and professionally. Most of this involved giving up stability and familiarity in favor of flirting with instability and unfamiliarity. To do so would uncover amazing possibilities of life and it would also test my character and resolve in order to meet and address the challenges that these potentials would place before me. And, when it was all said and done I realized that, as a musician, I needed to change and grow in order to remain true to my calling and to remain faithful to vision set out before me.
Recognizing the constant of change in life and answering the call to change also meant realizing that not only was I making changes for myself, but I was also making changes for the people around me. This meant ensuring that I fulfilled my professional responsibilities and it also meant reassuring my family and friends that this was a change I needed to make personally. I was blessed to have the support of my loved ones as I articulated my need to change. In hindsight, I had forgotten to be thankful and grateful for all the blessings that I had received and I realized that I was in a fortunate financial and circumstantial position to be able to make those changes. Life contexts, various responsibilities, and other obstacles may make acting upon changes difficult for those in less privileged circumstances. To be able to act upon the change calling to me is indeed a grace I now acknowledge.
After I had made the decision to move forward with my new direction, I felt a new sense of urgency to complete various projects and to tie-up loose ends. I finalized recording projects, finished a guitar that I built from scratch, and completed the requirements for a graduate degree in music education. By attending to these tasks, I was preparing to transition toward a kind of new beginning. This new beginning took into consideration who and where I was in the past, gave me a glimpse of the potential and the possibilities for the future, and firmly rooted me in the present so that I, in turn, would be present to the transition taking place. And, with this transition, I felt a sense of affirmation which was manifested in the way things fell into place. It was as though the universe had aligned itself in order for my transition to happen. As we noted, change does not happen in isolation, and sometimes a Benevolent Presence shepherds us along the way and perhaps lets us know that we are, indeed, doing the right thing.
And so change, as we discovered, is an inevitable fact of life: we grow older everyday and in this way we are not the same person that we were yesterday nor will we be the same person tomorrow. The question is: do we grow and participate with the change event and the eventual transition, or do we remain stuck and stagnant in our present state? As Yoda said: "Do or not do. There is no try." Change is a constant in life; change happens in relation with others; answer the call!
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Miles Davis. Miles Ahead.
Miles Davis. Porgy and Bess.
Miles Davis. Sketches of Spain.
Miles Davis. Relaxin’
Miles Davis. Steamin’
Miles Davis. Cookin’
Miles Davis. Workin’
Miles Davis. Kind of Blue.
Miles Davis. In A Silent Way.
Miles Davis. Bitches Brew.
Miles Davis. Live-Evil.
Miles Davis. On The Corner.
Miles Davis. You’re Under Arrest.
Miles Davis. Tutu.
Miles Davis. Doo-Bop.
Robert Fripp. Exposure.
King Crimson. In the Court of the Crimson King.
King Crimson. Red.
King Crimson. Discipline.
King Crimson. Beat.
King Crimson. Three of a Perfect Pair.
Rush. Test for Echo.
Sonny Rollins. The Freedom Suite.
Sonny Rollins. The Bridge.
Yes. Close to the Edge.
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Nisenson, Eric. Open Sky: Sonny Rollins and his World of Improvisation. (Da Capo Press, 2000).
Peart, Neil. NEP News. Online, http://www.neilpeart.net/news/november_08.html.
Reveley, Michael. Jazz Theory and Composition for the Classroom. Volume 1. (North Vancouver, BC: Capilano College, 1998)
Russell, George. Lydian Chromatic Concept of Tonal Organization for Improvisation (New York, NY: Concept Publishing Company, 1959)
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