Goodbye, Oscar

I'm not alone when I say how much Oscar Peterson meant to me. I'm sure almost every other Jazz Pianist (and perhaps jazz musicians as a whole) can talk about how Oscar Peterson's playing spoke to him in one way or another.

But it isn't a stretch to say that Oscar Peterson is why I'm a jazz musician.

I'd been studying Jazz for a number (three, perhaps?) of years before actually being graced by Oscar's music, but what I was playing was more of copy-cat music; I could mimic just about anything my teacher showed me, but not much more. And he didn't have me listen to anything. That changed as soon as I found a new teacher at the end of the first half of 8th grade.

"So. What do you listen to?" my new teacher asked on my first lesson. "Well, uh..." "Okay. Go get some Oscar Peterson. Get Night Train. I mean, any Oscar will do, but get it."

I did.

I got the CD and put it in my Panasonic Shockwave -- the yellow one with the 10-second anti-skip that I got as a Bar-Mitzvah present -- and didn't take it out except to change the batteries every 10 hours. I listened to that album non-stop when my mother and I visited her parents in Florida that February. The plane there, the plane back, and every free minute in between. At the peek of my listening, I could sing every note Oscar played on that album -- including alternate takes and rehearsal takes included on that printing.

I never learned to play like Oscar, but I've always been jealous, of course. I even joke that "I grew up listening to a lot of Stan Getz, Thelonious Monk, and Oscar Peterson" to which the response "I can hear the Getz and the Monk, but ya really goofed on the Oscar!" is common.

That's right in some ways, but others, not as much. I'd like to think that while my technical abilities on the piano will never be what Oscar's were, I picked up the Oscar Peterson message -- that is to say that I make every note count and try to convey something.

I also picked up on some pretty obscure things that other people may not notice that came from Oscar, even though in my mind, they did. As a composer, I'm always told never to put a second (major or minor) below the melody, yet I do it often, anyway. I love the sound. It took until recently for me to realize that I stole that from Oscar's playing. (He talks about that specifically in his broadcast on Marian McPartland's Piano Jazz on NPR.)

I also took a lot of him as a side-man. Oscar, while known as one of the best pianists ever as a front man, is also the best side-man in history, in my opinion. Listen to his albums with Ella and Louis, or the entire Jazz at the Philharmonic series -- or accompanying any bass solo behind Ray Brown in any classic trio recording -- his comping is absolute perfection and beauty. While my voicings aren't there with his, I'd like to think that the moral of Oscar is still alive and kicking in my playing.

Beyond these influences to my music itself, I cannot forget the fact that I wrote one of my college essays about my first experience listening to "Night Train." Oscar got me into college. (Two of 'em, actually, if you consider that I needed to get into the jazz school and liberal arts school separately, and thus submitted the essay twice.)

So for the next few days, I'm going to listen pretty much non-stop to some of my favorite Oscar cuts. "Hymn to Freedom," "Place St. Henri," "L'Impossible," among the many favorites that make up the proverbial on-hold music of my brain.

Perhaps in a few days, I'll write a musical tribute to Oscar. Perhaps I'll learn to play one of my favorites verbatim. Or perhaps I'll just let my tribute lie with Oscar's spirit living within me, even if his notes never will.

Oscar Peterson died in his home in Toronto on Sunday from Kidney failure. He was 82.