Getting one’s hands around jazz meant putting one’s head down and studying the almost mathematic
intricacies of jazz theory. And this theory must not only be understood by your brain but internalized so
your ears (and fingers) come to naturally express what comes next without thinking about the scales and
modes and intervals. It’s one thing to memorize the physical chord shape of a D chord on a guitar, but
memorization alone is useless when judging what to express over an E flat dominant chord with a sharped
ninth that’s leading into some other incomprehensible chord. This was not going to be something to be
thoroughly mastered completely, rather this is something to be continuously learned and improved over a
lifetime.
And if this was going to work out, then I knew I had to kill him. I knew that the budding expressive,
thoughtful music-making jazz player had to kill the rapid-fire, trick-pulling, technique-driven rock and
roller. I resolved to never again play solos by Jimmy Page or Eddie Van Halen. Or rhythms by Slash or
Keith Richards. Now don’t get me wrong, I love those guitarists, and I love Led Zeppelin, Van Halen,
Guns ‘N Roses and the Rolling Stones. Hendrix, Randy Rhoads and Clapton are still idols, but I will have
to put them all to rest if I am going to move forward.
So I did it. I killed the old me. A proof that my entire mentality shifted is the fact that I quickly
moved beyond listening to jazz guitar players like Wes Montgomery and zeroed in on the likes of Charlie
Parker, Miles Davis and Sonny Rollins. To borrow a line from Dire Straits, previously I didn’t give a damn
about any trumpet playing band. If there was no guitar involved then I didn’t want to know about it. The
fact that I’m now drawing my new guitar playing style not from other guitarists but from hard bop
saxophone and trumpet players from the 1950s is almost arresting to a former long-haired metal dude like
me. For the first time it was about the music, not just about the instrument.
Color is my day-long ob 6W76