BY MICHAEL LAKE

2004/5 is a year I won’t forget easily.  West Ham lost the FA cup final to Stephen Gerrard.  It was also the year that the black cloud of clinical depression hung over me, obstinate and seemingly immoveable. My therapist told me that science had discovered that the brain regenerates and forges new neuron pathways and so I should try out new things.  New experiences create new pathways, which reduce the propensity to revisit old ones, and I guess fall back on old thinking habits. Even in the depressive mind blur it made sense to me, and I was prepared to try anything.

Like many of the bewitched I am a creative obsessive. These traits lie hidden in the trenches of the bleak territory that is clinical depression. Advice like try out new things was a bit like blowing the whistle to signal the troops over the top. And over the top I went. I launched into homeopathy, reiki, alexander technique, woodwork, cooking, colouropathy, photography, ornithology, hornithology, and read the self help books in Waterstones at least twice. When the war ended and the smoke had cleared, I discovered that to my surprise I had purchased a shiny new Yamaha trumpet. I had played classical guitar for five years but couldn’t bring myself to play it during my illness. I had no idea how to get a note out of this odd piece of coiled brass and for weeks whenever I blew it just squeaked mercilessly. At the time I lived in farmhouse surrounding by fields and fortunately the only person to suffer this auditory trauma was my housemate and sheep, who apparently are as tone deaf as Damon Albarn.

The appearance of a bumper pack of ear plugs and shotgun on the kitchen table one morning convinced me that maybe it would be a good idea to have a few lessons. So off I popped to the Kent Music School enlisting the help of brass teacher and ace trombonist Colin Reid. And that is where I had my first encounter with the Devil’s music aka jazz. It all started innocently with a few flirtatious blue notes, followed by a cheeky jazzy riff. By the time I had blown the hell out of Chat-a-noog-a-Choo-Choo I was hooked. Major chords became inverted, natural minor were supplanted by bebop, harmonic and melodic minor scales. Lou Reed and the Screaming Trees were cast aside for the Miles Davies Quintet and Herbie Hancock. Julian Cope’s “Head on” was moved to the bottom shelf and Marsalis’s “jazz in the bittersweet blues of life” took its place.

For someone whose musical tastes were heavily influenced by The Cure, The Smiths and Billy Bragg this was a more than just a dangerous liaison. It wasn’t love at first sight by any means but my tender and enduring affair with jazz had begun. Depression may be the Devils work but for me it brought me in touch with the Devils music. So cheers Lucifer.

Tags: All That Jazz, Billy Bragg, Colin Reid, Damon Albarn, Head On, Herbie Hancock, Jazz in the Bittersweet Blues of Life, Julian Cope, Kent Music School, Lou Reed, Marsalis, Michael Lake, Miles Davies Quintet, Screaming Trees, The Cure, The Smiths

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 1st, 2009 at 10:17 am and is filed under Articles. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.