A jazz trio is playing a gig at an upscale nightclub.
They play a classic bebop tune at a fleet tempo with grace and ease.
Then comes a Wayne Shorter composition filled with mysterious harmonies,
poignant melodies and daring improvisations.
Next they present a medley of lesser known Harold Arlen songs that only a
connoisseur would recognize, again played with elegant styling and
exquisite taste.
The whole evening has been one dazzling performance after another. Though
the trio is playing background music and not a formal concert, the audience
can sense that the musical display they are witnessing is of such a high
caliber that the musicians should be allowed to perform as they please
without interference.
Then a well-dressed, middle-aged man approaches the bandstand and asks the
pianist, Can you play Lauras Theme from Dr. Zhivago?
The pianist tells the man that they are jazz musicians and that they
usually dont take requests of that sort.
The man reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out three one hundred dollar
bills which he lays out on the piano.
The pianist looks at the bass player and drummer and says, Lauras Theme
in G.
They play the tune in the fashion of the original version, the pianist
emulating the Balalaika textures with a delicate upper register tremolo.
The song obviously does not present the same level of difficulty that the
trio is accustomed to dealing with.
As the pianist plays, he absent-mindedly gazes at the soundboard of his
ebony Steinway B and wonders about the grain in the wood. How would the
tonal characteristics be altered if the grain of the soundboard ran
perpendicular to the strings rather than parallel, he silently asks
himself.
The bass player amuses himself with an assortment of well-placed
double-stops and harmonics. He daydreams as he looks at the top of his
mid-nineteenth century double bass made by French master, Paul Claudot, and
wonders, How many times has the top been varnished, how did the varnish of
past years differ from todays, how would the resonance properties be
affected if there were no varnish at all?
The drummer gazes down onto his snare drum and thinks to himself, One,
two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
