I’ve been on the road too damn long, and am trying to relax. As I got ready to make some pancakes for the kids this fine Saturday morning, I put on Glenn Gould’s early Goldberg Variations. He is such an Art Tatum (aka “20th Century Piano Genius” of jazz) of classical - super fast, articulate, but you can really hear him asserting his interpretation of this work.
And you can hear his voice, too. Gould would famously hum during his particularly immersed moments. A ghostly, leaden, monotonal hum, like an idiot in front of a TV, drooling.
I love it. It’s slop, the mistakes that show it’s alive. In Jimmy Page’s and Jimi Hendrix’ playing, in the best jazz solos, in primitive Blues recordings where there was only one take, and of course, all live recordings, there’s the immediacy of slop - and if there is no slop, we feel a bit ripped off.
As listeners, we all understand what good slop means - the player is up at the edge of their abilities, pushing in an attempt to say something. It feels more personal.
As musicians, we understand the importance of selling it - finding a voice that works for you, so, in a practical way, you become more authentic, and thereby more entertaining. Slop puts butts in seats. And it feels really, really good, too. We’re trying to slip into the moment, a form of musical meditation, of being in the zone, walking the wire.
Probably my favorite music quote is Eddie Van Halen, which is something like “I want to sound like I am falling down the stairs, but land on my feet.”
Yes.