The Miscellany News

Afternoon, Sunday, Sept. 15. I was hurrying out of a band rehearsal, guitar in hand, on my way back to Jewett. As I was walking the path in front of Davison, an old man, clearly a visitor, pointed at my guitar case and asked, “You’re a guitarist?” I said “I am,” and he asked me where the Skinner Hall of Music was. He told me that there was an elite group of musicians playing there at 3 p.m. Now normally, a conversation would end here. I would say, “I’ll try to make it,” knowing damn well I will not, and this stranger would go about his day. But we kept talking. 

Eventually, after discussing our shared love for and training in classical guitar, he asked me something that caught me a little off guard. “Why do you think all the greatest musicians also happen to be the kindest, most gracious people?” At first, I did not know if I even agreed with his statement. But I responded by explaining how some musicians’ worldliness and humility likely comes from the detachment of their ego, which they have achieved through rigorous practice and experience. In other words, their hearts and minds are open, man. I guess I passed his test, because he shook my hand and said, “I’m Mark.” Mark and I eventually parted ways and I made my way up to my dorm. Now, I am not religious, nor am I very superstitious. But the level of serendipity I felt meeting this guy…I began to wonder what would happen if I did not go to this concert. Curiosity got the better of me, and I began my trek to Skinner. 

I walked into the recital hall, and on stage, I saw a shiny, black nine-foot Steinway, a carefully tailored drum kit and an antique-looking double bass. As I was soaking in the scene, I heard a voice beside me say, “Would you mind if I sat next to you?” It was Mark! “No, not at all,” I said. Eventually, the musicians walked out on stage, took their positions and began playing their version of “I Thought About You” by Jimmy Van Heusen. I was immediately blown away. From the start, these guys sounded as if they were all extensions of each other, and it was no wonder why they titled their performance “Interplay.” After the first tune, Vassar’s own Professor Jeff Siegel, on drums, introduced his bandmates: pianist Nick Hetko and bassist Rich Syracuse. They then began their rendition of Chick Corea’s “Windows.” Hetko had the intro, and he began by playing an undulating melody—soft but harmonically dense—which he then expanded into a Liszt-esque mini-concerto. Hetko’s melodies reflected a nostalgic sorrow so potent that it forced my eyes to well up. Right at that point, Syracuse slid down into a low note, grounding Hetko and producing a minor nine chord so well-voiced I had to try really hard to not let my tears fall next to Mark. Siegel entered the mix effortlessly and with the perfect amount of tact, utilizing his entire kit beautifully to create sparks of color that rang out above the euphony. 

Solo after solo, tune after tune, the trio kept blowing my mind. Though, as I looked around, I noticed something strange. I was one of two students in attendance. Two. The rest of the audience? Less than a couple dozen senior citizens. This was not acceptable—these are world-class musicians, and no one is here to experience them except two kids, a few more octogenarians and Mark! Then, underscored by Siegel’s “Evie’s Theme,” I wondered: Why the hell wasn’t anyone here?

My first thought was bad advertising. We students are blissfully unaware of half the things that go on around campus, especially a jazz trio concert on a Sunday afternoon. However, there were people who do not live on this campus who were at that concert, so I am not ready to fully accept that justification. My second thought was that the genre might scare people off—not everyone likes jazz. Still, there is a sizable audience for it on campus. People love the big band at the Yule Ball as well as the recitals at the end of each semester. Maybe everyone was just incredibly busy, as I was that Sunday. 

My pessimism began to get the best of me, and I wondered if we, students at a liberal arts college, think we are too good for art like “Interplay.” Is it possible that if we were to take away the given circumstances of a friend being in a performance or the renown of, say, a Broadway show, no one except old people would show up to experience a concert or theater? Hell, the only reason I showed up to “Interplay” was because of a sign from God. I do not have a definitive answer to that question, but what I can say is this: Had I stayed in my dorm, I would have missed one of the greatest live performances I have ever seen. I would have missed Hetko’s energetic, emotional expressions, Syracuse’s sprinting bass and Siegel’s crisp, creative grooves. I do not mean to guilt-trip anyone with this article—we all have a lot of stuff going on in our lives and recreational activities, particularly artistic ones, are among the first things to fall by the wayside once everything gets busy. However, as this semester trudges forward, I implore you to seek out these small, seemingly inconsequential performances. Go to that jazz concert, go to that play reading, go to that guest lecture. All art has the potential to inspire and move, but it will not come to us. Mark came all the way from Stone Ridge across the river and yet, we can not walk a quarter mile? In a single afternoon, through the chance encounter with a stranger and the subsequent performance we witnessed together, my outlook on art changed—a big part of my ego was detached. In other words, my heart and mind were opened, man.