Music In the Moment

To paraphrase Heraclitus, “You can’t step in the same river twice.” A good jazz musician never plays the same song twice — the same way. Pianist and composer Michael Royal fits that Heraclitian description. His mind is a music library bursting with the legacy of Debussy, Ravel, Satie, John Coltrane, Monk, Bill Evans and many others. His fingers find improvisational spaces to explore inside their compositions. 

Locally, the hard-working Royal performs at The -Haye Loft, Burns Court Café, L’Amore Restaurant and many other venues. He frequently collaborates with drummer Johnny Moore. Add bassist Richard Drexler to the equation, and it adds up to the Michael Royal Trio. No performance ever sounds like the last one. A recent concert with Moore made us wonder: How does he do that? But first, we had to find out who he is.

How did you get started in jazz?

I was an early bloomer. I started playing this kind of music when I was 16. Before that, I thought the greatest thing I’d ever heard was the extended organ solo on “Light My Fire” by The Doors. Then I met a drummer named Majid Shabazz, who’d been playing with Alice Coltrane. He invited me to sit in with his band in St. Pete. I heard this gentleman stand up and deliver 40 choruses of the blues on his saxophone. That was it for me.

Why did the experience move you so deeply?

Shabazz was telling a story in sound, and telling it with such eloquence, depth and unpretentiousness. He was lost in the beauty of the moment, not calling attention to himself. The rest of the band showed the same character. They talked about sports, science, current events — you name it. They were well-read, well-informed and philosophical. That made a deep impression on my 16-year-old mind. I instantly decided I wanted to be an adult.

As opposed to?

Well, being a kid all my life. Like the typical kids fooling around in a typical rock band. Sometimes talented kids, sometimes not, but cracking dirty jokes, and not taking anything seriously. Why should they? The music they play is simplistic. Pop music boils down to so many cookie-cutter templates. It’s music for kids, for teenagers — an adolescent sensibility. Shabazz opened my eyes and ears to music for adult minds.

And you decided to sit at the grown-ups’ table.

That I did. The pop music world lost all interest for me. I made up my mind to get into the adult music world. I began a lifelong love affair with John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Bill Evans and all of the jazz greats who were doing what I was trying to do. As a teenager, I couldn’t define what they were doing. But I knew I wanted to do it.

I’m curious how you do it. You change rhythm, trade riffs — and there’s no sheet music! 

How? That’s an interesting question, but I’m not sure I can answer it. How does a flock of birds know how to all turn at the same time? How does a school of 10 billion sardines suddenly switch direction?

It looks like telepathy.

There may be some telepathy involved. I won’t rule that out entirely. But I think it’s mostly memory. Johnny and I have been on this journey for a long, long time. We’ve built up a common understanding. We can quote from the literature of jazz the way preachers can quote from the Bible.

Who needs iTunes when it’s all in your head?

You got it, man. So, Johnny and I can draw on our shared legacy — and we’ve developed a kind of shorthand. Musicians and ballplayers can exchange a lot of meaning in just a glance. We’ll just look at each other. To a casual observer, it looks like telepathy. But there’re just lots of signals that are very obvious to us that nobody else knows. It’s a subtle thing, but it allows us to take risks.

In what sense?

We can explore new territory — instead of rehashing the same tune the same way over and over, which is the antithesis of real jazz. We don’t have to play it safe! I can go out on limb; he can go out on a limb. We trust each other to pick up on it and take it somewhere. There’s an element of faith involved — like Roger Staubach throwing a Hail Mary pass to Drew Pearson at the other end of the field.

You’ve got the confidence that the drummer won’t drop the ball.

Yeah. That goes with confidence that I won’t drop the ball. Let me give you another sports analogy. Go back in time to 1970, Boston Red Sox. Carl Yastrzemski successfully steals second base for the 23rd time. If you ask ‘How’d you do that?’ the answer wouldn’t be in where he puts his feet. It’s where he puts his mind. He’s observing very keenly. He sees that the catcher has flubbed the ball, and he gives his body permission to move. His feet know exactly where to take him. He doesn’t have to think about it.

There’s constant feedback with the musicians. Is the audience part of it?

Not really. I’m not an entertainer; Johnny isn’t; Michael Ross isn’t; no serious jazz musician I can name is. Constantly monitoring the audience — then choosing what and how you play based on people’s reactions: Do they like this? Do they like that? That’s not the direction we ever took. Other musicians can take you to places you’ve been a thousand times. Let us run the train. We’ll take you to places you’ve never been before.

So it’s a mystery tour. You don’t know where you’re going until you get there. And the audience comes along for the ride.

A good audience will do that. That’s the ideal — that’s not always what you get.

How do you define a good audience?

Well, an adult audience, a mature audience, an educated audience. Their minds are present; they’re with you in the room. It’s probably easier to define a bad audience. Think of what it’s like to take a kid along for a ride. What does the kid say?

Are we there yet?

Exactly. Going with the flow is a skill. Listening is a skill. By that I mean active listening—the opposite of passive. Adult music demands an adult mind.

So, how do you listen?

You need to turn your brain off and your eyes and ears on. Quit thinking and reacting to everything you hear. Stop making judgments, trying to second-guess. Ignore the little voice in your head saying, ‘I like this, I don’t like that.’

Silence the inner critic?

For the duration of the show, yeah.