Take Five | Who Are You?

The unexpected richness of breaking standards

Mixed media | Found a bunch of postcards, in another treasure box, of old jazz albums, printed my cat’s reflection, our palm trees, and my poor attempt at a Paul Klee I call “jazz cat” in the lower left corner.

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A little preface: First of all, I want to thank you for praying for my friend Jacqui and her family. The GoFundMe goal was met in two days. They are overwhelmed and so grateful. Caity’s family secured a rental on the same block as her parents!!, and they are presently all together for as long as possible. We still pray for a miracle. Keep praying. ox

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I wrote the piece below almost three years ago. It’s a solid family story that remains a gift passed down to this day.

On Mother’s Day, in church this past Sunday, our pastor did a sermon starting with the question, “Who Are You?” He went on to explain all the ways we identify., i.e., “I’m a daughter, son, sister, brother, mom, grandma, dad, granddad, aunt, uncle, I love _______, I enjoy _______, I’m a stay-at-home _______, retired ______, I work at______, I do this, I like to _______, etc., but, no. Who are you? All those identities are secondary. They ebb, flow, change, come and go, as we age through the seasons. We can’t cling as if we are nothing without them. I think of the “empty nest” and the parent wondering what to do now? Some get in a helicopter and continue to hover.

We are “remarkably bright creatures,” works of art. So what sustains us to the end? What is our purpose? I can tell you it grows and grows and grows as we seek a closer relationship with the One who created us. Just when we’re about to crash the helicopter, freeze, hit the bed, the chair, the streets — there is something for us. We are never done living what we’re made for. And…. we continue to discover things we never knew were in us. Turn off the click bait and the desire for a temporary “like” and find yourself.

WHO ARE YOU?

I am a child of God first. And that means I am loved despite who comes and goes.

I am a creative. I have always been a creative. The journey here has been worth the pain and anguish of unsustainable, forever changing identities. I live, eat, breathe, serve, through my love of all things creative. Anything and everything that has to do with creating will forever live in my DNA. My dad was the same. If you are struggling with a secondary identity, or feeling held back — I encourage you to find a relationship with God, pray, see the world around you and find your way back through the traffic and congestion. You don’t want to miss out on your next chapter.

We have spent lifetimes, cyclical lifetimes, not knowing what we are meant for. It’s never been about living for each other or casting “our loads” onto each other. It’s about “what is within.” Growing like an old oak tree, grateful for her fullness, but understanding the leaves do fall away.

Branches crack and fall too.

But what sustains us to the end? Love sustains.

It always will.

Love, like the tree striving, is the force which reaches into the heavens, stretching and expanding our God given purpose. No one said you have to drop all your hats and live for yourself. This has nothing to do with that. It’s about being nine years old, in the backseat of a car as a song begins to play — and you have goosebumps.

That’s who you are. And if you’ve lost it or never found it? Take five and think about it…

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Artificial robots need to be smashed.

With that said, here’s a story I love:

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“She understands what it means to never be able to stop moving, lest you find yourself unable to breathe.” ― Shelby Van Pelt, Remarkably Bright Creatures

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Not one to tow the line myself, I will always feel richly blessed by Dave Brubeck’s unexpected, yet ground-breaking, album “Time Out.” Released almost one year prior to my birth, I can still see where I was the first time I ever heard “Take Five.”

It was 1970. I was 9 years old, my little brother three.

We were living in the heart of the San Fernando Valley in a modest home (the one with the white rock roof).

After long days at work, and on weekends, dad was was usually spending time fixing up a car to sell. He didn’t just do it to get by, he did it out of passion, which made getting by all the better.

Dad was an outstanding, self-taught car mechanic and had a thing for older mustangs and jags. The perfect blend of American and British. Back then a little pocket money could buy you an old fixer, and with skill, you could turn it around, on a budget, for a few thousand more.

There was usually a dune-buggy, built from a jalopy with a decent engine, thrown in. I remember standing at the front door with mum watching a tow truck back into our driveway and dump an old Corvair off. It was a wreck, but the engine was good.

Arleta, 1971 | 1st phase, before rails. Built from ground up | Corvair engine

Mum, hand on her hips, was usually speechless.

Our garage had a door entry to our kitchen and mum opened it and slammed it a lot calling dad for dinner. There he was, the greasy coverall guy, rolling out from underneath his latest project, grabbing his dinner, and right back out he went. I smile thinking about it.

Dad was as passionate about fixing up cars as he was for the music. Our house had an array of genres playing from the stereo console all the time. It’s where my love of jazz developed or at least my ear for it. It was dad’s favorite. He listened to every jazz band and singer he could find and was still hunting new artists out towards the end of his life. I miss how excited he was to share his latest finds.

Back to that sunny day in 1970. Dad had completed the restoration of a beat-up Jaguar S-Type. It was probably the first time I heard him say, “you could eat off the engine.” <insert heavy British accent> There isn’t a car show I attend that I don’t think about him saying that. He was so proud of this car.. I actually thought it was ours!

Little did I know or understand that it would be sold. I believe Dad took a whopping 5k for it. I was very aware that this was a leather-seat, fire-engine-red (dad did the paint job too), real-walnut-wood-dash, polished-to-perfection, down-to-the-last-detail beauty that probably didn’t belong in our Pacoima neighborhood. I didn’t get it.

I loved this car so much — I couldn’t imagine not getting to drive in it.

When the sale sign was written and the weekend came… Dad said “we’re taking it for a ride through the valley. Keep your hands to yourselves!!” I watched as dad started the engine, and carefully plugged-in an eight-track tape.

Off we went.

The first song, “Blue Rondo à la Turk,” felt like a cool tap class. Come to find out later its keynote is a tilted version of 9/8.

As we rounded the corner, and drove out onto the main highway, I felt lost in the music. A Jungle Book of sorts "Gettin' mad, baby!" sings Baloo, as the chorus swells, "take me home, Daddy!" I felt every note.

Third song in — “Take Five,” written in a time signature of 5/4, filled my nine year old head with fashion ideas and “this is what it feels like to be rich.” Nothing could compare to that moment. It was magic.

Brubeck’s album, “Time Out” worried the marketing department at Columbia Records. They said it would never sell with its uncommon time signatures.

In 1961, Dave Brubeck told Ralph Gleason on the TV program Jazz Casual that jazz had lost some of its adventurous qualities. He said it wasn't challenging the public rhythmically the way it had in its early days.

"It's time that the jazz musicians take up their original role of leading the public into a more adventurous rhythm," he said.

Brubeck said “it's a good idea to shake things up a bit,” and that's exactly what he did with the song "Take Five."

Interestingly, Dave Brubeck decided to put a painting on the cover. A first for a jazz album. Time Out's cover is the creation of Sadamitsu “S. Neil” Fujita, who was a visual artist at Columbia Records between 1954 and 1960.

I’m sure glad that the label president of Columbia intervened and said “it was about time somebody did something different.” The Dave Brubeck Quartet was, quite simply, the most famous and commercially successful jazz combo of the 1950s and 1960s. With Brubeck on piano, Paul Desmond on alto saxophone, Joe Morello on drums beginning in 1956, and Eugene Wright on bass from 1958, they routinely won the popularity polls of magazines such as “Down Beat.” Dave Brubeck’s eldest son, Darius, characterized the intent of the album as experimental and “entirely dedicated to the working out of a particular musical idea” - namely, the use of meters and rhythms that were not common in jazz.

Time Out was the first jazz album to sell more than a million copies. The album was certified platinum in 1997 and double platinum in 2011. The single, "Take Five," also sold over a million.

Jaguar S Type (1963–1968) - Stock Image | Classic Motoring | Everything I remember about that car pictured here.

And it almost wasn't used. Both Brubeck and Morello say they can't pinpoint what it is about "Take Five" that has made it the biggest-selling jazz single ever. Brubeck guesses it was the catchy repeated vamp. Morello says the whole thing just clicked.

"It just worked," he says. "You know, if anyone could ever predict what's going to be a big seller like that, my God, they'd be driving around in Rolls-Royces; you know, living in castles."

The unexpected richness of breaking standards. The moment when jazz swept up a whole new generation. Dad would never afford a car like that, but the “time out” for this nine year old kid was far more valuable.

I miss you dad. ox

Random set of Polaroids I found for Mum and Dad’s Green Cards. I roll with tears every time I look at dad’s writing on them :) Then, my perfect mum. Take One.