Anyone learning fiddle knows that attending jams (or sessions, if it's Irish), is a fun way to make music a social experience, and also one of the best ways to improve one's playing. Jams are held at restaurants, bars, outdoor parks, music schools, or someone's living room and, at least in my experience, everyone is welcome. Just make sure to play on beat, keep your instrument in tune, and be nice. Some jams are led by a superstar who calls each song and performs it, while everyone else plays along. Others move democratically from one player to the next, calling upon each to lead a song of his or her choice.
As a beginner, any tune that arises at a jam that is already familiar is cause for celebration. I eagerly pick up my fiddle and play along to the best of my ability--despite the fact that the group is probably playing twice the speed at which I learned the tune. Unknown songs require great concentration and listening. I try to figure out where the song is starting, catch a phrase, or two or three, and play along with those parts as best I can. Occasionally the song is so difficult or fast that it is a futile effort and I sit back to listen, making sure to jot down the tune's name if I like it and want to learn it at home. Every time I return to a jam, I know more tunes, feel more comfortable with the speed, and see more familiar faces.
Tonight I set out for the Skellig old time jam in Waltham, to play along and listen in awe to the leader, Alan Kaufman, an old time fiddling legend, who also happens to yodel. As I parked my car in the lot adjacent to the pub, a text message arrived from a friend: "Jam cancelled. Are you coming?" Cancelled? After driving almost an hour? My heart sank.
But in the world of music, there are no bad outcomes, as long as one has an instrument and a friend. I rushed over to the pub to catch my friend and within moments we assembled a group of four friends--all eager musicians who hadn't gotten the memo about the cancelled jam. I knew just where to go and led the group down the street to a picturesque path along the river, where we stationed ourselves on a row of benches and began to tune our instruments.
We began to play and a pair of swans soon drifted over to our side of the river. An elderly couple walked past and sat down to listen, later asking us what our band was called. A little boy looked on for some time before approaching and proudly announcing that he had a violin at home. Another boy told us of his flute, which he had left at home. Two little children with red light-up shoes pranced up, parents in tow, and began dancing. We played "Over the Waterfall" for them as they jumped up and down along the walkway.
I let the music flow over me, pausing to dance about the walkway and absorb my friends' breathtaking bowing technique when the tunes became too challenging. We conversed, taught each other new tunes, and encouraged one another until daylight turned to dusk and then to darkness. Fall was in the air. Fall--a time when things start to move in our deepest souls, old life dies and retreats in preparation for new impulses to be born. Our own plan had died just hours before.... and still the music played on. I strive to make space for the music in my life to play on into the fall and winter and I know that all shall be well.
