Joao Gilberto (1931-2019)

Yesterday, the world lost a true musical legend with the passing of the great Brazilian guitarist Joao Gilberto at the age of 88. With his wispy vocals, gentle strumming and harmonic expertise, Gilberto took the tradition of Brazil's samba to a place of tranquility it had never been to before and in doing so, he helped to create a new approach to music, something very few musicians have ever truly accomplished. Together with the brilliant composer Antonio Carlos Jobim, Gilberto established the eminence of what came to be called bossa nova all over the world. He also had a daughter Bebel, who became an important forward looking musician in her own right. Although he lived reclusively during the later part of his life, Gilberto remained both respected and revered for his important contributions to the world of music.

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Music and Dance

I remember the first time I became fully enamored of the relationship between music and dance. It was when I was introduced to the famed show "Riverdance," which was then only a few years into its ongoing international phenomenon. A teacher had the original 1995 production on VHS, and allowed me to watch it. From the very start, the music of composer and arranger Bill Whelan had me in a trance with its cross between rhythmic and melodic intensity and with a firm respect for both Irish and multiethnic musical traditions, as put forth by the collective of musicians known as the Riverdance Orchestra. When the dancers made their way onto the stage and began to move their feet in near perfect synchronization with serious expressions on their faces, I felt a rush of emotions. I was completely enamored of them, yet at the same time I was intimidated by them too, as I frequently was among dancers and other visual performers at the time. I felt awe and shame, excitement and embarrassment all at once.

The dancers I have been fortunate enough to collaborate with at differing times in my life have told me that they do not perceive my work as a musician to be any less of a challenge in its own way for me than what they do is for them. And when we have put our energy into this subsequent collective whole, we all know it has worked as well as it has, because we have believed in it. And when I go back to the footage of various Riverdance productions as I have often done, it occurs to me that every human being both visible and invisible to the audience must have felt a firm collective belief in what they were doing, which could only have come through by putting everything they had into their own roles as they so obviously did. And as such, my older and wiser self can look back with the satisfaction of understanding how when part of a production with high expectations, we all will operate as a collective whole no matter which part we play as long as we all know how to play it and play it to the best of our abilities.

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On Humor

Humor is as multilayered a concept as any the human species has ever conceived of and a major part of that layering is the many reactions the said humor is capable of stirring in all of us. We could respond to it in many different ways and not simply with laughter. A humorist with a firm grasp on the areas of his or her choice would have a clear understanding of who can be reached and what is being said. And if I don't necessarily find it funny, it doesn't automatically mean I find it offensive. Perhaps it’s simply not my preferred kind of humor. I do not believe for instance that there is cause for me to be taken for a whiner simply because I watched an episode of "Last Man Standing," and personally disliked it. I think it perfectly reasonable to take issue with what I saw without begrudging the enjoyment of those who are fans of the show. Maybe it's not the supposed political slant of the writing and acting that I didn't care for. If I personally feel that the jokes are cheap and the contexts in which the characters operate neither particularly substantial or agreeably realistic, a genuine fan of the show does not have to take my perspective as a gesture of offense. I don't have to loose sleep over something like this simply because I felt the quality of this particular show easily stretches itself too thin. Perhaps its simply not to my taste. And if I can accept that a fan does see the humor as relatable in some way, surely that same fan can accept my perspective for what it is as long as I'm not truly imposing anything. That's just how humor is. From all angles it will attract some and turn others away. And that alone does not reveal where that same humor truly crosses a line where sensitivity and tolerance are concerned.

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Jazz: “It Suffers But Does Not Die”

Whenever I hear jazz music referred to as a dying art form, it gives me a feeling of dismay, though never more so than when I hear it from one of the very musicians who could easily think of helping to turn it around. Any kind of music at its best is reflected by the attitude within those of us who help to create it, and that is the way we ensure it survives as an art. Knowing it truly radiates out carries more importance than an attempt at a precise number of people it radiates out to.

Nelson Sargento one of Brazil's seminal songwriters once composed a samba called "Agoniza Mas Nao Morre," which means "It Suffers But Does Not Die." As with the Brazilian Samba, the Cuban Son, the Jamaican Ska and the American Blues, all of which have been vital to their respective cultures in ways both out in the open and hidden within, jazz music may indeed suffer for its integrity, but to truly keep it alive takes far more than the technical prowess that often comes to mind whenever the music is spoken of. The human element that always lies at the core of our very best work must remain a vital part of how it radiates itself out. Like the Samba of Brazil that Nelson Sargento wrote of, it may struggle through the time we know but with the core intact it never dies.

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The Fear of Being Wrong

One of my deepest fears which I am willing to not hide behind is the feeling that I might speak out of line even with the least intention of doing so. I have read (or am reading) works by Plato, Sophocles, Shakespeare, Austin, Dickens, Darwin, Nietzsche, Wilde, Dostoyevsky, Dickinson, Joyce, Yeats, Frost, Conrad, Hemingway, Eliot, Ellison, Baldwin, Achebe, Mailer, Bellow, Sagan, Eiseley, Fukuyama and Diamond and I can't wrap my pinkies around all the wisdom and knowledge I try to consume on a daily basis. As with the music I play, I want the words I say to be thought out to the best of my abilities at all times. On top of that I want to take the feedback I know must come to the best of my abilities, though a pathologist I have worked with in the past once told me it would be a struggle to do so in social settings. Even among those I have respected the most I have occasionally twisted my tongue while trying to articulate my words and ideas.

I have been told by a few specialists I have met with that the compassion they have seen in me for others is an unusual occurrence for one on the autism spectrum. It's not that those who are autistic are incapable of showing it much less feeling it. It is usually that they feel so comfortable inside of their own mindsets that even the consideration of others is far more difficult though not impossible by any means. It is not my words but those who have stated it to me who have said they were impressed at the extent to which I could feel sympathy for others different from myself to the extent that I could for an autistic person. But, what if I ever let their words go to my head? What if like the words I articulated, the feelings I tried to could come off as less than I intended them to?

I know the feeling of being in the presence of those who seem to think they understand the topics they speak of as well as they need to and do not appear to recognize the limitations within their perspectives. (For clarification I am not in saying so referring to anyone I have known well or been close to). On a daily basis I feel a sense of dread at the thought of speaking from the very limited foundation I have always wanted to avoid and which I believe I could be guilty of with no realization.

How long I wonder will it be before like the fictional playwright Barton Fink, I will be confronted with another and ask why they signal me out only for them to yell in reply: "BECAUSE YOU DON'T LISTEN!!!!"?

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Writing, Music, and My Ancestors

My second cousin through my father, Dr. Reuben Merliss once wrote a novel of historical fiction called "The Year of the Death." It was set in 1348 and recounted the terror of the bubonic plague as it swept through France and claimed many lives. Reuben was not a full time writer, but instead like my father and grandfather a doctor of renown if not fame in his chosen field. And yet the novel showed a remarkable attention to historicity and character development as well as the medical advances of that time in history. Reuben had clearly placed an impressive attention on the writing and publishing of this novel, which indicated to me that the project had taken on a strong amount of importance to him. But the novel was not a success despite positive reviews in both the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times. Reuben wrote only one more novel which was also unsuccessful. "Consider The Season: A Novel of The Making of a Doctor," which concerned a young doctor making his way through medical school was also well-written but seemed more reserved in its approach as though only a fellow doctor could truly understand the personal troubles of the medical profession. Though he had a few short stories to his name, Reuben never had another novel published and whether or not he even considered writing another has remained unknown to me. Though my father knew of Reuben, they were never truly close, and my grandfather's contact with him decreased over the years. Reuben resided in Beverly Hills, California for much of his adult life and died four years before I was born.

Though Reuben was my second cousin, he was much closer in profession to both my father and grandfather than I am. I often tell people that I am the first male Merliss in a generation to be musically rather than medically inclined. I learned from my father how greatly worthy of respect the profession of medicine is and I still hold that knowledge dear to me. Yet I had a premonition from the time I was in my late toddlerhood that music was the course my life was bound to take. Even so, the encouragement I received form my family was never less than stellar in the progress I made. But my only links to music through my father were the remarkable achievements of Ned Liben and Borah Bergman two other cousins who unlike Reuben were living when I was born, but died before I could have become acquainted with them. To me, all three of my cousin's memories feel like enigmas swirling through my consciousness with no semblance of flesh and blood, though I know perfectly well they were just as human as I am and loved in the way that I too have been fortunate to be loved.

Although music is my primary focus I do in fact appear to share a commonality with Reuben. I too have an interest in writing which I have pursued in my own way ever since I realized that writing was something I was capable of. I do not of course share his knowledge of medicine, but in the bitter attempts at poetry and stories I have attempted thus far I have never wanted my subjects to lack the human element Reuben succeeded in capturing through his own work. Many questions remain in my head as to what right I have to set down the stories of characters not of myself but of various individuals I have known throughout my life. Another is how much time I could possibly devote to the thinking process of writing as Reuben did when he wrote "The Year of the Death," while writing was not our primary focuses as I am a musician and he was a doctor. I am young but I get no younger even as I ponder these questions. Yet perhaps just as I imagine Borah, Ned and Reuben did as they thought, doing as I think as opposed to simply sitting and thinking is the first step to take toward the legitimacy of this path.

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