man tells all

a column by bass player and musicologist Hans Mantel, on his current state of mind

maestro mantel

Music and Objects

The other day I pondered the question why most people seem to associate a specific piece

of music to a specific time and place. A pop summer hit on the radio will transport them

instantly to that summer where that song was the soundtrack for all the (love) activities

that made that summer so memorable.

It doesn't work like that with me. Objects do but music doesn't.

Of course, I listen to much more music than most people because I am a

professional musician as well as a producer and presenter for various daily and weekly radioshows.

But still, there is a funny difference.

It has to do with the fact that I don't consume music for recreation, nor do I have it on

in the background as some sort of acoustic wallpaper.

I am fully prepared to accept that I may suffer from a professional deficiency in this respect.

Listening to music is always a cognitive process and activity for me, never a non-activity.

I just can't do it.

It's like language; if someone speaks to you in your native tongue it becomes difficult not

to hear what he is saying. If we want to stay within this metaphore with regard to a pop tune,

it would mean that the speaker would be saying the exact same three minute text over and over again.

That numbs the perception; after a few times you know the story and it holds no more surprises

and being a recording it's exactly the same every time.

Effectively, you tune out and concentrate on other things while remaining dimly aware that

the music is playing in the background.

I make a point of asking my students what they think jazz is and what they like about it.

Most of them, at some point say: 'I like it, but I have to be in the mood for it.'

This is a constant source of amazement. I must be wired differently,

because this is yet another thing that's totally alien to me.

In short, if I like a particular piece of music, that's it. I like it, period.

This means that I don't have to be in the mood for it to enjoy listening to it.

Once a particular piece of music, whatever it is, has convincingly crossed my

threshold of esthetic pleasure (for want of a more descripive term), I can hear it

at nine in the morning, at lunch, late at night or at the crack of dawn. Makes no difference.

I mentioned how different it is for me with objects and memories. As I write this I am looking

at a silver flask on my desk. I can never look at it without thinking of the story connected with it.

As a touring musician you have to nourish yourself well if you want to stay fit during a long tour.

In England this can be a problem because a lot of good, fully licensed restaurants (permitted to serve alcohol)

don't open until seven at night. Too late for the musician who has to start at eight in the theatre.

That means having to resort to places that don't serve alcohol and the perfect solution to overcome

this inconvenience, is to carry your own dram around with you in a flask: very thin ones for golfers' back pockets

and thicker ones for hunting, fishing, riding, and musicians.

While on tour in England, my trombonist colleague and I found ourselves walking through Horsham in Kent;

we came upon a shop with sporting goods. Wax coats, fishing rods and tackle, rubber boots, guns, decoys and indeed........ flasks.

Raising one eyebrow over his impressive moustache the man in the shop said: 'What can I do for for you gentlemen.'

I said: 'I'd like to see a flask please.'.

'Certainly', he said: 'Is it for golf or for riding?'

'Neither', I said.

Five seconds of total silence ensued,

then the man's face lit up and he produced a smile as wide as his moustache, sudden,

full comprehension illuminated his brain.

'Aaahhhh..........', he said, 'MUSICIANS!'

man tells all

Music and Objects

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