Jazz-The Soundtrack to My Disability Life
It was a calm and temperate Phoenix night. Clear skies. Mid-May, so it wasn’t unbearably hot yet. I was walking back to my car after leaving an event at the Phoenix Science Center, cosplaying as Poison Ivy as it was a “science of superheroes”-themed event. I pushed the button to cross the street. I had the right of way. As I entered the second half of the road from the pedestrian crosswalk, suddenly, BOOM! CRASH! I was struck by a car traveling 48mph. I was thrown 15’ up and 100’ forward from where the driver hit me. I sustained multiple injuries, some of which have resulted in long-term disabilities and conditions to include a traumatic brain injury, chronic pain, nerve damage and vestibular and vision issues, just to name a few. The driver never got out of his car and left me alone, broken and bleeding on the street until a Good Samaritan who witnessed the incident came to help me.
Jazz has become the soundtrack of my disabilities. There’s a song or artist for every mood, every experience, every setback and every triumph that I’ve been forced to contend with in the almost eight years since the traumatic accident occurred. I’ve always loved the motto, “life is a movie, starring you,” and if I were to choose the genre that best encapsulates and expresses my experiences since becoming disabled, it would be jazz.
Jazz is a difficult genre to clearly define because it encompasses a wide range of music spanning time, culture and region. According to Wikipedia, “Jazz is a music genre that originated in the African-American communities of New Orleans, Louisiana, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, with its roots in blues, ragtime, European harmony and African rhythmic rituals.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jazz)
Artists such as Duke Ellington, Miles Davis and John Coltrane are familiar favorites of the musical style. Although often a male-dominated genre, the contributions of female jazz artists such as Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughn should not be overlooked; their influence on modern-day artists such as Diana Krall and Melody Gardot is apparent.
Jazz is a style of music that is rooted in improvisation. Performers may change melodies, harmonies or compositions depending on mood, audience participation and the general vibe in the room. Notes and melodies may change at a moment's notice, you never know what to expect and may never get the same live musical experience twice.
As a disabled person, I am no stranger to improvisation. The contemplative mood of Blue Mitchell’s song, “It Could Happen to You”, aptly named, melodically expresses the way that I constantly have to think of ways to adjust. The symptoms of my disabilities affect every aspect of my daily life, from self care to parenting and everything in between. Prior to the accident, I was an independent wellness instructor and single mom with a vibrant social life. Becoming disabled changed all of that, and I had to learn how to improvise to accommodate the effects of my disabilities. I constantly have to think on my feet and play it by ear just to make it through the day, a direct parallel to the way that jazz music encompasses improvisation.
I would be lying if I said that the question, “why me?” did not come to mind at times, especially in the early days of recovering from the accident. Every time I went to the doctor, it was more bad news: another diagnosis, another medical professional informing me of the negative long-term effects that I would be experiencing as a result of my disabilities and conditions. Interaction and collaboration are two key elements of jazz music.
Artists have an almost supernatural connection to both the music, and each other that creates beautiful pieces of instrumental art. Songs such as, “Have a Talk with God” by Henrik Gunde, Nicolas Kock and Karsten Bagge are excellent examples of several artists coming together to create something greater than what could be accomplished alone. Throughout my journey with disability, I have had to learn to lean on others for help. As a highly independent person, this was extremely difficult for me. But like the collaborations and interactions found in jazz music, once I learned to collaborate and interact with others for my well-being (primarily my immediate family), it created this beautiful mosaic of my current existence that’s greater than what I would have been able to accomplish on my own.
Because I finally learned to collaborate with others for assistance, I have been able to become a speaker and advocate, championing the issues that affect disabled persons, particularly those in the brain injury community. I collaborate with other survivor-advocates as a member of The Brain Injury Association of America’s Advisory Council. This would not have been possible unless I had taken a lesson from jazz music and learned to interact and collaborate, to lean on even, the people who are close to me in order to help me not only survive, but thrive despite my conditions.
And on that note (pun intended), It’s not all bad. Becoming disabled has shown me that I possess a strength and resilience that I didn’t know I had. The smooth, persistent melodies of “The Feeling of Jazz” by Duke Ellington and John Coltrane remind me of the fact that no matter what I’m facing-having to advocate for myself with doctors, dealing with the ableist misconceptions of others, debilitating pain, an uncertain future, I just keep on trucking. But unlike “The Little Engine That Could”, repeating “I think I can, I think I can,” my mantra has become, “I know I can, I know I can.” This song’s lilting cadence conjures up visions of me continuing to walk forward on this unchosen and unexpected path that I am now on with my disabilities and conditions.
At the 1976 Grammy Awards, Mel Torme asks “The Queen of Jazz”, Ella Fitzgerald, how she would explain what jazz music is to people. She replies that she thinks they can show them, and they go into a captivating scat performance, going back and forth, improvising notes and melodies, showcasing a beautiful explanation for something that is frequently considered to be undefinable. (view that performance here: https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x23t25p) That’s how I feel when I’m trying to explain what my life is like now that I’m disabled. There’s complications, back and forth momentum, highs and lows, joy, hidden pain even; but it all comes together beautifully to create the soundtrack of my life.
This journey began with a BOOM and a CRASH, like what we experience in the latter portion of Miles Davis’ “Nefertiti” after a mesmerizing, trance-like and consistent repetition of the melody in the first half of the song. The seeming dissonance that ensues is actually more of a controlled free-fall, which is exactly what my life as a disabled person has felt like. At times I may be “In A Sentimental Mood” (Thank you, Mr. Duke Ellington), but honestly, I wouldn’t trade this iconic symphony of a life with disabilities for the world. It’s been in this improvised, “take it as it comes and create something magical” experience that I’ve discovered a more marvelous version of myself. A version that’s allowing me to create something bigger than myself. If that’s not jazzy, then I don’t know what is.
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