"I hadn't been practicing or playing or anything. But that had been a vital part of my life"
About this Quote
A lot of musicians talk about music like it is a faucet: you turn it on, you practice, you perform, you “stay sharp.” Joseph Jarman flips that logic. “I hadn’t been practicing or playing or anything” lands with the plainspoken candor of someone refusing the hustle-script, especially in a culture that treats absence as failure. Then he tightens the screw: “But that had been a vital part of my life.” The twist is that music’s importance doesn’t vanish just because the visible labor pauses.
Coming from Jarman, an AACM figure whose work with the Art Ensemble of Chicago treated jazz as ritual, theater, and spiritual inquiry, the line reads less like confession than recalibration. He’s separating making sound from being formed by sound. The subtext: artistry isn’t only a product; it’s an orientation. You can step away from the instrument and still be inside the music’s worldview, its discipline, its questions about freedom and structure.
The repetition (“practicing or playing or anything”) sounds defensive on purpose, as if he’s anticipating the judgment of peers, audiences, even his own past self. It acknowledges a gap without apologizing for it. In an era that measures creative legitimacy by constant output, Jarman’s sentence defends the offstage life: the private seasons where influence, memory, and meaning keep working even when the gig calendar doesn’t. It’s not a retreat from music; it’s a claim that music, at its deepest, doesn’t require proof-of-work to remain central.
Coming from Jarman, an AACM figure whose work with the Art Ensemble of Chicago treated jazz as ritual, theater, and spiritual inquiry, the line reads less like confession than recalibration. He’s separating making sound from being formed by sound. The subtext: artistry isn’t only a product; it’s an orientation. You can step away from the instrument and still be inside the music’s worldview, its discipline, its questions about freedom and structure.
The repetition (“practicing or playing or anything”) sounds defensive on purpose, as if he’s anticipating the judgment of peers, audiences, even his own past self. It acknowledges a gap without apologizing for it. In an era that measures creative legitimacy by constant output, Jarman’s sentence defends the offstage life: the private seasons where influence, memory, and meaning keep working even when the gig calendar doesn’t. It’s not a retreat from music; it’s a claim that music, at its deepest, doesn’t require proof-of-work to remain central.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
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