#219: Music Lessons for Leaders (thank you Sean Jones & NYO Jazz)
Dear Friends
Today’s letter is a little different. Over the past few months, I’ve seen some spectacular musicians perform. I thought we’d reflect on the leadership lessons they teach us.
Before we get started, there are a few things worth noting.
Multi-awarded wine maker Duncan Savage’s latest vintages were released on Thursday. If you’re fast, you might still get some from The Wine Cellar.
Whilst there, buy some bubbles, you will want to raise a glass to the University of Fort Hare which, three weeks ago, became the first African institute of higher education to be declared a World Heritage Site, by UNESCO. Fort Hare graduated many of the leaders of post-colonial Africa, among them Nelson Mandela, Julius Nyerere and Kenneth Kaunda.
Spare a second glass to toast African intellectual giant, Ghanian philosopher Kwame Anthony Appiah, who was recently awarded the $500,000 Kluge Prize by the US Library of Congress for his contributions to public discourse (His response, Digging for Utopia, to David Graeber and David Wengrow’s The Dawn of Everything is but one demonstration of his power).
And last, two weeks ago, former US President Barack Obama released his summer reading list. It always holds treasures. I’ve added Kaliane Bradley’s The Ministry of Time and Lisa Ko’s Memory Piece to my list. I wish more leaders did this (If you missed it, these are the books I thought might be useful for South Africa’s new Cabinet).
/strategy
At the beginning of August, we watched Carnegie Hall’s National Youth Jazz Orchestra. The orchestra recruits musicians between ages 16 and 19 to perform under the guidance of artistic director, Sean Jones. They represent some of the US’s finest young jazz musicians. Twenty-two strong they speak to the beauty of building a diverse country.
A jazz orchestra holds an infinity of lessons for organisational life.
As with any performance, many of the lessons hide in the shadows of what didn’t happen, the mistakes that weren’t made, the apparent ease of excellence obscuring the intricacies of getting it right.
An orchestra is defined by diversity and integration. Each instrument adds to the sound, and each instrument is itself played slightly differently by each musician. They listen and add to each other. The sounds weave under, over, around and through each other to create one experience. An orchestra composed of one instrument would be dull indeed.
At different moments each section steps forward, at one point it’s saxophones, at another trumpets, then the rhythm section. As they do, the others support, laying a foundation for their colleagues’ virtuosity to shine. You might be mesmerised by the pianist’s fingers flying across the keys, yet underneath it, the bass and trumpets and saxophones and trombones and drums and percussion keep solid ground.
Each person does their thing. At no point in the performance, did a pianist sigh, walk across the stage and tell a trumpeter how to play.
When the soloists are soloing, the band members listen with palpable appreciation, the smiles and nods safely holding their bravery, supporting and lifting them as they push the song’s edges.
The band leader conducts but does not control, he pays attention to each section, each musician, deeply engaged with what and how they’re playing whilst leaving space for them to fill.
As the musicians wove their way through Monk, Masekela and Mitchell, the evening also yielded lessons unique to that orchestra and those musicians.
Carter Bryan and Jasper Zimmerman held the keys. On one track, I can’t remember which, Zimmerman started on the grand piano, Bryan came from the wings, Zimmerman scooted to his right taking over the keyboard and Bryan took the grand. Not a beat was missed, not a second quibbling about who should sit where, no ‘Can you wait? I’m really feeling this’, just a slide to the right and a second set of keys enriched the night.
For one song, Jones declared he would leave the stage, the band would perform with no conductor. They launch into swing. The musicians in our group exclaimed (softly) that a swinging, conductorless orchestra is a tough task, a big ask.
They start well. A minute in, a micro hesitation ripples through the musicians. I don’t hear it, I see it. The slightest flinch on a trombonist’s face, the body of a saxophonist leaning back toward the flincher, the pianist looks across the orchestra, they make eye contact, for a moment his movements are slightly more pronounced, more defined saying ‘here’s it is, this is where we are’, his gaze says ‘you’ve got this’, flinch turns to nod, rhythm re-established, they swing away. It took a second maybe two. No email chain ‘cc-ing’ the world, no huddled whispers in the corridors, no WhatsApp back channel firing up, just a mistake caught and fixed by colleagues.
As I listen, I hear a sound ring through the orchestra, pure and clean like the hint of citrus lightening a lamb stew, the frrt-frrt of a Cape Sugarbird in flight, the taste of cold mountain stream. I search, looking for its source and, to my surprise, find it – a joyous musician triangling with care, the equilateral adding the magic ingredient. As Cary Grant once commented, “A Thousand Details Add Up to One Impression.”
You can watch the orchestra perform Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn’s “Take the A Train” here and get a sense of their exuberant excellence here.
//self
Six weeks before that I watched Malian kora player Ballaké Sissoko and South African guitarist Derek Gripper perform their ‘New African String Theory’.
Gripper is a classically trained guitarist who fell in love with the kora’s complexity. He explained that his musical practice is rooted in a question he’d asked of himself and his guitar, ‘Could he get it to speak to the kora?’
A seemingly simple question underneath which hides layers of mathematics and musicianship. At the simplest level, a guitar has 6 strings, a kora 21.
It is the most beautiful expression of self. Gripper has crafted an artistry and a livelihood from the questions that interest him. It is entirely unique. It’s his vision, his skill, his journey. His vision, his practice, his virtuosity makes his guitar speak kora.
It reminded me how Elton John’s determination to be a grand-piano playing rocker laid the foundation for one of the world’s most successful musical careers. Of course, before John, Fats Domino’s piano was the cornerstone of what we now call rock n roll (Listen to his debut single, The Fat Man here).
We are always our best when we’re being OUR best.
You can get a sense of Sissoko and Gripper here.
(It is impossible to write of the kora without remembering Toumani Diabaté who, in July this year, passed on far too soon. I saw Diabaté perform, fifteen years ago, in Cape Town’s Slave Church. It remains a highlight of my life.)
///soul
To close today, take two and a half minutes to listen to Sean Jones speak about his obituary and Jihye Lee’s song, Struggle Gives You Strength.
Once you’ve done that, immerse yourself in his trumpet and the Jihye Lee Orchestra.
All the best
Karl
PS: I am taking a short break from writing our letter. I have piles of books that I’ve read but have yet to write about and need some time to gather my thoughts. I’ll see you again on 15 September.