Pat Martino: One Day at a Time
Upon waking from the hours-long surgery, with the lingering effects of the anesthetic still hanging on like a dense fog, Pat Martino struggled to bring into focus the unfamiliar faces encircled about his recovery room bed. Nearly fifteen years of misdiagnoses had left a growing brain aneurysm virtually unchecked. In time, though, a CAT scan would reveal the source of the seizures that had grown from their pianissimo beginnings to their forte climax—seizures that brought the brilliant jazz guitarist horrendous headaches, blurred vision, and onstage blackouts. Immediately upon receiving the diagnosis for a condition that concealed itself behind many masks over many years, he boarded a plane in Los Angeles to fly back to his hometown of Philadelphia, where the delicate yet critical operation would take place. And while the procedure successfully removed the aneurysm, it also erased large segments of his memory. Two of those unfamiliar faces gazing down upon him belonged to his parents. Yet the surgery saved his life, with what was determined to be only hours to spare. “The amnesia,” Martino explains, “took place in every context with regard to personal relationships, my career, my craft, my penmanship, my writing, my very identification. All of these things were a total blank.” And that included the memory that he had ever played the guitar. Yet in spite of this horror, he has come to view the experience as one of the most positive things that ever happened to him. “What really got erased,” he explains, “were all of the identifications that resulted from having to please others, the expectations to live up to the rituals that a family naturally produces. Things like wanting to be a great guitarist to please my father, to uphold the family name, to stop playing so much and do my homework, to do the many things that all of us are expected to do. Certainly, there are responsibilities in terms of the growth process, and they are important, but when all of this was erased, I had to start from the beginning. The difference this time is that there were no expectations from anyone else. It was left to me to make these decisions. I had a clean context, a clean slate.” In time, though, things that were remembered only subliminally eventually began to reemerge as whole memories. Recovering at home with the help of his parents, Martino was surrounded by material fragments, reminders of the past that had slipped his grasp. “There were details of my experience throughout the house,” he says. “There were pictures, stories, interviews and write-ups, there were magazines, descriptions of my career, albums upon albums, as well as contact with old friends. One thing that this did provide was a solid position in the midst of a vortex. It was the solidity of the here and now. That was the only thing I could really identify as realistic.” Martino began to pick not where he left off, but from what he left behind. “More importantly,” he explains, “I began to pick up on the authenticity of my own intentions as a child. As I went through the serious confrontations brought on by the operation’s results, playing became more of a healing power than a continuance of responsibilities. I began to play like a child would play with toys. And when one of my therapists suggested that I get a little more serious about play, I began to play with computers. And the more I did that, the more lost I became in that playfulness.” The computer—one of the original little 128K Macintoshes—included some music software. “That program became more playful than any of the other toys that had been presented to me in the course of my therapy,” he says. “And as I began to play with more and more seriousness, it began to expand. And that opened up a new future and a new decision: to enjoy my life, and to enjoy playing.” It was in this context that the guitar reentered the picture. “It came back as a favorite friend,” he says. “…a reemergence of my most intimate partner. It enabled me to express myself with intricate precision—more intricately than any of the other tools. And when I picked it up again, it began to provide a taste and an experience that I otherwise would have no access to.” The loss of conscious memory notwithstanding, Martino’s muscle memory was still very much intact. With that much in his favor—and at what should have been the apex of his career—he set out to learn again. Absent this time around, though, was the competitive, business model-oriented agenda that had, in part, fueled his spectacular rise in the jazz world. This time, it was just for the music. And remarkably—miraculously, really—he’s once again at the top of his game. “Now that I am flowing and emoting with a deep love for this universal language,” he says, “it allows me a larger creative perspective, without the distractions and free of the trappings. And what brings this into every day living is that everything seen, heard, smelled, and touched ignites an ongoing participation in this universal language. In my previous musical life, I was very successful. It’s true. And that’s because I was totally dedicated to it, just as I am now. There is no difference now in terms of the dedication and commitment. But the motive has changed. I’m going to the next moment and what it contains, and I want it to be as artistically enjoyable as possible. And somehow, the moment those things are activated, they are out of my hands, and they’re invisibly evolving into the next moment. I enjoy participating in that process. And there is something inherently and wonderfully unscripted about following the muse without deliberate manipulation of direction. It’s called play.” And to that end, Martino regards the guitar as just another vehicle. “The guitar is of no great importance to me,” he says. “The people it brings to me are what matter. They are what I’m extremely grateful for. They’re alive. The guitar is just an apparatus, a vehicle. It has nothing to do with the nature of its destination. Each day is a vehicle. And music is a doorway into other portions of the house. And because of that, it transcends the craft. But ultimately, the only advice I can offer is the most simplistic of all, and that is to be focused and concerned with the best that can be done—the best that you can do—and to take that not one day at a time, but one moment at a time.”
Visit Pat Martino at www.patmartino.com
Visit Pat Martino at www.patmartino.com