Jamey Aebersold has been a jazz educator for over 50 years. Courtesy of ijazzmusic.com
By Jamey Aebersold
I’m a jazz educator who is 85 years old and I’ve been publishing books, CDs, and other resources for more than half a century. I play saxophone, bass, banjo, and piano.
In my world, hearing is everything. It’s crucial not just for me but also for the many people I connect with at my lectures, workshops, and gigs.
I’ve approached hearing loss with humor over the years and I try to normalize hearing aids in my professional life. They're nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, they’re essential tools that keep us engaged with the world.
Jokes That Break the Ice
When I’m lecturing to a room full of nervous musicians—people who've come to learn how to play jazz and improvise—there’s always a bit of tension. They’re not sure what will be asked of them, and the subject matter can feel heavy.
Right in the middle of a deep dive into music theory, just as folks are starting to get lost, I’ll pause and say, “I bought these hearing aids about six years ago and came home to find out I’d been married!”
That always gets a laugh and lightens the room.
Another time, right after I got my hearing aids, I was speaking to a group of 80 people in a tiered science lab. Someone in the back row raised their hand to ask a question presumably about music. For years, I dreaded this moment—I loved questions but often couldn’t hear them clearly, and asking people to repeat themselves felt awkward.
So I looked at the woman in the back and said, “I just got these hearing aids. Let’s see if they really work.”
She asked her question—and for the first time in a long while, I actually heard it! I paused and said, “So, you’re asking if it’s okay to park in the student lot next door?” Which wasn’t about music at all. The room erupted in laughter.
Moments like that not only help us all relax, but also remind us that music—and life—is supposed to be fun.
Sometimes, in class, I’ll be explaining music scales and stop mid-sentence, look confused, and say, “Oh, someone in the neighborhood is talking about baking a blueberry pie. I must’ve accidentally hit the GOSSIP button on my hearing aid remote!”
A Lunch That Changed Everything
Not long ago I got together with four high school buddies for lunch. One of them has hearing loss and usually doesn’t participate in conversations. I brought along my old pair of hearing aids and let him try them.
To my surprise and joy, he could hear! For the first time in three years, he joined the conversation. He kept the aids to try them out, and I’m hoping they’ll make a difference in his life.
Another friend at the table also struggles with hearing but spent most of the 90 minutes playing poker on his phone. I found out later that he’s now bought a pair of hearing aids, and I need to call him to see how he’s doing.
It is a good reminder that hearing is so important for us to feel connected to one another.
Music, Memory, and a King
Here’s a story I love telling. Back in 2004, the great Maynard Ferguson (the Canadian jazz trumpeter) called and asked me to send some of my jazz play-alongs so he could bring them to the King of Thailand, who played alto sax. I did, and I assume Maynard delivered them.
Then a few years ago, I received a photo from my friend Denis DiBlasio, an accomplished saxophonist and flautist, that is a reminder of that moment.
Little connections like that are a beautiful part of this musical life.
And speaking of connections, I even more recently received this email from my friend the jazz guitarist Clay Moore, who plays in Louisville with me.
“I lived in Scotland for a year and Evelyn Glennie [the Scottish percussionist] showed up to a gig I was playing with locals one night. We had a very delightful conversation until a patron passed out at the bar, fell backward, and hit his head on a metal table. He was bleeding and dazed.
“When his friend came back from the bathroom, he insisted the guy was fine and kept slapping him on the back of the head as ‘proof.’ I finally convinced the bar staff he needed to go to the hospital. The friend almost started a fistfight with me.
“But Evelyn was a class act—very pretty, very cordial—and could lipread so well that you’d never guess she was deaf.” Evelyn has a famous TED Talk from decades ago, where she describes how to truly listen, with all of your body, not just your ears.
A Life of Sound
I’ve had a long relationship with pianos. I started with a big, heavy upright when I got married. Then came a Yamaha spinet in the ’60s (which I loved), a Baldwin 5-foot grand, a Yamaha C7 (which I traded after my dad passed), and now I’ve got a Steinway downstairs and a five-foot Kawai upstairs.
But in the past year or two, my hearing has worsened. The quality of sound—on the piano, on the radio, on CDs—has gotten muddy. Bass notes, once crisp and resonant, now sometimes blend into a droning hum. I can see the bass player move from string to string, but what I hear feels like one long, indistinct note. It’s depressing.
Still, when I play live with my group, I do well. But I miss being able to fully distinguish the chords and textures that used to leap out so clearly.
That’s it for now. I’m off to visit my wife of 64 years, Sara, at the nursing home.
Take care of your hearing, friends.
Jamey Aebersold is a jazz educator and musician. Among many accolades he is the recipient of the 2014 A.B. Spellman National Endowment for the Arts Jazz Masters Award for Jazz Advocacy, which is bestowed upon an individual who has contributed significantly to the appreciation, knowledge, and advancement of the art form of jazz. For more, see jazzbooks.com.
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