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PRO SESSIONWoodshed BY DAN WILENSKYThe Rigors & Rewards of the RoadMOST PROFESSIONAL MUSICIANS SPENDpart of their careers on the road. This work providesa welcome change from the local gig grind,as well as steady (if temporary) income, and anopportunity to see a bit of the world. The ultimatetours pay megabucks, whisk you off to exoticlocales in stylish private planes, have efficienttour management and abundant roadies, and putyou up in fancy hotel suites. Unfortunately, mostroad gigs don’t include such lavish perks.When I was 19, I explored the highways andbyways of the United States with “Brother” JackMcDuff in a small, sometimes rickety whitetruck in need of a paint job and a new muffler,helped lift his B-3 and Leslie out of said blundermobile,and after a five-hour gig, pocketed$60—when we played. It was tough, but playingjazz with McDuff was a beautiful thing: He wasa living encyclopedia of swing; he taught meto play as though my life depended on it (as itoften did); we played great music; we ate superbsoul food at private home “restaurants” that Inever could have found on my own; I saw thecountry in a way that can only be accomplishedby extensive, truck-bound travel.Indeed, as literary iconoclast Jack Kerouacpointed out, the road can be addictive. You bustout of your rut, see new places, meet new people,and—if you’re working—get paid for it.Some musicians are terminal party animalsand the road is their sanctuary. Others enjoyplaying music for new, diverse audiences. Ahigh-profile tour can also improve your workprospects back home. If you’re lucky enoughto be touring with your own band performingyour own music, this is its own reward.Before he was a superstar, Pat Methenycrisscrossed the world playing small venues,crystallizing his sound, honing his compositionsand building a formidable fan base. The1980 album American Garage sealed the deal.Similarly, before they cracked the Top 10, ThePolice toured the States playing for tiny crowds.There’s really no better way for a band to get its acttogether. Think Count Basie: Our heroes soundedso good in part because they played almost everynight for decades—usually on the road.These days, touring may be the only option.With the precipitous decline in studio work, theprofusion of DJ-based entertainment, the erosionof intellectual property rights and union contracts,and the implosion of our major orchestras,Slovenia is looking mighty attractive.There are also plenty of drawbacks. Despitebeing around your band buddies and performingfor big crowds, a poignant loneliness—longingto be home—is omnipresent. When you leaveloved ones at home, long absences can undermineyour relationships (despite Facebook and Twitter,texting and Skyping). It’s hard to maintain disciplinedpractice and fitness routines. Playing theDan Wilenskysame music night after night can get boring. Thereare long hours spent at airports, in buses, at soundchecks, in hotel lobbies; hurry-up-and-wait is therule. Minor personality differences are amplifiedtenfold. And, of course, you won’t be doing muchsightseeing if your tour is cursed with a demandingroad manager, itinerary or rehearsal schedule.This is especially torturous in pretty cities, islandparadises and mountain retreats.The typical road warrior must also struggle tofind privacy and time for quiet reflection. Your fellowroad rats often take up a great deal of physical,aural and karmic space, and urge you to “party”or simply annoy you with their collective hyperactivity,and your fans may distract you with othertemptations. Don’t join the fray—at least not allthe time. Take up as little room as possible, andwork diligently to maintain your discipline (practice,compose, read, exercise, explore your surroundings)and your equilibrium. Learn to shutout the din.I find it helpful to use three criteria to determinethe desirability of any job: 1) the quality ofthe music; 2) the people (I hope for warm, funny,energetic yet relaxed, smart colleagues who lovelife); and 3) the pay. I’ll do a short job if any oneof these elements is attractive, but I always hopefor perfection in all three. Certainly if you’re notmaking a lot of money, your level of satisfactionwill largely depend on how much you enjoy themusic and the musicians. I’ve had gigs that wereso good that I forgot I was getting paid at all, andothers where no amount of money could havecompensated for the horrendous cacophony thatsurrounded me. Situations arise where you don’thave to work hard, but fat paychecks are floatingaround and you want your share. Just be advisedthat anything that bugs you during early rehearsalsand band meetings often becomes all-consumingonce you’re out on the road.I’m not advocating for road work or condemningit. Your tolerance for touring will bedetermined partly by the quality of the tour,and partly by your home life, age and currentcareer options. When you do go out, you willdiscover your own travel rhythms and developmethods for coping with the hardships.Finally, even if you’re a bona fide road rat,you should take a vacation. It’s easy to be lulledinto thinking that a week in Miami playing abig corporate gig is a vacation. It is not. Youmust check out in earnest: Leave your instrumentsand your iPhone behind. Go to a quietplace. You will recharge your batteries and gainbadly needed perspective, which more thancompensates for the expense of the trip and anylost work. If you don’t have the cash for such anessential luxury, then beg, borrow and barter;everyone knows someone who knows someonewith a little shack in the woods, or a ride youcan hitch, or a dog you can dog-sit in returnfor the use of their apartment. The people Iknow who never take real vacations are certifiedwrecks.If you live in a throbbing metropolis likeNew York or Los Angeles, you need to abandonship more often. Though all the loud noise, typetriple-A people and the crowded, polluted conditionsmay effectively inspire you to create gloriousmusic, it’s just not enough.Five Signs That It’s Time To Takea Break:1) You lie awake thinking of ways to maimand torture hecklers.2) You drink more than you practice.3) Your colleagues look at you with a mixtureof scorn and pity and say, “You should take sometime off, dude.”4) You leave your instrument at a club anddon’t realize it’s missing until three days later.5) During a performance of Cats, you suddenlythrow down your horn, jump out of the pit andstart howling like a beagle.DBDan Wilensky has toured and recorded with hundreds ofartists, including Ray Charles, Jack McDuff, Slickaphonics,Steve Winwood, Joan Baez, Cornell Dupree, Mark Murphy, R.Kelly, Manhattan Transfer, James Brown and David Bowie.He has played on numerous jingles, film soundtracks and TVthemes, and can be heard on more than 250 records. His booksMusician! and Advanced Sax and his four CDs as a leader areavailable at danwilensky.com and through other channels.92 DOWNBEAT AUGUST 2014