Humility Is Not Thinking Less of Yourself, It’s Thinking of Yourself Less

I am in the midst of recording a new album, which means I have a daily diet of humility; because, once I walk into the recording studio and survey the talent assembled before me, when I look at the sound engineers and technicians behind that cockpit of glass, and as I see the singers, drummers and guitarists seated or standing before me — the physical dimensions of that space morph into a boxing ring for a title fight between champions past and present, for which I am a mere spectator; while the shape then shifts into an audition for admission to Juilliard, in which I know I am in the wrong line; until, resisting the urge to flee and pausing to breathe, I move forward.

I exhale, and remind myself to listen and learn.

My name may be on that album, but there are so many names — larger in significance, greater in respect and bigger in recognition — that will have made that recording possible.

So, as I spend ten-hour days in the studio, and as I seek the counsel of my peers (in age) and my elders (of inestimable intelligence and wisdom), I caution myself to be humble.

It is within this improvisational environment that the sounds register as a signal.

Things align spontaneously — after days of repetition and occasional nights of frustration, and weeks of replaying specific keys and harmonies.

Something remarkable happens.

Time compresses, memory condenses . . . and the music lasts forever.

I am making a new album.