I don’t like a quiet moment. Why listen to nothing when you can indulge in the magnificence of Miles Davis or Bill Evans. I have a habit of reading … everything. From the Financial Times to the Wall Street Journal, to books on Ben Franklin, Edison, JD Salinger, Astor, Harriman, the Beatles, and even Cary Grant. You name it, I read it. Predominantly news and biographies, as my business is the state of the world and my inspiration, worthy people who have done great things. Charlie Munger suggests that we learn deeply from the eminent dead. We should, in his words, take in all the wisdom you can from those who lived before you. And while I’m reading, I prefer the sounds of Bill Charlap, Art Tatum and Gene Ammons to the sounds of silence.
I think we are all programmed, to a certain degree, by our pasts as much as our innate internal mechanisms. I spent a significant portion of my youthful Coquillard years at my grandparents’ home on the westside of Los Angeles. It was a rare occasion when I entered their home, traversed their carpeted living room to the screened-in porch where they’d sit for five o’clock cocktails, and didn’t hear some jazz playing in the background. That became the soundtrack of my youth, and it jibbed with my internal rhythms that respond to music. My wife doesn’t always share my passion for a Charlie Parker-like bebop playing throughout the house. Her “Samuel Coquillard, my head is exploding,” is her attempt at volume control. Though an expert multi-tasker, she is a mono channel human when working, reading, or writing and my life in stereo proves to be too much of a distraction for her. She likes to hear the clear voice in her head, even when she’s crossword-puzzling. But luckily for me, she appreciates Cyrus Chestnut, Ray Brown and most particularly Ahmad Jamal when we’re enjoying our five o’clock cocktail.
Jazz is approachable. I’ve reached out my hand with a quick, “Sam Coquillard, enjoyed the set” intro to Ray Brown (he was lovely) after a set at the old Catalina’s in Hollywood and met Jeff Hamilton at Sam’s First, a wonderful jazz venue in Los Angeles. I also recall a soulful night at The Blue Note with The Count Basie Orchestra, a performance my wife took me to when she was pregnant with our first son. The artists are available, easy to talk to and appreciative of fan interest and accolades. Which might further explain why jazz so touches my soul: listening to Chet Baker or Diana Krall is like being serenaded by friends. And reading, while being surrounded musically by people whose music you love, means you’re never alone. Jazz and books, in the company of my lovely and talented wife, are my recipe for utter happiness. I hope you find your recipe.
