Jazz Yarns My Week with Marcus

Jazz pianist and composer Marcus Roberts visited Krannert Center for the Performing Arts in October 2002, presenting concerts and engaging the community through a variety of activities. People were talking after that exciting week! While Marcus Roberts made a profound impact on everyone who attended his events, author Beth Finke was particularly touched. She's the author of the book Long Time, No See, published by University of Illinois Press.

My Week with Marcus
By Beth Finke

I stalked Marcus Roberts at every workshop and performance that week. Not an easy feat for a blind woman. But well worth the trouble.

Between tunes at the first workshop, Marcus told us what it was like to grow up blind, how he first learned to read Braille music, what frustrations he faces when traveling to and from gigs. "When our plane landed this morning, I stood up. The flight attendant brought in a wheelchair." He paused for a moment. He was looking at us, I could tell. "I was STANDING. You with me?!"

We laughed.

"I wonder," he continued. Do they give white canes to folks who need wheelchairs?"

I was spellbound. So, it seemed, was the rest of the audience.

Marcus explained how he communicates to his trio during a performance without being able to see them. Drummer Jason Marsalis demonstrated the cadence he uses to cue a key change. Marcus showed us a pattern he plays on the upper register to cue bass player Roland Guerin for a solo.

Afterwards we were encouraged to ask questions. I directed mine to Jason and Roland. "When Marcus approached you to play in his trio, did you hesitate at all?"

No answer.

"I mean, knowing there might be extra work involved, him being blind and all."

They both stayed quiet for a while. Finally Jason piped up. "In jazz, when you're offered a gig, you take it!"

They all laughed. Then Roland asked if he could add something. He'd played with a lot of musicians over the years, he said, and a lot of them get lazy. "But with Marcus, he's always coming up with something new. And when you play with Marcus, you really have to listen. I think we're better for that."

Amen.

Marcus and I had a chance to talk after a performance later that week. "Have you always talked about your blindness like that?" I asked him.

"No, man," he answered. What a voice! "I used to do what so many other blind people do—pretend it doesn't exist, it's no bother."

I nodded my head in agreement. Sighted people think you have to be able to see to know if someone is nodding. But we know.

"What made you decide to start talking about it, then?"

"About five or six years ago, I just thought, man, I deal with this every day. I might as well talk about it."

What a relief it was to hear him speak so candidly about blindness. I'm a writer, and for years I'd been working on a book about losing my sight as an adult. Long Time, No See was in the midst of reviews and editing just then.

"I'd like to read it," Marcus said.

I got his address, and the next day I contacted the University of Illinois rehab services office. They agreed to print a Braille version of the advanced copy.

Marcus liked the book so well he offered to do a blurb. His words are as eloquent as his piano playing. I am thrilled to have his name attached to my book.

"Unlike many of life's dysfunctions, blindness cannot be hidden. Beth Finke's frank accounting of life from a blind perspective gives a much-needed modern view of visually impaired individuals in our culture. Perhaps most importantly, she reminds us that never giving up the fight assures victory, regardless of the actual outcome of the struggle." (Marcus Roberts, jazz composer and pianist)