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The question is ridiculously simple, but players throughout modern musical history have found it nearly impossible
to answer: What kind of guitarist are you? If we're not asking ourselves this kind of thing, we're expecting others
to answer it for us. Apparently, for a guitarist it's best to have an affiliation. If you're a jazzer or a blueser,
then you're no longer a danger to yourself and others. It's an easy affiliation, like voting for a candidate simply
because you think he'll win. It's like carrying a bigger club because you think it'll make you a better caveman. And
think about what it does for your image! If another jazzer should happen to hear you slide into a chord or play a
staccato run behind the beat, then you must be all right. Or, if you make those notes plink and sting even with the
tone rolled back to five, then you've got the stuff for blues. Just don't rock too much, because then you'll be pegged
like a zit-faced kid at your big sister's cotillion.
Not everyone is so easily fooled by the argument that one form or style of music is better or more valid than another.
There really are guitarists who can walk either street, reflecting the mood with appropriate ease and authority. But
since they realize it's no use distancing one path from the other, they just allow the two routes to mingle and intersect,
creating a style that's more relevant to the music and the moment.
The truth is, playing it all requires a measure of self-assuredness. Call it arrogance, or call it balls. But if you
can rip off those three-octave runs, play the big chords and take it to Chicago in one go, then you're too cool for
school. You're ready to get out there and do it.
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The Man with the Axe
Mike Stern is one of those lucky few: a guitarist who can do it all. Though he's known for the depth and precision
of his jazzy ballads and rip-snortin' fusion instrumentals, he's equally respected for the woozy bends and woody
tone of his paeans to the greats of blues and rock. Listen to any of his many excellent releases (all of which remain
active in the Atlantic catalog), and you'll caught by the power of his deceivingly subtle blend. He'll start off a
solo slowly, with notes that rise and fall like the undulations of a woman in the throes of romance. Those few moaning
notes soon take on the tone of spoken utterances, urging the action. The speed builds, the intervals become more
dramatic. The whole thing rises to a crescendo of volcanic proportions, climbing to the very pinnacles of stately,
guitaristic glory. (Sounds like sex, doesn't it?)
It's really remarkable that Stern can sustain those levels of excitement over the course of solos that are much
longer than is typical of either the jazz genre or rock. After all, these aren't cheap little power ballads,
they're full-blown hotrods of composition and jazz improvisation. That's right, they're long and they're loud.
It's convenient to compare Stern's manner of opening to the sound of the late blues master Roy Buchanan (whose
ancient Telecaster he would one day own), and rock archetype Jeff Beck. But those guitarists, despite their
brilliance, didn't leap the song format and compose for entire groups of musicians. Mike Stern has.
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Early exposure to many kinds of music gave Stern a head start in his ability perceive the melody, or the long line,
at the heart of a piece. His mother was a big influence there, being a fan of the great composers and jazz artists
alike. Their home in D.C. was always alight with sound. As he says, "My mom used to play a lot of classical records
around the house. I got into that, along with a lot of jazz. But I still listened to the Beatles, the Stones, Jeff
Beck and Hendrix." Which makes complete sense, since the Beatles, Hendrix and the best of their day couldn't have
done what they did without considerable background as listeners.
Early Explorations
Mike was born in January 1953, into a family based in the Boston area. Later on they moved to Washington, D.C., where,
at his mom's insistence, he took up the piano. By the age of 12, however, he'd made a decision about what he should
play. And it wasn't going to be the piano. Soon came the fateful six-string, an unassuming plywood job with nylon
strings. "I took a few lessons," he says, "but after a while I started playing by ear. I did that for a long time,
and it just felt right. So, now it's whatever gets to my heart. It could be simple, or whatever. In those days it
was simple by necessity, because I didn't have very much knowledge. Later I began studying more, because I wanted
to grow and improve my understanding. I dug jazz, but I'd learned to play rock and blues by listening to records.
Still, when I took my mom's jazz records into my room and tried to play along with that stuff, I'd get lost right
away. To be honest, I felt like I was in a rut playing only rock and blues."
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Mike enrolled at the Berklee College of Music in 1971, just a few blocks from FenwayPark and the legendary Red Sox,
and began a more in-depth exploration of jazz. That was where he finally got serious about it, thanks to the
encouragement of guitar instructors such as Mick Goodrick and a very young Pat Methany, who had also been a student
of Goodrick. Along the way he developed a deep respect for jazz guitar, notably the innovation of Wes Montgomery and
the delicate touch of Jim Hall. Goodrick, however, was known to use an approach that was esoteric, in that he?d focus
not on the instrument but on the individual.
Goodrick's way of saying it was, "You are who you are first, and your music is secondary. Your playing reflects that
relationship, so in turn you have to represent what your vibe is." It was his way of saying the player comes first.
Really, though, the music itself tends to do that. When the music is real, it comes through in a positive way, and that's
really powerful. People put their energy into something that at the very worst is harmless and at the very best is
incredibly great. I think we need a lot more of that kind of thing."
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