A Dream about Lightning Bugs: A Life of Music and Cheap Lessons

by Ben Folds

Robert Darnell saw music as dynamic, ever changing, and exciting, and he was always curious and interested. He once asked me if I’d heard of a man named Eric Clapton. He was very interested in Mr. Clapton’s playing but also in his singing, which Darnell described as “speaking on pitches.” “It’s all he needs to do,” Darnell said. “Tell his story by speaking the notes. No ornamental vibrato, no sustain. Very effective.” He asked to hear recordings of music I liked, so he could understand where I was coming from. This informal way of passing on experience, lessons on music and life, exchanging ideas—this accidental mentorship—was as new to him as it was to me. It was his final breaking from tradition before his retirement and a wonderful hand extended to me from another era. We looked at scores and talked about how simple some of the most complex-sounding solutions often were. He knew very little about jazz, in the way that I had come to understand jazz, but he could sight-read a full orchestra score by cobbling a piano part together from all the orchestra parts. And he surprised me by playing back a Bill Evans phrase on the piano after hearing the record only once. I’d always thought classical guys didn’t have ears. Robert Darnell retired at the end of the year and I began to lose interest in the music department altogether. After experiencing proper mentorship, my music classes began to feel a little shallow and impersonal. When I tell people that so much of my success in t...