In the twenty years I was with my late, lovely friend Carolyn, we probably went to see the great jazz pianist Chick Corea perform ten times. We saw him in the biggest possible venues (The Hollywood Bowl) and we saw him in medium-sized jazz clubs (The Catalina Bar and Grill) and we saw him in some real tiny places, the names of which I do not recall. The tiny places intrigued me and I wondered why a guy who'd recorded 90 albums and won 23 Grammy Awards would appear in such venues.
But wherever he was, we went to see him. He was Carolyn's favorite musician.
As it turned out, Carolyn's favorite restaurant was a favorite restaurant of her favorite musician so we ran into him a couple of times. He was gracious, charming and he even remembered us (well, her) from one time to the next. In one encounter, I asked him about the difference between playing huge venues — I think we'd just seen him at Royce Hall up at U.C.L.A. — and the places where his combo practically outnumbered the audience. He said, "Hey, I just play anywhere they'll let me."
But then he added, because he knew that wasn't an answer, "I think when I play before a big crowd, I feel more pressure to give them the kind of show they came expecting to hear…and when I play a small place, I feel I can be more experimental." He was pleased when we both told him that we liked him in either arena but a bit more in the small places. The thing we liked about him was that he was always experimental. He never did what he (or anyone) had done before. We'll miss him and so will music.