In 1957, Miles Davis released an album entitled Birth of the Cool. I’ve always been a fan of jazz and Miles Davis. It wasn’t just about the music, as good and soulful as it is, but the way it made you feel. When you heard jazz it was like you felt this sort of sophistication, a touch of class. You’d always see Miles in those pictures, big cheeks blowing the heck out of that trumpet, and think that was cool.
But I wonder if we ever ask ourselves what is cool. I mean, who gets to determine this formula and concept? The only thing I knew was that being cool in our culture meant something. As Don Miller says, if you know how to make something cool, you’d be able sell it to anybody and make it big.
When I was younger I used to think cool was something like James Dean, the rebel without a cause riding his motorcycle in a dark leather jacket against the furious wind. He gets into trouble with the law, smokes Marlboro's till his lungs burn out, and whispers to the ladies in town. Is that what it is — a call to remake ourselves into a new sort of James Dean?
For a long time I thought it was. As I’m getting older, though, I’m starting to see through the surface level. What clothes I wear, what car I drive, what music I listen to, what house I live in — nobody will care about any of that 50 years from now. How will people remember me?
I must admit, as my life has progressed, it feels a bit more like classical and less like jazz. The great thing about jazz is that it is all about freedom, going where the music is taking you in that moment. It plays whatever is on the heart, which might be raw and unwarranted. Yet with age comes responsibility, and with responsibility comes bills, debt, mortgages, spouses, kids and calendars. It becomes less cruising down PCH and more “I need to save up for the minivan.” Sometimes you feel restrained. Strings are going off when you want brass. The cello isn’t getting its solo. (And there’s never enough cowbell.)
In those moments, we are challenged to look beyond. To seek the pleasure in harmony, orchestration, direction. To wait for the crescendos achieved only by sharing deep love with others and being devoted in a routine. It's the sound of sacrifice, commitment and love for others — all of which requires good orchestration, balanced measures and rhythms.
When we discover this sort of beauty, cool will start to look different. It will begin to look like that man who is putting in 50-hour weeks, slaving to ensure paid rent and hot meals for his family of four. Cool becomes the single mother with low income who spends whatever free time helping her son with his science fair project. Cool is the young man who devotes his Saturday nights to serving at the homeless shelter when all his other buddies are out having a drink. That's the stuff the truly good stories are made of.
Jazz will always have its solos, but let us not forget the beauty in the symphony. May we learn to make room in our collection for both.