These are the spiritual questions jazz drummer Brian Blade asks himself on stage

SAM DINGMAN: One of my favorite jazz records of all time is called “Mood Swing.” It’s by the Joshua Redman Quartet, and the drummer in that quartet is a guy named Brian Blade. Here he is on one of my favorite songs, “Heading Home.”

(Brian Blade’s “Heading Home” plays)

Back in high school, driving back and forth to my after school job, I used to listen to that song on repeat. And then after college, something amazing happened. I was working as a bellman at a hotel in New York, and one day Brian Blade checked in.

I will never forget the moment that he handed me his cymbal bag. And I checked the luggage tag and I saw his name. I couldn’t believe it was him!

And so when I found out recently that Brian Blade was coming to Phoenix to perform with his band, the Brian Blade Fellowship, I thought, “I’ve got to talk to him.”

Thankfully, he agreed, and naturally I began our conversation by telling him about our meeting at the hotel. I told him I often think about the moment he handed me the cymbals and said, “Be extra careful with these.”

BRIAN BLADE: Really? I said that?

DINGMAN: Yes.

BLADE: Sorry.

DINGMAN: No, no, no. I mean, I could tell that they were cymbals. And then I asked you your name, so that I could make sure that the bag ticket was associated with your room, and you said, “Oh, it’s Brian Blade.” And I said, “Oh my God, I love your playing.” And you were like, “Oh, thank you very much. Thank you.”

You were very kind, very gracious. But the thing that was really eye opening for me about that moment was I thought to myself, “Oh, he travels with his own cymbals.” Am I making too much of that moment?

BLADE: No, no, I don’t think so at all. I mean, at the very least, I travel with my cymbals. Usually I have the whole kit and caboodle. So we were traveling the light that day, I guess.

DINGMAN: OK. I have always, I realized in that moment, resonated with the tonality of your playing as much as the rhythm of it. And it made me think to myself, if I ever get to talk to him again, I want to ask him how he thinks about tone and whether the specificity of those cymbals were a part of it.

BLADE: Well, it’s definitely in the hands of the musician. I could get Elvin Jones’ cymbals, and I can put them up, but I’m just not gonna sound like Elvin. As much as, I mean, I’m close. I have the same tools, I have the same sticks. I have even the same drums, and, you know, still Elvin is bringing those things to life.

I get to spend so much time around some of my dear heroes, Bobby Hutcherson and Wayne Shorter and the individuality that they brought. Wayne always used to joke there was something — it might have been a recording of a lesson Charlie Parker was giving someone. But guys asking about scales and certain approaches and techniques.

But then I think Bird (Parker) said something to the effect of, “But can you play what’s in your mind?” Wayne would always lean in and say it with such a, almost a whisper and ...

But that’s deep, that question. Say OK, are we creative beings? Can we create something? Can you play what’s in your mind? That’s what we’re after.

DINGMAN: Well, and so in a way, what we’re talking about is the connection between body and soul, mind and spirit. And that makes me think about your origins of seeing and playing music at Zion Baptist Church in Shreveport. Where, if I’m not mistaken, your father, Brady Blade, was a pastor, and your brother played the drums.

What are your memories from being a kid and seeing music in that environment, and how do you think it affected you?

BLADE: Oh, man. It’s been immeasurable. It’s the bedrock. And it’s the foundational experience that I brought to every other situation afterwards. And then it just, hearing the singing, praise and worship songs and the way music would open the door, if you will, to everyone. So I was already in this process of like submitting to the music.

That’s what you want in a band. You want everyone to want the whole wholeness of a situation and the music to go higher and to touch souls, to touch a heart to to transform what we thought might have been lost or unredeemable to then become something of such value and future hope.

So that, I’m sorry. There was a lot in there.

DINGMAN: No, no. Thank you for sharing that. Thank you for sharing that. I love the way you described this about music kind of opening the door to a religious experience for the people in the congregation. Can I ask, was that the experience for you in playing the music? Like, did playing music feel like a doorway to some kind of relationship with God for you?

BLADE: Oh, definitely. You know, it still is. And why I referred to it as this bedrock experience. it is because after, OK, I’m not playing and at Zion on Sunday church, but like, OK, during the week I’m at Booker’s restaurant or whatever, whatever the … oyster house and dive bar.

It’s still like the music is still the gift, you know? And no matter what is around it, I’m still trying to stay in that same atmosphere of praise as I play my drums, as I make music, which I think is kind of the mission.

DINGMAN: Thank you for sharing that. That’s very beautiful. So if I’m hearing you right, it’s like you experience this connection with something divine within the four walls of the church, and then that that awakens in you, this idea of I can turn Booker’s, or I can turn the oyster house into the house of God.

BLADE: Exactly. Exactly. It’s like a traveling sanctuary, essentially from within.

DINGMAN: I understand that kind of spiritual anchor that you’re describing. What was it about jazz specifically as a style of music, as a way of making this connection that was appealing to you? What do you think you resonated with about jazz as a music?

BLADE: Oh man. Hard to say, other than the freedom that is felt from it. You know, there’s this reverence for melody and song. But at the same time, equally as powerful is that vacuum that we could step into that has no script. And as Wayne would say, “Let’s make a movie,” as we would step onto the stage together.

DINGMAN: That’s what he would say?

BLADE: Yes. He was saying, “Let’s make a movie.” You know, coming from perhaps the greatest, one of the greatest composers of all time, he wants to just walk out on the wire of the unknown, like not knowing what’s across that dark landscape. Like, just put your flashlight on a guy and lean into each other and trust each other to play what’s in our collective minds, if you will, and spirits.

DINGMAN: I have to say, Brian — and tell me if I’m mischaracterizing your your beliefs at all here. But it’s hard to hear that and not make a connection to faith. The idea that we walk through this life that is mysterious, just kind of trusting that there is going to be some guiding, unseen hand that takes care of us.

And through fellowship, I suppose, with others, we can maintain some sort of connection with that. And sometimes that fellowship takes the form of church. Sometimes that fellowship takes the form of improvising songs together.

BLADE: Indeed. It’s funny, I never — these aren’t necessarily thoughts that I speak. What am I doing? What’s my mission here? To feel like, OK, souls are being hopefully touched and enriched by something you do. And that is valuable, especially, as my dad would say, “these last and evil days.” Through these last and evil days, you know we need to cling to beauty.

(music plays)

I don’t know how I describe it, Sam. It’s just something profound and mysterious to me.

DINGMAN: Well if I may, Brian, there’s something profound and mysterious to me about getting to have this conversation with you after, just by happenstance, carrying your cymbals at the hotel.

BLADE: Wow.

DINGMAN: Brian is performing at the Musical Instrument Museum here in Phoenix on Tuesday, Sept. 16. Thank you for this conversation.

BLADE: Man, thank you.