One day we were jamming when Jim, our lead guitarist, started playing Happy Together by the Turtles. It was funny at first… but then we all joined in and something clicked. While it was outside our genre, something about this song resonated with us. In fact, our version of Happy Together not only sounded great… it was fun to play. So now what? How do you transition from Black Dog and Iron Man to Happy Together? We weren’t certain, but we had an upcoming gig and decided to find out.

It was the night before our gig and we had been practicing hard all week. Since we hadn’t performed Happy Together publicly, we decided to go over it a few more times. Jim was/is a talented musician and he had figured out all the harmonies, including a great three-part harmony for the “Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba” part. (If you’ve never heard this song, I apologize… but you should do so.)

Click here to view the embedded video.

Oh yes, there’s something I neglected to mention… it was for good reason that our bass guitar player rarely sang. He was notoriously off-key and pitchy (I’m being polite). Perhaps that’s what amazed Jim and me the most about us playing Happy Together… he actually sang one of the harmony parts.

Back to practice… I was singing lead and Jim was singing background harmony when we reached this part of the song…

Me and you and you and me
No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be
The only one for me is you, and you for me
So happy together

Then we all jumped in…
Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba

Before we could hit the second, Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba, Jim stopped playing, turned and looked directly at me. Accept for the ring in our ears, the room was silent.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked looking confused. “You’re completely off-key… maybe we aren’t ready to perform this yet!”

I was irritated, embarrassed and somewhat dumbfounded… but not totally surprised. I didn’t respond at first. I respected Jim. More importantly, I knew he was right. In an effort to compensate for the bass guitarist, I was compromising my part. I was singing off tune to try to get us in harmony. I had been doing so all week… just not to this degree. That night during practice, my extra effort crossed the line and Jim called me on it. Explaining my actions meant telling the truth… the truth we all knew, but didn’t want to talk about. When the facts are on the table, you’re able to address the situation and make progress. That’s what we did. We made some modifications to the harmonies… and Happy Together was back on track and well received by the audience.

That night at practice I learned some valuable lessons about harmony… and not only about music, but life, too. It’s easy to slip into denial or to try and fix what’s wrong by overcompensating for someone who isn’t doing his or her part. And sometimes, to a degree, it may be okay or even necessary. But in the long run, it doesn’t work. Honesty truly is still the best policy.

I’m glad Jim was honest about my performance. I think most people prefer knowing the truth. We want to honestly know how we’re performing. I know I do. It’s hard to improve and find yourself when you don’t know where you stand. Ironically, even with the best of intentions, when we bend reality in an effort to create “harmony”… we accomplish just the opposite. Twisting the truth creates confusion… and that leads to disharmony. By turning a blind eye (or deaf ear) or compromising our part (not doing what we know is right), more times than not, we’re creating disharmony. True harmony requires that we each do our part… open and honestly.

As promised, I was left alone and given total access to “be creative.” Staying focused and on task was difficult. The amount of material was vast and my mind wandered like a school kid in class. I was so hyper-focused on the subject matter, the assignment seemed meaningless.

At first I felt a little uncomfortable… like I shouldn’t be reading his personal notes, handling his guitars, or messing with his stuff… like his boots or blue jumpsuit from San Quentin! But then I realized Johnny kept all these things for a reason. Collectively, they represented him… his memories, thoughts and special moments on earth. Some were fragments… personal pieces of a complicated puzzle, clues from an unconventional life. Many of his notes, sketches and lyrics were scribbled out on random sheets of paper, crossed out, rewritten, edited, and often left unfinished. It was these pieces that I connected with most. The fragments… ideas he had worked on but never finished. The idea seeds… the work in progress… the unsolved mysteries that we all carry with us throughout our lives… hoping to someday find them a home.

It’s easy to focus on the tangible successes and failures in someone’s life… I guess that’s why it’s commonly done. But to me, those fragments tell a much better story… a real story about a person’s passionate struggle to understand and connect the dots. And in Johnny’s case, his random fragments revealed these things and more. Regardless of what history says, this much I know… aside from his legendary status, Johnny Cash was a sincere person who experienced many trials and tribulations. He worked hard and pushed himself to be his best. He dug down deep inside himself and was a truth seeker. He loved his wife, June, his fans and his god.

After my second day of shooting, the curator (who was also a good friend of Johnny’s), asked me to join him and his girlfriend for dinner. As you might guess, the conversation was centered largely on Johnny. I asked many questions and he shared many wonderful, personal and intimate stories about the man in black… they all confirmed my intuition. Then I shared my impressions about Johnny and showed some of the photographs I had taken. After complimenting my work, he smiled and said, “You connect with Johnny… he would have really liked you.” What more could be said? I’m sorry we never met in this lifetime… but in some mystical way, I feel we have.

When I was around six years old, my sister and I used to perform The Little Drummer Boy together. Connie is seven years older than me and played piano. I sang and operated the sustain pedal. Since The Little Drummer Boy was the only song we performed, December was our busiest month. Connie had a larger musical repertoire, but most of her songs didn’t require vocals… or so I was told. Had I only known “Alley Cat” had lyrics, we could have doubled our set list.

Our primary audience consisted of my mom, dad, brother and dog—in various combinations. (Note: Were it not for my love of animals, Punky, the meanest dog I’ve ever known… may he rest in peace… would not be included in this story, nor considered an audience member.) Since the piano was adjacent to the kitchen, my mom heard us perform the most.

The piano was a Wurlitzer spinet. My grandfather, “Pa,” worked at the Wurlitzer factory in DeKalb, Illinois, where the piano was built. If he hadn’t, we would have never owned a piano. Pa was my mom’s dad. He was born in Germany and took pride in this fact… he took great pride in his work as well. Between his work ethic and commitment to quality, he was proof that the phrase “Work your fingers to the bone” was more than an idiom. I was told the pianos he hand-finished were flawless because “Pa believed in doing his best.”

As The Little Drummer Boy played in the background, I was transported back in time… I was six years old again sitting on the piano bench. I loved sitting by my big sister, pretending to read music and singing. I must confess, during those early performances, I did more than just sing the lyrics… in my mind I actually become that little boy in the song. There’s something else I must acknowledge… my singing back then wasn’t much in demand… even in December. Each performance required that I first convince the audience to attend and then convince Connie to accompany me.

Strangely, I never felt bad that no one ever asked me to sing. I didn’t need them to. It was my gift to them. When we do our best, we don’t need approval… we already have it. No one asked The Little Drummer Boy to play either. I used to believe that that’s why Jesus smiled at him. When we give the best of ourselves to those we love, we are giving our finest gift.

Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum
A newborn king to see, pa rum pum pum pum
Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum
To lay before the king, pa rum pum pum pum
So to honor him, pa rum pum pum pum
When we come.

Little baby, pa rum pum pum pum
I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum
I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum
That’s fit to give the king, pa rum pum pum pum
Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum
On my drum?

Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum
The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my drum for him, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my best for him, pa rum pum pum pum
Then he smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum
Me and my drum.

The song ended and so did my last-minute shopping. Hearing it confirmed what I have always known… real gifts come from the heart… they can’t be bought. While the ox and lamb kept time, neither could stop it as time waits for no one. Don’t sit by waiting for the right time to share your finest gifts… the time to share them is always right. Pa rum pum pum pum.

“One moment… I’ll be right with you,” she said as she artfully spooned the froth into a large cup of espresso without missing a beat.

After finishing her masterpiece, she glided over and placed it in front of this rigid looking guy sitting across from me. He studied the cup closely, then bent down and took in the aroma. When he came up for air his fogged glasses slid partway down his nose. He looked to be in his early 50s, but after removing his glasses to wipe off the condensation, I wasn’t sure. Add to this his froth mustache, and he could have been a kid again.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked him.

“Excellent… another ‘10’ Larissa,” he answered, looking pleased with her work.

Larissa turned to me. “Okay, then… what can I make for you?” Larissa’s smile matched her voice.

“I guess I’ll have what he’s having,” I responded.

“Great choice, you won’t regret it,” the guy said wiping off his mustache. I smiled and nodded.

“Okay, Larissa, now will you please change it?” Before she could respond, he added, “I bet this gentleman would like it changed, too.” I hadn’t a clue of what “it” was, but considering I was the only other patron, I assumed the gentleman he was referring to was me.

“Wouldn’t you rather listen to Mozart?” he asked me pointing up to a speaker, shaking his head and rolling his eyes disapprovingly.

“Oh, Robert… you and Wolfgang,” Larissa said in a kidding voice, then added, “Robert is a music expert… he knows everything and has a doctorate degree in music.”

“Whatever you two decide to listen to is fine by me… I plan to shove off in a few minutes,” I answered.

Even so, it seemed a shame to change the music. Larissa was really enjoying it… and so was I. The music was Brazilian and judging by her appearance, accent and the fact she was singing along in Portuguese, I assumed Larissa might be, too.

“Is this Bebel Gilberto?” I asked.

She glanced up and smiled, “Yes, do you like it?”

I nodded and smiled back as she rhythmically created my drink to the beat.

“Of course you do,” Larissa said, “Brazilian music is the best.”

“I can’t believe it!” Robert said semi-jokingly. “Another person claiming to like this noise… what are the odds of that?” Larissa and I both smiled and played along but it was obvious to me that Robert liked more than just Mozart and coffee… and I think Larissa felt the same toward him.

“Why don’t you put on that piano concerto you played yesterday, Larissa? Wasn’t it um… No 21 in C… Andante… 2nd movement… I believe it was K467?”

Larissa looked through rows of CDs before picking up a Mozart sleeve and studied it for a moment, “Right again, Robert, it was K467… I told you he knows everything about music… and he’s teaching me too.”

“I assume you like Mozart?” Robert asked me.

“I’m not sure… I’ve never listened to him.”

“Seriously? Well either you’re pulling my chain, or you’ve been living under a rock.”

“Honestly, I’m not pulling your chain,” I responded.

While Robert wasn’t certain what to make of my answer, it didn’t stop him from pontificating: “I prefer to reference Mozart’s work by its K or KV numbers… I believe most knowledgeable people do.” He went on to discuss Ludwig von Köchel, the Viennese botanist who first inventoried Mozart’s work, and Alfred Einstein’s subsequent correction and expansion of Kochel’s work. Then as K467 played in the background, Robert explained how Mozart composed it, what his motivations were, how it was intended to be performed and so on. Larissa was glued to his every word. By the time he finished, K467 had ended and another Mozart piece was playing. I was beginning to think if Mozart himself were to have somehow joined us, he would be utterly amazed at all the things Richard could have taught him about his life and music.

I got up to leave, and as I reached the door, Richard said, “You can no longer claim you haven’t listened to Mozart.”

I smiled, but didn’t bother to correct him… I still hadn’t heard Mozart. Neither had Richard, Larissa, Köchel, or anyone born after 1791 for that matter. We’ve only heard musicians playing from copied sheets of music that he allegedly wrote. Imagine having never heard the Beatles perform. Then one day, random handwritten music scores are found along with some scribbled notes and lyrics allegedly authored by these guys named Lennon and McCartney. Music experts organize the work and then ask musicians (who also have never heard the Beatles perform) to play the songs. Do you really think it would sound like the Beatles recordings we grew up listening to? Would it even sound close?

As I continued my walk I began to wonder, who really knew more about music: Larissa the Brazilian barista who dances and sings to her native music while serving coffee, or Richard the academic who knew every detail about Mozart’s work… but admitted to not “being” very musical himself.

In my younger days, I would have said that Larissa had forgotten more about music than Richard will ever understand… but now I’m older and hopefully a little wiser. I realize today that intelligence exists in countless forms. There is no right or superior kind of intelligence… it all has its unique place and time.

In a way Richard and Larissa’s budding relationship serves as an excellent metaphor. Richard was driven by content and structure. Larissa followed her spirit. Richard’s world was objective and Larissa’s—subjective. With the right structure in her life a person like Larissa can thrive. And without spirit—a magical spark—a person like Richard will remain stagnant. The old saying, “opposites attract” is true for good reason. Smart people understand that we each have strengths and weaknesses. By recognizing and embracing our differences we not only become smarter—but happier too.

I don’t know if or how Richard and Larissa’s budding relationship evolved… but by the time my walk ended that day, I was convinced they were building it from the right foundation.