Frogman, A professional jazz musician lived in my apartment for 3 months and he never practiced. I wont mention his name because every time it's mentioned, some clown pops out of the woodwork with garbage. In regard to,"If I don't practice for a day, I know it. If I don't practice for two days, the critics know it. And if I don't practice for three days, the audience knows it".
For an entire summer, I chauffeured him and his lady friend to gigs at least 3 times a week. We were only at the apartment long enough to take care of the necessities of life, the rest of the time we were on a set, or digin a set. What astounded me more than anything, was when we arrived an hour before show time, and he was introduced to musicians he had never played with before. They would talk this musical gibberish, that meant absolutely nothing to me, "All right Mac, when I come in on the... and hit a chord on the piano, point to the drummer who seemed to know what he was talking about and go "Wham bang". They would do this for an hour, while I watched in fear of every thing turning out lousy.
When they played as if they had been together for years, I was all ways truly astonished. Those performances never failed to mesmerize yours truly. Each performance was uniquely different from the last one. I had surgery that summer, and he entertained me during my recuperation time, with stories about his life as a professional jazz musician; that was an unforgettable summer.
