My musical life began with a suite called "The Children's Corner" by Claude Debussy. Each piece in this collection, written for Debussy's daughter, is a little jewel of charm and delight. For me, at the age of ten, it was an introduction to a magical world of harmonies, textures and colors I had never heard before. I was captivated. This was followed by a love for Ravel's "Sonatine". There was also Bartok's "Romanian Folk Dances". Once, when I was playing them at a lesson, my teacher's husband, concertmaster of the St. Louis Symphony at the time, came downstairs with his violin and gave me what I consider to be one of my first real lessons. He said, "You can play it like this", and he played, on his violin, the melody of the first dance. It sounded like I had been playing it, stiff and dry and lifeless. "Or," he said, "you can play it like this." And, playing the same notes, he made the melody jump up and dance. Lights went on, a connection was made, and I got it. The same thing happened when I heard Artur Rubinstein in concert. As a child of eleven, I must say that concerts, in general, pretty much put me to sleep. Early on I developed the art of falling asleep with my eyes open. Then Mr. Rubinstein started playing, and everything woke up, I sat up straight and said, "He's making the piano sing!" Another connection was made, and I can still hear the bell-like clarity of his tone. I can still see him, sitting at the piano, looking like he was sitting down to dinner. I performed frequently between the ages of 10 and 15, and a feeling of disconnection with what I was playing continued to grow. The fingers were moving, but where was I? I quit playing for about three years. Looking for something, not knowing exactly what, one day I heard Billie Holiday. The exuberance in her earlier recordings with Teddy Wilson's band grabbed hold of me. There is an undeniable presence and immediacy in her voice that speaks directly to my soul. This connection continued with Lester Young, Charlie Christian and Charlie Parker. The elegance and charm of Lester, the meaty, in-the-pocket time feel of Charlie Christian, and the sublime eloquence of Charlie Parker have the same effect as Billie. That is, the feeling of someone reaching into your gut and wrenching it out of you. After that, there is no turning back. In search of a way to express a music that was still a mystery to me, I was finally led to New York to study with Lennie Tristano. Under the guidance of this master musician and generous spirit, I realized that not only was it possible to discover what this mystery music was, but that, with work and time, I could make it happen. The connection with Lennie's way of teaching was immediate. There was a sense of relief and direction. A good portion of the work was singing with Lester Young solos. (Through the years, I have done the same thing with solos by Charlie Christian, Charlie Parker and Bud Powell.) I would sing it with the recording and, after getting that down, sing it without the recording. Then I would play it on the piano, first with the left hand and then with the right. Learning a solo in this manner takes time and patience. But the music becomes a part of you and stays with you forever. It is also a very natural and effective way of learning about "jazz" time and phrasing. Scales, melodies and slow improvising with the metronome were always done with the left hand alone, as well as the right. Slow improvising with the left hand is a wonderful way to get away from all the tired licks my right hand gets into and just makes me play differently. I find it refreshing. Later on, I had the opportunity to record and play with Warne Marsh, a consummate musician and improviser. Many times, waiting outside the door of his studio, I would hear him practicing with the metronome. Through that door poured the most sublime improvising I have ever heard in my life. I have often wished that I had a recording of that music. But then I hear Warne's voice in my head saying, as he used to say, "I figure I've got one chance to play it, you should have one chance to listen to it." There have been many great musicians, painters, writers, and friends who have inspired me throughout my life, but Lennie and Warne were the ones who were able to instill a confidence in me that the realization of my dream was possible. This is one of the greatest gifts one can bestow on another, and I only hope I can give the same in return. After one of the concerts I performed as a child with the St. Louis Symphony, then conductor Eleazar de Carvalho offered these words to the press. ". . . she has good fingers. She has a good technique for her age. She has control, memory and talent . . . but we must wait to see how she develops as she gets older." "Well, Mr. de Carvalho, what do you think?"