Reflecting on my arrival in Canada back in 2003, I’m reminded of the proverbial first meeting of the dog and cat. Upon spying the highly enthusiastic, overly confident yet slightly clumsy dog, the cat finds herself mildly amused and even somewhat charmed so she begins to purr. However, when the dog hears the cat’s purring he says to himself, “Hey!? What’s she growling about?!” With all good intent, the reckless pooch trots over into the cat’s personal space and shouts, “Hey!! C’mon!! Loosen up!! Let’s have some fun!” Now in cat language, that effort just sounds like a lot of loud barking and yapping! I don’t have to tell you what happens next.

Like the dog, it took me a minute to pick up on the subtleties of communicating here in Winnipeg mostly because my cultural differences tended to redirect the meanings of the things I heard or said. I cut my teeth in New York and, as we all know, that city is a place where many people go when they feel they want to compete on a global level. In an environment like that, you want friends and mentors who are consistently tough on you to help you get your act together. It’s like being in a wolf pack. In that setting, a friend who is always complimentary is suspect—they may not have your best interests at heart.

There’s also this saying in New York: half of getting the job is being there. This line of reasoning can explain the differences I’ve had in traffic priorities. In New York, you can miss a lifetime opportunity by being the fourteenth person in line for thirteen openings. Here in Winnipeg it’s a little more courteous. People tend to hear every interview or audition even when the individual is days late. 

There’s never much real reason to hurry here. The cost of living is way less expensive. Also there are quite a few more systems of support in place for a solid journeyman professional. Because of these more favorable situations, the urgency to develop your craft beyond that level is entirely at the discretion of the individual. Though these circumstances can afford you a lot more decency and sanity, they can also seduce you into complacency. 

Both cultures have their strengths and pitfalls. New York can turn you into a howling lunatic and Winnipeg can turn you into a perogi.

In jazz, art imitates life. At the very core of this art form, musicians are speaking across cultural divides. The southerner’s main currency is the blues. The east coaster’s main currency is dissonance. The Euro-musicians favor an a-rhythmical approach. The Israelis want you to invent something they’ve never heard of before. By studying the preferences of other cultures, musicians add to their own strength and versatility. Every time I perform with a musician from out of town it always starts out a little bumpy but by yielding to each other’s preferences we are challenged to go beyond the places we normally go. 

We are like a tapestry here in Winnipeg with many well-defined cultures. I wonder what will happen when life begins to imitate jazz?

Pianist and composer David Braid is one of Canada’s most creative and prolific young musicians. His own compositions combine a harmonic intricacy gleaned from his study of Western classical music with the improvisational tradition of American jazz. He has recorded seven albums with five different ensembles, garnering four Juno nominations. Currently, he is focusing on composing for solo piano and is releasing a solo album in January.

Braid was born in Hamilton, Ontario, and was drawn to jazz music through an unlikely series of events. When he was 16, he heard a Mozart composition on the radio which profoundly moved and inspired him. The following day, he borrowed as many Mozart scores as he could from his local library and began to study them fervently. He recounts, “I couldn’t find a work that didn’t amaze me in how perfectly balanced all the materials of the composition were laid out—like this artist had discovered an algorithm to turn out music with the perfect ratio between tension and release.”

Although he did not have formal composition training, Braid was hooked and began to compose music daily. His high school band teacher, seeing Braid’s fascination, said “you should play jazz because you improvise in jazz—as if you’re composing on the spot.” Although he knew nothing about improvising, or indeed about jazz, his passion was ignited.

Braid’s versatility is evident in his diverse discography. In his recent recording, Spirit Dance, he pairs up with the Canadian Brass, a world-renowned classical ensemble. The album highlights Braid’s compositional depth and sensitive orchestrations, from lush soundscapes to the minimalistic counterpoint of “Prelude for Two Voices.” As a bandleader, Braid leads a sextet consisting of some Canada’s top jazz personnel: Terry Clarke, Steve Wallace, Mike Murley, John MacLeod and Gene Smith. Other collaborations include Nimmons’n’Braid, with clarinetist Phil Nimmons, the Murley/Braid Quartet, with the multi-Juno-award-winning saxophonist Mike Murley, and the genre-defying Brubeck Braid, a partnership with American cellist Matt Brubeck.

Braid’s new release, Solo, shows his musicality and inventiveness at its most intimate. In Winnipeg, he’ll be performing work from this recording, but for part of his show he’ll also be teaming up with some of this city’s favorites—George Colligan on trumpet, Jimmy Green on saxophone, Curtis Nowosad on drums, and Steve Kirby on bass.

Braid is currently on faculty at the University of Toronto, giving instruction in both piano and composition. His website (www.davidbraid.com) includes a number of essays on a variety of musical topics, which would be of interest to any music student or aficionado. Braid is an insightful, concise writer, and these traits are reflected in his music.

What do you get when you cross a sharp Latin dance band with a grand symphony orchestra? It’s a rare hybrid—and one Winnipeg audiences will have a chance to hear this January when Papa Mambo steps out with the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra.

Rodrigo Muñoz, the driving force behind Papa Mambo, is more than a bit excited about this outing. There’s precedent for this kind of collaboration, he says, but it hasn’t been done here before. Muñoz, along with trombonist Jeff Presslaff, have been busy for most of the past year choosing repertoire and creating arrangements that take full advantage of the symphony’s string and brass sections. Presslaff points out that the symphony offers “a lot of sounds that we don’t get in the band, and there’s something that happens when you harness one hundred people toward the same goal—it’s different from an eleven-piece band!”

The concert will feature a mix of originals and Latin standards, and offer a loose history of Afro-Cuban music. The program starts with early Cuban-style night club music and moves through the contemporary salsa stylings which have been so heavily influenced by the Cuban and Puerto Rican musicians in New York City. A relentless groove and infectious warmth characterize the music, from the earliest expressions to the most recent. This is dance music that nobody can resist, and that’s what Rodrigo loves about it. “It’s a lot of fun,” he says simply. “When people are dancing, or even just tapping their feet or the table, it energizes the band—you think, ‘Oh, I’m doing something right!’ and you want to play even groovier! I don’t think they allow dancing in the Centennial Concert Hall, but people will be dancing in their seats!”

Presslaff and Muñoz are contributing about half the arrangements for this concert. The rest come from Horacio Gonzalez, a Cuban musician Rodrigo worked with several years ago. Gonzalez directs the salsa orchestra for the Tropicana night club, a band that is somewhat smaller than the WSO-Papa Mambo group, but with similar components. Rodrigo had played Gonzalez’ arrangements, and was keen to get him involved. The fee included a replacement for Gonzalez’ failing laptop, which made it more possible for the octogenarian to whip together scores for the Winnipeg gig. “He’s a genius,” Rodrigo says. “Everybody has juicy parts!”

Papa Mambo is cruising toward its twenty-second birthday, and though the personnel have changed somewhat over the years, the energy and musicianship have been unflagging. With Richard Lee at the podium and the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra supporting and extending their reach, they’re prepared to take the Afro-Cuban sound to a whole new level. Don’t miss this show!

If life were food, George Colligan would weigh in at 12,000 pounds—he has a voracious appetite. He wants to live. He’s fascinated by everything musical: apart from his brilliant keyboard work, he plays a mean set of drums, and I’m happy to put him on gigs as a trumpet player too.

He doesn’t do anything poorly—whatever he’s doing, he’s all in, on every level. He decided to learn to play the bass, and then took it to the bandstand within a few months, playing one of the best bass solos I heard all year. He writes music like he’s the Winnipeg Free Press—there’s a new edition every day! Plus he keeps a blog (jazztruth.blogspot.com), and it’s one of the most fascinating jazz commentaries I’ve read.

George lets you know what’s possible from a human, and inspires all of us to do a little more than we’re doing. And all of this with a boyish energy and curiosity. I figure his tombstone will read, “I just want to play!”

As the new year opens up, George is busy with many different projects. We caught up with him for a quick check-in before he headed for New York for the holidays.

Jazz Winnipeg’s Nu Sounds series allows local artists to step out into new territory. What are your plans for that gig?

Well, for a start I will be playing drums—most people know me as a keyboardist, but I actually played drums before I got into piano. I think about drums a lot when I compose, so this is a chance for me to really interpret the music exactly how I hear it, in terms of the drumming. Secondly, Winnipeg will get a chance to hear my wife Kerry Politzer play piano and sing. Thirdly, we will feature songs of mine that include lyrics, which is a fairly new development in my music.

You have several opportunities to play with Kerry this winter.

Kerry and I have an ongoing argument about which one of us is more talented! I insist that it’s her: she smokes me at the piano, has better ears, and is also an excellent singer and songwriter. I think Winnipeg will be pleasantly surprised to hear Kerry present her formidable musical abilities.

Tell us about the Songwriter-in-Residence post at Aqua Books for February and March.

Kelly Hughes just asked me to do this out of the blue! Now, I have composed a ton of music in the last 25 years, but the vast majority has been instrumental—until very, very recently. I guess it’s taken 40 years for me to get over my fear of writing lyrics. Anyway, I have many brand new tunes which I am anxious to hear performed. I will be enlisting as many of the U of M vocalists (students as well as the prof Anna-Lisa Kirby) as are willing. There will probably also be some afternoon workshops for people to bring in their tunes—we’re still working out those details.

I love to write music, and adding lyrics has been really satisfying. I have no idea whether anyone else will dig the songs, but when you’re 40, it’s much easier to ignore your critics!

Your new CD is Pride & Joy. Do you think becoming a dad has had a bearing on your musical life?

Yes, without a doubt. It just makes you appreciate life in a whole different way. It makes you understand the delicate balance of life and to cherish as much time on earth as you can. Liam had a difficult birth, and he was on a respirator for the first few hours of his life. I try to make up for his traumatic entry into the world by being as nice to him as I can every day! I’ve also written a few songs for him. When you look at that zeiseh punim [cute face] you can’t help but write a song…

Is there anything you wish people would ask you about?

Generally, people in the music community have been friendly and welcoming. It can be difficult as an outsider, especially since it seems as though most people who live here are from here. I hope people are not afraid to talk to me: just cause I’m from the States doesn’t mean I’m armed! I want people to know that they can ask me anything from “How do you like the winter?” to “How the #&$@ did George W. Bush get re-elected?”

Oh, and I’d love it if people asked me about what it’s like to play with Jack Dejohnette! I toured with him in the summer and we have another tour planned for May and June. It’s been a thrill to be able to play with one of the few living legends of jazz drumming. I can see why Keith Jarrett moves and shouts so much when he plays with his trio—Jack’s groove is so intense, I felt myself gyrating à la Jarrett a bit myself at times…

Guitarist Ron Halldorson is a bit of a Winnipeg legend. Now in his sixties, Ron was born and raised here in Winnipeg, and has been playing music professionally for almost his entire life.  Over the last several years I have come to know Ron, both musically and personally, and his story is a fascinating one!

Ron’s musical journey began at age seven, when a man offering Hawaiian guitar lessons came to his door. For a few years it was his parents who kept him moving with music, but at age eleven he heard a new sound: the pedal steel guitar. Ron credits the sound of that relatively new instrument with drawing him into the music world. Within a year he was playing weekends out of town with a local country band.

By this point Ron realized that he wanted to play music for a career. He had been listening to jazz for a while, and since pedal steel didn’t really have a presence in the jazz world, he began learning guitar. At the Normandy Dance Hall on Sherbrook Street, different dance bands would play each night, and by his last year of high school, Ron was in every band, playing six nights a week.

After high school Ron spent time on the road and in the city, and got to know most of the musicians on the scene, one of whom was guitar legend Lenny Breau. Ron and Lenny became good friends. The two of them would get together and jam—Lenny on guitar and Ron on steel. At the time, Lenny had a regular gig with pianist Bob Erlendson at the Stage Door, a local jazz club. Lenny invited Ron to come and sit in, effectively launching the electric bass phase of his career.

During the 60s, Lenny was doing a lot of work with the CBC, both as a session player and hosting his own shows. Ron would play with him, and when Lenny left to focus on other musical pursuits, Ron became the go-to session player. His busy studio career lasted over twenty years.

In the mid 90s, when recording work finally began slowing down and many of his associates left, Ron was feeling somewhat disenchanted. Free from the obligations of the studio, he began to immerse himself in jazz guitar again, practicing and playing more then he had in years. This was a turning point for him—he dubs it his “musical renaissance.”

I first met Ron about five years ago. He agreed to play a gig with me and, although I was wildly inexperienced at the time, was nothing but encouraging. I’ve played often with him over the past few years, and those opportunities have been some of the most musically fulfilling for me. I owe a lot of my musical development to him.

When you listen to Ron play, you’re hearing a master musician at work. To me, Ron’s deep groove and understated lyricism on the guitar are a reflection of his warm character and kindness. What a treasure we have here among us!

The guitar player Lenny Breau is one of the most tragic figures in jazz. He is not widely known, neither today nor in his day, but he should have been an international jazz star. Breau’s playing was extraordinary, and he often left the impression of playing more than one guitar at the same time. His fans included such guitar masters as Joe Pass, Larry Carlton, George Benson, and Breau’s mentor, Chet Atkins. They ranked Breau up there with Charlie Christian and Wes Montgomery as jazz guitar pioneers. His influences were wide and diverse, including flamenco virtuoso Sabicas, guitarist Tal Farlow, fingerstyle country player Chet Atkins, pianist Bill Evans, and saxophonist John Coltrane. In pulling these diverse musical approaches together, Breau created a distinctive sound on the guitar.

Breau fell under the spell of music easily and early. Both his parents, Hal “Lone Pine” Breau and Betty Cody, were country-and-western performers who were often joined on stage by their young guitar-playing son. In 1957, the family moved to Winnipeg, Manitoba, to host a show on CKY radio.

Breau discovered jazz while listening to a Tal Farlow album and taught himself Farlow’s solos by slowing down the record. He was mentored by jazz musicians in Winnipeg and would often rehearse ten or twelve hours a day. In turn, he mentored others, and his friend Randy Bachman remembers many afternoons playing the guitar with Breau, who taught him to play difficult chords and solos. Bachman later used some of what he learned from the jazz solos he played in “Undun” and “Blue Collar,” songs he wrote for the Guess Who and Bachman Turner Overdrive.

In 1967, after hearing one of Lenny’s tapes, guitarist Chet Atkins, who ran the Nashville office of RCA Victor, signed Breau and the following year produced his first album The Guitar Sounds of Lenny Breau. Years later, he cut a duo record with him. Atkins remained a huge fan of Breau’s to the end and was a source of emotional support during some difficult years.

In the 1970s, Breau played regularly as a headliner and worked as a sideman for CBC Radio and Television and logged time with Moe Koffman, Beverly Glenn Copland, and Anne Murray. During this time, Breau developed a serious cross-addiction to alcohol and heroin. By mid-decade, the club dates had become more sporadic, and he was widely reputed to be unreliable.

In a 1981 interview with me about his drug addiction, his delicate state was obvious: “It’s just one of those things,” he said. “It’s like, it’s like I was hanging out with guys who were doing it. At first, I did it for inspiration, but in the end it turned against me. It’s like a seductress. It’s like a prostitute who takes more and more and more, and after a while you’re spending so much money that you really can’t enjoy yourself.”

Breau’s adult years were nomadic and he lived in Maine, Nashville, New York City, Winnipeg, Toronto, Ottawa, and Edmonton. His last months were spent in a rough part of Los Angeles in the Langham Apartments, a building first owned by Al Jolson and later by Clark Gable. On August 12, 1984, he was found floating face-down in the rooftop swimming pool of the building. The autopsy report said it was death by strangulation. The LAPD believes he was strangled in the seventh-floor apartment he shared with his wife and dumped in the swimming pool. His murder remains unsolved.

Since his death, numerous reissues and new CDs have become available. The Velvet Touch of Lenny Breau Live! [One Way Records #19315] is the second release of his career. Produced by Danny Davis, the leader of the Nashville Brass, it was recorded live over a period of two nights in September 1968 at Shelly’s Manne-Hole, a short-lived Hollywood jazz club opened by the legendary drummer Shelly Manne. Breau covers a lot of musical ground here, playing blues, flamenco, jazz, and East Indian-flavoured compositions.

Some tracks, such as “Indian Reflections for Ravi” and “Span Jazz” offer glimpses of his brilliance, but they are musical mountains to climb. They are showcases of colossal technique but come up short on cohesive musical ideas. Breau’s naked musical sensitivity is endearing, but some of his solos on this album meander and lack focus.

That said, this is still an innovative recording, with Breau often playing chords, melody, and the bass-line simultaneously. There are several ways to play the guitar: strum chords; solo by playing single notes with a pick; and finger-style, which consists of plucking the strings either with fingers and thumb or with the thumb pick. Breau’s gift was that he could do all three, all at the same time, and sound like three guitar players.

On the CD, Breau performs solos on electric and acoustic guitars, and in a trio with two of his friends from Winnipeg, Ron Halldorson (on bass) and Reg Kelln (on drums). On “No Greater Love,” “Mercy, Mercy,” “A Taste of Honey,” and “Bluesette,” Breau’s playing is dazzling and polished. These tracks tip the scale, making this an essential album. They show a risk-taker in action, a guitarist who lands on his feet no matter how high he jumps.

We began Jazz on Wheels to take the tools of jazz into Winnipeg’s under-served neighbourhoods and get kids excited about the possibilities of music in their futures. The second step is to follow that introduction making sustainable, high quality music instruction available to them. My vision is to give those kids the same opportunity for music instruction that all the kids in the suburbs get.

We call the second step the Bridge Program, and we’re unrolling a pilot version this year at Hugh John MacDonald, a junior high school right in the heart of one of the toughest, busiest metropolitan areas of Winnipeg. The principal, Vinh Huynh, took me on a tour of his facilities. He runs that place like a nuclear submarine! Everything is in its place, and the students are focused and happy. You can tell that they face challenges, but they have a spirit about them of hope and purpose. The big overall feeling permeating that school is that those kids have a sense of pride in where they are and what they’re doing.

Vinh is one of the hardest, most effective workers I’ve ever met. He has more initiatives on the go in that school than I can keep track of, all with the intention of building the community at large, and the sense of citizenship in his students. He’s one of those rare gifted people who knows the way to help people reach their fullest potential—I will happily be one of his disciples!

Over the winter term, senior jazz pedagogy students will have a chance to work with Vinh Huynh and the kids at Hugh John MacDonald, and together we’ll explore how our Jazz Studies program can support a diverse, sustainable and consistent music program there. I feel honoured by the welcome we’re receiving, and eager to take on this next stage of developing cross-cultural communication through music. We’ll keep you posted!

We all know there are many diets for losing weight and maintaining good health. There’s the Atkins diet, the low-carb diet, the low-fat diet…the list goes on and on. The concept is clear: if you do certain things consistently, you’ll achieve a certain outcome. It’s in fact pretty motivating, which is why I’ve created a diet of my own—the Jazz Diet!

The Jazz Diet consists of three basic elements: practicing, playing, and listening. By being diligent and persistent in these three things, you have a good chance of becoming a very competent jazz musician with a strong base.

DAILY PRACTICE!! Practice makes perfect, right? Well, in a jazz musician’s case, no, because there’s no such thing as perfection in jazz. Jazz is like life—there is no script and it can be quite unpredictable. There are a few guidelines and parameters, but even those can be broken from time to time. In order for jazz to be this wonderful living organism, we must be free from the restrictions of our instruments. And we must be able to speak fluently the “jazz language” to other musicians. This means mastering every scale and arpeggio imaginable, along with learning the solos and language of the jazz masters. Emulating them will eventually lead you to your own free voice.

PLAY, PLAY, PLAY!! Now it’s time to apply what you’ve been practicing and get together with other musicians and jam. This is the only way you can become fluent in the jazz language. Each time you play, you learn something more about your own voice and how it fits with others. Also, you can try out your hot new licks. The more you force yourself to do this, the more these lines and phrases will become your own—to the point where you will not have to think about what you want to play.

LISTEN, LISTEN, LISTEN!! Listening rounds out our diet. Not the passive listening my mom does when she cooks dinner to Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue. I’m talking about active listening, really paying attention to all the fine details that go into making a particular track great—things like form, bass lines, melody, harmony, groove, time signature, key signature, rhythms, solos, dynamics and song arrangement. By striving to understand each of these elements, we are fine-tuning our ears, learning new repertoire, learning new language, and getting the distinct sound of jazz in our ears. What we hear will eventually seep into our own playing and also allow us to notice more of what’s taking place within a band while performing.

There you have it—just three steps to greatness. Simple, right? Not by any stretch! But if you are consistent and persistent, you can develop real competence. As with any diet, you might want to consult your physician first…

I was 22 when I first heard pianist Geoffrey Keezer. It was the early 90s and people had been talking about him—he joined Art Blakey at 17, he was a prize pupil of James Williams, he had ridiculous technique. But when I actually walked into Bradley’s in New York’s Greenwich Village and heard Keezer up close, it was a staggering revelation. Here was this kid from Wisconsin, a year younger than me, playing more piano than anyone I had ever heard live, more piano than I’d ever conceived of playing. From that moment, I was a fan of Geoffrey Keezer. Hearing him motivated me tremendously, although begrudgingly, since deep down I knew I could never catch up. I did spend the next few years practicing four to eight hours a day.

Keezer, or “Dr K” as James Williams used to call him, started young, showed great talent, and benefited from the fact that his parents were musicians and music teachers. Still, as we learned in his masterclass at U of M, he also spent a great deal of of his childhood and adolescence practicing, listening to recordings, and transcribing.

He also paid his dues living in New York and touring with most of the greats. From Art Blakey to Art Farmer to Benny Golson, Christian McBride to Chris Botti, Ray Brown to Jim Hall, it’s amazing to think of how that kind of experience has added to his arsenal of  musical information. He has appeared on numerous recordings as a sideman. Some of my favorites are Art Farmer’s Soul Eyes, Joe Locke’s Live In Seattle, and Christian McBride’s Vertical Vision.

But Keezer is a great force as a bandleader and composer as well. His first album is Waiting in the Wings. If you can find it, it’s impressive piano playing for a 17 year old, with shades of McCoy Tyner, Kenny Kirkland, and Mulgrew Miller. I also recommend Curveball, Here and Now, Other Spheres, World Music, and Turn Up the Quiet. His latest on Artistshare is Auréa.

I really enjoy his solo piano CD entitled Zero One—he does a waltz version of Stevie Wonder’s “These Three Words” which is a virtuoso thrill ride. I’m hoping for more solo work from Keezer, since of all the pianists out here, he seems to possess the best tools to pull it off: a ridiculously adept left-hand, total independence between both hands, endless inventiveness, and impeccable rhythm.

Keezer was in Winnipeg recently to perform with vibraphonist Joe Locke and vocalist Kenny Washington. When Locke was sidelined with an emergency appendectomy, Keezer took up the slack and made the weekend quite memorable for Winnipeg jazz folk. I’m getting the sense that many of the pianists in town are feeling exactly as I did when I first heard Keezer almost twenty years ago…

A faraway friend has shipped me a box that’s very large, very light, and (I’m told) very fragile. I’m dying of curiosity, and sometimes I’m tempted to give it a good shake, but I have another week to wait.

To be honest, I’m actually enjoying the waiting and wondering. Anticipation has a nice edge to it, and in these times of immediate satisfaction on so many fronts, I’m taking a minute to appreciate it. Some things are not about speed and efficiency. Some things require you to wait for them to present themselves in all their glory.

The big box has a lot in common with the many books that make their way into my house every year. I know from the dust jacket or the reputation of the writer that I want to read it. I feel tempted by the promise of something good.

I admit to being more impulsive about opening books—I’ll read in the bookstore line-up or while my car is getting gas. But still, that quality of anticipation is a big part of the reading experience. After all, you can’t read a book in an instant—and the pleasure comes not only from the confidence that the writer is going to give you your just reward in the end, but also from extending the period of play in that created world. It’s not simply anticipation of the ultimate release, but pleasure in the period of waiting.

The same is true of dance, film, music—any of the art forms which request sustained attention over a period of time. It’s also true for paintings, photographs, and very short language forms like haiku. They might feel instantaneous, but the great ones travel with you for hours, days, even years, teasing and rewarding.

In a way, delayed gratification is at the heart of all the art forms, no matter what discipline. Whether they’re creating poems or documentaries or improvised jazz solos, artists are setting expectations in us, then making us wait until they are satisfied.

In the late 1960s, a researcher named Walter Mischel offered preschoolers a choice: they could get one marshmallow right now or more marshmallows later. Some kids couldn’t wait for a second, while others managed to get through the very long fifteen minutes. The most resourceful kids found strategies to soften the discomfort of waiting for their prize. They redirected their attention with wildly imaginative games, often using the marshmallows as props. Delay became their excuse to play, and play helped them manage their desire and maximize their pleasure.

Interestingly, the most successful kids in the Marshmallow Experiment have gone on to dramatically better lives with higher educational accomplishments, stronger social networks, less drug use, and so on. That’s a pretty clear indication that being able to sustain and even transform delayed gratification is an adaptive life skill, one we might want to develop in our children and ourselves.

I’m looking to the artists for lessons and inspiration. After all, they make an art of it…