Pat Martino, he of the quicksilver fingers, the intuitive genius, the beauty of tone, is the type of artist that makes other guitarists shake their heads. But there are other things at work in the magical process. We're not talking about whether the piano is in tune. Not the sound of the drummer. Not the quality of a sideman's solo.
The guitar is an extension of his life, and appears to have always been that. He loves the feel, sound, look and touch of the instrument. "My favorite toy," the 62-year-old calls it with the honesty of a child.
"It's different for each of us. For me personally, nothing works other than me. I work and I enjoy doing what I do because I always do the best I possibly can. No matter what takes place, I know that things are going to work out. My intention is to amplify self-esteem in as many ways as I possibly can. Working is doing the best under any circumstance."
Hearing him in a club is to know that. And hearing his latest CD, the wonderful Remember: A Tribute to Wes Montgomery is to realize the guitarist is special. An homage to one of his greatest influences, the ten-cut disc is a treat from start to finish. He's rightfully proud of it. But it doesn't define him. In this cluttered world of intolerance and trouble and George Bush, his music shines through; an oasis for the soul weary. Pat Martino—having come through life-threatening illness; having come through a brain aneurysm so devastating that in its aftermath he didn't even remember he was one of the great jazz guitarists; didn't even remember friends and family— smiles through both the art of the music, and the smothering dysfunction of existence in the new millennium.
He remains calm. He sees things differently. He copes. All that he has been through has been his road to that point of being at peace.
"A good example would be being at the airport, on my way out to one of the spots on the tour, and being subject to security and standing in a line that's ferocious in terms of its demands upon patience and endurance and tolerance," he says with a knowing calm. "So here, in terms of what I find myself in under those moments, when I'm clear of mind and intention, I find myself amidst one of the greatest studies of virtue there can be. And that is rewarding. So I stand there and try to remain as neutral as I possibly can and feel good about it. It's a re-shaping of something that is very fluid and takes the shape of whatever you pour it into. That's healthy. I like that."
A conversation with Martino makes the immediate impression that it is a discussion with a deep thinker; a man who is living in the same reality, but looking at it from a different angle, and comfortable in his own skin.
"Music has always been latent as a blessing of its own accord," he says. "It has been second nature to me as an ecstasy of its own nature. When it comes to craftsmanship, with regard to being a musician—or an electrician or an attorney, any of these crafts that are in a social context; functional—I see these as one and the same. As a responsibility to participate with values, in terms of interacting socially with other human beings, other individuals.
"But when it comes down to the intention of the individual that utilizes that particular instrument, which is their craft, their intentions determine their reasons for what they do, and in most cases transcend the nature of the craft itself. It's very much similar to: If I were to be totally consumed by the process of musicianship itself, I then would be subject to what most musicians are subject to: a responsibility of practicing each and every day for a number of hours. And I did, when I was younger, due to lack of experiences in a deeper sense.
"I think many of us see it that way. We see it different than a tool, a communication tool. And we see it as a career that is subject to competitive demand. We have to compete. To do so we have to really constantly replenish our physical abilities. That's what practice is all about. On the other hand we have an automobile that we drive. And we never practice putting the key in the ignition. Nor do we practice the gas pedal or the brake or anything else in that particular tool. We don't even think about it until we have a destination to use it for. That's what guitar is to me, similarly. Primarily because it's second nature to me, just like that automobile is. At some point down the line that, too, happened to music itself... It brings me into the opportunity of interacting with others, and some precious moments."
And on stage?
"It all comes to fruition of its own accord, without prior intentions. Sometimes it seems like intentions prior to now, prior to the moment—in other words constructing something for the future, leads toward disappointment in many cases."
