Bob Wiseman

Every evening at exactly seven o’clock, Leonard climbed onto the windowsill and waited. Not for dinner. Not for birds. For music. His owner, Margaret, taught piano lessons from the living […]

John Coltrane and Louis Armstrong found themselves seated on a park bench overlooking a city. Music drifted through the air from every direction. None of the musicians were visible. ARMSTRONG: […]

Most of the time, growth is invisible. Then, one night after a concert, another musician approaches. Not a fan. A peer. Someone who knows what it costs to arrive at […]

The open stage: A retired accountant arrived with a Martin guitar and sang a ballad about his wife of forty-three years. His voice wandered in and out of tune as […]

Socrates was sitting beneath an olive tree when a man appeared wearing round purple glasses, black clothes, several silver crosses, and an expression suggesting he had survived both history and […]

There are concertsno audienceever sees. The morningyou manageone page. The afternoonyou stopbefore forcing it. The eveningyou deciderestis not surrender. I used to thinkpracticemeant repeatinguntil mastery. Nowit sometimes meansreturning tomorrow. The […]

“Have you heard Foreign Dialogue yet?” asked Martin. “It’s fantastic.” Elaine sipped her coffee. “I heard it.” “Do you agree?” “Depends.” “It sounds like Some Girls.” “That’s a problem.” Martin […]

The musician wasn’t opposed to activism. Some of the greatest songs ever written were acts of protest. They opposed wars, exposed hypocrisy, confronted racism, and gave courage to people who […]