At the Club Inegales recently, down in a basement on North Gower Street, I found myself watching members of the house band, Notes Inegales, during their joint set with their guests - Uzbek musicians Abbos Kosimov and Sardor Mirzakhojaev. Nothing unusual about that? Except, most of them were not playing at the time. I had been drawn to their listening.
Abbos was showing his remarkable talent and expressiveness
on the Doira – an Uzbek instrument, somewhere between a tambourine and a folk
drum. The others were mostly listening. Each had their own style: some totally
still but absolutely focused; others in motion, quietly showing their appreciation,
enjoyment, and engagement. And as I looked
around I thought: that’s what good listening looks like.
This clearly matters for coaches, and anyone for whom
listening is a core professional skill. The questions we ask are important and
they help our clients to open up, be articulate and show themselves. But more
than that, our clients notice how we listen to them when we are silent. Our
physical response, the quality of our attention, helps them speak.
Now I doubt that Abbos’s playing is affected by how his
fellow musicians listen to him – he was brimming with confidence and playfulness.
But I know that when I play music – with a far from professional level of skill
- my playing is boosted if I notice my band-mates appreciating my efforts. I
observe how I am being heard.
At Club Inegales, the format includes three sets: Notes
Inegales, then the guest(s), and then the two combined. For the latter, they do
some brief but intense rehearsal. The club is about fusion, about dialogue
between different styles, cultures and forms of musical expression. It is also
about improvisation. So, if my experience is anything to go by, the rehearsal creates
the framework for the fusion so that the improvisation can take place.
This too echoes the dance of coaching: as we meet our
clients and work with them, two worlds come together, and we listen in order to
understand and start to make progress, to make music with them. Like musicians,
we have studied and refined out technique. We have mastered our instrument –
ourselves – so that we can perform and enable the other to perform.
As we left the gig, one of my friends commented on the
discipline of the playing. I had noticed the freedom. Both were evident. The
first gave structure, the second fueled improvisation. As in coaching, our
discipline enables us to hold the space and guide the process; our
self-expression and creativity help us do what seems right in the moment. Like
musicians, we bring all our investment in learning technique in service of spontaneity.
At its best, our dialogue becomes a duet. I saw this when the
violinist Max Baillie took the lead with Abbos. They started with call and
response and then they built. They moved from attention and reaction to
anticipation and unison until their collaboration brought wry smiles to both their faces.
Rehearsed or improvised? I don’t know but the energy and enjoyment I saw suggested
that they were creating then and there.
I did not go to the gig looking to learn, or even think,
about coaching. But it does seem that many areas of human endeavour have
similarities and cross-overs, particularly when consummate performance is involved.
That offers an intriguing prospect: next time you think about your future
development as a coach, consider: where could I see some really good jazz?