Tiana shook her head. “I like a good hit as much as the next person, Berlioz. But Ray Charles is multitalented. He’s got hits, he’s got deep cuts, he’s got this jazz record here.” Tiana kicked the air next to the “The Great Ray Charles” record. “And you need to actually give it a try. Wait just one second.” Tiana pulled out her iPhone and navigated to YouTube, where she looked up the album itself. Soon the sound of the first song, “The Ray”, was floating through the air around them. “See what I mean?” Tiana said after a few moments of listening. “It’s very clearly a piano-centered piece, so it’d be up your street, I believe. But the jazz is what makes it great! Listen to how perfect the instruments sound together!”
When Berlioz protested her improvisation suggestion for him, she only held up her iPhone and said, “Ray didn’t do nothing on this track that you couldn’t do, Mr. Beaumont! He played without a score, without another person’s base, without knowing what would be coming at him next. You can hear it in the intro—that’s improv, baby!” Tiana started the song over and nodded firmly. “If you can’t do this, Berlioz, then you’re not a music person!”
“Follow me into the music shop,” Tiana told Berlioz, making her way between the shelves toward the small side door. “I’ve got a plan.” Without checking to see if he was following, she entered into the music store—guitars, giant speakers, and sheet music galore!—and she sat down at the nearest piano, a small upright one. “Now this,” she called behind her, “is what improv is all about.”
Tiana realized too late that she agreed with Berlioz completely. She was arguing on the wrong side. She played the first note—an E-flat, she knew from playing the xylophones in high school band—and then she played a G, then a B. Well, that wasn’t beautiful at all. She played the notes again, for good measure; then she took her little chord up the keyboard, because she felt like it. B, D, E-flat. Actually, wow! That was a great base! Tiana was startled, proud, and intrigued in one swift blow.
Tiana realized next that she had also promised herself she would never, ever try to do improv herself. Because she’d fail miserably.
She laughed. “Oh my God! I did it! I did something impossible!” She looked behind her, checking to see if Berlioz had actually followed or if the insistence of someone who liked way different music than him had been far too difficult. “I actually…did the impossible…”
