I am a musician. That is all I ever really dreamed about being, all I aspired to, and what I ended up with. As a musician, if you survive the drug years and the cirrhosis scare, you are rewarded with the opportunity to almost make a living for as long as you hold out. That is why there are venerable 97-year-old piano players.  They have no choice. They sit on their asses, wiggle their fingers, and bitch about the break times, but in fact they need the gig money for bills  so they don’t have to read their own liner notes by candlelight. If you are one lucky son-of-a-bitch, you die on stage, doing your third set. It is perfectly timed to wrap up the night without disrupting the earlier crowds, and it also provides a great story which can catapult you from mediocrity to legendary status. Perfect.

I’m not bitching, just observing from an inside angle. The rest of the truth is that as musicians, we are beholden to no one. Except perhaps the booking agent. In that cosmically weightless state we are free to pursue the truth in our music and lyrics and to remain honest agents of real information, both literal and spiritual, for those that choose to listen. Our reward? I just stated it. Not to mention the chance to get “in The Zone” from time to time. The Zone is that place where given the right confluence of circumstance and personal effortlessness, the player ceases to be the player, but becomes a vehicle through which flows the sound. It is what separates the great musicians from the journeymen, the pretenders from the intenders. I have been graced to visit The Zone on occasion in my playing career. It is exhilarating and indescribable, I suppose similar to any route of escape from the apparent. I can’t get there at will, not yet. Consistently getting there requires a gift and a certain temperament and outlook about the music and about the world. Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, Hank Williams, Louis Armstrong (he invented The Zone), Art Tatum, Jerry Lee Lewis, these are but a few of the names of those who are certified Zonesters. The fortunate few are those that live in The Zone. Their output transcends their actual physical and sonic presence. For a musician, The Zone remains the welcome gift and the ultimate goal.

In the meantime, it’s summer, I’m working, the bills are paid, my truck runs, I wrote a new song, and I wouldn’t trade this life for a pile of 401Ks and a brand new fishing boat.

Ken Saydak and Erwin Helfer will appear on Tuesday, July 6, at S.P.A.C.E. in Evanston, IL. The show, billed as Blues Piano Night, will start at 8 p.m. Here’s the link to the club’s site for more information:  http://www.evanstonspace.com