Sore Parts, Sore Hearts.

Like everyone else, I’ve been bitten by the facebook bug. One of the features of facebook is a status update. You can plant a few words to tell your friends what you are up to, or what you’re feeling. The last two updates were “has sore eyes” and “has a sore neck.”

These are minor. I just listened to Bob Rae’s speech from the CBC Oscar Peterson tribute. It’s pretty obvious that he and everyone who was aware of Oscar Peterson’s impact on music, and Canadian culture in general has a sore heart. I know I do.

Oscar Peterson wasn’t just another pianist. He was the pianist which every other jazz pianist looked up to because of his formidable technique, and his almost unstoppable ability to swing. Oscar Peterson set the standard against which all other jazz pianists can be measured. That’s a pretty contentious statement, but I can’t foresee any arguments. Someone once called him “the Franz Liszt of jazz piano.”

It’s like every recorded version of Bach’s  suites for Violoncello is compared to Pablo Casal’s. There may be people who might approach or even equal that sort of achievement, but there likely won’t be anyone who can surpass it.

Oscar Peterson was also noted for his contribution to civil rights in the USA and Canada. He battled racism wherever he saw it, and held his head high rather than stoop to the level of people who would belittle him or anyone else. He refused to play to segregated audiences, and as a companion of Norman Granz, he stood up for integration, both in the seats and on the bandstand.

I regret that I never had a chance to hear Oscar Peterson perform live, but I have still been blessed to have heard his recordings, and to have heard some of his exploits. He leaves Canada a better place, and a sadder place because of his passing.