DOES AARON RODGERS PLAY IN A CLASSICAL OR JAZZ STYLE?

Transfiguring from J.S. Bach to Charlie Parker in a Flash

Forget the cliffhangers. The answer is, “both.” Aaron Rodgers plays both classical and jazz.

If you’re saying to yourself (or somebody nearby, or to nobody in particular), “What in the world is he blathering about?” then let me explain:

In classical music, the instrumentalist is supposed to play exactly what is on the score (or the play sheet) the same exact way every time the conductor calls for that piece to be played. He plays the same notes, for the same duration, at the same volume, with the same amount of force, and the same tempo, and inflection, every time. That’s classical music. And it can be great.

That’s Aaron Rodgers in what we’ll call “normal” mode – when everything goes as planned, and his teammates are in the right place at the right time, and the opposition doesn’t throw a spanner into the works (no, I’m not British, but I like to use quaint British (and old-timey) expressions wherever possible). Yes, I’m a geezer. And a curmudgeon, as you will find out on your own, no doubt.

So as long as the other “instruments” don’t play any sour notes or suffer any mishaps (broken strings or cracked reeds or such), and there are no crying babies in the audience (which equates to big, fast, hell-bent-for-leather athletes bearing down on him, ears flared, trunk raised, and trumpet blaring), Aaron Rodgers plays like J.S. Bach – in other words: calm, measured, sublime.

Music and poetry have a lot in common. After all, what are lyrics but poetry set to music? And football is a type of poetry – violent poetry, that is.

When this violent poetry in motion threatens to go “off the rails” for Rodgers, that’s when he emerges from the telephone booth with a change of plumage, now emulating Charlie Parker.

Where classical is all about playing everything precisely by the book, and the featured instruments are determined centuries in advance, when a football play “breaks down” it’s time for the jazz philosophy to take over.

Jazz is all about improvisation, and equality. When the play as called is not working, due to one or more of the factors delineated above, it is time for improvisation. It takes a lot of talent and investment of time to get to the point where you can improvise, or play “ad hoc” – flying by the seat of your pants, winging it. But if a jazz musician is good enough, it can be great. Just like classical music can be great. But jazz is very different from classical music in its nature and philosophy.

A jazz musician must be hyper-alert and intensely listening to his fellow band members, ready to turn on a dime to accommodate, or accompany, what the others are doing, so that it all comes together to create the synergy that is the life force of jazz. That’s when magic happens. The same takes place at times in team sports, too.

The more a band plays together, the “tighter” they get (whether they drink alcohol or not). The same goes for athletes. Watch the way Rodgers and his primary receiving target, Davante Adams, work together. At times it’s as if they employ a lightning-quick telepathy. They are not just on the same page, or the same paragraph, or even the same sentence, or word. They are often on the same letter in a word.

As was already mentioned, jazz is not just about improvisation, but is also about equality. Every instrument is featured at times. Even the bass player gets his occasional solos. Nor is the drummer left out. And the same goes for “broken plays” in football. While one player (such as Adams) may be the first one Rodgers looks for when improvising, anybody that’s open can get the ball, and be the star of the play — or even the day, depending on how things shake out.

When the play breaks down and Rodgers begins to improvise, it’s often “Good night, Irene” for the defense. As sound as he is as J.S. Bach, as Charlie “Bird” Parker, it is downright dangerous to play defense in Mr. Rodgers’ neighborhood.

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird thou never wert,

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

. . .

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know,

Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow

The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

- excerpt from “To a Skylark” by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Clay Shannon is the author of the book “Rebel With A Cause: Mark Twain’s Hidden Memoirs”

You can listen to my audio recording of this post here: