On Friday I picked up my sax for the first time in a month. I attempted to play Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow. It started off ok-ish, but then the timing went and so did the right notes. Well, you can’t have everything I suppose.

I tried a few more times. On the fifth attempt, I played it without looking at the score. It went surprisingly well — at least, I was surprised. It did go a bit awry, and I wasn’t that enamoured with my rendering, but I kept running out of breath. That’s my excuse anyway.

On Saturday I went to my sax lesson, having missed three weeks. The tutor welcomed me back, and asked me if I’d like to play something for the group.

<Gulp>

Me: Yes. Will you still love me tomorrow.

Tutor: Of course I will, Terry, but what are you going to play for us?

I gave it a go, and got the wrong notes. So the tutor said, try again.

This time, I completely relaxed and didn’t think about performing, just the song. It’s a pity I forgot to record it, because that version was really good. The tutor said it sounded like someone playing the saxophone rather than just learning, and he liked the little flourishes I put in (which are not in the score).

One of the other students said that I played it with feeling. I said I try to think of the words of the song I’m playing. That’s not exactly true, on reflection: I think more of the sentiment of the song I’m playing rather than the lyrics, word by word and line by line.

I think feeling is all-important. I’ve heard harmonica players who are technical virtuosos who leave me standing — but it’s all technique, no emotion.

The two factors that made my last attempt so good were:

Firstly, I stopped thinking about myself, and trying to make a good impression, or at least not making a poor impression. I forgot about the audience, and relaxed. I was just playing for me.

Secondly, I wanted to convey the sense of the song through my instrument. I’ll never forget, many years ago when I got together with a friend, me on blues harp, him on guitar. When it was my turn to play he said, “Come on, Terry, make it cry.” That, to me, epitomises what needs to happen!

What does this have to do with writing? Well, I read a lot of articles and sometimes even whole books where the writer is simply trying too hard to impress the reader. It’s like there’s a sheet of glass between the real writer and the words on the page.

Given the choice, I’d rather read something that was technically banal but heartfelt, than something that was technically brilliant but lacking depth.