Time Out Chicago - June 2008 - by Jacob Austen

If you ever get a chance to hang out with any of the (mostly) white dudes that helped create the bluesy garage music that rocked Chicago's suburbs in the sixties, you'll often hear a humbling confession: their introduction to Chicago blues came not from trips to Maxwell Street, but from cover versions by British Invasion bands. But on the Southside, several factions of pale-skinned players experienced far more down home introductions to the blues. Trips to local clubs inspired Hyde Parker Paul Butterfield to craft music that helped make electrified Chicago blues popular with rock audiences. And in 1965 South Shore native Corky Siegel, alongside guitarist Jim Schwall, honed his harmonica and keyboard chops during a nine-month gestation period as the house band at Pepper's Show Lounge on 43rd Street.

Though the amazing experience of playing behind legends like Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf was life-changing, the Siegel-Schwall Band's blues was less reverent than Butterfield's, adding elements of jug band music, and mandolin playing that today might be dubbed Americana. This synthesis of roots music found an audience, most notably in San Francisco where the act was so popular they headlined over artists like Janis Joplin and Santana. But what put them forever on Chicago's cultural map was their 1968 collaboration with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. "(Conducter) Seiji Ozawa felt that classical music had always followed the folk forms," Siegel recalls. "He was a big fan our group so he asked if my band could jam with his band." Not exactly a jam session, "Three Pieces for Blue Band and Symphony Orchestra" was composed by jazz genius William Russo. The concert was well received, leading to more collaborations, most memorably a New York concert that saw the tuxedoed audience hissing and booing when amp-wielding longhairs joined the symphony, but ultimately giving the performance one of the most intense standing ovations in Lincoln Center's history. These experiences planted the seeds for Siegel's long-running Chamber Blues project. "I realized that bringing together blues and classical music was kind of my mission."

But not his only mission. In 1973 Russo asked Siegel to teach a course at Columbia College. Never an advocate of deafening Blue Cheer-esque volume, Siegel began to deeply contemplate the transformative powers of musicians exploring audio dynamics, from the most delicate to most forceful (terms he prefers to "quiet" and "loud"). The synthesis of his thirty-five years coaching musicians is his new book, Let Your Music Soar - The Emotional Connection, written with Peter Krammer and illustrated by Siegel's wife Holly (Nova Vista Publishing).

Siegel's belief in the benefits of practicing Dynamic Variation borders on zealotry, with his anecdotes of astounding breakthroughs sounding at times like a faith healer's shpiel. But what makes it clear that Siegel is far from a flim-flammer is his intense earnestness, and the specificity of his technique (he ultimately condenses it to a sixty-second exercise). And perhaps more importantly, Siegel is profoundly dedicated to his ideas being accessible. The book utilizes sports analogies, illustrated stories of a caveman musical pioneer, and a CD of audio examples that includes recordings by violinist Rachel Barton-Pine and Marcella Detroit of Shakespear's Sister.

The reason Siegel is so dedicated to making his technique accessible is not simply because he believes any instrumentalist and singer can benefit from it as performers. It is because to him music theory and life philosophy are one and the same. Before introducing any charts or notations Let Your Music Soar boldly tackles a new definition of "music," a thorough examination of the creative process, and a refutation of the divides between musical genres. Ultimately, Siegel's is more invested in artists finding their emotional, individual voice than in pitch, timing, or chops.

Alas, after reading this book we are hesitant to offer more pointed critiques, considering Siegel's eloquent denunciation of critics and how their actions can stifle creativity. When told that his book effectively ball-gags would-be reviewers, Siegel laughed. "The success of my career is owed to critics, I just don't want artists to get distracted by them. One guy told me that he won't call himself a music critic anymore after reading my book," Siegel added, chuckling. "I turned him into a "music columnist."