One of my favorite things to discuss about jazz is just how much the genre is dependent upon order. I've played the piano for more than 30 years, and it wasn't until I understood this order that I understood jazz and how to play it.

Don't get me wrong. I fully comprehend the improvisational nature of jazz. However, for those who think jazz is nothing but a bunch of cats playing whatever they'd like and hoping it sounds right, think again.

On the other hand, I would expect that most of you jazz aficionadoes get this.

Why I Bring This Up

At work today, a colleague and I were discussing the value of proper grammar, and he said that he was more of a math guy, particularly strong with numbers. And I said, "Well then, you are probably terrific with English and don't even know it, and I'll tell you why."

So, I explain to him that while English is by far the most complex and pattern-breaking language on the planet, it's still formulated upon patterns.

But this isn't about English; it's about jazz.

However, I should note that in college, I struggled with writing at a scholastic level until I fully understood that the written English language is about adhering to rules and patterns. Again, enough with school. Besides, my best subject was beer.

Following Along With The Standards

Jazz players typically work off what they call a "lead sheet." It's a type of sheet music that features time signatures, keys, chords, syncopations and the order a song will be played in by the band.

So, when you're out at the jazz club, and you hear the band start up "My Foolish Heart," they'll often play the song the first time through pretty conventionally, meaning that "you recognize it."

Then all hell breaks loose, right?

And by the time you're on your third scotch, you've determined these guys are the best musicians ever because it sounds like they're playing nonsense in a way that pleases you aesthetically. It's both fascinating and amazing.

However, regardless of what you hear, they're following the lead sheet, supplementing it with their individual runs, voicings, progressions while maintaining the order of the instructions before them.

Think of it like this: You know the part of the song when the drummer does his thing, banging away, only to have the entire combo come back into the song at the same time perfectly, making you wonder, "How in the heck did they do that?"

It's because each one of them is counting 1-2-3-4 (or whatever the signature is) in his or her head. Say the drummer is scheduled to do his thing for 32 beats. As a pianist, I count 1-2-3-4 eight times and then come back in as the lead sheet instructs, and frankly, it requires a fair amount of concentration.

What makes the art of jazz so beautiful though is in the cooperation between its individual parts, even more than the beauty of each player's individuality. I'll give you an example.

About five years ago, I was called at home by a friend of mine who told me this hot jazz singer from Louisiana was in town to do one night at a club in Dallas, and they were in desperate need of a pianist right then and there.

Like in five minutes. He said, "Grab a jacket. Put on some slacks, and get your ass here."

Beauty. But I was nervous. Didn't know what they would be playing, although I knew it would be standards and that they would have lead sheets waiting for me. Mind you, I am not a pro pro.

I am probably good enough to be a "pro," but that's a small "p."

The bassist, who apparently had worked with some big-P pros there in Texas, tells me, "Kid, you'll be a-ok if you follow the lead sheet and trust us."

Fair enough, I suppose. And it's a plus that I was familiar with all the standards, a must for any jazz player. If you want to learn jazz, you have to have to have to learn the standards. Buy what they call a Real Book, and get a really good Fake Book.

More on those some other day.

However, as I played that night, I took to heart a couple lessons that had been handed down to me. First came from my dad, who engrained into me the pattern theories behind jazz. He would show me something cool on the piano, and I would ask, "So, how do I do it in THIS instance?"

And he would say, "Don't memorize the chord. Memorize the pattern."

All that means is that the pianist learns the note-to-note spacing of any chording or progression. For example, you start with note A, and then move up 3 half steps for note B, a whole step for note C and a half step for note D. Or whatever.

Same goes with any runs that a jazz musician plays. It's all orderly. The second piece of advice I took to this gig came from a sax player named Richard, with whom I'd play periodically in Dallas, who emphasized that as long as your runs were comprised of notes that were valid for the scale of the chord you were playing, you'd be fine.

Lesson noted: If you want to play jazz, you have to master your scales.

With those points duly noted, I played what I think was my best gig ever that night, not so much because of anything I did, but because I followed the rules (if you will) and trusted my combo mates to do the same.

And it sounded freaking awesome.

Truth is, I was solely a pop player until about the time my dad got sick with cancer in late 2001. However, there was something about the knowledge transfer from him to me during that period before he died in 2003 that clicked. It absolutely clicked.

It reminds me of hearing about Oscar Peterson battle with esteem issues as a young player, thinking he'd never be able to play like the greats. Someone told him to break each measure down note by note, chord by chord and practice until the repetition becomes natural.

Until it clicks.

Once a player or a group gets really good at it, they can then do all sorts of crazy stuff with it. For example, the bassist and guitarist and horn players can stick with the song basics while the pianist goes on what they call a diminished run, which essentially makes the song sound really dissonant. All the while, the order of the tune is kept in tact.

Another way of thinking of it is this: If the progressions of a tune include B-flat major, E-flat major, D-minor-9th and G-13, which I think are part of the aforementioned "My Foolish Heart," then the musician can play whatever he darned well pleases during the improvisational part of the piece so long as it adheres to the structure set forth in those chords.

So, while you hear DISORDER, the musicians themselves are adhering to what I'd call ARTISTIC order. And that's absolutely why I love playing (or attempting to play) jazz. It's because the whole of a well-trained group, even if they have never met before, can produce something beautiful in one take and make you think they've played together forever.

And all the while, there's not a one of them who has any idea beforehand what it will sound like.

And I assure you, that process is 100 percent about patterns and repetition and, therefore, it's mathematic.

Now enjoy my favorite pro of all time, the late great Bill Evans and his combo's take on "My Foolish Heart."