We say there’s no such thing as a “dumb question.” But I know we all know we know better. Maybe.
I was with a few hundred students on Friday, chaperoning a field trip for a midday concert of Booker T. Jones. Booker T has been playing iconic Hammond organ riffs for 60 years, now leading a band that includes his own son on lead guitar. The music is familiar and soulful, even if you haven’t heard any of it; though you probably have without even being aware. During his teenage and college years, Booker T. and the M.G.s grew through and out of the civil rights era in Memphis, a racially integrated band in a time when that would suffer disdain from all ends of the spectrum. In spite of this, they backed up hundreds of recordings for the likes of Wilson Pickett, Bill Withers, Otis Redding, and countless others.
With 21st-century youth filling the concert hall, there were lots of questions that Booker T. took in stride and with simple eloquence after their set. The kids, to their credit, recognized and respected greatness. So they asked questions about how you get into music, how you develop skills, and who role models and influences are. Booker T. nominated both Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier and Ray Charles playing organ in Quincy Jones’ band as inspirations. And, especially to their credit, there were questions with more historical connection, not just about music but about the garbage workers’ strike in Memphis and the assassination of Dr. King right in Booker T.’s neighborhood.
But then they handed the mic over to that kid who asked:
“Have you ever played at a wedding or a funeral? And which is your favorite?”
This is when I decided that there are, in fact, dumb questions.
That is, until I heard the answer.
After a few moments of pause to make sure he heard the question correctly, followed by a moment of consideration, he went on to tell the story of how he played at Otis Redding’s funeral. The plane had crashed, they were all there at the funeral, and there was no organ player; so Booker T stepped in, one last chance to play behind Redding.
But that was second place. He played at his daughter’s wedding, his favorite.
All questions we ask could be stupid or profound. Perhaps it depends upon who we’re asking. Maybe we don’t know until it’s asked, or put into the right context. Maybe we get lucky once in a while, but some planning and foresight help. The trick, sometimes, is to know those contexts, so that even when it’s not the idealized line of questioning, you know it will provide the narrative you wouldn’t have otherwise gotten to hear. I’m different because now I have this image in mind—along with my own mental recording of that shimmering jazz organ—itself pinned to so many other ideas all at once.
