“Ode to Jimmy”
When I was a music student at the University of Oklahoma in the early 70’s, a fellow violinist and his girlfriend invited me to a house warming party at their new apartment. As we were sitting around listening to music, in walked a young man with long, dark hair, baggy blue jeans, intelligent eyes, and an engaging laugh. That’s when I first met Jimmy Costello. At some point in the group conversation he mentioned the Beatles, and I admitted I had never really listened to them. I thought he would fall off his chair. Thus began my education in expanding my musical taste from strictly classical, to Carole King, James Taylor, and yes, the Beatles. Jimmy never judged or patronized me. He was simply so enamored of the artists he loved that he felt impelled to share the joy.
That’s who Jimmy was. He pushed the envelope in whatever way he could. His thought and vision just naturally expanded, and if you were in his presence, you got to take that journey with him.
Here’s proof of that. When Jimmy started at the University of Oklahoma, he wasn’t majoring in any of the arts. As I recall, it was engineering. If it wasn’t that, it was something similar. One day he told me how that changed for him. He woke up one morning and suddenly knew he was supposed to compose music. He immediately got up and walked across campus to change majors to composition. The music school told him he couldn’t just do that. He asked why not? Whatever their reasons, he just kept pushing back. Ultimately, a composition faculty member decided to champion him. Jimmy had to take an instrument and perform a final piece to pass the course. In one year, he learned the flute well enough to pay a movement of a Mozart Concerto. Some of the jury members accused him of lying to them, that he had previously studied the flute. He just laughed about it. He told me that if you wanted to push forward, you had to be so fantastic they couldn’t deny you. When the requirement to take a piano class became necessary, he went to the faculty and said it was a ridiculous requirement. They insisted piano proficiency was needed in order to compose. He told them it had nothing to do with how he composed. He heard the music and wrote it down. The outcome of this conflict? The department changed their rules. They changed them for him, because they knew his value and respected it.
This pushing of the boundaries was a foundational element of his career. He ate up one discipline, developed a broader vision and moved on to the next. I don’t think Jimmy truly realized the positive impact he had on those around him. When I found myself part of the faculty at the University of Oklahoma in the mid 90’s, guess who was there? Jimmy’s composition mentor. He recognized me and immediately asked if I was in touch with Jimmy, what is he doing, how did things turn out for him?
That faculty member is not the only one. The violinist friend whose party I attended when I first met Jimmy, my musician family members who knew him at Indiana University, my daughter who knew him and remembers him well, though she was only 4 years old at the time, — we all remember him. We all were inspired by him and admired him.
The last year Jimmy and I were in music school, his girlfriend invited me to their place for his birthday. My contribution was to make him a New York style cheesecake. He was thrilled. It was many, many years later when he told me he had made a tradition of eating cheesecake on his birthday because of the one I had given him. So I guess it worked both ways with our friendship. He expanded my view of life and of myself and hopefully I did the same for him.
Jimmy, I can still hear your laughter and feel your presence. Wherever you landed, I know you’re still pushing that envelope and expanding the horizon all around you. I’ll be along shortly to get back on that ride. In the meantime, I’ll have a piece of your cheesecake.