Lloyd Goldstein is a beautiful soul. His mind is deep and vast, he thinks not only with his brain but with his heart. I first met Lloyd sometime around late 2018, early 2019. I had recently purchased a bass after not playing one for four years, and I was so rusty! I think I could only play one scale at the time. I had reached out to every bass teacher for lessons, and none were accepting students or they simply didn't want to take on a beginner.
After finding Lloyd's contact information on the International Society of Bassists website and explaining my goals and my story, Lloyd eagerly welcomed me as a student. He's patient, kind, and caring, and he has inspired me more than any other musician on the planet. It is truly an honor to work with him.
Lloyd Goldstein is a world-renowned bassist and speaker who performed with The Florida Orchestra for 21 years and later spent 18 years as a certified music practitioner and artist-in- residence at Moffitt Cancer Center. After suffering a stroke, he was diagnosed with glioblastoma, an aggressive brain cancer, and he has been documenting his day-to-day journey on Facebook.
First, I want to ask you how you're doing today?
I'm doing well, I am. I'm very surprised. I'm halfway through chemotherapy and radiation and whatever, and I feel fine. We went walking on the beach today.
What's your earliest memory in your musical journey?
I remember laying under the piano listening to my mother play. My mother played and sang quite beautifully, and I remember laying under the piano and hearing her.
Do you come from a musical family?
No, not really. She is. My father was an artist, a visual artist, and a very creative person. My mother was naturally talented musically, but honestly, I'm not sure how creative she was!
What was the defining moment that you knew music would be your life's path?
I was 20-years-old. I was living in a cooperative community, like a commune, in Central Florida near the Suwannee River. I had like $125 to my name, and I had no direction, and I literally had what I call a "burning bush," experience. I cut my finger on a table saw, and in that moment when I cut my finger, I had a voice. I've never had a voice like that before or since. The voice said very simply, "You idiot, you'll never play that bass again." And it was like a message that this was a direction for me to go in.
You studied music, correct?
Yeah.
What kind of student were you?
Yeah. When I got to school, it was the first time in my life that I ever had to study or work. School was always easy for me. But when I began to study the bass, literally, they were building a new building at this little community college, and I was in the custodian's closet, and I used the garbage pail as my music stand. I had never done anything for two hours a day. I religiously practiced for two hours a day in the custodian's closet.
Well, you're my teacher, and what kind of student do you think I am?
Intelligent and sensitive and always trying to learn. You do the work on a regular basis, but you understand that it's about you learning and not about you just doing what I ask you to do. I try to give you tools, and you're a creative being, and it's wonderful.
Thank you. I am learning from the best. Were there any teacher or teachers that particularly had a strong influence on your life?
Yes, every single one of them. The very first one was a great bass player. He wasn't necessarily a great human being. He was a very wild person, but he truly was an artist, and he gave me a glimpse of what it was like to see someone play at a very high level. My next teacher was a more caring and giving human and a very good musician, and he handed me off to Lucas Drew, a beautiful artist. And Lucas saved my life. I would've been chewed up and spit out by the world had he not kept me for another year and made it possible for me to get my job in the orchestra.
Can you tell me about how you got into your line of work at Moffitt Cancer Center?
I don't know. I guess I wanted a meaningful outlet to be able to play for people, maybe some simple melodies and songs. I was meditating and doing yoga regularly, and I felt as if I kept getting this message over and over: "You should go play at a cancer center, or just play for someone, just volunteer, just play my melodies, play for someone." And the cancer center seemed like a good choice. I kept getting this message for a long time…might have been a year. My meditation is an inner prompting, and so I went to Moffitt, and they were like, "Sure, come play in the lobbies and waiting rooms, but if you ever want to play at the bedside, you have to do training." And one thing led to another.
I posted something on Instagram. I think I posted a picture of me and you together, and one of the professors at USF, Tom Brantley, came up to me and was like, "I didn't know you knew Lloyd Goldstein?" I had a classmate who was at Moffitt Cancer Center, and he actually passed away, I think, last year.
You're kidding me.
Cole Thompson.
And Tom Brantley told me that Cole asked you to play Bach, and you looked really frustrated, and when you walked out of the room, Cole was like, "That was the best playing I've ever heard!"
You don't know it, but that experience with Cole was just priceless. Not only did I play for him two or three times, but basically, when he found out that his journey was gonna end, he was in the ICU. There were two social workers and two dying patients. Cole was not actively dying. Two steps away, there was a family surrounded by an actively dying patient. I've never, to this day, had two patients who were getting ready to die, one more imminent than the other, to juggle at the same time on the same day. I played for Cole, and then I went and played for this family, this other person, and then I talked to Cole for a while, back in Cole's room and was part of a group of people that were talking to him. A lot of staff sort of paying respects and saying goodbye to him. And he was in good spirits, and I got the inspiration to ask him if there was anything he would like to eat. He wanted charcuterie, and I left the hospital and went to the Italian restaurant I knew, and I ordered the most beautiful charcuterie board that I could get and brought it back, and we shared charcuterie. And in the midst of that, this other person was actively dying, and I was called yet again to play for that person again, and I played "Amazing Grace." Yeah, it was one of the more memorable encounters, and I'm really grateful for it. And I never did anything like that before—left the hospital, came back. It was crazy, but it was a memorable day, and I wrote about it.
So, I want to ask you about your Facebook post. Since we've been so honest and kind of reflective, what inspires you to want to document your journey and stuff?
I've been thinking we need to inspire one another, and the work that I've done has been a privilege. And it seems like it's inspiring—something inspiring about people and their courage, inspiring about music and why we play it. And that's not just about ego performance, but that it can do more. And I felt like I have had an opportunity to share that message, and why would I stop sharing? Because it's hard for me now? That makes no sense. I think I should live. I miss posting. I have missed posting for days now, and it's not because I'm having problems. It's because the days have been full. And I feel bad because my goal is to do it every day. There's been a lot of people—why would I disappear off the face of the earth just because I have so many relationships on Facebook? People I maybe haven't even met but who have followed me for years—why should I suddenly go dark when there's something worth talking about?
Can I ask you one last question? If this was our very last conversation, is there anything you'd want to say to me or to the world?
We get tangled up in the every day. There is so much richness of experience available in every moment. I was at the beach today. It took over an hour to get there. What was the beach called? Honeymoon (Island). How many times have I been there? Never. And it's the most earth-shakingly beautiful peace. It's so inspiring. There is a richness. We build all these things, you know. They can't compete with what's right in front of our eyes— not seeing them or seeing very little and not realizing the blessings that we already have. I've known this before. I've deeply known this truth. Each moment contains infinite, infinite beauty, and it all depends on our awareness. And my yoga book is about that. It's about that experience. And for me, I consider—thank God I got to experience that with yoga—that I know that's there, that's infinite. And I feel sorry for people who don't get that. I would never not know it's there.
Thank you. You know I appreciate you, and I love you. I love you. I love Mary Grace. I love Dora. I love all y'all. I appreciate you.
I love you. Thank you. I'm much, much richer for having you in my life. You're very special.
Yes, and thank you. You changed my life, right? You made me want to become a bass player.
That's quite amazing. Let's get together, okay.
You can find out more about Lloyd Goldstein at his eponymous website.
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