In Cold Blood
A few nights ago, I finally had the opportunity to see the great film Capote that features an obviously brilliant performance by one of my favorite actors, Phillip Seymour Hoffman. When I was in high school, the non-music book that I probably read the most was an interview book by Lawrence Grobel, titled Conversations with Capote. I don’t know why I bought it then, I had never read any of Capote’s books nor did I even know who he was, but as I read the book I learned of this fantastically brilliant man named Truman Capote. Truman Capote “invented” the non-fiction novel.
As I have been reading various responses to my “Lost & Found” entry, the thought of a non-fiction novel has remained in the forefront of my thoughts. In a non-fiction novel, as in the case of Capote’s brilliant In Cold Blood, a true historical account is told in style of fiction, perhaps even at times bending and blurring the line that separates non-fiction and fiction. In considering what Jazz is, the above concept is very important. As an improvising Jazz musician, the basic “job description” is to improvise through and interpret a composition. A basic performance of the song “How High the Moon,” for example would consist on arrangement that obviously relates to the original song, meanwhile being a “new” version via phrasing, arrangement, etc. over and through which a new “composition” is created that now, while still “How High the Moon,” becomes a new song entirely that relates closer to the improvising artist than to the original song. That, is a VERY simplistic but I feel accurate representation of what a Jazz musician does when performing a song. This relates I think very closely to what Capote did in his book In Cold Blood.
Now, in relation to the train of though that we have been exploring: Jazz has consistently fought the battle between repertoire and performance. Various instances of classic performances usually rely heavily on one end or another. For example, when Louis Armstrong performs “Chinatown, My Chinatown,” his improvisation, while obviously taken directly within the context of the song, becomes the focal point of the performance: the song becomes secondary. However, when we hear Thelonious Monk play “Ugly Beauty” the composition and improvisation are the song. The great trumpeter Dave Douglas has repeatedly written about the relationship between composition and improvisation and the attempt to combine them into a whole. Check out his writings at greenleafmusic.com.
Detractors of my above observations will quickly point out that a primary difference between the two examples are that while Louis Armstrong’s performance is of a pop standard, Monk’s performance is of one of his original compositions. Very true, but this is just coincidence. Coleman Hawkins brilliant improvisation on “Body and Soul” never lets you forget what song you’re listening to despite the brilliance of his improvisation, and songs like Wayne Shorter’s “Prince of Darkness”, despite the fact that they are strong compositions, they exist only as a jumping off point for the improvisation. Regardless, even though thousands of examples can be given for each side, this all funnels down to my point.
The advent of “BeBop,” was a reactionary creation towards “swing”. The great soloist would make their improvisations the focus, and use the very basic framework of the song’s structure as the jumping off point. Prior to BeBop, improvisation was a limited exercise, created as a portion of the song to highlight one of the band’s stars, as opposed to being the sole focus of the song. The “BeBop” musicians used existing song structures such as I Got Rhythm, Indiana, the Blues as the song’s structures often creating a secondary improvised melody, as this started, for many writers of the time period it became very difficult to tell the songs apart. After the BeBop movement, arrangements came into fashion for small groups in both the “cool” movement as well as the “hard bop” school.
With BeBop, the improvisation was the composition.
There is a phenomenal recording of Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, and Monk playing “Leap Frog,” which is a song that doesn’t really have a “head” or melody. When I listen to it, I hear the unique voices of all the musicians involved using a common structure for their creations but never relying too much on it. Their individual voices become the most important factors. Their individual freedom exists relative to the form and style in which they play. Furthermore, their unique styles are informed by the music that has come before them. All of the musicians on the record are studied, intuitive and without question geniuses. Charlie Parker style is a direct reflection and evolution of saxophonists Sidney Bechet, Johnny Hodges, “Chu” Berry, Coleman Hawkins, in addition to obviously being influenced by the greatest trumpet voice: Louis Armstrong. The music of Igor Stravinsky also figures into Bird’s music, as do traditional folk tunes.
Jazz fanatics breathe and live this music. In fact, I really do believe that the true Jazz fanatics rival any other fanatical group in existence. It is a mark of pride to be able to distinctively recognize all musicians on all instruments, in addition to having access to the most obscure and sought after recordings. I wish that the Jazz musicians from my generation had the same resolve.
Nowadays, it’s supposedly far easier to learn this art form. No longer is the way to learn the art by apprenticing with masters, but rather all you have to do is play in your high school Jazz band, play along to a couple of Jamey Aebersold play along recordings, buy a few Jazz theory and application (many of which are criminally sub-standard), get a fakebook, and own some pseudo jazz recordings and there you have it. I suppose that all of the above examples have some merit, however what they accumulatively create is a sub-standard musician that play music that “sounds like” Jazz. There is no reverence nor any respect for the art of the music. Why should there be? These students are never taught to respect it?
When I was in high school and the beginnings of my college career, as I sought out to learn Jazz directly from the masters like Horace Silver, many things that I encountered that now seem horribly bizarre to me now, I’m sure is consistent to the norm in Jazz “education” circles now. In my time, never did any big band I played in play a composition by a black musician. NEVER! Never did any of my band directors suggest listening to jazz recordings as a way to learn jazz. Never did any of my Jazz instructors encourage me to seek out live performances. Never were any of the following names even mentioned in any Jazz class I attended, “Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Bud Powell, Thelonious Monk, Ornette Coleman.” I am not kidding. Almost every song played by all of the big bands I was in was written by Jazz educators, the exception were written by Pat Metheny.
Once in a clinic for a small group I was in we played the Monk tune, “Well, You Needn’t.” The trombonist in the band asked the clinician what note they should play in a particular phrase, the clinician responded by saying “It doesn’t matter, it’s Monk.” He was serious.
Perhaps, I just went to all the wrong schools.
Now, why should I expect anyone to care about a newly discovered recording by Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie? Of course, as well pointed out, some major writers such as Fred Kaplan and Francis Davis did point out its significance. Why would a newly found recording of Bird and Diz find itself into a record collection that never had any Bird or Diz in it to begin with?
Jazz suffers from a disease that any art forms do also: elitism. However, when do we attempt to become so elite that the foundation that our art was built on become ignored? Much of what is celebrated in our music has so little do with music anyway, why allow the aspect that does involve music to be so absent of our tradition. Perhaps, as our art form continues the musicians that are fanatical about their art will do what Charlie Parker did: respect your tradition: refine it & reference but do not abandon it. As we do we will be invariably writing our own chapters in our non-fiction novel: Jazz.
As I have been reading various responses to my “Lost & Found” entry, the thought of a non-fiction novel has remained in the forefront of my thoughts. In a non-fiction novel, as in the case of Capote’s brilliant In Cold Blood, a true historical account is told in style of fiction, perhaps even at times bending and blurring the line that separates non-fiction and fiction. In considering what Jazz is, the above concept is very important. As an improvising Jazz musician, the basic “job description” is to improvise through and interpret a composition. A basic performance of the song “How High the Moon,” for example would consist on arrangement that obviously relates to the original song, meanwhile being a “new” version via phrasing, arrangement, etc. over and through which a new “composition” is created that now, while still “How High the Moon,” becomes a new song entirely that relates closer to the improvising artist than to the original song. That, is a VERY simplistic but I feel accurate representation of what a Jazz musician does when performing a song. This relates I think very closely to what Capote did in his book In Cold Blood.
Now, in relation to the train of though that we have been exploring: Jazz has consistently fought the battle between repertoire and performance. Various instances of classic performances usually rely heavily on one end or another. For example, when Louis Armstrong performs “Chinatown, My Chinatown,” his improvisation, while obviously taken directly within the context of the song, becomes the focal point of the performance: the song becomes secondary. However, when we hear Thelonious Monk play “Ugly Beauty” the composition and improvisation are the song. The great trumpeter Dave Douglas has repeatedly written about the relationship between composition and improvisation and the attempt to combine them into a whole. Check out his writings at greenleafmusic.com.
Detractors of my above observations will quickly point out that a primary difference between the two examples are that while Louis Armstrong’s performance is of a pop standard, Monk’s performance is of one of his original compositions. Very true, but this is just coincidence. Coleman Hawkins brilliant improvisation on “Body and Soul” never lets you forget what song you’re listening to despite the brilliance of his improvisation, and songs like Wayne Shorter’s “Prince of Darkness”, despite the fact that they are strong compositions, they exist only as a jumping off point for the improvisation. Regardless, even though thousands of examples can be given for each side, this all funnels down to my point.
The advent of “BeBop,” was a reactionary creation towards “swing”. The great soloist would make their improvisations the focus, and use the very basic framework of the song’s structure as the jumping off point. Prior to BeBop, improvisation was a limited exercise, created as a portion of the song to highlight one of the band’s stars, as opposed to being the sole focus of the song. The “BeBop” musicians used existing song structures such as I Got Rhythm, Indiana, the Blues as the song’s structures often creating a secondary improvised melody, as this started, for many writers of the time period it became very difficult to tell the songs apart. After the BeBop movement, arrangements came into fashion for small groups in both the “cool” movement as well as the “hard bop” school.
With BeBop, the improvisation was the composition.
There is a phenomenal recording of Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, and Monk playing “Leap Frog,” which is a song that doesn’t really have a “head” or melody. When I listen to it, I hear the unique voices of all the musicians involved using a common structure for their creations but never relying too much on it. Their individual voices become the most important factors. Their individual freedom exists relative to the form and style in which they play. Furthermore, their unique styles are informed by the music that has come before them. All of the musicians on the record are studied, intuitive and without question geniuses. Charlie Parker style is a direct reflection and evolution of saxophonists Sidney Bechet, Johnny Hodges, “Chu” Berry, Coleman Hawkins, in addition to obviously being influenced by the greatest trumpet voice: Louis Armstrong. The music of Igor Stravinsky also figures into Bird’s music, as do traditional folk tunes.
Jazz fanatics breathe and live this music. In fact, I really do believe that the true Jazz fanatics rival any other fanatical group in existence. It is a mark of pride to be able to distinctively recognize all musicians on all instruments, in addition to having access to the most obscure and sought after recordings. I wish that the Jazz musicians from my generation had the same resolve.
Nowadays, it’s supposedly far easier to learn this art form. No longer is the way to learn the art by apprenticing with masters, but rather all you have to do is play in your high school Jazz band, play along to a couple of Jamey Aebersold play along recordings, buy a few Jazz theory and application (many of which are criminally sub-standard), get a fakebook, and own some pseudo jazz recordings and there you have it. I suppose that all of the above examples have some merit, however what they accumulatively create is a sub-standard musician that play music that “sounds like” Jazz. There is no reverence nor any respect for the art of the music. Why should there be? These students are never taught to respect it?
When I was in high school and the beginnings of my college career, as I sought out to learn Jazz directly from the masters like Horace Silver, many things that I encountered that now seem horribly bizarre to me now, I’m sure is consistent to the norm in Jazz “education” circles now. In my time, never did any big band I played in play a composition by a black musician. NEVER! Never did any of my band directors suggest listening to jazz recordings as a way to learn jazz. Never did any of my Jazz instructors encourage me to seek out live performances. Never were any of the following names even mentioned in any Jazz class I attended, “Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Bud Powell, Thelonious Monk, Ornette Coleman.” I am not kidding. Almost every song played by all of the big bands I was in was written by Jazz educators, the exception were written by Pat Metheny.
Once in a clinic for a small group I was in we played the Monk tune, “Well, You Needn’t.” The trombonist in the band asked the clinician what note they should play in a particular phrase, the clinician responded by saying “It doesn’t matter, it’s Monk.” He was serious.
Perhaps, I just went to all the wrong schools.
Now, why should I expect anyone to care about a newly discovered recording by Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie? Of course, as well pointed out, some major writers such as Fred Kaplan and Francis Davis did point out its significance. Why would a newly found recording of Bird and Diz find itself into a record collection that never had any Bird or Diz in it to begin with?
Jazz suffers from a disease that any art forms do also: elitism. However, when do we attempt to become so elite that the foundation that our art was built on become ignored? Much of what is celebrated in our music has so little do with music anyway, why allow the aspect that does involve music to be so absent of our tradition. Perhaps, as our art form continues the musicians that are fanatical about their art will do what Charlie Parker did: respect your tradition: refine it & reference but do not abandon it. As we do we will be invariably writing our own chapters in our non-fiction novel: Jazz.
Labels: Artist Thoughts
