cosmicben (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} cosmicben) wrote,@ 2007-06-30 08:38:00 |
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A few months ago, my friend David Wilson and I came up with the idea of doing a point/counterpoint series on various musical topics. This was a thrill for me, because David was the guy who inspired me to get into record reviewing way back in 1999.
We ended up with an exploration of the accessibility - or lack thereof - of jazz music. I'm the rock fan who likes jazz but has never completely loved or understood it. David is the more knowledgeable jazz fan with a solid understanding of the musical strengths and weaknesses of the genre.
I think we made it pretty accessible to the non-music-obsessed reader. Hope you enjoy.
BM:
I've denied it for years, but here goes: I like jazz, but not as much as I probably should. I enjoy the masters - Davis, Coltrane, Monk, Ellington - well enough, but I can rarely tell the difference between their songs, let alone remember how they go. To me, jazz is never less than pleasant, and often exciting, but a lot of it sounds similar, and I almost never love a jazz cut the way I do an emotionally meaty rock song.
The kicker is that I don't think I'm alone. Most "Top 500 Album" lists have obligatory (and deserved) entries for Kind of Blue, A Love Supreme, maybe a few others, and then that's it. The average rock fan doesn't seem interested in exploring beyond those titles.
Kind of Blue is like the Martin Luther King Jr. of albums: say you like it, and nobody notices if you don't want others of its kind filling your neighborhood or CD collection. Ghoulish analogy aside, I still think it's safe to say that jazz has not resonated with the multitudes since rock became a viable alternative.
Luckily for you, this column also features someone who isn't a reactionary crank with three jazz albums in his collection. Wilson, why hasn't jazz caught on like rock?
DW:
Well, jazz did catch on, exactly like rock. But that was a different kind of jazz, and a long time ago: In the 1920s and 1930s, big band jazz was hugely popular dance music that was decried for destroying the morals of young white Americans with its libido-loosening raucousness, big beat, and overall Negro influence - just as rock and roll would be later. (In fact, both terms doubled as slang for the sexual act.) After the War, the big bands lost their audience as smaller (and thus cheaper) R&B outfits playing amplified instruments stole their thunder, and a more abstract form of jazz evolved, and became the province of hepcats and intellectuals.
Small combo post-war jazz - bebop and its variants - was expressly designed to be too difficult for most musicians to play, and for that reason it's always had a limited following. Jazz musicians worked out complex systems of chord substitutions, rhythmic modifications, and lengthy deconstructions of melody that made it very difficult to even tell what tune you were listening to unless you paid very close attention. It's as if writers set out to devise a form of writing that's so hard to follow and so hard to find emotional resonance in that almost nobody who isn't a writer is interested in reading it. Oh, wait, that did happen: it's what became of poetry in the 20th Century. What you're writing might be great, but unless you're Maya Angelou or Jewel, nobody's reading it.
BM:
Plenty of genres have cult followings, and that's okay. Sometimes, as with polka music, it's a real plus. However, jazz aficionados often proclaim that if you don't like their music, then you also don't get it. I'm made to feel that if I were a musician and not just a listener, an album like Kind of Blue would sound brilliant and not merely pleasant.
Check out the liner notes of any Columbia jazz re-release. They would have you believe that even the most throwaway Miles Davis album is a complex mélange of chords, quarter-notes, and Phrygian modes (what?). Then I buy it, and it's more background music.
Though there's no doubt that more musical knowledge would help me understand jazz better, should I need an advanced degree to determine what sounds good and what doesn't? As Jackie Mason says, the opera may struggle commercially, but you never see a PBS telethon to save Madonna - and, I'll add, she doesn't need liner notes to prove her music is worth dancing to. "Material Girl," for its myriad flaws, hit because it's catchy, and plenty of jazz music simply isn't.
So, is jazz really smarter than the average genre, or do the Duke and the Count have no clothes?
DW:
Well, first, I think you're right on the money that many jazz fans have an air of superiority, believing that people who listen to jazz are more sophisticated, hipper and just plain better than the plebians who listen to popular music.
It's always been a shortcut to coolness to appreciate something that nobody else likes. (Not to be confused with the other shortcut to coolness, which is to put down something that almost everybody does like.) Bebop really is complicated, and doesn't grab you in the first four bars, so it's tempting to tell the uninitiated, "You poor thing, you just don't get it, do you?"
These things come and go: in the 70s, it was commonly thought that if you didn't like reggae, you were not only unhip but probably a racist. It eventually turned out that reggae only sounds great when you're stoned, so if you didn't like it, that just meant you didn't smoke much pot.
But I'd like to get back to the question of whether all music ought to be catchy and commercial, because that's how we ended up with the Pussycat Dolls. Is there a place for music that's challenging and ambitious, and can you listen to it without being a snob?
BM:
Well, I'll always make time for great mute-the-video artists like the Pussycat Dolls. On the other hand, a song like "Don'tCha" exemplifies the kind of chorus that's as catchy as your alarm clock - sure, it rings in your ear all day, but it's not exactly a pleasant memory. The same goes for Britney Spears' early hits, which have gotten revisionist praise in recent years, or This Year's Model-era Elvis Costello. Catchy like a sledgehammer does not make a song good.
Jazzbos, though, embrace the other extreme. They charge that in our search for a yummy hook to wrap our brains around, we'd rather listen to Abba than something truly esoteric. That hurts for a second, but then it strikes me as a copout. If melody doesn't matter, why slip the chorus between the interminable solos? My ears perk up for the notes that were actually composed, then droop again when the soloist starts playing whatever is on his mind. You can swing in 13/8 time and squawk for an hour, but for me, the lack of real composition will always be the elephant in the club.
Maybe the middle ground is something like Monk without the solos...but then, that's not jazz. Should the genre move towards a middle ground, or should it cling to its challenging-but-rarely-accessible aesthetic?
DW:
You can have jazz without solos: Monk's "Crepuscule With Nellie" is an example. And of course there are tons of tightly-arranged big band tunes where the soloists are more concise than the average rock guitarist. Still, there are a lot of productive hybrids to check out. You might want to check out Latin jazz master Eddie Palmieri or Cuban timba innovators NG La Banda (in their mid-90s heyday). In very different ways, both acts embrace the harmonic sophistication and highly personal soloing of jazz while also serving up visceral hooks and precise, thrilling ensemble arrangements. Plus, you don't have to wear a beret.
Also, remember that jazz experimentation underlies some of the great advances in modern pop music. Joni Mitchell's 70s albums - speaking of berets - are famed for their unusual chord forms and the backing of the L.A. Express. On the other hand, the flip side of that was fusion, which produced a few great records but a lot more worst-of-both-worlds bastardization that managed to be both inaccessible and unambitious. I'm not sorry that experiment is over.
Meanwhile, recording jazz artists have figured out another way to keep paying the bills: it's that unctuous pap known as Cool Jazz, staple of dentist waiting rooms everywhere. Much as it pains me to sit through the one cut per jazz CD sacrificed to radio airplay, it's worth the tradeoff if it subsidizes good music that otherwise wouldn't get released.
BM:
"Crepuscule" is an excellent example because Monk explores the melody without ever losing it entirely. He plays towards his audience and doesn't force us to chase after him. Tellingly, "Crepuscule" is also the exception on Monk's Music, a fun, but typically long-winded jazz album.
In that context, the popularity of Cool Jazz makes some sense. True, it's a watered-down abomination of the genre's crisp, lively sound. But Kenny G is sharp enough to write pretty choruses and then drive them into the listener's memory. If I ever choose him over Miles, then I deserve a root canal, but I think "real" jazzbos can learn a little from the music on The Weather Channel.
Until then, we're stuck with Wynton Marsalis recording an album of Thelonious Monk covers but sneering at Sting's musical impurity. For all their differences, Monk's and Sting's best work still resonates because they were the best pure hook-writers of bebop and new wave, respectively. When a saxophonist today blows 30 minutes without putting together two memorable notes, he should learn to embrace his inner Monk and his inner Sting.
Like the excitement of a great jazz cut, memorable songwriting is something both jazz and rock should embrace without embarrassment. If that happens, I think jazz - which already has so much going for it - will transcend the outward lip service and inner apathy most people currently show it.
DW:
I agree, for once. There's some wonderful music that's totally abstract, but most of the time, no matter how great a musician you are, it all starts with a great song. And if you can't write it yourself, reinterpret someone else's: Wynton may never cover The Police, but a few jazz musicians have had the good sense to cover modern songs without turning them into Muzak (check out Herbie Hancock's warp-speed version of Stevie Wonder's "You've Got It Bad Girl"). And that might provide a good unthreatening route for extending your listening to some jazz musicians outside the Davis-Trane-Monk-Shorter canon.
BM:
I wish you'd stop providing constructive alternatives to the things I complain about. How does that help people?
When I eventually "get" jazz, I will no doubt look back and wince at my present immaturity. Hopefully I will have used artists like Hancock and Palmieri as bridges towards enjoying the more abstract stuff. When I can finally drop a hep phrase like, "Workin' is no Relaxin', but it sure beats the hell out of Steamin'," it will all have been worth it.
I'll also keep in mind the years (!) it will have taken to truly appreciate the genre - something that great radio music, for better and worse, never demands of me.
We ended up with an exploration of the accessibility - or lack thereof - of jazz music. I'm the rock fan who likes jazz but has never completely loved or understood it. David is the more knowledgeable jazz fan with a solid understanding of the musical strengths and weaknesses of the genre.
I think we made it pretty accessible to the non-music-obsessed reader. Hope you enjoy.
BM:
I've denied it for years, but here goes: I like jazz, but not as much as I probably should. I enjoy the masters - Davis, Coltrane, Monk, Ellington - well enough, but I can rarely tell the difference between their songs, let alone remember how they go. To me, jazz is never less than pleasant, and often exciting, but a lot of it sounds similar, and I almost never love a jazz cut the way I do an emotionally meaty rock song.
The kicker is that I don't think I'm alone. Most "Top 500 Album" lists have obligatory (and deserved) entries for Kind of Blue, A Love Supreme, maybe a few others, and then that's it. The average rock fan doesn't seem interested in exploring beyond those titles.
Kind of Blue is like the Martin Luther King Jr. of albums: say you like it, and nobody notices if you don't want others of its kind filling your neighborhood or CD collection. Ghoulish analogy aside, I still think it's safe to say that jazz has not resonated with the multitudes since rock became a viable alternative.
Luckily for you, this column also features someone who isn't a reactionary crank with three jazz albums in his collection. Wilson, why hasn't jazz caught on like rock?
DW:
Well, jazz did catch on, exactly like rock. But that was a different kind of jazz, and a long time ago: In the 1920s and 1930s, big band jazz was hugely popular dance music that was decried for destroying the morals of young white Americans with its libido-loosening raucousness, big beat, and overall Negro influence - just as rock and roll would be later. (In fact, both terms doubled as slang for the sexual act.) After the War, the big bands lost their audience as smaller (and thus cheaper) R&B outfits playing amplified instruments stole their thunder, and a more abstract form of jazz evolved, and became the province of hepcats and intellectuals.
Small combo post-war jazz - bebop and its variants - was expressly designed to be too difficult for most musicians to play, and for that reason it's always had a limited following. Jazz musicians worked out complex systems of chord substitutions, rhythmic modifications, and lengthy deconstructions of melody that made it very difficult to even tell what tune you were listening to unless you paid very close attention. It's as if writers set out to devise a form of writing that's so hard to follow and so hard to find emotional resonance in that almost nobody who isn't a writer is interested in reading it. Oh, wait, that did happen: it's what became of poetry in the 20th Century. What you're writing might be great, but unless you're Maya Angelou or Jewel, nobody's reading it.
BM:
Plenty of genres have cult followings, and that's okay. Sometimes, as with polka music, it's a real plus. However, jazz aficionados often proclaim that if you don't like their music, then you also don't get it. I'm made to feel that if I were a musician and not just a listener, an album like Kind of Blue would sound brilliant and not merely pleasant.
Check out the liner notes of any Columbia jazz re-release. They would have you believe that even the most throwaway Miles Davis album is a complex mélange of chords, quarter-notes, and Phrygian modes (what?). Then I buy it, and it's more background music.
Though there's no doubt that more musical knowledge would help me understand jazz better, should I need an advanced degree to determine what sounds good and what doesn't? As Jackie Mason says, the opera may struggle commercially, but you never see a PBS telethon to save Madonna - and, I'll add, she doesn't need liner notes to prove her music is worth dancing to. "Material Girl," for its myriad flaws, hit because it's catchy, and plenty of jazz music simply isn't.
So, is jazz really smarter than the average genre, or do the Duke and the Count have no clothes?
DW:
Well, first, I think you're right on the money that many jazz fans have an air of superiority, believing that people who listen to jazz are more sophisticated, hipper and just plain better than the plebians who listen to popular music.
It's always been a shortcut to coolness to appreciate something that nobody else likes. (Not to be confused with the other shortcut to coolness, which is to put down something that almost everybody does like.) Bebop really is complicated, and doesn't grab you in the first four bars, so it's tempting to tell the uninitiated, "You poor thing, you just don't get it, do you?"
These things come and go: in the 70s, it was commonly thought that if you didn't like reggae, you were not only unhip but probably a racist. It eventually turned out that reggae only sounds great when you're stoned, so if you didn't like it, that just meant you didn't smoke much pot.
But I'd like to get back to the question of whether all music ought to be catchy and commercial, because that's how we ended up with the Pussycat Dolls. Is there a place for music that's challenging and ambitious, and can you listen to it without being a snob?
BM:
Well, I'll always make time for great mute-the-video artists like the Pussycat Dolls. On the other hand, a song like "Don'tCha" exemplifies the kind of chorus that's as catchy as your alarm clock - sure, it rings in your ear all day, but it's not exactly a pleasant memory. The same goes for Britney Spears' early hits, which have gotten revisionist praise in recent years, or This Year's Model-era Elvis Costello. Catchy like a sledgehammer does not make a song good.
Jazzbos, though, embrace the other extreme. They charge that in our search for a yummy hook to wrap our brains around, we'd rather listen to Abba than something truly esoteric. That hurts for a second, but then it strikes me as a copout. If melody doesn't matter, why slip the chorus between the interminable solos? My ears perk up for the notes that were actually composed, then droop again when the soloist starts playing whatever is on his mind. You can swing in 13/8 time and squawk for an hour, but for me, the lack of real composition will always be the elephant in the club.
Maybe the middle ground is something like Monk without the solos...but then, that's not jazz. Should the genre move towards a middle ground, or should it cling to its challenging-but-rarely-accessible aesthetic?
DW:
You can have jazz without solos: Monk's "Crepuscule With Nellie" is an example. And of course there are tons of tightly-arranged big band tunes where the soloists are more concise than the average rock guitarist. Still, there are a lot of productive hybrids to check out. You might want to check out Latin jazz master Eddie Palmieri or Cuban timba innovators NG La Banda (in their mid-90s heyday). In very different ways, both acts embrace the harmonic sophistication and highly personal soloing of jazz while also serving up visceral hooks and precise, thrilling ensemble arrangements. Plus, you don't have to wear a beret.
Also, remember that jazz experimentation underlies some of the great advances in modern pop music. Joni Mitchell's 70s albums - speaking of berets - are famed for their unusual chord forms and the backing of the L.A. Express. On the other hand, the flip side of that was fusion, which produced a few great records but a lot more worst-of-both-worlds bastardization that managed to be both inaccessible and unambitious. I'm not sorry that experiment is over.
Meanwhile, recording jazz artists have figured out another way to keep paying the bills: it's that unctuous pap known as Cool Jazz, staple of dentist waiting rooms everywhere. Much as it pains me to sit through the one cut per jazz CD sacrificed to radio airplay, it's worth the tradeoff if it subsidizes good music that otherwise wouldn't get released.
BM:
"Crepuscule" is an excellent example because Monk explores the melody without ever losing it entirely. He plays towards his audience and doesn't force us to chase after him. Tellingly, "Crepuscule" is also the exception on Monk's Music, a fun, but typically long-winded jazz album.
In that context, the popularity of Cool Jazz makes some sense. True, it's a watered-down abomination of the genre's crisp, lively sound. But Kenny G is sharp enough to write pretty choruses and then drive them into the listener's memory. If I ever choose him over Miles, then I deserve a root canal, but I think "real" jazzbos can learn a little from the music on The Weather Channel.
Until then, we're stuck with Wynton Marsalis recording an album of Thelonious Monk covers but sneering at Sting's musical impurity. For all their differences, Monk's and Sting's best work still resonates because they were the best pure hook-writers of bebop and new wave, respectively. When a saxophonist today blows 30 minutes without putting together two memorable notes, he should learn to embrace his inner Monk and his inner Sting.
Like the excitement of a great jazz cut, memorable songwriting is something both jazz and rock should embrace without embarrassment. If that happens, I think jazz - which already has so much going for it - will transcend the outward lip service and inner apathy most people currently show it.
DW:
I agree, for once. There's some wonderful music that's totally abstract, but most of the time, no matter how great a musician you are, it all starts with a great song. And if you can't write it yourself, reinterpret someone else's: Wynton may never cover The Police, but a few jazz musicians have had the good sense to cover modern songs without turning them into Muzak (check out Herbie Hancock's warp-speed version of Stevie Wonder's "You've Got It Bad Girl"). And that might provide a good unthreatening route for extending your listening to some jazz musicians outside the Davis-Trane-Monk-Shorter canon.
BM:
I wish you'd stop providing constructive alternatives to the things I complain about. How does that help people?
When I eventually "get" jazz, I will no doubt look back and wince at my present immaturity. Hopefully I will have used artists like Hancock and Palmieri as bridges towards enjoying the more abstract stuff. When I can finally drop a hep phrase like, "Workin' is no Relaxin', but it sure beats the hell out of Steamin'," it will all have been worth it.
I'll also keep in mind the years (!) it will have taken to truly appreciate the genre - something that great radio music, for better and worse, never demands of me.
