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Notes towards a folklore of jazz
(Madison, WI, 1993)
by Arthur Durkee
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Notes toward a folklore of jazz (and/or hardcore)
From an ethnomusicological viewpoint, jazz is as unified (and as diverse) a musical culture as any other, and as bound by stereotyped musical formal structures as western classical music.
Why do we always play the tune, jam over the changes, then play the tune again? “Because that’s the way it’s done”? True, jazz and classical musicians who have attempted a synthesis—either by composing for jazz ensemble, or by introducing improv into classical settings—have met with resistance, even suspicion and condescension. Why? Because in unsuccessful hybrids, the formal expectations, rules, and stereotypes of neither musical culture have been satisfied. Also because some people don’t believe in mixing the “purity” of their tradition. (Sounds to me a bit like certain hate groups not wanting to mix the “purity” of the racial bloodlines. But hey, don’t listen to me, I’m just a curmudgeon.)
Meeting the sterotypes of the expected performance experience, according to John Blacking, is necessary for the performance experience to become numinous. Victor Turner talks about how drama and ritual performance are combined, transporting the participants—including the audience—to the numinous realm of ritual space and time.
What is the ritual structure of a jazz performance?
If our expectations of these structures are not met, do we feel fulfilled by the experience? Have we, as listeners, “participated”? (Dell Hymes)
Are these structures “fixed” in form, for all time? Obviously not. There is always experimentation and innovation by creative individuals participating in the music culture who, for personal reasons as well as driven by some (the race-mind) urge to grow and change, must innovate and explore, who will never be content repeating the learned tradition. Personal expression vs. stretching the envelope of the accepted norms.
Can a successful performacne experience occur without meeting these norms?
In my own experience as improvisor and performer, it can. One of the groups I work with, Dangerous Odds, is a collective devoted to exploring how poetry and music work together (Sidney Lanier’s seminal book), and devoted as well to improvising music on the spot. Dangerous Odds has a (shifting in size) core group and a loose collection of other collaborators, both poets and more musicians. (We have worked as a group in sizes from trios to a ten-piece band.) Dangerous Odds consciously chooses not to rehearse together, but to get together to perform and/or record each gig from scratch. Shows are usually a mix of pieces composed by members (usually no more than a structure or a groove), which participants then agree on an arrangement, to accompaniments improvised completely on the spot to accompany a poem, or as an instrumental. The group gathers to create a set list and make notes of arrangements just before each show; these are usually very simple, indicating a key to play in (sometimes) and who starts the piece (usually), and everyone follows that player’s lead.
It’s my experience that what happens is breathlessly exciting musical communication. The process of responsive listening is part of the thrill. When everyone is really listening and communicating, the expereince is magical and joyful—everyone suddenly will change to same key at precisely the same time, with no preparation beforehand, as though we were all participating telepathically in a collective mind. I’m sure most improvising musicians have had this experience at some time, in rehearsal and/or onstage.
This way of playing has profoundly affected the way I participate as the member of an audience, too. Whenever I go to a jazz show nowadays, I find myself watching for those moments of communication between the players as much as for anything else. If the communication is not there, I rarely enjoy the show, no matter how could the notes being played are. If the band is going through the motions, and every note is perfect and precisely placed and beautiful, and there’s no communication going on between the musicians—I get bored. If instead the musicians take risks, and reach out to each other to communicate—even if they blow the notes wrong, I’m satisfied.
This is why I am suspicious of Wynton Marsalis and the Suitboys. Their museumification of early jazz and realbook standards must be confronted and challenged at every turn. They want to glorify dead black composers as much as the classical music establishment glorifies dead white composers.
Another thing: I keep coming back to the feeling of aliveness, of joy, of oneness between the players. It’s an almost religious experience, if you’ll pardon the pretentious turn of phrase, to be so connected and “in tune” with others and with the music. (spiritual concepts of tuning—Dane Rudhyar, Jocelyn Godwin, Peter Michael hamel, et al.)
Punk too has its norms, its stereotypes, and its habitual topics. Every folklore group coherent enough to have built an expressive genre develops these patterns. In punk, the patterns are viewed by participants to be in opposition to the Powers That Be. (Controversy surrounding Cop-Killer; Ice-T’s punk/rap hybrid album. Black Rock Coalition. Living Colour.)
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References:
Evan Parker: Monoceros
Last Exit: The Noise of Trouble (Live In Tokyo), Iron Path
John Blacking: How Musical Is Man?
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FREE JAZZ! (& YOUR HEART WILL FOLLOW)
I’ve been listening to a lot of “non-jazz” albums lately—rather, non-traditional, non-mainstream stuff. I’ve been listening a lot to Nicky Skopelitis’ new album, Ekstasis [Axiom Records]; I’ve learned most of the bass grooves from the album, even. And I’ve been rediscovering Evan Parker, a master European free-jazz saxophonist.
Evan Parker is largely unknown in this country (to our shame), though he has appeared on over 80 recordings, and cofounded Incus Records, a British label devoted to documenting his circle of free-jazz buddies.
This Editorial Rant was inspired by Parker—Evan Parker, not Charlie Parker. Evan has been for many years a mainstay of the Euro free jazz movement, a prolific performer and recording artist, and is shamefully under-known in the U.S.
In free jazz, recordings are at best “snapshots” of the evolving live (living) performance. When recordings come to be taken as definitive texts, or scores, calcification sets in along with museumification. The bones solidify.
From John Coltrane’s music, from his innovations, above all we get intensity and the drive towards transcendance. Players likegarbarek and Parker and Sharrock, all of whom cite Coltrane as being seminally important to them, reveal their reverence for Coltrane not by imitating his sound or style, but by always playing with great intensity and presence.
Free jazz = energy music = collective, in-the-moment improvisation.
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