This post is not an attempt to provide a universally applicable definition of jazz, but it is an attempt to provide an insight into what I value in jazz, and I suppose that is a loose definition of certain concepts behind it, but it’s my opinion, rather than any tangible definition.
I’ve been transcribing a Joshua Redman solo. It’s the solo from “Last Rites Of Rock ‘n’ Roll”. I wanted to see just what this guy does. In the end, it’s nearly all pentatonics (which is a rather simple type of scale or a simple pattern), just really creatively and melodically applied (not to mention in an extremely virtuosic way too). The last couple of years have seen me move away from my high-school, unwavering adoration of jazz, into almost a disapprectiation of it’s more “artistic” traits. I used to love that it challenged audiences, that it was complicated and that only an exclusive, educated crowd could comprehend and fully appreciate the music. Through several friendships I had while at uni, I did a complete 180 from my blind affection and found that it’s challenges were perhaps born of an arrogance or a lack of care on the musicians part, and came to a gradual yet stubborn disdain towards the “high art” mentality which is that it’s the audience’s fault that they do not understand what happens in jazz. In retrospect, I beleive this divergence from an idolisation of my medium is a healthy one, and I’m sure it’s not the last time I challenge jazz. However, it’s not wholly accurate. I am currently of the opinion that it’s a combination of the two perspectives. Jazz is complicated, it is difficult to comprehend, the audience needs to be “elevated” to understand it and receive the full benefits of it’s communication and I love it for that, however, I do not beleive that to be completely the fault of neither musician or audience. I beleive simply that there is an abundant ignorance of what jazz is, how it works, what the musicians that play it strive to do. I cannot speak for other jazz musicians, but I can explain my own stance on my music. Take it or leave it.
The most important thing I can say to a potential listener of jazz is to not look for a literal communication. Do not compare it to a “song” with lyrics. It’s stories, it’s messages and what it evokes are not really meant to be described in words. Music is a language all on it’s own and to translate it, like a poem from a foreign country, is to blunt it, to clip it short. Do not look for specific avenues of relation such as “it’s a piece about love and loss”. Most of the time, depending on the composer, you will be left wondering what the point of the whole experience was. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule. My pieces, for example, usually are based on a particular experience, and usually do attempt to evoke a particular feeling. Perhaps this is because of my 4 years away from the jazz idiom, and because of the relationships I’ve had with friends who openly criticise jazz. I can only see my development away from jazz as a composer as a good thing, something which sets me apart. But, the point remains that many pieces in jazz are merely vehicles for improvisation. (It is worth noting here that many of my pieces, particularly the more evocative, narrative-based ones, are very difficult to improvise over.) That it what sets jazz apart from other music types, primarily. Improvisation. (Of course, there are other many other music styles that feature improvisation, and several eastern ones that include it to the extent that jazz does, in which case there are other stylistic differences, but on the whole it is a safe enough statement).
It is in this improvisation that the common audience lose their connection with jazz, and arguably, it is because they are unsure of a way to approach it as a listener. I beleive that this is no one’s fault in particular, and it is the responsibility of both parties to eliminate this ignorance, as both would benefit from it’s absence. I was surprised maybe two years ago when a respected musical colleague of mine was himself surprised when I described a sax player we both esteemed as having a strong “voice”. My colleague had never considered this concept. Interestingly, this person was also one of the strongest critics of jazz I’d met. It occured to me that this was an ideal way for the audience to gain an “angle” on a jazz performance, something to listen for. A soloist’s voice is what drives jazz. It’s why “we”- those already seduced by jazz- listen to it at all. The most famous jazz musicians in history have been the ones with the strongest, most unique, influential and listenable voices. The only difficulty with this approach is that, as I mentioned earlier, jazz communication is not literal, and therefore it’s voice does not communicate with words, with the important exclusion of singers. However, even in the case of singers, it is not necessarily the lyrics which are important, but how they are sung. This is similar to other genres of music, and to jazz soloists. It’s as much how things are played as what is played. It is the content behind the notes, the energy, the emotion, the reserve, the actual sound of the instrument. All these things cannot fail to have some impact on the audience, but they need to come to the realisation that it’s not the same as a singer singing lyrics about energy or emotion. A good piece of music and a good soloist make these things very clear on many levels, so that many people feel a connection with them.
The stereotype of the jazz musician slaving away to make his or her command over the instrument greater to facilitate more complicated music is unfortunate and usually inaccurate. I practice hours a day to provide greater mental and dextrous faculty over my instrument and the theory behind music so I am in no way impeded during a performance. I strive to make the only limitations over my music my creative and emotional self, not my connection with my instrument. It’s an overused phrase, but I work to make myself and my instrument one. I struggle and work and sweat to make my instrument my voice, and to make that voice as natural to me as to talk, even more so than talking (and it already is. I am much more confident playing for someone than talking to them). This is what the “common audience” does not understand. When the best jazz musicians get up there and play, he or she are speaking to you (as well as each other on stage). He or she might not sweet talk the audience in between tunes, but they are trying to say something in their music. The live acts I’ve always treasured are where there is dialogue everywhere. Between each band member, and myself, “the rock, the tree. Between the land, and this air.” It is my contention that one possible window into accessing jazz is to listen for the voice. The soloist, the composer. It’s in there. And do not expect the voice to “talk” to you. But it will “communicate” something to you.
-JC
