Jazzy D's Soul Notes

Jazz is universal and not just belonging to one part of the globe - such as the States or England - but, in my opinion, part of a global network of "world music" to which I will expand upon here.

It seems, even, that to write about this "sacred art-form" called "jazz", it must read like some lifeless, weighty treatise worthy of the British Library's Polemics in Metaphysics section. What? Use the "street-level" language which might be more readily understood by the new generation? No way. This new generation just might become a party to this great intellectual secret that is "jazz", and that would never do, would it? I wish I could say that such "pseudo-intellectual snobbery" was confined only to the critical world of jazz. It isn't. I felt quite miffed some years back when I read write-ups of gigs by classical saxophonist John Harle (a musician I much admire, by the way). "Here's someone who shows the saxophone as a serious instrument . . .". The scathing inference that jazz cannot be as serious as classical music beggars belief! It was Val Wilmer who wrote a fantastic book on the jazz Avant-garde and called it - coining a term much used now - "As Serious As Your Life" which I thoroughly recommend to jazz newbies.




Jazz (of which I have been a devoted and dedicated follower for more years than I care to remember) is, in my view, a part albeit an essential and important part - of "world music". "World music", in my definition, encompasses all music made from the heart - from the Master Musicians of Jajouka to Meredith Monk, from Skip James to Debussy, from plainsong to Don Ellis, from Alan Stivell to Shostakovich, from Lonnie Johnson to Fred Frith, from Otis Redding to Segovia.. . Along the way my heart and soul are big enough to embrace, with equal love, the music of such as King Oliver, Sidney Bechet, Stan Kenton, Clifford Brown, Cecil Taylor, Ornette Coleman, Eric Dolphy, John McLaughlin, Jan Garbarek , Milford Graves and Egberto Gismonti.

Surely, what's important is that instead of placing all these different musics on separate planets, they should be placed in the musical universe?All music-making is creative - what's debatable is the music's quality or its originality, or its (performers')virtuosity and sincerity.

So, to those who take such delight in sneering at any "popular" music that isn't jazz, consider this. . . When Joe Jackson launched his short-lived Jumpin' Jive band, the jazz purists scoffed but - and this is important, surely? - he introduced the name of Louis Jordan to a new generation. They went out and listened to jump-blues all the way back to Kansas City and discovered, along the way, a fellow called Charlie Parker. When Steely Dan recorded "East St Louis Toodle-oo", a new generation went eagerly delving into the Ellington archives. Rip Rig & Panic introduced many new listeners to Roland Kirk. How many of the new generation had ever heard of Chet Baker till be laid some trumpet over an Elvis Costello cut? How many of the same had heard of Gil Evans until Difford and Tillbrook (ex-Squeeze) announced they had been working with him? How many of the same had heard of Thelonious Monk till A&M's That's The Way I Feel Now tribute album? Even Earth Wind & Fire quoted "A Love Supreme" on record. . .oh yeah,check that one out.

Those purists who would like to post a jealous guard at the doors of the "museum" and put up a notice - "Warning! This is our music: keep out" - are to be pitied. How insular their musical life and experience must be. If this music, that we all love equally is to develop survive, it can live without them.

Jazz is no man's or woman's sacred preserve. Surely, together, we should be building new bridges- not reinforcing old barriers?.

Sermon over. 

Another scorching hot day spent mostly this morning watching DVD's in the relative shade of my room. Afternoon , so far, spent sweltering under the sun and reading Sartre , contemplating the nature of existence and our being in it, the ontological reasons for being and what it all means or not. Then one of the other hostel customers, yep they call us customers, comes up with the piffy "Jack shit" to my question. I bang my head on the outdoor beach in utter defeat and disbelief.