Miles Away From Old Assumptions

To me Miles Davis, in his autobiography, portrays himself equal parts survivor and innovator. He emphasizes this in the second chapter which details some of his early life as a developing musician, even before he realized he wanted to devote his life to jazz. Davis beings the chapter by telling us, "I probably didn't realize how important [music] would become, but looking back, I can see just how important it was"(Davis, 31). I like how this quote seems to say that Davis wasn't brought up as some child prodigy like Mozart, but rather grew up in an auspicious environment for jazz. And auspicious it was indeed: though Davis is one of the most praised musicians of all time, he's filled with little more than praise for his teenage peers. Interestingly though, not many of his early idols are household names. Many seem to have slipped deep into obscurity.

This is what interested me the most about this chapter. It is said that great minds think alike. If this were true, shouldn't we expect that Davis rose to fame with those he admired? "Started from the bottom, now we're here," right? Wrong. Chapter two explains this discrepancy and in doing so, illuminates a side of jazz I never saw before taking this class. Another example:

Davis tells us of a trumpet player named Levi Maddison. Davis recounts that he was the "star pupil, and man he was a motherfucker...St. Louis was a great city for trumpet players and Levi was one of the baddest, if not the baddest...His trumpet was an extension of him"(Davis, 34). Yet despite the regard that one of the best holds for him, the all-knowing Google reveals nothing about Mr. Levi Maddison. Davis is quick to explain: Levi was put in a mental institution.

Though Levi's demise is more an issue of bad genetic luck than social inequality, it nonetheless reminds the reader (and aspiring jazz musician alike) that music is secondary to living. While Davis and his friends were probably the best of the best, the only ones who made it as artists were the ones who survived. Pair Levi Maddison's story with that of Duke Brooks, the Ellington imitator who died riding a freight train, and suddenly my understanding of jazz has been reworked.

You see, before I took this class I had no idea how jazz developed. I assumed innovation came out of the grandmasters of the art sitting around proper studios, blowing their horns, and striking their pianos, and plodding a beat along with their drum sets. I didn't realize the importance of the street. In this way, I have come to see jazz much differently than any other genre. More than any other art, jazz emerges directly from the people who are just trying to live, not necessarily the academic musicians. More than anything else, it is a direct expression of life itself. Often, as Davis has portrayed it, the musicians who succeeded were not necessarily the smartest or the fastest or the most popular visionaries. Sometimes they just happened to be the ones who survived, and in this act of surviving there was always some inspiration for the next piece.

For jazz musicians, Jazz was a balance between allowing music to define their lives and allowing their lives to define their music. That is the strongest point I have taken from this class.

Thank you, professor Stewart.

Commented on Delaney Riley's blog

Thelonious Monk's Hill Above the Chaos

Thelonious Monk was a bizarre fellow. Known for often wearing dark sunglasses, loud hats, and boasting an entirely unorthodox style, Monk helped to redefine jazz throughout the course of his career and reconcile the music with his  distinct culture.

But where did the roots of this culture lay? We find clues in his upbringing and in the culture that fostered him: San Juan Hill. Born in North Carolina, Monk moved with his family to San Juan Hill, NY at a young age and spent most of his childhood there. In his biography of Monk, Kelley puts the most emphasis on SJH's diversity. In this community there was more than just "Black" and "White." Further variety existed, with both negative and positive results. In one sense, there was a wealth of culture to be explored in SJH. However, these distinctions led to divisions, and divisions to rivalry and turmoil. In the end, the same diversity that pulled so many cultures close together also kept them far apart. The immediate area around Monk's house became his community, his classroom, his playground, and most importantly his safe haven–a block perched on a hill above the interracial turmoil.

Kelley goes on to tell us that "It took a village to raise Monk"(Kelley). More than showing us how Monk was raised, this demonstrates the closeness of the community itself. Monk never took part in extracurricular activities. Instead, he went back home as soon as he was dismissed from class to do something in his community. It's easy to see now that as he progressed as an artist, the community influenced him. He played because the community gave him the means to do so with its youth center and numerous music teachers and jazz musicians. He played not to get away from his neighborhood's economic poverty, but to encapsulate its cultural richness. When people proudly proclaim that "Jazz is New York, man!", they exemplify this idea that music is a product of one's environment. New York jazz is not something imported, but a distinctly New York sound.

Thelonious Monk's story in San Juan Hill closely parallels the stories of many who grew up in Leimert Park, a small area of Los Angeles which in recent years experienced an artistic renewal. Leimert, like SJH, had a history of racial tension. The residents decided to combat this with art, namely jazz. In this sense, Leimert closely copies the atmosphere that SJH probably had in the 1920's and 1930's–it was a little haven in the midst of chaos with diverse roots from all over the world and a strong love for music that gave the place a sense of unity. However, Leimert differs in on key aspect here–while jazz grew out of places like SJH, it's more appropriate to say that jazz grew into Leimert. The simple truth is that Leimert at its peak seemed to me to be more like a museum than an easel. Sadly, the golden age of jazz has passed, making Leimert's devotion to jazz and art more reminiscent than progressive. In comparison, Monk's contributions to jazz in SJH were the early brushstrokes of what would become one of the finest work of art this nation has ever seen.

In the end, I communities need to act as something to react to for a jazz musician. Whether the reaction is negative or positive can be everything here. But in the end, roots can never be ignored.

*Comments on Pritika Nandakumar's blog*

Soldiers on the Battlefields of War and Style

As Jazz (capitalized to represent the cultural machine, rather than the genre) moved into the Swing Era of the 1930's and 40's, discussions of race became more and more commonplace. Race has, of course, always been involved in the music's evolution–racial tensions were at the heart of the blues, and stride piano grew out of a social landscape that definitively differentiated black urban culture from white–but until this era it was often brushed aside or under the table. From a modern perspective, blacks may have dominated the musical scene since the "race record" took hold, but for many years the conversation of race was simply not on the table. I think that there are two reasons for this:

First off, black America was getting a much stronger political grip. During and after World War I, blacks began to experience the world much more than they ever had since the Emancipation. Blacks who served as soldiers soon realized the freedom available to them. Shack says it best: "The philosophy of war entailed a double meaning for black soldiers: freedom abroad; freedom at home...This philosophy was to repeat itself, instilling patriotism in black soldiers responding to the call to arms a generation later"(Shack). Throughout the 1920's and 30's, Paris became a popular destination for black jazz musicians because it offered escape from (or at least reduction of) discrimination. This was huge. Throughout these two decades, the black cause for equality grew stronger because of this real example of an attainable standard. What had previously been accepted as a sad but true status quo was shot down because of the black exposure to equality in Europe. It is easy to see how black political efforts must have increased: the European example fueled desire, and this desire sparked more dialogues. By the 1930's, the norm was no longer hopeless inequity, but rather a growing battlefield of rights.

Once the wars got the ball rolling, it was the work of individuals on the home front that made the difference. But it was not necessarily black activists who brought up the conversations about race–often it was the work of critics. One such critic, John Hammond, serves as a perfect example of how people on either side of the racial divide could have sparked racial dialogue in Jazz. Hammond, a critic and producer, was an influential voice in the Jazz sphere, sometimes driving hundreds of miles in a night to follow the ever-shifting center of Jazz culture. But on top of that, he was a political radical who campaigned and lobbied for numerous causes, as evidenced in Swing Changes: "By 1941 Hammond had had also joined the National Committee for People's Rights; he was a sponsor of the American Council on Soviet Relations and of Russian War Relief, Inc.; he was a guest of honor at the American Peace Mobilization Testimonial Dinner for Vito Marcantonio and at the Fourth American Writers' Congress and Congress of the Artists' Front to Win the War..."(Swing Changes, 62). Hammond saw political involvement as a necessity for responsible Americans. This had two effects. First, by seeing race relations as a political reality rather than an idealistic battleground, Hammond dedicated himself to a variety of discussions on race. Being an influential figure in the Jazz world, his actions prompted others to do the same. Second, his opinions on the necessity of political activism prompted him to "call out" any artists who did not take some political stand for their side of this political issue–in 1935 he published an article that criticized Duke Ellington's apparent apathy toward race issues. Nobody who was anybody could escape the debate with critics like Hammond regulating their involvement.

In conclusion, it's easy to see how the heightened racial dialogue of the Swing Era came about through both large-scale social phenomena as well as the work of some powerful individuals. But in a much larger sense, I believe this effect occurred simply because black culture and music needed time to develop and ascend. Even if there had been no world wars or political critics, the issue of race relations would have entered into Jazz discussions, albeit much later and much less excitingly.


Commented on Connor Way's blog.

Post 2–War in the North: Chicago vs New York

With the 1917 closing of New Orleans' Storyville, referred to by its residents as "The District", the American black diaspora was absolutely undeniable. The stubborn were finally evicted and spread north to join the rest of the Great Migration. Their destinations were all the northern cities with thriving industries and demand for cheap labor, but of those destinations two would be remembered as thriving jazz centers: Chicago, IL and New York City, NY. The beginnings of this diaspora introduced variation in black culture to extents that had never been seen in the homogeneous South, and these differences remained true between these two jazz playgrounds. However, in my opinion, one city reigned strongest throughout the 1920's: Chicago.
Chicago jazz's origins in struggle highlight some of its strengths. When migrating blacks arrived in Chicago expecting a land of new opportunities, they soon realized that this industrial and economic gold mine was not without dark, dangerous turns. As we saw in "The City" and "You Are Going To Be More Than Me," the black urban lifestyle, though free of Jim Crow laws and the blatant racism of the south, was wrought with new economic struggles and the paradoxical isolation that comes with living in a dense population. Coupled with long, intense hours of backbreaking labor, this existence provided a perfect environment for a new style of blues, grown out of southern tradition but hardened and darkened by the complexities of urban life. This dark turn, while detrimental to the people living it, advanced the art itself by putting raw emotion and meaning behind the notes that cut deep enough to be remembered long into the future. Contrasted with the more dance-oriented playing of New York, I think the blues influence of Chicago reigns superior because of this emotional quality that all blacks could relate to.
The atmosphere of the typical Chicago jazz venue helped it along as well. Chicago was dominated by a club scene, where alcohol (then illegal) flowed as fast as breath through a cornet. These clubs were truly a two-edged sword to the blacks performers: while a contract at the Lincoln Gardens or the Cotton Club guaranteed employment and popularity, it also limited mobility. Mobs flocked these clubs, attracted by the potential to violate prohibition, and often seized control of musicians through manipulating contracts. However, at the same time this allowed much more exposure for black artists. Though many white artists "stole" music from blacks, as we saw in "You Are Going To Be More Than Me" (one white musician actually sent her maid to copy a song from Alberta Hunter), this did, in the end, result in collaborative efforts on both sides of the racial divide. And though it was not a consensual collaboration that benefitted both sides, the argument here is about which city was more influential to jazz, not which was more benevolent to musicians. The club scene allowed musicians of all types and all skill levels to view the jazz sphere from an intimate distance. This differed somewhat from the Harlem style of collaboration. Most music was danceable, with emphasis on raggy-sounding stride piano, and was usually played at rent parties and neighborhood gatherings. But the attitude was different. These parties sought to block out negative emotions rather than embrace them, and spatial limitations of small apartments limited their reach. In the end, the Chicago club scene provided a much wider-reaching playground that fostered a more inclusive developmental environment.
This Chicago style can be heard through many great artists. Some, like Louis Armstrong, moved around often, so one must be careful to take into account time as well as name when listening for geographical influence. But it's fairly safe to say that the duo of King Oliver and Louis Armstrong exemplified the Chicago style in their collaborations as the Creole Jazz Band. There, they brought their familiarity with southern blues to the table and created some wonderful recordings that truly exemplify the style of Chicago jazz. In fact, any of the musicians popular in the club scene would do just fine: Duke Ellington, Earl Hines, and George Dixon exemplify this style as well. Finally, the later hit song of McKenzie and Codon's Chicagoans "Nobody's Sweetheart" shows the influence of the 1920's style a few years down the road. Recorded in 1927, its sound shows how the members of the band had been affected by earlier innovators in Chicago through a bit of musical analysis. One can clearly see the trademark techniques of various older artists in the play style of the new band.
It's this sort of anecdote that shows just how influential the Chicago style was in making the jazz we know now. In short, it was the perfect blend of circumstance, collaboration, and exposure that puts Chicago's influence above that of New York in 1920's jazz.

Commented on Colleen McGee.

Post 1

This is Post 1. Soon we will have a full fence.