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*