If I Were A Bell
"I only hope that one day, America will recognize what the rest of the world already has known, that our indigenous music - gospel, blues, jazz and R&B - is the heart and soul of all popular music; and that we cannot afford to let this legacy slip into obscurity, I'm telling you."
-Quincy Jones
When I was a kid, one of the peculiar beliefs I held is that I didn't like jazz. I thought you had to choose between jazz and blues, and I chose blues. Nobody told me that jazz isn't really the stuff of elevator ambience and corporate hold music. I joined a jazz band in High School so that I could play guitar during my school day, and that was the first time I actually heard jazz.
Revelatory, classic records like Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, Thelonious Monk's Well You Needn't, Coltrane's A Love Supreme, and Chet Baker's Chet Baker Sings and Plays thankfully hit my ears at at the right place/right time. Even though I was initially just terrible at playing jazz, I was drawn into its immerse history, tradition, and sentimentality.
Something about the depth of expression, experimentation, and worldliness of the music surprised me. I had not encountered music so far removed from my own traditions. Some particular records that grabbed me at first:
The perpetually slow-swing of the Count Basie Orchestra blowing out Lil' Darlin' in an incredibly unison breath.
From one of the Miles Davis compilation records I had, Dear Old Stockholm's melancholy sound stuck out to me.
The immortal Coltrane epic A Love Supreme was regular listening for me. Pt. 1 and 2 especially stood out for their development and group improvisation.
More commercial offerings that the local library tipped me off to included the lovely Diana Krall Live in Paris record. It was a regular source of enjoyment (and she's backed by an incredible rhythm section).
Another classic pairing I stumbled upon was the Burlap and Satin combo of Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald. Charming harmonies, and such contrast.
Like an alternate universe, I remember some friends I had in jazz band and I would share and nerd out over Chet Baker's music (as opposed to anything that teenagers usually listen to). In retrospect it's perfect for teenage life. I must have bought a dozen of his records. His trumpet playing and singing were superb in the first half of his career, becoming tragic in the second half. I have many favorite records, but his vocal/guitar record stands out.
Instrumental records were just as huge for me. The adventurous and swinging on records like Roy Haynes' Green Chimneys was undeniable.
The beckoning piano accompaniment on Duke Ellington's In A Sentimental Mood enables me to remember specific moments over a decade ago (as music can often do with memory).
Billie Holiday and her fiberglass voice was on a compilation disc I bought for 5 bucks at Walmart.
Much of the personality in jazz intrigued me; the individuality that cloaked Monk, Mingus, and Shorter was clear through their music.
The otherworldliness of Antonion Carlos Jobim's Brazilian Bossa Nova was immediately an earworm.
Jazz opened my ears to old music. While listening (and eventually playing) standards from the Great American Songbook, I felt in company with other fans and performers from over the decades. It's crazy to think that it used to be the pop music in America, and now is often shuffled over as too academic, instrumental, or inaccessible for the average listener. Though I don't quite understand how I fell into it (nature seems to trump Oklahoman nurture here) I'm so glad I did. More specific recordings throughout my life have been formative for me but I'll save that for another post and have Wes take me out.
"Put it this way: Jazz is a good barometer of freedom… In its beginnings, the United States of America spawned certain ideals of freedom and independence through which, eventually, jazz was evolved, and the music is so free that many people say it is the only unhampered, unhindered expression of complete freedom yet produced in this country." -Duke Ellington