NETEJA I ESBROSSADA DEL TERRENY:
F315 - FORMIGONAMENT DE RASES I POUS
example). One thing that is becoming clear in recent years is that history, real history, is far more complex than it is frequently presented as being.
I have already commented that all through the history of jazz we nd numerous instances of musicians whose contribution to the music far surpasses their public image. Why is this? Sometimes they do gain recognition for a brief period, only to be bypassed a short time afterwards. The majority of such musicians seem to have one thing in common: they lack the ability or willingness to publicize themselves. This is only one part of the story. For there are also numerous instances of musicians who, while not necessarily being publicity-shy, do not seem to make any effort in that direction, yet the jazz public takes to them anyway. Jazzmen that come to mind are Bix Beiderbecke, Chet Baker, and Kenny Wheeler. In the case of Bix and Chet, a tragic lifestyle seemed to play a part in their popularity. Kenny Wheeler, the soft-spoken Canadian trumpeter, is a regular guy who plays beautifully. All three deserve the recognition that has come their way, but it has not come about through self-seeking publicity. But these are the exceptions. Why are some publicized and others not? I think timing is one reason; a marketable quality (even one that the musician may not be aware of) is another, but also not being too challenging is an important explanation.
In the 1980s, Thomas Kuhn wrote a book about new paradigms in thought. The traditional concepts, which themselves had been stepping stones to new insight, eventually prove to be a hindrance and no matter how revolutionary they once appeared must inevitably be relinquished so that conceptual progress can occur. Such progress is seldom straight- forward. At times an older paradigm may be retained, but with the pro- viso that its application is limited. Newtonian concepts of space are an example. For most practical purposes the Newtonian concepts sufce, yet in cosmology, Newtonian concepts are seen as a limitation. Similar paradigm shifts occur in art and music, though at the time of their intro- duction they are seldom recognized as such.
More often than not, the emergence of new facts that counter the prevailing world views meet with stiff resistance. This can lead to the academic persecution of those who rst make such discoveries. Some- times this may amount to no more than severe frustration, but in other circumstances careers can be ruined. Semmelweiss, who realized the supreme importance of aseptic measures to counteract puerperal fever (childbed fever), in suicidal rage at the rejection of his insight, plunged his hands into infected tissue and died as a result.
Sigmund Freud worked alone for ten years, developing his insight, which eventually became known to the world as psychoanalysis – while
continually being shunned by colleagues. As a result of his preoccupation with the sexual etiology of neurosis, promotion passed him by. Freud wrote how people would cross the street to avoid meeting him. Only when he was called upon in desperation to treat a member of royalty suffering from hysterical paralysis, and with the success of this treat- ment, did fame and acclaim eventually come his way. At least as far as science is concerned, there can be an eventual conrmation, and with it the concomitant paradigm shift, though history has shown that this can sometimes take so much time that the original creator may be long dead, as in the case of Roger Bacon or Lamarck. Or maybe it takes the suicidal desperation of a Semmelweiss to prove the point.
In art and music, though deeply rooted in reality and in our psyche, a new paradigm may be quickly accepted, or conversely meet with criticism that effectively sidelines it. It is terribly ironic that Vincent Van Gogh, who apparently sold only one painting during his lifetime (and reputedly was never even paid for that) should, a century after his death, command the highest prices ever paid for any artist’s work. Here, obviously, is a supreme example of an artistic paradigm beyond that of his contemporaries and, in Van Gogh’s case, my view is that the true merit of his artistic work still awaits a deeper understanding.
In the case of jazz, with its multiple creative streams, there have emerged grades of acceptance that have been exploited commercially. This of course greatly affects the livelihood of the creators of the music. It is necessary to realize, as with the other arts and as with science in general, that current levels of acceptance (or rejection) of jazz are not necessarily objective. Much time can be needed before we are able to appraise creative efforts clearly. However, after such a long passage of time, most of the witnesses to events have since left this earth. Inevitably there are always those who come along afterwards and weave their web according to their own beliefs and prejudices. So genuine appraisal may never take place.
We can see why paradigm shifts inevitably begin with a rst wave of pioneers who are generally rejected and even likely to be subject to persecution and ridicule, and many years may pass before due recogni- tion is given to great creativity. As an example, when I was at school dur- ing the thirties, Bach was considered a minor composer, his music being regarded as mostly for the church and not worthy of major considera- tion. These days, Bach is rightly regarded as one of the major composers of all time.
Lennie was one of those pioneers, but many have used his ideas as their own and so perhaps need to undervalue his contribution. Having
beneted so much from Lennie’s teaching and having passed on at least some of those aspects, what is it that is so special and what is it that differentiates it from classical musical training? Fundamentally, Lennie’s contribution is that of playing everything, including exercises, as music. Much of this emphasis is lost in today’s jazz education. Though there is much precociousness in students of this generation, the lack of that fun- damental emphasis of always playing everything (including exercises) melodically leads to a kind of empty skill. Though the concepts now rmly embedded in today’s jazz education originated in Lennie’s teaching, it is regrettable that much of the core of his teaching has been overlooked. His inuence has permeated the world of jazz education.
I recognize a psychological pattern here – not merely with regard to the inuence of Lennie’s teaching, but as a common human failing. It con- cerns the usurping of knowledge from others without acknowledging its source. Concomitantly there is a social silence, as happens when people recognize the usurper but fail to stand up and point out the truth. It is the same pattern of social silence or acquiescence which, in its extreme form, allowed the Catholic Inquisition to take place, and allows the rise of a dic- tator like Hitler. When the insight given to us by certain innovative gures appears to be revolutionary for the time, the originators are ignored or sometimes actively persecuted for their insight. When, later, such insight is thought safe or acceptable, others usurp that knowledge and present it as their own. Inevitably, when that occurs, something is lost. In the case of Lennie’s teaching some of the essence of what he taught has been lost as the focus has shifted to method rather than insight.
Lennie Tristano’s contribution to jazz is of major signicance. This is apparent in some at least of the few recordings he made during his lifetime and also in the inuence he left upon those who studied or played with him, some who were major contributors in their own right, such as Charles Mingus and Bud Freeman. As others conrm: “Tristano’s inuence reaches across many styles. Among those pianists who have paid allegiance to him are Don Friedman, Clare Fischer and, above all, Bill Evans; among the younger ones are Alan Broadbent [who also studied with Lennie], Connie Crothers and Kenny Werner…” (Berendt 1983: 280).
There were many other well-known musicians who were reputed to have studied with him, but I have no rst-hand knowledge about this and Lennie always kept in condence the names of those who studied with him. He was, as ever, a discreet man.
During my lifetime it has been my fortune to come across a few remarkable individuals who have given much but who certainly have not received due recognition. I see numerous reasons for this.
First, part of the explanation has to lie in Lennie’s own personality. The more I explored the idea, the more it became clear to me that one of the reasons Lennie’s music did not receive the promotion it deserved is because Lennie refused to play the “game.” Way back in the forties, the music critic Leonard Feather had a series of programs on a New York radio station, to which many famous jazz musicians of the time (of which Lennie was one) were invited. The concept behind the program was that Leonard Feather would play selections from the latest jazz releases and then ask for comments on the merits or demerits of the music. The obvi- ous problem was that here were jazz musicians being asked publicly to voice their criticisms about their professional colleagues’ music. Predict- ably, everyone avoided incisive comment. Lennie remained silent until halfway through the program when, not entirely off-mike, his voice could be heard saying, “I think I’ll split.” He did not want anything to do with this. Lennie was too direct to become the darling of jazz.
Bird, in contrast, was very aware of the foibles of media people. Not long before he died, Bird, together with Lee Konitz, was invited as a guest of Father Norman O’Connor’s jazz radio program in Boston, Massachu- setts. At one point Lee was asked his opinion of a well-known musician who had been hailed as an innovator. Lee, who had strict views on who was a contributor to jazz and who was not, exclaimed, “I don’t think [X] has contributed anything of great signicance to jazz,” whereupon Bird leaned towards the microphone and, giving Lee a big wink and a smile, said, “I like him.” Bird would not compromise his music, however. But for the media and for the social bullshit he would mischievously say what was required of him.
Lennie’s music was before its time and people found it controversial. Even today his music sounds challenging. And he would not compromise. One of the things that Wilhelm Reich stressed is that we should ignore irrational comments about our work and just get on with the work itself. Lennie certainly took a similar view and maybe Reich inuenced him. But what Reich did not realize was how this negativity toward his work would eventually destroy him. Lennie’s focus on the work alone also cost him something.
In a world where ideals and aspirations are constantly being com- promised, Lennie’s refusal to do so was not only rare, but also raised subconscious guilt and resulted in antagonism. In my opinion it is that more than anything else that lies behind the negativity towards Lennie’s music. Just as I was nishing this last editing, I came across an analogous situation in Michael Moore’s book Stupid White Men, which really struck a chord. He was talking about Ralph Nader, the Green
Party politician who ran for president during the controversial Bush/ Gore election in 2000.
“Nader represents who they used to be but no longer are. He never changed. He never lost the faith, never compromised, never gave up. That’s why they hate him. He didn’t change his tune, didn’t move to the suburbs, didn’t start structuring his life around ‘Let’s see how I can make the most money for me, me, ME’ ” (Moore 2002: 212).
Regarding Lennie, it was far easier to parrot the old line about his music being cerebral and cold or simply to retreat into the excuse that he was a recluse, rather than accept that lack of compromise. Admit- tedly, Lennie, always very principled, would not perform unless condi- tions were suitable. He wanted playing conditions to be right for him to perform – a good piano and good sound – which they seldom were. He disliked the average jazz club for being noisy and full of inattentive people. (But can you imagine what it would be like, being blind, to go and play somewhere full of vast amounts of noise and no idea whether anyone was even aware of your playing?) The Cantorino brothers who ran the Half Note (originally located at Hudson and Spring Streets) in Greenwich Village, really admired his music and in the later years (late fties through to the early sixties) his most frequent appearances were at their club. I see it as part of Lennie’s wisdom that he did not succumb to the temptation to take any gig regardless of the conditions. I have had many experiences where the opportunity to play proved a veritable nightmare. Even recently, I was invited to sit in at a jam session at a local club in a small town in France (at Pierrelaye) just north of Paris, a club, incidentally, in existence because of an enlightened mayor’s support. I discovered to my cost that the bass was poorly set up and was directly in front of the bank of amplication used by the previous bass guitar- ist. During that rst tune I had to move the bass around constantly, try- ing to stop feedback. The only immediate solution meant that my bass was right in the direction of the piano player’s ear. It took three tunes to nally nd a more appropriate position and to coax the instrument into some sort of musicality. Friends who were with us and did not realize what was going on thought I was out of practice; those who didn’t know me wondered what I was doing and the piano player just thought I was a complete egotist! Bassist Rufus Reid has obviously had similar experi- ences and he said he would play only his own bass and then only after having done a soundcheck.
Jazz criticism seldom pauses to consider the reality of playing live, or the jazz musician’s struggle to survive – and that what is written about a jazz musician can have deleterious effects upon his/her career. This
repackaging of Lennie as cold, cool or no longer hip really seems to me to be trying to nd a way to continue to rationalize false criticism (as Lange suggested), with everyone competing for commercial success.
The marginalization of Lennie and his music always perplexed me and still does concern me personally. The comparative obscurity that now surrounds Lennie and his work was beginning to be apparent during the latter years of his life, though I was back in the UK by then. From com- ments that others who knew him made, I am surmising that professional loneliness did affect him in his latter years, but I was not around then. But in a way, what else would you expect? He gave so much as a player and a teacher, and saw his efforts bypassed or usurped by others.
So a third explanation for why Lennie has not received due recogni- tion also relates to commercial factors that inuence who is or is not heard.
Even in the jazz world of the late forties, commercial exploitation was taking place. I have already mentioned that Joe Glaser had long exploited Louis Armstrong’s talents (albeit to Louis’s advantage) and there had been many commercial bands – those of Artie Shaw and Duke Ellington for example – that were a part of the jazz scene, yet had proved to be money-spinners. Lennie himself at one time had a manager. In the early fties, Nesuhi Ertegun, co-founder with his brother Ahmet of Atlantic Records, was an ardent fan of Lennie and his music. Though I always liked Nesuhi, by 1959, I found him more the impresario and less of a jazz fan than in the early years. In the late fties, he was still recording Lee Konitz and also recorded the Armenian group Norikes (New Dawn) led by the late Chick Ganimian, who played a very jazzy oud. The album Come with
Me to the Casbah also included Armenian clarinettist/saxophonist Souren
Baronian, who had also studied extensively with Lennie (and Lennie’s inuence on Souren, known as “Sudan,” is still evident in his playing today). But Nesuhi was concerned with commercial success. By the late fties Nesuhi’s enthusiasm for Lennie’s music had waned, and he was then involved with more commercial aspects of jazz, such as the music of Ray Charles, Chris Connors, and Charles Mingus.
It has become even more apparent in recent years that promotion has taken an increasingly important role in achieving success. The last generation of the twentieth century has witnessed unparalleled egocen- tricity. Success in these times appears synonymous with self-publicizing. Born in the twenties, the belief was instilled in me that success came merely with achievement – the idea that one had to have a publicity agent just would not have occurred to anyone, so those who relied solely on their achievements were doomed to disappointment if they expected
that achievement alone would bring the world’s attention to their work after the fties. This, I think, happened to Lennie at a time when there was increasing need to compete for jazz work, more jazz musicians were on the scene and commercial interests prevailed.
Recently I came across a rare instance of critical honesty in a London
Times review (June 29, 2004) by jazz critic Clive Davis, admitting that,
although he appreciated Charlie Parker as an innovative jazz musician, he disliked his music. Clive Davis has every right to express his likes and dis- likes, especially having had a lifetime of studying and listening to jazz. Leav- ing aside whether his criticism is objectively valid or not, it does raise an important point. That is to encourage people to be honest about their likes and dislikes, rather than telling them such and such is great, implying that if you don’t agree there’s something wrong with you. But much jazz criticism has erred by building a monolithic picture of what is great and what isn’t, without giving credit to the reality of a multidimensional creative world. Interestingly, readers were asked to email the newspaper on the subject: “Are Some Arts Legends Overrated?” Readers were not asked, however, whether or not there were others who have been underrated.
Lately there is a dawning recognition of what has been described as