Blog Post 5: Jazz and Improvisation: Modern Juilliard

Blog Post #5

Jazz and Improvisation: Modern Juilliard

            The director of my high school jazz band always told me that improvisation was the essence of jazz.  At the time, I partially understood what he meant, but largely dismissed this observation for a number of reasons.  For one, I assumed that this observation was made almost solely to garner enthusiasm for solos in our performances, which many members of the group, myself included, often performed somewhat reluctantly or with trepidation.  However, perhaps one of the main reasons that I did not see jazz as improvisational was that, outside of the band’s performances, which followed written scores with some predesignated solo sections, I had only heard recordings of jazz.  Based on these recordings alone, which preserve a single performance played in a single style, I did not see jazz as an improvisational music, but viewed it as a more standard type of music that still focuses on the typical song structure (melody, harmony, rhythms, etc).  I acknowledged that the portions of jazz songs that I could recognize as “soloes” were typically the most interesting part of jazz songs, especially in bebop songs, so I somewhat agreed with the director on those terms; however, I still viewed the music as less spontaneous and more arranged and calculated.

            However, the content of this class has shown me the significance of improvisation in jazz.  In particular, the work of Miles Davis highlights just how important improvisation can be for jazz.  Having only been exposed to jazz in fixed performances or arranged scores, and being of such a frame of mind that I often had to write out my own solos in order to have a chance at performing well, I would have assumed that the method of producing jazz was less spontaneous and more scripted.  However, the work of Miles Davis is a strong antithesis to this thought, as his music often changed in form and style, both from day to day – Miles claimed that a musician will play differently “any time the weather changes” (300), and across the years as Miles constantly changed his style.  I was especially shocked to discover that Davis often did not write out songs before recording them, as was the case with Kind of Blue (234) ; this particular discovery was also somewhat ironic, as Kind of Blue was among the few jazz CDs I listened to, along with other recordings made mostly by bebop artists, who were also focused on improvisation.

            My misbelief as to the importance of improvisation in jazz seems, to me, to strike an odd parallel with a discussion in lecture about how classical music was originally improvisational.  Although the music was originally composed in spontaneity, when it is studied at places like Juilliard or performed it is treated with such rigid reverence that the thought of the music being spontaneous feels almost absurd.  It is, in part, this sterile treatment of music that drove Miles away from Juilliard to the streets, where true, spontaneous music was happening.  However, as a minor in the modern era, it was difficult to find live, authentic jazz – recordings cannot truly capture the improvisational nature of jazz since the performance that is recorded is fixed, and any live jazz bands I could find were either bands that exclusively covered the standards with little innovation or bands that played exclusively at adults-only clubs – so as a fan of jazz, I had no alternative to the modern Juilliard that is the 21^st century, and by this Juilliard I was grossly misinformed.

Commented on Hawken Ritter’s blog

Blog 4: "Write What You Know": The Connection between Community and Artistry

Blog Post #4

“Write What You Know”: The Connection between Community and Artistry

            One of the most common pieces of advice one might give to a novice writer is to “write what you know”.  The reasoning behind such advice is not difficult to discern: one can more realistically and deeply portray that which they have experienced firsthand, and readers, particularly those who have had similar experiences, will be able to sympathize with the work more easily.  This same reasoning holds just as well for any form of artistic expression, including jazz; therefore, it comes as no surprise that jazz music is often heavily influenced by the community from which it originates, and the music of Leimert Park and Thelonious Monk provide two clear examples of this connection.

            The conditions under which jazz was popularized in Leimert Park, Los Angeles clearly illustrate how the community can influence, and be influenced by, jazz.  Leimert Park was the site of a number of race riots during and after the Civil Rights Movement, and the community responded with a passionate pursuit of the arts, including jazz.  Jazz music in turn helped to unify the community, as people flocked to various jazz scenes in Leimert Park such as 5^th Street Dick’s, where they were able to meet and bond with other members of the community; and this strengthening of the community in turn allowed jazz to prosper.  This clearly shows the influence community can have on jazz: the music came about as a response to the community’s shared experience of violence and riots, and was accepted by members of this community who could sympathize with this experience.

            Perhaps an even clearer example of the influence of community can be found in the music of Thelonious Monk, which, according to Robin D. G. Kelley, has many attributes that clearly reflect his childhood experiences in San Juan Hill in New York.  The influence of the San Juan Hill community is similar in some regards to that of Leimert Park: San Juan Hill also had a history of violence and race riots (17), and Monk’s passion for music was likely driven by the praise and acceptance his music received during his youth.  However, the influence in Monk’s music is more readily apparent and concrete than with the music of Leimert Park; that is, there are specific aspects of the San Juan Hill community that one can hear in his music.  In all honesty, it would be odd if one could not find some influence, as Monk was surrounded by music of all sorts throughout his youth:  Monk received musical training from a number of sources, including his mother, who exposed him to hymnal music, the classically trained Simon Wolf, and stride pianist Alberta Simmons. (26-28) Moreover, Monk was surrounded by musicians in San Juan Hill; as Mary White Ovington discovered when she visited the area, nearly “every household had a musical instrument.”(20)  As one would expect, Monk’s music did display some of these influences; for example, pieces such as Bye-ya and Bemsha Swing are heavily influenced by Caribbean rhythms to which he was exposed in San Juan Hill (23), and the dissonance in his music may reflect the strong racial tensions that Monk witnessed firsthand in the community.  This type of influence is what one signifies when one states “What is jazz? New York, man!”.  The actual choice of New York, while appropriate in my opinion, is irrelevant – the Leimert Park musicians were probably wont to say “What is jazz? Los Angeles, man!” – the point being that the music reflects the experiences of that community.

            Clearly, the music of Monk and Leimert Park display the relationship between jazz (and, in fact, all artistic expression) and the community from which it develops – the music is influenced by the experiences the creator has in the community, and members of the community are able to sympathize with these experiences, and by extension the music.

Commented on Prikita Nandakumar’s blog