Basic Stuff here:
There is a tendency in some people to believe that what they think, say or do is new or unique, in such a way that their ideas can't be quantified, summarised or explained. This notion is especially true of some artists and their work; and it is no less true of some drummers. I'm not going to try and cover every instance, but when it comes to the rudiments, the tendency towards irrationality gets dilated. Ask some guys about the subject and their first response is to poo-poo the rudiments as useless or mechanical shackles that make a player sound like a robot, etc. etc. The funny side is, put the same person behind a kit and listen, and within the first few bars they're going to be playing some kind of rudiment and using the vocabulary throughout. It's inevitable. Imagine trying to write a book without following the rules of language, or using words that don't exist in any language? Yes, it's possible, but no one, save some people with a lot of time on their hands, are going to attempt to read your story.
Point being: the rudiments are the letters and words of drumming; they are the basic grammar of percussion. And, like words, knowing what they are and how to use them can only make you a more powerful and articulate communicator.
3 November 2016
Simulacrums and Deep Ironies: First Thoughts on Jazz in Australia
{I wrote this one a while back, but after attending the local Jazz Conservatory for a year, it seems even more relevant. I would probably trim off some of it, but I haven't at this point. My first impressions have been confirmed again and again. But the fragility of life here has also made me a little more sympathetic towards those struggling with identity and cultural expression. It is a strange thing to feel like an outsider in a culture that loves to adopt the culture I came from. I'm still trying to understand all that.}
Having recently relocated to Adelaide from the United States, I am suffering from the inevitable expat dissonance that occurs when crossing borders, ones both cultural and geographical. For all the talk of being cousins, and the shouldering of the Great Game shared with my country’s armed forces, I have discovered that I am, in fact, in a different land.
Wrapping one’s head around the differences, adjusting to the rhythms of life and understanding the social context takes some effort, and some of it involves discerning the “what is just me” from the “what is just them” kind of stuff. I have found myself fending off prejudices aimed at a fantastical America that in many regards does not exist. Granted, America has made quite a name for itself in the past decade, but Americans are not a monolithic lot of myopic folks armed to the teeth and dressed in camo. Having actually met many Americans, having lived in and all over the states for my entire life, I promise this is not the case. However, there is a defining element in regards to America that is hard for an outsider to grasp and gives the nation a color that eludes the understanding until you have actually experienced it: the middle-class. No other country has it, and it is what defines the social life of the country; it is the central defining reality that makes America so appealing to the immigrant- the possibility of upward mobility and stability for everyone regardless of class status.
In contrast, Adelaide SA has no middle-class. It has instead a class system based on the English binary-structure of aristocracy and workers. In Adelaide this is represented by the two education tracks on offer: University or TAFE. The products of the private secondary schools attend the former, those of the public the latter. This is the pattern, and from what I have learned the exceptions simply prove this rule. Once one enters into one or the other class, the status is permanent. There is no porous border for upward mobility and the glass ceiling is thick.
This may seem like one big introduction to a piece on local jazz music, but I needed to give some context to this because jazz is a very contextual and culturally based music form. It has its foundations in democratic ideals of equality and personal expression, reflecting the social context in which it originated. The three key elements of jazz — swing, improvisation and individual voicings in a group context — are each aesthetic reflections of a society in which the ideals of freedom, social equality and interaction are held as real possibilities if not current realities. In other words, jazz is not essentially aristocratic. Truly, it stands as an artistic weapon against it, as a music that was made by outsiders.
Which brings me to a deep irony that seems to pervade the jazz scene in the city. Most, if not all, of the players that make up the local jazz scene here were educated in the private school system and then graduated from the University of Adelaide Elder Conservatory Jazz Program. There is, perhaps, nothing essentially wrong with this kind of musical education, but the importation of a cultural expression into a system that at root opposes that expressions’ basic essentials will inevitably strip it of the spirit which gave it birth. An authentic expression of the underlying ideals will be superseded by chops and technique, the social life of the musos based around academic accomplishment, formal recognitions and awards from other institutional bodies.
All of this is far-removed from the patterns of personal mentorship, group learning and informal access that exists as the defining character of the community of jazz within its country of origin. It could be argued that Miles went to Juliard, but his real story is well known — it lasted a truncated year — his real apprenticeship was playing with Parker on 52nd and learning in Gil Evans’ basement apartment. This kind of personal, first-hand, non-institutional learning was not the exception, but the normal way in which the art-form developed. The music reflected the social context in an authentic way — form and content were one, which is the essential element in any truly creative expression.
The few jazz shows I have attended in the city were lead and well attended by University Conservatory members. Tuesday nights at Live on Light Square, the Chris Soole Quartet holds a residency performance. The set I heard was primarily fusion tunes by Weather Report, Mahuvishnu Orchestra and a few originals by Mr. Soole. His style is reminiscent of Joe Lovano and a later Sonny Rollins — warm, rounded notes and well spaced phrasing. He clearly has a grasp of his instrument and the music, and cannot be faulted as a musician of technical virtuosity. Mr. Soole is also a teacher at the Conservatory. His group consisted of Elder graduates.
I also attended a show featuring Only the Sky, a group that defines itself as post-rock, jazz. Again, the band was made up of Elder students, some of whom brought their music stands and sheets with them on stage (as either a show of ignorance or hubris, it was hard to tell). The songs were styled around open chordings and non-syncopated, rock beats (although the drummer played a bebop style kit that was barely audible above the electric guitar), with horns and a vibraphonist. My first thought was “Tortoise made it to town without one of their drummers”. The parallels between the Adelaide and the Chicago band were uncanny, if not intentional.
In both of these shows emulation was the central motive, not origination or exploration. This was not only evident in the songs, but in the tone and approach of the players. Improvisation and individuality were superseded by an adherence to written composition and previous forms of expression created by others. Rather than improvisations built up around standard songs, or heads of tunes, the performances were imitations of previous versions from recordings. I could have gone home, played the record and heard it again. Simply put, the performances were academic. The music was all effect without real, heart-felt expression; mildly entertaining pieces of pieces.
This is not to say that there are not some deeply talented players involved in both instances. There are clearly some deep chops in the Adelaide scene, but the ideals of the music’s roots are lost in the aristocratic, academic context and so goes the vitality of the music itself. What is essentially a very specific Western expression — based squarely upon the ideals mentioned above — has been co-opted by a system that is wholly class-based, even English, in its values of access, quality and personal expression. A recorded piece of music is viewed as a static ideal that implies a mirror performance by the player. Academic histrionics has created a jazz world where Miles plays “So What” the same way over and over and over again. This is not creativity, but simply an effect of it, a periphery movement of a movement.
Of course the kind of deep talent that is entering into and graduating from the system that currently exists could very well produce a new kind of expression, but it will require a self-awareness and willingness to abandon the importation of ideas foreign to their own context.
Having recently relocated to Adelaide from the United States, I am suffering from the inevitable expat dissonance that occurs when crossing borders, ones both cultural and geographical. For all the talk of being cousins, and the shouldering of the Great Game shared with my country’s armed forces, I have discovered that I am, in fact, in a different land.
Wrapping one’s head around the differences, adjusting to the rhythms of life and understanding the social context takes some effort, and some of it involves discerning the “what is just me” from the “what is just them” kind of stuff. I have found myself fending off prejudices aimed at a fantastical America that in many regards does not exist. Granted, America has made quite a name for itself in the past decade, but Americans are not a monolithic lot of myopic folks armed to the teeth and dressed in camo. Having actually met many Americans, having lived in and all over the states for my entire life, I promise this is not the case. However, there is a defining element in regards to America that is hard for an outsider to grasp and gives the nation a color that eludes the understanding until you have actually experienced it: the middle-class. No other country has it, and it is what defines the social life of the country; it is the central defining reality that makes America so appealing to the immigrant- the possibility of upward mobility and stability for everyone regardless of class status.
In contrast, Adelaide SA has no middle-class. It has instead a class system based on the English binary-structure of aristocracy and workers. In Adelaide this is represented by the two education tracks on offer: University or TAFE. The products of the private secondary schools attend the former, those of the public the latter. This is the pattern, and from what I have learned the exceptions simply prove this rule. Once one enters into one or the other class, the status is permanent. There is no porous border for upward mobility and the glass ceiling is thick.
This may seem like one big introduction to a piece on local jazz music, but I needed to give some context to this because jazz is a very contextual and culturally based music form. It has its foundations in democratic ideals of equality and personal expression, reflecting the social context in which it originated. The three key elements of jazz — swing, improvisation and individual voicings in a group context — are each aesthetic reflections of a society in which the ideals of freedom, social equality and interaction are held as real possibilities if not current realities. In other words, jazz is not essentially aristocratic. Truly, it stands as an artistic weapon against it, as a music that was made by outsiders.
Which brings me to a deep irony that seems to pervade the jazz scene in the city. Most, if not all, of the players that make up the local jazz scene here were educated in the private school system and then graduated from the University of Adelaide Elder Conservatory Jazz Program. There is, perhaps, nothing essentially wrong with this kind of musical education, but the importation of a cultural expression into a system that at root opposes that expressions’ basic essentials will inevitably strip it of the spirit which gave it birth. An authentic expression of the underlying ideals will be superseded by chops and technique, the social life of the musos based around academic accomplishment, formal recognitions and awards from other institutional bodies.
All of this is far-removed from the patterns of personal mentorship, group learning and informal access that exists as the defining character of the community of jazz within its country of origin. It could be argued that Miles went to Juliard, but his real story is well known — it lasted a truncated year — his real apprenticeship was playing with Parker on 52nd and learning in Gil Evans’ basement apartment. This kind of personal, first-hand, non-institutional learning was not the exception, but the normal way in which the art-form developed. The music reflected the social context in an authentic way — form and content were one, which is the essential element in any truly creative expression.
The few jazz shows I have attended in the city were lead and well attended by University Conservatory members. Tuesday nights at Live on Light Square, the Chris Soole Quartet holds a residency performance. The set I heard was primarily fusion tunes by Weather Report, Mahuvishnu Orchestra and a few originals by Mr. Soole. His style is reminiscent of Joe Lovano and a later Sonny Rollins — warm, rounded notes and well spaced phrasing. He clearly has a grasp of his instrument and the music, and cannot be faulted as a musician of technical virtuosity. Mr. Soole is also a teacher at the Conservatory. His group consisted of Elder graduates.
I also attended a show featuring Only the Sky, a group that defines itself as post-rock, jazz. Again, the band was made up of Elder students, some of whom brought their music stands and sheets with them on stage (as either a show of ignorance or hubris, it was hard to tell). The songs were styled around open chordings and non-syncopated, rock beats (although the drummer played a bebop style kit that was barely audible above the electric guitar), with horns and a vibraphonist. My first thought was “Tortoise made it to town without one of their drummers”. The parallels between the Adelaide and the Chicago band were uncanny, if not intentional.
In both of these shows emulation was the central motive, not origination or exploration. This was not only evident in the songs, but in the tone and approach of the players. Improvisation and individuality were superseded by an adherence to written composition and previous forms of expression created by others. Rather than improvisations built up around standard songs, or heads of tunes, the performances were imitations of previous versions from recordings. I could have gone home, played the record and heard it again. Simply put, the performances were academic. The music was all effect without real, heart-felt expression; mildly entertaining pieces of pieces.
This is not to say that there are not some deeply talented players involved in both instances. There are clearly some deep chops in the Adelaide scene, but the ideals of the music’s roots are lost in the aristocratic, academic context and so goes the vitality of the music itself. What is essentially a very specific Western expression — based squarely upon the ideals mentioned above — has been co-opted by a system that is wholly class-based, even English, in its values of access, quality and personal expression. A recorded piece of music is viewed as a static ideal that implies a mirror performance by the player. Academic histrionics has created a jazz world where Miles plays “So What” the same way over and over and over again. This is not creativity, but simply an effect of it, a periphery movement of a movement.
Of course the kind of deep talent that is entering into and graduating from the system that currently exists could very well produce a new kind of expression, but it will require a self-awareness and willingness to abandon the importation of ideas foreign to their own context.
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