clazz or jassical?

The Ornette Coleman Pulitzer Prize news on the web is fascinating. The original AP wire service story by Jake Coyle has the following opening:

"Ornette Coleman won the Pulitzer Prize for music on Monday for his 2006 album, Sound Grammar, the first jazz work to be bestowed with the honor.

The alto saxophonist and visionary who led the free jazz movement in the 1950s and 1960s, won the Pulitzer at age 77 for his first live recording in 20 years. The only other jazz artist to win a Pulitzer is Wynton Marsalis, who won in 1997 for his classical piece, Blood on the Fields."

Apparently uncomfortable making the jazz versus classical distinction, several publications used the AP article but changed the lead to something like this, from the International Herald Tribune:

"Ornette Coleman won the Pulitzer Prize for music on Monday for his 2006 album, "Sound Grammar," the second jazz artist to receive the honor."

The Boston Globe's Jeremy Eichler ran a strange piece under the headline "Classical Music has Nothing to Fear from Pulitzer Going to Jazz Artist." Yehudi Wyner, a classical composer who recently won a Pulitzer, and who was on the nominating jury, is quoted as saying, "Classical music is very much a minority art, and in some sense, recognition by an august agency helps keep it alive, or keeps its prestige alive. But the idea that jazz, this most vital and participatory American art form, was in no way recognized and was actually shunted aside, it's scandalous. It's unconscionable."

Several writers indicate that Coleman "blends classical and free jazz" techniques in his creative process.

The struggle continues, even among certified professional experts, to make sense of American culture.

snow. mud. spring.

The view from my motel room in Chama, Tuesday morning, 7 a.m.

By Wednesday, the day of the performances of the Chama and Tierra Amarilla student operas ("Dallas Stadium Fan Fight" and "A Blast of the Past," respectively) it was sunny and warm enough for the ice to turn to water. Water that saturated the clay bog at the bottom of a driveway off a dirt road about 7 miles from Chama where I tried to turn my car around in the break between dress rehearsal and performance. A clay bog that ate my car. An hour and a half before set up for the shows. I tried the old trick of jamming rocks, sticks, dry dirt under the front wheels, to absolutely no avail. In fact, the more I tried to rock the car out of the saturated and colloidal clay, the more the front end of the car sunk. By this time there was about 10 pounds of mud in the car itself, from the bottom of my shoes.

However, not only was there a cell phone signal out there (Verizon comes through) but also: I called information, got the number for the hotel my teaching partner had gone to (checking in early for his parents), called the number and got through to him. So he headed out to rescue me. I stood up on the road's shoulder, waiting, when a huge F350 pickup approached. The fine gentleman and his wife were on their way to a meadow to watch deer. Instead, he went back to his house and got a Polaris 4-wheeler, enough rope to reach into several bogs, and in no time the car was hauled back to navigable road. I think his name was Bob Marshall, and he'd just retired to Chama from Tallahassee. "Lucky we came this way," he said. "There's nothing up this way at all."

The students did a great job performing their operas too. Nearly 300 people came. There are 1,200 residents of Chama. Let's see...if I could get 25% of Santa Fe's residents to come to my next show...that would be about 17,500 people.

Played a lot of Andrew Hill's music on the radio show yesterday. I realized that the best way to listen to Hill is with headphones, eyes closed, no distractions. Just how extraordinary his work was comes through clearly that way. Especially the dense, dissonant altered chords, suspensions and twists and turns.

Also played some Roscoe Mitchell in preparation for his performance in Albuquerque on May 19. Tnoona, The Key, the version of Line Fine Lyon Seven from his Black Saint Sound and Space Ensemble recording. A brief alto solo from his three CD solo release on Mutable Records. Looking forward to working more Roscoe Mitchell in over the next few shows.

Chama

A group of flowering cacti from last week: right side, top to bottom, Strombocactus disciformis, Echinocereus russanthus, Escobaria organensis, Stenocactus vaupelianus; left side, top to bottom, Echinocereus russanthus "weedinii," Escobaria sneedii, Mammillaria viridiflora. Lophophora diffusa off to the side.

So I'm in Chama for the next 4 days, doing two 4th/5th grade opera projects...10 and 11 year olds writing their own operas in a total of ten hours. Chama's project involves football players, aliens and superheros. The big problem: a superhero and an alien both fall in love with the same football player. At Tierra Amarilla, the story includes secret agents, knights and outlaws of the old west. The big problem: a secret agent has created a hole in the time space continuum by using her gadget; a knight falls in love with her and a cowgirl falls in love with the knight. What is up with all this love business? I've done 5 other operas with kids and not one of them involved even a hint of love.

Chama is at about 8,000 feet, along a road (US Highway 84) that turns into NM 17, heading directly for the snowy passes of the high Rockies. An elk, just one, lumbered along the road just outside of town yesterday. Mule deer, Canada geese, huge pine trees. Only a handful of people. The big news at noon yesterday on the local radio station: next year's middle school basketball program is lacking funds, which will mean having to combine Chama and Tierra Amarilla students onto one team.

Tierra Amarilla, by the way, is most famous for the Land Grant rebellions of the 1960s, including the raid on the US Courthouse.

Just outside the town, there's a billboard that says "Tierra o Muerte!"

It's no wonder the knights and the cowpokes in the TA opera get in a fight over who owns the land.

It seems quite a few people have stopped by to download the Duology files (a couple of posts down) but there's been an eerie silence afterwards. I expected some sort of critical feedback (though I didn't explicitly ask for any) and I guess I envision someone downloading them, listening, and being too enraged, disgusted, bored or embarrassed to comment. This is the neighborhood my mind wanders in when it encounters a lack of information.

I don't watch television, so a stay at a motel is always fascinating. Wednesday and Thursday night I mostly watched The Twilight Zone and The X Files, avoiding the incessant and harrowing coverage of the Virgina Tech shootings. I did see some of the shooter's video. Maybe the only clip that I saw of that was when he said "So this is it. The end of the line. What a life. Some life." Or something like that. And I guess the only thought I had was "where is everybody? All along the way, as someone becomes submerged in psychopathic grief, rage, loneliness...where was everybody?"

long time no see

Pediocactus simpsonii in the foothills of the Sangre de Christo Mountains, near Tesuque, NM.
It's right there, under the pine cone. The top one has 15 flower buds; the shiny object to the lower left is a quarter for scale.

Yesterday was the first day in a while that fell on a weekend and was suitable for heading out into the mountains. At least we didn't get 8 inches of rain. My sympathies to our east coast readers.

Thanks to all who stopped by and downloaded the Duology files. The usual post-event wasteland syndrome (pews) has set in out here in the Rockies. It's as if all my musician friends have gone to law school or had major surgery. (which is worse?) Actually, Ruth Zaporah and I will be setting up a monthly series of improvisational performance events here, I think. Monthly might be far too frequent, however, given the lack of staying power of the typical Santa Fe audience.

I'm in another one of those periods where I'm sick of music. Sick of people writing about it anyway. The great conversation on the internet also involves encountering arrogance, quibbling, oneupmanship (is that a word?) and all sorts of bizarre posturing. There's still fresh and engaging (and sometimes disturbing) stuff such as Stanley Zappa's site
and Chris Rich's refreshing blasts, etc. But I haven't had time to really engage and when I hurry, the cumulative effect is one of only picking up on the annoying or benighted comments (such as a few of the comments on the Larry Young post at Destination Out).

duology links

Now, for a limited time! Absolutely free! No obligation to buy!

Each file is about 10 megs so take your time. Don't listen in your browser, but download.

duets with:

Mark Weaver, tuba

Ruth Zaporah, movement/voice artist

Chris Jonas, soprano and tenor sax

Jeremy Bleich, percussion and oud

Paul Brown, bass

Mike Rowland, drums

These are in the order presented during the concert (which was derived by drawing names out of a hat). I'm on piano each time.

taxonomy, jazz death III, language games

The above two cacti are considered the same species by most botanists. Echinocereus russanthus. The blonde on the left is sometimes called Echinocereus russanthus v. weedinii. But usually the two forms are lumped into synonymy.

Which brings me to another series of thoughts about jazz death. Jazz taxonomy is a nightmare. In botany, there's two opposed camps: the lumpers and the splitters. Basically, the lumpers look for similarities and the splitters look for differences. In the cactus family, the lumpers acknowledge something like 1200 species. The splitters, 3,500. There's clearly jazz splitters and jazz lumpers as well.

The best thing of all is when musicians and critics get rid of the term "jazz" altogether. It's the best thing because it squelches the discussion at the root. Can't claim jazz is dead if there's no such thing as jazz. haha. It's just music. But this isn't satisfactory at all for those who hold to phrases such as "the jazz tradition" or "jazz history." Or even tyros who have the balls to use a phrase like "Free Jazz Classics." It's as if some people would rather have a clearly defined form that is, in fact, dead, than not have a category at all. Lots of "jazz organizations" talk about their mission as one of "preserving the rich heritage of America's unique art form." Preserving. A fetus in a jar. Well, a young adult anyway. According to Professor Darius Brubeck jazz started to die in 1959, at about 39 years old.

Splitters want all the genres as specifically identified as possible. The extremes take what most people with passing familiarity would hear as one genre and atomize it. Free jazz, for example. What an idiotic name for a form of musical expression, first of all. Free jazz splitters go with experimental, avant garde, free improv, modal, creative music, third stream, modern jazz, collective improv, free fusion, harmolodics, new music, etc. Probably a bunch of apparent "types" that I'm forgetting. Every one of these categories is vague and linguistically unsatisfactory. All music is new, for example. Neoism is easily fetishized. Neoism is as much of a suffocating ideology as "preservation."

One of the comments appended to a YouTube video of the Miles Davis Quintet circa 1969, with DeJohnette, Holland, Corea and Shorter: "It's too free for me." Who gives a rat's ass? What makes people feel compelled to displays such as that? Or the following comment in the wooly threads under one of Cecil Taylor's videos: "He's been playing the same song for 30 years." It's endless. The most abundant element isn't hydrogen, but stupidity. etc.

Looking back at the racist, fascist and tragicomic history of jazz itself, the plantation/exploitation system, the pathetic co-optation by white hipsters in search of street cred, the ridiculous narrow mindedness of the American arts consumer in general, the internecine warfare among musicians and critics alike (Max Roach assaulting Ornette, rich white boys John Hammond and Leonard Feather arguing about Duke in the 1940s, Wynton's cabal gutting the amazing music that was already going on contemporaneously with the rise of the "neo-mainstream" movement), Chris Botti and Candy Dulfer and Sophie Millman (among the worst) and the Young Pussycats not far behind...it's a sickening spectacle, really. Jazz, word and ubergenre, die, die, die. Haven't we heard enough of what people think jazz is?

On KSFR, where I host a weekly show, there's another weekly program called "Giants of Jazz." Last fall, when my show was new and causing some raised eyebrows (specifically, playing The Artist in America from OC's Skies of America back to back with Jump Up from Jimmy Lyons/Sunny Murray/John Lindberg) "Giants of Jazz" featured two hours of...Bill Charlap. Yeah. Bill Fuckin' Charlap. Die, jazz, die!!

spring snow

Part of the unrelenting charm of living at the southern end of the Rockies at 7,000 feet: seasonal transitions that often involve unpredictable events. A sudden plunge in temperatures last night and 2 inches of snow, for example, but with the predicted high temp today up into the 60s again. Fruit trees often push out flowers at the first sign of warmer weather and then get slammed with the return of frost and snow. Of course the indigenous denizens around here are adapted for these extreme fluctuations. It's the invaders like myself (even after 24 years I'm still not a local) who get our blossoms battered.

The view of the mist and snow in the foothills (haha, "foothills" that go up as high as 9,000 feet) from the un's apartment at sunset or in the almost-full moonlight yesterday is one way of accessing humility. Living in an environment where there are frequent reminders that we carve out a bare existence shaped by a meager generosity and vivid drama, maybe we get perspective. Having also lived in Philadelphia, Boston, New York and Los Angeles, as well as Bethlehem, PA, what's most apparent in Santa Fe is that humans persist in spite of the distinctly inhospitable environment, not in any dominant or prolific way but tenaciously, tentatively. Even with the relatively huge increase in population over the past 20 years, it's no wonder that New Mexico, the fourth largest state in the US, hosts a mere 2 million puny humans. Roughly 15 people per square mile. And that's artificially inflated by the few "urban" areas. The more rural areas have 4 or fewer people per square mile. Compare to the population of Manhattan, nearly equal to the population of the entire state of New Mexico, with almost 70,000 people per square mile. Or even Phoenix, AZ with about 2,800 people per square mile.

Masochist? Misanthrope? New Mexico's for you! (not the official New Mexico promotional slogan....which I think is still "The Land of Enchantment.")

Insect Trust in the background doing Glade Song, from 1970's Hoboken Saturday Night, hosting Elvin Jones on the drums. "You bring your toys to my house, I will open up the gate, we'll spend the day together making the sun shine. You bring your can to my house, I will open up the can, we'll spend the day together eating a sandwich." If anyone knows how Elvin Jones ended up on this recording, I'd love to hear the story.

My ex-wife's dog passed away Thursday. Kita (a Great Pyrenees/Akita mix) was a beautiful, noble and dignified beast with a few flashes of surprisingly clownish ways. I become massively attached to dogs; it's a sense of real loss for Kita to be gone. But for JG, I can't imagine how global a feeling it must be, as she was inseparable from Kita for 15 years.

I'll be setting up some kind of web platform to host audio files and some of the Duology duets will probably go up first. More info on that later.

opera madness

One of my day gigs is working as an artist-in-residence (fancy huh?) for the Santa Fe Opera in their Student Produced Opera program. The format is that a theater artist and a composer visit public schools and work with groups of kids age 5-12 to help them write the libretti and music for their own operas. The projects culminate in a public performance, with one of the projects that I started back in October going up last night.

The Nava Elementary after school program was proud to present When Doom Comes Alive, the story of a magic horse who wears the Golden Wreath of Truth, the Dreadful Doctor of Doom who captures the horse because he wants the wreath, and the heroic Escogida family who are swept into the Doctor of Doom's castle by a tornado and imprisoned by meteors but somehow manage to put the Golden Wreath of Truth back on the horse's neck and lead it back to earth, followed by the Dreadful Doctor of Doom who is transformed, once back on earth, into the Daring Doctor of Daylight (who also just happens to be the family's long lost Uncle David).

Tonight, Salazar Elementary offers the world premiere of Operation: Egypt, in which the evil Queen Kryses has stolen all of the world's stories and is keeping them in her tomb and the courageous Agent 21X 006 and his Sidekick travel to Egypt, are captured by mummies, rescued by centipedes and spiders, and return the stories to the children of the world.

Somehow the kids on both projects came up with stories that are no more nor less bizarre than many swanky classic operas. The music ain't Mozart, however. But there are some surprisingly complicated bits, especially rhythmically, that the kids are managing to pull off. Like the mummy rap:

We know your secrets, secret agent
Like that clean, cotton underwear that you wear,
Glowing in the dark under there, there, there
You're really just a scaredy cat
You're really just a scaredy cat
(repeat)

wha happen?

Duology went remarkably well. Steve Schmidt from Fly on the Wall Productions did a digital recording and burned me a copy on the spot; haven't heard it yet. Somehow zeroing in on six different performers in six back to back duets worked out; especially cool because I had never done a duet with any of them. Ruth Zaporah and I met for the first time at 7:15 in front of the performance space. She called it a blind date.

I got comfortable eventually with the Yamaha grand. These expensive pianos are not properly maintained very often. Uneven action, in particular. There's a lot of great piano tuners around here because of the classical scene but where's the techs to build an even action across the octaves? Also, the preferred tuning locally sweetens the upper-mid register too much, again a reflection of classical priorities. The intonation of the lower two octaves is often so sloppy it's embarrassing. Finally, Yamahas are designed to cut through behemoth orchestras; the upper octaves are brighter than polished silver. It's a shame, because the quality of the box itself is high-- would a little warmth kill anybody? It's got that horrifying music box sound up there. I guess I need to win the lottery and buy a Bosendorfer.

Each duet presented unique opportunities and challenges. I drew the names out of a hat and Mark Weaver on tuba came up first. It's a shame anyone has to go first, really. But Mark wrestled that sucker to the ground. I had trouble hearing him for a bit and realized two things: I was playing too loud. I was in the low end too much. We locked eventually. Ruth Zaporah started behind me, out of my sightline, and yet I could feel the sphere of her energy radiating out, could listen and respond, intensely tuned (at one point the hair on the back of my neck stood up). Chris Jonas tore off the top of my head and handed me a new pair of shoes. Jeremy Bleich's oud playing brought tears to my eyes. Paul Brown's bass shifted, turned, elbowed angular lines. Mike Rowland played with astounding dynamic range and ferocious energy throughout...even in the quiet sections. I owe all of them a debt of gratitude.

Here's the thing: it's been a good while since I performed completely improvised music, especially so focused on the piano. I intentionally did not practice leading up to the show. I know that might sound strange but I decided to get in fresh, try not to bring anything at all (other than a pre-existing 25 year relationship of sorts with the piano). I had never performed a duet on piano with any of the artists and had never even met RZ. Needless to say I was completely and totally absolutely freaking out in the days leading up to this, especially yesterday afternoon. I used to drink a lot in an effort to manage those feelings of horror, nakedness, anxiety; the different thing is being with that set of demons and just riding it out. I kept chiding myself for not being able to center, to be peaceful and serene, and then I realized that was pretty damned funny.

Anyway I had a great time and the players and audience seemed to as well.

Duology Two in the works already. Jeremy suggested we try Triology One. What I wanted to do was call everyone up on stage and do a septet piece, but I didn't want to create an opportunity for noodling and aimlessness, which was mostly (miraculously) absent up until then. Maybe we can try a group piece next time.

DUOLOGY one

Duology One

Peter Breslin and Friends present an evening of improvised duets.

Saturday, March 24, 8 pm. $10. O'Shaughnessy Performance Space, Benildus Hall, The College of Santa Fe, 1600 St. Michael's Drive. Call 670-1500 for more information.

Improvising performers include Jeremy Bleich, multiple instruments; Peter Breslin, piano; Paul Brown, bass viol; Chris Jonas, saxophones; Mike Rowland, drums; Mark Weaver, tuba; Ruth Zaporah, voice and movement.

Duology, the study of twos. Duets carved out of fat air. Improvisation in a fairly pure form, with no prior discussion, lead sheets, arrangements or composed themes. In the moment, of the moment, out of the moment, arising from long-standing or completely non-pre-existent creative partnerships. Breslin has never performed with Rowland (his former drum student) nor with Zaporah. Has never played piano with Brown nor Weaver. Has never played a duet with Jonas.

Each participant brings vitally fresh energies coupled with depth of experience.

Performer's Bios

Jeremy Bleich incorporates a wide palette of culture, ancient and modern instruments, traditions and forms as well as electronic manipulation into the creative process of composing, performing and recording music. His approach to the electric bass and the oud have earned him a reputation internationally as an innovator. Jeremy is focused on producing music that captures the essence and meaning behind the process of creating it. He resides in Santa Fe, New Mexico where he is involved with presenting new music, as well as composing and teaching. Jeremy is a member of the critically acclaimed group birth and has performed and/or recorded with Coung Vu (Pat Metheny Group), Joe Maneri, Jeff Coffen (Bela Fleck), Chris Jonas, Carmen Castaldi, (Joe Lovano), Brook Martinez (barky!), Kevin McCarthy and Nashville songwriters Rick Elias (Ragamuffins) and Jason White. He has played the oud in collaboration w/ Mustafa Stephan Dill (SAMA trio), Andrew Stoltz (laptop musician/composer), and Rahim Alhaj (Iraqi oudist). He has recorded for MCA Records, Hopscotch Records, High Mayhem and INS labels.

Peter Breslin is a percussionist, pianist, composer and teacher who has performed extensively on the east coast and in the southwest. He studied drums with Andrew Cyrille in New York and piano with Shirley Ling in Philadelphia. In northern New Mexico, he has performed on piano in several large ensemble concerts of original composed and improvised music, as well as appeared on drums with a variety of groups, including Mingus Amongus, The John Clark Quintet, The Gluey Brothers, The African Space Program, Mad Trio, Bing, The Miles Davis Electric Project and Rrake. Breslin recently organized, arranged and conducted the Miles Davis Electric Project, a cadre of 14 local musicians re-examining Miles Davis's music from 1970-1975. Currently, Breslin is an artist-in-residence with the Santa Fe Opera's Student Produced Opera Program, and writes on the arts for The Santa Fe Reporter. Breslin broadcasts a weekly creative composed and improvised music program on KSFR, 90.7 FM, Santa Fe Public Radio called "Inside Out," every Thursday from 1-3 pm.

Paul Brown has been playing music for 33 years, studying bass with
Greg Mooter and Rich Appleman at the Berklee College of Music in
Boston, and oud (middle eastern lute) with Haig Manoukian and Necati
Çelik in Mendocino, Calif. He is a specialist in Balkan and Turkish
music, especially as they relate to groove and improvisation. A
recent (re)transplant to Santa Fe, he plays with many groups across
the country, and is starting to play locally as well, with Chris
Jonas' Rrake, Polly Tapia Ferber and Round Mountain, among others.

Mike Rowland has found himself playing drums in miscellaneous weird bands, touring and doing recording projects in Pacific Northwest from 1986-1997, including work with 11 Phantoms, Delilah, Pinewood Derby, and the infamous Rockn' Rod and The Strychnines. Rowland moved to Santa Fe in Spring 1998 and hooked up with Yozo Suzuki and Dierdre Morris, forming the legendary Candy From Strangers, as well as playing in Invisible Plane. Rowland is a Board member and co-founder of High Mayhem (IDEA: Institute for the Development of Experimental Arts). Currently, Rowland plays in The Late Severa Wires. His side projects include The QT, a percussion driven experimental ensemble and guest appearances with We Drew Lightning and The Pedal Pushers.

Chris Jonas of Santa Fe, New Mexico is a composer, multimedia/visual artist and soprano/tenor saxophone player. Jonas has gained recent international attention for his work leading the New York-based ensembles The Sun Spits Cherries, the Jonas Cork Ensemble (a mixture of Irish and Congolese musicians from Cork, Ireland), the Santa Fe poly groove band, Rrake, the collective EU-US quartet amitosis, and along with co-leader and life partner Molly Sturges a neo-Ethiopian pop groove band BING (of annual silent film soundtracks at
the Lensic and Circus Luminous). He is also well known for his 1990s
tenure as a saxophone player and side-man to New York City jazz musicians
and composers Anthony Braxton, William Parker, Cecil Taylor, The Brooklyn
Sax Quartet and in Butch Morris‘ conduction ensembles. Additionally, Jonas
has also become well known for composing and guest-conducting ensembles
all over the US and Europe, receiving commissions for works for
orchestras, circus noir, soundtracks, installations and new music
ensembles. Jonas also works as an intermedia artist, combining music,
performance, video and new media into structures for performance.

Mark Weaver (an architect by profession) has been playing low-brass instruments since 1970. Primarily self-taught, Mark studied the wind instrument methods of Arnold Jacobs with his student Steve Rossé (now principal tuba, Sydney Symphony Orchestra) in 1989-90. His musical interests have been broad, leading him to involvements with a wide range of ensembles. Currently, Mark is a member of the following ensembles: Brassum, a unique brass+drums quartet performing Weacer;s original compositions, with Dan Clucas, Michael Vlatkovich, Weaver on tuba, and Harris Eisenstadt; Rumble Trio – (Mike Balistreri-dbl bass/percussion, Ben Wright-dbl bass/saw, and MW-tuba) with guests including Jack Wright, Dan Clucas, Tom Leith, Alan Lechusza, Dave Nielsen, Dave Wayne, and Sara Schoenbeck; Selsun Blue – Albuquerque street band quartet with a down-home off-beat approach, led by L.B. Smith with instrumentation including dobro, banjo, guitar, tuba, vocals, drums. Mark has performed in ensembles led by trombonist/composer Michael Vlatkovich, trumpeter/composer Jeff Kaiser, multi-instrumentalist/composer J.A. Deane, pianist/composer Christopher Adler, bassist/composer David Parlato, composer/arranger Jack Manno, percussionist/composer Harris Eisenstadt, multi-instrumentalist/composer Alan Lechusza, dbl-bassist Damon Smith, trumpeter/composer Dan Clucas, saxophonist-composer Chris Jonas and vocalist Patti Littlefield. He considers these artists to have been his teachers, in the absence of a formal music education.

Ruth Zaporah's work established her as one of the San Francisco Bay Area's pre-eminent solo performers. Zaporah recently relocated to Santa Fe, a return to her home town. She is a master of improvisational performance, a master of dramatic action. Her scripts are created in the moment-to-moment process of performance, never to be repeated. Zaporah is a dancer, an actress, a mime. She is a performer who can transform her being into characters of great variety. These characters have extra-ordinary, archetypal dimensions, illuminated by her unique use of language, gesture and her freedom of mind. She dances and sounds, creating environments and moods. Zaporah is funny; she's moving; she's entertaining. Zaporah's book, _The Improvisation of Presence_, is a vital guide to the spirit of improvisation in performance. Zaporah is a teacher of these particular skills of performing, which she calls ACTION THEATER. Ruth's training awakens spontaneity, present awareness, and a sense of play. For her audience and students alike, Zaporah's theater offers a lesson by example: Every action becomes exciting the moment we pay it our undivided attention.

*************************************************************************************

in other news:

Okay, so I finished drafts of all 4 sections of the Santa Fe Reporter's Annual Manual. You know those ideas that hit you and you never do anything about them? The idea I had last year was to collect all the news related to the four sections I did then, (same as this year-- Jobs and Business, Education, House and Garden, Health and Wellness) and have all of that info at my fingertips for the 2007 versions. Of course, I never did this, not even for a week or two after I finished last year. That meant hours of research into news archives, City Council web pages, State of New Mexico government pages, a huge number of websites regarding housing, commerce, real estate, water conservation, alternative energy, health care laws, etc. It's Wednesday morning and I've already forgotten just about everything I knew yesterday. Then there's the strange necessity of double checking city and state web sites by calling info and other numbers on the phone...for example, 6 weeks after local School Board elections, the Santa Fe Public Schools had not updated their website information on the new Board members or officer positions. Santa Fe charm. Land of Manana. Stupid.

Spinning now: Lester Bowie's solo about 17 minutes into "Oh, Strange" from The Art Ensemble of Chicago's Live in Paris, recorded October 5, 1969. It's one of my favorite Lester Bowie statements from any AEC recording. I've had the two album vinyl from Affinity since about 1980; Emery sent along the 2003 2-CD set from Charly. The vinyl is nearly unplayable, so it's amazing to have yet another resurrection experience. Small appreciation: many CDs of extended improvised performances blend the LP sides together on the reissue. It's great to hear the set unfold over something closer to its entire length without having to flip the LP.

Sunny and warm. That's the weather.

a break from copy whoring

The un several days before Christmas in La Mision.

I've got several thousand words of copy due to the Santa Fe Reporter for the special Annual Manual issue, a comprehensive guide to living in Santa Fe, by Wednesday (with my own personal goal of getting the sections in early). What does it say about this crazy mountain town that two of the shortest sections are Education and Jobs/Business? And two of the longest are Health and Wellness and House and Garden? I can guess, but all I know is that I'm working on all four.

The last of the Emery shipments arrived last week and I haven't had time to listen to many of the albums, but Clifford Brown's work with the French musicians, 1953, very interesting. More about that soon.

Back to work with me...Sarah Vaughan taking Black Coffee for a ride, with a slinky arrangement that just barely avoids being the corniest thing ever.

the new originals

A key feature of the "neo mainstream" movement and even certain projects from people outside that movement is to revisit jazz compositions and styles from past times. Honestly, I usually find these revisions or excavations a waste of time (or much worse), as the results rarely have the vitality and urgency of the originals.

Even the Art Ensemble of Chicago, for example, loses me on those Dreaming of the Masters recordings from the 1990s. The cover of Purple Haze, for example, is painful, in my opinion. (Zombie is pretty good as is Creole Love Call).

But there are and have been exceptions. When Sun Ra's band started playing Fletcher Henderson charts in the '80s I was blown away. I love what Steve Lacy and friends did with Monk tunes. The Duke/Strayhorn duets between Lacy and Mal Waldron are absolutely stunning. Duke's own tendency to reach back in his catalogue often had vital results, such as Ellington '55. David Murray, Henry Threadgill, Dave Burrell and some (some!) of Paul Motian's retrospective approaches really grab me. When I'm in the mood, Charlie Haden and Hank Jones' Steal Away works just fine. Dave Holland's bands echo various post-1960 (or so) compositional and improv approaches and his stuff is interesting. Tim Berne's post-modern cut and paste jumpcuts are often intriguing and seem more sincere and less gimmicky than Zorn's earlier work.

The tendency of a lot of the younger neo mainstream players to echo '60s Blue Note approaches (so-called "hard bop") is truly unfortunate, as the original recordings are always far more varied, energetic and natural-sounding. Why would I spin Donald Harrison etc. if I can just check out Turrentine, Blue Mitchell or Lee Morgan?

Here's a (very) short list of revival or back catalogue work I'd be interested to hear:

The Herbie Nichols songbook arranged for a quintet or larger ensemble. I think Rudd's groups used to include some Nichols tunes but I don't have any of those recordings. Perhaps an extensive excavation of Andrew Hill compositions with new approaches/arrangements as well.

A new and improved Skies of America; a better recording with a more enlightened and sympathetic orchestra and conductor.

Re-arrangements and performances of Cecil Taylor compositions for various ensembles.

Art Ensemble of Chicago compositions could be an interesting legacy in the right hands.

A revisiting of James Blood Ulmer and Ronald Shannon Jackson compositions for various formats. Jackson and Ulmer's groundbreaking work went by pretty quickly.

Somebody I admire having a go at a new arrangement of Dogon AD.

Just some thoughts. The Vandermark 5's "Free Jazz Classics" really didn't do it for me, to put it mildly, but that doesn't mean there isn't potential for relevant and vital contemporary stuff to be done using a more judicious and less "corporate bopper" approach.

jazz death part 2

Just want to keep the conversation happening. Lots of folks say to me, "This is boring! There have been so many discussions of whether or not jazz is dead. Get over it." I take that as a good sign. If there have been so many discussions about it, why aren't the results more crystalline? Cogent?

Part of the problem is the yutes of today. They ain't got no respect. The whole idea of tradition is anathema to them. Everything springs full blown and unrooted out of the present moment. There's little if any sense of music history informing their listening or appreciation. Maybe this rant should be saved for my new blog, "Git Offa Mah Yahrd!" (the blog that will pave the way for my inevitable descent into snarling senescence and violent curmudgeonhood).

But really, a lot of what I hear that's being done now just sounds like stuff I've already heard. A lot of my younger friends don't seem to have that baggage. "It's nice," they say and kind of shrug. Why get all lathered up over Branford Marsalis' execrable "version" of A Love Supreme, for example? I mean, if you haven't heard 'Trane's, what difference does it make. And even if you have, so what? It's all good. Shrug. "It's nice."

No, it's not fuckin' nice. It's horrifying.

Well, maybe not. Maybe we're just spoiled in different ways. I'm spoiled by thinking that great artists did great things at various times that are still great and still worth knowing fairly intimately. They're spoiled by the fundamental idea that no one is any more or less great than anyone else and it's all...nice. Shrug.

Culture right now has all the vitality of McMurphy after he's lobotomized in Kesey's "Cuckoo's Nest."

Not sure what this has to do with jazz being dead. Dead as roadkill. Dead as dead can be. If I didn't keep nailing it to the perch it would be pushing up the daisies. It's an EX-genre. It's rung up the curtain and joined the choir invisible.

slash and burn

There's a whole class of plants, usually found in extremely xeric, harsh desert climates, called "geophytes." (There are some lavishly "pretty" and more coddled geophytes as well: Iris, crocus, amaryllis, tulip...bulbs, basically. In this post, "geophyte" refers to the rougher, hardcore xeric types).

Geophytic plants are characterized by having a significant portion of their living tissue underground, usually in the form of a tuber, caudex or various subterranean structures of other kinds. Many desert plants evolved to have the vast majority of their living tissue buried in the cool dark, safe from predation, fires, light frosts, plant collectors with anything less than pickaxes, etc. In Madagascar, for example, where slash and burn farming techniques periodically result in as much as 30 percent of the island being in flames at one time, the many geophytic caudiciform succulents growing there survive, sending up new life in between blazes.

A fine example of a geophytic cactus from the US is Peniocereus greggii, the "night blooming cereus" of the Southwest, pictured above. The stems look like dead sticks and sometimes are completely broken off, killed by rare frosts, or burned in brush fires. Underground, an old specimen of Peniocereus greggii can have an enormous tuberous root, weighing 100 pounds or more.

P. greggii specimens in the wild give themselves away 1 or 2 nights a year when they flower. The fragrance is legendary, apparently detectable from a single plant for as much as a 1 mile radius.

Who are the geophytes in music? Stems camouflaged, dead-looking, largely underground. We don't know who they are by their above ground parts. The trick is to be buried. The flowers seem to come out of nowhere, actually resulting (briefly) from the dark itself, a darkness painstakingly guarded, nurturing, protective.

(musings partly dedicated to Leroy Jenkins, 1932-2007)

Jazz Death?

Jazz is dead. Isn't it? In the immortal words of Lester Bowie, that depends on who you ask. From one point of view, jazz is a cultural artifact, a museum piece originating from a particular time, and whatever is going on now is recycled and derivative. No longer culturally relevant. (I'm reminded of the guy outside the bank in Falling Down: "NOT ECONOMICALLY VIABLE.")

There's slightly more subtle viewpoints than the above. For example, the "neo-mainstream" "movement" has temporarily lobotomized jazz by trying to make it hold still. Or post-modern cut and paste, collage styles have temporarily "ironified" jazz into a series of witty cliches, pastiches and homages. Or "jazz" itself died in 1959, (or 1940 or 1945, etc.) really, and ever since then god only knows what we've had. Or "contemporary jazz" musicians are too much a product of the schools and have lost any vital connection to the streets, replaced by hip hop etc.

My outrage at the misrepresentation of "free jazz" (a form which is actually fairly expensive) repeated by the guardians of culture has stirred all of these opinions (and more) up from the murky bottoms of Lake Revision.

Sometimes, when I hear so-called "contemporary jazz," I wish it (and when I'm feeling melodramatic, I) were dead. Is there any music worse than bad jazz? To my ears, the slicked out, blanched, over-produced music that passes for "jazz" in most record catalogues these days is among the worst music ever made in human history. The recent wave of "jazz chanteuses," for example, wouldn't know what to do with a great song if it popped right out of their decolletage. An acquaintance of mine recently uttered this sentence: "I'm going to Borders to buy the new Norah Jones...go home, build a fire, listen to some jazz." One of my colleagues at KSFR did a "best of 2006" "jazz" show last month and selected Bob Brookmeyer's Spirit Music CD as the "best of the best." When I started my show immediately after, a caller rang the studio to say "what the hell was that? That's quaalude jazz!"

Here's a possibly even more subtle look at jazz death: it's part and parcel of genre death in general. When I taught secondary school students, they had an unbelievably detailed and often arcane universe of hair-splitting genres. "Iron and Wine isn't Emo! It's shoegazer!" "Dude, are you nuts? Iron and Wine is anti-folk!" Etc. In this digitally-abetted explosion of genres, many of which are contained esoterically within other genres (think Chinese doll), what meaning do the big genres (jazz, classical, rock, pop) have anymore? Jazz already had an unwieldy number of subgenres as long ago as 1970. On freejazz.org, a raging debate sometimes erupts on the relative merits of "free jazz" versus "free improv." These heated arguments are highly entertaining, and a definite sign of the proliferation of hair-splitting categories about which NO ONE CARES except a small group of rabid aficionadoes. (Not that I'm not one of those rabid sorts, as I think the discussion of "free jazz" versus "free improv" is interesting....)

In a relatively conservative cultural climate such as Santa Fe, where there are several high-brow presenting organizations constantly programming the same old Western composed orchestral, vocal and chamber music (we used to be able to say "classical" and be done with it), no one blinks an eye at absolute and completely unswerving predictability. Mozart's 250th birthday went on endlessly, forever, eternally here in this largely blue-hair, rich, ossified arts market. In this context it is a RISKY VENTURE to book Wynton Marsalis. This is jazz death, more surely than any other reality.

Jazz in the Schools

In 2006, the National Endowment for the Arts put up a "classroom resource" for teachers who wanted to do a jazz curriculum. Curious to check out the party line, I investigated. Imagine my astonishment at discovering the web project was produced by Jazz at Lincoln Center (and funded by Verizon Wireless).

Why does the mugshot of Dana Gioia on the "Welcome" page creep me out as much as it does?

No matter. Down to brass tacks. Let's look at the curriculum. Hmm, it appears to be nearly identical to the Ken Burns jazz documentary! And, for that matter to just about every other "history" of jazz ever written, from the perspective of the guardians of culture. (for a very telling snapshot, check out this Lesson Objective from Lesson 1, from the Teacher's Guide: "Students will identify the major early New Orleans jazz musicians, name the various roles they played (e.g., entertainer, teacher, transmitter of cultural tradition), and be able to describe their activities and achievements." Entertainer, teacher, transmitter of cultural tradition. Man, does that have Marsalis sauce all over it or what?)

But you all know what I'm most interested in. Once you get past the King Oliver, the Louis worship, the Bix and Benny and even Parker and Diz, golly, how will this National Endowment for the Arts/Jazz At Lincoln Center/Verizon Wireless curriculum make sense of all that Crazy Experimental Freedom?

Let's go to Lesson 4, "From the New Frontier to the New Millenium," and look at the list of Major Artists. Betty Carter. Ornette Coleman. John Coltrane. Wayne Shorter...hey, hang on a second kids! We missed one! How could we have skipped Wynton Marsalis?? And the perspicacious wisdom of his quote: “Jazz is an art form,” trumpeter Wynton Marsalis has said, “that gives us a painless way of understanding ourselves.” I have a painless way of understanding how Marsalis could be listed as a Major Artist with the likes of Betty Carter, Ornette Coleman, John Coltrane and Wayne Shorter...it involves scrolling down to the bottom of the page and being reminded that the educational materials have been Produced by Jazz at Lincoln Center. As the Verizon Wireless guy would say, "Can you hear me now?"

Check out these "Jazz Lesson Objectives" provided for teachers:

• Students will understand how jazz reflected the political and racial turbulence of the 1960s.
• Students will learn about trends in jazz during the 1960s and 1970s, including free jazz, fusion, and neo-mainstream.
• Students will learn how jazz earned its place as a significant American art form that today enjoys the support of government programs, private conservatories, and major cultural institutions.

"Teacher, how did jazz earn its place as a significant American art form that today enjoys the support of government programs, private conservatories, and major cultural institutions?"

"Well, sonny boy, read page 4 of the essay that goes with lesson 4, "From the New Frontier to the New Millenium," of the National Endowment for the Arts/Jazz at Lincoln Center/Verizon Wireless Jazz In The Schools Curriculum."

"Well teacher, it says:

"It turned out that, while the commercial vitality of mainstream jazz was fading during the free jazz and fusion eras, a younger generation of jazz musicians was being quietly cultivated not in urban lofts or in experimental ensembles but in colleges, universities, and music conservatories. By the early 1980s, the ranks of the “neo-mainstream” movement, as this new direction in jazz came to be called, were being filled in large part by talented young musicians who had undergone a rigorous program of instruction encompassing the entire history of mainstream jazz. In 1983 and 1984—after paying his dues as a sideman with the veteran drummer Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers and the pianist Herbie Hancock—a young trumpeter from New Orleans, Wynton Marsalis, won two Grammy Awards, in both the jazz and classical categories. He was a convincing spokesman for jazz, and his music balanced inventiveness with tradition, group interaction with personal expression. The publicity he earned helped launch the careers of a score of likeminded performers—Terence Blanchard, Nicholas Peyton, Geri Allen, Cyrus Chestnutt, James Carter, and Joshua Redman, among others—whom the press collectively dubbed the Young Lions."

"That's right, sonny boy....but, keep reading, it gets better."

"For the many critics and fans who had been fearing the demise of jazz, the music of the neo-mainstream movement was a welcome revival of the music’s core values. Others worried, however, that jazz was now in danger of being confined to a narrow orthodoxy that would blunt the music’s cutting edge. Their concerns would soon prove to be unwarranted, however. During the 1990s, as musicians such as Don Byron, Cassandra Wilson, Dave Douglas, Brad Meldhau, and Jason Moran—whose styles variously incorporate the full spectrum of American and world musics, from country blues to Baltic folk songs to hip-hop—joined the fray, it became clear that contemporary jazz was a big tent that could accommodate a huge variety of aesthetic approaches."

(our courageous student begins to ask what "being confined to a narrow orthodoxy that would blunt the music's cutting edge" really means, but decides against it...and reads on):

"Meanwhile, having already secured a prominent place in the academic arena, jazz began receiving recognition and support both from the government and from private foundations. In 1982 the National Endowment for the Arts created the NEA Jazz Masters program to honor individuals who have contributed to the advancement of jazz; as of 2006 more than 80 artists had received awards. In 1986, four years after the death of the brilliant pianist and composer Thelonious Monk, his family established the Thelonious Monk Institute for Jazz, which quickly became a potent force both for jazz education and for the recognition of aspiring young jazz musicians (its annual jazz competition has become the preeminent event of its kind in the world). And in 1987, Lincoln Center, New York City’s premier arts complex, added jazz programming to its lineup; less than 10 years later, Jazz at Lincoln Center, with Wynton Marsalis at its helm, took its place alongside the Metropolitan Opera and the New York Philharmonic as a full-fledged constituent, introducing a full concert season, a permanent jazz orchestra, and a broad range of educational programs that reach audiences of all ages.

When, in 1997, Marsalis’s epic oratorio Blood on the Fields became the first jazz composition to win the Pulitzer Prize, the vital role of jazz in American culture in the coming millennium seemed assured. It’s true that jazz was no longer the nation’s dominant form of popular music as it had been during the heyday of the Swing Era, but in fact jazz had in some ways transcended the popular realm and had become a form of expression equal in stature to classical music, fine art, and literature."

"But teacher," says our courageous student, "I still don't understand how jazz earned its place as a significant American art form that today enjoys the support of government programs, private conservatories, and major cultural institutions?"

"Well, sonny boy, if you ask to ask, you'll never know...."

deserts, oceans, reissues

An ancient barrel (Ferocactus cylindraceus) just south of El Rosario, Baja California Norte.
Rancho Santa Ynez, near Catavina in the Central Desert. Sign by Gary Larson.

Playa Saldamando, off the toll road from Tijuana to Ensenada, with tent sites right on the Pacific. Typical of off season experiences, we were the only people camping. There are a couple hundred tent sites.

Dizzy Gillespie reissue on Prestige called "In the Beginning" now spinning. Double album with recordings from 1945 to 1950. There seem to be errors in the titles and personnel, so I'll have to dig a bit. Some tracks seem correct, including early work by Dexter Gordon, Al Haig, others. Dizzy's world is a flashing mix of adventure and entertainment. There are some funny moments of sudden transitions on here, including some discordant and ballsy big band performances followed by stuff like Oop Bop Sh'Bam.

Cut to Arthur Blythe's "Illusions," from Blythe's Columbia period, 1980. This is a Behearer selection and I can instantly hear that. I didn't catch much of what Blythe and some of his colleagues were doing in the late '70s/early '80s, as I was more focused on Cecil Taylor and the FMP stuff at the time. I was tired of explicitly composed music and suspicious of the Columbia catalogue in general. I'm deeply admiring of the playing by the personnel on here: James Blood Ulmer, Steve McCall, Fred Hopkins, Bob Stewart, Abdul Wadud. It seems funny that I thought of this music as "commercialized" at the time. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but the larger aesthetic impacts get lost in elitist judgments such as the ones I used to make with great certainty.

With the wisdom of hindsight what amazes me is that a major American label put this music out at all.

ugly beauty?

various survival analogies

the whole point to the alkaloids is to make creation possible. I mean, if you're eaten before you can set seed, you've just been an herbaceous blip.

What's reprodcutive age for an American artist? Cecil Taylor performed at Newport in '55, I think, and won a MacCarthur in 1990 (I think...it was the early '90s, at any rate).

Camouflage is important too. If your flower is too showy you can give yourself away amongst the protective grass.

The above left is a Toumeya papyracantha, probably about 20 years old. The type locality for this bizarre cactus with grass-like spines is Santa Fe. Hardly anybody who lives here knows it exists.

On the Galapagos Islands, without predation, Opuntia echios v. gigantea, which otherwise may have remained just another "prickly pear," grows into a 30 foot tall tree with a 30 foot wide trunk. It's something like a trust fund plant, or a grant recipient, or a plant with patronage.

attitude

Images...mp3's and music files in general, soon. I want to be high tech, I really do. Especially, since I don't have any recordings out or available anywhere, I want to convert old cassette tapes to digital and archive them. Funny to look at the whole pile of recordings of concerts I did and see it change to CDs after about 2000 or so.

The above represents the two main defense strategies of cacti in a harsh environment. Spines out the wazoo in the back row. From left to right: Thelocactus bicolor v. falvidispinus, Thelocactus bicolor, Glandulicactus wrightii. The front row...don't they look tasty, inviting, chewable? The stems are loaded with toxic, bitter alkaloids. From left to right: Ariocarpus kotschoubeyanus v. macdowellii, Ariocarpus fissuratus, Ariocarpus trigonus.

So which are you? Spines or alkaloids? (Not to say some cacti don't have both...)