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We want Miles : Miles Davis : Le jazz face à sa légende

Musée des beaux-arts de Montréal
30 avril au 29 août 2010

Propos et réflexions du commissaire de l'exposition, M. Vincent Bessières
Recueillis par Marc Chénard
17 mars 2010

Vincent Bessières. Photo : Éric Garault.

Au printemps 2008, Paris a accueilli une première exposition de jazz au Musée du Quai Branly, celle-ci portant sur les 100 ans du jazz. L'automne dernier, c'était au tour de Miles Davis de faire l'objet d'une grande rétrospective au musée de la musique à la Cité de la musique. Cela donne l'impression que le jazz soit vraiment dans l'air dans votre pays en ce moment. Y avait-t-il une relation quelconque entre ces deux événements par-delà le simple fait du jazz ? Puisque vous êtes le commissaire atitré de l'exposition de Miles Davis, Monsieur Bessières, je voudrais savoir si celle-ci avait été organisée comme un prolongement de l'autre ou sont-elles vraiment deux projets complètement différents, ou autonomes si l'on veut ?

Vincent Bessières : Ce sont deux projets complètement différents, menés par deux institutions très distinctes. L'exposition sur le siècle du jazz s'est déroulée au Musée du Quai Branly, et il avait pour thème l'influence du jazz sur le monde des arts en général, la peinture, la photo, la sculpture, les arts graphiques, la littérature et le cinéma. Son propos était alors très général, alors que l'exposition Miles Davis était vraiment centrée sur ce personnage et son œuvre, donc traitant d'un artiste et créateur bien précis. Ce faisant, la musique était l'objet principal de l'exposition. En ce qui a trait à ces deux expositions parisiennes, tenues en 2008 et en 2009, je vois cela comme une espèce de consécration du jazz en tant qu'expression artistique à part entière. Après avoir eu bien du mal à se faire reconnaître, il fait désormais partie du patrimoine musical mondial et le fait qu'il ait maintenant droit de cité dans des grandes institutions culturelles, comme les musées, est un bon signe, à mon avis.

Parlons maintenant de l'exposition pour laquelle vous avez travaillé. Racontez-moi d'abord comment vous vous êtes impliqué dans cette entreprise en nous faisant un peu son historique ?

V.B. : Je ne sais pas si vous êtes familier avec la Cité de la musique, mais c'est un complexe assez unique en son genre. On y trouve des salles de concert et une grande médiathèque musicale, mais elle offre également des activités éducatives et dispose d'un musée, qui non seulement abrite l'une des plus grandes collections d'instruments au monde, mais également des espaces prévus pour des expositions traitant toujours de musique, soit sur un genre en particulier, soit sur son rapport avec d'autres champs artistiques, soit sur des thématiques historiques. Cette exposition sur Miles s'inscrit donc dans une série d'événements de ce genre. Par le passé, il y a eu des rétrospectives, sur lesquelles je n'ai pas travaillé soit dit en passant, consacrées à Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd et John Lennon, mais aucune par rapport au jazz, ni en tant que genre ni sur un musicien. La Cité de la musique m'a donc approché pour concevoir un projet sur Miles Davis, bien que ce ne soit pas moi qui a choisi le thème, mais bien la direction. On m'a donc demandé de rédiger un projet et de leur soumettre une proposition et on l'a retenue. À partir de ce moment-là, il me fallait réunir les objets pour l'exposition, mais aussi penser à la manière d'intégrer la musique dans tout cela. Parmi mes démarches, je devais bien sûr entrer en contact avec la famille de Miles Davis et me rendre aux États-Unis pour voir ce qui serait susceptible de faire partie de l'exposition. J'entreprenais quelque chose d'un peu inhabituel, car la plupart des objets et documents allaient être exposés pour une première fois; ceux-ci nous parviendraient de collections privées ou de bibliothèques, mais pas forcément du monde des musées. C'était assez excitant comme aventure, mais aussi très différent d'une exposition de peintures où l'on obtient des prêts des tableaux tous clairement identifiés. Ici, en revanche, il fallait se poser la question ce que l'on voulait montrer, où trouver les objets et surtout comment articuler tout cela autour de la musique.

Vous étiez vraiment un détective, si je puis dire.

V.B. : Oui, mais je dirais plutôt « chasseur de trésors ». Il y avait toujours ce côté « Qu'est-ce qu'on allait découvrir et où ». Il est vrai que des objets, comme les trompettes de Miles, les partitions originales de Birth of the Cool, ou des manuscrits de la main de Herbie Hancock ou de
Wayne Shorter sont tous des trésors que j'avais envie de montrer et de partager avec le public dans une telle exposition.

Question de situer les choses dans le temps, quand avez-vous été mandaté pour soumettre la proposition de cette exposition et à quel moment les choses ont-elles vraiment démarrées ?

V.B. : C'est à la fin 2007 que le musée m'a approché avec son idée, mais c'est vraiment au début de l'année suivante que tout s'est mis en branle. Il y avait bien sûr cette première phase d'élaboration du projet, mais la chasse aux trésors s'est faite par après.

En ce qui concerne la proposition comme telle, comment cela s'est-il passé au moment qu'on vous passe la commande et que vous avez commencé à y réfléchir : l'idée directrice vous est-elle venue rapidement ou avez-vous dû chercher l'inspiration pendant un moment ?

V.B. : C'était assez clair dès le départ : l'exposition se déploierait sur un axe chronologique, axe découpé en sept segments, ou chapitres si l'on veut, chacun correspondant à une des étapes de sa vie. Comme l'exposition s'adresserait à un grand public, le meilleur moyen serait de faire passer les visiteurs de salle en salle, chacune traitant d'un chapitre, de son enfance et ses premières expériences musicales jusqu'à sa consécration finale. En tout cas, il n'était pas dans mon intention de présenter Miles et son œuvre d'une manière, comment dire, révolutionnaires, ou encore de remettre en cause la façon dont on voit Miles; bien au contraire, je voulais plutôt présenter les différents visages de l'artiste avec le plus de clarté possible. Ce qui l'était moins cependant, c'était le quoi, c'est-à-dire ce qu'on serait en mesure de montrer comme documents et objets. Une fois les étapes, ou les chapitres établis, il nous fallait les remplir en repérant les documents pertinents.

Parlons un peu plus de cette fameuse chasse aux trésors. Je suppose que vous avez fait le voyage aux États-Unis à plus d'une reprise.

V.B. : À quatre reprises pour être exact, deux fois sur la côte ouest, en Californie, où se trouve la famille, et deux fois à New York.

Madame Bondil, la directrice du Musée des beaux-arts à Montréal m'a raconté en entrevue qu'on vous a mis devant des caisses scellées. Je m'imagine que cela devait être assez merveilleux d'être le premier à découvrir leurs contenus.

V.B. : En effet, ce sont par les héritiers de Miles Davis que j'y suis arrivé. Bien que Miles ait vécu l'essentiel de sa vie à New York, sa descendance habite plutôt sur la côte Ouest, donc une partie de ses possessions ont été expédiées en Californie après sa mort, sans jamais vraiment été ouvertes, inventoriées ou rangées de manière vraiment très claire. Il y a toute sa garde-robe, qui était quand même assez colossale, le tout mis en boîte et jamais touché depuis son décès. Mais sur le plan de la musique, il y avait des choses bien plus intéressantes à regarder, comme les partitions et feuilles de musique toutes entassées dans des boîtes, et ce, sans protection aucune.

Tout était dans le plus complet désordre, je suppose.

V.B. : Je n'irais pas jusque-là, mais ce n'était pas forcément très bien classée, ni bien protégé surtout. Ici, il faut savoir que c'est le neveu de Miles, Vince Wilburn, qui avait les partitions et il est musicien lui-même. Il les a prises un peu comme n'importe quel musicien qui range des partitions sur ses étagères, donc pas forcément très ordonnées. J'imagine que vous, journaliste, avez déjà rendu visite à des musiciens; il est vrai que ce soit assez souvent dans le désordre dans leur atelier ou lieu de répétition et c'était un peu pareil dans ce cas-ci. Il avait tout gardé au moins et même si ces documents ont une valeur historique extraordinaire pour nous, ce n'est que du papier à musique pour lui. Je dois dire que je suis très content d'avoir pu faire de belles trouvailles ici et d'extraire quelques documents précieux dans cette collection de partitions.

Combien y avait-il de caisses de partitions?

V.B. : Il s'agissait plutôt de boîtes et je crois de mémoire qu'il y en avait six, mais elles ne contenaient pas que de la musique de Miles. Il y avait des partitions imprimées ou d'autres que des musiciens lui refilaient sans doute, des manuscrits, quoi. J'ai le souvenir d'avoir vu un thème de Clifford Jordan. J'imagine que les gens se croisaient toujours et quand l'un d'eux voyait Miles, il essayait de lui refiler des morceaux, cela pouvait valoir la peine.

Cela a certainement dû prendre un certain temps passer à travers de ces boîtes, à regarder les feuilles les unes après les autres. Y-t-il eu pour vous des découvertes particulières, des surprises qui vous ont comme sauté au visage ?

V.B. : Le seul fait que Miles ait conservé autant de choses a été une surprise pour moi. Alors qu'on le présente toujours comme quelqu'un qui ne s'est jamais attaché à son passé et qui allait toujours de l'avant, il avait en réalité gardé nombre de choses, d'ailleurs importantes, mais aussi en quantité importante. Parmi ces trouvailles frappantes, je me souviens de voir les partitions pour son disque Filles de Kilimandjaro; tout y était écrit au niveau des thèmes, pas les solos bien sûr, mais écrit aussi très précisément. Cela surprend parce qu'on pense que cette musique a été faite de manière assez spontanée avec des arrangements informels. Mais tout est écrit, et de la main de Gil Evans aussi, bien qu'on ne l'ait pas crédité sur le disque, ça c'est un point d'histoire. J'ai aussi découvert des thèmes d'un groupe qui n'avait jamais enregistré, soit d'un sextette.

Est-ce le sextette avec le tromboniste J.J. Johnson?

V.B. : Oui, ce groupe avait existé brièvement, en 1962.

Voici un fait intéressant : cette formation a joué à Montréal à l'époque, il y eut un festival de jazz à Montréal, qui n'a eu que trois éditions, soit de 1961 à 1963. Outre J.J., il y avait, je crois, Sonny Stitt.

V.B. : Sur la partition, c'était indiqué Hank Mobley. Un des thèmes joués par ce groupe est en justement en montre dans l'exposition, celui-ci a pour titre From Saint-Louis, écrit probablement de la main de J.J. Johnson, mais on n'a pas pu le certifier. Ce document est quand même intéressant, c'est une trace de l'existence d'un groupe pour lequel on avait préparé un répertoire et probablement joué, j'imagine, mais qu'on n'a jamais enregistré. Je dois aussi signaler mes recherches dans les archives de Teo Macero (son principal producteur chez Columbia), conservées à la New York Public Library, un ensemble documentaire de grande valeur, Macero ayant accompagné Miles chez Columbia du début des années 1960 jusqu'en 1983. On y trouve un tas de choses jamais montrées auparavant, dont une correspondance entre lui et la direction, certains échanges étant assez savoureux, même amusants; je pense ici à un courrier de Macero à ses supérieurs qui leur dit quelque chose comme : « Miles just called and he wants to title his new album 'Bitches Brew'. Please advise. » Par ailleurs, j'ai découvert qu'on avait prévu un autre titre pour l'album In a Silent Way.

Il y avait un surtitre, je crois. J'ai remarqué cela en parcourant le livret du coffret anthologique de tous ses enregistrements Columbia édités récemment par Sony. On voit cela dans la seconde tranche du livret, dans les pages où l'on passe en revue chacun des albums. Quand on arrive au disque en question, on voit deux maquettes de la pochette (à la page 183), toutes deux avec la photo que l'on connaît de Miles, mais l'une d'entre elles porte cet autre titre. Les notes d'accompagnement indiquent que cette pochette a été retrouvée dans les archives de Columbia, mais n'a jamais été utilisée.

V.B. :Ah! Je ne me souvenais pas qu'on l'avait mis dans le coffret. Alors le titre Fast Morning Train from Memphis to Harlem y est. Cette pochette est justement en montre dans l'exposition.

Auriez-vous trouvé parmi ses possessions du matériel visuel, par exemple des films.

V.B. : Pas dans ses archives personnelles.

Il devait quand même avoir beaucoup de matériel sonore aussi, des bandes.

V.B. : Oui, mais je n'y ai pas eu accès. J'ai l'impression qu'il y a beaucoup de choses qui se sont perdues aussi et je n'ai pas vu grand-chose d'ailleurs. Sony doit certainement détenir beaucoup d'autres matériaux dans leurs fonds d'archives, mais ma priorité était d'incorporer les principales œuvres de Miles dans l'exposition.

Était-ce difficile d'établir un choix?

V.B.: C'était un peu difficile, parce qu'on a l'embarras du choix. Je pense que c'est un artiste dont l'œuvre est quand même d'un niveau extraordinaire, 90% du temps ou plus même. Il n'y a pas grand-chose à jeter. Si l'on veut faire la part des choses, c'est un peu compliqué, il faut faire des sacrifices. Il y a quand même beaucoup de musique à écouter dans cette exposition, même des films à regarder. Parmi les documents assez extraordinaires à mon sens, il y a un film amateur inédit de Miles en studio en 1972. On le voit en studio avec Al Foster et Michael Henderson. Puis il y a une autre pellicule de Miles en train de boxer, c'est une manière pour nous d'évoquer sa fascination pour ce sport

De toute évidence, la composante visuelle est l'aspect le plus important d'une exposition. À ce titre, la scénographie figure parmi les préoccupations essentielles des concepteurs. L'une des idées vraiment intéressantes développées pour celle-ci a été la conception de chambre d'écoutes en forme de sourdines de trompette. Je suppose que c'est un designer sonore qui eu cette brillante idée. Si je ne m'abuse, la maison Projectile à Paris, l'un de vos importants partenaires, se spécialise dans la conception de scénographies d'expositions.

V.B. : En effet, ce sont les scénographes de Projectile qui y ont pensé. À un moment donné, on n'arrivait pas à trancher cette question de mise en place du son dans l'espace : ou bien on diffuserait la musique dans toutes les salles en risquant de créer une cacophonie ou bien on la rendrait accessible seulement sur casque d'écoute, ce qui ne permettrait pas aux visiteurs de la partager entre eux. Projectiles nous est arrivée avec l'idée de construire des salles d'écoute en forme de sourdines de trompette et dans lesquelles les visiteurs pourront écouter des pièces représentatives de l'une ou de l'autre des époques de la vie de l'artiste. À force de discussions, on est arrivé à cette idée de diffuser la musique dans des espaces clos. Projectiles a donc formalisé cette idée avec le concours d'un acousticien. Après montage, elles sont alors réglées par un ingénieur du son.

Quelles sont leurs dimensions ?

V.B. : Comme le MBAM dispose de plus d'espace que la Musée de la musique, elles seront beaucoup plus grandes que celles de Paris.

Nous aurons aussi quelques documents supplémentaires en montre, une exposition en quelque sorte bonifiée.

V.B. : D'une certaine manière, oui. Comme je viens de l'indiquer, le MBAM dispose d'une plus grande superficie (1100 m 2 au lieu de 800 m 2), ce qui nous donne la chance de construire des sourdines plus volumineuses, chacune occupant une superficie de quelque 20 m 2. Cela permettra à plus de gens d'y entrer et prendre place, évitant ce de fait l'effet de la cage d'ascenseur, si vous voulez. Pour revenir à l'aspect visuel, il y aura aussi une sélection un plus considérable d'œuvres d'art, l'espace accru le permettant.

Vous avez sans doute fait votre tour à Montréal pour préparer le terrain.

V.B. : En effet, je suis venu en décembre passé.

Pour terminer, j'aimerais juste glisser un mot sur le catalogue de l'exposition, d'ailleurs superbe. En le parcourant récemment, j'ai bien sûr lu votre introduction ainsi que la postface dans laquelle vous écrivez la chose suivante : « Tout le monde aime Miles, même si l'on peut ne pas aimer "tout Miles". Et si je vous renvoyais la balle : Aimez-vous tout Miles ?

V.B. : J'aime tout Miles, même si je n'aime pas tout avec la même intensité. Il est bien important de dire ici que je ne voulais pas que mes affinités personnelles déteignent sur la conception même de l'exposition. Je ne pense pas que je suis là pour émettre un jugement sur la musique de
Miles. Je pense que je préfère laisser à chaque visiteur le soin de définir la période qu'il préfère. Ce qui était très frappant à Paris, c'est que les gens ne s'attardaient pas forcément dans les mêmes zones. Il y avait des gens qui préféraient le début de l'expo, la période des années 1950-1960, très acoustique quoi, d'autres étaient plus sensibles à la deuxième partie de l'expo. Je trouve cela très bien que chacun s'approprie de ces œuvres avec ses oreilles plutôt que de s'en remettre à moi pour offrir un jugement de valeur sur chaque partie. On a essayé que chaque période soit représentée à peu près également.

Et quelles sont vos préférences ?

V.B.: C'est difficile à dire parce que, en toute franchise, Miles est un artiste qui s'est renouvelé à tous les cinq ans ou presque En fait, j'aime tout ce qu'il fait au début de chacune de ces périodes de cinq ans. J'aime ce qu'il fait en 1949, 1954 et 1959 (Kind of Blue, évidemment), puis en 1964 (avec le début du second quintette), 1969 aussi (avec Bitches Brew), même en 1974 et 1975 (avec Agharta et Pangaea – j'adore ces disques-là). Je trouve que We Want Miles en 1981 est un très bon disque aussi, même s'il est encore un peu diminué, sans oublier Tutu. J'irais même à dire que j'aime sa tentative de faire un album avec des rappeurs (Doo Bop), même si je le trouve un peu raté, bien que je l'apprécie pour le seul fait qu'il ait voulu explorer un peu ce terrain, dans l'intention de poursuivre sa marche vers l'avant. Je suis donc capable de me promener dans l'œuvre de Miles dans toute sa largeur.

En ce moment, vous arrivez en fin de parcours en tant que commissaire d'exposition, mandaté à sa conception et mise en forme. À la lumière de vos expériences, je me demande si votre perception de l'artiste a changé en cours de route ?

V.B. : En ce qui me concerne, j'ai pu mesurer la vitesse avec laquelle son œuvre évolue, se renouvelle et change. Je ne crois pas que j'avais perçu le rythme extrêmement soutenu au fil duquel il se remet d'abord en question pour ensuite se renouveler. J'ai travaillé deux ans là-dessus et quand je vois maintenant ce que j'ai réussi à faire pendant cette période et que je compare cela avec ce qu'il a pu accomplir en trois ou quatre ans, c'est simplement phénoménal, d'autant plus qu'il voulait toujours aller de l'avant. Voilà quelque chose qui a changé chez moi, ou du moins de l'image que j'avais de lui au départ.

A Conversation with Ornette Coleman

Ornette Coleman in Montreal, 2009. Photo: Yves Alix.

Mike Chamberlain

I interviewed Ornette Coleman over the phone in early June, 2009. He was leaving for Europe later in the day, and the interview was put off several times because Mr. Coleman was not completely prepared to go. Finally, at the last minute—I had an appointment of my own looming—his publicist called and said that Mr. Coleman would speak with me for twenty minutes. In the end, Mr. Coleman was very generous with his time, and the interview ran 28 minutes, until I could wait no longer to leave for my appointment.

Mike Chamberlain: I understand you're getting ready to leave for Europe.

Ornette Coleman: Yes, that's true.

MC: Well, I'll just take a few of your minutes, if I can.

OC: No, take your time.

MC: I want to ask you a few things. Next month, you're playing in Montreal, and they're giving you the Miles Davis Award. I wonder what that means to you at this point.

OC: Well, I think everybody wants everybody to be happy, so I think it's all for the same reason.

MC: Can you explain that for me?

OC: Well, the explanation is humans beings is all there is, but they recognize what knowledge can do and what it needs to do, and culture's one of the highest points of using knowledge as a form of freedom for what we call the human race. That's not too bad, is it?

MC: Not too bad, not too bad. And I mean, what I should have said at the very beginning was to thank you for all the music that you've given us over the years, because it was not always easy for you, especially in the beginning, and you've followed your own path despite a lot of hardship along the way, and I think that that in itself is something to be applauded.

OC: Well thank you very much, and if I had to do it over, I'd do it again.

MC: Everything?

OC: Yes, because the idea is all there is. And everyone has an idea of their own. That's not too bad, it's just where it becomes detrimental to the knowledge of humans is when it gets going the wrong way. There's no reason for knowledge to become an enemy to anybody.

MC: No, no. You came into the jazz world, such as it is, and I wonder about your relationship to the term jazz and how you feel about that word and how you feel about the jazz world, such as it is.

OC: Well, when you ask me how I feel, it is obvious that feeling becomes everything that has to do with knowledge, and knowledge is the interpreter that makes us do and know and learn, it's educational. But the most knowledgeable thing that exists is the soul of human beings, and that is something that only what is known as God can identify what a soul is before it came into existence as human beings. And I'm not sitting here trying to describe what it is. I just know that language has words and words mean different things, and the word soul refers to human beings, doesn't it? Or does it.

MC: I would hope so.

OC: Yeah, me and you both.

MC: [laugh] I hope we have souls.

OC: [laugh] you and me too. That would be good if we could identify it in a way that we wouldn't have to worry about it.

MC: Well that's true but it gets mixed up in a lot of different things I think, and the demands of the world are very harsh.

OC: One other thing—it doesn't represent all the qualities that represent the human race. Soul and poverty, it's enjoying something that you don't have and look past that. I imagine you could be the richest person in the world and still be lonely, you know, so….

MC: Happiness doesn't necessarily come with money, that's for sure.

OC: Oooh, you said it, you couldn't say it any clearer than that.

MC: Has it made a difference to you, when you think of your days when you were really, really scuffling, in the 50s in Los Angeles compared to now, when, as I understand, life is more comfortable for you, at least materially.

OC: I agree that confidence has done two things for me: It has aged me and it also has put me in lots of stress to survive. Not in a negative way, but in a way that we call knowledge, I mean, "what is your trade, and what do you do to make a living?" Everybody that's in the male species is built to represent what field you are in and what do you do to survive in the sense of what you have to do TO survive. Money is just a word, but love is the authority. It's just sad to realize that being human is like, I don't know, maybe a million years from today humans won't have to be by class, it'd be by soul.

MC: That would be good.

OC: Yeah, it would.

MC: I read this thing recently where you were talking about when you were first playing the saxophone, you picked it up and you thought, "OK, I'm just going to play the saxophone." And then when you started playing with other people, they told you that this wasn't good enough, that you needed more than that. And I like this idea of picking up an instrument, whatever it is, and just trying to be yourself on that instrument.

OC: Yes, well I think that should be a human condition that everyone is able to investigate. It's not a rule. Basically it comes under the heading of what you learn, why you grew up to do things that people bring into the world by the fact of what we call civilization, knowledge, and intelligence. But those are classified things that make what we call the human race in a much higher form to survive. And if that wasn't the way it is, human beings wouldn't be so complete in openly sharing and doing. Maybe there are human beings who created themselves, but I haven't met one. And it's so obvious that the word human is at the service of anything that has to do with form.

MC: OK?

OC: There's mosquitoes, there's thrashers, but the human being came into existence above all of those things. But for some reason, I'm just saying this because I'm classified as a human and I am a human being, it doesn't necessarily make you any better or any worse—it just gives you a title. I mean, look at the word God. The name of God doesn't have to be put into any category. It's really amazing for the life that is life to be able to support the whole world, and all we end up doing is working, and getting old, and pass. But now life itself don't do that. It's still here while you're gone.

MC: Life is pretty much indifferent to our individual existences.

OC: Oooh, you said it. You said it in the most intelligent way.

MC: But that's our fate as human beings. We struggle against the acceptance of these inevitabilities.

OC: Ooohh, you couldn't have said it better. But don't we respond to life as being the creative guide?

MC: I hope so, maybe the person such as yourself who is not only an artist with a very strong conception of what you want to do musically, but also somebody with a very strong—I don't even know whether to call it will, because I don't even know whether you look at it that way because you just do it because you need to do it—but the majority of people, and I would include myself among those people, often tend to go for the thing that is comfortable rather than the thing that is going to force us to struggle in certain ways. We want the certainty in our lives.

OC: Yes. But the word human cannot be connected to the word animal. That's why, isn't it? I don't know about heaven on earth, but there's nothing in the way of human beings making heaven on earth something that has to do with the quality of humans.

MC: No.

OC: Well, when is that going to happen?

MC: We're not evolved enough yet.

OC: What's that you say?

MC: Maybe we're not evolved enough as a species.

OC: Oh, right. But do you think we as a species is the right word?

MC: Well, it's a word.

OC: It is a word.

MC: We are designated as humans, and under that classificatory system, species is the appropriate word. We might want to sit and discuss that for a while, I'm not sure.

OC: But women seem to be more connected to humans because they actually grow humans inside of them. Men can't do that. He's on his knees. But what happens to the concept, what happens to life? Is life a word, does life exist?

MC: Uh-huh.

OC: No, I'm asking.

MC: Whoo, I don't know, man. I don't have a quick answer to that one.

OC: I don't know neither, but I know what the word is supposed to represent—anything that moves, talks, and can see, and walk and talk, that's called life. But is it life?

MC: Well, there's another thing, because every word can have a number of different meanings.

OC: That's a matter of fact right.

MC: And they've all got connotations. You know, I saw you perform last year in Burlington, Vermont. And I had a very interesting experience there. I took my seat and a couple sat down in the seats beside me. And the woman was sitting next to me, and the woman maybe was 65 or something like that, and she asked me who Ornette Coleman was, and I tried to explain, and she asked me: "Am I going to like it?"

OC: [Laughs] Well, she asked a good question.

MC: That's a good question, but there's no answer to it, of course.

OC: That's right.

MC: And I said: "Well I don't know, I'm hoping I'm going to like it, and it would be really nice if you like it, but we'll just have to wait and see what happens, and I expect to enjoy this very much." So you played the set, and I thought it was very wonderful. And the word I use to describe the performance is human. It's not without its flaws, but it's perfectly human in the way it's done, I thought.

OC: That's right. And imagine the word "human". What it means and what it represents doesn't necessarily tell you what kind and who and why. Nothing comes behind that. That's pretty heavy. And the thing about it, there are more people walking right who are called human than any other form of life. Now that's not too bad, but I don't know if the word human is causing humans to become enlightened, to be enlighted, by the quality of what we call God. Now God must be not only human but the only internal human. Because God only deals with the human being, doesn't he?

MC: I don't know, that again is another topic for debate.

OC: I know, but do you think there's any other form of life that God is interested in more than human?

MC: More than?... No. No.

OC: Me neither. But most everything I learned from God comes from humans.

MC: But we're supposed to have been created in God's own image, in some way.

OC: Yeah, but nobody has seen God's image.

MC: No, we don't know. [laughs]

OC: [laughs]

MC: That's true. And that's only what has been written in one particular book, so I'm not sure.

OC: [laughs]

MC: No, I'm not so sure about that. What about your approach to music making—has it changed over the years? I know your music has changed a bit, and you go through different stages, but your own internal approach, has that undergone any…..?

OC: The only thing I can tell you what I think it is and what it should be and what it's not going to become.

MC: OK.

OC: Life. That's a very good description of the human race—call it life. I mean the human being is the closest form in the world that is called life. Because life allows the human beings to indulge in all forms of thought, emotion, and concepts, put it that way. But they made something in there called money that not everyone's entitled to, they have to do something for it. That's not so nice. Someone else is making something that you can't make, but you have to work to get what they're making, and they're not concerned about you. Now, what is that called? It's not a job.

MC: No?

OC: Well, whatever it's called, it works like everything else. I mean, I'm not sitting here trying to put anything down because imagine, the word human only represents two forms. You have to have a form that basically looks the same when it sees another creature walking down the street. Right? The other is that you have to see the intelligence of the highest form of human. And it's obvious: the highest form of human is knowledge. Right?

MC: Yes.

OC: Yes. But how does knowledge treat everybody fairly? It doesn't.

MC: No, it doesn't.

OC: And it's not trying. You see, if you have something that's valuable, I want it so that I can make sure that you have to come back and relate to me to go to where you think I can take you.

MC: That's right.

OC: I'm not a soul or human being that is trying to analyze the quality of life. I just know that I'm alive. And when I'm no longer alive, I won't be in existence. But that's true of everything, isn't it?

MC: Yes.

OC: But that's not so good.

MC: Well, that's the way it is, and it's in the difference between what should be and is that we all try to find our place.

OC: But I don't think God dies. Does God die?

MC: I don't think so.

OC: Yeah, well, and God is not against you knowing what, how, when, where, and uh, what else…?

MC: Why?

OC: Yeah, now you said it. [laughs] You hit the nail on the head. "Why?" But now, is why only a quality of knowledge that doesn't mean what it means to everybody? If it does, we're in trouble.

MC: Well, I think we're in trouble.

OC: No, but the reason why I'm saying this is because I'm self-taught in everything I do, and I'm not bragging. I'm self-taught because I was raised by women, and they wasn't working to make me leave the house. They was staying in, and I was leaving the house. They knew then what knowledge meant. I'm learning what knowledge is and what it meant. But the real purpose of knowledge is human power.

MC: Oh yeah.

OC: Yes, human power. But it's not used to the same purpose by everybody.

MC: Definitely not.

OC: And look at the word love. I mean love represents, I think, the male and the female. But human beings? You see animals responding to each other like male and female, but they can't go to the store and buy a package of whisky or whatever.

MC: Well, we have language, obviously.

OC: Yes, something I was missing.

MC: But that's one thing you've used, "Sound Grammar" and "In All Languages" and so on, this notion of music as a communication of knowledge and feeling, an analogy to language in a lot of ways.

OC: Yeah, what you're describing is that there are many forms of things that are used to raise the human being's concept of knowledge in relationship to what knowledge does for the person. But the real purpose is that—look at light, light is probably the most advanced thing that exists on Earth, and yet it's just being like any other tool. The gravity that makes light, heat's got a lot to do with it. I'm not an authority on anything. I'm just talking because I've lived so long to describe something that I call light, and I know that it's made out of heat. But the human being is neither made out of heat OR light. It's made out of flesh and blood.

MC: We're mostly air, I think.

OC: Ooooh, you said something. Mostly air?

MC: In between the bits, you know.

OC: Oooh, you said something there. Like breathing?

MC: Well, just space, really. When you think about it, if you believe in atomic theory, we all consist of atomic particles, and those are mostly space in between the protons and neutrons and electrons. In that sense, it's kind of funny to think about it that way, because we all seem solid to one another.

OC: But you can't read about the quality that we're talking about that represents the same equivalent to what the Bible is. How did that get so far away where it doesn't have to be analyzed? That's pretty weird. I mean here is the one thing that's describing something that's eternal, and all you can do is read about it, but you can't participate in it.

MC: Well, I don't know…..

OC: I don't mean that you can't go to church and do your dues. I'm talking about what created the quality of what caused all that to come into existence. That's something else.

MC: That's the mystery, you know. That's the thing that's behind everything we call the material world. The material world is just one thing, and the other stuff like you're talking about, that's something else, and we don't know the answers to those questions.

OC: I know, but imagine, the only way that you die is if something kills you. I mean, of course, if you fall out of a 100-feet building and hit the ground, you're gonna die. But see, to kill is one thing, to live and die is another, but it's the same result. That's pretty weird.

MC: But isn't the ideal thing to try to live and not to be dead while you're alive, you know what I'm saying?

OC: Yeah, yeah, I understand. But it seems to me that you don't have to try to live. You've already been born with the substance that what made you be able to live. I don't know how it works, but it's definite: life doesn't have to get permission to exist.

MC: Mr. Coleman, I don't have any more time myself right now, and I know you're running around, I appreciate your time very much.

OC: Thank you very much. I enjoyed your conversation.

MC: I look forward to seeing you in Montreal.

OC: Thank you very much.

MC: By the way, I want to tell you about the lady at the concert: she really enjoyed the concert.

OC: Well, thank her for me.

MC: I'll probably never see the woman again, but she really enjoyed the concert, and I want to thank you very much for all the music you've given us over the years.

OC: Well, thank you. Do you play an instrument?

MC: I wouldn't go so far as to say that I play an instrument.

OC: You have an instrument?

MC: I do.

OC: Let me tell you this: three changes in Western culture that covers all the ideas that notes cherish—that's CMaj7, E flat minor 7, and D minor with a flatted 5th. So you have three chords with twelve different sounds. Now what you have to do is to create those sounds from your own emotions. You don't even have to think of the notes. You have to think of the notes you want to activate to make an idea. Don't think of the key or the melody, think of the notes. And you'll stay clear and know which one is relating to your own emotions. I know from experience.

MC: Sir, I appreciate the information.

OC: Well, tell me your name again.

MC: My name is Mike Chamberlain.

OC: Oh Mike, I've enjoyed speaking to you, and have a wonderful weekend.

MC: You too, and maybe one day we'll get a chance to speak again. It would be my pleasure.

OC: Any time.

Postcript

In spite of Ornette Coleman's abstruse way of articulating his ideas, there is one thing worth noting, namely, his single-minded devotion to them. Apart from his idiosyncratic manner of expression, you can see in our conversation how he resists attempts to deflect him away from his train of thought or to change the subject. He is going to say what he needs to say, no matter what. That's what he's done in his music-making since Day One.

NYC Winter JazzFest 2010: Sustaining the Future

by Sharonne Cohen

An infectious wave of energy blew through the NYC jazz scene on January 8th and 9th as the sixth edition of Winter JazzFest hit a two-block radius in the West Village. The festival has continued to expand and evolve since its inception in 2005, transforming into a well-attended, much anticipated off-season jazz extravaganza. Coinciding with the JJA (Jazz Journalists Association) and APAP (Association of Performing Arts Presenters) conferences, the festival showcased 250 musicians playing in 55 bands. Showcased through abbreviated 40-minute sets, these artists offered more than a glimpse of contemporary jazz in its myriad facets and wide-ranging influences.

Artists as diverse as Dr. Lonnie Smith, the 28 year-old drum phenom Mark Guiliana and the much-buzzed-about Vijay Iyer Trio packed all 5 performance spaces as a steggering total of 4,000 people - musicians, jazz heads, presenters, producers, managers and agents - roamed from venue to venue, maintaining sunny dispositions despite having to wait in line in frigid temperatures. The five venues (Le Poisson Rouge, The Zinc Bar, Kenny's Castaways, Sullivan Hall and The Bitter End) were filled to capacity throughout the festival's two nights, making wandering between shows somewhat difficult; once you were inside, you didn't really want to leave for fear of not being able to get back in, but there was that other thing happening at the club next door, a real predicament which, given the festival's steady growth, might need to be addressed by the festival's founder and producer, Brice Rosenbloom of boom BOOM Presents, in preparation for next year's edition.

The festival's program, packed with overlapping shows, required careful planning of my itinerary. My journey began at 6:20 Friday evening at Le Poisson Rouge, with Vancouverite Darcy James Argue's Secret Society. I'd been waiting to hear the big band live since the release of Infernal Machines; it was a good omen for things to come, the band showcasing Argue's progressive, multi-layered writing, horns shining in particular. Next up was bassist Ben Williams, winner of the 2009 Monk Competition and member of Stefon Harris' Blackout, playing at the small, overly-packed Zinc Bar, where sound issues diminished our capacity to appreciate this virtuosic young bass player. Williams and his Sound Effect, consisting of Jamire Williams on drums, Jaleel Shaw on alto and Dave Bryant on keys, played a bebop, pop and hip-hop-infused set with material ranging from Buster Williams' Christina to the lesser-known Michael Jackson tune Little Suzie. The Chelsea Baratz Quartet was up next at the Zinc, offering a somewhat watered-down set, pianist Orrin Evans and trumpeter Corey Wilkes gleaming with flashes of imagination. Mid-set I rushed back to Le Poisson Rouge, just in time to catch pianist Eric Lewis play Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit, followed by Evanescence's chart-topper Going Under. Lewis, hammering the piano with the thrust of his entire body, was thrilled to have the oppurtunity to "treat the piano like a rock guitar", as he put it. "Feel that! Rock jazz! You heard it here first!" he exclaimed. Going straight into It Don't Mean a Thing, Lewis reminded the audience he'd played with the likes of Elvin Jones, Roy Hargrove and Cassandra Wilson, too.

Nicholas Payton's SeXXXtet left me wanting (and wondering why he was singing). I headed across the street to Kenny's Castaways to bask in the good vibes of the quirky, high-spirited Matt Wilson Quartet. Coating virtuosity with a layer of light-hearted merriment, Wilson, donned in a leopard-skin skirt and long black wig, matched his signature playfulness with an abundance of creativity, propelling his strong sense of history into the future. I stayed put for drummer Bobby Previte's New Bump Quartet with bassist Brad Jones and saxophonist Ellery Eskelin, Bill Ware's digitized vibraphone enhancing the electrifying overall effect, and Matt Wilson joining on snare drum towards the end of the set. Round midnight, when I thought I could hear no more, I surrendered to Mark Guiliana's Beat Music, listening from the crammed balcony as guitarists Nir Felder and Aaron Dugan played around Guiliana's beat-driven grooves, appearing on an upcoming album co-produced by Meshell Ndegeocello.

The second night of Winter JazzFest offered an even larger artist lineup, kicking off at 6 p.m. with a soulful solo performance by Italian singer Carmen Consoli at Le Poisson Rouge. The audience enjoyed her percussive acoustic guitar playing and expressive delivery through a mixture of Italian song, indie-rock, jazz and blues. Dedicating one of the tunes to her hometown of Catania, Sicily, Consoli explained that she was born between sea and volcano, fire and water, elements which have clearly informed her music and performance style.

Bassist Ben Allison followed, featuring violinist Jenny Scheinman, Shane Ensley on trumpet, Steve Cardenas on guitar and the killer chops of Rudy Royston on drums. The band played material from Allison's recent recording Think Free, with which the audience seemed to be well-acquainted. Introducing the crowd-pleasing Man Size Safe off Little Things Run the World, Allison revealed that it was "part of the Dick Cheney suite I've been writing for the past nine years". The energetic set ended with a guest appearance by Joey Arias, delivering a moving rendition of the theme song from Philadelphia.

Dashing over to Sullivan Hall, but unable to get beyond the front door to see (or even hear) Gretchen Parlato, I headed over to Kenny's Castaways for rising young bassist Linda Oh and her quartet. Sound problems made it difficult to get a clear impression of Oh's playing (on electric) or to the effect of the electronic samples she introduced. Next up at Kenny's was the JD Allen Trio, Allen's deep, penetrating sound on tenor heating up the already sweltering room. His band mates - Rudy Royston on drums and Gregg August on bass - displayed a strong synergy as they dug deep into material from Allen's 2009 album Shine. The trio elicited enthusiastic audience appreciation, a woman across the room dancing joyously (yes!) while a gentleman standing beside me hummed some of Allen's memorable themes.

Squeezing through the crowd I made it back out and dashed over to Sullivan Hall to witness Dr. Lonnie Smith tearing it up with his funk-soul-jazz recipe, then back to LPR, where I caught the last few moments of Benin-born guitarist/vocalist Lionel Loueke. Managing to get just past the door, I saw and heard enough to know he had captivated and moved the crowd with his brand of melodious African jazz. It was now almost 11 p.m., and I was only about halfway through my itinerary...

Over at The Bitter End, progressive funk-jazz-rock band Rudder (Chris Cheek on saxophone, Henry Hey on keys, Tim Lefebvre on bass and Keith Carlock on drums) were getting ready to hit. "Winter JazzFest is officially sold out!" announced Adam Schatz of Search & Restore, guest curator at Kenny's Castaways, as he presented the hard-driving, genre-defying band, which seared with infectious energy. Unable to tear myself away, I missed most of Vijay Iyer's trio, playing music from his latest album Historicity, widely considered one of the best albums of 2009.

Eager to hear the promising Ambrose Akinmusire Quintet, I headed back to Sullivan Hall. Winner of the 2007 Monk Competition, the young, gifted trumpeter generously shared the spotlight with his band mates - Walter Smith III on tenor, Taylor Egisti on piano, Harish Raghavon on bass and Justin Brown on drums - all abounding with skill and creativity. After a long night I was elated to finally score a bar stool and sat myself down to hear startling drummer Chris "Daddy" Dave with the inimitable Derrick Hodge on bass, Kebbi Williams on tenor, and Casey Benjamin joining the fold mid-set, adding some fiery intensity. Dave drew a late-night audience comprised of numerous musicians who had played over the course of those two nights, some listening intently, others conversing by the bar - a sight not uncommon throughout the festival, as artists rallied to support one another.

And the music kept going till 4 a.m.

Among the shows I regretfully missed due to time/venue conflicts were the Jenny Scheinman/Jason Moran duo; the Bitches Brew Revisited project; Tyshawn Sorey's Koan; John Hollenback's Claudia Quintet, which apparently tore it up; Mike Reed's People, Places & Things; Oran Etkin's fusion of traditional Malian and Jewish music; the William Parker Quartet and others. The music from the 18-or so shows I did manage to catch is still swarming in my head as I write these lines, continuing to energize and inspire - not only me, it seems, but much of the jazz community. The sight of venues packed with people eager for jazz was uplifting (the ticket price of $25 for an all-night, all-club pass - or $30 for both nights - was no doubt a factor). There was a much-needed buzz in the community and on the streets, supporting the broad spectrum of jazz voices on the scene today, some working more within the tradition while others stretched into a broader aesthetic, melding jazz with other genres and musical influences from around the world.

Winter JazzFest is, as noted by Jason Moran an a recent LA Times interview, unlike most other corporate- and sponsorship-heavy jazz festivals. Taking place in small clubs rather than large concert halls, its audience - ages ranging from twenties to sixties to the 85 year-old George Wein - was not your typically polite, clapping-on-cue crowd; they were rowdy and invigorated. Their enthusiasm, coupled with the vast and varied amount of captivating material and technical aptitude, serve as the ultimate, unequivocal and vociferous response to the ongoing discussion surrounding the current state of jazz.

Two perspectives on Jazz: Four views

by Marc Chénard

Since its inception a little over a century ago, jazz has been the object of much close scrutiny. When considering its rapid evolution, it is hard not to be amazed by the several transformations it has undergone. So much so, that it was never an eady task to define the music with any accuracy, a chore rendered impossible nowadays in our global village.

Yet, this has not prevented people from trying. In the myriad of books and articles written on the music, learned historians, journalists, music fans and even musicians themselves have offered their own takes on this issue. Through all of these, it seems more than obvious that one person's jazz is not necessarily someone else's.

But of the numerous 'definitions' of the music out there, two are particularly striking in that they offer radically different takes, each of these seemingly opposed to the other.

1-Jazz as the classical music of America. (Marshall Stearns)
2 Jazz as the sound of surprise. (Whitney Balliett)

The first of these definitions, it should be noted, was recently the object of another toundtable style article in the September 2009 issue of Downbeat, Dan Ouellette poses the question to three people as to whether this designation 'classical' should be abandoned altogether. Herwith is the opening statement of his column:

"According to the National Endowment of the Arts Study 'Arts Participation 2008; Highlights from a National Survey', audiences for jazz have been seriously dwindling. The study linked jazz with classical music as performing arts whose attendance has declined the most. Given the alarming stats, should jazz be tagged "America's classical music" because of an audience perception problem?" Downbeat, Sept 2009 p. 15.

While this question is of potential interest for discussion, this is offered as a complement of information to the issue raised here (and for those interested, search for the article in question, surely worth the read). Three musicians, one of whom is also a jazz educator and teacher, and one journalist/jazz historian were sollicted to give their views on both of the definitions, and to pronounce themselves on which of these they thought was more relevant, or satisfactory.

There are indeed several ways of dealing with the question, one being a more detached (or objective) way (based on observing the art form as it now stands); conversely, there is a more subjective approach where the participant can take a more personal stand, as informed by his or her own personal experience with the music. Thus: Has jazz attained a 'classical' status after a little more than a century of existence? Or: can it still surprise the listener in light of its extraordinarly quick evolution over this time period? These were but some possible avenues that were suggested to the particpants.

Coat Cooke, Vancouver
Saxophonist and artistic director of the New Orchestra Workshop (a.k.a. NOW Orchestra)

To me, I really have problems with both of these definitions, and for different reasons. Regarding Whitney Balliett's definition, I have always liked that definition on some levels. One part of the music I like is when there is that sense of excitment, or when your on the edge of the unknown, if you wish. However, that definition is also so vague and addresses the music in almost a naive way. Not only that, but I find it to be almost pejorative in the sense that this naiveté denigrates the music in a lot of ways, as it is reducing it almost to an umpulse, when in fact it is much more complex than that. That is but one aspect of a greater whole, because it extends far beyond that into a variety of cultural, sociological and historicals considerations. So reducing the music to 'the sound of surprise' is just an oversimplification of things, and even belittles it for the sake of a catch phrase. It's never easy to describe anything for that matter, and you should always wonder what the purpose of it is, or why you're doing it in the first place. All that to say that boiling all of this down to that is just not adequate. But as mentioned previously, it's a definition of one aspect of the music I happen to like, which is fine, but to have it as an overall descriptor is really treading on dangerous ground.

And I have the same feeling on the other statenent, too. When you look at the dictionnary definition of 'classical', it says that it's something considered to be 'serious'. But what then are the implications of that word? When looking at it from a Western perspective, there's an air of importance given to that term. True, there's no denying jazz is an important music and one that has reached a high level of development here in its birthplace. Now I was discussing this topic with a freind of mine, and I came to the point of saying that 'classical music' is something that can be readily defined, in the sense of being written down and reproduceable anywhere in the world, and at any point in time. In jazz, that is not the case, which, by the way, is a strange word in and of itself. Yet, when you look at the jazz of the pre-bop era, a lot of it was played by big bands (Ellington, Basie, Lunceford…) where it was very much written down, but with the jazz component in the solo improvisations (which, incidentally, was once the case in early 'classical' music as well, a practice gradually renoved from it so as to not be part of its description anymore). From be-bop on, however, it became a more strongly indivisualized music. In today's schools, they teach you to play like, say, Cannonball Adderely, when in fact it has nothing to do with individual expression at all. So jazz is not 'classical' in the sense of being codified, which doesn't mean it shouldn't be taken seriously.

Reno De Stefano, Ph.D.
Jazz guitarist/composer (Professor of Jazz Studies/Université de Montréal)

Let's start by saying that a precise definition of jazz is always problematic because it is a constantly evolving art form. What may appear to be a concise and clear definition for a particular style or period may be inadequate and totally inappropriate for another. One only need to listen to Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers ("Indestructible") from 1964 and to Cecil Taylor's "Unit Structures" from 1966 to realize that a definition of jazz would have to be quite general, all-encompassing and flexible to provide room for these two diametrically-opposed jazz aesthetics which co-existed side by side. Examples such as this one abound in the jazz tradition.

Marshall Stearns tries to illuminate his readers by positing that jazz has achieved the status of classical music as a distinctive and unique musical art form. It is true that jazz developed as an indigenous American art form, the culmination of a long process of maturation just as in classical music. Hence, jazz is to America what classical music is to Europe. The history of jazz (and classical music) is characterized by continuous stylistic change because it is in the nature of an art form to grow and develop. In the jazz discourse and its literature we discover that jazz is elevated above other indigenous forms ("America's classical music"), and we find this idea of an evolutionary progression reaching back to the beginning of the century. In his survey a History of Jazz in America, Barry Ulanov supports this view and explains that the history of jazz is a "curiously even one, chaotic at any instant, but always moving ahead in what is, for an art form, almost a straight line." Classical music as we know it, has gone through a similar type of development.

The contributions of master soloists such as Louis Armstrong, Coleman Hawkins, Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman and others have brought about major changes in the jazz language at different times throughout its complex history. It is clear then, that it becomes increasingly difficult to provide an adequate, all-encompassing definition of a musical language that is constantly going through rapid changes in vocabulary and sound.

There is no doubt that the jazz language and its sound have changed dramatically in its brief hundred-year history. So much so, that even swing players when first confronted with bebop thought it sounded Chinese to their ears. Every decade or so, master improvisers and composers have introduced innovations and distinctive "new sounds" to the idiom. Consequently, we can understand and appreciate Whitney Balliett's attempt to define jazz "as the sound of surprise." This sonoric individualism- the unfettered expression of the individual- is probably the most radical and most important aspect of jazz which differentiates it so dramatically from most other forms of music-making. In his book Musings, Gunther Schuller remarks that the "sounds of jazz, as musicians simply call it, are its most obviously distinguishing and memorable surface features." Even the purely rhythmic distinctions between and among players are much less pronounced than the timbral and sonority aspects. These have always been and still are today amongst the young generation of players, highly personal and specific.

In the future jazz will most probably continue to evolve and borrow from other musical styles and traditions. Any attempt to provide an accurate definition will become increasingly more difficult as jazz moves away from its indigenous African-American roots. However, as an art form jazz has already been consecrated, earning its status as America's classical music, never ceasing to surprise us with its sounds !

Christine Jensen
Saxophonist, composer, band leader (Montreal)

I have had time to question how to place jazz in the now. With the current recession barking at my heels that need to be oiled by funding from a vast array of sources, along with European travels through many jazz clubs, concert halls along with giving many masterclasses, I have come to realize that jazz is competing with a lot more music than it used to, as all genres continue to diversify. There is also the need to build a new, young audience as the older one is mostly attached to music from the past (eg. pre-1960 jazz). Traveling with Nordic Connect we have noticed a general disconnect in establishing an audience in jazz, as well as in selling our music on CD especially. I feel a steady decline in live audience participation, thus the decline in jazz audience population, although there are some bright spots. This has mightily affected record
sales, further diminishing the artist's budget in promotion. Talk about a cog in the wheel!

Defining jazz is a tricky thing for me. It has consistently evolved at a rapid rate due to a high influx of schooled musicians, as well as the addition of technology. So, defining it to me is more like defining improvised music as opposed to jazz (which contains such a broad spectrum of styles in it's own genre). I would not define jazz as America's Classical music for a variety of reasons. To attach "classical" is to attach a stigma of a style of music that has already been historically placed. The improvising musician puts the music in the now, which, to me, goes against the term "classical". I feel that jazz continually evolves through the musician searching out new structures that fuse composition and improvisation. I also believe the jazz artist is less inhibited once these two elements are fully explored , and I would only hope that Balliett's idea of the "sound of surprise" is the result. I think that Balliett's definition is most fitting, as ultimately the audience is introduced to something new each time they hear a jazz group that improvises. This is why jazz is jazz and why I think that it is an international or world music before it is America's classical music.

I find in my travels and in my teachings that the young jazz musician is more skilled than ever, and is at hard work attempting to find one's own voice rather than relying on the re-hashing of the American songbook with a limited vocabulary in improvisation (although the brightest stars are equally astute in paying homage to the songbook repertoire eg. Kurt Rosenwinkel). I believe that jazz should have the respect of the people and the state at the same height of classical music for this reason, but there are some serious obstacles. I feel that America* already has its own classical music whether it contains new compositions or it is the performance of standard repertoire. It is well structured on many levels as the composer is the ultimate storyteller. Classical music includes a high level of organization from the presenters in order for the ensemble or solo artist to take advantage of its audience. Jazz, on the other hand, can only be in a decline because of a lack of awareness and organization (festivals are still a beacon of light, but tend to limit jazz awareness by presenting their programs in a short amount of time). I have also noticed that the institutions that foster classical music have a tendency to repress the notion of artistry in jazz, and choose to further separate the genres, giving the classically trained musicians the advantage of pursuing a career that contains a lot more cultural support on many levels. To me jazz is jazz as long as it contains that element of surprise from the improvising musician. It is social music, and it bridges and draws from many genres, therefore giving even more meaning to it's own definition.

(*) When Stearns refers to America in his definition, I wonder if that includes Canada as well? Does he mean the United States, or the North American continent?

Mark Miller
Journalist and jazz historian. (Toronto)

Personally, I neither find "America's classical music" nor the "Jazz as the sound of surprise" to be entirely (or at all) satisfying as definitions. But if asked to choose between them — as indeed is the exercise here — I would prefer the latter, if only because it causes me less difficulty.

I have always resisted in principle, and resented in fact, any effort to quantify or qualify jazz in terms of classical music and thus implicitly establish a hierarchical relationship between the two fields in which one, classical music, becomes the standard to which the other, jazz, aspires. Jazz need not be quantified or qualified on any terms other than its own. (Unless, of course, it's for purposes of fundraising; how better to open the purse strings of public and private philanthropy than to claim equality with the music played by the symphony orchestras and opera companies that have traditionally received such support?) If the intent of calling jazz "America's classical music" is simply to suggest that Armstrong, Ellington and Parker (for example) are to America what Bach, Beethoven and Bartok (for example) are to Europe, in terms of their respective culture's highest musical achievements — well, that is perhaps innocent enough. But it is no more than a laurel; it is certainly not a definition. (And, as has been asked before in discussions of this sort, where does it leave Aaron Copland, Henry Cowell and Charles Ives?) Employed more formally, and for any purpose other than as a promotional catch-phrase, "America's classical music" fixes in place the aesthetics of jazz in ways contrary to what has historically been its inquiring spirit, as if its full measure has now been taken — a measure based on past events and evidently restricted, rather too jingoistically, to those events as they occurred in the contiguous 48 states. While this may be consistent with the comings and goings at Lincoln Center, it precludes the possibility that jazz might continue to evolve, a dangerous presumption to make of a music that has, in its 100-year history, done nothing but evolve — for better and, admittedly at times, for worse.

"Jazz as the sound of surprise" is a happier proposition, one no more adequate as a definition but one at least open rather than exclusionary in its implications. Although it is in fact just one of the many characteristics that might be ascribed to jazz, and although that characteristic is not unique to jazz, "the sound of surprise" places no limits on the music stylistically, culturally or geo-politically. Instead, it allows for — and even captures an essence of — the freedom that jazz has embraced and, if it's not held back by such sloganeering as "jazz is the classical music of America," will continue to embrace.

Note: Miller's newest publication, Herbie Nichols—A Jazzist's Life (Mercury Press) is to be realeased this month in Canada.

Vancouver International Jazz Festival 2009: Set 1: Introduction and Trio M

by Laurence Svirchev

The TD Canada Trust Vancouver International Jazz Festival has a special quality that differentiates it from the vast majority of music festivals. It presents not only an array of headliners to fill the the large concert halls, but it also emphasizes the musicians who represent the bulk of the Canadian jazz scene aesthetics and economy. Approximately 1800 musicians play the festival, and 52% of these are from the Vancouver area while another 15% are from the rest of Canada. I'll stand corrected if any other large North American festival, the Montreal festival for example, can even come close to this track record. The TD Canada Trust Vancouver International Jazz Festival goes one step further to make it the shining star of North American festivals: the restless rolling stone of jazz imagination finds its contemporary expression every June in Vancouver. The TD Canada Trust Vancouver International Jazz Festival spotlights creative Canadian and international musicians in the context of their long-standing collaborations, not in cubby-hole clubs, but in venues with great acoustics and comfortable seating.

One of these collaborative events, Ice hockey: Canada vs. Sweden featuring François Houle and Mats Gustafsson +12 was an extravaganza featuring musicians decked out in hockey jerseys. Two video screens showed vintage hockey matches; the screens switched to scoreboards when one side trumped the other with a goal. Fred Lonberg-Holm from Chicago a had immense fun refereeing the jocular relations between the Canadians and Swedes in a show which featured plenty of roughing and fast-paced improvisational skating. At the end of the match the score was even, Houle and Gustafsson faced off, not with the clarinet v. baritone saxophone, but over a child's board game. Gustafsson easily scored with a slap shot and the players then went through the post-game ritual of shaking hands with each other.

A different take on international collaboration came from the Félix Stüssi 5 + Ray Anderson. Stüssi is a Montréal-based pianist-composer who originally came to Canada from Switzerland. Anderson's original base was Chicago but now it is New York State. Then there was Joëlle Léandre, the French bassist who was ubiquitous at this year's festival, collaborating with a number of people, including a solo-duo set with Swiss improviser Urs Leimgruber. Gigs such as these may not be the economic engines that keep a festival boat afloat in these years of funding cuts to the arts, but over the course of the previous twenty-three annual festivals, Vancouver audiences have been privileged to cutting edge music. For example, in 1992, Bill Frisell told me that festival Artistic Director Ken Pickering was the first person in North America to ask him to play his own music at a festival.

Jazz journalists too-frequently review a festival's music in the chronological order in which they heard the gigs. While this may give a sense of how a festival flows, it is all too easy for the writer to concentrate on making comparisons between and among gigs, writing more about how the writer feels he becomes aurally saturated over 10 days. The range of music at the TD Canada Trust Vancouver International Jazz Festival is too broad, in my opinion, for such an approach. It is not fair to artists to compare a headline set of music veterans with the opening act, typically younger artists who represent the future of the music. In an attempt to keep the ears fresh, I listened to maximum two or three concert sets a day. With this dynamic in mind, I'll concentrate on some of the individual concerts I heard, starting with Trio M (Myra Melford, Mark Dresser, and Matt Wilson).

Trio M


Trio M's concert opened misterioso, seemingly as an open improvisation in slow time. Dresser played long-tones arco in the cello range; Wilson emphasized the toms with flutter anti-theses on the high-hat; Melford played sparingly, almost randomly, as she moved gradually out of the treble range into the mid-range. Then at four minutes, the preamble paid off in a grand anthem-like theme that evoked the strange paradoxical tension between music that is somber and celebratory at the same time. The musicians chose not to sustain this zone of tension for long. With Matt Wilson's explosive "Go!", the song took off as an express-train duo between the pianist and the drummer. From there the song went through multiple variations on themes, time changes, and emotional feel before ending at the thirty-two minute mark.


Many, including myself, had not heard Matt Wilson before. He made a strong impression upon the sophisticated group of listeners who frequented the Roundhouse Performance Center, so I would like to comment on his approach to music making. Wilson's delivery, although he is a thorough modernist, was oddly reminiscent of Joe Morello's, the underestimated drummer who made his mark with the classic Dave Brubeck Quartet. Morello was a drummer's drummer; it seemed that wasn't anything Morello couldn't do on the drums.

Wilson is no different. He frequents the drummers' classic left hand cross grip, ergonomics that perhaps delivers less rock power but instead grants the drummer a great range of expression at high velocity with a minimum expenditure of energy, particularly on the snare and the high-hat. With Wilson the listener also gets to hear an exceptionally powerful right foot that delivers rhythms independent of those generated by the other limbs. The result is an intriguing polyphony that belies what the eyes see when watching Wilson. He has an economy of motion at the kit which provokes the illusion he really is not that busy. For example, he will sometimes stop-motion his right hand at the top of the arc before making a decisive strike while the other three limbs in his kit's cast of characters are moving swiftly.

If the listener closes the eyes the realization kicks in that he possesses the same qualities of high-end expressiveness, aesthetics, vocabulary, and velocity as some of the drummers (like Paul Lovens, Han Bennink, and Hamid Drake) we have been privileged to hear in Vancouver. Trio M was worth hearing if just for this one discovery, which of course makes me want to hear Wilson (who by the way composed several of Trio M's pieces) in other contexts.


Back to the gig itself. With a reprise of the melody at the end of the express section, Melford dropped out and Wilson used a rapid deceleration of tempo on the high hat, a moment of silence intervened, and Mark Dresser soloed pizzicato at slow tempo, ending with his trademark right-hand slash against the strings: he hits with such speed that at the hand dramatically continues though the arc and ends up hanging at the horizontal for a moment.

Dresser is one of the sophisticates of the double bass, a true innovator in the way he has exploited the possibilities of combining the traditional acoustic properties of the instrument with contemporary electronic methods. He has discovered methods to enhance the natural vibrations of the strings that are too small to be heard without amplification. His bass has coiled pickups embedded in two strategic places on the fingerboard, allowing him to express as many as three simultaneous pitches on one string and at the same time control the volume of each pitch. The three pitches come from the two lengths above and below where his fingers press the string into the fretboard, and the third is the vibration of the whole string through the instrument.

These techniques are both powerful and beautiful magnifiers that increased the depth and intensity of the music. Midway through the first number of the concert, Dresser created creating a bowed cycle in the deep range of the bass occasionally punctuating it with a plucked the E-string that gradually transited into the cello range. Tucked into all that sound were eerie musics that sounded created totally by a synthesizer, but in fact were the amplified natural harmonics of short lengths of the strings which normally could not be heard by the human ear. What made the effects even more delicious were the happy concurrence of Melford lifting her hands off the keys and manipulating the strings inside the piano, with Wilson softly on brushes.

This song lasted some 33-some minutes. In fact it was not one composition but three, an interpolation of AL (Matt Wilson), The Promised Land (Melford), and Naïve Art (Matt Wilson). The segues, improvisations, counterpoints, instantaneous accelerations/decelerations, and tension-release cycles made the music simultaneously sound like both a total improvisation and a through-composed piece. This was one of the great things about listening to Trio M, they took the audience on a journey through space and time and one was never sure what would happen next. That essence of jazz is exactly what happened during the rest of the concert.

Reference CD: Big Picture By Trio M, www.cryptogramophone.com

Ornette Coleman, Montreal International Jazz Festival, July 9, 2009

by Mark Chodan After an absence of more than 20 years, it would have been hard to pass up seeing Ornette Coleman on a Montreal stage. And what an impression he made… The evening started with the FIJM presenting Ornette with their Miles Davis award, ironic given that Miles had little positive to say about Ornette and his band when they arrived in New York in the late 50s. His acceptance speech (or more accurately, "non-acceptance speech") was in the typically esoteric Ornette style where he spoke about how the only thing that was important for humanity was love. Ornette politely declined the physical award, dismissing it as a "gadget". Note: for those interested in familiarizing themselves with Ornettese, search out the CBC unedited podcast of an Ornette interview with Jian Ghomeshi from 2008. Ornette and his quartet then proceeded to play well over one hour's worth of a mix of classic and newer Ornette music. With son Denardo Coleman on drums and bassists Tony Falanga (upright) and Al MacDowell (electric piccolo), the quartet was definitely closer to Ornette's Prime Time zone of the 80s than to the classic quartet of the 60s. Ornette stuck primarily to his alto although at many points he did switch to violin or trumpet for segments of many of the pieces. The best way to picture the music, in my opinion, is to think of the quartet as a stripped down Prime Time, where the bassists function as the foundation, the x-axis, and Ornette and Denardo as the y-axis, where time can be stretched, compressed or side-lined. Falanga and MacDowell are clearly master musicians of the highest caliber, Falanga laying down the basic groove and MacDowell commenting and interjecting with his guitar-like piccolo bass. On this foundation Ornette and Denardo are free to enter dialogue amongst themselves and/or with the bassists. Not to knock Denardo, but I couldn't help but wonder at certain points how different this quartet may have sounded with a different drummer. Throughout his career Ornette has not usually strayed too far from a basic pulse in his music, and this Denardo does provide. But it would be interesting to consider the musical possibilities if Ornette were to team up with, well, maybe not a Paul Lytton or Tony Oxley, but maybe Hamid Drake. At 79, Ornette still has formidable stamina and a stunning sense of time. The set was followed by two encores, his classic Lonely Woman, and another piece which was either Michael Jackson's (!) "Beat It", or another Ornette piece that quoted the Jackson tune extensively, in the wake of Jackson's death only two weeks earlier. Overall, Ornette Coleman's quartet provided an evening of exciting music. Gone are the days when Ornette could easily clear out a venue with his "radical" music of days gone by. These days Ornette is selling out concert halls and other large festival venues. This is an encouraging sign that perhaps great artists are no longer only recognized upon their deaths.