Pigeonholing the Style

I think there are two schools of thought on how to define genres in music (or really anything). Most people define a genre as a set of qualities, and pieces of music with those qualities belong to the genre. In this way, a genre can be highly specific—strictly defined, so that all music belonging to the genre must have all the qualities associated with the genre; or very general—either it has very few defining qualities or very few of the defining qualities must be present in a piece for one to consider it part of the genre.

This way of describing music is lazy. Most commonly-used genre names go undefined, and critics who employ them tend to use them however they want, letting genre X stand for whatever bolsters their statement at that moment. Most attempts at defining a genre rely heavily on examples. Most arguments over genre definitions are really just arguments over what performers/pieces belong to the genre. And most statements about music that rely heavily on genres defined in this way, are basically meaningless (if not circular).

This is why I prefer the reverse direction in defining a genre. I define a genre simply by the bands one would describe as making music in that genre. I don't mean here that I use the example bands to grasp the concept of the particular genre. I define genre X as being the set of pieces of music {x}. Any discussion of what all the pieces have in common consists then of valuable statements, rather than simple semantics.

Of course, there's then the question of how to choose which pieces are in the group that is defined as the genre. And here's where I think this way of defining genre is more valuable: it's all historical. The first method of defining genre assumes that you can always describe music by abstract concepts; that the most meaningful statements about a piece of music are made when pulled out of its historical context. This is why it's most useful for the average music listener. He doesn't care about the historical context of music. He wants a lazy descriptor, because generally when he says something pertaining to music he doesn't intend to say something about music.

But music is always contextual, and it's always important to know the history of the musicians involved, when one wants to really know about the music. And with any genre of music, there are always cores of musicians—scenes—and locations where these people are. There is still the full spectrum of strictness. Early-80s-Boston-hardcore—defined by what bands are considered early 80s Boston hardcore—is relatively specific (strict) compared to simply 80s-hardcore.

In some sense, I suppose the real difference between the two ways of defining genre is a change from subjective qualities to objective qualities. Fast, loud, and aggressive are highly subjective. Being from Boston, making music in the early 80s, releasing your records through certain labels and playing concerts with certain other bands are all pretty objective.

The genre definitions are still subjective, because whoever defines the genre chooses which objective qualities it consists of. But this is at least more like a perfect language like mathematics in which, say, an algebra is defined by its commutation relations. You can choose the commutation relations freely, but once they are chosen, the algebra is defined.

I won't say that such music discussions are generally as objective as mathematics, but this way of describing music does eliminate a lot of the filler. I had this topic in my head because I've been reading a lot of definitions of what minimalist music is. In an attempt to keep the posts short, I'll leave that as the topic of the next one.

The tempo is fast. The length is determined by the player.

I've been rereading Keith Potter's Four Musical Minimalists—about La Monte Young, Terry Riley, Steve Reich, and Philip Glass. The first time around I only read the sections on Young and Riley. While they both have written good and interesting music, I'm not that familiar with their works and have been disappointed by maybe half of what I've heard. Reading a couple hundred somewhat-dense pages about something I wasn't that interested in led me to stop halfway through. I picked it up again recently, started this time with the chapter on Reich, and found the book to be much better than I had remembered.

Minimalism is so often summed up as being Young, Riley, Reich, and Glass. In that order. Potter emphasizes the order: Young composed Trio for Strings (1958), kicking it all off. Riley was out on the west coast, drew from Young's long drawn out slow processes, and wrote pieces like In C (1964). Reich lived down the street from Riley out in SF, helped to organize the first performance of In C, performing in the group (along with two Mills classmates who go on to be in the Grateful Dead. wha?). Reich then wrote pieces like Piano Phase (1967). Reich moved to NYC. Glass moved to NYC. The two met, shared ideas, and formed an ensemble together. Glass then composed pieces like Music in 12 Parts (1971).

Potter is really into that. Surprisingly so, given the statements of the composers (Both Reich and Glass wrote books about their own music). Reich claims to have not heard any of Young's pieces before composing much of his taped phasing pieces. His ideas on phasing are way more important in the development of his music up to 1971/2 then what he may have taken from his interactions with Riley. He also says he can't remember whether he saw any of Young's scores when he was a student.

Glass says he never heard any of Young's music until he moved to NYC in the late 1960s. And what he did see, though impressing him a lot, was a piece from Young's Composition 1960 series which was more performance art than music. (The piece in particular was #7, "Draw a Straight Line and Follow It," which on that evening was Riley swinging a pendulum, waiting for it to stop and then drawing a line in chalk on the floor. It lasted over three hours.) He, like many, didn't hear Riley's In C until it came out on record in 1968. Glass had also already composed very simple minimalist pieces while he was living in Paris in the mid 60s. Pieces like his work for the staging of Becket's play Play, which was just a simple two note pattern played by soprano saxophone accompanied by a taped recording of the same. And when he returned to NYC he composed pieces like Strung Out (1967) probably before getting to know Reich. He also says that when they shared an ensemble, pieces were always finished before they were practiced, and idea swapping was not very important.

Of course, artists always want to take all the credit for innovations. Just look at Young and his assertions that the free improvised one-note drone pieces performed by a group of composers including himself, Tony Conrad, Angus Maclise and John Cale are entirely his intellectual property. Concerning true innovation in music, I tend to take the "it's in the air" view. It was just the time for these developments in music. While I do think these composers were all influenced by each other (once a community started to develop), I don't know if I'm so ready to believe all the connections Potter makes. He also leaves out so any composers. Focusing on those 4 ignores the large community of minimalist composers that existed.

Originally I thought I'd write about Reich and Glass in parallel installments in order to keep my entries shorter. I chose those two because I know almost all their works from the beginnings of their careers up to well beyond when they become established; because I know their biographies well; because they were the first two minimalist composers I listened to; and because I believe they are two of the most important (and best) composers of the 20th century. (They are also the two most famous late 20th century composers, aside from soundtrack composers like John Williams.) Maybe, though, I'll just write shorter entries on the pieces I'm listening to at the moment and the new ones I'm discovering as I do more reading into the history of Minimalism, Post-Minimalism, Totalism and Maximalism. I worry that doing that will cause this blag to become like the first one I wrote for, i.e. full of highly colloquial entries with not much compositional forethought (read: lots of "awesome"). Hopefully that won't happen.

In the last post, I wrote that one of the reasons I liked free jazz was because it involved a community similar to that of punk. The Minimalist community also has much in common with the punk community. Most people with the power to release records didn't "get" the new emerging style, and it was often a hard fight to get music out on record. David Behrman curated (and produced) a seminal series of releases for Columbia Records, Music of Our Time, which included Riley's In C, Reich's Come Out, the works of other great composers just getting recognized at that time (e.g. Oliveros, Maxfield, Ichiyanagi) and the works of some older more established composers (e.g. Cage, Feldman).

(One of the best records I ever jacked from my dad's collection turns out to be part of Behrman's series. It's a M.O.O.T. promotional 7" aimed at fans of psychedelic/outside rock. It juxtaposes excerpts from big hit psychedelic tunes with excerpts from Come Out, some Stockhausen, some Babbitt, and others. It has a great announcer talking between the excerpts about the exciting new times in music. I used to play bits of it all the time for transitions on my radio show and mixtapes.)

But that's the only effort by a large label that I know of. A lot of musicians pressed records themselves, like Glass did for his own Chatham Square label.

More importantly, shows ("performances," but c'mon that's such a pretentious term) were so often presented in people's apartments or in small art galleries. However, avant-garde academic music lacked the anti-establishment beliefs of both free jazz and punk, and composers took any chance they could to perform in established venues (a lot seem to happen in the Guggenheim and the Whitney, as well as at BAM) or get grants. But then, the free-jazzers and punks didn't turn down the big-time when it came knocking.

Here is a partial list of composers I've been listening to lately or reading about: Steve Reich, Philip Glass, Anthony Moore, Gavin Bryars, Wim Mertens, Phil Niblock, Michael Nyman, Charlemagne Palestine, Harold Budd, Richard Maxfield, John Adams, Philip Corner, John White, Rhys Chatham, Glenn Branca, Arnold Dreyblatt, Jon Gibson, Meredith Monk, Pauline Oliveros, Tom Johnson (also a good critic), Barbara Benary, William Duckworth, Ingram Marshall, Julius Eastmann. I'll hopefully tackle short posts on individual works or short time periods in the careers of these people.

If anyone has recommendations of more people for me to add to my list, please let me know—it's not that easy to find information on this movement in music yet. I've only found a handful of books that focus on it (Mertens and Niblock both wrote books in the 70s which look good, though I haven't read them yet); but that are some websites focused on small groups of composers or substyles, and most active composers maintain somewhat helpful websites (Niblock and Bryars come to mind right away).

Because I enjoy quoting, I leave you with the only light/humorous statement in Potter's book (though it could just be he's a dick): "Glass does not give a fully composed score [to 1+1, *(1968)]; instead, he offers just two basic 'rythmic units' (sic; like many musicians, Glass seemingly cannot spell 'rhythm') . . . ."

Brute Volume

Free Jazz : Jazz :: Punk : Rock.

This is basically why I like free jazz (and yet not jazz). Free jazz has all the classic elements associated with punk: Energy packed music that isn't concerned with playing on the beat or in time. Tightly-knit scenes where people organize their own shows in small clubs, lofts and living rooms. Independent labels. Independent magazines. Intelligent music made by people concerned with style as message. Mistrust of the Man.

Of course, free jazz is jazz, so it's generally not as catchy as punk. But there are some free jazzers that have worked in a more pop style. Sun Ra recorded rock singles. Albert Ayler recorded an entire funk album. Sonny Sharrock recorded 4 minute pop tunes.

Sharrock (1940-1994) started in doo-wop in the 50s as a member of The Echoes, who never really got themselves down on record. (They were recorded as backup singers for a couple of acts and recorded two songs as themselves, but these were never released.) He didn't start playing guitar until 1960. I always like finding out a great musician didn't start until later in life. Twenty is not really late in life, but nowadays people tend to think musos are people who picked up the violin at age three and that if you start after adolescence, you're not gonna get far. But Sharrock didn't pick up the guitar until age 20. Sharrock again recalls the DIY spirit with this quote from a 1990 interview:

I started on January 6th, 196O. I'm good with dates like that, man. It was a Tuesday, if I'm not mistaken, yeah. . . . the Daniel brothers, Ted Daniel the trumpet player and his brother Richard, who at one point back in the '7Os had a group called Brute Force which might be remembered by a few people, had started the band, Richard played keyboards, Ted trumpet, and they had taken music lessons, you know, all of their childhood, and they started a band, and they asked me to join. So I came into it. We didn't know what we were doing, we knew we loved what we were hearing on records, but how to do it? We had not a clue. But we tried, you know.

He went to Berklee in 1961 to study composition (I can't imagine someone picking up an instrument at age 20 now and getting into Berklee a year later), but left in his second semester. He must have played around Boston for the next few years and then moved down to New York City in 1965 around the same time as his fellow Berklee student, Byard Lancaster.

It was at a Lancaster show in Philadelphia that same year that John Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders saw him play. Sanders invited Sharrock to join his band which was performing weekly at Slug's Saloon—basically setting Sharrock up on the New York scene.

The first time he shows up on record is with Pharoah Sanders' group in late 1966 on the Impulse! record Tauhid. Sanders' music is an odd sort of free jazz. He and his band members are some of the free-est players around, but Sanders' pieces have a very composed feel to them. The second track on Tauhid, "Japan," which is possibly my favorite Pharoah Sanders tune, doesn't sound particularly free at all on its own. Of course, when you hear the whole record and hear how the band takes composed themes and creates a free structure around them, then the song sounds less fixed.

Pharoah Sanders - "Japan"
(Tauhid, Impulse! A9138, November 15, 1966)

Sharrock's part on this song is very straight forward. He's actually just playing a simple I-IV-V progression. But it's how he's playing it. He gets a great soft and muted tone from his playing. He said in interviews that he wasn't using any effects (which were starting to become popular then); that he was just playing so hard (on a hollow body guitar) that the notes would physically distort, aided by overworking his not-too-powerful amp. The sound reminds me of Daniel Johnston, who strums his beat up acoustic clumsily with his thumb, or Jandek, who knowingly plays an out-of-time bungled flamenco. The hard attack of his strumming combined with the overdriven tone creates a surf music feel. It's not easily heard on "Japan" (though I think it's there and that's why the song reminds me of Philip Glass' soundtrack to Mishima, in particular "Osamu's Theme"), but can definitely be heard on the opening track "Upper Egypt & Lower Egypt."

Pharoah Sanders - "Upper Egypt & Lower Egypt" (excerpt)
(Tauhid, Impulse! A9138, November 15, 1966)

A month after the Tauhid session, he was back in the studio to record with two other New York groups. First with Marzette Watts for his eponymous lp on ESP. Sharrock is maybe buried a little on this record—it is a larger group and a more spastic sound than the Sanders record—but you can hear him there, playing the other side of his sound. Rather than the full hard-strummed chords, he plays little sound bursts in imitation, as he says, of a tenor sax. He often said that John Coltrane was his biggest influence; that had he not been asmathic he would have played the tenor sax. This is best heard on "Geno," where his playing is featured loudest in the mix.

Marzette Watts - "Geno" (excerpt)
(Marzette Watts, ESP 1044, December 8, 1966)

The second session he was in on at this time was for Byard Lancaster's It's Not Up To Us. This is in parts a very pop record, full of funky rhythms, folk tunes and children's songs; and what sounds like an electric bass on at least a couple of tracks. Sharrock plays a spastic rhythm throughout. My favorite song on this record, also the catchiest song, is the title track. It's infectious and I find myself humming it over and over after hearing it. I don't hear Sharrock playing on it, however. But the record also has it's free-er, less pop moments, including the Sharrock-penned song, "John's Children," and, the closing track, "Satan," which features Sharrock as the key musician.

Byard Lancaster - "Satan"
(It's Not Up To Us, Vortex 2003, December 19, 1966)

It was also around this time that he started playing with Herbie Mann, a name jazz musician. This stuff is jazz. I find it really boring and I wouldn't be surprised if Sharrock found it boring, too. But free jazz doesn't pay well, that's why the musicians needed to organize their own shows and recording dates and press their own records. So being in Herbie Mann's band meant that Sharrock could survive and still be able to focus some of his energy on making his own music.

And he did just that. His first recording dates as band leader came in October of 1968 and then May of 1969. These recordings were released as Black Woman, an incredible record. This is really the best example of free jazz as pop. The songs are all relatively short, ranging in length from 3 minutes to 9 minutes. The also feature catchy hooks and the oddly infectuous screaming of Sharrock's wife Linda Sharrock. Sonny also sings a little on the record and there is some great harmonizing between him and Linda.

The record opens with the title track: a cymbal flourish, slight humming from Linda and whispy, reverb-drenched little lines from Sonny. It just begins to build and build. Milford Graves (maybe the best drummer ever) brings in more cymbal play and some hand percussion (sleigh bells!); Sonny builds ferocious momentum, taking those little lines into long runs reminiscent of Dick Dale; and Linda starts to belt out powerful screams.

Sonny Sharrock - "Black Woman"
(Black Woman, Vortex 2014, 1969)

This is fallowed by "Peanut," a 9 minute light hearted free jazz christmas song. I swear, it really sounds like you could play it at christmas, though people will probably ask you to turn it off when Sonny starts making his string-scraping, note-bending noises. And well, yeah, I guess it will definitely be pulled off the stereo when Linda starts screaming. Or you could just skip a track to "Bialero" (a french folk tune), which has much softer guitar runs, nice light piano rhythm, and more operatic singing (no screaming) from Linda—the drums, though, are still all over the place and great. Or skip two tracks to "Blind Willy," a multi-tracked guitar solo piece. It's blues, yet it's still good. It's a real testament to Sharrock's abilities as a song writer. He wrote a blues tune, but it's not overly cliche. Of course, it helps that it sounds acoustic (or at least hollow-body) and it's all rhythm, no lead.

The album closes with "Portrait of Linda in Three Colors, All Black." This song has it all. Incredible drumming. Perfect piano, when jazz piano is usually just annoying. Great harmonizing of Sonny's guitar runs, Linda and Sonny's crooning and the piano chords. Even a great balance of Linda's screaming with jittery trumpet.

Sonny Sharrock - "Portrait of Linda in Three Colors, All Black"
(Black Woman, Vortex 2014, 1969)

During that winter between the recording dates that were Black Woman, Sharrock recorded with Don Cherry and again with Pharoah Sanders. The Don Cherry recording was for his Eternal Rhythm LP. Sharrock's playing here, as well as his role in the ensemble, is very similar to that on the Marzette Watts record. The review on allmusic.com describes him as having a "'glass shards' approach"; I would say that describes it just perfectly.

Don Cherry - "Eternal Rhythm Part I" (excerpt)
(Eternal Rhythm, MPS 2520, November 11/12, 1968)

The recording date with Pharoah Sanders, which was released as Izipho Zam on the independent free jazz label Strata East (operated by Charles Tolliver, trumpet, and Stanley Cowell, piano, out of New York City), has him fitting right back into the group with the same sound as on Tauhid. He achieves the same surf sound, again mostly as rhythm accompaniment, repeating the same fast-strummed riff over and over, fading in and out with the percussion as Sanders and the other horns trade easily hummed melodies.

Pharoah Sanders - "Izipho Zam" (excerpt)
(Izipho Zam, Strata East SES-19733, January 14, 1969)

Izipho Zam is a great record. The title track is 30 minutes of sedate Awesome, while the other two tracks, "Prince of Peace" and "Balance," veer into wilder territory. The original record (and most of the records mentioned) is unfortunately very expensive, but (again, like all the records discussed in this article) has been rereleased on CD.

In this time period, from 1968 to 1972, aside from the avant garde recordings Sharrock was involved in, he also recorded numerous records with straight jazzers like Herbie Mann, Roy Ayers, Wayne Shorter and even Miles Davis (A Tribute to Jack Johnson). But, like I said above, I find this stuff all pretty bland and boring. I want to listen to it to hear Sharrock's contributions, but when I try, I can't. I turn it off after a few minutes. It's just too boring. Supposedly Sharrock convinced Herbie Mann's group to do some more outside pieces—some songs by Ornette Coleman and even some of his own pieces—but I haven't heard them. I would guess that without an ensemble of like minded free musicians, these pieces aren't that great.

In the summer of 1970 Sharrock had his second recording date as a band leader. The recordings were released as Monkey Pockie Boo by the french label BYG, who were releasing records by the Art Ensemble of Chicago, Archie Shepp and other giants of free jazz. Much, if not all, of the original BYG catalog is available again (often inexpensively) on record and CD. This record is a strange one. It's the sound of Black Woman but as an experimental record. Most of the pop elements of the earlier record are gone. To start with, the shortest track is 8 minutes and the longest is 17. The music is much noisier and Linda Sharrock's screaming is featured higher in the mix. The drumming is nowhere near as good as on the earlier record, however the bass playing (a lot of arco playing) is really interesting. There's an overall sonic similarity to New York No Wave. It's not a bad record, but I would certainly rank it well below Black Woman and Sharrock's earlier work as a sideman.

Sonny Sharrock - "27th Day" (excerpt)
(Monkey Pockie Boo, BYG Actuel 37, June 22, 1970)

Around the same time as the Monkey Pockie Boo session, Sharrock recorded as a guest member on the debut record by Brute Force, the band founded by his old friends, the Daniel brothers. Brute Force is a solid soul record, but would probably be forgotten if not for Sharrock's participation in the recording. He contributes as both a rhythm player and a soloist, playing in both his catchy rhythmic style and his "glass shards" style.

Brute Force - "Do It Right Now"
(Brute Force, Embryo SD 522, Summer 1970)

This unfortunately marks the beginning of a period of Sharrock's career where little was documented. After Monkey Pockie Boo he got a band together called The Savages. Sonny Sharrock and The Savages. They took the sound of Black Woman and added more latin and pop influences. I know of three recordings of this group: a soundtrack in 1973, a live session taped on the radio in 1974 and a studio session in 1975. After this, Sharrock went into a lengthy retirement from music.

The soundtrack recording, made for the documentary Another Place about the life of James Baldwin, doesn't appear to have ever been released. The recording session from the summer of 1975 was released as Paradise, attributed to Sonny & Linda Sharrock. It's jazz-funk-rock fusion. There's really no way to make that sounds good; and it's not very good. The bass is cheesy funky, Sonny's guitar sounds over-produced (destroying the signature sound he always has), and Linda's vocals sound like a Donna Summers sex-croon. Oh, and yeah, there's a string section in the background throughout the record. It has it's brief moments, though. The opening track, "Apollo," kicks off the record with a decent smooth soul vibe but becomes cheesy jazz-rock/jazz-funk within a minute.

Sonny & Linda Sharrock - "Apollo" (excerpt)
(Paradise, Atco Records, July 1975)

"1953 Boogie Children" is an embarrassing seven minute boogie woogie jam with few redeeming qualities. The other three tracks on the record are ok; you can listen to them, but they aren't really that interesting. "End of the Rainbow" gives you a good sense of how they all sound.

Sonny & Linda Sharrock - "End of the Rainbow"
(Paradise, Atco Records, July 1975)

Supposedly Sonny Sharrock disowned the record, saying he wasn't happy with the outcome of the recordings and that it should never be reissued.

The 1974 live recording from WKCR's studio is the real gem in this time period. It's a bootleg—a bootleg deserving of a good release from the original tapes. You can find it on the internet over at the WFMU website. It was recorded live on air, March 21, 1974. It shows what Paradise could have been. The latin percussion sounds great, Sonny's guitar sound is perfect, the bass is perfect, Linda's vocals are perfect. The loser track of Paradise is in much better form here as "1953 Blue Boogie Children." The real winner track of the recording is the opener "Sweet Butterfingers." It's too bad the Savages weren't recorded more.

(The WFMU download lacks track titles. The tracks recorded on that date are, in order: an introduction by the DJ rebroadcasting the original recording sometime in the early 90s [and doing a really great college DJ job at it, WKCR], "Sweet Butterfingers," "1953 Blue Boogie Children," "Peaceful," and "Highlife.")

This is where my review of Sonny Sharrock's first period of activity ends. He went into retirement in 1975 and didn't play again until 1981. Supposedly it was Bill Laswell who coaxed him out of retirement, and Sharrock became a part-time member of Laswell's group Material. As well, he recorded a number of records solo and as part of Last Exit (with Peter Brötzmann). I haven't really heard any of these records though. I once listened to his solo record Guitar, recorded in 1986, at a record store. It didn't sound bad, but it didn't sound good enough for me to buy it. I remember it being a little soft.

There are two late recordings I would like to highlight, though. The first is a live recording made with Ginger Baker in Geneva in March of 1987. I don't know much about the recording, but it sounds great. It's just the two of them making something very funky. Around this same time, Sharrock was involved in a recording with Baker, Brötzmann and some others, for Baker's record No Material. I haven't heard this record, but if it's anything like the bootleg live show, I bet it's good.

Sonny Sharrock & Ginger Baker - Untitled
(Live Bootleg, Geneva, March 19, 1987)

The other late recording is Sonny Sharrock's last full album recorded before his death in 1994. Ask The Ages reunited him with Pharoah Sanders, this time as the sideman. The record also features another Coltrane alumnus, Elvin Jones, on drums. (Also, the bassist for this record is drummer Charles Moffett's son Charnett [named, stupidly, after his father and Ornette Coleman].) It's a really surprising record. I never expect musicians to be able to produce something good past their prime. I wouldn't have expected these three musicians—stars of the 1960s/1970s avant-garde jazz scene—to be able to make such a good record in 1991. But they did it. And the record combines some of their best qualities: Elvin Jones' strong polyrhythmic drumming; Sonny Sharrock's thick over-driven rhythm playing; and Pharoah Sanders' hum-able sax melodies. The closing track, "Once Upon A Time," is probably my favorite. The drumming is just awesome. Sanders and Sharrock's rhythm track have a nice stereo affect, and Sharrock's two lead tracks (one high and noisy, one clean) are surprisingly catchy.

Sonny Sharrock - "Once Upon A Time"
(Ask The Ages, Axiom Records, 1991)

The only thing he recorded after this, I believe, was the theme song to the television show Space Ghost. He died not so long after in 1994 at the age of 53 from a heart attack in his hometown of Ossining, NY.

Web-Sites to consult concerning Sharrock:
Official Website
Sweet Butter Fingers (complete discography)
Sweet Butterfingers (really great interviews)
Sonny Sharrock Visual Discography (covers, tracks, band members)

Omega is the Alpha

Let me start by saying I'm not a jazzhead. I met a few when I was in college and they are actually the only ones I have ever known, so what I'm going to say about jazzheads in general is not really learned from a large sample. These dudes were really into Charlie Parker. I remember that much. And they had really awful taste outside of jazz. (I can't really say anything about their taste in jazz.)

Once, one of them tried to explain to me how Radiohead's OK Computer was the best album of the 90s. He said it had a real concept. He said the concept was anti-technology but, at the same time, pro-technology. I wish I had told him that concept albums are generally stupid; one step removed from the rock opera (probably not the best argument to give to someone who loved Tommy) and that as concepts go, anti-/pro-technology, especially in the late 90s, is, well, just stupid. Instead, I pointed out to him that he owned less than 100 pop CDs (and probably more than half of them were outside the 90s). So his sample size was poor at best. I think I may have said that Le Mans' Aqui Vivia Yo was the best album of the 90s. This conversation was taking place in 1999, though, and that record had basically just come out, so it was rather fresh in my mind. There's really no solid reason for choosing it as the best of the decade.

(Actually I wish I had told him that the concept of a best of a decade is just stupid. Grand sweeping "best of" questions that ignore genre, location, etc—I don't understand them. But I also don't understand general favorites: favorite band, favorite color. I do understand small-set favorites: favorite pop band from Kansas City from the early 80s; favorite tie in my wardrobe.)

The jazz Heads I encountered didn't have a concept of music as art. At least not outside jazz and classical. They couldn't understand how something that works in the pop music mode could be art in the same way as an avant garde film---a work of art done essentially in a commercial medium. I don't think most of them really considered jazz as art either. I don't think it was Man, Charlie Parker was really creating something meaningful there. Rather it was more about the ability of the musician to play his instrument. BeBop does, afterall seem to be all about technical proficiency. (Concerning classical, I don't think they thought of it as an art involving criticism, evaluation of good/bad. Classical music is simply there and should be respected, but not evaluated—though this is more the vibe I got from all the classical musos I grew up with.)

What I mean to say is I don't think these jazzheads were even into their own genre as art. This makes sense though. It's consistent. It would be silly to put down pop music as not being art because it's pop considering jazz had its moment as the pop. I think the low view of pop came from pop musicians not having a good grasp of music theory, whereas jazz musicians do.

My experience with jazzheads since then has only been through reading. Both well edited books and web-statements ranging from decently written online articles to poorly written personal sites. And I'm very often surprised by what I read.

I think I listen to a fair amount of jazz now, though nothing before 1960 and only artists belonging to a very particular, close-knit sub-genre. The people whose writing I read, though, they listen to jazz (say it slowly). All of it. They love dixieland jazz. They love big band jazz, be-bop, and hard-bop. They speak in terms of "post-bop." They even, sometimes, some of them, like cool jazz, and soul jazz, and whatever else there is. They praise the most boring shit out there as being something divine and put down a lot of the truly interesting stuff as, well, as "not jazz." And so we often only agree in the middle.

I suppose an example would help:

John Coltrane: I wouldn't say I'm a big fan because I can't really stand any of his music before Ascension. That is, before he turned to the new thing. I find it all really boring. It's also too clean. So over-mastered and cleaned up that it's like you're listening to the group playing on an empty soundstage with no noise, no ambient sounds, nothing. This is probably because it's Coltrane—he's the icon of jazz and so his music is subject to the whole digital remastering treatment. But once he makes it to 1965 everything is gold. All those recordings after he finds the new sound are great. They also don't have those production problems. Though this may be just because they aren't in as high demand as the bop stuff and so they aren't subject to the same treatment. That's my point, though. They aren't in as high demand because jazzheads aren't into his last 3 years. At least not as much as they are into sappy shit like Ole and A Love Supreme.

Because I really love the type of jazz I listen to, I often think that I should like other jazz. So sometimes I try it out. Always the stuff listed as influential to what I like. Things like Charles Mingus, late 50s Miles Davis, early 60s John Coltrane. "modal jazz," basically. I even tried listening to some Charlie Parker. I can't stand it. I really can't. It's as boring as I always remembered jazz being. It's the reason I really like the "FUCK JAZZ" t-shirt a friend of mine made. Those jazz heads laid it on thick, but in the end that music is ass-boring.

All of this is a long winded way of saying I think there is good jazz out there, but if you ask the average jazz Head for recommendations he'll give you crap recs.

I had intended this as an introduction to review of Sonny Sharrock's early period, but it has taken a different route. I had originally planned on posting it at a friend of mine's blog. It seems like a lot of people I know have started blogs lately (see also here, here, here and, wow, here). I tried posting to a friends blog once–regularly at first, with embarrassing posts that were short, substanceless and full of cheap mp3 links, and then irregularly, with long thought-out posts, each with a clear focus. I like the idea of a blog, but have been upset with the execution of most blogs. However, I figure if friends of mine whose opinions I trust can manage it, I shouldn't be so embarrassed by the idea.

So instead of publishing this on a friend's blog as an overview of Sharrock, I'm putting it here as the introduction to my own blog. My next post will be the Sharrock article and I think I'll keep writing overview articles. I'll say most of them will be about jazz, Kraut Rock and minimalist academic music because that's what I've been listening to most lately.

The decision to start this blog was made on a whim, so I didn't spend any time on choosing a title or URL carefully. I just flipped through a book and grabbed a phrase. The title/URL is pulled from a review of a Donald Ayler performance that was published in The Cricket, a magazine published by Amiri Baraka / LeRoi Jones in the 1960s. The review was unsigned, but most probably written by the editors of the magazine. Donald Ayler had one solo record, which I've never heard, but I have heard everything he did (that was released) with his brother Albert Ayler. Leaving aside that I haven't heard the performance being reviewed, I would disagree with the writer, except I don't think the writer meant the harsh tone to convey such hatred. Baraka was friends with the Aylers and Albert Ayler was published in The Cricket, so I think the harsh tone was meant to be satire. It's a clever attack on Donald Ayler for having white bandmates. Though it could also be he just sucked that night. Anyway, I'll leave you with the review:

The Committee for Unified Newark, in its series of Black Arts/Soul Culture goings on. BMIE has had some dopey ones too, for instance, Donald Ayler played there. With his murphy game shoutin thru the shit he was sayin on stage, drunk, zipper open, staggering, he call his self a musician. Really just a cheap version with no identity, purpose and direction; nigger lacks. A value system. Right and wrong. Good and bad. Up and down. In and out. Up on stage with Bee ber Harris, who white wee moans, dun sucked about all his juice/energy from him insides. Slobin on his self. Unconscious of who he is or where he is going. Has no value system. Umoja, nia, kuumba (unity, purpose, creativity) and the rest. Laws that you live your life by, unchanging, good. Came to New Ark "playing" in this quick trio put together by Ayler, (who has since, said Sonny Murray, gone back to his hometown Cleveland to re cooperate, re gather, hopefully come back, BLACK). Which had on the first night on Indian oboe, (due to bullshit reasons) said his trumpet was stolen, and wanted to borrow our alto sax.; he did and broke it. We had to suffer, his "playing" one beatup note all night, which would probably have been the same on alto. Next night they came back Ayler had a trumpet which he said the "spirit brought to him" and played the same big ass run, the whole set. While in his rhythm section Richard Davis, bass, had the only strong sound anyone there could use. BH slobbered and nodded on his drums in a dopey daze, rocking back and forth to a crazy image of some dead white bitch. Splash! was his sound the whole night.

(Also, I encourage comments. Especially snarky ones. It's impossible for me to offer my opinion without saying stupid things and I'd like to be told exactly when I've done that.)