If a Bluebird Plays the Blues Why Can't it Play Free Jazz?
Sure, some monkeys use grass shoots to probe for ants, thereby proving that animals, like humans, invent tools to solve problems. This isn’t exactly the same as sending a probe to Mars, but it’s still impressive for a monkey.
Likewise, birds sing. But, do they play free jazz? I doubt it. Can a bluebird play “Lonely Woman by Ornette Coleman? I’ve never heard it. How about a goose? Do you think a goose could hang with Archie Shepp? Probably not. This proves one thing that animals can’t play outside. Lay down a blues, add a flat 5th, open up the rhythm and just about any weasel or three ringed lemur are gonna get lost baby, lost.
This proves that humans are the only animals to be able to think abstractly. Of course, a mongoose might ask “What the hell’s the purpose for that?” This leads me to believe that mongooses just don’t get it. What can you expect? I say we send them to a school for critics and other educated types, where they’ll learn to indulge all kinds of bullshit in order to prove that they’re artists, too.
Critics are writers, though, and writing is an artform….sometimes. Not in the hands of most critics, but it can be. Gene Lees comes to mind, the deceased Canadian could write about jazz like few others. He was a both a songwriter and singer, so maybe he doesn’t count. There is Peter Guralnick, a favorite of mine. No, he doesn’t really write about jazz. He does write about American music, though, and he does it better than just about anybody.
Then, there’s the dean of jazz writers, Nat Hentoff. Nat’s about 91. He remembers actually seeing Bird and Diz at Birdland, they were friends, even, which is a helluva thing. He knew Ellington near enough to his prime.
He remembers the transition from swing to bop, from modal to free jazz. He’s written about jazz, probably more than anybody, and likewise helped elevate the music in the eyes of the world to an art form.
Today, Nat writes mostly about politics and constitutional issues. I have no doubt that when he does, he puts some fine old-school jazz on the turntable, just like I’m doing at this very moment, listening to Ira Sullivan and Joe Diorio playing a duet on an old chestnut, taking it outside, bringing it back in, each, masters of their craft, and well worth listening to.
Why listen to jazz, especially free jazz? Because it’s free baby, free! And freedom is good. So is structure, though. In fact, it isn’t either or, it’s sometimes one, sometimes the other.
That’s right, birds may not be able to play like Charlie “Yardbird” Parker or John Coltrane, but I doubt they want to, anyway. Life is hard when you’re a bird. You have to hunt and fly and worry about being killed by predators, which can really screw up your day. So you probably play the song you need to play, if you’re a bird, I’d guess.
It would seem that all animals have their own mojo, their skill-set. Even the ones with very tiny brains, like alligators can still learn and do all kinds of amazing shit that we humans can’t begin to do.
What this means is simple, just because the bluebird or the sparrow can’t play outside, doesn’t mean that either is lacking. After all, His eye is on the sparrow, and the bluebird, and on you and me, too. And that’s a pretty damn good thing in my book.
Mark Magula
Likewise, birds sing. But, do they play free jazz? I doubt it. Can a bluebird play “Lonely Woman by Ornette Coleman? I’ve never heard it. How about a goose? Do you think a goose could hang with Archie Shepp? Probably not. This proves one thing that animals can’t play outside. Lay down a blues, add a flat 5th, open up the rhythm and just about any weasel or three ringed lemur are gonna get lost baby, lost.
This proves that humans are the only animals to be able to think abstractly. Of course, a mongoose might ask “What the hell’s the purpose for that?” This leads me to believe that mongooses just don’t get it. What can you expect? I say we send them to a school for critics and other educated types, where they’ll learn to indulge all kinds of bullshit in order to prove that they’re artists, too.
Critics are writers, though, and writing is an artform….sometimes. Not in the hands of most critics, but it can be. Gene Lees comes to mind, the deceased Canadian could write about jazz like few others. He was a both a songwriter and singer, so maybe he doesn’t count. There is Peter Guralnick, a favorite of mine. No, he doesn’t really write about jazz. He does write about American music, though, and he does it better than just about anybody.
Then, there’s the dean of jazz writers, Nat Hentoff. Nat’s about 91. He remembers actually seeing Bird and Diz at Birdland, they were friends, even, which is a helluva thing. He knew Ellington near enough to his prime.
He remembers the transition from swing to bop, from modal to free jazz. He’s written about jazz, probably more than anybody, and likewise helped elevate the music in the eyes of the world to an art form.
Today, Nat writes mostly about politics and constitutional issues. I have no doubt that when he does, he puts some fine old-school jazz on the turntable, just like I’m doing at this very moment, listening to Ira Sullivan and Joe Diorio playing a duet on an old chestnut, taking it outside, bringing it back in, each, masters of their craft, and well worth listening to.
Why listen to jazz, especially free jazz? Because it’s free baby, free! And freedom is good. So is structure, though. In fact, it isn’t either or, it’s sometimes one, sometimes the other.
That’s right, birds may not be able to play like Charlie “Yardbird” Parker or John Coltrane, but I doubt they want to, anyway. Life is hard when you’re a bird. You have to hunt and fly and worry about being killed by predators, which can really screw up your day. So you probably play the song you need to play, if you’re a bird, I’d guess.
It would seem that all animals have their own mojo, their skill-set. Even the ones with very tiny brains, like alligators can still learn and do all kinds of amazing shit that we humans can’t begin to do.
What this means is simple, just because the bluebird or the sparrow can’t play outside, doesn’t mean that either is lacking. After all, His eye is on the sparrow, and the bluebird, and on you and me, too. And that’s a pretty damn good thing in my book.
Mark Magula