The War For The Soul of Mankind: “Stan Getz vs Eric Dolphy”
(The War for the Soul of Mankind: “Stan Getz vs Eric Dolphy”
White-critics tend to love free jazz. Black critics, too. Not all, but more than a few. Especially, when you’re talking about jazz critics. Jazz is elitist music. But it wasn’t always that way.
Jazz was America’s popular music prior to the emergence of rock & roll in the 1950s. Although, both rock critics and jazz critics would almost certainly argue about what constitutes “Real” jazz or “Real” rock & roll. Or, what constitutes free jazz—including, which musicians and music matter most? And, you’d better not argue. Because they know. Or, at least, they think they do.
In reality, these deeply entrenched opinions aren’t just particular to music. Exactly the same kinds of arguments can be found in baseball, golf, painting, poetry, biblical theology, Quantum theory, you name it, and people are debating, arguing about what matters most and why. And they are likely doing it with as much piss and vinegar as any priest or prophet. Often, as though their lives depended on it. Probably, because when all the difficulties that have gripped humans throughout history; war, pestilence, hunger, political tyranny, a decent place to live, including cable TV—and, let’s not forget, some very necessary Internet—once these things are taken care of, who swings the most, musically speaking, and who played what solo on what date, can take on major significance. Not unlike theologians parsing doctrines and splitting hairs so fine, they can’t be seen with the naked eye. Free jazz vs old-school swing...that’s what really matters. If racial issues are involved, all the better. Now you’ve got the makings of a good conflict, a way to define yourself. A milieu. By comparison, everything else pales, evaporating into the ether. And, if it isn’t jazz that’s being argued about, it’s who was better, Mickey Mantle or Mike Trout. (Mike who?)
Then there are religious debates; what St. Paul actually meant? Was he really the first Calvinist? Is God a Calvinist? Who would win in a fight, Martin Luther or Martin Luther King? You could go on forever. For the jazz neophyte or the aging connoisseur, the question of who was more significant, Eric Dolphy or Stan Getz, for instance, can take on seismic cultural importance, with critics revisiting the same arguments, decade after decade, as though no time had passed from which to extricate ourselves from such monumental concerns. In other words, it’s never just about the music, religion or politics. Because none of us experiences any of these things like smooth-brained newborns, unencumbered by cultural and personal bias.
There are multiple ways that you can see these debates; as a way of working thru complex ideas; as a way of learning to reason; as a way utilizing cultural symbols, which convey deeper social meaning; as signposts for future generations, so they too, can negotiate the culture and its evolution. In that sense, these debates have broad significance, well beyond the actual disciplines.
What we’re really talking about are languages, which have their own rules and value systems, teaching us to define what matters and how to order our thinking about overlapping social movements. Finding our place in that social order, then, as we search for models for our own behavior, is of no small importance. The real problems begin when we conflate personal preference and symbolism with reality, as is the case with artistic considerations, which are substantially subjective, unlike biology or mathematics, for instance.
Now, let me ask, who would win in a fight, a grizzly bear or a gorilla? This probably seems little more than a child’s point of fascination. It’s still, fascinating, regardless, even for an adult. It’s significant beyond the silliness of the question because of the social interaction, which challenges us to order our thinking and learn to debate—and, also, which we're prone to identify with, the grizzly bear or the gorilla. In our mind’s eye, this is important.
To return to the question of who was more important, in jazz terms, Eric Dolphy or Stan Getz?— it depends completely on the terms of the debate. Getz sold a lot more records. Getz was also a pioneer in the emergence of East coast “Cool Jazz,” even if he wasn’t a pioneer in quite the same way as Eric Dolphy.
Race played a role in both of their successes. Dolphy’s radicalism as a post-bop, free jazz musician, with roots in the tradition, was, at the time, cutting-edge, opening doors and redefining what could still be thought of as jazz, and, whether atonal music was real music and not just noise?
There’s a fascinating interview with Dolphy and jazz critic/writer/musician Leonard Feather from the early 1960s. Feather asks Dolphy how he approached improvisation, in particular, how he approached playing “Outside” or playing “Free,” without ignoring traditional chord/scale/ relationships. Dolphy offers a mumbling response about playing a half-step above or below and altered harmony. Feather then says, “You can’t just playing anything. There has to be some form. Some rules.” This is a paraphrase, mind you. What Dolphy should’ve said was “Why not? Why can’t I play whatever I want, whether it’s inside the chord or not, unlike a classical composer? Or, a painter like Picasso. Or, maybe, a playwright like Samuel Beckett?” But all of these ideas were new, then, and few had spilled out into the popular consciousness. Just listen to Leonard Bernstein’s score for West Side Story, there’s dissonance aplenty. The fact that Bernstein wrote it down, instead of improvising it, shouldn’t matter, especially, when you consider that Bernstein’s score used modern jazz and classical music as its base. Hell, I was watching a modestly budgeted film noir thriller from 1952 about a serial killer. The score was thoroughly modern, filled with complex rhythms and dissonances, years before Ornette Coleman and Free Jazz, which isn’t meant to be unnecessarily competitive—modern jazz vs modern classical music vs film music, etc… They’re all music. The differences are precisely what makes music and art interesting.
Art-forms generally come with well-codified rules, and the ability to negotiate those rules is, often, how the critic determines an artist's worth.
It should be obvious that a lot has changed in the last 60 years or so.
Likewise, Stan Getz financial success, enabled other artists to be recorded across the spectrum, as young and old alike used Getz’ music as a springboard to fame and fortune, as well as a pathway to musicians like Miles Davis, Eric Dolphy, and John Coltrane.
The question of lyricism vs atonality was never really much of a debate, anyway, since classical music had already opened that door wide with Charles Ives and Stravinsky, among others, decades earlier. In truth, without both, the traditionally lyrical and swinging, and, the energy and drive of free jazz and modern art, the music would’ve been rendered a museum piece, with no immediate or lasting cultural significance.
The differing racial makeup of the two also helped to broach the uncomfortable subject of race in the public sphere, as both men echoed different parts of the culture, with somewhat different audiences. Although, again, there was substantial overlap. Ask any serious jazz musician or fan about either man and you’ll find there is plenty of room to appreciate both. The concept of “Either/Or,” isn’t art. It’s politics. The struggle for turf. A dispute to see who controls the territory.
Eric Dolphy’s radicalism better expressed America’s cultural and racial divide, signifying the emerging political chaos and backlash. It still does, and, is probably why so many people are drawn to it 55 years after his death. Dolphy’s music, like all demanding art, transcends the relentless sameness of popular culture, offering a different path for the creative artist and adventurous listener.
Meanwhile, Stan Getz’ music gently swung the bossa nova for the old and young, who found new rhythms and sounds that could and did draw them deeper into the music. The money that Getz made for himself and the record labels, as well as other musicians around the world, by popularizing a new musical form, put food on the table, drew listeners to concert halls and clubs, to radio and TV, all of which had real-world significance, beyond the purely aesthetic considerations. Try paying the bills without financial success, regardless of the medium, and you’ll see what I mean.
Of course, Stan Getz was a good deal more than a prime mover in the wide-scale acceptance of bossa nova. He was also a potent, swinging improviser, from Woody Herman’s big band to small combos, with a beautiful Lester Young-influenced tone that worked everywhere, and in almost any context. Stan Getz was a gifted musical improviser and stylist who’s music continued to change. He even adopted some of “The New Thing,” which artists like Dolphy and Ornette Coleman represented, if only in small measure.
Like all human endeavor, our good intentions seldom ever live up to our expectations. The same instinct that allows us to survive and thrive everywhere as a species, also means we have sharpened predatory instincts. And, based on the world that we live in, we wouldn’t survive for long if we didn’t. That’s why we have turf wars, whether political in nature or musical.
The strong survive, while the weak get kicked off the bandstand, and the music and culture move on.
For the sake of us all. May it always be so.
Mark Magula
White-critics tend to love free jazz. Black critics, too. Not all, but more than a few. Especially, when you’re talking about jazz critics. Jazz is elitist music. But it wasn’t always that way.
Jazz was America’s popular music prior to the emergence of rock & roll in the 1950s. Although, both rock critics and jazz critics would almost certainly argue about what constitutes “Real” jazz or “Real” rock & roll. Or, what constitutes free jazz—including, which musicians and music matter most? And, you’d better not argue. Because they know. Or, at least, they think they do.
In reality, these deeply entrenched opinions aren’t just particular to music. Exactly the same kinds of arguments can be found in baseball, golf, painting, poetry, biblical theology, Quantum theory, you name it, and people are debating, arguing about what matters most and why. And they are likely doing it with as much piss and vinegar as any priest or prophet. Often, as though their lives depended on it. Probably, because when all the difficulties that have gripped humans throughout history; war, pestilence, hunger, political tyranny, a decent place to live, including cable TV—and, let’s not forget, some very necessary Internet—once these things are taken care of, who swings the most, musically speaking, and who played what solo on what date, can take on major significance. Not unlike theologians parsing doctrines and splitting hairs so fine, they can’t be seen with the naked eye. Free jazz vs old-school swing...that’s what really matters. If racial issues are involved, all the better. Now you’ve got the makings of a good conflict, a way to define yourself. A milieu. By comparison, everything else pales, evaporating into the ether. And, if it isn’t jazz that’s being argued about, it’s who was better, Mickey Mantle or Mike Trout. (Mike who?)
Then there are religious debates; what St. Paul actually meant? Was he really the first Calvinist? Is God a Calvinist? Who would win in a fight, Martin Luther or Martin Luther King? You could go on forever. For the jazz neophyte or the aging connoisseur, the question of who was more significant, Eric Dolphy or Stan Getz, for instance, can take on seismic cultural importance, with critics revisiting the same arguments, decade after decade, as though no time had passed from which to extricate ourselves from such monumental concerns. In other words, it’s never just about the music, religion or politics. Because none of us experiences any of these things like smooth-brained newborns, unencumbered by cultural and personal bias.
There are multiple ways that you can see these debates; as a way of working thru complex ideas; as a way of learning to reason; as a way utilizing cultural symbols, which convey deeper social meaning; as signposts for future generations, so they too, can negotiate the culture and its evolution. In that sense, these debates have broad significance, well beyond the actual disciplines.
What we’re really talking about are languages, which have their own rules and value systems, teaching us to define what matters and how to order our thinking about overlapping social movements. Finding our place in that social order, then, as we search for models for our own behavior, is of no small importance. The real problems begin when we conflate personal preference and symbolism with reality, as is the case with artistic considerations, which are substantially subjective, unlike biology or mathematics, for instance.
Now, let me ask, who would win in a fight, a grizzly bear or a gorilla? This probably seems little more than a child’s point of fascination. It’s still, fascinating, regardless, even for an adult. It’s significant beyond the silliness of the question because of the social interaction, which challenges us to order our thinking and learn to debate—and, also, which we're prone to identify with, the grizzly bear or the gorilla. In our mind’s eye, this is important.
To return to the question of who was more important, in jazz terms, Eric Dolphy or Stan Getz?— it depends completely on the terms of the debate. Getz sold a lot more records. Getz was also a pioneer in the emergence of East coast “Cool Jazz,” even if he wasn’t a pioneer in quite the same way as Eric Dolphy.
Race played a role in both of their successes. Dolphy’s radicalism as a post-bop, free jazz musician, with roots in the tradition, was, at the time, cutting-edge, opening doors and redefining what could still be thought of as jazz, and, whether atonal music was real music and not just noise?
There’s a fascinating interview with Dolphy and jazz critic/writer/musician Leonard Feather from the early 1960s. Feather asks Dolphy how he approached improvisation, in particular, how he approached playing “Outside” or playing “Free,” without ignoring traditional chord/scale/ relationships. Dolphy offers a mumbling response about playing a half-step above or below and altered harmony. Feather then says, “You can’t just playing anything. There has to be some form. Some rules.” This is a paraphrase, mind you. What Dolphy should’ve said was “Why not? Why can’t I play whatever I want, whether it’s inside the chord or not, unlike a classical composer? Or, a painter like Picasso. Or, maybe, a playwright like Samuel Beckett?” But all of these ideas were new, then, and few had spilled out into the popular consciousness. Just listen to Leonard Bernstein’s score for West Side Story, there’s dissonance aplenty. The fact that Bernstein wrote it down, instead of improvising it, shouldn’t matter, especially, when you consider that Bernstein’s score used modern jazz and classical music as its base. Hell, I was watching a modestly budgeted film noir thriller from 1952 about a serial killer. The score was thoroughly modern, filled with complex rhythms and dissonances, years before Ornette Coleman and Free Jazz, which isn’t meant to be unnecessarily competitive—modern jazz vs modern classical music vs film music, etc… They’re all music. The differences are precisely what makes music and art interesting.
Art-forms generally come with well-codified rules, and the ability to negotiate those rules is, often, how the critic determines an artist's worth.
It should be obvious that a lot has changed in the last 60 years or so.
Likewise, Stan Getz financial success, enabled other artists to be recorded across the spectrum, as young and old alike used Getz’ music as a springboard to fame and fortune, as well as a pathway to musicians like Miles Davis, Eric Dolphy, and John Coltrane.
The question of lyricism vs atonality was never really much of a debate, anyway, since classical music had already opened that door wide with Charles Ives and Stravinsky, among others, decades earlier. In truth, without both, the traditionally lyrical and swinging, and, the energy and drive of free jazz and modern art, the music would’ve been rendered a museum piece, with no immediate or lasting cultural significance.
The differing racial makeup of the two also helped to broach the uncomfortable subject of race in the public sphere, as both men echoed different parts of the culture, with somewhat different audiences. Although, again, there was substantial overlap. Ask any serious jazz musician or fan about either man and you’ll find there is plenty of room to appreciate both. The concept of “Either/Or,” isn’t art. It’s politics. The struggle for turf. A dispute to see who controls the territory.
Eric Dolphy’s radicalism better expressed America’s cultural and racial divide, signifying the emerging political chaos and backlash. It still does, and, is probably why so many people are drawn to it 55 years after his death. Dolphy’s music, like all demanding art, transcends the relentless sameness of popular culture, offering a different path for the creative artist and adventurous listener.
Meanwhile, Stan Getz’ music gently swung the bossa nova for the old and young, who found new rhythms and sounds that could and did draw them deeper into the music. The money that Getz made for himself and the record labels, as well as other musicians around the world, by popularizing a new musical form, put food on the table, drew listeners to concert halls and clubs, to radio and TV, all of which had real-world significance, beyond the purely aesthetic considerations. Try paying the bills without financial success, regardless of the medium, and you’ll see what I mean.
Of course, Stan Getz was a good deal more than a prime mover in the wide-scale acceptance of bossa nova. He was also a potent, swinging improviser, from Woody Herman’s big band to small combos, with a beautiful Lester Young-influenced tone that worked everywhere, and in almost any context. Stan Getz was a gifted musical improviser and stylist who’s music continued to change. He even adopted some of “The New Thing,” which artists like Dolphy and Ornette Coleman represented, if only in small measure.
Like all human endeavor, our good intentions seldom ever live up to our expectations. The same instinct that allows us to survive and thrive everywhere as a species, also means we have sharpened predatory instincts. And, based on the world that we live in, we wouldn’t survive for long if we didn’t. That’s why we have turf wars, whether political in nature or musical.
The strong survive, while the weak get kicked off the bandstand, and the music and culture move on.
For the sake of us all. May it always be so.
Mark Magula