While what I’m about to outline is not a direct response to any of those currently in the grip of the controversy surrounding Nicholas Payton’s recent comments (unlike Ted Panken I haven’t found a whole lot healthy about the discussion, quite the opposite in fact); however, what I’m about to say is informed by the discussion and has come from me considering many of the angles wrapped up in the debate. In short, I simply urge everyone who discusses or writes about jazz , or BAM, or whatever you want to call it, to remember how important it is, especially for jazz critics and/or journalists, to keep a proper perspective when reviewing an album.
Among other things, much of the firestorm in the jazz world has to do with the various expectations that artists, audiences, critics and others involved in the jazz art world have. As Payton – and the numerous cultural critics before him – rightfully acknowledges, “jazz” is a limiting term. This is a fact. Any word that tries to define a huge and diverse group of cultural practices is inherently going to exclude. Along with this exclusion comes the exercising of power by a dominant group over a subordinate group. This is what Payton is arguing, and he’s pointing out that this just isn’t a matter of defining what is and what is not jazz, he’s pointing out that any discussion of the meaning and definition of jazz is inherently tied in with racial inequality, the history of racial oppression, etc.
Something that is important in this current discussion, and which I think is being partially overwhelmed by personal attacks, is that one of the responsibilities of people who wield the cultural power of writing reviews that will be read by the public
and yes, it’s almost nothing but educated, white dudes like me who have this power and who are published in major media outlets – I acknowledge and continuously remind myself of my privilege as a college educated, white male in American society
is that the critic MUST keep a proper perspective on what it is they are writing about – failure to do so does a disservice to the musician, their hard work, their music and everyone else involved.
While one of the necessities of writing about anything is having to use a term to signifies what it is you are talking about, doing so has the unintended consequence of limiting possibilities. By pegging someone as playing “x” kind of music, that restricts their ability to do “y,” or at the very least restricts having “y” being accepted and understood by those who operate within a strict “x” paradigm.
A few years ago I was reading A Theory of Musical Semiotics by Eero Tarasti. One of the things that blew my hair back was his observation that our expectations have a huge influence on how we perceive and understand music we hear for the first time. While he is not the only person to make this point
it blew me away at the time because I hadn’t come across anybody writing about music this way – thus it’s always stuck with me
I think it’s particularly important to consider in light of the recent obsession in jazz discourse. If I’m a critic, and I have pegged some musician as a jazz musician, and when I see he or she is coming out with a record, unless I’ve heard otherwise about what the album is going to be like it makes sense that I would assume that the album is going to be a jazz album, because I have pigeonholed this artist as one who plays jazz. What happens when I get that new record and it’s not what I expected? One plausible response is confusion, which could lead to a dismissal of the album, or a negative opinion of it. This would happen because I’d be judging the album from a jazz perspective and not from the perspective and musical and social context that the artist made the album in.
As numerous scholars of black music point out – most notably Samuel Floyd and Guthrie Ramsey – one of the most important things to do when analyzing black music is to do so on its own terms. In other words – you’re not going to use a framework that classical music critics use to analyze Albert Ayler. To do so would yield a hatchet job. Put another way that directly relates to the current jazz obsession – Payton refers to the music on his new album “post-Dilla modern New Orleans music.” In order to do justice to Payton’s album in the review – and whether or not you like the music is not of concern with this point – you had better know who Dilla was and what he did. If you don’t, you are not going to have the proper perspective with which to evaluate Payton’s record. I’m not saying all you need to do is put on Dilla’s Donuts, wave a magic wand, and poof – you’re qualified to review any album that is influenced by Dilla. I’m just suggesting that not taking the effort to figure out an artist’s influences – when they are clearly stated – is not doing the necessary homework to try and get as much perspective as you can on any given record (it’s impossible to understand anybody’s complete perspective, but attempting to do so is a necessary part of writing criticism and is one way you show your subject, your readers, and the music respect).
A similar situation to the hypothetical one I just outlined happened to me when one of Bob Hurst’s newest records showed up in my mailbox earlier this year. Before receiving the record I only knew of his work with Wynton and Branford (which I love). When I put in the CD I was confused, I didn’t know what was going on, where Hurst was coming from, etc. I was initially leaning towards not liking the album. For those who’ve heard Bob Ya Head, you’ll know that it doesn’t sound anything remotely close to Hurst’s work with the Marsalis brothers. But, I went back to the CD multiple times, because I wanted to figure out what was going on. Then I started hearing and identifying the numerous influences – sure there was jazz, but also hip hop, soul, and West African pop to name a few. When I started to figure out what Hurst and company were doing, I began to really like the album – and now it’s one that I listen to regularly. Had I not made the effort to see where the album was coming from, its influences, or written a review on my first reactions, I would have done Hurst and the musicians a terrible disservice. Sure, there’s some “jazz” playing on the record, but there’s also a lot that many people would not consider to be jazz. So, had I tried to understand and analyze the album with a narrow, or rigid, jazz mindset would not have been analyzing the music on its own terms, as Floyd and Ramsey urge us to do.
What I learned from my growing experience from listening and living with Hurst’s album, and to a certain extent from the controversy surrounding Nicholas Payton, is that I need to continuously remind myself that reviewing a record by a “jazz” musician using “aesthetic standards of jazz” (whatever that means) can lead one to write a botched review.
I would suggest to my fellow writers and critics out there (and yeah, most of you don’t need to be reminded of this point) that we must always accept the music on its own terms, to look at the musical conversation a particular artist or album is engaging with, what the album is doing, etc. Sure, doing that won’t guarantee a well written review, but hopefully at the very least it will require the writer to approach the music and the musician with the respect and attention they deserve.
One final point: I’ve seen some of the gladiators in the current firestorm use one of my previous posts to further their agenda. I’d just like to point out that I do not condone the use of my work by others who are looking for allies – especially by those engaged in personal attacks. My views are my own. Feel free to criticize, praise, or seek out a professional discussion with me. I only ask that you do not appropriate my writing for your own goals.
And with this, I’ll see y’all later. Peace and love.