Jazz Is a Spirit

(from the January issue of Chicago Jazz Magazine)

Jazz is a spirit that lives within the minds, will and feelings of its musicians and listeners. It is something that brings great joy and provides a place of refuge. The spirit of jazz is something that cannot be easily explained or codified. This is particularly evident in the field of jazz education where the best attempts at creating curricula and simulating conditions that will yield effective jazz musicians are often met with obstacles such as issues of style and content, talent, awareness and desire. These obstacles suggest the limitlessness of variables involved in the creative process, and further still, the improbability of being able to manufacture the spirit that makes jazz vital.

Jazz music has never been exempt from the tendency of us humans to control things—whether for protection, pride, profit, or to add meaning to our lives. However, when man attempts to assert dominion over spiritual matters, fundamental meaning starts getting lost. As the hands of the institutions and entertainment industry manipulate for monetary gain and cultural control, jazz continues to get more and more bogged down in the attempt to remove the template already engrained by its history. This template—swing and the blues—is what I believe to be the basis of the jazz spirit.

I wasn’t there to experience it, but according to Sydney Bechet, the spirit of jazz music could be felt as well as heard throughout the streets of New Orleans at the turn of the last century. Bechet was a clarinetist and the pioneer player of the soprano saxophone and one of the most well respected and famous jazz musicians of the first half of the 1900s. In his autobiography, Bechet talks about the introduction of the jazz spirit, recounting how as black Americans around the country slowly learned of and began to experience their freedom from slavery, a feeling of excitement and wonder filled the air and the music.

The evolution of folk music for the American Negro was born of his cultural relationship to the work songs, spirituals, blues, and various influences of European folk and classical music and it’s American adaptations. The advent of jazz’s precursor, ragtime music, was a perfect example of this mix of influences. Prior to freedom, music had provided a way of comfort, distraction, motivation, mourning, hope and happiness for African Americans. After the Emancipation Proclamation however, the music changed so that it was no longer “… spirituals, or blues, or Ragtime,” as Bechet explained, “but everything all at once—each one putting something over on the other.”

The notion that involvement in music took on spiritual qualities for blacks at that time is not farfetched. Jazz music’s very roots sprung from a people’s need to soothe themselves from their human condition. Now jazz music became a way for people to fraternize and to share and seek meaning and comfort amidst this newfound social situation. Bechet says, “It was like they were trying to find out in this music what they were supposed to do with this freedom…”

The greatest gifts to jazz music have been from those musicians whose work is considered the embodiment of a spirit of love, faith, truth, humility, acceptance, desire, action, individualism, collectivism and embracing jazz’s past. Although the impetus of jazz music’s creation sprang from the social condition of black Americans, this is not to say that the spirit of jazz is exclusive to them. Jazz history has shown us that blacks have been accepting of all who shared in the spirit and the music has surely benefited from the contributions of those other than blacks who have embraced the essence of the spirit and not shunned its root cause. I can imagine that the socio-political ramifications of jazz’s origins can be deep and difficult for some to understand or accept. But the fact remains that this spirit of jazz that Bechet began to describe has continued, intact, through the generations, the shifts in styles of popular music and varying socio-political climates, up to the present day.

As each jazz generation passes, more chapters are added to the log. None will be more dynamic than the one that began in the mid 1940s. The bebop period was, once again, the outgrowth of social conditions. The resulting form was a comprehensive projection into the past and future of jazz. Although more than fifty years have passed since its inception and we have seen styles and categories come and go, none have had the effect of the critical mass of what Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Bud Powell and others left us. Perhaps the times of greatest struggle and/or need for social change have produced the most profound results in jazz music. This may also be when the need for its musicians to look to their past for strength, guidance and inspiration is the greatest. The youngsters involved in the development of bebop music got their cues and insight directly from Coleman Hawkins, Roy Eldridge and Charlie Christian and other Swing era jazz stalwarts and indirectly, from all the generations before.

The move to look away from the elements of jazz that have remained constant through the ages (those qualities that are the most stylistically difficult to accept, possess or explain in words) is a blatant dismissal of the jazz spirit. That is to say, by ignoring these necessary elements we undermine jazz and relegate it to a slow death. If I come across as radical, then try the following experiment: Remove these two characteristics—a sense of swing and blues feeling—from the list of musical attributes of your favorite jazz musicians, then assess what remains. Would they still hold up as major players and contributors in jazz? It is because the spirit that exists in every influential jazz instrumentalist—which cannot be easily measured, captured and figured—that jazz is special. If everyone could play jazz effectively it wouldn’t be high art.

Though elusive, the jazz spirit can be experienced in varying levels and ways by all. It struck me first when I was eleven years old. At that time I could leave this planet simply by listening to a particular recording. I didn’t know anything about jazz music or history then. I just knew what I liked—what felt and sounded good to me. Now after thirty years of learning about and living in jazz, I can experience the spirit of jazz in different ways: by listening, by playing (which by the way should involve a lot of listening) and also by teaching. In teaching, the feeling of sharing with another who shares in the spirit on any level hits on the collectivism mentioned above. It can feel as good to be a part of this as it does to play music; it just doesn’t last as long. And while I’m at it, a word about getting the spirit while playing: For me this spirit happens on a very intensely noticeable level only once in a while—about as seldom as it does from just listening. So, much is the same for me now as it was then. I can still get lost in the music—even the same music as when I was eleven… I guess I haven’t come very far at all.

Chicago: America’s Second City of Jazz?

(from the December issue of Chicago Jazz Magazine)
 
When I moved to Chi-town from the New York over twenty years ago and began to get acquainted with the jazz community, one thing I noticed among many aspiring and professional young jazz musicians was a submissive or defeatist attitude regarding their city as a launch pad for success.  Some even seemed to wonder about Chicago as a place to do substantive work in the jazz music field.   
 
Twenty years later, musicians that I encounter still feel much the same way.  After gaining the perspective of the city and its relationship to jazz and its musicians for as many years as I have, I still don’t have any clear-cut answers or advice for every musician I encounter who speaks of their worry, confusion, frustration, or dismay about the prospect of staying or having stayed here. 
 
Each musician must determine their locale based upon his or her own strengths and challenges and circumstances.  Over the years, I’ve known some musicians who have gone on to do some substantive work in New York or L.A., and some who have not been so fortunate after their stay there.  I also know some who have stayed in Chicago, yet continually work at the national or international level, and others who stay close to home, yet work constantly and consistently at the highest musical level, regardless of area code.  I can cite a few special cases where musicians have relocated and become highly successful working New York jazz musicians. There has even been one mainstream, potential mega-success in Eric Alexander.  I have also seen major successes in jazz happen from right here at home, but really only one in recent years that I’d include in the mainstream jazz category, Kurt Elling. 
 
Musicians can, if they so choose, hold external circumstances (the state of the jazz business, distance from New York, or the city of Chicago itself and its various jazz opportunities or lack thereof) responsible for a lack of opportunity to reach truly interested and informed audiences.  However, I feel the way to “success” as a jazz musician living in Chicago will come as a result of our being responsible for what we do for ourselves in order to encourage and foster growth in the understanding of—and desire for—our music. As we await small miracles, we should be hard working, resourceful, self-sufficient, realistic, honest, patient and hopeful in our struggle. We should even go so far as to create our day-to-day musical existence.
 
After or in lieu of the jazz studies departments that coddle young jazz musicians’ feelings, the real world practice begins, which involves an ongoing cycle of private practice time, exercise and work with peers, and work and consultation with elder musicians, eventually leading to self-assessment.  Through this work we prepare ourselves for the time(s) when opportunities to be heard arise (and they always do).  The musician must do some soul-searching and ask: Have I done all I can to exhaust this cycle?  Have I devoted the time that it takes to receive wide range acceptance and become sought after as a working jazz musician in Chicago? Are the standards I have set for myself the same as those culled from all of the great recordings that have inspired me?  Am I aspiring and working toward something in music that is more than merely good, acceptable or mediocre? 
 
Have I fully realized the available resources of older, more experienced musicians who are often our links in understanding, growth and opportunities in our field?  Word of mouth promotion among jazz musicians is still very important and through that process musicians still possess much of the power to decide what happens among them in the field.  Ask yourself the following: As improbable as it may seem, am I aware that chances exist that a jazz musician that I admire and respect will hear, or hear of me?  Do I regularly place myself in circumstances where, directly or indirectly, this could possibly happen? Am I learning from my elders how to create this kind of environment for myself?  Am I being honest with myself about my preparedness to be heard and at what level?  When I feel the time may be right, am I humbly documenting myself or awaiting a contract?
 
Do I see Chicago as a place of limitations or possibilities? Do I realize that Chicago is a place where I could get the chance to work with Joshua Redman, Elvin Jones, Diana Krall, Kenny Garrett, or Branford Marsalis? (Sorry if I didn’t name your favorites.  This is about possibilities, not names.  Want other names? YOU make that happen!)
 
The Chicago resident jazz musicians that I know who have beat the odds are not only great players, but have put in the hours, paid their proverbial dues, tried to keep the music first and come out swinging, without too much concern about where they live.  The questions above have little to do with whether or not we live in New York, but rather, are with us wherever we are.  When the time arises will we make the right kind of impression and impact to move forward?  Meanwhile, we can be vigilant in setting and working toward musical goals, the results of which are manifested in small successes that keep propelling us ever forward.

If we as musicians do our part in laying the groundwork for our art, perhaps the strength of the music that we create as a whole will lead to more widespread support for jazz from various city and state organizations and institutions.  As a musician, I understand the responsibility we have to ourselves and to our music. But I also understand that the Second City bias is not solely among musicians. We are affected to a large extent on circumstances and people peripheral to the music itself. So perhaps the excitement of such a vibrant jazz scene in Chicago would compel a few well-placed individuals to promote jazz—for its own sake and for that of the musicians—by recording and booking Chicago jazz artists.
 
Imagine if support for jazz in this town evolved beyond self-aggrandizing and promoters’ pronouncements of the next Chicago-bred “Gabriel” of jazz; imagine if promoting jazz was more than validating the oblique and mediocre, and included our elder masters, established middle-aged soldiers and young up-and-comers within Chicago’s rich variety of jazz styles.  But how can a Chicago jazz supporter begin to really address the who’s who and what’s what in the real world of jazz?

Hopefully, they can look to jazz music itself for the answers, and can realize the quality of ingredients available right here at home and then, like us, they can get to work!

© Bobby Broom, 2006

Finding Your “Voice” in Jazz

(this article appears in the September issue of Chicago Jazz Magazine)

In his book, Letters to a Young Jazz Musician, Wynton Marsalis reasons that among the greatest successes a jazz musician can have is to develop a unique sound and style on one’s instrument. I couldn’t agree more. Most aspiring jazz musicians don’t pursue the field looking to make a fortune. They do, however, seek success that to varying degrees involves recognition for their musical accomplishments. Whether that success means being sought out by peers and colleagues for performing opportunities, or by jazz fans wishing to buy their CDs, the brand name or trademark of a jazz musician lies in their sound.

Like the speaking voice to language, the breath and fingers carry innate, DNA-encoded variations to the playing of musical notes. Add to this, a person’s sense of time and phrasing, their musical exposure and influences, aspects of their personality and other intangibles, and there is no reason for any jazz musician to end up sounding like anyone else. Why then is finding one’s voice such a long and difficult process and one that is so confusing for some to realize? The simple and obvious fact that “everyone is different” is just the beginning in understanding what it takes to develop a personal sound. More importantly, this fact is meaningless without the right kind of awareness and work by the aspiring musician.

Most youngsters who are learning to play an instrument are starting to develop their personal sound as soon as they begin practicing consistently. Whether they know it or not, by practicing toward the mastery of the fundamentals of music they are developing a personal relationship to music and the production of sound. In short, scales and arpeggios are music! Long tones are music! When a student who really loves and wants to make music suddenly realizes that the major scale that they are repeating over and over IS music, they will begin to treat it differently. They will play it with more care and respect. They will begin trying to produce it as cleanly and flawlessly as possible. A relationship between the musician and their sound, i.e., the sound that they produce, can begin when they start to care about how what they are playing sounds, or how it’s coming across to them as the listener.

When a student first begins playing melodies, it is often hard to put any feeling into it—just as it was hard to do with the scales. But for the musician who has come to know how to invest something of themselves emotionally in playing scales, etc., it is now easier to incorporate emotion into the playing of a previously composed melody. How many well-known musicians or singers do you know that can perform a melody with minimal embellishment and still make a convincing performance? Not many. Most would be afraid to do so for fear of sounding too plain. If you have the chance, listen to Nat King Cole sing a song; hear how he relies mainly on the gorgeous quality of his voice and his keen sense of rhythm or phrasing to make a pure melody soar. Musically speaking, this is how he became a legend.

When a musician practices playing melodies clearly and succinctly they are also learning to come to terms with hearing their voice. They may not be comfortable with what they hear; they may not even think it’s very good. And they may be right. It’s the responsibility of each musician to make an honest assessment of what they have to offer at any given point. It’s tricky to self-judge, especially talent that’s not fully realized or developed. Am I practicing the right things? Is my practice yielding results that I can identify? Do I sound like a carbon copy of my idols? The questions one asks oneself should be ongoing and consistent. Self-awareness and the ability to respond with the right action is the key to/being/a successful jazz musician, just as it is the key to anyone trying to develop and reach their goals.

In his autobiography Ray Charles talks about how early in his career he was told he had a bad voice and shouldn’t sing. Incidentally, he also talks about how during the early stages of his career his goal was to sound like Nat King Cole. Maybe the person that told him that he couldn’t sing was listening for Nat’s voice as well! It was when Ahmet Ertegun, his hit-record producer, gave Ray “permission” to sing like himself that the Ray Charles we all know was born. Obviously Ray had talent and knew it, or at least was fueled by a burning desire to create musically, despite naysayers. The personal qualities of self-confidence, tempered by just the right amount of humility, are also necessary ingredients in finding one’s style.

Fortunately for Ray (and us!) he stopped trying to be Nat King Cole. There is simply no way to locate the essential or unique qualities of one’s sound in what somebody else is doing. Through the ages it has been the chosen method of learning among jazz musicians to emulate the masters by mimicking various passages of their solos and copying the way they played (put feeling into) melodies, and so forth. At some point, however, we must stop comparing ourselves—how we play, our age and circumstances and to some degree, what we are playing—to other people.

Eventually in my own music career I realized that how I sounded (my tone and the shape of my sound) wasn’t “funny-sounding” at all—it was mine. It was a sound that I could live with and continue to work on developing and exploiting. I guess at that point, I excused myself for not sounding like my idols and accepted what I had. Having a recognizable voice means that one has learned to embrace and exploit the distinctive qualities of their sound to the degree that when they sing or play, the difference is always apparent and appreciated.

© Bobby Broom, 2006

iJazz – The Removal of Liner Notes From Digital Music Media

Remember when part of experiencing a recording for the first time meant reading the credits and liner notes? That was fun reading and so meaningful to me when I was a kid, trying to understand jazz music. There was so much for me to learn and try to make sense of at that time. In my quest to sort out the order of things in the universe of jazz—the seminal figures, their supporting casts, the various groups of players—in other words, the roots and branches of jazz’s family tree, I looked to the back covers of records as my elementary aid in understanding the music.

I could refer to the writer’s description of the various “cuts” (as we used to call them) and see if I could hear and identify the qualities or occurrences being described. I could find out who-was-who and what-was-what. Who were the players on the album? Where did they come from and what were their relationships to one another? How was the record conceived? What was the impetus for the writing and /or performing of the various tunes? What was the “standards” repertoire in jazz? (If I saw a tune appear on two or more records, I would have to investigate further to see if I should learn it!) During the early periods of my development, the writers of these liner notes were able to impart knowledge about the inner workings and common practices in jazz music, as well as direction in perceiving and communicating about the music with others.

As a musician who wishes to pay a debt of gratitude for having gained so much information from liner notes, it saddens me to see the effort, passion and insight of so many being relegated to virtual obscurity by the digital music download services. Probably the most popular among these, iTunes, most often gives no indication of who (other than the principal or very well known musicians) is appearing on a jazz recording. Furthermore, minimal effort is made in describing or in support of the music, the musicians and their work, other than two or three paragraphs of, often times, opinionated “reviews.” iTunes gets these reviews from All Music Guide, an Internet database or reference center which contains information about a variety of styles of music. Though All Music Guide is extensive in its scope and info about artists, recordings, etc., it can also be slanted in its views, prone to favoritism and careless with its information about jazz music and its musicians. The description on its jazz section’s introductory web page states: “At the outset, jazz was dance music, performed by swinging big bands. Soon, the dance elements faded into the background and improvisation became the key element of the music.” Does this writer mean that “the outset” of jazz began with the big band era? Oops. And I’d thought all along that Louis Armstrong was a jazz musician… my bad. This kind of shoddy dissemination of information does not help jazz, a relatively young and troubled music genre with a history of social stigmas. There is simply no way to casually or reasonably explain this blatant omission of such a crucial period, even in a brief descriptive overview of the history of jazz. Had it not been for the creativity, wherewithal and validity of jazz’s musicians (several of whom are celebrated figures in jazz history) active during the twenty to thirty years before 1930, there would be no big band or swing era.

Because of the socio-political ramifications of jazz, it has always needed scholars and other genuine arts supporters to champion its cause and its musicians, and to help elevate these to their rightful place among the great musical and cultural contributions of the world. French jazz enthusiasts, Hugh Panassie’ and Charles Delaunay were serious supporters who spoke for jazz and helped pave the way for writers such as Albert Murray and Amiri Baraka; musician and scholar, Gunther Schuller; and jazz critics, Rudi Blesh, Leonard Feather, Ira Gitler, Nat Hentoff, Dan Morgenstern, and others. More recent jazz thinkers, like Scott DeVeaux (The Birth of Bebop – University of California Press), Doug Ramsey (www.artsjournal.com/rifftides/) and Joe Moore (www.jazzportraits.blogspot.com), continue to keep up with jazz as art, rather than ordering it according to what is marginal and popular, or worse yet, providing misinformation.

Rather than pre-determining for the downloader, the consumer, or the potential music listener what is good or bad, or great or not, why not borrow a page from history and make liner notes accessible via the Internet? How difficult could it possibly be to include the existing liner notes and album or CD credits? By placing them on line there would be the added advantage of having the ability to zoom in and scroll to aid viewing. Do we really need the opinion of a third party, in the form of a synopsis or review, when previewing music for download? Isn’t that what we have sound clips and friends for? To omit the interesting and useful original liner notes and replace them with what is currently available is negligent at best. At worst, it influences the music lover’s ability to choose by suggesting a recording’s worthiness, sometimes subliminally, often overtly.

If it is the purpose of these reviews to inform the reader about a recording, shouldn’t the writer be knowledgeable, perceptive and creative in their attempts to discuss and describe jazz music? Shouldn’t these writers be held more accountable for the equity and accuracy of their work? Rather than the seemingly easy acquiring of authority to pass judgment, shouldn’t there be some requisite skill and/or accomplishments necessary to a music critic’s involvement in the realm of the arts?

Of course, they have a right to their opinions, but what gives them the authority to professionally offer commentary regarding someone else’s art or, worse yet, rewrite or misrepresent history? Rilke says it best in Letters To a Young Poet: “[aesthetic critiques] are either prejudiced views that have become petrified and senseless in their hardened lifeless state, or they are clever word games. Their views gain approval today but not tomorrow. Works of art can be described as having an essence of eternal solitude and understanding is attainable least of all by critique. Only love can grasp and hold them and can judge them fairly.”

Once upon a time, liner notes were included along with the music as a part of the package—as a way of enhancing the music experience for the listener. They were written by jazz lovers, who intermingled and fraternized with their subjects, and who in varying levels and ways respected, identified with and understood what was special about the jazz musician’s form of expression. Of course, not all liner notes were accurate, informative works of art, but there existed a proper and fundamental understanding of hierarchy, of authority in the relationships between artist, consumer and critic. The means of conveying that understanding, liner notes, is sorely missed by this music lover.

© Bobby Broom, 2006

Those That Can, Teach – Honoring the Practice of Mentoring and Apprenticeship in Jazz

As a youngster trying to learn to play jazz music, some things about the journey were clear to me even then: 1) I pursued music from a place of love, 2) The musicians I heard on records played the way that I hoped I would one day be able to play, and 3) I could always refer to musicians (via recordings or face to face) as teachers, for guidance, inspiration and/or explanations when I needed them.

In addition to a healthy, innate humility, there also were my ego-driven projections of becoming a great musician, but these visions only lasted until the next time I actually picked up the instrument and heard myself play. There was a fine balance between persevering because of a belief in the possibility that my notes were, or could possibly be, as beautiful as Wes Montgomery’s, and of quitting because my notes sounded “funny” and not really like the ones played by those who I admired. What kept me going was and always has been the joy that I get from the sound of the music, and the encouragement from other musicians whom I trust and admire.

The practice of mentoring and apprenticeship between jazz veteran practitioners and fledgling jazz musicians remains a cornerstone of the art form. And though, to some degree apprenticeship and mentoring are being replaced by the institutions of jazz education, it nonetheless remains the most authentic way that jazz performance information is passed along from one generation to the next. Often, there is no more genuine and honest a voice of direction for a young musician than that of a mentor and/ or an elder jazz musician. I’ll never forget one of my mentors coaching me during a performance while I struggled to come up with the right guitar part to fit the music… “Bobby! That’s not happening, play something else,” he shouted. He yelled at me several more times, and each time I changed my part until finally he said, “Bobby, that’s happening!” I understood that this man knew more than I did and that his employing me (yes, I was actually paid for that rehearsal!) entailed his imparting knowledge and experience to me. In turn, I was willing to accept the instruction and, in fact, welcomed it.

The mentor usually doesn’t receive nor does he expect a paycheck for giving of himself musically. Most often there is some characteristic in the younger musician that attracts the older one and compels him to help. Mentors often lead by deeds not necessarily by words. During my early tenure with Sonny Rollins in the eighties, I can count on one hand the number of times he ever said anything to me about what I should or shouldn’t do musically. He did, however, teach me through performing the music. There was a time, for instance, during a concert performance of a ballad… He was playing the melody and I was supposed to be accompanying him with chords. I found myself playing the “chord-melody” behind him, and thought it sounded good, until he decided to change a note in the melody at one of the most climactic points of resolution in the tune! That certainly got my attention and put me in my place. Sometimes the lessons taught by mentors aren’t easily or immediately understood by youngsters. The student or novice performer should realize that the mentor has a vested interest in jazz performance. Because they cherish it and have worked so hard at it, they are particular about, and protective of, its details. In working with a young musician the mentor should attempt to build upon the student’s positive qualities, enhancing what a youngster offers and naturally brings to the music.

Jazz mentoring via the apprenticeship relationship is the primary source for learning the codes of conduct in jazz performance. Although it remains the most authentic method, it is being simulated in various ways by jazz education in return for profit. We can find examples of more art-driven and altruistic forms of mentoring in the history of many of the most famous musicians in jazz, as well as in every local community where jazz flourishes. There is the well-known story of Miles Davis, who upon his arrival in New York City sought out Charlie Parker for tutelage. Davis went on to play in Parker’s band and also to record with him. In the life of a jazz musician, an opportunity such as this—to learn from and perform with a master—is the ultimate honor and learning experience. In past interviews Sonny Rollins often referred to Thelonius Monk (with whom he had a similar relationship as Miles did with Parker) as his guru. It is written that Eddie Durham, trombonist, guitarist and arranger involved with such classics as “In The Mood” and “Moten Swing,” was also a teacher and mentor of Charlie Christian. Durham, who is noted by some as the first important electric guitar soloist, was also the first to record on the instrument in 1938, a year prior to Christian. In a recent interview, Freddie Hubbard cited the Montgomery brothers of his native Indianapolis, and particularly guitarist Wes, as a major influence on his jazz musicianship. Not surprisingly, Hubbard’s first recording session was on a Wes record.

In the eighties and nineties the marketing of a new generation of jazz stars dubbed the “young lions”, began the over-emphasis on youth as being important in determining who would be chosen to represent jazz at its forefront. After the successful marketing of Wynton and Branford Marsalis and subsequently, the duo of Terrence Blanchard and Donald Harrison, the floodgates seemed to open for baby-boomer jazz musicians. During the early stages of this trend, however, record company executives seemed to still be following the cues sent by elder jazz musicians about who would be deemed stars. Art Blakey, in particular, had a knack for associating with and mentoring young jazz “messengers.” Blakey offered apprenticeship positions to the Marsalises, Blanchard and Harrison, and pianist Benny Green, among many, many others. In the nineties, record executives continued to shift the focus away from tenured musicians. No longer was it necessary for a young musician to go through the ranks by apprenticing in the bands of experienced veterans in order to establish their worth and viability as an artist.

There was a time when established jazz musicians were consulted with and ultimately respected when it came to acceptance and acknowledgement of a newcomer’s musicianship. Miles Davis alumnus, Julian “Cannonball” Adderley, was apparently so enamored upon hearing Wes that he immediately called Riverside Records producer, Orrin Keepnews. Orrin called Wes and expressed his desire to offer him a contract based soley on Cannonball’s recommendation. The ever-humble Wes suggested that Orrin hear him first before signing him, and the rest is history. Founder of the famed Prestige Records, Bob Weinstock spoke of his respect for Kenny Clarke, the drummer who helped launch the bebop movement in the 1940s: ”He introduced me to musicians like Thelonious Monk and told me that if I started a record company he would get all the jazz greats to record for me.” Today national jazz competitions, jazz studies programs and record company executives, as well as eager young musicians, are trying to recreate the conditions that were once made possible almost exclusively by the endorsements of elder musicians.

The university jazz departments began doling out performance degrees in the eighties like Starbuck’s does coffee. Similarly in the nineties, record labels did their best to exaggerate the youth culture’s place in jazz by introducing nascent, young jazz musicians with very limited experience beyond playing with their peers. Add to this mix, technological developments that have made it possible for any musician of any caliber to present a highly polished album of songs to the public in much the same way (at least on the surface) as the masters who came before them did. What we’re left with is a jazz market that is saturated with mediocre product that, by and large, is produced by musicians themselves. Based on their level of musicianship, many of these musicians would never have been considered as potential recording artists by jazz producers such as Orrin Keepnews of Riverside Records, Blue Note Records’Alfred Lion, or Prestige Records’ Bob Weinstock.

As we move into the second century of jazz it is important that our standards remain high. We must encourage and allow for the natural occurrence of the evolution of jazz, which involves simple, not-for-profit human interaction for art’s sake, including the inherent relationship between master and student. This simple and humbling relationship needs to be recognized as the principal model for jazz education and, whenever possible, heralded as such. When profit and the advantage of those who control it become the most important factors in arts development, the art runs the risk of becoming a caricature. Today, we are allowing record labels, agents, eager young musicians, parents, relatives, neighbors, high school band directors and university jazz professors to determine and/or dictate the criteria for the jazz status quo—a right and privilege which should remain exclusive to jazz musicians and their delegates who earn it based on a respectable body of work in the field of music making. Can the purpose of money-making truly align with jazz in order to bolster and fuel it, yet allow it to serve its purpose as America’s great art – which is to lead people to new heights of awareness, imagination and inspiration?

What’s the result of an art form no longer governed by its artists? Perhaps it will be a transformation, hardening jazz into a cold and codified set of rules akin to classroom curricula taught in other fields of academic study. Maybe there will be a shift to a scientific focus relying on data and technique more, feeling less and leading to musicians’ false sense of accomplishment. Knowledge rooted in theory may replace the awe inspired by the beauty of the nebulous, organic feeling of making great jazz music – a feeling that for the artists and many of their fans borders on the spiritual and unattainable. Students may feel themselves entitled to the fruits of years of work, dedication and empirical rewards, simply because they have completed a four year program of jazz study. Furthermore, listeners and fans could be misquided by the marketing of the plethora of mediocre to sub-par jazz in the marketplace. In this age of political correctness, we may all be expected to behave as if all that is called jazz, created by any and everyone, is worthy of being supported and regarded as having the same merit as the work of jazz’s greatest artists. By allowing a preponderance of sub-par jazz to be treated as acceptable, jazz’ artistic standards set by the great musicians of the past and present will continue to be lowered , while the justification is made that each listener is entitled to their opinion.

© Bobby Broom, 2006

Jazz History

Mo’ Better Jazz History

The link, above and to the left, is to a music video in which Gangstarr drops jazz history knowledge. I always loved this song from the movie Mo’ Better Blues. A cool movie because it’s subjects are jazz musicians who are successful, not destitute, drug addicted alcoholics who get saved by the altruistic jazz fan or the enabling partner. The cinematography is great also. At one time this video appeared on MTV, believe it or not. As far as the subject matter, don’t hate, check it out.

Who Took The Soul Out Of Jazz?

By Bobby Broom
for Chicago Jazz Magazine

Soul—that feeling in music that needs no words to understand. It is the best of musicians who can access and transmit deep emotion through performance, and who imbues his work with energy and an aura, that elicits a favorable response from the listener.

Perhaps the biggest reason great art endures the test of time is that human emotions don’t change—humans possess the same emotions now that they did thousands of years ago. Any great art is a transfer of emotion—musically, soul is what we speak of as being transferred from the player to the listener, as in soul-to-soul. Without soul, music becomes an intellectual exercise and runs the risk of alienating the artist from the general public.

So it’s clear that one of the most essential elements of jazz performance is this nearly indefinable term “soul” that both gives the art form its unique quality, and can be used as an “authenticity indicator.” The words “soul,” “feeling” or “that thing,” are all attempts to describe a condition that is both rhythmic and melodic—the seeming freedom of the rhythmic dance from the fixed pulse of the beat and the quality of human emotion found in the sighs, wails, shouts and moans of a singer or musician. At one time, anyone who was even a bit familiar with jazz knew that, regardless of which descriptive term or definition used, we were talking about that nebulous quality that gave our music its spirit and lifeblood. So, just when did jazz and soul become mutually exclusive?

According to The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz, soul-jazz is “a type of hard bop dating from the mid-1950s. …it is characterized by simple, tuneful themes and improvisations, modeled on the speech inflections of black preachers in the sanctified churches.” If we accept the cultural implications introduced by Grove as part of a loose, working definition of soul, then we should also be comfortable with the idea that soul is inherent in the blues as well. Would it be fair to suggest that soul was borrowed from the blues, employed in ragtime and borne into jazz, and is a necessary component of early twentieth century jazz? Could jazz have come into existence had it not been for this spiritual element that we call soul? It seems a given that the greats in jazz—Jelly Roll Morton, Louis Armstrong, Art Tatum, Duke Ellington, Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, Charlie Christian, Fats Navarro, Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Bud Powell, Thelonius Monk, Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, Ornette Coleman, John Coltrane, Wayne Shorter, Wes Montgomery, Jimmy Smith and others of their ilk—have one thing in common: for each of them, soul is to the quality of their work as breath is to life.

So why, then, do we accept the use of the redundant categorization of soul-jazz? I understand that as merchants and consumers we need labels for shelves and aisles, but I believe that the definition currently implies so much more than simply a musical style—especially within the inner circles of the jazz field. There is condescension and misrepresentation that occurs when the soul-jazz description is used (or misused) as a marketing and categorizing tool. It has been the case since the 1970s that the blues element
has been progressively “factored out” of what is considered the most sophisticated, intellectual and modern forms of jazz; it has been marginalized and codified to represent a commercial category that is more simple than the rest. So what effect does this kind of blues stereotyping have on the perception of the great jazz musicians, past and present (but especially the originators of jazz), who have utilized the blues as the basis for their creativity?

Haven’t we jazz lovers already begun to perceive this soul element as less modern, less intelligent and less sophisticated? Perhaps as new jazz spin-offs come into existence they need categorization in order to establish an identity and to distinguish what sets the new style apart from its roots. Do we need reminding that currently there is a clear distinction between jazz that has soul and jazz that doesn’t? This is nothing new. If we look honestly at the past we must admit that along the way, many forms of jazz have lacked soul. I never found the Dixieland strain particularly soulful. Most classic examples of the swing era jazz suggest a more lighthearted diversion, albeit feigned attempt, at soul’s earthy, emotional depth. Perhaps by choice, the cool-school and its descendants conveyed a feeling more of air than earth. By over-emphasizing the technical skills of the instrumentalists and composers as a means to impress its listeners, jazz-fusion seems to dismiss the idea of the value of soulful feeling altogether.

As jazz moves further and further away from its emotional roots, some have deemed it necessary to remind the listeners that what they are about to hear is jazz that values the emphasis of emotion over technique. But in a way, use of the term “soul-jazz” seems to turn the description inside out—like describing Domino as “sweet sugar.” This has created some confusion about jazz and how we define it. What we need now more than ever is not more confusion about jazz, but clarity and honesty in order to understand how styles and sub-styles align with (or diverge from) the origins and long history of jazz. Ironically, we use the soul-jazz categorization to isolate and separate, when the key elements of the proclaimed style are closer to its source than that of its cousins. Perhaps we should also be more categorically clear about how the other styles—corporate-jazz, stiff-jazz, corny-jazz and pseudo-intellectual-jazz—stray from the feeling, essence and purpose of the original art form!

There’s a reason why a jazz musician like guitarist John Scofield has been able to affect such a wide range of listeners. As far as being a true jazz musician is concerned, he’s the real deal! He is a perfect example of a musician who uses jazz’s past as a blueprint, yet can integrate his own individual musical perspective in order to become a jazz standard-bearer, independent thinker and explorer. A player of his ilk is properly versed in jazz, meaning he can improvise genuinely in the jazz idiom, can swing in many rhythmic contexts, has an unfaltering sense of time, is harmonically sophisticated and technically adept, can compose a pleasing and satisfying melody, and can interpret as well as accompany a melody. Over time this type of player should develop a distinctive personal sound or voice on their instrument and, if successful, their contributions will usually be acknowledged by the jazz community. These are, or should be, the aspirations of the jazz musician. This is their lifework.

Soul should factor into this work as an ever-present barometer of feeling used to govern and assess one’s music. Scofield’s voice is nothing else if not soulful. If the definitive factor for admission to the soul-jazz class is a rhythmically and emotionally blues based delivery, then surely Scofield fits the bill. Why then is his personal style, which is as steeped in the blues and as vamp laden and groove contingent as any Stanley Turrentine music I’ve ever heard, not referred to and marketed exclusively as soul-jazz? Perhaps it’s a conscious effort by some to steer clear of the soul-jazz moniker.

Sometimes the use of the term soul-jazz results in racist stereotypes, misrepresentation of musicians and their music, unwarranted bolstering of certain jazz musicians, unnecessary separation and demeaning of others and in effect, reduction of their voices, styles and contributions to a sub-standard level. In short, soul-jazz artists are considered to be an inferior strain of jazz artists. Most important in terms of how we will continue to view jazz music in the future, is the effect that the negative image of soul-jazz will have on how we perceive the blues. Will the jazz community see blues as a musical element responsible for, and relative to jazz history and its performance, or will it be seen as a second-tier art form? The blues will never be considered as an “art” music, I believe, largely because it has remained true to its soul roots, and connects emotionally with its audience from that place. Must jazz loose this emotion in order to earn and maintain high art status?

I’m all for the growth, development and expansion of jazz music, but not if change is sought in order to erase or degrade the past, or when change for its own sake is heralded as accomplishment or success in jazz. Changes will take place, as they always have—they will happen organically as a result of the jazz musician’s pursuit of excellence. If we use the past as an indication, the most lasting developments will be those that are connected to and in support of the established and defining accomplishments in the field. Of course, there are instances when expansion results in dilution, diversion, or disenfranchisement. The need to add “soul” as a jazz qualifier is an indicator of how far jazz has drifted from its roots, and may be part of the how and why today’s jazz musicians and the music they produce are disconnected from larger audiences.

© 2005 Bobby Broom

Chicago Jazz Magazine Feature Interview

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Many people feel that the brand of jazz espoused by Wynton Marsalis and Jazz at Lincoln Center will turn jazz into a “dead” art form, that it doesn’t allow room for jazz to grow. Where do you fall on that issue?

Bobby Broom: I applaud Wynton for his efforts and I think I understand what he’s trying to do. I had a chance to work with him when we were much younger. He had just moved to New York and we were both enlisting in the academy of Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. For a long time I didn’t really pay that much attention to what he was saying, but his message maybe has become clearer to me, I’ll put it that way. His message has become clearer to me over time—as we’ve matured. I read his last book, Notes to a Young Jazz Musician—wonderful! And I never thought I would agree with him as much as I did after reading that book.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: What is his message?

Broom: Well, the basic plot of the book is that he’s corresponding to a young aspiring jazz musician who’s just moved from wherever to New York. And Wynton would write letters to him from the road and just talk to him about the music and what he should be thinking about as a student; what he should be aspiring to, that kind of thing. The message that I got from it—the main one I think—is that Wynton feels that the most important elements of jazz music are being ignored, and those are swing and the blues. I agree. They are not heralded today as important and necessary components of jazz music. And that’s due to the propagation of other characteristics as being as important—innovation, world beats and whatever other elements you want to throw in the mix—jazz is all-inclusive. So now anything can be called jazz. As long as you can take a solo it’s jazz! And you know, I disagree with that. Now it’s hard to quantify and qualify those elements of swing and the blues. It’s difficult because now we are talking about art—now we are talking about the subjective and it gets murky. I’m somebody that’s been known to incorporate different styles into my playing, so far be it for me to be this staunch purist who says, It’s got to be this way, or, It can’t be anything after 1960. I’m not that way. I believe, probably unlike Wynton, that if you play a funk beat underneath it could still be called jazz. But there’s other criteria that I adhere to, that I think he and I would agree upon, about what makes jazz jazz. He also talks about the issue of race as being very relative to the music and I thoroughly agree with that. Until we as a “society” of music lovers, of jazz lovers—we’ll put it that way—until we’re able to confront this issue of race there will be fractionalized sects of this music; this can/that can’t, this style/that style—you know. I’m all for a firmly established, universal understanding of jazz’ authorship and I feel that if things continue as they have been in recent years, it’s really up for grabs. Jazz music is a young art form, it’s been around one hundred years. And a lot has happened and there have been quite a few periods within those hundred years and huge shifts in styles. And we’re in the midst of one right now. I feel that we may be shifting away from the original feeling of what jazz was; the original elements of the music—and when I say original I mean late 1800s, early 1900s, through the 1920s, up to the swing era—then everything changed. Once the swing era came and went, then bebop comes. Then we were getting back to where we started in a sense. The continuum was still happening. It’s been happening all along, but there have been shifts in the perception of what the music is, who’s important and who’s not, how they’re included, or not.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: A shift of critical mass.

Broom: Yes, of critical mass by the manipulation of people’s perceptions by business for the purpose of money, not for the purpose of art, not for the purpose of valuing artistic contribution relative to the jazz legacy. Gosh, jazz music is a wonderful, wonderful gift! That’s obvious, because it’s reached so many people, so many cultures, and it’s been embraced and aspired to. I teach at DePaul and I subbed as director for another instructor’s small ensemble the other day. I only knew maybe one of these kids. So we’re working on a tune and trying to work out the arrangement. I said to the saxophonist—it was a vocal arrangement—I said, “After the bridge on this last “A” section, why don’t you do some call and response? You know, just play through the holes of the melody.” I didn’t know what this girl sounded like, I didn’t know what this was going to turn out to be, but just put it out there. Boy, could she play. Phew! I mean really play. And you know I got that—I’m getting it right now! [laughter]—I got that feeling. I wanted to stop the tune right there and say, “Who are you and where are you from?” And I finally got the chance to ask her and she said, “My name is Lena from Norway.” She was from some little town in Norway. [sighs] Oh man, that is so cool—soooo cool.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: That has to leave you optimistic.

Broom: Well, yeah. On one hand I am thoroughly optimistic. I saw Jon Hendricks in an airport. And we don’t know each other and, of course, I know who he is by face and I just walked up to him and started talking. And he was very, very, very nice and warm and talked to me like I was his peer. And we began to discuss it. And he said, “Oh no, no, no, no, jazz can’t die. They can do whatever to it, but they can’t kill it ‘cause it’s like life.” And I thought, Yeah, there will always be those who understand the truth of this music. They can just hear it, and it has no bearing on what they think about social issues or anything—but just about the feeling in the music. And that speaks to some people and that will keep jazz fully alive and thriving. But I agree with those who say that ossifying and preserving the art form is a scary thing, because people take things too literally. That’s like saying it’s Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington… and then everybody’s dead! So we can’t take that too literally, because they were a part of a larger picture. They were just individuals. The “great man” theory in jazz, to me, doesn’t work. It’s not just one guy. Duke couldn’t have done it without the members of his orchestra. It’s just that we need some kind of “hero-ification,” we have to be able to make a history, to make a story. But while it’s a convenient thing to preserve that story by linking it to the great contributions of only a few people, that’s not the way that jazz works. It’s a collective art form. Yes, there are great contributors and great contributions in addition to lesser ones. And we also need to celebrate the music that’s alive today and the musicians that are alive today—the musicians that have dedicated their lives to this music because of the history, because of the continuum. You know, I remember being in my twenties and not being sure about whether I wanted to be a jazz musician or not. But at some point during my thirties, I began to realize what an honor it would be to be a representative of the legacy of this great cultural gift and to try to carry it on. Not every jazz musician will be as fortunate to have made such strong connections to this music’s past. And if I have been gifted with the talent to express in this way, and embraced and in a sense endorsed by these leaders in the field, that alone is quite an honor.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: So what was it that changed your mind about jazz?

Broom: Though I wasn’t sure about whether I wanted to be a “jazz musician,” in quotes, early on I had already decided that this was what I wanted to do in my life. I was fifteen, and it was in response to hearing George Benson and linking that sound to all the music that I had ever heard before that. It just was being spoken through him, through that instrument, and it made total sense. The guitar was the instrument that I had chosen. Jazz and the clean sound was the medium. Hearing George Benson was a confirmation that you can be as expressive as you want to be on this instrument. And there was proof and it was like, Okay, that’s it. Then I heard Wes and it was like—Right. [laughter] I get it! So there is something here. I had heard about the importance of the jazz legacy and I was beginning to understand that, but at the same time, I was born in the sixties, and grew up in the seventies, and there was this fusion and funk that my friends were playing—and we were all trying to play all these things. Now the way that I heard the guitar was always without affects—a clean sound—pretty much classic jazz guitar. I mean it was just innately how I heard the guitar and myself playing it. And I had to reconcile that with the various periods as I went through them. Like in the mid-eighties, when Mike Stern and John Scofield were the epitome of what jazz guitar was supposed to be. And I didn’t fit that mold, that sound, that style. It was not mine. It wasn’t comfortable; I didn’t ever really aspire to play like that. It was interesting, but so what? So, when I got to the point where jazz had already started to be a career—when I was on the career track—me and some of the friends that I played with didn’t know if we wanted to limit ourselves to being straight ahead jazz musicians. Is this something that is going to yield the kind of success I want? And I don’t mean riches and fame; I mean just a basic comfort level that I would want.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Especially at that time.

Broom: Yes, exactly—in the early eighties. What role models did we really have in terms of people who were just swinging? So we were concerned about becoming limited in our playing: They did that already—they did that bebop, post-bop thing. That was done already. Do we want to be old-fashioned like that? Do we want to just do that?

Chicago Jazz Magazine: You once said in an interview that when you heard George Benson, “what he was playing was so musical that it didn’t even sound like a guitar. It just sounded like music.” What did you mean by that?

Broom: When I hear a musician’s style, or their language, melody is paramount, whether it’s George or any of the great jazz musicians. And you know when I talk to students I try to get them to think about where our impetus to melody comes from. Where do we get our information from? From our everyday lives, from what we’re surrounded by, from what we receive via the radio, television, all the songs we’ve heard in our childhood, folk songs, everything! Sonny Rollins is a perfect example. A great improviser like Sonny Rollins draws on all of those influences when he’s playing—not just Charlie Parker’s bebop style. That’s just a BIG [chuckles] part of it: the syntax of the language, the grammar. So I think that’s what I meant. When I heard George, the music sounded unlimited—it felt like I was hearing all of the music I have ever heard. I heard melodies and it just made total sense to me. And I didn’t know about bebop at that point, at all! Everything just made sense—the stories that he told melodically, rhythmically, the way he played melodies against the chords, improvisations against the chords, the way that he could veer off and make it make sense and then come back—all of that. And I related what I heard him doing to all of the thousands and thousands of combinations of notes in the form of melodies that I had already heard, because as a kid I used to listen to the radio like a mad man and take it in really intensely.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: You started playing guitar when you were twelve. What made you gravitate toward that particular instrument?

Broom: I don’t know. Nothing that I can really put my finger on. That guitar hanging up on the back wall is a tenor guitar that my Godfather gave to me. I don’t know if that is what planted the seed. I didn’t do anything with it. I was eight and I just banged around on it and threw it in the closet. But then when I was twelve, I just [snaps fingers] woke up one day and I knew there was something that I had to do. And that was it.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: And suddenly it was clear to you that you should play the guitar?

Broom: No, it was vague, you know, vague but clear. And that’s that magic thing, that thing—I don’t know what to call it. But, it’s a sixth sense if you will.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: An intuition?

Broom: An intuition. Being in touch with your spiritual self.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: What was it that you saw as your calling, to make music or play the guitar?

Broom: It wasn’t a calling, at that point—at least not in terms of a vocation. It was a calling to do something, like a hobby, but it wasn’t in word form. It was like I woke up and it was like this burning thing inside. I have to play, I want to play the guitar, I want a guitar. I don’t know if I saw something on TV, I just don’t remember a specific incident that sparked this.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Was that when you were a radio fiend?

Broom: Yeah.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Maybe you heard something on the radio.

Broom: Maybe I heard something on the radio. I don’t know. So I went and told my parents and my Dad came home with a guitar and a microphone because, of course, all guitar players have to sing, and that was it. And I think my goal at that point was just to strum and be able to—I just wanted to make music. That’s what it was. I wanted to make music! But I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know to what extent I wanted to do it. At that point, it was just that I wanted to be able to accompany myself and sing. And for some reason it was just the guitar that I picked for whatever reason.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: And within three and a half years you were playing Carnegie Hall with Sonny Rollins.

Broom: [Laughter] That’s it! It’s that easy boys and girls!

Chicago Jazz Magazine: That’s the answer to the old joke, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” [laughter] How did that come about?

Broom: Well, I figured out that this jazz thing was it and that this was what I wanted to do. You know the power of thought is incredible. I didn’t know that, but I definitely thought a lot about what it was that I wanted to do and so I was really sending the energy of my dreams out there. Like, this is what I want to do. I want to be like these guys one day. And then I just practiced and I listened, and I listened and I practiced, and I practiced and played along, and eventually I found myself in those situations. Growing up in New York helped me to be exposed. I lived on the Upper West Side and there were two or three clubs within a few blocks of my house. Quite a few jazz musicians lived in the neighborhood as well. Also, we had a great jazz band director at my high school, Justin DiCiocio. Once I became aware of the music it wasn’t very for me hard to find.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Walk us through the events that led up to Carnegie Hall.

Broom: Well, we had a neighborhood band. We played a talent show in my high school and there was a gentleman backstage. He was an older guy—he was like 35—which was ancient. [smiling] Who’s that old dude back there? Man look at him—he’s got a bald head! Ha-ha-ha. What’s he doing? Well, he was looking for young musicians to play roles in this off-off Broadway play that he had written called Young, Gifted and Broke. His name was Weldon Irvine. So he approached a couple of us in the band and said, “This is what I am doing. I’d like you to come to the Billie Holiday Theater in Brooklyn and audition for these roles in the play and also in the pit band.” So we did, and we got the parts—three of us from our band. And it was Poogie Bell on drums, who now plays with Erica Badu, Marcus Miller, Chaka Khan and the list goes on. Marcus Miller was in the pit with us playing bass. Weldon was a mentor to all of us and to a bunch of musicians in the Queens, New York area. He was a very active underground figure in various forms of black music and continued to mentor up until his recent death. So we got these roles and were making money doing this off-off Broadway play, five nights a week, matinees on Saturday and Sunday. I learned so much about playing music then. We also played the roles of a kid-band in the play. So in one scene we would play on stage. We’d play our tune like we were rehearsing at someone’s house; so we were showcased. One night a guy approached me after the show and said his name was Aurell Ray. He said, “I’m a guitar player and I play with Sonny Rollins.” And I say, “Wow, Sonny Rollins! I’ve heard of him.” And he says, “You should go audition for Sonny.” And I said, “Well didn’t you just say you’re the guitar player?!” [chuckle] “Well, yeah, but he said he’s going to be looking for another guitar player soon. Here’s the address—go audition.” Phew! Man, I’d take any opportunity just to play. I wasn’t nervous. That was probably because the first teacher I had instilled a mentality in me that you learn by doing. That’s how he conducted his lessons—a big part of his lessons was performance. We’d do theory. He’d have me spell chords, we’d learn scales, et cetera, and then we’d play tunes.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Was that Jimmy Carter?

Broom: Yeah. He’d count a tune off and it was like a real performance complete with intros, endings, the works. Plus, I’d been doing the play, playing in jazz band at Music and Art High School and sitting in with pianist Al Haig most weeknights after homework and before my curfew. So I had been garnering quite a bit of performing experience. So I go to this audition—the guitar player’s not here, it’s just me, Sonny, Bob Cranshaw and Eddie Moore, a drummer from the Bay Area who’s since passed. I played, and Sonny apparently liked something and asked me to join the band and do a college tour. And I said, “Well, I can’t. I’m in high school. I’m a senior in high school and my mother and father won’t let me do that.” And he said, ”Well, I’ll call you when I get back home.” And I thought, Okay, cool. I didn’t know. Totally green! I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t think about it. And then an ad came on the radio for his performance at Carnegie Hall months later and I got excited because I was going to go to the show and get to go backstage, because now I know Sonny. And then the phone rang that night. I was doing my homework and it was Sonny living up to his word. [chuckles]

Chicago Jazz Magazine: So you replaced Aurell Ray.

Broom: Well, no, he played that concert with us. Sonny had two guitars and a piano player [Michael Wolf] and Donald Byrd was a special guest.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Why two guitars—was he trying to break in a new guitarist with a backup just in case?

Broom: Maybe. I don’t know. But I didn’t wind up staying with him. I graduated high school and went to Berklee College of Music. It’s funny, because last night Al Foster was on the gig with us with Sonny and that time period came up. Sonny said, “Do you remember playing here, Al?” Al says, “Yeah, yeah, I think so,” and Sonny says, “Yeah, we played here with the Milestone All-Stars in 1978. So I thought, that’s right, I saw you guys play at Berklee Performance Center when I was a college freshman. I said it to myself because I didn’t want to make them feel old! And so that was the next time I saw Sonny, about a year later. And I went backstage and talked to him for a while that night.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: What’s Sonny like?

Broom: He’s a nobleman. Yeah, just a beautiful spirit, and thoughtful in so many ways… honorable and humble.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: What are some of your favorite stories about Sonny?

Broom: [Chuckles] Well, one is when I was in this dilemma. I had just made a record for Blue Note, Live at the Village Vanguard with Kenny Burrell and The Jazz Guitar Band, and we had our first gig in support of the record. And sometime just before that gig I got a call from Miles Davis. “Come to New York,” Miles said. I still had my apartment in New York. So I went. And I was rehearsing with Miles—he had given me some gigs. And then I get the Kenny Burrell itinerary and one of the gigs is on the same night as a Miles’ gig at the Auditorium Theater in Chicago. So, home crowd, family, friends, venue, you know versus, somewhere in New Jersey at a club. But I knew that I had made this commitment to Kenny first and I needed to honor that. It was just that I was struggling with it, and so I called Sonny. And I voiced my struggle, and I said, “I don’t know—part of me wants to do this Miles gig. And Sonny said, “Well, what part is that?” And I said, “Okay, man, I gotta go. I gotta go make a phone call.” [laughs] So I called Miles and told him, “Look man, I can’t do this one gig. I had a prior commitment with Kenny Burrell.” He said, “Kenny Burrell??!!” [laughs, slaps knee] But I just thought Sonny’s answer was hilarious: “What part is that?” You know, that’s how he is.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Did you ever get a chance to work with Miles then after that?

Broom: Yeah, I did five gigs with him.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Well, lets move from one legend to another. Tell us some Miles dope.

Broom: Well, as I alluded to before, that style of playing that Miles was interested in was not my style. It was not the way that I heard the guitar. It was not my voice.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: What was he doing at that time—was it fusion?

Broom: Fusion. Yeah, he had been doing fusion since the early seventies.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: So for you at that time fusion was an “old” style?

Broom: No that wasn’t it at all. It was rock! The guitar’s role in fusion music is rock-based as opposed to jazz based. If he could have had Jimi Hendrix in the band I’m sure he would have. The guy he had right before me was Hiram Bullock. And he only did two gigs with him for whatever reason. But Hiram was on the gig and before him Robin Ford, who I thought was the best on that gig—he kicked ass. Stern, Scofield… You know, Scofield was probably to my ear the most “jazzy,” I hate that word, jazzy, but he had the most straight ahead sensibility. He could mix it up—put that little bit of distortion on and play the blues. I couldn’t do that. I was a straight up, straight-ahead player. Funky and soulful maybe, but I hadn’t fully realized my voice quite yet. You know, sometimes today I wonder: Could I get on that gig now and play with my tone and make it work? I am really curious about that, but I’ll never know. But at that point I wasn’t secure in much of anything, least of all my sound and trying to make it fit, and I was unsure of whether it did. I would just say, Well, I’ve got to do it how he wants it and I know he wants it like this. See, Miles knew; I know he knew. I sent him some bogus demo tape that I made, where I’m playing some stuff that I thought was what he wanted to hear. The message he sent back to me was, “Tell him not to play so far behind the beat.” You know, it’s his way of saying, I hear you, man, you know! [chuckles] And I’m thinking, Come on, Scofield plays as far if not farther behind the beat than I do, so what’s he talking about? During an intermission of one of the shows Miles said something to me like, “I know it’s loud, but keep just playing through it.” Or he’d walk over to me on stage and play a line that he might have played in 1959. He knew exactly who I was – a jazz musician, not a rock and roller.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Did you get the impression that Miles was pleased with the stuff he was creating at that time?

Broom: Yeah, Miles is an artist. So he’s not going to do anything that he doesn’t want to do. I mean a true artist, not a commercial artist. Yes, Miles heard his trumpet voice in a lot of contexts throughout his career. The last thing he left was the Doo-Bop record, which I enjoyed. It was his attempt to integrate his sound in a rap/hip-hop setting. Miles’ voice just fits. He knew how to make it fit over and within music and make it worthwhile. That’s how I feel—that’s how I perceive it, and evidently how he heard it and was able to transmit it. So yeah, he was enjoying it. He was really diligent about the band, the sound—the group sound—and very particular about things. And he would tape every night; the soundman would record every night. Miles would listen and go back to someone if he had something to say about what they had done: what he wanted, what he didn’t want, what he liked, what he didn’t like. If he didn’t like what he was doing he wouldn’t have behaved like that.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: One common thread through your entire music career is education.

Broom: Yes.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: You’ve had mentors and you’ve been a mentor. Why don’t you talk about that a little bit?

Broom: I like that word “mentor,” and it’s been a wonderful experience to be able to be a part of the jazz mentoring program here in Chicago under the auspices of Ravinia, via a community outreach program called the Music Performance Program. We visit Chicago area high schools on a regular basis and mentor the kids by providing music lessons and guidance. It’s been a joy to nurture young people through music and to present something different to them. To see their faces light up in various instances when they recognize something or when they get something from what we are doing. It’s a shame that the average young person will not get a chance to experience the joy of many styles of music because of commercial forces. But mentoring has been great for me because I realize that mentoring is an important component of the continuation and evolution of this art form, jazz. It’s how musicians learn to play: from emulating the recordings—listening and emulating—and through mentoring and apprenticeship. So that’s something that I think about when I teach at DePaul University and it keeps me clear about what I’m doing. I have my feelings about jazz education and what the purpose of it is.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: What are those feelings?

Broom: I was just talking to a creative writer about this today. He said that he sometimes feels that arts education at higher institutions can be kind of opportunistic. I agree. Offering a jazz program is a way for institutions to make quite a bit of money. Jazz is becoming more and more respected as an art form, only because it cannot be denied. Not because the institutions deem it so. In fact, the institutions, more often than not, treat jazz as a bastard child. The rules and the playing field are slanted. Look at what we do for a classical, Western music program. We’re going to offer private lessons on each instrument. Right? Okay, where are we going to get professors? Well, obviously we have to get the best musicians from in or outside of the area; we’ll get the ones that are doing it on the highest level; we’ll go to the symphony—and we have got to pay these guys with tenure and benefits, because they’re deserving artists, right? And then you go to the jazz program and you’ve got—I don’t know who; people that have limited experience in the real world of the music. It’s just as simple as that.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Doesn’t that seem to be shifting?

Broom: Maybe very little. Those few of us that have teaching positions at the college and university level are most often relegated to the adjunct level. I understand that half of all college level teaching positions in the U.S. are adjunct, but in comparing jazz department positions with classical, there is clearly inequity. No, I don’t see things shifting quickly enough.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: But there are more working musicians that are teaching locally now. You’ve got Joel Spencer, Dennis Carroll, Pharez Whitted, yourself…

Broom: But there are still those that are performers at the highest level that should be, but are not, teaching. Those who have established themselves, either by playing locally and internationally at that level, currently, with great names in jazz, or by simply being outstanding artistic voices that the youngsters and the true jazz cognoscenti realize. Dan Trudell, George Fludas and Pat Mallinger come to mind as examples… You know… [sighs] I don’t understand why musician X is not being heralded. Is it because he’s not from here? Neither am I. But he lives here and he’s lived here for twenty years, and so have I. And he could be among the greatest pianists ever to have played the music. It’s my humble opinion and the opinion of those who I hear from and/or run around with. Among these are great musicians, people who have played with the greats, students of jazz, jazz fans and casual listeners… we all agree. This issue has left the subjective realm. I mean, it becomes objective when the collective agrees and consensus says—Miles Davis was the cat, Sonny Rollins, Trane, Wes, Bird, Monk, blah-blah -blah-blah— we all agree that these were great jazz musicians; it’s no farce; there’s no disillusionment. And I can use my gift of understanding this music – the ability to judge good from bad, my aesthetic – into present day situations. And I do and I feel strongly about it. That same standard of excellence that we use to identify the jazz legends must also be used to measure the modern jazz musician. There’s no reason to start deferring to personal taste and subjectivity just because a great musician is not famous, is more skilled than me, or happens to live in my neighborhood.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Distance lends enchantment.

Broom: Yes, yes, exactly. That’s what it is. But close your eyes; just close your eyes and if you can’t hear it… I don’t know what to tell you. George Fludas has played with the world of jazz; you know his resume don’t you? And, he is one of the most articulate, thoughtful, intelligent men that I know. Come on, man! I mean, it would be an honor for any program to have him, and for the kids to be able to get whatever they could from somebody that has that much experience in the field. And he continues to grow today—he’s not somebody that decided: I’m going go teach because I‘m afraid I won’t make it as a player. He’s no dabbler. Not a guy like that! A musician like that has devoted his life to playing this music—come hell or high water! Some people shouldn’t play jazz for life. But that’s a personal matter for each of us to figure out for ourselves. Some others realize why they should, and dedicate themselves to that end for the long haul. Among these people are those, who over time, continue to develop and can point to successes and achievements in the actual field of jazz performance at a certain level. These are the true teachers of this music.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Education being such an important part of your life, what are some of the books that have most influenced you?

Broom: Well, it’s hard to say what’s been most influential, but I was very uplifted by The African Origin of Civilization by Cheik Diop. I liked Richard Wright when I was in grade school. I love Zora Neal for her story telling and her celebration of the culture. I have spurts where I read often. [Reaches for travel bag and pulls out three books.] I find my attention to reading as relaxation is better when I’m traveling. I just finished this: Lies my Teacher Told Me by James W. Loewen. It’s American history. Or rather, “herstory.” Now I’m reading Black Spark, White Fire by Richard Poe. It’s African history. And to lighten things up, I Put a Spell On You—The Autobiography of Nina Simone. Recently, I read an inspiring book by Hazrat Inayat Khan called The Mysticism of Sound and Music. He was born in the late 1800s and was an early twentieth century vina player turned sufi mystic and teacher. In his book he talks about aspects of music that are relative to spiritual understanding and also some things that are pertinent to jazz. He mentions jazz in some of his comments and he seemed to dislike the jazz that was the popular dance music of the 1920s, the time of his writings. He did have some reverence for the music though and actually attributed the art to blacks, citing its rhythm as an essential element. He wrote about things like finding one’s voice, imitation as a means of learning a musical language and improvisation.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: How did you end up in Chicago and why have you chosen to remain here?

Broom: I moved to Chicago from New York in 1984, at a time in my life when I was young and very confused. I decided to move here to pursue a relationship really, but not being thoroughly comfortable with that decision, I thought I’d better go back to college and finish the undergrad degree I’d started before I began recording and traveling. It was quite a backward move at the time. I had a hard time coming to terms with it. It took nearly ten years and a failed marriage before I was finally really able to let go and forgive myself. As far as my career was concerned, I soon found myself on the road nationally and internationally as I had been from out of New York, so it was just like, I live in Chicago now. In hindsight, one benefit of being here was that I was removed from the influence of the model of what current jazz guitar was supposed to be. So I was practicing and concentrating on what I sounded like and trying to accept that. I can almost remember the day when my own sound spoke to me in that special way. Then in the late eighties I started making stronger musical ties with guys like Ron Blake, Dennis Carroll and George Fludas; Lloyd Wilson, Baabe Irving and the guys in Miles’ band; and then Greg Rockingham and Chris Foreman. Then, we were all trying to play in as serious a way as possible and, once again, I felt nurtured and loved—that bond that you make with only select people in your life. I used to tell myself that I wanted to create a strong enough sound that it wouldn’t matter where I lived. And so, through it all, that’s what I was doing. I feel I may have missed out on some recording opportunities in the mid to late eighties and nineties with my peers in New York at the time—the jazz kids in suits—but who knows? Anyway, I can’t really complain. It hasn’t been a bad ride for a Chicago jazz-guitar player. I made some cool connections since I’ve been here. I’ve recorded, plus I have two strong bands that were developed from scratch. Maybe it doesn’t have as much to do with Chicago or New York as I thought. I think I’ll stay! [laughs] In addition to music, now I have such a happy life—a wonderful and loving wife, Maureen, and the best, sweetest, most beautiful and smart daughter, Nicole, who’s grown into quite the young woman… Shoot, I even like my in-laws!

Chicago Jazz Magazine: Tell us what you are working on currently.

Broom: Well, let’s see… I just got my master’s degree in jazz pedagogy from Northwestern University. I finished that in June. I started working with Sonny again just this past spring. It was totally unexpected. But we keep in touch and he asked for my help on his return to performing after the death of his wife of thirty-six years, Lucille. I’ll be in Japan with him soon and we’ll be traveling around the States a bit prior to that. The Deep Blue Organ Trio should be getting to work soon on post-production of the new live CD/DVD recording. I’m also trying to put finishing touches on a recent Bobby Broom Trio video shoot. Meanwhile, I’m looking toward the release of that group’s second CD. It’s done and I think it’s better than the first one [Stand!]. I hope to let people decide that for themselves.

Chicago Jazz Magazine: You referred to racism earlier in the interview. Do you believe there is racism in jazz music? If so, how is racism manifested?

Broom: Of course—to say that nothing has anything to do with race anymore is the great escape of the day. The fact is that racism is an antiquated term. We need to come up with something more modern, one that’s pertinent to what’s happening now. I feel that race is an issue that American society has yet to properly face and take some genuine responsibility for. Why should it if it doesn’t have to? The most obviously heinous parts of the problem are all over and done with. Now we just have to deal with the aftermath, which nobody has any time to think about… Just pile ‘em up over there, we’ll get to it later. And no, I can’t look to the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s as an answer either. No real justice was done by simply not mistreating black folk in the same old way any longer. And the effects of four hundred years certainly can’t be effectively dealt with in forty. [Sighs] Anyway… As long as jazz is handled as business in this country it will be subject to the same paradigm as the other institutions. How can we honestly believe that there is not racism in jazz and at the same time not even be comfortable enough in ourselves to state that jazz music is an art conceived by the African-American? By continuing to condone and celebrate mediocrity as artistic and by confusing the definition of jazz by diluting, distilling and obscuring the importance of its essential elements, swing and the blues, we are ostensibly hijacking it from its place of origin and shifting its meaning and purpose.