Whatever happens, I strive to think positively. One of my beliefs is that a positive approach in any situation will encourage a satisfactory outcome eventually. Negativity is a self-fulfilling prophecy, which means: start from a negative stance and you’ll encourage a negative outcome. But in this post, I can’t find any way to state my case other than with a huge dose of the negative.I hate “jazz” involving the sounds of 101 sentimental silky strings.
The word Jazz is in inverted commas because such music is not jazz at all, but I want to avoid the eternal debate. The fact is that this genre of music is wrongly presented as jazz. It’s a form of Easy Listening and jazz has never been that. Jazz was dance music first and foremost, then it became club-land followed by concert music before it was elevated to the status of art and started to become wayward, but it has never – ever – been Easy Listening.
I use the term Easy Listening as a recognisable term for a genre of music; it’s not intended to be a qualitative description, as in easy listening (without the upper case initials). Jazz can be easy listening but cannot be Easy Listening.
I’m not sure I’ve made myself clear on the point but I’ll press on anyway. The violin has a valid and worthy place in the evolution of jazz. To name just three, Joe Venuti, Stephane Grappelli and Stuff Smith each demonstrated individually how ably the instrument can replicate the sort of rhythms required to justify the tag of jazz. In fact, “Rio Pakistan” holds a prominent position in the favourites list on my MP3 player. But as soon as a few violins start to play in symphony during a jazz recital, I reach for the fast forward button, or seize the opportunity for a comfort break.
Perhaps this is me showing my true colours – a philistine and low-brow - but I physically shudder when suddenly those silky strings start to play. One of my ecstatic musical moments in life was when I saw Sarah Vaughan at the Hammersmith Odeon, I think in 1964. She was accompanied by Count Basie and his orchestra. As much as I adored her voice, if she’d been in front of the London Philharmonic Orchestra I wouldn’t have gone within 100 miles of the place. Forty-five years has not even dinted my resolve.
Many jazz greats have fronted the metaphorical 101 silky strings. I like to think they did that out of commercial pressure rather than with the intention of somehow pretending they were advancing the interests of jazz. The contribution Charlie Parker made to jazz allows us to forgive him anything – his drink and drugs, his sometimes shaky playing, his untimely and premature death – but never ask me to listen to the tracks he laid down in front of a choir of seraphic violins.
If David Beckham started to play cricket, you wouldn’t call the game soccer. When Ella Fitzgerald sang in front of a symphony orchestra, she was singing something entirely different to jazz.
I’ve almost exorcised my music collection. Multitudinous strings still appear occasionally on an otherwise excellent compilation tape, but I can generally anticipate the miscreant’s arrival and regard it as an interval during which to attend to those cardinal functions of life, such as opening another bottle of wine.
We need a campaign – keep the sound of 101 silky strings out of the world of jazz.
Discuss.
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