By Nathaniel Friedman

Nowadays, everyone writes. The world needs new tunes, new platforms for improvisation; if present-day jazz is going to develop an identity all its own, it needs a language to go with it. Non-writers have come to be seen as tacky, if not even a little naïve.

Yet much of the writing being done today is just a formality, a means rather than an end. As Michael Blake sees it, much of jazz is still in the grips of a "chops-based, ego-driven" ethos. But the New York-based saxophonist, best known for his work as a member of Slow Poke, the Jazz Composers Collective, and the Lounge Lizards, doesn’t compose with any ulterior motives in mind. When it comes to writing for its own sake, though, Blake’s about as thoughtful and deliberate as they come, constantly taking into account what he’s writing and, more importantly, why.

"Even since Drift [released in April on Intuition], there’s been a really strong change in my writing. Lately I’ve been writing so many songs that are song-like, that had a tune that could easily be sung. Some of them even had lyrics." Blake points to his writing for the recent Mr. Carefree project, a series of concerts that reflected his "sense of what seventies pop should have sounded like. If I were Radiohead or some other pop band, this is what my songs would sound like."

Although the pieces on Drift don’t quite aspire to this level of songcraft, Blake’s writing for the record still banks on a certain degree of catchiness. African-tinged nuggets like "Mean as a Swan" and "Torque" are almost irresistible, while even the episodic "Duty Free Suite" maintains a steady narrative voice. And of course, there’s the Fela Kuti-inspired "Afro Blake," a deadly infectious tune that, among other things, perfectly captures Fela’s ability to be both incantatory and sly. It’s this knack for melody and terse, self-contained musical vignettes that makes his writing so distinctive. Blake is less interested in grandiose gestures than communication. Rather than inhibiting improvisation, his compositions guide and elucidate it, painting the soloists into a corner with no room to bullshit.

"I think I write catchy tunes because I liked that stuff when I was young," says Blake. "I grew up watching a lot of t.v.. Film music is often brief and gets to the point so that it compliments the picture. These days our attention span is so short. . . my tunes reflect that."

But, however large the legacy of the technological revolution may loom in his work, Blake is not about to turn his back on the more relaxed days of yore.

"If I think [my pieces] are getting too simplistic, then I might write something more through-composed just to keep myself entertained and on top of things. I have this opportunity every year with the Jazz Composers Collective." The Collective, a conclave of like-minded writers and instrumentalists, has been one of Blake’s most important creative outlets. In fact, all of the music on Drift was developed at their musician-centric concerts.

For Blake, pop culture’s aesthetics do much more than help make cogent music. They also hold the key to a whole dimension of memory and emotion that, traditionally, has been the province of pop music, not jazz (when you remember your ex, or think fondly of an old friend, how often does jazz serve as the soundtrack?).

"You are always connected to certain songs, because of the time you listened to it, because of the mood you were in. I like the idea of writing a song that someone could recognize because they relate to it. And that just doesn’t tend to happen with freer improv. Who really hears Archie Shepp’s Mama Too Tight and says ‘oh yeah, that’s my life that year.’?"

"I mean, personally, I love Mama Too Tight. It’s just that when I was eighteen and sweet for someone, it’s not what we’d be making out to. I did make out to Coltrane and Hartman, though."

These concerns suggest that jazz’s connection with pop came not in its attempts to interpret or expand upon pop standards (a practice that, Blake agrees, is in pretty bad shape these days). Instead, it’s a matter of making music that gets at what makes pop successful on its own terms—in a way that jazz rarely can be.

"When you hear a jazz tune where the two saxes play a melody and get through the tune without embarrassing themselves too much, that’s just a different kind of limitation. The best thing is when you get both those things going, when you write things that are consumable and desirable—and sound like the musicians are having fun when they’re playing it."