Current events, such as they are, prompted me to go back and re-read Allen Ginsberg's poem " America
." There is much good literature on the relation between the Beat movement and jazz, I'll not try and revisit that topic here. I will however dwell on one characteristic all great jazz players' posses and which this poem exemplifies.
It's hard to read this poem and not be moved by its sheer frankness, or the power of its rhythm. But when put in some type of historical context that power is magnified and the poems worth becomes clearer, its value magnified.
This poem bears a date of 1956 at its conclusion. That Ginsberg should have had the courage to set down these thoughts during the black-and-white 1950's, when (we are led to believe) America was becoming a more homogenized society, is remarkable. "The Fifties" conjures up so many stereotypes in the mind of the average American that it's hard to dispel them all. Of course, these stereotypeshouse in the suburbs with a new car and 2.5 children -were only ever truly the norm for a very small percentage of the populace, and only if you were white, male and had some good fortune fall your way. Yet that was the image America was conveying to the world, and to its own citizenry as the ideal.
Along comes Ginsberg who, in this poem as well as in most all of his other writings and actions, upsets that applecart so completely. In this poem he not only admits to but also CELEBRATES the fact that he is a poet, a Jew, a homosexual, a pot smoker, a leftist, has mystical visions, is lazy (or at least doesn't want to have a job), is "nearsighted and psychopathic anyway," and above all not very happy with the state of his country.
Any one of these things would make him an outcast if not a pariah in "normal" 50's society. Yet Ginsberg had the courage -no, let me state it more clearly than thathe had the balls to glorify his individuality in the face of a society that was not at all receptive to these things. He was "outside" of America, at least the America of popular opinion. Yet he was more American that most. He had faith in a country that had seen Walt Whitman before him record all that was best in her people and her spirit. He understood that the best thing he could do was to speak with his own voice, to give voice to his thoughts with as much sincerity and honesty as possible, to honestly explore his own true path and no matter what Time magazine told him, he would find America, his "America."
The courage to look for and speak with an individual voice -nothing is more central to the jazz musician. That combination of timbre, note choice, harmonic vocabulary, rhythmic vocabulary (sense of swing), use of space, structure -all these elements play a part in establishing an individual voice. Think of any of your favorite musicians. In your mind you can immediately conjure up the aural memory of their sound. Think about Ben Webster
and how his breath would surround his fluttering vibrato. Think about Johnny Hodges
and how he would seemingly take an eternity to stretch up to that ultimate note. Think about Wynton Kelly
and the "flowers" (as Miles Davis
used to say) in his piano chords, giving each note so much presence it's as if you can practically touch them. Think about Red Mitchell
and the way he could make a bass sing so beautifully.
These players, and so many more, were able to find their own sounds. A few notes is all it ever takes to recognize someone who reaches that pinnacle. It's one thing all jazz players strive for.
But there is even more to it than just sound. To really speak honestly -to play with sincerity is somewhat more elusive. (Not to imply that any of the players mentioned above were anything but sincere. It's just that their sounds, their timbres were so outstanding, they exemplified that particular aspect). How can you define this? How can you identify when someone's playing is sincere? Or honest? It would be a cop-out to say that it's subjective. Any listener who has been touched by someone's music has recognized this honesty. But it's not something easily put into words. It's something visceral, something emotional, something spiritual. Something beyond words, beyond thoughts. Something that once you experience you long for all the time, and you miss terribly when it's absent.