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Samuel Chell
Sam Chell is a champion of the composers of the American Songbook and the musicians who keep it alive.
About Me
I'll confess that I'm an academic and not an experienced
journalist, jazz
writer, computer wizard, or internet traveler (not even Facebook).
If I
remember to take the music seriously and not myself, it seems to
work
for me. Also, I've always admired Socrates, ever since reading as
a
college student the Apologia, where he claims he was wise simply
because he could admit to himself that he knew nothing. His
whole life
was about asking questions, especially the ones that would lead
him into
new areas of discovery.
Many followers of this music talk about its presence and influence
in
their homes as kids. That's fine for them. But for just as many
others, it's
an identity thing. Growing up in the northern boonies of Wisconsin,
I
simply required an alternative to Dick Clark, Cousin Fuzzy, Elvis,
the
Beatles and Stones. So I taught myself to like jazz (all the easier
because my parents hated it.)
Perhaps this background qualifies me all the more to encourage
anyone
who has refrained from submitting articles or accepting editing
responsibilities out of a sense of inadequacy to become involved.
Any
teacher who is candid about his work must confront two humbling
facts.
The first is related to a quote sometimes attributed to Faulkner
the
things most worth teaching can't be taught: they can only be
learned.
From this follows the secondteaching something, or simply
writing
about it, is the best way to learn it.
I wish more young people (in spirit as well as years) would take
seriously the benefits of writing / editing for a publication like All
About
Jazz. First of all, it's a team effort to produce the biggest, most
consistently awarded (and substantive) jazz site on the web, and
the
results are there for all to see on a daily basis. Second, it's a
learning
experience. I know of few great musicians who consider
themselves
experts. Music may be a universal language, but it continues
to
challenge (and sometimes frustrate) its users; the same is true of
a
verbal language. But the more you read and write and edit, the
more
you push yourself to improve in your command of a language
and
that's a satisfaction greater than any notoriety or monetary
return.
Alto and tenor saxophonist Sonny Stitt was as close to being an
expert
on his horns as any musician I've followed closely, yet he
understood
that words like creativity and originality don't meaning anything
without a point of reference. Sonny insisted that musicians should
play
to entertain people and, to that end, make their music
simple...just like
Art Tatum didand he wasn't being ironic.
If I can indulge in a bit of esoteric talk (forgive me, Sonny),
Stitt
appeals to the yang, or my Apollonian, left-brained logical-
perfectionist
side; Bill Evans the yin, or my Dionysian, right-brained emotional
hemisphere; Coltrane the Promethean idealism and lingering
theological
anxiety that most of us carry. But that's verging on the academic.
The
challenge is to say it simplyand never take yourself seriously
(despite
appearances, no one else will).
My Jazz Story
My House Concert Story
This is a new, most promising feature. Jazzor, for that matter, instrumental musicis prohibited from airing on any of the late night cable and internet shows (Fallon, Kimmel, Colbert, Corden, etc.). The unspoken rule is that 30 seconds worth of music without a strummed amplified guitar and a vocalist is commercial deathan invitation for viewers to turn you off and sponsors to drop out. And the club scene outside of NYC is increasingly spare and lifeless. So if the music is going to be played, try elsewhere. Besides restaurants and banquet halls, I've played a lot of churches and given Elderhostel classes on jazz and the American Songbook. The "house concert" that I'll always remember was the only timein over 40 yearsthat I've been applauded (a standing ovation!) at the end of a class. It was in Wartburg Auditorium at Carthage College, Kenosha, WI, 1990. My audience was the entire freshman class, and the program, which lasted for 3 hoursa regular "class" was simply "Jazz: America's Indigenous Art." I bored the students into virtual "silent death" for the first two hours, using a combination of lecture, recordings and videoslots of excerpts of Duke Ellington and other commercial jazz educational videotapes. I at least had the advantage of being close to my subject. Professors who talk about Bach, Mozart, Brahms and Bartok never met those guys or saw them "live." With the exception of Charlie Parker (who died too soon for me to catch up with him), I was very familiar with the Ellington Band, I'd seen Louis several times, the same for Coltrane (the three times I saw him after 1964after Elvin, McCoy and eventually Jimmy had left the quartetthe music was so loud and interminable (with Pharoah and Archie brought in to reinforce the troops) that the crowd was sent into shock and eventually exited, happy to be out of earshot of the sonic inferno. Of course, I didn't share that storyor some of the depressing things I'd seen with the Ellington Bandor the horrific aspects of Bill Evans' non-musical life . All of that, and worse, can be found in the lives of Schubert and Schumannor any Romantic artist, including Coleridge, Shelly, Keats and Byron. I was tempted to go sordidif only to wake up the sleepersbut I stuck to the high ground, focusing exclusively on the music. The last hour was given over to live music. I had a Kurzweil 1000, which I supplemented with drums and bass and a frontline of trumpet, tenor sax and trombone. Since I had emphasized the African-American sources and identity of the music, I went outside the college to ensure an equal mix of black and white musicians in the band (as well as raise the level of musicianship). I had charts (Horace Silver transcriptions) but decided not to use them, esp. after emphasizing the music's "oral tradition." We played an hour's worth of blues and standards while I kept my head down, afraid to face my jurors. After our last tune (Silver's "The Preacher") I heard all kinds of clapping and looked up. My God! the entire Freshman Class (approx. 350 students) was giving us a standing ovation! Needless to say, word got around, and I lost a degree of credibility and popularity with some of my colleagues. Enough to persuade me not to try for an encorethough a couple of years ago I played a Sunday evening jazz service in our chapel"Mercy, Mercy, Mercy," "Work Song," and a couple of other things in the Aebersold book of Cannonball Adderley transcriptions. Attendance was sparse, and the worshippers acted as though we were predictable program music (should have had guitar and vocals). (Sometimes I think it's a miracle there are still players of wind instruments. But there's always hope. I was most cheered by Bob Dylan's recent interview where he listed his 7-8 "cultural heroes." Sinatra was at the top followed by 5-6 of the composers of his songs (Gershwin, Kern, Arlen, Cole Porter, Rodgers&Hart, VanHeusen, Berlin)and then a final addition that absolutely no one could argue with: Shakespeare. Sure, the list omitted Ellington and Bill Evans (I have everything either recordedthough Sonny Stitt is the most prolific artist in my collection). But without those composers, jazz would have no repertoire, no basis for extemporaneous communication with one another and audience. Whatever your degree of interest in Dylan, Beatles, Stones (or Elton or Jack White), they didn't write musicmost 32-bar songs that could serve as the "standards" enabling us to measure the awesome talents of jazz' great improvisors. Strangely, the aforementioned composers didn't find that form any more "limiting" than Shakespeare found the Sonnet form, with its rigid requirements. After Louis played "Star Dust" every subsequent major player got a shot at it (Artie Shaw, Lionel Hampton, Brubeck Quartet). After Coleman Hawkins recorded "Body and Soul" in 1939, every major tenor player had better sound good (while adding something new) on the same tune (Sonny Stitt, on tenor, Coltrane and Dexter Gordon take honors on the same tune). The composers named by Dylan are the guys who made possible a "canon" without which an art can't exist as a subject of academic inquiry. (As I try to convince those women who think that English literature should be mostly female authors. Without Chaucer and Milton, without the Romantic poets, without Tennyson and Browning, Melville, Yeats, Joyce and Faulkner, English literature is no longer coherent enough to be an academic discipline. It's merely a bunch of guys and gals doing their thingthe equivalent of the block book club that my wife attends. But it won't attract the sponsorship that supports institutions like Harvard or even tiny Carthage (or tiny Augustana, the school from which I graduated and that delivered a franchise QB (Ken Anderson) to the Cincinnati Bengals.