Tomasz Dąbrowski: Elevating Jazz Storytelling

Joseph Stalin famously said, "Music's a good thing. It calms the beast in the man." For Stalin though, not all music produced peace and serenity. In his eyes, certain types of music could just as easily act as the beast itself; ready to attack and tear apart the society around it. Perhaps the form of music that generated the most concern during the Stalinist era was jazz.

According to historian Martin Lüke, jazz in the USSR between 1920 and 1953 was in constant flux; shifting between sponsorship, censorship, and prohibition. This was largely dependent on domestic, foreign, and ideological factors. By 1928, political and economic shifts motivated the Soviet government to support more proletarian elements in the arts; with an ever-increasing anti-Western attitude. During this time, author Maxim Gorky composed a polemical essay entitled "O Muzyke Tolstych," which translates to "About the Music of the Fat People." Here, Gorky equated jazz, amongst other things, with homosexuality and drugs. In one of the more vivid passages, Gorky writes, "The offensive chaos of this insanity combines into a pulsing rhythm. Listen to this screaming for only a few minutes, and one involuntarily pictures an orchestra of sexually wound-up madmen, conducted by a stallion-like creature who is swinging his giant genitals."

Anatoly Lunacharsky, a Marxist revolutionary and the first Bolshevik Soviet People's Commissar responsible for the Ministry of Education, echoed Gorky's sentiments. He said jazz was "sonic idiocy in the bourgeois-capitalist world."

In 1937, Stalin's Great Purge campaign further put jazz in the crosshairs of a cultural and political battle. As animosity against anything foreign continued to grow in the Soviet Union, art that could be associated with Western freedoms or values was extinguished. Lüke points out that during this time jazz musicians and fans alike regularly disappeared into Soviet work camps. Some musicians, such as Leonid Utesov, were only able to survive by "cleansing the decadence" out of their music. After World War II, these repressions only grew more extreme. Chords with diminished fifths, vibrato in the brass, or the use of blues notes were prohibited. In fact, valved trumpets were considered an artistic perversion. Here, it was not uncommon for Komsomol members and music students sympathetic to the Communist party to patrol theaters, bars, and cafes to supervise that all laws against jazz were being adhered to.

It wasn't until Stalin's death in 1953 that jazz began its rebirth in the Soviet Union, especially in pre-democratic Poland. By 1954 jazz in Poland was legal, with the first jazz gatherings occurring throughout Krakow. By the 1960s, Polish jazz was in full swing; with musicians mimicking not only traditional forms like Dixieland, but exploring more of the avant-garde through free jazz. With artists such as Krzysztof Komeda and Tomasz Stańko at the forefront of this movement, Poland's jazz identity was evolving beyond its borders; adding to the richness of what we know today as European jazz. It was Stańko who said, "When something blocks my path I start improvising on how to skirt around it. I usually find that the solution would never have come if I had not fought. Although I hate fighting, I am often forced to. Rivalry is what gives humanity its foundation. Sometimes it seems that it justifies our existence. We become faster, better."

This drive to challenge and push oneself to their creative limits in order to discover new and exciting sonic paths is at the heart of Polish-born trumpeter Tomasz Dabrowski's music. Based in Denmark, Dąbrowski remains one of the most acclaimed European jazz musicians working today. Besides collaborating with the likes of Evan Parker, Pheeroan AkLaff and Kurt Rosenwinkel, Dąbrowski has shared the stage and recorded with his namesake and countryman Tomasz Stańko. His most recent album is Tomasz Dąbrowski & The Individual Beings (April Records, 2022).

For every musician, the act of composing and performing is a journey; a journey filled with triumphs and frustrations. What makes Dąbrowski's music so powerful is that at all times the listener feels like the trumpeter's close companion on this journey. Dąbrowski does not want the listener to be disconnected from the emotions and themes being explored. The element that helps to maintain this grip on the audience is the narrative quality of the music. As if you were experiencing a drama, entering a Dąbrowski composition feels like moving through the acts of a play. The stage, or in this case the track, is often set with subtle sounds from the real world, before the energy and power of his trumpet leads us in any number of exciting and unexpected directions. In Dąbrowski's hands, you're happy to go deeper into the unknown. With him and his music, the darkness always gives way to new perspectives.

Here, Dąbrowski speaks about his music and what keeps him inspired.

All About Jazz: How did you first become interested in jazz music? Was the attraction gradual, or was there a moment when you said, yes, I want to play jazz?

Tomasz Dąbrowski: Well, in my case it's a little bit of both. The whole process of getting into jazz music happened gradually over time. You see, I come from a small village in Poland. In terms of a thriving jazz scene to pull from, there wasn't anything like that. But, I was fortunate to be part of a brass band at the music school I attended. There was a professor at the school who oversaw ear training. Although the school was dedicated to the study of classical music, at the end of our classes this professor would put on early bebop records for us to listen to. I was immediately hooked, and from there started playing with this brass band. Soon I thought, okay, maybe this is worth trying. That was over twenty years ago, and here we are today.

AAJ: And Poland has a rich jazz tradition, especially when it comes to the evolution of jazz and experimentation. I'm thinking of artists such as Krzysztof Komeda who is seen as a major figure in moving away from an American style of jazz, to something more unique that continues to influence artists not only across Europe, but the world. As you were starting to play jazz, were there Polish jazz artists you were influenced by? I understand that you are an admirer of Tomasz Stańko, and have even recorded music dedicated to him.

TD: Oh yes, for years I had a poster of Tomasz Stańko above my bed at my parents' home. The truth is, he's been a significant presence throughout my musical journey. Back then, I considered him living proof that you could go pretty far playing jazz. And of course you can't discuss Stańko without discussing Komeda. After all, Stańko started with Komeda. This era of jazz, during the '60s and '70s, was such a vivid scene. Not only in Poland, but throughout the whole of Europe. I mean, even today people are still talking about the importance of this European jazz scene. And I still keep in contact with many members of the contemporary Polish jazz scene. Over the last ten years, there's been so much great jazz coming out of Poland, especially around improv. It's really impressive.

And when it comes to Stańko, I'm actually one of the lucky ones because I got to play with him. We did a recording that's scheduled to be released in the fall of 2024, and will feature musicians from all over Europe. In terms of his influence on my own recordings, doing a traditional tribute to an artist like Stańko is difficult. Because all of his music was very personal and about his own emotions and challenges. In fact, I've talked to many musicians who have played with him and they all say the same thing, to play Stańko without Stańko next to you is almost impossible.

Instead, what I wanted to do with the septet recording I put out last year was incorporate some of the techniques he taught me. Such as how he handled a larger ensemble on the album From the Green Hill (ECM Records, 1999). Here, he uses space in a way where just because you have a large ensemble doesn't mean everyone needs to play all the time. He's more focused on what's appropriate for the orchestration of the piece, and I found that super inspiring. For me, I've always been more interested in the indirect paths of tribute. Importantly, the album was recorded using Stańko's trumpet. I'm still in touch with his daughter who was his manager and she allowed me to use his trumpet on the record.

Also, my Stańko poster is still hanging up in my parents' house. Whenever I go there, I look up at the poster and think how crazy this journey has been and how far I've come. What's interesting is that the image on the poster was taken by a photographer named Andrzej Tyszko. Tyszko captured some of the best photos of Stańko, and was photographing everyone on the Polish music scene. One day I got to meet Tyszko and he gave me a signed photo of Stańko; an image of Stańko that I really love. It's now hanging up in my home in Denmark. Again, it's crazy how life works. Not only was I able to play with Stańko, but I also met the photographer who captured the image of Stańko that hung above my bed when I was growing up. I never could have guessed how all this would turn out.

AAJ: What I think is one of the most exciting elements of your music, is its cinematic quality. The intricacy of each song feels like a story unfolding. Besides more traditional jazz arrangements, you will also infuse the song with a number of sounds both from the real world, and manufactured. I'm thinking of the sounds of a passing train in the song "Transit," or the eerie distortion at the beginning of "Queen of Mondays." Rather than distract the listener, these additions add to the compelling narrative quality of the songs.

Can you talk about your songwriting process? Where do your ideas tend to come from, and are there any challenges you find yourself having to overcome when composing your music?

TD: For me, challenges are the driving force. Because I'm not comfortable just doing the same thing all the time. It's much more fun to try stuff out, rather than rehash everything I've already examined or figured out. You see, for me it has been like that for a long time. Even when I was just doing solo trumpet stuff, I would play acoustic trumpet because it was the hardest thing I could think of at the time. That desire to constantly challenge myself has stayed with me, and it's the way I like to work.

Often times, you'll hear some musicians say I just play music and that's it. Well, I think it's much more serious than that. As a musician, I think you're obliged to bring something to the table. In my case, I went through years of education at a music conservatory and now I'm a teacher myself. I think it's the responsibility of the artist to continue to develop beyond just school studies. You have to ask yourself, what do I want from this journey? As musicians, we spend so much time on development and practicing, and then think oh, it's going to be a happy ending. I don't have to do anything else. Well, you soon realize it's not always a happy ending. Once I realized that, it was a big relief and gave me the freedom and courage to continue experimenting with my art.

And regarding the incorporation of different sounds into my compositions, that was a whole layer I wanted to have present in my recordings with the Individual Beings. On the first album, we utilized a set of electronic drums. What was interesting is that we created those sounds using an old, Russian drum synthesizer. When it came to this device, you could never rely on it. Sometimes it would work, and sometimes it would not. But that was the challenge and excitement of the endeavor. For the longest time, I only dealt with acoustic sounds. As a horn player that's what you're used to. But the element of electronics allows you to move music into different dimensions; to extend the acoustic sound. That was the whole idea when recording with the septet; to use electronics so that they become an extension of the acoustic world instead of taking over the whole of the record.

But when it comes to writing music, I'm very unromantic about it. The fact is, it's really hard work. I mean, whenever I hear someone say I just woke up in the middle of the night and wrote a piece of music and it's perfect I want to say come on. It's never that easy. I remember I went to a workshop once that was being hosted by John Hollenbeck. And he said something that really affected me and my friends. At one point he just stood up and said, well, you all think you'll be great composers and inspired constantly for the rest of your life. But the truth of the matter is, the easiest album to write is the first one. After that, it's just tough. At the time I didn't know any better, but now it makes perfect sense. Although it's always a challenge, it's a challenge I'm ready to take on.

AAJ: And you're currently based in Scandinavia and tour extensively. For many, live jazz is an exciting experience, especially when it comes to the improvisation of the players. As a jazz artist, do you find yourself more drawn to the experience of performing live, or sitting down in a studio and composing an album? Are there advantages and disadvantages to either of these?

TD: When I heard the question, the first thought that came to my head was all of this is done to play live. All of the writing and studio work is meant to take the band and play concerts. For me, that's the experience of music being created and taken to a new, and often unknown place. That's something I'm addicted to, and a feeling that I can't get from anything else. To be honest, I hate studios. I mean, yes, I do record a lot. But, there's something about being in a small room, or claustrophobic studio that really turns me off. So, I try to find spaces that are inspiring to me.

For the new septet album that will be released this spring, we recorded in Warsaw in an old censorship studio. And when we booked it, I had no idea about its history. It was just a medium-sized room, and when we showed up the guy who was managing the space said this is where they did all of the editing of the American movies in pre-democratic Poland during the Communist era. In fact, all of the print publications and radio broadcasts were also edited in the room. It was interesting that we could use the space in a more positive way this time around. But I've always had an interest in things like that. I had this band called Tomasz Dąbrowski FREE4ARTS, and we recorded one of the albums in an abandoned factory in Denmark. It was a beautiful space to be in. When you think about the creation of art, of any sort, it takes so much work to figure it out. And in the case of the musician, when you're finally ready to record music, you know that this work of yours is going to exist for some time. So I want to make sure that every aspect of creation is done as good as possible.

AAJ: You've already accomplished so much in your career, and have had a significant impact on the contemporary international jazz scene. What continues to keep you motivated and inspired, and is there anything musically you haven't accomplished yet, but would like to?

TD: Well, I hope I never wake up and say yes, I've accomplished everything. I guess that would be the end for me. I came to a realization during the COVID-19 pandemic. When the pandemic started, I was struggling to make sense of it and get myself focused. My whole calendar of gigs was wiped out, and I could see many of my colleagues doing online videos and livestreams. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But there's a Polish trumpet player who I am friends with named Piotr Wojtasik. I was on the phone with him and telling him about how I was struggling. And he said something to me that just completely cleared the air. He said, listen man, it's about getting better every day. That's what it's about. It's something I needed to hear. I needed to remember that it's about stripping away all of the ego and bad stuff, and just focusing on the core of your art.

With my students, I often ask them what does music mean to you, and what do you want to do with it? I try to convey to them that music is a long journey, and you just have to roll with the punches. And I'm fortunate to play with a lot of older musicians; ones that keep their eye on the ball and always find new ways to get inspired. For me, I believe that creativity is not something someone has or doesn't have. Rather, it's a way of working and how you approach things. If you go somewhere and the road is closed, you have to find a new path. You have to improvise. I think creativity is something we all have the ability to do, and we need to acknowledge it.

And as a teacher, my responsibility is to get my students to be curious; to question the direction of where their art and aspirations are going. Curiosity is a powerful thing, and it's something that will continue to motivate and influence my music for the foreseeable future.

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