John Graves
My first visit to Kansas City’s new jazz museum was on a recent Friday afternoon, shortly after lunch. We customers shared the various listening posts, where, with earphones, you could hear specific vintage records complementing the brief stories of the artist(s) featured in that particular exhibit, from pre-Louis Armstrong to post-Wynton Marsalis. (The odd thing to me was that while most of the artists we were listening to were black–all of us doing the listening were lily white.)
One of the features of this truly outstanding facility was a twenty minute documentary on the history and mystique of this dynamic art form. As I watched this insightful presentation, it occurred to me that not only was jazz a vital part of my life–in many ways it was the pattern of my life. “The Three Rs” began to take on a brand new meaning for me.
The film, with moving stills, narration, and music briefly traced the art form’s historical roots: “field songs”, “hollers”, and the laments known as “blues”. These were sung by the laboring slaves, incorporating the rhythms and syncopations of their African heritage. Before long, the excitement and intricacy of a new music sweeping the Mississippi riverboats and shore-side saloons was added: “ragtime”. By the early 1900s, America was dancing to a new music, played with an assortment of wind and rhythm instruments, called “jazz.” Many critics and musicologists consider jazz to be America’s most significant contribution to the world’s cultural inventory.
Most of this music was played by ear, and each musician was given a chance to spontaneously improvise (create a new melody, or “line”) to a chorus of the song being played. Often this was referred to as an “ad lib solo.”
As its popularity spread, this dance music gradually evolved into larger groups, resulting in the big bands of the thirties and forties. With sections of saxophones, brass, and rhythm, they primarily played rehearsed orchestrations. However, even during this “swing” period, portions of each arrangement were often allotted to individual band members to improvise an ad lib solo.
“Spontaneous improvisation” was not original with jazz. Classical composers often indicated certain passages which were left to the performer to compose what was played “on the spot”. In jazz, the solo melody being instantaneously created must conform to the harmony and structure of the song being played, the tune of which was usually established by the entire ensemble in the first chorus. A humorist notes, “that in ‘playing around’ this melody, it is important that the audience is still aware of the melody the artist is trying to avoid.”
In doing all this, the ad lib jazz solo incorporates the three elements of Risk, Responsibility, and Reward–which seem to encapsulate my formula for living.
Since each solo is by definition unique, its effectiveness depends upon the melodic line created and its interpretation, plus the mood and dynamics of the presentation. The element of risk is ever-present, since the inspiration of the moment can often lead the soloist into unfamiliar harmonic or rhythmic complications. Then too, there is always the peer factor–the desire to impress, and certainly to avoid making a fool of one’s self in front of fellow musicians.
Of course, accepting risk as a part of one’s lifestyle also has obvious built-in hazards: the possibility of failed projects, disillusionment’s, and unfortunate relationships. Of course, as in jazz, the willingness to venture into uncharted waters is predicated on a certain confidence in one’s abilities, degree of preparation and demonstrated ability to cope.
“Faking it” often means merely playing by ear. (“Hum a few bars and I’ll fake it.”) In the literal sense, though, in jazz music it is considered irresponsible to attempt a solo if one isn’t familiar with the harmonic structure of the tune itself. Nothing reveals an amateur more quickly than improvised notes which obviously don’t fit the original chords of the song being played. Also, since this art form is collaborative, and other players may be creating an improvised background to compliment the solo, discordant notes would destroy the ensemble effect. However, a musical mishap can be turned into a learning experience by a corrective awareness of the error. This sense of artistic responsibility is the combination of an innate gift of talent, continuing years of practice and listening, and a musical dedication to the concept of “esprit de corp.”
Choosing to live on, or near “the edge” in a civilized society requires not only a willingness to accept the disappointments that often follow taking calculated risks, but also the maturity to admit and avoid repetition of the mistakes and errors in judgment that negatively affect your life and the lives of others. Taking risks without the concomitant sense of responsibility is, in the long run, almost certain to invite a plethora of problems.
Finally, the reward. In a jazz solo, it is often an immediate, integral, almost magical part of the creative performance process itself. A player’s personal satisfaction is often combined with genuine amazement at the level of artistic achievement he or she attained in a soaring moment of inspired creation. Sometimes a nod, or approving look from a fellow musician may be all the reward needed. For others, the applause of the listeners is their fulfillment. (Occasionally, the money isn’t all that bad, either.)
In the ad lib solo of living, the soaring, inspired moments may be rather sporadic, but the satisfaction of meaningful relationships, the joy of discovery, and the surprise of unexpected accomplishments occur with surprising frequency. Whether the rewards of such a risk-oriented approach to living outweigh the more assured benefits of living a sensible, cautious, carefully planned life is, of course, a totally subjective judgment. But for me, I’ll keep my Three Rs. I wouldn’t risk a change
