Unleashing the Groove
"Is there anything I can do to make you sound better?" My favorite jazz drummer, Art Blakey (also known as Bu), asked every musician he readied to play with that simple question. Adopting it and asking it across life's domains will undoubtedly lead to better experiences, as it led to better music for Blakey and his bandmates.
When I watch Blakey play, like in the famous 1958 Jazz Messengers concert recorded in Belgium, I can't help but smile. Seeing him beam as a young Lee Morgan dominates his trumpet to deliver a powerful, pure tone is delightful. Meanwhile, Blakey has a ball in the back, keeping time on his Gretsch set with a wide, open-mouthed smile, just enjoying the moment.
One by one, the other band members take their turns to shine. Benny Golson, the humble saxophone-playing giant I was lucky enough to see live a few years back, was next, smoothly soloing while Art cooly held the rhythm. And then pianist Bobby Timmons and bassist Jymie Merritt, both legends in their own rights, took turns wowing the audience. It was truly an all-star cast of jazz icons. Throughout, Blakey's face illuminated with delight as his bandmates displayed their talents.
Finally, it was Art Blakey's turn.
There's nothing casual about Blakey soloing. As he plays, his eyes roll back in his head, his mouth droops open, and his expression alternates between grimace and giddy. Fellow percussion legend, Max Roach, called him "Thunder," a perfect moniker because his powerful, hard-driving, raw, swinging style is unmistakable. But just as quickly as a booming drive begins, like a pop-up storm, Blakey's sound fades back into the groove.
Blakey can artfully (pun intended) shapeshift from hard-swinging, as demonstrated in Moanin', to a wailing ode like I Remember Clifford. This is why I love Art Blakey. It's also why I love jazz.
When I declare that jazz is my favorite genre, I usually get a strange look and comment about elevator music. It used to pain me, but now I laugh to myself and imagine a banger like A Night in Tunisia playing as I ride up to the ninth floor. I usually take the stairs, but I'd make an exception for an elevator with taste like that.
Jazz is much more than music. It's American history, a collection of rich stories, and a contemplation of life that can teach us a lot if we listen.
Art Blakey always wanted to be a great drummer. He undoubtedly was, but he measured his success not by his own accolades but by the success of those around him. He told Modern Drummer writer Chip Stern in a 1984 story, "just in the sense of having musicians want to play with me — not to be better than Buddy Rich or to compete with someone. I will not compete that way; I'll compete through my band. If musicians have a preference and they say, 'I want to play with Bu,' that just knocks me out."
Art Blakey lifted up his bandmates; because of that, every notable jazz musician from the 50s through the 80s wanted to play with him. That's a way to play — and a way to live.
Structure vs. Freedom
A feature of jazz is the delicate balance between structure and freedom. On the one hand, jazz music follows a framework that provides the foundation for performances. This structure comprises chord progressions, forms, and styles. Many jazz standards, for example, are based on a 32-bar AABA form. For me, the structure makes the music sound musical— without it, I hear a racket of noise that's hard to make sense of.
But jazz comes to life when musicians are free to add their unique interpretations and styles on top — to explore. Musical magic happens when a musician or group can nail the song's direction while adding unexpected, spontaneous moments.
Life is much the same way. Without structure, there is little time, energy, or resources for exploration. Utter chaos ensues, and any time not spent in the chaos is spent cleaning up in its aftermath.
On the other hand, too much structure results in a dull existence, severely lacking in opportunities and richness. Occasionally, we have to play a note that isn't on the sheet music. It may not always sound right, but those notes become part of a song, and we become the composers of our own lives, not musicians stuck playing the same chord over and over again.
Syncopated Rhythm
Rhythm is merely a background element in some music. Not in jazz — rhythm is central in jazz. Syncopated rhythms, which are off-beat or accented on unexpected beats, create the celebrated swing that is characteristic of jazz. And while jazz is full of surprises, there's always the groove, the pulse of the music.
In a perfect set, the bandmates cohesively blend their styles and skills into a unified orchestration, musically communicating ideas and timing. In this musical Shangri-la, each member is lost in a trance-like equilibrious flow state. But there is no such thing as "perfect time," and no set is perfect.
The bass player might rush, or the drummer may drag, but the band must reconnect and recover the groove. Metaphorically, we all lose the groove from time to time, but how we react determines the rest of the set.
Be a Participant
My wife occasionally reminds me that there's a difference between hearing and listening. The ability to enjoy jazz largely relies on one's ability to listen, not only hear the music. As a non-musician, I don't have the technical background to consider the structure or chord progressions of a particular song, not with the lingo of musicians anyway.
But technical limitations don't keep me from listening. I still intently pick out melodies I love, lines I enjoy, and emotive moments. Intentional listening upgrades the listener to participant — but it's a decision that must be made.
Similarly, we must choose to be active participants in our lives or merely hear the songs being piped in.
Variety
Attempting to define jazz gets jazz fans more excited than a killer bass solo — so I won't try. Instead, I'll defer to trumpeter, composer, and Lincoln Center Artistic Director Wynton Marsalis (fun fact: he is the only musician to win a Grammy Award in both jazz and classical in the same year).
Marsalis studied under Art Blakey as a teenager and has had an illustrious career since. Marsalis tackled the big question of what jazz is in a 1988 New York Times piece called What Jazz Is — and Isn't, which I highly recommend.
Whether or not you agree with Marsalis' characterization of jazz or a wider, more inclusive version, variety is paramount. Ensemble size (solo to big band), tempo, instrumentation, style, influence, etc., are all ways jazz can bend and transform to suit any mood or setting. The best musicians can seamlessly weave between high-tempo straight-ahead songs to slower, more emotive pieces.
Bill Evans comes to mind, whose brief partnership with Miles Davis created the most iconic jazz album of all time, Kind of Blue. But Evans also recorded Peace Piece, a beautiful Satie-like ostinato— it makes your eyes well up in the first 30 seconds. His range is mind-blowing.
The set of life includes lively periods of high-tempo energy and slower, solemn airs. If we can transition from one moment to the next, like Bill Evans tickles the ivories, then we can appreciate every moment, even the melancholy ones. Unfortunately, not even the most famous jazz players could always live like jazz. They couldn't always replicate the magic in life that they made in their art. I may not be able to play jazz, but I try to live like jazz.
