I once declared, "jazz is a gambler's music." My old post identified the essential ingredients of danger and surprise in jazz. We like challenging, risky music pulled off with confidence because there lingers a chance to fail. That post was written in a good mood and it succeeded if it exhorted someone to push their music a little harder past the realm of the safe.
My mood this morning could be better and as such the unavoidable dark side of gambling creeps into my head as I do my best to prepare for my last show as a NYC resident. Don't worry; we'll be taking risks and I consciously picked a band whose vocabulary does not include ‘caution.’ And so we could fail.
The blessing that prevents music from being a degenerate activity like gambling proper is how it is judged. Musicians are not judged by their "bankrolls;" they are judged by the heights of their peaks. This is amazing from a gambling perspective for it further incentivizes risk and aggressive artistry.
Nobody cares about John Coltrane's worst recording. There is literally no music you could unearth bad enough to cancel out his legacy. Jazz in our time is short on big masterpieces. We need more heroes and the movements that coalesce around them. Where are they? The seeds are all around us but we're facing a resource problem. Sadly, the resource in short supply ain't something as poetic as talent or motivation. I know tons of people with all the internal firepower one could ever need. It's money and even more so, time.
But not time as in, "I need more time to practice." What we really need is more times to roll the dice. More chances to hit the bullseye.
Reading stories of jazz's golden ages leave me in awe with just how much they were playing. Playing so much that rolling up to a studio with no plan was OK because 1) who needs rehearsal when all you do is perform? and 2) there will be another chance to hit big sooner or later. But then today any recording turns into a massive expenditure unless your goals are pitifully modest. And on top of that, very few bands have the chance to put in the reps so that a recording is anything but a white-knuckled, stressful experience. Certainly not the right psychology for music that feeds off sensitivity, confidence, and interconnection.
I never played a single gig with the band on my upcoming recording. Here's an easy argument to make: the record would have turned out better if we had played 100 gigs together over the course of a year. But the economics just weren't there. I would have gone all-in every time. We would have had bad nights. Believe me, I know exactly how to sound terrible on my own music. None of that would have guaranteed a masterpiece but it would have been the next best thing. Nothing can guarantee a masterpiece, after all.
I dream of a medium-quality recording setup that fits in a backpack. Record every session, rehearsal, and gig you ever play and you'll have enough for a few records a year. If nothing else, you can make the killingest demos to prepare for your expensive studio moment.
Play with the same people ten times in a row. Play the same tune every time. Talk about it.
It disturbs me not to hear or overhear much serious music talk between musician friends. There's a sad, defeated fog in the air. Note to self: don't let yourself romanticize the simplicity of a 1940's jazz life whose non-music time is filled in with narcotic sludge.
It didn't work out the way I thought it could've. Too late...
Do I care as much as I thought I did? Do these other people care as little as it seems like they do? Where are the moments where all the variables line up, where all the little wins compound into a big win?
Guh. Even the biggest win from the best band in town, uh, moistens the eye. They shoulda made 1000 records and released the best 10. Are all the cool rich people really that dead?