Gary Giddins Interview...

[Guest Chaney]

Village Voice writer Gary Giddins, who was prominently featured in Ken Burns' documentary Jazz, and who is the country's preeminent jazz critic, joins us in a conversation recorded on June 20, 2003 -- and then slightly revised in October -- about the profession of jazz criticism. The conversation is an autobiographical look at the writer's ascension in his field, and includes candid observations of other prominent critics. It concludes with a unique "Blindfold Test" that asks Giddins to name the jazz writer responsible for the essay excerpt he is spontaneously shown.

Jerry Jazz Musician

[BruceH]

Cool! Thanks for the link, Chaney!

[Larry Kart]

A lot to respond to in the Giddins interview, but I'm baffled by this passage:

"The saxophonist Brew Moore once said that if you don't play like Lester Young, you are playing wrong. That is why most of the people reading this conversation never heard of Moore -- a very good tenor player if you want to hear somebody playing Lester Young riffs. But he never went much further than that."

If Giddins thinks that all Brew Moore did was play Lester Young riffs, he is very much mistaken --as one of Giddins' mentors, Dan Morgenstern, would be the first to tell him.

[Christiern]

Giddins should know better, but he frequently makes such perplexing (ignorant?) statements.

[jlhoots]

Opinions are like you know what.

Everybody has one.

[montg]

Yes, but some opinions are better (more informed) than others. that's why I'll seek the opnions on this board rather than those of my wife (smart, but not into jazz) when I want to learn about jazz. And why I quit reading sophomoric stuff like downbeat.

[Larry Kart]

Re: "Opinions are like you know what. Everybody has one."

If you know the music of Lester Young and Brew Moore, the statement that Moore was "a very good tenor player if you want to hear somebody playing Lester Young riffs. But he never went much further than that" is an "opinion" that can only be based on a denial of -- or (more likely in this case, a simple lack of -- information, combined with a need to sound authoritative no matter what. This may be the root cause of the behavior that Christiern referred to. In any case, Moore, while deeply influenced by Young, took that influence and built something on it that was quite individual. Certainly no one could confuse Moore's style (i.e. his sound or his phrasing) with that of Young or those of any of Moore's Young-influenced compatriots -- Getz, Sims, Eager, Cohn, Steward, etc. If you can't hear that--to quote an old line of Le Roi Jones--you need ear braille.

[kenny weir]

I'm always interested to read anything by Giddins - I'm a fan and I reackon Visions Of jazz is just about my fave jazz book.

Having said that, there were a few things here that grated on me. And in the following I'll be trying to have in mind that this was Giddins in verbal form, not written.

Giddins on Crouch: "You know, a Stanley Crouch may say something you think is preposterous, but he has earned the right to say it, if for no other reason than because he has lived his whole life inside this music. He has spent more time in clubs than almost anybody else I know. If this is a conclusion that he comes to, he has the right to say it, and you have to give him respect even as you disagree. I don't feel that way about some guy who owns eleven records and once went to a show at the Village Vanguard. I am just not that interested."

Fine - Crouch has a point of view and deserves some respect. But to base that respect on the fact he's been a long-time barfly in New York? Come on! And while it may be unfair and just plain mischief-making, some of what I've read (quite a lot actually) implies Crouch is very much about being seen in these places rather than seeing/hearing what's going on. To base someone's critical status on the number of gigs they've seen is a crock unless you also factor in the diveristy of music involved and the geographical spread.

Giddins on "DIY reviews" and jazz sites: "There used to be a magazine that did that. I think it was called Different Drummer. It was inexpensive looking, all white with black print, and very little art work as I recall - all amateur stuff. I hated it! Criticism isn't an amateur pursuit, it's a serious craft, sometimes raised to an art. Don't get me wrong, I'm very interested in opinions - I get letters all the time from readers who know a lot more than I do - but criticism goes beyond opinion. It's a literary, not a musical pursuit, and something you have to work at."

OK, there are a lot of "I really dig this" comments here and at other jazz boards - but I like and need that sometimes, too.

Sadly, the inference that comes across is that fans should heed the words of the masters and stick to their shallow "me me me" warbling, which can never ever be of the same standard as true "jazz criticism".

Well excuse me, Gary. But the truth is there's plenty of people on this board and others (I'll count myself out here) who are every but as erudite and eloquent as you. People who may be amateurs, but who nonetheless write with passion. Who treat it as a "serious craft"; who often raise it to "art"; who put it in cultural, social and musical perspective that "goes beyond opinion". And yes, they work at it - hard.

[Guest Chaney]

Weatherbird

by Gary Giddins

Flee as a Bird

Envoi; Aloha, Au Revoir, Auf Wiedersehen; Adiós Amigos; I'm Checkin' Out, Goombye

December 15th, 2003 3:00 PM

As Groucho Marx used to sing, "Hello, I must be going." It's time to move on when you begin to calculate a job's duration the way children identify their ages. Whereas I used to think in round numbers, lately I found myself muttering, "29 and a half years," "30 years and two months," "30 years, seven months, two weeks, five days"—which is correct as of my pub date. Or am I confusing children with convicts? This was the hardest decision I've ever made, and like Artie Shaw, who has a different answer every time he's asked about quitting clarinet, I'm not sure why—except that I want to focus on books, I don't like writing short, and it's time. In jazz, time is all.

Shortly after I joined the Voice, Martin Williams swore off criticism for a spell (and produced a series of albums that forever altered jazz education). When I asked him why, he answered, "I've said everything I had to say." Tough-minded fellow. I don't feel that way at all. I'm as besotted with jazz as ever, and expect to write about it till last call, albeit in other formats. Indeed, much in the way being hanged is said to focus the mind, this finale has made me conscious of the columns I never wrote.

John Lewis and I had a joke about the end of projects. I once told him that I held certain musicians, about whom I knew very little, in abeyance—that when I ran out of everyone else, I'd turn to them and then know I was done. I cited, as an example, Stan Kenton. One day when we were planning American Jazz Orchestra programs, he said, "You know, we'll have to get to Stan Kenton. He's important." I gave him a look. He said, "Maybe just one set." I kept looking. He said, "Then we'll know we're done."

It amazes me to realize that in all these years I never wrote a column on Booker Ervin, a great and neglected tenor saxophonist, and the subject of one of the first articles I ever published (elsewhere). Every time a new reissue came out, I'd swear I was going to write about it, and something else always intervened. I had the pleasure of meeting Booker shortly before his death, when I was a student and he was working midtown with Ted Curson's quintet. I asked him about the "hidden register," those squealy high notes that were the rage of the 1960s, and presumed to be the result of ardent virtuosity. He said, "That's easy. You bite the reed"—and, sitting at the table, gave a numbingly funny demonstration.

I never wrote a column about Charlie Rouse—can't explain it. When I first got to know Stanley Crouch, we bonded over our mutual outrage at how three favorite tenors had been critically disrespected when we were growing up: Rouse, George Coleman, and Paul Gonsalves. We set out to render justice. Rouse's pithy, almost epigrammatic phrases; sandy timbre, by way of Wardell Gray; and uncanny ability to blend in with the tones of Thelonious Monk's piano amounted to a rare oasis in a frantic era. Come to think of it, I never wrote a long-planned column on Wardell. What the hell was I doing? Nearly 650 Weatherbirds, maybe 400 Riffs, yet no Rouse, no Gray, no Ervin, no Tristano, no Dameron, no James P., no Teschemacher, no Lee Morgan. Mea multiple culpas.

Or blame Christgau. The Dean made it a point of professional pride that we write essays and not tethered briefs. Some musicians (not those mentioned above) only merit briefs, but the beauty of the Voice is that we had our page and could stretch out—less now than once upon a time, but still. Occasionally, exhausted, I'd rankle and hand in "Twelve Albums With Strange Covers" or "Five Bands I Heard Last Week," though rarely more than once a year, not including holiday wrap-ups. Essays require deep immersion, the inhalation of an artist's life and work. There's also an obligation to concentrate on musicians who are alive; you can do only so many historical pieces without morphing into the ghost of jazz past.

Unexpectedly, 2003 closes a circle in that regard. The early '70s were weak on new recordings, yet provided a bonanza in excavations: Lester Young rehearsing with Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington in Fargo, Roy Eldridge at the Arcadia, Art Tatum and Hot Lips Page after hours—practically every week something old that was new. (At this point, you might put down the paper, get Clifford Brown's The Beginning and the End, and play the first 4:53 of "A Night in Tunisia," the Dead Sea Scroll of trumpet solos.) Three of the best albums this year were also buried: Bossas and Ballads: The Lost Session of Stan Getz (Verve, 1989), Jaki Byard's The Last From Lennie's (Prestige, 1965), and Andrew Hill's Passing Ships (Blue Note, 1969), to say nothing of the deconstruction of Miles Davis's Jack Johnson (Columbia/Legacy, 1970). Hill's inspired December 8 Merkin Hall duets with Jason Moran (one of the most musician-heavy audiences I've ever seen) provided ample proof that the torch has been passed and that—despite label mergers, a corrupt FCC, and a Congress that misprizes the public domain—jazz ascends. Weatherbird sees no paucity of subjects for others to explore.

[Christiern]

Apropos Jerry Jazz, he said--blushing somewhat.

[brownie]

Well, I'll certainly miss reading the Weatherbirds from Giddins in the Voice.

Even if I have a hard time forgiving him for missing out on Wardell Gray, Lee Morgan and some others...

[brownie]

Apropos Jerry Jazz, he said--blushing somewhat.

Chris, thanks for posting this. Very nice interview! No need to blush. Keep going!

[sheldonm]

If you haven't read Chris's book, get it!!! It's a great read even if you know very little about Bessie, as I do (or don't, in this case)!

Mark