Final Blog: How BLST14 Changed My Outlook

Before taking Black Studies 14 this quarter, I was very much a jazz fan already, which prompted me to enroll in the class to begin with. I was interested in the background of one of my favorite genres of music as well as the legacy of some of its greatest players. Prior to this class I had assumed that jazz was an inherently complex art form; one that required a mathematical precision unlike that of other genres of music. This presumption was born out of my listening preferences for the progressive jazz music of today–  artists like Tosin Abasi who utilize extremely precise and mathematical arrangements and time signatures. After taking the course, I realize that nothing could be farther from the truth. Though the jazz artists that I revered the most– Monk, Coltrane, Tatum and the like– did indeed have among them expert musical training, they were more well-known for their attacking force and improvisational capabilities. Artists whom I had never listened to, such as Dizzy Gillespie, startled me with bold improvisations. While I had before considered jazz music akin to classical in the sense that it was structured and dense, I now have a new understanding of jazz; the new concept of improvisation that we have studied has caused me to rethink the concept of a ‘composer’, for each unique take of a single song may have a new inflection or mood.

The amorphic fluidity that is present in the heavy improvisation in jazz is what I believe makes it so special. Almost all of the artists that I admire most in jazz are from the era of extreme improvisation: modern jazz, and bebop. Composers such as Coltrane, Gillespie, Monk and many more create something totally unique during each performance– for with the ability to change at any time comes the ability to direct the mood and flow of a song based on the feel at the time. These improvisers are literally molding their compositions in real time into a new and distinct iteration, making changes where they feel necessary and often letting their emotions dictate the direction of the piece (Gioia). One perfect example of this quality of improvisation is in Thelonious Monk’s quirky stage-dancing, which in fact could be a genius method for augmenting the rhythm to his liking (Kelley 231). Studying jazz changed my definition of improvisation to reflect that it is not so much a ‘tool’ used by musicians, but rather that improvisational music is an utterly different art form altogether. Improvisation allows emotional and melodic possibilities that are simply not possible in non-improvisational forms.

Even more startling to me is how ingrained improvisation is in jazz music. Improvisation seems to be one of the founding characteristics of jazz music, and even farther back into African musics. Although not exclusively African, improvisation is a musical trait distinct to Africa, where music can promote social solidarity and benefit the community. Jazz is no exception to this. Throughout its evolution, jazz has invigorated the community and evolved in response to it; which, ironically, can be seen as improvisation on a larger scale. Studying the tie between improvisation and community participation made me see how improvisation is a reflection of the community’s idea of music. Improvisation reflects the notion that music and art are not static; that they are alive, and ever-changing, at the mercy of those who are bold enough to participate and improvise (Thompson). Improvisation is the ability of the individual or the group to respond without deliberation. Taking this into consideration, it is clear that the jazz players improvised not only in the performance, but in the dialogic creation of a style (Lecture 3/12).

Consequently, I have newfound respect for many the jazz greats and non-jazz musicians alike, as well as new ideas about how my own musical ability can be used. My new definition of improvisations reflects the opinion that improvisation should be an integral part of all musics, because it represents the soulfulness of art.

Monk

Responding to a question regarding his stance on Black Power, Thelonious Monk stated, “‘There’s no reason why I should go through that Black Power shit now. I guess everybody in New York had to do that, right? Because every block is a different town.’” (Kelley 19). Monk’s response is clearly indicative of his upbringing in the divided, diverse, and violent San Juan Hill neighborhood. During Monk’s early life, he witnessed firsthand the ubiquitous racism and violence of the notorious San Juan Hill– not just between whites and blacks, but between members of the black community as well. Black immigrants of the west indies often clashed with southern immigrants or with their northern counterparts. Thelonious refers to this aspect of his community when he says that ‘every block is a different town’. Growing up in San Juan, most young people had to associate with their own kind for solidarity and strength, epitomized by the community center where young Thelonious spent  much of his childhood years. Thelonious certainly gained much from his community at San Juan, including introductions to fellow young musicians and even musical mentors Simon Wolf and Alberta Simmons (Kelley). As well, Thelonious and his family were rare in the fact that they were accepted by both the southern black community and the west indian community. These influences would make quite an impression on Thelonious and his music: his inclusion of Caribbean rhythms and European melodies coupled with the stride and ragtime base, reveal the extent of their influence.  
Thelonious, with his sharp mind and creativity, preferred to transcend the normative racial dialogue in favor of an intense individualism. He crafted his own, extremely unique music and style from various influences, channelling the dissonant cultures of San Juan in both his trademark eccentricism and his music (Lecture 2/28). Monk personified the beauty of this dissonance, identifying as an individual rather than part of a brand or movement. This approach allowed Monk to feel at home with the beatniks and hipsters of the time, who were drawn to his avant-garde charisma. Monk’s music and the style and mentality it embodied became a hip stance to take, and led to the popularity of a certain intellectual attitude (Lecture 2/28). In this way, Monk helped the bohemian culture flourish, a culture which prized individualism and creativity. A new wave of intellectuals identified with Monk’s singular and quirksome behavior. A new persona for blacks and whites alike was emerging, and Monk’s music became an irremovable part of its indentity, evidenced by the nickname the beatniks held for him: The High Priest of Bebop (Kelley 232).
Given his lifelong experience with discrimination, beginning with the San Juan Hill riots and continuing to his 1958 unlawful arrest and beating (and beyond), it would be easy to understand if Monk harbored racial resentment or prejudice. However, it is precisely in his complete lack of doing so that Monk’s true wisdom is revealed. Monk preferred, unlike peers such as Miles Davis, to abstain from the public racial dialogue, focusing instead on his music, his family, and his community (Lecture 2/26). The community which Monk’s music inspired and sustained was the method with which he transcended the racial division, by bringing together in his music the chaotic dissonance reflective of the diversity of his own community, and in the process creating a new one.