TT 561, part one: "Can you play 'Cherokee?'" + AACM Listening List

an old argument

Last week I reposted various surveys and interviews connected to Wynton Marsalis.

But wait, there’s more!

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When preparing to meet with Wynton in 2008, I read George E. Lewis’s then-new history A Power Stronger Than Itself: The AACM and American Experimental Music.

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In the ’70s and early ’80s, jazz critics and promoters generally supported the AACM and other experimental offshoots. However, that attention dramatically lessened as Wynton Marsalis spearheaded a movement dubbed “The Young Lions” by the critics.

It was a difficult time.

For some, the new swinging bloods represented a return to sincere values, and that the experimentalists were of interest only to academics and elite art-goers.

Others claimed that the avant-gardists embodied the lived wisdom of the blues, and dismissed the new swingers dressed in suits as conservative drones.

A flamboyant personage of this era was critic Stanley Crouch, originally a friend and supporter of avant musicians like David Murray, who then switched sides to become the biggest champion of Wynton Marsalis.

One of the most riveting passages in A Power Stronger Than Itself is Lewis’s perspective on the rise of the Young Lions. Lewis is scrupulously fair—he even quotes Muhal Richard Abrams praising Stanley Crouch—but the resentment is clear. In a nutshell, the Young Lions took food off the table from Lewis’s team.

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However, there is also a pretty obvious argument for the Young Lions’s side of the debate. In A Power Stronger Than Itself, George Lewis twice uses this offhanded quote by superb AACM drummer Steve McCall:

The standard music, we’ve all played it.

Is that really true?

In one way, it doesn’t matter. The AACM story is about musicians resolutely seeking the new. They were, to a person, representatives of the African Diaspora. (They voted out the one early white member, Emmanuel Cranshaw: Cranshaw’s lonely picture in A Power Stronger Than Itself is the height of pathos.) Probably as a result of its connection to the black community, all the best AACM music has a funkiness, earthiness, and general humanness that makes it obviously better than a lot of modernist classical music with the same affect and effect—and this is the part the Young Lions just didn’t seem to get.

McCall shows his own version of earthiness-meets-experimentalism at his best on the albums Anthony Braxton and Air Time, discussed below. His quote “The standard music, we’ve all played it,” makes a lot of sense here, as in: “It’s time to play something brand new.”

But Lewis also uses “The standard music, we’ve all played it,” as ammunition against the rise of the Young Lions when he parses the ‘80s. This is less impressive. Traditionally, jazz won over an audience with swing and legible hot virtuosity. When the Lions showed up on parade with traditional values, they won a vast new audience for this music.

While trombonist George Lewis himself has great time and an authentic jazz beat, this doesn’t seem to be really true of a lot of classic AACM members. Lewis doesn’t illuminate this basic fact in A Power Stronger Than Itself, and usually it doesn’t matter, for the best music of the AACM relates to the jazz beat only rarely.

To his credit, Lewis does quote Amiri Baraka as saying, “I want to be completely honest here—I would rather hear Wynton Marsalis in an Ellington concert than what Bowie or Threadgill do. Even when I value them for certain things they have brought into being.” I’m with Baraka on this one.

Jazz critics have not helped this issue over the years by writing things like, “Anthony Braxton knows the whole history of the music, from ragtime to bebop and beyond.” No. I personally can’t stand listening to Braxton play standards. The alto playing is bad enough, while Braxton’s piano playing on standards is straight unforgivable.

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A bebop standard is “Cherokee,” originally written by Ray Noble, and sporting a fairly racist lyric. (American music will always fail a purity test.) It was played by Lester Young with Count Basie before Charlie Parker took it to the stratosphere as “Ko-Ko.” Bud Powell and Clifford Brown recorded crucial versions, and since then, anyone who wants to “pass the exam” and be accepted within a certain community has to sound at least pretty good on uptempo “Cherokee” changes.

Despite being visible as an educator and orator, my own speculation is that Wynton doesn’t explain a lot of what he’s doing. This is typical of high level black music, where the players assume that society either won’t understand the full context or aren’t worthy to learn community truths.

Wynton has been throwing down a particular gauntlet for decades, which is “Cherokee.” I’m not sure how much he still performs it today, but he recorded it on Standard Time Vol. 1 before playing it with his septet and then also with the JALC big band. I heard it live a few times, and there are several terrific versions on YouTube.

Wynton is a true virtuoso, and I am actually most moved by his playing when he is an undeniable trumpet gladiator. He always goes there on “Cherokee,” playing reams of perfect notes placed within the beat just so. Slower melodies are improvised, and he takes chances with the fast passagework as well. I like it when there’s sort of a square, “classical etude” feel to Wynton’s thing, this aspect of his style sounds like him and nobody else, and that “etude” aspect is on any of the live encores of “Cherokee.”

I believe Wynton, at the height of controversies surrounding his name, was saying over and over: “Here’s ‘Cherokee.’ I passed the exam. Have you passed the exam?”

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When Anthony Braxton and Muhal Richard Abrams recorded Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag,” the feel was herky-jerky, and they repeatedly played several wrong notes together, as if they can’t read the music properly.

It is all at least partially intentional, for we are now in the wilds of conceptual art. “Maple Leaf Rag” is included on the Mosaic Braxton Arista set, where Mike Heffley’s excellent liner notes offer the kind of discourse found at an Andy Warhol or Joseph Beuys exhibit: “One can read Braxton’s perceived deficiencies of musicianship as his indeed — but one might also hear them as reflections of the inadequacy of the conventional jazz gameplan and platform.”

Heffley goes even farther with “Maple Leaf Rag,” which, “…has the hasty, half-muffed feel of an old gramophone recording of Scott Joplin himself knocking it off casually (much more interesting than the usual polished academic renditions).”

Well, not more interesting to me! As implied by Amiri Baraka, I’d much rather hear Wynton play his transcription of Louis Armstrong’s “Cornet Chop Suey” with academic polish than Braxton’s muffled Joplin. Absolutely.

Not that Wynton’s “play the right notes” approach is always successful. At the JALC Albert Murray memorial, a quartet reading down a note-for-note transcription of John Coltrane’s “Alabama” seemed stiff and unmusical. But in a more casual, workshop kind of context, this act of transcription has meaning. In the time of the 2020 pandemic, a “West End Blues” challenge went around, where various trumpeters all played Louis Armstrong’s famous opening cadenza on their social media channels. For Facebook, Wynton sat in a chair in an unbuttoned shirt and knocked it out of the park. It was a beautiful moment, and not just from Wynton: the thought of trumpeters from all over practicing Pops conjures a warm feeling.

In terms of winning over new audiences and gaining basic institutional respect for jazz, Wynton has the upper hand. Braxton’s work is aimed at elites who enjoy looking at conceptual art in fancy galleries. Wynton’s work is meant for anyone who enjoys a basic motiving beat.

Nonetheless, it is also true that the AACM is right to feel resentment of Jazz at Lincoln Center. George Lewis is on point in this paragraph from A Power Stronger Than Itself:

In contrast to the ideologically charged atmosphere on Lincoln Center’s jazz side, its classical side tended to avoid extensive public critiques of experimental music in its chosen, European-based tradition. In fact, composers seen as “fringe” elements were quietly supported, even as it was acknowledged that the public was not necessarily excited about hearing their music.

In his mission to garner respect for the pure jazz tradition, Wynton has rarely tossed experimental music a bone.

(I laughed out loud when I read the JALC print advertisement for the ballyhooed John Zorn/Cecil Taylor gig at the JALC Rose Room: “Musical wanderlust will be satisfied.” Has there been a more backhanded blurb in history?)

Surely any serious creative player regardless of ideology will agree with the essential truth of Roscoe Mitchell’s statement in A Power Stronger Than Itself:

The tradition will never be re-created as strongly as it was by those who invented it.

Wynton’s standing as innovator, auteur, curator, and gatekeeper could have only been enhanced by some small but significant experimental wing of JALC. Now that Wynton is stepping down, we know that opportunity was squandered for good.

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While it is a big book, A Power Greater Than Itself deserves a supplement: A basic guide to the vast AACM discography. At the time I went through dozens of records and found certain things I really liked. For your consideration:

Anthony Braxton, Leo Smith, Leroy Jenkins, Steve McCall, “Simple Like” from Anthony Braxton (1969)

Written by Leroy Jenkins, “Simple Like” is in jazz’s tradition of prolonged exploration of a minor mode.

In the late ‘60s, this quartet was right alongside the Art Ensemble of Chicago, and later billed as the “Creative Construction Company.” Everyone in this genre doubles on “little instruments,” percussion, flutes, and the like. There is a transgressive aspect in the dismissal of conventional professional values, something not far from punk rock.

Jenkins’s melody is a genuine-sounding folkloric chant with flute. It is wildly out of tune, and unquestionably intentionally so: it is not parodic. Each musician gets a solo, but in contrast to conventional jazz, there is more room for the others to comment obtrusively behind the lead. At one point, Smith’s trumpet over organ sounds like Miles Davis.

Air, “Keep on Playing Through the Water” from Air Time (1974)

Steve McCall tuned his kit like a jazz drummer, but once the band is going strong, McCall uses idiosyncratic surges, going from almost too soft to almost too loud very quickly.

Henry Threadgill plays tenor here, and while he does open up a little bit toward the end, the piece is really a feature for McCall and especially Fred Hopkins:Threadgill holds down a chorale-type tune while Hopkins churns and burns.

Threadgill is one of the great jazz composers, and while his outstanding Sextett from the 1980’s doesn’t seem to fit in the AACM camp the way Air does, the Sextett was exactly the kind of band the Young Lions might have benefited from considering seriously.

George Lewis, “Toneburst (Piece for Three Trombones Simultaneously)” from The Solo Trombone Record (1976)

Lewis’s own recordings reflect vast knowledge of detailed, abstract music, ranging from early jazz to the latest classical modernists. There is often a major electronic element. The Solo Trombone Record is the most direct statement of his that I’ve heard. “Toneburst” is a major work, a twenty-minute overdubbed exposition of both notated and improvised languages. There is some extended technique, especially during a sarcastic “laughing” section, but mostly the piece uses “normal” writing and improvising. Towards the end, one trombone improvises for a while: perhaps it is a cadenza. When the two other bones return they are far back in the mix, as if they are exhibiting sympathetic concern for the dimensions of this undertaking. (The first trombone even arpeggiates a lonely B-flat minor triad.)

Lewis is one of the most conventionally skilled of all the AACM musicians: he’s one of the most technically advanced trombonists in history, and “Phenomenology” on The Solo Trombone Record swings.

Roscoe Mitchell, “Nonaah” (for four saxophones) from Nonaah (1977)

Hardcore! The four saxophones play a rich, short, atonal phrase over and over again for five minutes. It isn’t boring, though, since the emotion somehow kaleidoscopes around the spectrum. (It helps that you hear the saxophonists gasping for air.) The initial assault is replaced by a beautiful notated adagio section closing on a pure major triad. Staccato group improvising in the style of the first section follows. On cue, the gates open and everyone is finally allowed to play faster runs, too. This masterpiece seems shorter than its eighteen minutes.

Leroy Jenkins, “Space Minds, New Worlds, Survival of America” from Space Minds, New Worlds, Survival of America (1978)

The field is not overcrowded with truly inspired violinists. Leroy Jenkins is one of the most fabulous, an artist who blends something really soulful and something really esoteric.

This suite has great playing by avant all-stars including Jenkins, Cyrille, Teitelbaum, Anthony Davis, and George Lewis. However, the real point of the track is the compositional intensity and ingenuity. A powerful first blues tune is enhanced by Teitelbaum’s synthesizer; later episodes feature a hocketing rhythmic matrix, a melancholy drone, and other diverse ostinati. At the end, marching C major thuds forth from the band as Jenkins fervently disagrees.

Anthony Braxton, “Opus 77A” from Alto Saxophone Improvisations 1979 .

The opening track is unbelievably virtuosic in its control of dynamics and articulation. It eventually sounds like Braxton is waging war with a science fiction monster.

The Art Ensemble of Chicago, “Walking in the Moonlight” from The Third Decade (1984)

Humor was important to the AACM. Very important. When the Art Ensemble of Chicago decided to be funny, they were hilarious.

Lester Bowie had great tone, time, blues feeling, gangster attitude, and inborn surrealism. He leads Roscoe Mitchell and Joseph Jarman superbly in this conventional song penned by Mitchell’s father. “Walking in the Moonlight” is a humorous parody of early jazz, with the Mitchell tenor solo probably being the single funniest thing ever recorded for ECM. Bowie isn’t merely a parodist, but he also just plays this style so good.

Muhal Richard Abrams, “Introspection” from Colors in Thirty-Third (1986)

Abrams has taught and composed with the Joseph Schillinger system since the 1950’s. “Introspection,” begins with solemn counterpoint in octaves like Hindemith before being taken over by an improvisatory ethos. The “development section” is clearly a group improvisation in the style of the composition. This is extraordinarily hard to do, and “Introspection” has to be one of the best examples around. It helps that the groupings seem organized into trios, duos, and ending with solo piano before the return of written material. “Introspection” is “classical-sounding” AACM music that really works.

Anthony Davis, “Wayang No. 5” from The Ghost Factory (1988)

A fair number of jazz musicians have tried to make music with symphonic forces over the years, but it remains a troublesome mix. The Ghost Factory offers two solid concertos: “Maps,” featuring dynamic violinist Shem Guibbory (with a crucial role given to percussionist Gerry Hemingway) and “Wayang No. 5,” for Davis himself. Davis is interested in gamelan music, and there’s no qualitative reason why “Wayang No. 5” shouldn’t be paired with other piano-gamelan intersections, like the Lou Harrison Piano Concerto and Colin McPhee’s Tabuh-Tabuhan. A major factor in the success of “Wayang No. 5” is the participation of a non-classical drummer, Pheeroan AkLaff, who has his hands full dealing with the orchestral mallets and string section in the “Opening Dance.” To AkLaff’s credit, it works out pretty well. (Many of today’s orchestras are already much better at this kind of stuff than they were twenty or thirty years ago.)

During intense improvisations in the slow movement, “Wet Dreams,” Davis shows off an inspired and brilliant two-handed technique. The “March” is very much in the AACM tradition, with some good piccolo trumpet. The final “Keçak” has rousing grit.

Muhal Richard Abrams, Vision Towards Essence (1998)

For the first 20 minutes of this hour-long improvisation, much of the material is contextualized by a droning insistence on the lowest note on the piano. Perhaps it is distantly related to how Giacinto Scelsi creates music out of one pitch. Finally, the textures break up: there’s walking bass, stride, and other more jazzy textures, all naturally rendered with an experimental twist. Abrams’s sound is deep inside the piano, and it’s really nice to hear him on a good instrument in front of an enthusiastic audience.

The Art Ensemble of Chicago, “As Clear as the Sun” from Tribute to Lester (2001)

On this stellar track Roscoe Mitchell is somewhere next to late-period John Coltrane, with endless circular breathing put into the service of heat and fury. Harmonically, its soulful atonality is unimpeachable. It’s not just Mitchell’s success, for both Malachi Favors and Don Moye play the free burn with the same level of authenticity.

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At our interview, I brought Wynton a copy of Roscoe Mitchell’s Nonaah and told him to check out the track I cite above. He thanked me and put the CD on his coffee table. Hey, I tried.