Here’s something comfortable, enticing, seductive.
It’s not my living room, I assure you: too neat, no CDs.
Jon-Erik Kellso, trumpet; Chuck Wilson, alto saxophone; Ehud Asherie, piano; Kelly Friesen, string bass; Andrew Swann, drums. “Sweet Rhythm,” October 26, 2008, THERE’LL BE SOME CHANGES MADE:
Tal Ronen, string bass; Mark Shane, piano; Dan Block, tenor sax. “Casa Mezcal,” October 26, 2014, I’LL ALWAYS BE IN LOVE WITH YOU:
(This is not a post about numerology or the significance of October 26 in jazz.)
Tim Laughlin, clarinet; Connie Jones, cornet; Clint Baker, trombone; Chris Dawson, piano; Katie Cavera, guitar; Marty Eggers, string bass; Hal Smith, drums. “Sweet and Hot Music Festival,” September 5, 2011, TOGETHER:
Ray Skjelbred and the Cubs: Ray, piano, composer; Kim Cusack, clarinet; Clint Baker, string bass, Katie Cavera, guitar; Jeff Hamilton, drums. “Sacramento Music Festival,” May 25, 2014, BLUES FOR SIR CHARLES:
I will explain.
“Sweet Rhythm” was once “Sweet Basil,” a restaurant-with-jazz or the reverse, in New York City. Now it is just a restaurant. “Casa Mezcal,” across the street from the Tenement Museum, also offered jazz as well as food. Now, only food. The two California festivals depicted above are only memories now. (I could have included the Cajun, Bourbon Street, Roth’s Steakhouse, Banjo Jim’s, the Garage, the Bombay Club, Jazz at Chautauqua, and perhaps a dozen other vacancies in the cosmos — in my time, which isn’t the whole history of the music.) Jazz clubs become apartments, drugstores, dormitories, nail salons. Or what was once a jazz bar now has karaoke night and game night.
That’s not difficult to take in. Everything changes. “Things are tough all over,” as my father said.
But I’ve included the chair and ottoman because so many jazz listeners prefer the comforts of home to live music, and thus, venues collapse and are not replaced.
The expression I’ve heard from festival producers is the blunt ASSES IN SEATS. It presumes that other body parts are attached to the asses, of course. But it’s simple economics. When a club owner looks out at the landscape of empty chairs and tables with napkins undisturbed, when there are more musicians on the stage than there are people in the audience, you can imagine the mental cogitations that result. This has nothing to do with musical or artistic quality — I’ve heard terrible music played to filled rooms, and once in a New York club I was the audience (let that sink in) — not even me, myself, and I — for the first few songs by a peerless band. And if you think that musicians are a substantial part of the club budget, it isn’t so: a world-famous jazz musician told me once of being paid sixty dollars for three hours’ work, and some of my favorite musicians go from fifty-and-seventy-five dollar gigs, or they play “for the door.”
And as an aside, if you go to a club and sit through two sets with your three-or-five dollar Coke or well drink or standard beer, you are subsidizing neither the club or the music. Festival economics are different, but even the price of the ticket will not keep huge enterprises solvent. I hear, “Oh, the audience for jazz is aging and dying,” and the numbers prove that true, but I think inertia is a stronger factor than mortality, with a side dish of complacency. And people who study the swing-dance scene say that what I am writing about here is also true for younger fans / dancers.
So before you say to someone, “I’m really a devoted jazz fan,” or proudly wear the piano-keyboard suspenders, or get into arguments on Facebook over some cherished premise, ask yourself, “How active is my commitment to this music? When was the last time I supported it with my wallet and my person?”
I do not write these words from the summit of moral perfection. I could have gone to two gigs tonight but chose to stay home and write this blog. And I do not go to every gig I could . . . energy and health preclude that. And I am also guilty, if you will, in providing musical nourishment for viewers through technology, so that some people can live through YouTube. I admit both of these things, but on the average I go to more jazz gigs than some other people; I eat and drink and tip at the jazz clubs; I publicize the music here and elsewhere.
But you. Do you take the music for granted, like air and water? Do you assume it will go on forever even if you never come out of your burrow and say hello to it, that other people will keep supporting it? Do you say, “I must get there someday!” and not put wheels under that wish? Mind you, there are exceptions. Not everyone lives close enough to live music; not everyone is well-financed, energetic, or healthy. But if you can go and you don’t, then to me you have lost the right to complain about clubs closing, your favorite band disbanding, your beloved festival becoming extinct. Jazz is a living organism, thus it needs nourishment that you, and only you, can provide. Inhaling Spotify won’t keep it alive, nor will complaining about how your fellow citizens are too foolish to appreciate it.
If you say you love jazz, you have to get your ass out of your chair at regular intervals and put it in another chair, somewhere public, where living musicians are playing and singing. Or you can stay home and watch it wither.
May your happiness increase!