Like many jazz musicians, I'm concerned with social and political issues. I don't intend to post them here, as this has always been a blog dedicated to the clarinet, and is not the place.
Readers of The Jazz Clarinet who might be interested in my concept of Vocal Conscientious Objection to the current political situation in the United States might want to read my developing political opinions on my other blog, Seddon Done.
Currently available are the following posts, among others:
Vocal Conscientious Objection Part 1: Introduction
Vocal Conscientious Objection Part 2: The Voting Game
Would an Intelligent Pro-Lifer Vote for Donald Trump?
Those of you who are nauseated by the specter of political discussion invading all aspects of your life, feel free to ignore this post and enjoy the musical writing on Jazz Clarinet!
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Cleveland Renaissance
I'm honored to be part of what is becoming a roots music renaissance in Cleveland. Musically speaking, this city has long been known for the Cleveland Orchestra and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but in the national eye, little has been made of the significant jazz and roots scene here. That seems about to change. The breadth of talent and style that is part of the living tradition here in Cleveland is now becoming a cultural focal point for the city, thanks to the work of the Cleveland Foundation and Roots of American music. My band, Eric Seddon's Hot Club, has been asked to take part in this renaissance, playing for the Uptown Saturday Night series, and in Cleveland's beautifully renovated Public Square.
Cleveland audiences are unlike any others I've played for in my career. They are highly educated, musically speaking, and know their history. Recently, for instance, a young man at a nightclub gig of mine asked me if I knew any tunes by Sidney Bechet, because my playing reminded him in some ways of the great New Orleans master. On other occasions people have mentioned Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Barney Bigard, Pete Fountain, and Edmond Hall to me. It is rare to find audiences outside of New Orleans who can comment so comprehensively about roots jazz. If you're in town, I hope you can catch one of these gigs:
Cleveland audiences are unlike any others I've played for in my career. They are highly educated, musically speaking, and know their history. Recently, for instance, a young man at a nightclub gig of mine asked me if I knew any tunes by Sidney Bechet, because my playing reminded him in some ways of the great New Orleans master. On other occasions people have mentioned Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Barney Bigard, Pete Fountain, and Edmond Hall to me. It is rare to find audiences outside of New Orleans who can comment so comprehensively about roots jazz. If you're in town, I hope you can catch one of these gigs:
Saturday, August 6, 2016
A Prayer for Pete Fountain & His Family
From my studio in Cleveland. Thank you for everything, Pete.
R.I.P., Pete Fountain
Pete Fountain, New Orleans clarinet legend, has passed away at the age of 86. He was a towering influence on me as a player, and I was blessed to have met him when I was still 18 years old, scuffling around for gigs in the French Quarter. His encouragement and inspiration have kept me going, and will keep me going for a lifetime.
Towards the end of his life, thanks to the encouragement of Greg Harrison, I corresponded with Pete for the first time since I'd met him two and a half decades ago, sharing how much I appreciated his work over the course of his long career--what his playing meant to me, and what his encouragement had meant to me as a young man. Of all players, he's the one I'm compared to most often, as much for our physical appearance as our playing, I imagine.
Towards the end of his life, thanks to the encouragement of Greg Harrison, I corresponded with Pete for the first time since I'd met him two and a half decades ago, sharing how much I appreciated his work over the course of his long career--what his playing meant to me, and what his encouragement had meant to me as a young man. Of all players, he's the one I'm compared to most often, as much for our physical appearance as our playing, I imagine.
At least once a month or so, someone in an audience will come up to me and say "You remind of Pete Fountain." It's always a great honor, for me, as I've always felt he was one of the last of the real jazz clarinet greats--those with a big booming sound, and virtuosic, liquid technique. Along with Artie Shaw, Benny Goodman, Jimmie Noone, and very few others, he truly mastered our extremely difficult instruments...and not a gig goes by that I don't show my lineage in one way or another, using language that I picked up from albums of his. Anyone who has ever heard me play "Tin Roof Blues", "The Sheik of Araby", or "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans" has undoubtedly heard Pete's influence. No matter how much I make those tunes my own, there's no way I could unlearn what Pete showed me about them (and no way I'd want to unlearn it).
Here are some things Pete sent me...some of them are now on display in my studio, some of them I take out now and again and wear for gigs. On Mardi Gras I always wear Pete Fountain "Half Fast Walking Club" Mardi Gras beads in honor of him, and people have sometimes mistaken the figures on the beads for me. It is a great honor to carry on the tradition he was such an important part of. My love and prayers go to Pete and his family today. God Bless Pete Fountain. One of the greatest has gone home.
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Roots Jazz Fusion
As early as the 1950's, magazines such as DownBeat and Time began asking the question "What happened to the jazz clarinet?" Despite the proficient modern jazz styles of Buddy DeFranco, Tony Scott, and later, Eddie Daniels, the question lingered, and indeed lingers still. Once a dominant jazz voice, the clarinet became a novelty instrument of sorts, or an instrument trying to prove its suitability to the continuing tide of jazz creativity. An important part of the original New Orleans front line instruments, the clarinet, according to many readings of history, reached its jazz zenith between the years of 1928 (when Jimmie Noone lead Chicago's Apex Club Orchestra) and Artie Shaw's last Gramercy 5 of 1954 (by which point the instrument's popularity and influence was already in decline). In between was the Swing Era, when Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw in many ways dominated the jazz landscape.
Those histories which assert the decline of the clarinet, however, tend to ignore the various revivals of New Orleans style, beginning with the recordings of Sidney Bechet in the 1940s and extending through many global revivals, sometimes called "New Orleans style", "Traditional Jazz" or just "Trad." Because of the monikers "Traditional" and "Revival" and admittedly because of some of the attitudes surrounding the more fundamentalist traditionalist in the field, what was often missed in each of these movements was the expanding, creative contribution of each successive generation. Sidney Bechet's style continued to grow, for instance, not remaining with a traditional New Orleans instrumentation, but branching out into a creative fusion of Gypsy and New Orleans jazz. One could argue that his session with Mugsy Spanier in March of 1940 was an early example of jazz fusion at its finest. Beyond that, the influence of French chanson in Bechet's work increased throughout his career, making him not only the first soloist to develop a fully unique solo style, but also the first international style.
The 1950's likewise saw the emergence of the British Trad Jazz scene, in many ways a misnomer with unfortunate consequences. That they emulated New Orleans polyphony, instrumentation, timbral language, and harmonic clarity is true, but the term "Trad" too often lead listeners to wrongly assume they were hearing a reproduction or Historically Informed Performance practice of 'original' New Orleans jazz. It wasn't. In fact, the British Trad Jazz scene produced some of the most interesting, creative, even forward looking fusion in jazz history--from introducing elements of British light theatre music to precursors of a clear, popular style of jazz that would eventually become British Invasion pop rock. Albums such as Terry Lightfoot's Tradition in Colour (1958) and Acker Bilk's The Seven Ages of Acker (1959) were actually forward looking, blazing new ground, while simultaneously preserving an inheritance. Perhaps it was because they didn't seek the self-consciously intellectual jazz audience of the day, or their main interests were not expanding jazz vocabulary through increasingly difficult applications of European classical modernist chord structures, but nonetheless they brought about a tuneful music that was quite new.
Almost simultaneously with those advances, Pete Fountain was engaging in a different type of fusion--what might best be described as fusing West Coast cool jazz with traditional New Orleans style. He has never really gotten credit for how smoothly and seamlessly he made the two styles fit together.
These days, players such as Evan Christopher and Dr. Michael White continue the fusion process, from a strong New Orleans background.
Over the history of this blog, I have tried not to take sides on contemporary players. I've written reviews of most styles, and given due praise to Buddy DeFranco's albums, Eddie Daniels', and others who fit best in the bebop or straight ahead modern jazz that came out of New York in the late '40s and early '50s. But now I find it's time to say that I've never really believed that was the best path for the clarinet, and while the reasons this incredible instrument seemed to decline in jazz were manifold, a large part of it was that bebop was developed largely through the saxophone, and the saxophone is a very different instrument with different challenges.
The ranges and timbres of the two instruments are radically different. The 'normal' range of a saxophone is really only about two octaves and change. The 'normal' range of a clarinet is over three. This alone can change the dramatic structure of solos, and how a clarinetist can use arpeggios to their advantage. Saxophonists, on the other hand, benefit from knotty phrases which snake and double back on themselves, replete with added note scales. One type of 'coloring' on a saxophone is more readily obtained, in a sense, by harmony than by register. There are exceptions to these observations, but it's my contention that the clarinet can be more expressive than a saxophone when dealing with triadic harmonies (such as we find in the Mozart Clarinet Concerto) than a saxophone can, for precisely the reasons mentioned. Studying historic orchestration treatises (such as Berlioz's and the revision by Rimsky-Korsakov) we also find that triadic arpeggiation and exploitation of the clarinet's range are primary suggestions, in contrast to instruments like the oboe (which has a more similar normal range to the saxophone).
Harmonic analysis and expansion are easily studied and quantifiable. Combine that with the dominance of the New York scene and tastes on the history of jazz criticism and scholarship, and we see how the creative work of clarinetists, moving the art forward, has been somewhat routinely missed. And some of this was missed simply because there was no decent name for the music clarinetists were making, that didn't somehow seem to suggest stagnation or reproduction.
I'm not sure if my current label will ultimately win the day, but at a recent gig I was asked by an enthusiastic listener what style my band played. For the past year and a half, since starting Eric Seddon's Hot Club, I labeled us "New Orleans Style Jazz", for lack of a better term. But despite the partial truth, I've never felt the label quite accurate enough. So this time I blurted out "Roots Jazz." Everyone in the band liked that term better, so I've actually changed my advertising to reflect it. Beyond that I would say, even more accurately, that we are Roots Jazz Fusion: a creative combination of New Orleans, Blues, Gypsy, Swing, and other styles: forward looking, with a common denominator that our harmonies tend to be more clear and less extended, our timbral language more American than European classical, and our general conception more polyphonic. It's my hope that this explanation will help listeners and fans understand the dynamic, contemporary significance of our music: that we aren't academics seeking period performances, but progressive artists contributing
to the culture of today. We are, in fact, another important facet of contemporary, modern jazz.
Those histories which assert the decline of the clarinet, however, tend to ignore the various revivals of New Orleans style, beginning with the recordings of Sidney Bechet in the 1940s and extending through many global revivals, sometimes called "New Orleans style", "Traditional Jazz" or just "Trad." Because of the monikers "Traditional" and "Revival" and admittedly because of some of the attitudes surrounding the more fundamentalist traditionalist in the field, what was often missed in each of these movements was the expanding, creative contribution of each successive generation. Sidney Bechet's style continued to grow, for instance, not remaining with a traditional New Orleans instrumentation, but branching out into a creative fusion of Gypsy and New Orleans jazz. One could argue that his session with Mugsy Spanier in March of 1940 was an early example of jazz fusion at its finest. Beyond that, the influence of French chanson in Bechet's work increased throughout his career, making him not only the first soloist to develop a fully unique solo style, but also the first international style.
The 1950's likewise saw the emergence of the British Trad Jazz scene, in many ways a misnomer with unfortunate consequences. That they emulated New Orleans polyphony, instrumentation, timbral language, and harmonic clarity is true, but the term "Trad" too often lead listeners to wrongly assume they were hearing a reproduction or Historically Informed Performance practice of 'original' New Orleans jazz. It wasn't. In fact, the British Trad Jazz scene produced some of the most interesting, creative, even forward looking fusion in jazz history--from introducing elements of British light theatre music to precursors of a clear, popular style of jazz that would eventually become British Invasion pop rock. Albums such as Terry Lightfoot's Tradition in Colour (1958) and Acker Bilk's The Seven Ages of Acker (1959) were actually forward looking, blazing new ground, while simultaneously preserving an inheritance. Perhaps it was because they didn't seek the self-consciously intellectual jazz audience of the day, or their main interests were not expanding jazz vocabulary through increasingly difficult applications of European classical modernist chord structures, but nonetheless they brought about a tuneful music that was quite new.
Almost simultaneously with those advances, Pete Fountain was engaging in a different type of fusion--what might best be described as fusing West Coast cool jazz with traditional New Orleans style. He has never really gotten credit for how smoothly and seamlessly he made the two styles fit together.
These days, players such as Evan Christopher and Dr. Michael White continue the fusion process, from a strong New Orleans background.
Over the history of this blog, I have tried not to take sides on contemporary players. I've written reviews of most styles, and given due praise to Buddy DeFranco's albums, Eddie Daniels', and others who fit best in the bebop or straight ahead modern jazz that came out of New York in the late '40s and early '50s. But now I find it's time to say that I've never really believed that was the best path for the clarinet, and while the reasons this incredible instrument seemed to decline in jazz were manifold, a large part of it was that bebop was developed largely through the saxophone, and the saxophone is a very different instrument with different challenges.
The ranges and timbres of the two instruments are radically different. The 'normal' range of a saxophone is really only about two octaves and change. The 'normal' range of a clarinet is over three. This alone can change the dramatic structure of solos, and how a clarinetist can use arpeggios to their advantage. Saxophonists, on the other hand, benefit from knotty phrases which snake and double back on themselves, replete with added note scales. One type of 'coloring' on a saxophone is more readily obtained, in a sense, by harmony than by register. There are exceptions to these observations, but it's my contention that the clarinet can be more expressive than a saxophone when dealing with triadic harmonies (such as we find in the Mozart Clarinet Concerto) than a saxophone can, for precisely the reasons mentioned. Studying historic orchestration treatises (such as Berlioz's and the revision by Rimsky-Korsakov) we also find that triadic arpeggiation and exploitation of the clarinet's range are primary suggestions, in contrast to instruments like the oboe (which has a more similar normal range to the saxophone).
Harmonic analysis and expansion are easily studied and quantifiable. Combine that with the dominance of the New York scene and tastes on the history of jazz criticism and scholarship, and we see how the creative work of clarinetists, moving the art forward, has been somewhat routinely missed. And some of this was missed simply because there was no decent name for the music clarinetists were making, that didn't somehow seem to suggest stagnation or reproduction.
I'm not sure if my current label will ultimately win the day, but at a recent gig I was asked by an enthusiastic listener what style my band played. For the past year and a half, since starting Eric Seddon's Hot Club, I labeled us "New Orleans Style Jazz", for lack of a better term. But despite the partial truth, I've never felt the label quite accurate enough. So this time I blurted out "Roots Jazz." Everyone in the band liked that term better, so I've actually changed my advertising to reflect it. Beyond that I would say, even more accurately, that we are Roots Jazz Fusion: a creative combination of New Orleans, Blues, Gypsy, Swing, and other styles: forward looking, with a common denominator that our harmonies tend to be more clear and less extended, our timbral language more American than European classical, and our general conception more polyphonic. It's my hope that this explanation will help listeners and fans understand the dynamic, contemporary significance of our music: that we aren't academics seeking period performances, but progressive artists contributing
to the culture of today. We are, in fact, another important facet of contemporary, modern jazz.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Some Thoughts on Musical Worthiness
A friend of mine on Facebook, who is a classical style composer, posted a thoughtful question about musical worthiness and self-doubt. I commented from the perspective of a jazz musician, and found what was drawn out by the discussion to be of potential interest to readers of The Jazz Clarinet. Here's an edited version of my response:
The fear of worthiness is crippling and arguably the least useful emotion for any creative artist. Aspiration to excellence is commendable, and even essential, but it should be exercised without the worrisome glance in the mirror, so to speak. The mirror doesn't really matter, and anyhow, the mirror always lies..
All creative artists have to trust two very basic things. They have to Trust the Gift, and they have to Trust the Process. Of the two, the process is the bigger challenge. Trusting the gift is pretty obvious, once you accept it: you really have nothing to do with it. You're either capable of being a musician or not. You either have the talent to be able to work hard enough to convincingly play a Mozart Concerto, or a 12 bar blues, or a sing a Puccini aria, or write a fugue, or you don't. If you don't, chances are you're doing something else with your life and not worrying about it.
Trusting the process is much harder, because everyone's process is different--we have to FIND it first-- and we can get sidelined in life following processes that don't fit us. Trusting the process demands that we sincerely evaluate who we are as musicians and live it honestly, to the best of our ability. So here's the proper use of self-criticism--not the narcissistic glance in the mirror with the worries about worthiness, but the serious look into the musical self; the examination of the musical conscience, so to speak, to see where the true strengths and weaknesses are, accepting them, and putting in place the proper process to bring the best of you out. Oftentimes people need teachers for that...oftentimes, you just need to work with the right people to draw those qualities out.
It is not necessary or even possible to understand how the "Elysian Spark" you mentioned works. I would suggest it's a theoretical distraction if the actual artist tries to decipher it. It's like this: I believe God created the heavens and the earth. How he did it, I dunno. Worrying about that is some scientist's job. I can be interested in the question, but I can't let it consume me. I've got music to make. Likewise I believe the musical gift was given to me to play this miraculous musical system called jazz...and I believe this mysterious thing called music is out there, is real, is between musicians and an audience and the angels and the stars...but I don't know how it works. We scratch at it with things called chords and scales and meters...but who knows what it really is? Bechet said that the music feeling in us must reach out and join the music outside of ourselves, and that's when it's right. That's about as close as I've ever heard anyone get to it...unless is was Elgar saying that he felt the music was out there, and he was just taking it down. Wynton Marsalis has said some similar things.
To BE who you ARE. That's the answer. Are you a Beethoven? Not many are. It takes hundreds of Stamitzes and Wagenseil's to make a Haydn, let alone a Beethoven. Satie was a musical cripple, combined with bizarre musical genius. He turned his weaknesses into strengths. He knew who he was. Bruckner patiently outlasted the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune to realize his musical vision...or at least enough of it, despite his crippling self-doubt...Acker Bilk had teeth knocked out on the playground as a kid, and was missing part of his finger, but he wrote his songs and played his own bizarre, powerful, soulful clarinet and touched peoples' lives.
Play your thing. Sing your song. Find what you do and do it, whether in in rags or tuxedos. Find the true music feeling in you and reach out to the music outside of you and give it away. Peace, friend. You're the real thing as a musician. I've known that since I was kid sitting in Youth Symphony with you conducting us...and at the time I was admittedly more concerned with the pretty blonde girl next to me than Dvorak. Call me a multi-tasker, though, cuz I noticed the real music in you then. Keep Swinging.
The fear of worthiness is crippling and arguably the least useful emotion for any creative artist. Aspiration to excellence is commendable, and even essential, but it should be exercised without the worrisome glance in the mirror, so to speak. The mirror doesn't really matter, and anyhow, the mirror always lies..
All creative artists have to trust two very basic things. They have to Trust the Gift, and they have to Trust the Process. Of the two, the process is the bigger challenge. Trusting the gift is pretty obvious, once you accept it: you really have nothing to do with it. You're either capable of being a musician or not. You either have the talent to be able to work hard enough to convincingly play a Mozart Concerto, or a 12 bar blues, or a sing a Puccini aria, or write a fugue, or you don't. If you don't, chances are you're doing something else with your life and not worrying about it.
Trusting the process is much harder, because everyone's process is different--we have to FIND it first-- and we can get sidelined in life following processes that don't fit us. Trusting the process demands that we sincerely evaluate who we are as musicians and live it honestly, to the best of our ability. So here's the proper use of self-criticism--not the narcissistic glance in the mirror with the worries about worthiness, but the serious look into the musical self; the examination of the musical conscience, so to speak, to see where the true strengths and weaknesses are, accepting them, and putting in place the proper process to bring the best of you out. Oftentimes people need teachers for that...oftentimes, you just need to work with the right people to draw those qualities out.
It is not necessary or even possible to understand how the "Elysian Spark" you mentioned works. I would suggest it's a theoretical distraction if the actual artist tries to decipher it. It's like this: I believe God created the heavens and the earth. How he did it, I dunno. Worrying about that is some scientist's job. I can be interested in the question, but I can't let it consume me. I've got music to make. Likewise I believe the musical gift was given to me to play this miraculous musical system called jazz...and I believe this mysterious thing called music is out there, is real, is between musicians and an audience and the angels and the stars...but I don't know how it works. We scratch at it with things called chords and scales and meters...but who knows what it really is? Bechet said that the music feeling in us must reach out and join the music outside of ourselves, and that's when it's right. That's about as close as I've ever heard anyone get to it...unless is was Elgar saying that he felt the music was out there, and he was just taking it down. Wynton Marsalis has said some similar things.
To BE who you ARE. That's the answer. Are you a Beethoven? Not many are. It takes hundreds of Stamitzes and Wagenseil's to make a Haydn, let alone a Beethoven. Satie was a musical cripple, combined with bizarre musical genius. He turned his weaknesses into strengths. He knew who he was. Bruckner patiently outlasted the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune to realize his musical vision...or at least enough of it, despite his crippling self-doubt...Acker Bilk had teeth knocked out on the playground as a kid, and was missing part of his finger, but he wrote his songs and played his own bizarre, powerful, soulful clarinet and touched peoples' lives.
Play your thing. Sing your song. Find what you do and do it, whether in in rags or tuxedos. Find the true music feeling in you and reach out to the music outside of you and give it away. Peace, friend. You're the real thing as a musician. I've known that since I was kid sitting in Youth Symphony with you conducting us...and at the time I was admittedly more concerned with the pretty blonde girl next to me than Dvorak. Call me a multi-tasker, though, cuz I noticed the real music in you then. Keep Swinging.
Monday, July 18, 2016
Cleveland Jazz on the Street
I'm grateful to have been asked by Roots of American Music to lead a trio during each of the four days the Republican National Convention is here in Cleveland. We're taking part in a non-partisan cultural exposition called Arts Intervention, where select groups have been chosen to represent the diversity and vitality of the Cleveland arts scene.
My trio will perform as street musicians uptown (today and tomorrow), then on Wednesday we'll relocate downtown, where most of the action is.
Here's a clip of us playing my tune "Blue Mardi Gras" earlier today at the corner of Mayfield Road & Euclid Avenue, in uptown Cleveland.
Eric Seddon, clarinet
Kevin Richards, guitar
Ray DeForest, bass
My trio will perform as street musicians uptown (today and tomorrow), then on Wednesday we'll relocate downtown, where most of the action is.
Here's a clip of us playing my tune "Blue Mardi Gras" earlier today at the corner of Mayfield Road & Euclid Avenue, in uptown Cleveland.
Eric Seddon, clarinet
Kevin Richards, guitar
Ray DeForest, bass
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)