Jazz and race

A friend gave me an article the other day, this is what it said:

"All music genres go through a very similar life cycle: birth, growth, mainstream acceptance, decline, and finally obscurity. With black music, however, the final stage is never reached because white people are work tirelessly to keep it alive. Apparently, once a music has lost its relevance with its intended audience, it becomes MORE relevant to white people.

Historically speaking, the music that white people have kept on life support for the longest period of time is Jazz. Thanks largely to public radio, bookstores, and coffee shops, Jazz has carved out a niche in white culture that is not yet ready to be replaced by Indie Rock. But the biggest role that Jazz plays in white culture is in the white fantasy of leisure. All white people believe that they prefer listening to jazz over watching television. This is not true.Every few a months, a white person will put on some Jazz and pour themselves a glass of wine or scotch and tell themselves how nice it is. Then they will get bored and watch television or write emails to other white people about how nice it was to listen to Jazz at home. “Last night, I poured myself a glass of Shiraz and put Charlie Parker on the Bose. It was so relaxing, I wish I had a fireplace.” "

This was my reply:

whoever wrote this is an idiot. I'll agree that there are some people out there like the person in this last paragraph, but you could say the same thing about every kind of music. "Indie rock" kids are made up of true lovers of the music, but mostly a bunch of people who thought that dressing and acting unique came hand in hand with listening to a bunch of obscure artists who write lyrics like they were 5 years old.

People who really love jazz are the ones that realize jazz isn't about race and it never was. That's why Miles Davis (though he hated white people and felt like he had been mistreated by them his entire life) hired them anyway because he found that some people are just better jazz artists than others. Jelly Roll Morton was a white, anti-semetic windbag that was a pain to work with but he is still known as one of the most influential, compositional jazz artists of all time.

I'm not trying to say that jazz shouldn't be accredited to black origins, it should and will always be a part of black and American history. Jazz lives on for the same reason that classical music lives on: it is intelligent, creative music. We haven't "moved on to Indie rock" because it bores us to tears some times.

Music You Wish No One Knew You Had

Among my peers in the university-level musical studies, it is expected that we all, not only learn of the importants of every kind of "academic" music, but have impecable taste in music. Amidst the conversations at the university it is not uncommon to hear phrases like "gee, THAT's challenging music," or "it's sad that people actually listen to that stuff" and "I remember when I used to like that music." For most in the school of music, music is a serious and important study in which everyone should be experts.
I'm not uneducated in music (not to sound snobbish). Classical/jazz theory, music history, dictation and the like have all been drilled into me quite thouroughly, but I find myself (constantly) having to defend my musical likes and dislikes to my fellow music students and professors. So sue me, I like the Barenaked ladies. Crucify me if I can't stand listening to hours of atonal opera or free jazz. I feel that I appreciate all kinds of musical genres, bands, and even levels of talent. Sure, you'll get some kind of tolerance and respect (sometimes) when you tell these people you like classic rock--most musicians aren't completely closed minded. But, you tell these characters that there was a cool rap song you were listening to the other day and BOOM!, they blow a gasket. You know what, there takes some talent to write a pop song (though simple) that is so catchy it has everybody singing it for 2 weeks straight. There is something to be said for the hip hop song with such ridiculous lyrics that no club is found without it played at least twice in a night. You may hate disco, but DANG GINA, when it's playin' at 70's night at the roller rink, you can't help but fall on your behind out of sheer excitement. C'mon, we all have our songs on our playlists that we know we'll get made fun of for listen to. It's the ones that make you hesitate when your friends say "let me see your ipod" (dangerous words, huh?). You just gotta say "hell, I love what I love so lay off!"
So...yes, I do love Michael Jackson; I have listened to Daniel Powter's "Bad Day" more than most of the songs on my ipod; yes I do still listen to K-ci and jojo's "All My Life"; Earth Wind and Fire will NEVER die; I'm a straight man and I'm obsessed with Harry Connick Jr.; Eminem is kind of a genius; AC DC and U2 are not as good as people make them out to be; and "Who I Am" (you know, the song about her being Rosemary's Grandaughter) by Jessica Andrews is a well written song. There I said it! Phew, now excuse me while I turn up my Tori Amos.

Welcome to My Life

So I am new to the whole blogging thang, but I find it somewhat big-headed of me to think that
somebody would be interested in reading a webpage about my life (or my random thoughts and
observations); But whether it is the flattering thought that people might actually be interested in what I have to say or the idea of using this as sort of a journal-type experience, this blogging thing is kinda thereputic.


I'll pretend that I have regular readers (if that's just me, so be it) who are good friends.

I suppose a good way to start that out is to introduce myself and my life. I'm 23 and single (this is young! Here in Utah I might as well be telling people that I'm 40...we'll save that for another post); physically I'm a wirey, caucasian, 6 foot tall, Adrian Brody look alike who can grow one....magnificent beard. I'm a jazz saxophone player (majoring in jazz studies) who takes any opportunity to convince himself and others that he should have been born a black man in the 1970's--what a gorgeously fascinating time. Despite my strict Mormon/Utahn upbringing I'm an open-minded free-thinker. Don't get me wrong... I'm still LDS, in fact, I'm very active and strong in my religious beliefs, I just know WHY and I'm a motivated seeker of truth from all sources (religious, scientific, mythological, or
otherwise).

In my experience, most people have good intentions so it's hard to be mad at the world; it just so happens that most of those "most people" are not too good at following through with their good intentions. It's hard to point fingers though; we all have our weeknesses. When I was living in Portland, my missionary companion and I had an old piece of paper stuck to our door that said "Lord, please help me to accept those that sin differently than I do." Amen whoever you are...Amen.

Awesome Anger: the Aged vs. the Adolescent

There are two raging volcanoes in my house. Both are predictable and uncontrollable, but neither will stop errupting once they've started. For years there was only one that we all feared and we all learned to get out of it's way until it had cooled off and began sleaping again. As the years went on, that volcano grew old and more dormant. Then...another power arose in the household; it was much smaller than the old mountain and not as experienced, but it carried within itself the stamina of the new generation and the rage of Vesuvius. As the new volcano began its frequent adolescent explosions it rekindled the flame within the old mountain. The legendary "Battle For the Last Word" commenced; forests were devistated instantly and the affects are still being felt throughout the land. For years now, whenever one volcano erupts, it triggers a chain reactions of thousands of little catastrophes and the boiling lava covers all of the innocent village people who (despite their many offerings to these angry gods) writhe in agony as their flesh gets charred from the wave of the arguing titans.