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For whatever reasons, Dave Brubeck is often overlooked by purists when recounting the greatest artists of jazz. But his legacy is nearly as impactful as any artist of the last century, and his music easily as inspiring.

Brubeck, always smiling.

I first encountered him when I was 18 years old. He was a featured artist on VH1′s “New Visions Jazz,” hosted by Ben Sidran. Mr. Brubeck was performing a couple of standards (“I Hear a Rhapsody” and “These Foolish Things”) at a jazz festival in Florida; and even I, with my then limited capacity to understand the subtleties of jazz, was dazzled by they way he could evoke orchestral textures from a piano. In a subsequent interview, he was asked how he felt about playing the old fan favorites dozens of times per year, for years on end. Hardly a month goes by that I don’t recall his answer as one of the first lessons I learned about being a performer. He said that he was fortunate to be playing music for so many people, and for so long, and that if people wanted to hear “Take Five” for the 200th time, it remained his job to play it for them, and to do so with as much intent and fervor as he ever did.

Another of the several lessons I learned by listening to his music was that a style is represented by its distilled essence, not by its most frequently used techniques. To illustrate: “Blue Rondo a la Turk” is one of the greatest blues pieces ever written and performed, and without adhering strictly to the incessantly repeating twelve-bar form. Today, remember Dave Brubeck in hindsight the way countless students and fans enjoyed him in person — by taking delight in the impeccable structure, exhibited both on the page and in improvisation, in the music of Brubeck’s classic quartet, who were matchless both in their knack for craftsmanship and in their appeal to humanity’s basest feelings.

Over at Noise Made Me Do It,we are treated to an excerpt from a 1964 Down Beat magazine interview with Miles Davis, in which he is given a blind listening test. In typical Miles fashion, he spares no energy in tearing down his peers. For example, in response to Eric Dolphy:

The next time I see him, I’m going to step on his foot…I think he’s ridiculous. He’s a sad motherfucker…The composition is sad.

And upon hearing Cecil Taylor:

Take it off! That’s some sad shit, man…Is this what the critics are digging?

We all know that Miles launched the careers of several of Jazz’s greatest performers. He was, along with Art Blakey and Duke Ellington, one of the great bandleaders. But we also know that it might be a stretch to declare him a trumpet virtuoso; it just happened to be his instrument of choice. So are his scathing remarks about others’ performances unqualified?

Of course Miles was not anywhere near Clifford Brown or Wynton Marsalis in his command of the trumpet. I consider his strength as a soloist to be his ability to contribute to the overall mood and texture of a piece — to create a mystique which frames the performances of his sidemen. Perhaps it was his sensitivity to the dynamics of group interaction that makes him an astute critic.

Personally, I’m somewhere between rejecting his opinions for being contrarian — devised largely to arouse attention and assert his dominance in the arena of musical discourse, and respecting his insights as products of a prolific career that relied heavily on cohesive, smartly directed ensembles. Perhaps the criticisms he offered in this interview might be more easily taken to heart if his demeanor was not so cocksure. Then again, have you or I ever learned anything that was delivered with a “pretty please?”

Jazz seems to be on a decline. Here in Madison, I have seen most of the (already few) clubs that hosted live jazz either change their format or close their doors. In this article by Kurt Ellenberger, we learn that not only are audiences less likely than ever to attend live jazz or classical performances; but our suspicion that they only need to be taught an appreciation through structured academic programs is wrong.

Ellenberger refers to this as “The Education Fallacy.” Data collected clearly shows a negative correspondence between jazz education and concert attendance. If we cannot instill an appreciation for live jazz and classical music in the schools, we leave young adults to discover this music amidst a pop culture environment that discourages the development of active listening skills — a frightening consideration.

There is a glint of hope, revealed in the comments, where readers suggest the problem lies not in the audience’s lack of interest in these styles of music, but in a waning capacity to enjoy live shows. In our living rooms, we are free to concentrate on the subtleties of music with little distraction, at virtually no cost beyond the initial acquisition of the recording. Perhaps audiences are as sophisticated as ever, enough at least to seek listening experiences that are untainted by the peripheral hassle of attending clubs and concert halls. The artist’s new challenge is to deliver something in person that cannot be replicated in a digital file.

This is part of a mission I am undertaking. I am in the process of assembling a group that is based on the premise that no music is good enough to bring people into clubs, but a musical performance can be. I have mentioned it in passing, and I’ll continue to keep you updated.

I can be really flighty. Sometimes I convince myself that the breaks I take from my work are for legitimate reasons, but at the end of the day I know I have wasted a good deal of time. Ego has a way of messing with your productivity.

But I have somehow stumbled across the Pomodoro time management method, and so far it seems to be working. It especially seems pretty well-suited for creative types who need to self-motivate to get things done.

Pomodoro requires that you work non-stop with absolutely no interruptions, self-imposed or external, for 25 minutes at a time, using a timer with an alarm to regulate work sessions. Any interruption, like a sudden brainstorm which could result in taking on another task, the desire to eat, or an incoming phone call, is tallied in a spreadsheet and processed between sessions. Every day begins with planning and ends with analysis.

Since I began using it just last week, I have gotten more arranging done for my new ensemble than I would have otherwise completed in a month. This method forces me to eliminate distractions; and if you’re as easily distracted as I, you may benefit from it as well. Visit pomodorotechnique.com to learn more, and be sure to download the free eBook while you’re there. For even more resources, follow this link to Amazon.com.

I have a theory about what coffee and wine have in common: With either, when you first try it, you don’t care what you’re getting. Once you get into it, you care what you get. Then, once you’ve gotten quite deeply into it, you don’t care what you’re getting.

Maybe there is something to this three-stage model of discovery, because an article by tech blogger Rian van der Merwe reminded me of the three stages of discovering Miles Davis’s album Kind of Blue:

1. The casual jazz listener, on the advice of aficionados, acquires the album. It becomes his go-to album, because the textures are soothing and the melodies are accessible.
2. The serious jazz listener, having the ability to comprehend and appreciate more complex styles, loses interest in Kind of Blue, partly because of its slow pace and mellow mood, partly because it is familiar enough to have worn out its first impression.
3. The enlightened listener begins noticing subtle traces of genius beneath the album’s modest surface, and his ability to enjoy it returns with an updated perspective.

As I write this, I recall something similar I recently told a fellow musician during a barroom discussion of Mozart: “First you like him because of his pretty melodies, then you learn about music enough to recognize that the classical era is dreadfully boring, then you learn enough more to be able to pick up on subversive little touches, and you then realize why Mozart was so brilliant.”

Anyway, here is Rian’s article, in which he suggests lessons we can learn from Kind of Blue. This is a good read for anyone who creates, not just musicians:

Article: A story about Miles Davis and the nature of true genius

And if you don’t yet have Kind of Blue, for Pete’s sake, get it! You can purchase it through the link below for the price of a meal at McDonald’s, and you’ll be supporting the site in doing so:

I was once asked why, as a jazz musician, I am also a metal fan. The simplest answer is, “Why would I like anything, metal or otherwise? It just sounds good to me.” But that would make for a brief and uninteresting blog post, so let’s see if we can’t define aspects of metal that should appeal to a jazz musician.

First, there are some good reasons jazz fans shouldn’t like metal. Namely:

• There is little to no improvisation in metal.
• The metal that most people know of — pop fare by the likes of Mötley Crüe and Poison — generally does not earn the respect of serious musicians. Its performers seem more concerned with their rock lifestyles than bettering themselves as artists, and the material they release lacks invention.
• The hard rock and metal experience relies largely on production — loud volumes, heavily EQ’ed drums, and processed guitars, whereas jazz focuses on raw musical material, adaptable to a myriad of contexts.
• Pop metal seems rather juvenile in its glorification of excess and debauchery, and more underground forms of metal seem obsessed with the macabre. More universally appreciated subject matter, like romance and nostalgia, lies within the domain of jazz (at least that which has lyrics).
• Metal generally has a more limited sonic range. Metal arrangements feature mostly the traditional rock rhythm section: guitar, bass, and drums, with occasional keyboards. In jazz, there is no restriction: We have not only all the rhythm section, but all brass and woodwinds, and even the occasional harp, harmonica, or violin.

I was once caught up in the jazz snobbery that often leads otherwise reasonable musicians to look down their noses. I still hold that jazz musicians, all things considered, are the best trained. They not only must achieve a high level of technical proficiency, but they must also have a working knowledge of some rather high-level theoretical concepts, which must be applied at the speed of thought during improvisations. But I also recognize that the most elite jazz musician is one who enjoys listening to and learning from other styles. We know that Charlie Parker, John Scofield, Herbie Hancock, and many others were inclusive; their interest in the popular styles of their day is evident in their own work.

What can a jazz musician appreciate in metal? Here are some possible answers:

• Metal encourages virtuosity. This should be the most self-evident answer. While associating in both metal and jazz circles, I have picked up on a competitive vibe that seems unmatched in any other genre, save perhaps for bluegrass. Metal gave us the archetypical “shredder,” first in Ritchie Blackmore, then in a long succession including Uli John Roth, Eddie Van Halen, Yngwie Malmsteen, and Steve Vai. Before all of them, there was John Coltrane. His “sheets of sound” period, circa late 50′s, set a standard for shredding that has been unmatched since. Go back even farther, and you have bebop artists playing complex changes at breakneck speeds. The “burner” is a staple of any live jazz set. Today, former metal instrumentalist and Shrapnel Records recording artist Greg Howe plays funk and fusion in a way that ought to appeal equally to fans of shred and jazz alike.
• Metal’s complex harmonic palette. In his documentary, Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey, anthropologist Sam Dunn describes the origins of metal as having one foot in the blues, the other in high romanticism. This is not unlike early jazz, which could be described as one part blues, one part impressionism. The only foundational difference between the two is a choice of which European school to emulate. As in jazz, metal gradually incorporated more cacophonic elements. Jazz brought us Ornette Coleman and Pharaoh Sanders; metal brought us Napalm Death and Mr. Bungle.
• Metal musician’s fascination with exotic scales. Neither metal artists nor jazz artists seem content with the classical major/minor model. Jazz pedagogy is heavily focused on chord/scale relations, as is the typical metal guitarist. Steve Vai’s “The Riddle” is an exploration of how various modes fit over an E pedal. Joe Satriani found a modern use for Verdi’s Enigmatic Scale.
• Tutti. A defining characteristic of big band jazz is the tight coordination of rhythmic hits. Metal gives us an experience not unlike the big band “shout chorus.” Progressive groups like Messhugah are masters of polyrhythm. Dream Theater has their drummer in lock step with bass and guitar. Arch Enemy and Lamb of God underscore their straight-up rock riffing with big, fat, punchy kicks.
• The “cliff effect.” I once saw an IMAX film in which one scene was shot from the point of view of a helicopter flying over the rim of the Grand Canyon. I watched the shadow of the helicopter sweeping over the blurred landscape just a few dozen yards below; then suddenly, the ground dropped out of sight. I find that both jazz and metal music has a knack for similarly exhilarating, lump-in-your-throat moments. In jazz, the “cliff effect” occurs most frequently during solo breaks. Just check out Charlie Parker’s break in “A Night in Tunisia” at 1:15. Goosebumps. Breaks and fills create a sense of instability — a tension which is only broken when the performers land back on their feet. In metal, breaks aren’t as spontaneous — they’re usually carefully written — but the visceral effect is similar. Check out the drum break in Slayer’s “Angel of Death” (jump straight to 4:20):
• Careful attention paid to the craft of music making. In metal, as in jazz and other genres, performers care very much about the quality of their craftsmanship. A song in either style is more than just a catchy lyric or melodic hook; it is the product of years of preparation in practice, and a meticulous creative process full of tough decisions.

Beginning with my next post, I’d like to launch both a “History of Metal” and “History of Jazz” video series here. This is my way of celebrating two styles I hold dear. Stay tuned.

I first heard Richie Kotzen on one of those flexible records that used to come with each issue of Guitar Player magazine. Even though he was a latecomer to the 80′s shred party, he brought a truly original style to a scene crowded with sound-alikes.

Here’s a stunning solo from an instructional video he did in 1989. Sorry about the sound quality, which isn’t entirely due to his preference for Laney amps.

Like many others in his class, he mellowed out a bit. His repertoire has grown more rootsy. He ditched the Ibanez RG’s for Fender Strats and Teles. I have even spotted him going pickless. And he’s singing. Singing quite well.

Whether you’re still on the anti-shred bandwagon, or like me, you never hopped aboard, there’s plenty to like in this guy’s playing.

In the wake of the passing of one visionary, we commemorate the passing of another: John Lennon, who would have turned 71 today.

I consider John Lennon to be one of Rock’s two most important figures, along with Frank Zappa. Not only was he a founding member of the most legendary group ever assembled, but his paradoxical manner of being outspoken yet aloof birthed an image which has since ingrained itself in the collective spirit of Rock and Roll.

John was an intensely personal songwriter. From the earliest Beatles material on, each of his songs gave us a peek into his private life. Again, ever the archetypal celebrity, he shunned attention while inviting scrutiny. His masterwork, Plastic Ono Band, opens with a track that places the listener into a quite uncomfortable position, not unlike being at a friend’s house and having to witness a highly emotional confrontation. The effect is profound:

The world is a less interesting place without this man. He was taken away from us when I was only eight years old; but the more I learn of his work, the more I miss him as if I knew him. This is the mark of a great artist.

Don’t ask me how, but earlier this week I stumbled upon this video of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ John Frusciante:

Usually, I stay out of any “rules/sucks” conversations that accompany these types of videos; but in this case I succumbed to the temptation to respond to those who seem to think Frusciante represents the highest echelon of virtuosity:

Meh. Jazz cats call this “nerfing it up,” meaning it’s fairly easy stuff you play to impress those who don’t know what you’re doing.

One user, epz1123, responded typically:

If it’s “fairly easy”, then I’d like to see you do it as flawlessly as frusciante.

Challenge accepted. While the kids slept this afternoon, I took the chance to offer my best interpretation:

Epz1123′s responded with a backhanded congratulations, remarking that Frusciante’s playing contains more emotion. The whole concept of what makes a performance emotional (how do you measure it?) is something I’d like to revisit in an upcoming post. My point in this exercise was merely to illustrate that just because you cannot play something, that doesn’t mean it takes a virtuoso.

Holy moley, this man never ceased to amaze me. Great melodies, stunning arrangements. Every tune of his is something I want to perform.

Being somewhat of a techno-geek, Scott transitioned into electronic music around the 50′s, often using instruments of his own design. I feel this music lacks the vitality of his earlier work, but it’s worth noting how progressive he was.

Sadly, he is under-appreciated by both jazz fans, for discouraging improv in his live ensembles, and by classical aficcionados, for utilizing harmonies and rhythms derived largely from “hot” swing. Although he was big in his day, he is all but forgotten now, except among Zorn and Zappa-inspired hipsters that crave novelty.

If you care at all about good music, you would be doing yourself a huge favor by obtaining the compilation Restless Nights and Turkish Twighlights. It’s one of my “desert island” albums, and a historical milestone. You may wish to get it on CD, for its vastly informative liner notes.