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johncomicPlease indulge me, this one goes on at some length and rambles among various points:
It started fairly innocently, when I read a quote by a big-name musician of the swing era saying that Frank Butler was the best jazz drummer of all time. This was a name I had [barely] heard of but wasn't deeply familiar with, so I investigated further...
And one of the first things I ran across was the album Groovin' Blue by Curtis Amy and Frank Butler. Curtis Amy was a name I hadn't even barely heard of, a complete nonentity to me. But I had a chance to listen to samples from this album, and was immediately smitten by saxophonist Amy's playing. He had a great sound and pleasing, gently inventive ideas. I really enjoyed listening to him, and ended up getting a pile of other records he played on.
And this got me thinking about the number of musicians and artists who are not famous or Important, and labour in obscurity. Usually, for a creator to be considered great, they have to be Blindingly Original and/or Technically Overwhelming. (Meaning they do something no one else has done before, and/or play Faster And Louder.) Those who don't do either of these things end up being dismissed as Also-Rans, or someone who was Just There.
I realize that I was raised in a time when critical consensus in all the arts treasured originality above all, which means that the critics had a way of rewarding novelty for its own sake. Novelty became not only the most important criterion of whether a work was Good, but the only criterion of whether it was Good. And I bought into this for decades. If you didn't have an immediately identifiable sound or look, your work didn't matter. George Carlin struck to the heart of the issue [as he so often did] when he said, “If you nail two things together that have never been nailed together before, some schmuck will buy it from you.”
Curtis Amy plays music that sounds comfortable and familiar, but it's well crafted and it feels good to hear it. He reminds me that it is valid to enjoy work for its own sake, on its own merits, even if it's not Important. I think it's very hard for art to be Important if it isn't in some way original, but it's quite possible for art to be Good without being Important. If you like it, then you like it, and you're entitled to.
I've gone on to listen closer and rediscover other musicians who passed under my radar in earlier decades because they were Okay But No Big Deal, they weren't Important. The last few days I've been listening to Shelly Manne's At the Black Hawk, a five-disc set of live recordings from 1959. Featured thereon are saxophonist Richie Kamuca, trumpeter Joe Gordon, and pianist Victor Feldman. None of these guys are household names (although the odd fan here and there will go "oh yeah he's good"). But time and again, when I listen attentively to these recordings, I hear lots of deeply satisfying music. These guys were Good and did not get the credit they deserved. There are so so many more out there like them.
I'm realizing that it's okay to simply make the art you want to make, however you want to make it. Maybe some will dismiss it as "derivative of" someone else. [Can't help noticing that to be "influenced by" someone is okay but to be "derivative" is not, but where exactly do we draw the line?] But if what you make pleases someone else, and you end up finding your audience, then this is working for both of you. It also occurs to me that some people will dismiss what you like by saying "you know nothing about music/art/etc.", but doesn't this actually mean that you aren't subscribing to the same critical criteria as them? That doesn't make you wrong to like what you like.
Anyway, nowadays I am gaining a much deeper appreciation and a profound satisfaction in carefully listening to more of the guys in the back. It's almost like a revelation of sorts.
P.S.: chances are that you have heard Curtis Amy without realizing it. In early '69, The Doors had a sizable hit single with Touch Me. Unusual for them, the song ends with a sax solo. Guess who?
It started fairly innocently, when I read a quote by a big-name musician of the swing era saying that Frank Butler was the best jazz drummer of all time. This was a name I had [barely] heard of but wasn't deeply familiar with, so I investigated further...
And one of the first things I ran across was the album Groovin' Blue by Curtis Amy and Frank Butler. Curtis Amy was a name I hadn't even barely heard of, a complete nonentity to me. But I had a chance to listen to samples from this album, and was immediately smitten by saxophonist Amy's playing. He had a great sound and pleasing, gently inventive ideas. I really enjoyed listening to him, and ended up getting a pile of other records he played on.
And this got me thinking about the number of musicians and artists who are not famous or Important, and labour in obscurity. Usually, for a creator to be considered great, they have to be Blindingly Original and/or Technically Overwhelming. (Meaning they do something no one else has done before, and/or play Faster And Louder.) Those who don't do either of these things end up being dismissed as Also-Rans, or someone who was Just There.
I realize that I was raised in a time when critical consensus in all the arts treasured originality above all, which means that the critics had a way of rewarding novelty for its own sake. Novelty became not only the most important criterion of whether a work was Good, but the only criterion of whether it was Good. And I bought into this for decades. If you didn't have an immediately identifiable sound or look, your work didn't matter. George Carlin struck to the heart of the issue [as he so often did] when he said, “If you nail two things together that have never been nailed together before, some schmuck will buy it from you.”
Curtis Amy plays music that sounds comfortable and familiar, but it's well crafted and it feels good to hear it. He reminds me that it is valid to enjoy work for its own sake, on its own merits, even if it's not Important. I think it's very hard for art to be Important if it isn't in some way original, but it's quite possible for art to be Good without being Important. If you like it, then you like it, and you're entitled to.
I've gone on to listen closer and rediscover other musicians who passed under my radar in earlier decades because they were Okay But No Big Deal, they weren't Important. The last few days I've been listening to Shelly Manne's At the Black Hawk, a five-disc set of live recordings from 1959. Featured thereon are saxophonist Richie Kamuca, trumpeter Joe Gordon, and pianist Victor Feldman. None of these guys are household names (although the odd fan here and there will go "oh yeah he's good"). But time and again, when I listen attentively to these recordings, I hear lots of deeply satisfying music. These guys were Good and did not get the credit they deserved. There are so so many more out there like them.
I'm realizing that it's okay to simply make the art you want to make, however you want to make it. Maybe some will dismiss it as "derivative of" someone else. [Can't help noticing that to be "influenced by" someone is okay but to be "derivative" is not, but where exactly do we draw the line?] But if what you make pleases someone else, and you end up finding your audience, then this is working for both of you. It also occurs to me that some people will dismiss what you like by saying "you know nothing about music/art/etc.", but doesn't this actually mean that you aren't subscribing to the same critical criteria as them? That doesn't make you wrong to like what you like.
Anyway, nowadays I am gaining a much deeper appreciation and a profound satisfaction in carefully listening to more of the guys in the back. It's almost like a revelation of sorts.
P.S.: chances are that you have heard Curtis Amy without realizing it. In early '69, The Doors had a sizable hit single with Touch Me. Unusual for them, the song ends with a sax solo. Guess who?
