We're sitting on a bench in the
Place des Arts, and a Mr. Mousebender walks up and sort of mumbles, in our general direction, "It's not much of a jazz festival, is it?”
That didn't happen. But suddenly finding ourselves in the middle of "The Cheese Shop Sketch (Revisited)" would not have been much more surreal than what we
were experiencing: Here you have two Americans spending the Fourth of July in a foreign country, albeit one that is (as Goldie Hawn described it in "Protocol", "sort of attached"). We're attending a "jazz" festival, and the first notes we hear are by way of a soundcheck for a tribute to Paul Simon. Particularly poignant is the fact that the song we're hearing right now is "America" (what with its themes of aimlessness and longing) and that it's being sung in English by a Francophone.
If I were a fundamentalist of a literate and literary mind (yeah, I know, but bear with me), I might think that The Creator was into foreshadowing. It's only a small step, if you've bought into the central Creationist fallacy that asserts that if there's a crea
tion, there must be a creat
or. From there, it's but a tiny jump to assume that I'd somehow feature in His day-to-day plans; that he'd take a moment out to telegraph some coming minor disappointment I was to have.
In fairness, Mousebender's is not an entirely accurate criticism. There was a significant amount of jazz to be seen and heard (
I refer you to my next post, here), even if the majority of the free-admission concerts were pop (much of it not even jazz-
related).
The friendly volunteer
dans le Kiosque Info-Jazz Bell assured us that this was because the jazz audience only accounts for 1% of music listeners, and that, besides, non-jazz listeners would certainly walk by ongoing jazz concerts, and, seeing the error of their ways, suddenly repent, learn to groove (hint: count 'two' and 'four', not 'one' and 'three'... that's a marching rhythm and might've had something to do with why we were visiting Montreal on the Fourth).
I didn't debate the logic underlying her conclusion; the necessity, for instance, that there be a significant number of jazz concerts,
outside and that they be located more along the main footpaths, in order for this idealized scenario to play itself out. I didn't dispute her assertion because: a) it was clear that she was simply regurgitating her training, b) I was on vacation and trying to relax, and c) she was friendly and pleasant.
In fact nearly everyone we met, with the exception of one waitress, was friendly and pleasant and welcoming of us to his or her hometown. If you've never been to Montreal, go. It's a great place with all the attractions that a world-class city should have and a significant number of outdoorsy options. Everyone bikes or rollerblades or runs, and the city is user-friendly in this regard.
Nonetheless, our
raison d'etre ici was the curiously named
"Festival International de Jazz de Montreal". "Curiously named", as it quickly became clear that jazz would take a back seat to all other music at this festival.
Consider, for instance, that the main event of the entire festival was a concert by Paul Simon, and that the festival coordinators had arranged for an homage to Paul. Consider further that, among those honoring him, only one, Allen Toussaint, is a jazz musician (Elvis Costello will thank me for pretending to forget "North").
Now, I like Paul Simon's music. In fact, the soundcheck reminded me, specifically, of some of his songs that I particularly love: the aforementioned "America"; "American Tune"; "The Boxer"; "Homeward Bound"; "Bridge Over Troubled Water", to name a but a few. These pieces show a songwriter/poet at the top of his form and the albums, "Graceland" and "The Rhythm of the Saints" (controversies notwithstanding) show a musician who operates within the pop genre, but who is willing to stretch; and, furthermore, who has the ability to do so. An artist worthy of homage, to be sure... but at a "jazz" festival?!
Consider, more pointedly, the following chain of events:
The soundcheck to which we were listening and/or being subjected (depending on who had the microphone) ran late and necessitated that the homage, originally scheduled for 8PM be pushed back to 9:30.
Meanwhile, not 1000 feet away at "Club Jazz" (too close to hear anything but the homage), a bona fide jazz concert is scheduled to begin at 10PM. A small, dedicated crowd has gathered to hear
Roberto Occhipinti's quintet. The
"Prochain Spectacle" clock, (downstage right), is readjusted to read 10:30... then 11:00... then 11:30... and, finally, 11:45. We've all been waiting for just shy of two hours. But hey, we're jazz fans. We have the fortitude... the dedication. It'll be worth it. And, besides, we're
used to this sort of thing.
The players stride purposefully onto the stage at 11:45, and jump right into it. Guns-a-blaring, tight, imaginative, they swing very, very hard for all of about three measures, at which point, the stage manager, holding a walkie-talkie in her left hand, waves wildly with her right for them to stop... as she gets permission.
A few moments later, they start again; just as perfectly as before. They finish the first song. A brief address to the crowd, an introduction of the musicians, a quick mention of the CD for sale... and they're off, again. Swinging just as hard as on the first piece, they play the head, members of the band take their solos, and they're coming in for the close.
What happened next was so startling that I literally shook my head vigorously to be sure I hadn't imagined it. With probably 30 seconds to go, the stage manager's chronographically perfect watch struck midnight.
They cut power to the sound system.
As I pointed out in an email to Festival representatives, it would have been bad enough had they been forced to stop after
completing two songs, but to stop them in
mid-measure was to add insult to injury.
In fairness, a spokesperson replied with a very sincere apology, asserting that this is not how they usually work.
Still, I consider it all very telling of the extent to which jazz music and culture are being simultaneously exploited and marginalized; "We'll
call it a "Jazz Festival" (to attract a certain desirable crowd), but we'll
hype the pop music"! If we draw this trend forward in time, I foresee a not-to-distant future in which the word 'jazz' will have very little to do with anything recognizably jazz-like.
It's like selling sugar-water as 'apple juice' for babies. Imagine some kid raised on the stuff who finally gets a hold of a real apple. "No... that's not what an apple's supposed to taste like...".
I don't mean to single out Montreal. In
New Orleans (where they at least kindasorta admit to a certain broadness in the name) they, too, have seen the need to bed-down with pop musicians... including, this year, Jimmy Buffett, Lionel Ritchie, Keith Urban, Dave Matthews, and... *sigh* Paul Simon.
Am I being naive? Has real jazz become so culturally irrelevant that the crowds won't turn out without extraneous enticement? Then how does one explain
Newport or
Litchfield?
Or has something more insidiously cynical manifested itself, and have certain of the festivals become such moneymakers that, in order to
maximize revenue, they've chosen to water-down the product; pandering to the lowest common denominator?
What's next, free toasters to the first thousand attendees in 2007? Or would berets be more appropriate?
