Jazz as a Second Language: Coolness

Jazz in the early '50s was on the eve of its maturity. It had, of course, been through many developments and innovations previously. Swing was its childhood, bebop formed its turbulent adolescence. But now jazz was faced with the task of recognizing itself qua jazz, not as simply another musical genre. Before, there was not much thought as to the direction it should take besides as reactions, either to other genres or to others' perceptions of it. After bebop died down, artists took the opportunity to define jazz as jazz musicians, for jazz musicians. And thus was born coolness.

The one jazz album that can be found in the collections of any music listener regardless of taste is Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. It's gone quadruple platinum, more than any other jazz album by far. It's seen as jazz in its quintessence. But why? What did it do?

Kind of Blue is very complicated from a theory perspective. Understanding all of the innovations that Davis makes in his compositions requires years of playing jazz to recognize. This is only part of why the album has attained legendary status, though. And to the casual listener it's ultimately less interesting.

The first and most famous track on Kind of Blue is “So What,” a beautiful, beautiful song. And a statement. Though bebop had died about a decade before, jazz was still very complex and inaccessible. Musicians focused on difficult harmonies and frenetic melodies as a way of generating interest. To those not in the know, it could be seen as simply musical masturbation. Of course there are bigger reasons for this: black musicians wanted a music that couldn't be co-opted by whites as easy entertainment, musicians were driven by a drive to totally master their craft, the music recreated tonalities that were farther away from 'traditional' Western harmonies. But to Miles Davis, this was all getting musicians separated from the music. “So What” is slow, easy, natural. Harmonies are uncomplicated. Melodies are uncomplicated. Rhythms are uncomplicated. The barriers to musical enjoyment have been removed.

Miles is reminding us that music is music, is mood, is expression. Jazz should be a way for the artist to actualize what's in himself through art, possibly the most noble pursuit. The medium of music allows the listener to connect to that and be moved by the actualization, achieving a different form of actualization for themselves. The secret to this is freedom and improvisation. Kind of Blue was famously recorded all in one or two takes, by musicians who only had access to the music on the day of the recording. The chords are simple enough that they could solo with barely any thought to anything but what they were doing. Each note is an expression of note only that moment in time, but the years of musical experience they brought to the table.

And it works. Listen to the album. Each instrument stays remarkably consistent, because each performer doesn't go beyond their own selves for inspiration. Miles on trumpet is rough around the edges, simple, melodic, never becoming too complicated, trying to make each note fit like a Russian nesting doll with the others. Cannonball Adderley on alto is engaged in his agon with Charlie Parker, frenetic, effusive, building tension and release through impassioned statements.

John Coltrane on tenor is in his “sheets of sound” phase, inundating the listener with ideas and moods that sweep by too fast to be fully encountered, using a Pollock-like bigness to hint at the ideas lying past the music. Bill Evans on piano is subdued, gentle, helping; he knows his role is like caulk filling in empty spaces. (Wynton Kelly plays piano on “Freddie Freeloader,” delivering the bluesy tinge needed to ground the song with its history).

Paul Chambers is deceptive: though he's the bassist and soft by nature, his assertions are bold and his solos aren't afraid to make declarations. And Jimmy Cobb on drums is similarly cunning. His additions are often too small to be noticed, only garnering attention on fourth or fifth listens.

Kind of Blue was a different kind of album. Miles had a thesis: Jazz only needs itself to be itself. Complicated harmonies and forms are only crutches. Sometimes what an artist needs is a freshly-gessoed canvas to paint on and someone to see the final product. Listen to it and try to think about the person behind each instrument. If you can get a grasp of their any kind of humanity on the other end of the speakers, the music has done its job.