Official Website of Jazz Trumpeter

Since 1992 Mike has been a published writer and music journalist in the Kansas City area. From time to time this page will feature selected excerpts and articles, old and new.

It's in the Eye, and Ear, of the Beholder
Or: Some Thoughts on Aggravation, July 2007

When the film "United 93" was released in 2006, I wrote a letter to the editor of The Kansas City Star venting about how inappropriate it was to make a megaplex popcorn movie about 9/11. It seemed like a sure bet to find fault with the way such unprecedented real-life horror was being marketed much like other known entertainment vehicles produced in the wake of historic tragedy.

But, when "How dare you?" was the published reply from one angry reader, it occurred to me that, no matter how clearly one makes a case against aggravation -- which, yes, is in the eye and ear of the beholder -- there will always be those who run to aggravation's defense. For example:

Many of today's pro jocks enjoy outrageous riches for mediocre performances.

"How dare you?"

Who CARES about Paris Hilton's irrelevant antics? (With the exception of one outstanding home video, of course.)

"How dare you?"

Jerry Springer and his sordid ilk glorify aggravation in cavalcade form. And your friends are watching!

"How dare you?"

Smooth Jazz is to the music what Pablum is to Heineken.

"How dare you?"

Iraq sure is starting to feel a lot like Vietnam.

"How dare you?"

From Cronkite to Couric, Carson to Conan, JFK to George Dubya... Am I sensing a trend?

"No, you're 'misunderestimating' the 'analyzation.'"

It's too bleeping early for Election 2008.

"Bring on the negative ads!"

If you talk loud on your cell phone right next to me in line at the grocery store or post office, you should be arrested, tried, and executed. On the spot.

"Execute THIS, Mr. Know-it-all."

Would you hoot, holler, and have disruptive conversations at the symphony? Then why do you show that kind of disrespect for the musicians in certain Kansas City jazz clubs?

"Hey, can you guys play Happy Birthday?"

And there's the dreaded format of "happy talk TV news" with its forced guffaws and elbow-in-the-ribs repartee once unheard of in the traditionally dignified profession of broadcast journalism.

"Don't you dare criticize my favorite newsbunny."

But, it was the creators of "United 93" who dared to docudrama something that should remain forever sacred, off limits, and never mimicked on a movie set with reenactors playing pretend.

And if that argument doesn't hold up, then think of how "United 93" was showing in the same strip malls last year as "Larry, the Cable Guy."

How dare I? How dare the enablers who make these aggravations possible in the first place.

Cadenza

In recent years it has been my good fortune to get to know (and even perform with) the great trumpeter Marvin Stamm. Marvin has an excellent website (http://www.marvinstamm.com) and earlier this year he asked me to be a guest contributor to his online newsletter, "Cadenzas." If anything the resulting essay is one boomer's account of how The Future has arrived. -- mm

"When I Was Your Age..."

At a recent clinic-workshop with a high school jazz band, I heard myself speak the following words: "When I was your age..."

It was a first. And it was followed by a slow-motion out-of-body moment. Not only had I officially become my parents, but there was the sheer amount of time that had passed -- 40 years -- since I really was their age. (And yes, it does go by fast.)

The context that day involved the venerable axiom, "a picture is worth a thousand words." It's important to have good teachers, I was heard to say, but another integral part of the learning process is listening to the jazz masters, both on recording and, if possible, live. And so...

"When I was your age, you could actually hear, in person, living big band greats like Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Woody Herman, Stan Kenton and Buddy Rich. Many of the small group legends were still alive and active, too. Miles, Chet, Cannonball, Paul Desmond, Bill Evans, Art Blakey..."

But as I spoke I realized that many of these kids -- talented and eager as they might have been -- were born in the early 1990s. And unless they had a hip band director (or parents, or peers), they might be playing "big band jazz" in school, but the playlist on their iPods was a different story.

"How many of you have listened to the music of Charlie Parker or John Coltrane?" I asked, continuing to press my luck. And there was an encouraging scatter of hands. But with "How about Kenny G?" the response doubled, as did my need for another cup of coffee. (It was too early for a pitcher of beer.) True, I should have known better than to even go there.

There is also the matter of opportunity, now mostly extinct, for today's new jazz musicians to eventually perform with a mentoring icon like Buddy or Blakey. It doesn't seem like that long ago when a precocious youngster could pursue his or her dreams at Berklee or North Texas, then aspire to move on to the road with a name band (case in point: the esteemed host of this website, who joined Kenton right out of college). Today's pipelines can lead to a cruise ship, a teaching gig, a "ghost band," or Branson. But, that's another lament for another time.

"Always play (or teach) to the one person in the room who gets it," my outstanding high school band director Keith House used to remind us (yes, 40 years ago). And at most of my clinic sessions over the years I've usually been able to find that one knowing set of eyes. But there still can be that feeling of exercising futility when dropping the names of yesterday's idols to today's vacant stares. Add to it a culture that thinks of Mr. G as a jazz musician, not to mention all the other warning signs of a society in decline (there I go again, sounding like my parents), and promoting a sublime art form like jazz can be analogous to (quoting a witty Kansas City friend) "pissing into the wind for distance."

Yet, in the name of keeping this great music alive, we forge on, do our best to pass the torch, and hope the wind is to our backs.

After all, the legends you and I grew up admiring were once school kids, too. And all it took was the right role model -- or recording, or live performance -- to light the fire and launch a life-long journey. Of course, then comes the ongoing conundrum of finding a large enough audience to support the trip. But that too is another cup of coffee. Or pitcher of beer.