Free Jazz

The main focus of my post-doctoral research addresses the development of new techniques and original notation, specific to the fretless electric guitar: the incorporation of improvised passages within through-written material; the use of an array of effects pedals, loops and Ebow etc.; and the use of the instrument in a variety of contexts. In addition I work with several Iranian traditional/popular music crossover projects and an improvisation based trio in which I utilise the fretless electric guitar. This research and practical experience has enabled the exploration of new timbre possibilities and the development of performance repertoire for fretless electric guitar. Last year I released an international call for solo fretless electric guitar scores, in conjunction with Colchester New Music. This allowed me to work closely with composers in order to develop new repertoire for, and explore the potential of this new and exciting instrument. A live performance and recording(s) of a...

 Examine how my musical identity as Music-maker can be fused with those of contributing improvising musicians, throughout the collaborative process.  Form creative methodologies/strategies to sufficiently accommodate the improvisatory approaches of others around my own work.  Develop appropriate communication methods, including original notational systems; and explore ways in which technology can be harnessed, to help fulfil the above objectives. This research intends to explore the extent to which improvisation may be incorporated into compositions, by means of practical experiment and investigation. The written commentary will accompany a portfolio of audio recordings and scores. Key works demonstrating various approaches and techniques employed will be examined in detail. An appendix disc of supplementary audio recordings and videos will also be provided to show piecedevelopment and the evolution of my music-making practice. My point of origin straddles that of a professional guitarist experienced in an array of improvised music(s), including: rock, jazz, fusion and contemporary improvisation, and that of a composer interested in collaborative projects which take advantage of the eclectic experience and skill sets of the musicians taking part.

The timing of rhythm section instruments in prototypical early period funk and jazz-funk tracks (1967)(1968)(1969)(1970)(1971) was investigated in order to gauge to what extent 'swing' might be a vital rhythmic quality in funk-based grooves. Swing was defined as consecutive note pairings of the same subdivision level with long-short ratios between on-and off-beat equal to or higher than a theoretical threshold of 1.2:1. Sixteenth notes of instruments were measured both in terms of overall swing per measure ('global' mean swing) as well as per sixteenth-note pair ('local' mean swing). In nearly all excerpts analysed (twelve out of thirteen), either global or local swing was found in at least one instrument. Findings suggest that it is not clear-cut use of regular swinging subdivisions that seems to define the general microrhythmic character of classic funk grooves, but rather a subtle juxtaposition of straight and swung sixteenths which is manifested both within the fluctuating local swing patterns of single individual instruments, as well between the interaction of globally swinging and nonswinging instruments of the rhythm section. Utilizing the empirical results from the swing analyses, various ways in which swung sixteenth-note pickups and syncopation gestures may be perceived to interact with virtual referential metric structures as well as counter-rhythmic patterns were explored in light of interpretive and affective rhythmic theories of jazz and funk. viii First and foremost, I would like to thank my supervisor Anne Danielsen for her invaluable guidance her passion for combing scholarship and funk music have been tremendous sources of inspiration. Thanks as well to Hans T. Zeiner-Henriksen for his help and for always encouraging my academic efforts ever since my early days at the University of Oslo, and to Kjetil Klette Bøhler for the many interesting discussions on musicological research. Thanks to Alexander Roinesdal for his superb crash course in statistics, and to Chrisitan Coucheron for making me painfully aware of how much funk grooves do in fact 'swing', despite our differences in definition. Thanks to my dear family members who have always supported both my musical and scientific predilections, no matter which strange turns they took. Last, but definitely not least, thanks to Hedda Lingaas Fossum for her constant moral and emotional support, not to mention her exquisite editorial and proof-reading skills. ix "It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing.

Role-taking, the adoption of solo, accompanying or punctuating roles by a given part or parts may exist in any form of music. In Part 1, I have argued that the structure of free improvised pieces can be articulated in terms of player-functional or material-generative roles taken by ensemble members, and that these roles may, in turn, reflect the interpersonal dynamics of the group. The first four chapters uncover possible roles, and propose a methodology for mapping the structure of improvised pieces. Part 2 is a portfolio of backbone compositions - compositions written for one or two instruments with the intention of adding further parts in collaboration with other musicians. The compositions, including the process of their realisation, make use of the roles uncovered in Part 1, leading to musical structures suggestive of long-term or large-scale human interaction. The technique is expanded to encompass interaction with another art form - film. The final piece in the portfolio demo...

La musicologie française fait appel à la notion de « conduites d’écoute » pour désigner nos manières d’écouter la musique. Cependant, une critique pouvant être faite à l’égard de ces études est qu’elles ne sont majoritairement faites qu’en regard soit de la musique classique européenne, soit des musiques d’avant-garde. La musicologie tient peu compte du fait que personne d’entre nous n’écoute aujourd’hui qu’une seule musique, mais plutôt un vaste éventail de genres : pop, rock, jazz, classique, musique d’avant-garde, musiques issues de cultures très diverses, et ce, souvent même dans une seule journée. Faisons-nous appel à une conduite unique à l’écoute de musiques distinctes ? Quelle(s) conduite(s) utilisons-nous à l’écoute de ce qu’on appelle les « musiques du monde » ?
Cet article propose une façon autre d’envisager l’écoute, non pas de la musique, mais des musiques de notre monde. Nous n’écoutons pas toute musique selon une ou des conduites particulières, mais à partir de traces que toute écoute laisse en mémoire, produisant ainsi ce que je propose de qualifier de « géographie » de l’écoute. À l’écoute d’une musique dont nous ne saisissons pas de mélodies ou de rythmes clairement identifiables, nous décelons au passage des bribes, des impressions ou des fragments musicaux « à l’intérieur » de ces musiques. Ces bribes corroborent (ou non) les traces que nous avons déjà en mémoire d’écoutes antérieures des musiques que nous connaissons. Par cette notion de traces, je propose des réflexions exploratoires sur une façon possible de saisir comment nous pourrions écouter et apprécier les musiques de notre monde.
Mots-clés : conduite d’écoute, écoute, musique, musique du monde, musicologie, ethnomusicologie

Mark Slobin: I've been having a good time talking to alumni from all over the world, and somebody said, well, you also should talk to Americans that work in those countries, you know, not just people from there. So that puts you on the list, of course. So it's great to talk. So, when were you actually at Wesleyan? Alan Feinstein: I was an undergraduate at Wesleyan from '66 to '70, and was in the graduate program from '78 to '80. MS: Oh, so that's over a long stretch…I forgot you were an undergrad. So you saw the program arrive then, you were there. AF: That's true; those were the Bob Brown years. MS: Oh good. So you can talk about that, because it's nice to get some firsthand account. There are not many people left, and there's not much down about this arrival. Higgins is gone, Dick Winslow is still alive at 98. AF: Yes, you know, I asked this student of yours, Maho, I asked her if she knew Dick Winslow and she didn't know the name at all, I thought that was too bad. MS: You are kidding! We've been through that history, she's supposed to know that! I put that in my book. Did you ever see my book? I wrote a little book on Wesleyan called Music at Wesleyan: From Glee Club to Gamelan. It came out in 2010. It's anecdotes and beautiful pictures, and it goes back to the 19 th century origins of music at Wesleyan and the transitions with pictures of everybody. It's kind of a fun little thing I just did for the fun of it. So, they are all supposed to know the history of the program. AF: Well, I was there when, well, I don't know because we need a beginning. Early '60s I suppose. David McAllester. I'm not sure when Bob arrived at Wesleyan. MS: '62, I think. We usually date the program from '63 when he brought Ranga on, as the first artist. So what was it like? How did you get to Wesleyan in the first place? AF: Well, I wasn't a music major, I was in the College of Letters, and I went to France in '68. Those were very exciting years, in the spring of '68 I was in Paris. But the gamelan, as an undergraduate, I guess I was a freshman, I remember a concert at the McConaughy dining hall, that no longer exists. The visiting artist at the time was Prawotosaputro, and Hardjo Susilo was there and Ben Suharto and his sister, and I just saw the most extraordinary thing. It was my first exposure to gamelan. That was what caught me at that time, so I joined the group. MS: Ok, that was in '66 or something, you mean? AF: Right. I think I joined in '67. And when I came back I studied Indian music with Dagar Sahab. As they say, youth is wasted on the young! I forget the incredible people that I studied with. I was incredibly lucky. People of that caliber teaching idiots like me and my cohorts. But yeah, so that's where I started. I never was a music major as an undergraduate. I finished in the COL.

It’s somewhat paradoxical that when writing about Sun Ra, discussing as- pects of his work and life, from music to philosophy, and his role as found- ing figure in Afrofuturism, is made more difficult by the figure of Ra himself. How, or why, is this? It is because in the accounts of his life and work, it is easy to approach and become enamored by Ra as a larger-than-life figure and to stay focused on his idiosyncratic personal traits, more so than the context and times from which he emerged and to which he responded. This is precisely what William Sites’s book Sun Ra’s Chicago does very well: it steps back from engaging with Ra’s performative persona to examine the context in which this performative persona was developed and shaped. As Sites puts it in the introduction, Ra’s “self-presentation as a traveler from a different world can overshadow his creative and often deeply critical en- gagement with this one” (p. 2). By stepping back in this manner, we get a different sense of that critical and creative engagement that leads to emer- gence of Ra the free jazz band leader from outer space.

In 1967, Wilmer Lucas wrote that N. H. Pritchard’s poems “decompose the reader by sight and sound.” This essay follows Lucas’s prompt in several ways. It examines Pritchard’s early poetry in the context of the New York art scene and the Umbra Poets Workshop, outlining his development of the concept of “transrealism” and the subsequent visual reorganization of his work, before focusing on the sonic dimensions of his poetry, and suggesting that his approach ultimately led him toward silence. The conclusion emphasizes Pritchard’s legacy in the work of new generations of experimental musicians and poets and its continuing relevance today.

Author(s): Bowden, Sean Leah | Advisor(s): Schick, Steven | Abstract: Max Roach founded M’Boom as a New York City based musical collective in 1970 with an open-ended idea to explore the full range of sound offered by percussion instruments. Additionally, like many of Roach’s musical projects, the ensemble was also conceived as a social and political project. This dissertation explores the aesthetics, politics and broader theoretical and historical contexts surrounding and leading to the percussion ensemble M’Boom. In 2015 I began compiling source materials on M’Boom, including press releases, record reviews, audio recordings and other documents. I conducted interviews with surviving members of the ensemble including Joe Chambers, Warren Smith, and Eli Fountain. I also helped coordinate the archiving of previously uncirculated M’Boom percussion scores at UC San Diego’s Geisel Library, and led a performance of selected compositions with an 8-piece ensemble. In this dissertation I draw...

Jamal: a research being. Molecular Folk Music, he names his work sometimes. A young composer who studied with Wadada Leo Smith at CalArts, he's assembled several different ensembles as well as duos, trios, and his own solo performances that include saxophones, percussion, and electronics. Nobody's talking to them, the Ancestors are unemployed, Jamal writes on his Facebook. Teaching black music history to undergraduates, he says, "There's so much they don't know about, so much for them to learn." Drawing on African Science and related traditions, Jamal has changed his name, although in practice-gigs, publicity, audiences-identifications shift, float, and toggle. The word Ankh is one element-a cross topped with a loop, the horizontal bar a line of tension and containment, the loop figuring spiral creation, potential infinities, multiversal dimensions. The word Djed is another: the stabilizing pillar, emblem of Osiris and his resurrection, the sarcophagus and the living tree and the love of Isis. From Arabic, Syed is a word that marks a master or a chief. There is the way Jamal stands tall and imposing. There are the ways he takes up, takes on, opens up, space. A nose stud, one very large ring on his finger, a dashiki top, loose slacks, and sturdy, heavy shoes. Often when I'm around Jamal I'm wondering about brooding and moods and I conclude that Jamal is standing somewhere way else and that I am wrong there, too. He grew up in Baltimore, came to the Park Vibe drum circle in Druid Hill as a child when his father brought him along one Sunday. Stories from the Vibe elders depict him eager for music and going straight to the djembes to play. The drummers loved him and laughed sometimes because Jamal had a large head, a big dome and a lot going on in there. For a little boy, much to carry. Big dome-the elders' phrase goes resonating around firmaments, around temples and fountains, around eminences and edifices and stadia. Around sciences and neurosciences, ancient and modern. The ankh joined with the pillar and the Was scepter looks like a pile battery and vibrates together with the third chakra. Such devices also may have illuminated the temples of Egypt. Ten billion neurons in the brain. Malleable neuroplasticity, fresh pathways and transformations. Circuits that are going dark light up elsewhere; stroke victims regain the use of hands and fingers; histories get versioned into other kinds of stories; tales of combinations, of partial connections, of errancies and opacities. Sunday afternoons of djembes and congas doing their ten-thousand beats. Sliding-off, shifting, sometimes reversing their rhythmic layers. The spiral thing where the drummers are all riding or being ridden. Orishas and ancestors, as the elders describe what happens, and an acceleration toward vortex, Aesh leaning over the swell with his silver Armstrong flute he plays lefty, and Baba L'Salaam on the oboe-like Abuzaphone scrolling a reel inscribed with altissimo transductions and doing something with, doing something about and around, planes and levels and doors ajar. Druid Hill might be called the Vibe research park as the old trees shudder their leaves in easy Baltimore breezes, the 911 sirens carry on air like wailing Aeolians, and as the Park Vibe people

Analyses of Cecil Taylor's music are understandably scarce. Very few of his scores exist, and transcriptions are even harder to come by. The music itself is often blindingly fast, unremi ingly dissonant, and rhythmically elusive, further discouraging a empts at comprehension. This article aims to fill this analytical void, demonstrating that Taylor's music is not nearly as intimidating as it at first would seem. Using my own transcriptions of Taylor's music as a guide, I argue that Taylor's music is best understood not as abstract relationships between pitches ("sound structures"), but rather as the formal organization of physical movements ("naked fire gestures"). Such a hypothesis comports with Taylor's own explanation of his music-"I try to imitate on the piano the leaps in space a dancer makes"-and thus demands that questions of physiology and physicality be considered under the umbrella of music theory. Furthermore, this movement-first analytical approach complicates traditional understandings of the autonomous musical "work": while Taylor's music could be understood as distinct, individual performances, it is also worthwhile to consider his overarching musical practice as an analytical object in and of itself. Finally, I trace the sounds and gestures of Taylor's music back to their roots in blues and jazz, reinforcing Taylor's own understanding of his music as a continuation of Black music traditions.

La première Université d'été sur les musiques des jeunes a eu lieu du 7 au juillet dans les locaux de l'Université de Haute-Bretagne (Rennes Il) où l'accueil et l'organisation furent remarquables. Conçue dans le cadre des développements de l'action culturelle dans les universités et des enseignements artistiques, ses organisateurs (J.-M. Lucas, assisté de Pierre Mayol, puis de Norbert Bandier, Gérard Bourgeat, Eliane Daphy, Jean-Rémi Julien et Patrick Mignon) l'ont voulu centrée sur le rock considérant qu'il est le genre musical le plus (ce qui ne signifie pas le seul) pratiqué par les l 'eunes, comme le montrent des chiffres cités plus loin. La passion de quelques-uns, multipliée par 'intérêt de tous et conjuguée à quelques brillantes démonstrations sonores (vidéo, disques, concerts...) ont permis d'accroître la connaissance d'un genre musical fréquemment entendu ou écouté,. mais peu connu dans s~s li~.éaments historiques, so.ciologiques, esthéti9ues .ou écono~iques. Il convient de saluer tout porticulièrement les commentoires chaleureux et érudits de Christophe Brault. D'autres Universités d'été, espérons-le, permettront une approche plus concrète et plus diversifiée des genres musicaux pratiqués par les jeunes (chant choral, pratique instrumentale, etc.). Ce document est donc un premier essai, assez complet tout de même puisqu'il contient des textes de chercheurs, des témoignages de professionnels, des compte-rendus d'expériences pédagogiques et d'ateliers techniques, ainsi que des éléments pourun débat politique et institutionnel. Les textes ont été corrigés par Eliane Daphy et, pour une bonne partie d'entre eux, réécrits par elle, surtout lorsqu'il s'agissait de documents enregistrés, tâche délicate, exigeant patience etcompétence. Le Département des études et de la prospective duministère deJa Culture et de la Communication a accompagné cette Université d'été dès sa conception, contribuant à son élaboration, son organisation, son animation, ainsi qu'à la réalisation de ce document final. Nous remercions aussi la Direction de la musique et de la danse et le ministère de l'Education nationale, pour l'aide importante qu'ils ont accordée à cette expérience.

I would like to express my deep gratitude for the many mentors to whom I have looked up all these years, especially Dr. Brian Shaw, who has served as an amazing mentor and colleague to me during my tenure at LSU. I have learned so much about the trumpet, music, and life from him, and I'm forever in his debt. He went to bat for me coming back to school in many ways, and I feel like he has been personally, as well as professionally, invested in my success. He has opened a world of new music, new relationships, and new outlooks on life. I would also like to thank Dr. Joseph Skillen for serving on my committee, and for being an enormous inspiration in my life. His guidance has influenced me professionally, musically, and personally. Professor Carlos Riazuelo has been a joy to play under and work with as a conducting teacher. He took me on as a conducting student of his after my minor professor departed from LSU, and it has been an honor to work with him. I also owe a deep debt of gratitude to my mentor, Dr. Daniel Schmidt. He is like a father to me, and my feelings about him are akin to the feelings that so many of Denny Schneider's students expressed about their teacher. He created the love of music and the love of the trumpet in me, and I'm forever in his debt. Finally, I'm forever grateful for my family, especially my wife Kristen. She has always been my number one fan, and her love, help, and support have kept me going even during the darkest times. She is more important to me than anything, and the sacrifices that she has made for me to complete my doctorate are testament to the love we share.

Dans la retranscription d'un débat parue dans l'avant-dernier numéro de la première série des Cahiers du jazz (n°18, encarté dans Jazz Magazine n°176, mars 1970), on lit cette intervention d'Yves Buin (p. XXII) : « En 1959, date d'enregistrement de Free [d'Ornette Coleman], quelle est la situation du jazz moderne ? Nous avons deux grands états de stabilité qui sont le quintette de Miles Davis et la formation de John Coltrane. Il y a aussi Charlie Mingus, mais il hésite entre le langage de la petite formation et celui du grand orchestre. Enfin il y a un Monk "éternel". D'un autre côté, nous assistons à la dégénérescence du "soul jazz", à la décrépitude de la "west-coast", sans que rien ne pointe à l'horizon, sauf la musique d'Ornette Coleman. Donc, je prendrai, moi, le concept de liberté dans sa relativité. Vu la déchéance d'un certain jazz, qui n'intéresse plus personne même à cette époque-là, vu le parcours incessant par Miles Davis d'une voie qu'il a depuis longtemps découverte, vu que Monk également est entré déjà dans une phase difficile, encore qu'à l'apogée de sa célébrité, vu que Coltrane, même si c'est dans ce qu'il a de meilleur, reste encore très influencé par le jazz traditionnel, seul Coleman propose autre chose. » Référons-nous maintenant à une liste (non exhaustive et alphabétique) des enregistrements effectués en cette année 1959 1 :

This research study is aimed at examining the compatibility of improvised music and the initial quality of immediacy found in early radio broadcasting. It also provides thoughts on how to engage audiences with music that is difficult to access in the form of a case study, namely the format Frei um Zwei on Austria's Radio Orange 94.0. When I open up the mike every Sunday afternoon, there is no score. What I do is listen-and play with listening. As a musician, I follow music which tickles the ear's subtlety, probes its capacity for connection, and celebrates its great good-humored spontaneity. This is the ground of my weekly improvisation: music that comes out of nowhere but is connected everywhere. But not since Mort Subotnick's Buchla-connected cello have I experienced such a multi-dimensional instrumentality as live radio space. Here, one has the possibility of mixing what is, and what could be, into a new score. One that issues from the music but travels, sometimes quicksilver, sometimes by foot, over time and into adjacent territories that can only be discovered by listening, live.

1956 was a remarkable year for American jazz. The Modern Jazz Quartet 1 released their album Django; Ella Fitzgerald released three albums, including Ella and Louis with Louis Armstrong; and Miles Davis released six-yes, six!-albums including the debut record of the new Miles Davis Quintet, his first recording with John Coltrane. And in the midst of the prolific output of some of the giants of jazz's bop era, Charles Mingus released his 10 th album, Pithecanthropus Erectus, the album that many critics consider to be Mingus's first great album as a composer and not just as a bandleader.

Aujourd’hui, nous allons parler du jazz au Panama ou joué par des Panaméens. Comme nous pouvons le constater dans la sélection sans prétention d’exhaustivité que nous avons faite, la majorité de ses interprètes, même s’ils sont afro-descendants, portent des noms anglo-saxons. Cela ne veut pas dire bien sûr qu’ils ne parlent pas espagnol et ne partagent pas la culture latino-américaine, mais qu’ils étaient probablement bilingues : peut-être faisaient-ils partie de familles des Caraïbes anglophones qui ont émigré au Panama lors de la construction du canal ou plus tard pour travailler dans les entreprises qui en dépendent. Cela signifiait aussi sûrement, bien que ce ne soit pas une garantie, une plus grande intégration lors de leur séjour aux États-Unis. Cela pose cependant un problème : puisqu’ils étaient noirs et anglophones, la plupart du public les aurait considérés comme des Nord-Américains, ignorant leur origine. Tout cela est remarquable chez les musiciens que nous présentons ci-dessous. Mais il faut aussi noter leur fidélité aux thèmes et aux genres musicaux qui ont marqué leur vie dans leur pays d’origine, le Panama.

Frantz Fanon's thought has been key to the understanding of the lived experiences of black colonized subjects in the modern contemporary world including in the discipline of visual art. The modern world is constructed on systems of coloniality that border on the appropriation of African knowledge and indigenous knowledge systems, misrepresentation of their artifacts, and distortion of their languages. Decolonial epistemic perspective is a theory that is instrumental in this article to situate Fanon's thought to foreground a conceptual language of analysis and critique of black lived experiences in contemporary visual art. History of art is one of westernized disciplines in which the language of representing and interpreting African art and black art is absent. The colonial gramma of art history reduces African art to the language of an unknown artist and primitive art which led to the misrepresentation of the African and black narratives. This article deploys Fanon's thought from a decolonial perspective to formulate a decolonial grammar of being that will be applied to the interpretation of African and black art.

High Fidelity's January 1958 issue marked the 10-year anniversary of the long playing record (LP) with a pair of critical takes on the cultural impact of what everybody agreed was a stunningly successful new distribution channel for music. In less than a decade, the world had filled up with new records, enabling an unparalleled abundance of new listening experiences. But, editor Roland Gelatt (1958) noted, as the trickle of recorded repertoire grew into a steady stream and then a raging flood, the careful attention of the consumer was perhaps the first thing to wash away: I am writing this article after having listened on successive evenings to new recordings of La Sonnambula and Der Rosenkavalier, each of them a distinguished recreation. Two decades ago, either of these sets would have constituted the opera issue of an entire season. We would have had months to savor it without competition; indeed, it is very possible that we would have acquired it in installments, act by act, to spread the expense. Today, the two operas are pebbles in an avalanche. (p. 40) Music, he noted, had become much cheaper than previously: a pair of Mozart concerto recordings, which had once cost the equivalent of 10 meals at a decent restaurant, now fit onto an inexpensive, unbreakable LP which could be bought on casual impulse. Naturally, the purchaser valued it less. Gelatt anticipated two generations of sociologists by noting a temptation to "omnivorous listening" in all this abundance; with so much on offer, how was one to choose? The same fear of plenty seems to haunt rock critics today, but it's now data that seems to proliferate without limit; Ian Penman (2017), writing about David Bowie, longs openly for an earlier, more innocent time when, he says, "rock mattered" because it was almost impossible to find out anything about it: In the days when such figures were active you had to be satisfied with an occasional music-press annual, or the lyrics printed in your girlfriend's Jackie, or, if you were really lucky, a title like The Sociology of Riff (no photos or illustrations). Maybe one of the reasons the 1970s were such an incredibly creative time is that we weren't all reading biographies and blogs and tweets about (or even by) our heroes, who in turn weren't thinking about the best way to "grow their brand" exponentially through a social media arc. All that unmediated space waiting to be filled! (p. 21) Against this endless drumbeat of critical dyspepsia and scarcity worship, Ben Ratliff's Every Song Ever stands out for its generous embrace of omnivorous listening as the characteristic mode of sonic creativity in an era of peak musical abundance: "The teenager listens with near boredom and absolute confidence. He is engaging, identifying with the song: he has a sense of dominion over the song and the medium. He can take that song or leave it. There are a million others like it. He's got the power. He is the great listener of now" (p. 4). Ratliff is also a great listener, and the structure of Every Song Ever-after a framing introduction, it presents 20 short chapters devoted to modes of listening that cut across genre and history-is designed to let him show off his skill. As one reads, one comes to anticipate the moment when Ratliff will go walkabout, using his new phenomenological yardstick to erase the distance between closely related musical experiences that contingencies of race, class, gender, time, and space have torn asunder: You realize the power of a short silence when you hear it in a song. You realize it in the middle of Metallica's "All Nightmare Long," in the tiny break before James Hetfield takes a gulp of air to keep singing, or at the end of the

High Fidelity's January 1958 issue marked the 10-year anniversary of the long playing record (LP) with a pair of critical takes on the cultural impact of what everybody agreed was a stunningly successful new distribution channel for music. In less than a decade, the world had filled up with new records, enabling an unparalleled abundance of new listening experiences. But, editor Roland Gelatt (1958) noted, as the trickle of recorded repertoire grew into a steady stream and then a raging flood, the careful attention of the consumer was perhaps the first thing to wash away: I am writing this article after having listened on successive evenings to new recordings of La Sonnambula and Der Rosenkavalier, each of them a distinguished recreation. Two decades ago, either of these sets would have constituted the opera issue of an entire season. We would have had months to savor it without competition; indeed, it is very possible that we would have acquired it in installments, act by act, to spread the expense. Today, the two operas are pebbles in an avalanche. (p. 40) Music, he noted, had become much cheaper than previously: a pair of Mozart concerto recordings, which had once cost the equivalent of 10 meals at a decent restaurant, now fit onto an inexpensive, unbreakable LP which could be bought on casual impulse. Naturally, the purchaser valued it less. Gelatt anticipated two generations of sociologists by noting a temptation to "omnivorous listening" in all this abundance; with so much on offer, how was one to choose? The same fear of plenty seems to haunt rock critics today, but it's now data that seems to proliferate without limit; Ian Penman (2017), writing about David Bowie, longs openly for an earlier, more innocent time when, he says, "rock mattered" because it was almost impossible to find out anything about it: In the days when such figures were active you had to be satisfied with an occasional music-press annual, or the lyrics printed in your girlfriend's Jackie, or, if you were really lucky, a title like The Sociology of Riff (no photos or illustrations). Maybe one of the reasons the 1970s were such an incredibly creative time is that we weren't all reading biographies and blogs and tweets about (or even by) our heroes, who in turn weren't thinking about the best way to "grow their brand" exponentially through a social media arc. All that unmediated space waiting to be filled! (p. 21) Against this endless drumbeat of critical dyspepsia and scarcity worship, Ben Ratliff's Every Song Ever stands out for its generous embrace of omnivorous listening as the characteristic mode of sonic creativity in an era of peak musical abundance: "The teenager listens with near boredom and absolute confidence. He is engaging, identifying with the song: he has a sense of dominion over the song and the medium. He can take that song or leave it. There are a million others like it. He's got the power. He is the great listener of now" (p. 4). Ratliff is also a great listener, and the structure of Every Song Ever-after a framing introduction, it presents 20 short chapters devoted to modes of listening that cut across genre and history-is designed to let him show off his skill. As one reads, one comes to anticipate the moment when Ratliff will go walkabout, using his new phenomenological yardstick to erase the distance between closely related musical experiences that contingencies of race, class, gender, time, and space have torn asunder: You realize the power of a short silence when you hear it in a song. You realize it in the middle of Metallica's "All Nightmare Long," in the tiny break before James Hetfield takes a gulp of air to keep singing, or at the end of the

L'idée de création (suite) Dans le numéro 11 des Cahiers du jazz paru en mai 1997, Didier Levallet faisait paraître un article intitulé "Les dieux sont morts, place aux poètes". J'avais à ce moment rédigé une "réponse" qui n'avait pu paraître dans les numéros suivants. Je la livre donc avec retard aujourd'hui, augmentée d'un petit post-scriptum.

Un trésor caché ? (sur Keith Jarrett) Keith Jarrett compte aujourd'hui parmi les personnages les plus importants de la scène mondiale du jazz. Que ce soit en solo ou avec son trio Standards, il est un des rares musiciens de jazz à pouvoir emplir à travers le monde des salles de grande capacité. On peut d'ailleurs remarquer que plusieurs de ceux qui rencontrent aujourd'hui le plus grand écho public ont fait partie des groupes de Miles Davis entre 1968 et 1973 :

Une si grande douceur (sur Wayne Shorter) Wayne Shorter est né le 25 août 1933 à Newark (New Jersey). Il est donc de la génération qui suit immédiatement celle de Miles Davis et John Coltrane, tous deux nés en 1926. Ces deux noms ne sont pas cités au hasard, puisqu'il s'agit des deux personnalités majeures-avec Art Blakey-grâce à qui et par qui Wayne Shorter va se révéler (on y reviendra). Il joue d'abord avec Horace Silver alors qu'il est encore à l'armée puis, en 1958, avec Nat Phipps et Maynard Ferguson, chez qui il croise Josef Zawinul. En 1959, il entre dans les JAZZ MESSENGERS d'Art Blakey, formation dont il devient rapidement directeur musical. Il y restera jusqu'en 1964, date à laquelle il finit par céder à l'invitation insistante de Miles Davis à entrer dans son orchestre (et donc à quitter celui de Blakey). Il y restera jusqu'en 1970. Mais Wayne Shorter a simultanément débuté sa carrière de leader avec un premier enregistrement sous son nom en 1959. Durant toute la décennie 1960, il mène de front cette activité avec sa condition de sideman, successivement chez Art Blakey et Miles Davis. En cela il représente une sorte de pont entre deux époques du métier de jazzman : l'ancienne où on l'apprend en restant longtemps sideman auprès des aînés, et les plus modernes où on peut s'affirmer d'emblée comme leader (Keith Jarrett en fournit un exemple) 1. Wayne Shorter, on l'a dit, va donc se révéler à l'ombre de trois figures tutélaires : Art Blakey, Miles Davis et John Coltrane. Art Blakey illustre sans conteste la figure du père. Son aîné de quatorze ans, il accueille le novice à sa table et offre sa protection bienveillante en lui confiant même les clés de la maison. À son contact, Shorter s'imprègne d'une tradition du jazz, via le bebop dans une de ses versions évoluées, le hard bop. Dans le même temps, il peut développer ses talents de compositeur, d'arrangeur et en définitive de chef d'orchestre, bien qu'il n'en ait pas toutes les prérogatives. Avec Miles Davis, les choses sont plus complexes. Blakey était heureux de pouvoir, en confiance, se reposer sur sa recrue pour assurer la partie compositionnelle et d'arrangement qui ne l'intéressait pas particulièrement, pour insuffler l'esprit et se garder la part rythmique du lion. Mais il n'y a pas de questionnement sur un idiome fermement établi (fût-ce de manière récente) comme repère. Blakey fixe les cadres, ceux du hard bop alors en pleine vitalité, et les jeunes n'ont qu'à le remplir, à leur guise tant qu'ils ne font pas la révolution. Chez Miles Davis en 1964, il en va tout autrement. Le trompettiste est dans une période de transition, voire de crise, esthétique. Lui aussi s'est 1 On remarquera un parallèle intéressant avec le cinéma, y compris dans les dates. Cette année 1959 où Shorter entre chez Art Blakey et enreigstre son premier album en leader est également celle de l'éclosion de la Nouvelle Vague dans le cinéma français. Les tenants de celle-ci (Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut, Éric Rohmer, Claude Chabrol, Jacques Rivette), accompagnaient leur critique de ce qu'on appelait alors la "Qualité française" (Marcel Carné, Claude Autant-Lara, René Clément…) de l'affirmation qu'il était possible de passer tout de suite à la mise en scène en s'épargnant les longues années d'apprentissage comme assistant.

A historiografia da música contemporânea do Século XX costuma distinguir entre dois campos que cultivavam visões distintas a respeito da liberdade do performer dentro de um projeto composicional: uma vanguarda de orientação europeia e uma música experimental de linhagem estadunidense. Entretanto essa narrativa esconde semelhanças básicas de atitude entre as duas vertentes e invisibiliza uma terceira alternativa que se desenvolveu contemporaneamente em torno do conceito de improvisação. O campo da improvisação livre proporcionou uma reconsideração de temas como autoria, autonomia do performer e oferece um entendimento mais completo do modernismo musical a partir da década de 1960.

Book Reviews music with a "wished-for relationship to Jewish tradition" and his view that the period under discussion was the pinnacle of RJC creativity (209). Barzel presents the RJC moment through the music and perspectives of its musicians, but a richer account would also have included how the music was re ceived by critics and audiences. The reader is left wondering whether a community arose in conjunction with the music and whether the RJC moment had any tangible cultural or religious impact. These criticisms aside, New York Noise fills an impor tant void in the study of contemporary Jewish music and provides an array of in sights into a unique efflorescence of Jewish culture that is sure to stimulate fans and scholars alike.

High Fidelity's January 1958 issue marked the 10-year anniversary of the long playing record (LP) with a pair of critical takes on the cultural impact of what everybody agreed was a stunningly successful new distribution channel for music. In less than a decade, the world had filled up with new records, enabling an unparalleled abundance of new listening experiences. But, editor Roland Gelatt (1958) noted, as the trickle of recorded repertoire grew into a steady stream and then a raging flood, the careful attention of the consumer was perhaps the first thing to wash away: I am writing this article after having listened on successive evenings to new recordings of La Sonnambula and Der Rosenkavalier, each of them a distinguished recreation. Two decades ago, either of these sets would have constituted the opera issue of an entire season. We would have had months to savor it without competition; indeed, it is very possible that we would have acquired it in installments, act by act, to spread the expense. Today, the two operas are pebbles in an avalanche. (p. 40) Music, he noted, had become much cheaper than previously: a pair of Mozart concerto recordings, which had once cost the equivalent of 10 meals at a decent restaurant, now fit onto an inexpensive, unbreakable LP which could be bought on casual impulse. Naturally, the purchaser valued it less. Gelatt anticipated two generations of sociologists by noting a temptation to "omnivorous listening" in all this abundance; with so much on offer, how was one to choose? The same fear of plenty seems to haunt rock critics today, but it's now data that seems to proliferate without limit; Ian Penman (2017), writing about David Bowie, longs openly for an earlier, more innocent time when, he says, "rock mattered" because it was almost impossible to find out anything about it: In the days when such figures were active you had to be satisfied with an occasional music-press annual, or the lyrics printed in your girlfriend's Jackie, or, if you were really lucky, a title like The Sociology of Riff (no photos or illustrations). Maybe one of the reasons the 1970s were such an incredibly creative time is that we weren't all reading biographies and blogs and tweets about (or even by) our heroes, who in turn weren't thinking about the best way to "grow their brand" exponentially through a social media arc. All that unmediated space waiting to be filled! (p. 21) Against this endless drumbeat of critical dyspepsia and scarcity worship, Ben Ratliff's Every Song Ever stands out for its generous embrace of omnivorous listening as the characteristic mode of sonic creativity in an era of peak musical abundance: "The teenager listens with near boredom and absolute confidence. He is engaging, identifying with the song: he has a sense of dominion over the song and the medium. He can take that song or leave it. There are a million others like it. He's got the power. He is the great listener of now" (p. 4). Ratliff is also a great listener, and the structure of Every Song Ever-after a framing introduction, it presents 20 short chapters devoted to modes of listening that cut across genre and history-is designed to let him show off his skill. As one reads, one comes to anticipate the moment when Ratliff will go walkabout, using his new phenomenological yardstick to erase the distance between closely related musical experiences that contingencies of race, class, gender, time, and space have torn asunder: You realize the power of a short silence when you hear it in a song. You realize it in the middle of Metallica's "All Nightmare Long," in the tiny break before James Hetfield takes a gulp of air to keep singing, or at the end of the

Professor Lewis has provided continued support and guided me intellectually throughout this journey. Professor Hisama offered thought-provoking comments and help in any way she could. I am very grateful for Professor Szwed's generous spirit that shaped this thesis from the very beginning. Professor Berghahn was instrumental in helping me to conceptualize my dissertation and make larger connections between political and music histories. I am indebted to Professor Beckerman who aided me in thinking more deeply about the connections between historical trauma and music. All of them went out of their way to provide professional advice, support, and encouragement whenever I needed it.

Classification of 'Musical Gesture' 1 Gesture-Class in Franco Donatoni's Omar 5 Gestural Flow in Cecil Taylor's Indent 10 Ties between physical and musical gesture with the 'Augmented Violin' in Mari Kimura's Clone Barcarolle 16 Conclusion 20 Works Cited (and Further Research) 21 iii I would also like to extend my gratitude towards professors Michael Dessen and Kojiro Umezaki for their continual academic, technical, and artistic guidance throughout my time at UC, Irvine. In addition, I wish to thank Professor Lukas Ligeti for his work with me on my compositions during his first quarter teaching at UC, Irvine.

The emergence of free jazz music in the 1960s presented a significant challenge to the jazz canon. Free improvisers such as Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, Eric Dolphy, Archie Shepp, and Sun Ra pushed the boundaries of jazz. For these performers, bebop, hard bop, modal, and other jazz innovations of the 1940s and 1950s were too restrictive. They abandoned fixed chord changes and tempos. For some listeners, it sounded innovative and exciting; others found the music chaotic and threatening.

This paper examines the past in music metaphorized as the ''spirit within you'' in the jazz composition and performance of Cape Town-born, New York-based jazz singer, Sathima Bea Benjamin. This ''spirit within you'' encompasses a particular approach to jazz that invokes both a personal past and collective memory of bygone eras of popular music and jazz performance that are freshly conceived by a woman living in the new African diaspora. The ''spirit'' contained in, and then emerging from, the body suggests that the past in music is relevant for the present, invoking the idea of living history, a usable past that continues into the present through reiteration in contemporary jazz performance. This view is contrasted with the idea of the past conceptualized in the older African diaspora as ''cultural memory'' and the past in jazz as contained on the recorded object, and the conventional ways in which jazz history has been narrated. With these contrasts in mind, I compare jazz performance as a particular kind of lived experience, or ''walking in the city'' (de Certeau), with jazz historiography, considered as a panoptical view of the city/jazz from above. I argue that representations of the past in jazz might benefit from greater dialogue between these two perspectives by introducing the notion of a usable past or living history Á/ a way of thinking about jazz performance that characterizes a new African diasporic sensibility in jazz performance.

For me this conscious kind of South Africanism came in exile. It was caused by homesickness and a certain disenchantment with [Europe which] from South Africa had seemed a magic and distant world-we realized we had our own movement and began insisting on our roots. 1 The past two decades have given birth to a growing literature on newly constituted forms of African diasporic movements and cultural practices generated out of colonial and postcolonial experiences of displacement and suffering for people of African descent in the last century. Gilroy's notion of the Black Atlantic created a foundation in music studies, 2 with his discussion of twentieth century forms of black music making in Britain. Ingrid Monson's edited volume 3 expanded the geographical scope of Gilroy's project into music located at the edges of the Atlantic Ocean, and her later work extends the perception of ties between jazz, Africa, and African-Americans. 4 Von Eschen's writing on the African diaspora 5 and the US State Department ambassadorial tours of jazz and gospel musicians 6 continues that work into the uses to which imagined ties between old (African-American) and new (contemporary African) diasporic moments of unity coalesced in performance. Both Okpewho and Nzegwu and Hine and Keaton have addressed the new African diaspora generally, though neither specifically focuses on the Southern African diaspora, or much on music itself. 7 In this article, I explore the emergence of a South African diasporic movement and consciousness that developed in the late 1950s with the growing repressiveness

A tese é formada por vários materiais avulsos. Disponível em: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/0/folders/1VlSgj6kKmqNahm55CGgcLJi0aklP9A97

Resumo: A pesquisa analisa movimentações e núcleos que teriam favorecido a emergência das práticas musicais que vieram a ser conhecidas como improvisação livre. Estuda-se aqui múltiplas práticas que teriam operado encontros entre experimentação sonora (a significativa expansão do que se entende por som musical) e fluxo indefinido (a recusa ou subtração dos roteiros e predeterminações acerca do desdobramento da música). Indaga-se, contudo, qual o alcance destas liberações uma vez que, de certa forma, elas se restringem à música enquanto mera
abstração sonora. Assim, a prática-conceito improvisação livre se caracterizaria por, apesar de liberar sons e fluxos, manter intactos alguns preceitos que acompanham o fazer musical majoritário do ambiente de concerto ocidental (realizando poucas experimentações envolvendo o corpo de quem performa, a relação artista-público, a relação com o espaço e os rituais de fruição). Com isso, procura-se distinguir práticas de improvisação que operam liberações na música abstração daquelas que radicalizam e experimentam expandir o fazer musical, num sentido mais amplo. O trabalho é apresentado num formato experimental, um fichário que reúne 7 zines (espécies de revistas não-comerciais, impressas com recursos de baixo custo e que
circulam, sem direitos autorais, via fotocópia). As zines são agrupadas, no fichário, em 3 seções, oferecendo múltiplos percursos de leitura, parcialmente lineares. 4 das zines expõem análises mais adensadas em torno de núcleos de práticas musicais, relacionando-se a localidades (de diferentes amplitudes) e períodos (anos), conforme os seguintes subtítulos: brasil décadas de 1960 e 1970, califórnia 1957-65, londres 1964-72, roma 1964-70. A zine com função mais conclusiva procura recobrir também outras práticas assemelhadas à improvisação livre, comentando em linhas gerais as primeiras décadas do século XX e discutindo mais intensamente as décadas de 1950 e 1960, com foco em localidades diversas dos EUA e Europa. Cada uma das
zines foi redigida ainda com o intuito de ser lida e difundida separadamente. São tomados conceitos musicais e perspectivas analíticas em música de artistas-pesquisadores como Edgar Varése, George Lewis, John Cage, Rogério Costa, Silvio Ferraz e Tatiana Catanzaro. O trabalho parte também de uma perspectiva anarquista, isto é, interessada em anarquizar relações, no caso, ligadas tanto ao fazer musical quanto às experiências que o circundam. Propõe-se aqui que a realização de experimentações coletivas em público seria uma das radicalizações operadas pela improvisação livre, em relação a outras práticas musicais. A dissolução do que se entende por público e privado, em múltiplos sentidos, norteia boa parte das discussões do trabalho, depreendendo inquietações de Edson Passetti, Michel Foucault e Max Stirner. Preza-se assim pela experimentação de liberdades no presente, atentando-se aos atravessamentos entre lutas e prazeres. São analisadas e comentadas, em variados adensamentos, práticas e propostas de artistas e grupos diversos/as, tais quais: Art Ensemble Chicago, AMM, Cornelius Cardew, Edgar Varése, Hermeto Pascoal, Jocy de Oliveira, Jorge Antunes, Marcel Duchamp, Musica Elettronica Viva, Música Nova, Naná Vasconcelos, Pauline Oliveros, Walter Smetak, entre outros. A pesquisa tem como materiais ilustrativos playlists virtuais e diagramas que operam como linhas do
tempo.