Curator’s Note:
As curator of this blog, I am constantly trying to think of and seek out different types of individuals to contribute in addition to the usual (and great!) composers and arrangers. So when I started to brainstorm recently about who has been vital to the development of new works in the idiom, it dawned on me quickly that it’s hard to think of someone more impactful than Rio Sakairi, Artistic Director of The Jazz Gallery in New York City. In addition to the Residency Commissions, which provided opportunities for dozens of composer-performers through the years, their Jazz Composers’ Showcase and various mentoring programs have helped to nurture young and emerging artists. I asked Rio if she wanted to reflect on her role in the creation of so much great music and enabling so many artists, and here’s what she had to say.
J.C. Sanford
MARCH 1, 2023
www.isjac.org
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It was foolish of me to accept JC’s invitation to contribute to the ISJAC’s blog. After all, although I enjoy writing, I’m not a writer by trade and I realized that writing on demand is really hard. I can write what I want to write about but to be asked to write something appropriate for an “International Society” of artists — or perhaps any entity that is not me is way harder than I thought.
So I started by just writing, letting my mind wander. The post I was asked to write will be on a site populated by composers and arrangers who operate within the idiom we call jazz. What does that mean, to operate within a Jazz idiom? What makes Jazz different from classical composition? Is that the rhythm? Perhaps, but I have heard music composed by Jazz artists I like that feels more like classical, in terms of the feel. Is it the harmony? I don’t think so. It’s 2023 and I have heard pretty slick harmonies in Jazz, classical, even in R&B (especially when Jazz musicians are involved). It is not harmony that determines genre. Is Jazz distinguished by the practice of improvisation? Not quite. There are other musical traditions in the world in which improvisation is a big structural element. Jazz is not a mere product of these elements. Then is it the way these elements are intertwined? What are the guiding principles that make the music Jazz and not classical or R&B, or World music? The lines between these genres are blurrier than ever. They bleed into each other especially when Jazz is in the mix by way of approach or participants’ training and inclinations. Jazz has this ability to take on other seemingly unrelated elements (and if a composer is skillful), the music grows, expands, and morphs.
As I write this, the pianist Don Pullen comes to my mind. What he was doing was unmistakably Jazz (but please don’t ask me what makes it so. Lol. For the past 20 years, I’ve been in the middle of trying to figure that out myself. The closest I can get to a definition is a sensation, a feeling, and perhaps an understanding that has developed within me over 30 years of listening to music that was presented to me as Jazz.) and yet it has the elements that were previously foreign to Jazz.
I have heard some interesting (to use a euphemism) attempts at this hybrid thing. I cited Don Pullen but not everyone is as successful as he was. Some come out like a weird new breed of a dog that doesn’t really even look like a dog. I saw some photos of some weirdly mixed creatures where I can see what breed of dog got with what dog, but the end result does not look like a dog. In my 23 years at The Jazz Gallery, I have heard some attempts at fusing elements with Jazz that’s just like that weird non-dog-looking-dog.
Back to this burning question – What is Jazz? What makes a composition Jazz? I have been thinking this question out loud, so to speak, for almost 3 decades that I have been involved with Jazz. This question plagues me now more than ever for many different reasons (Institutionalization of Jazz, for one. Like Jazz is taught in conservatories!!). And when I travel far away from the source (I’m referring to New York City as the source, which I consider the Jazz capital of the world), the music that is presented as Jazz often loses the feel, texture, and aroma that makes it Jazz. In my opinion. I often think to myself on my travels to far away places, “hmmm. People can do whatever they want to do. But please don’t call this Jazz.”
This question of Jazz is something I think of almost everyday. I know that sounds like I’m exaggerating but it’s true. As someone who directs an organization called The Jazz Gallery that has, for decades, been at the forefront of this art form as it spreads into countless new territories and destinations simultaneously, I feel a bit of responsibility to ponder this question. By nurturing many young artists, even some who go on to represent the face of Jazz from the highest institutional perches, I do have quite a bit of influence on the evolution of the art form.
When one feels a bit lost, it is probably a good time to revisit the roots.
Jazz is a Black folk music. African American folk music. It’s a child born of a long and horrific labor. This music comes directly out of the experience of African Americans (which by the way is not monolithic at all, just as any other human experiences lived by any groups). It took me a long time to understand why artists like Miles and Duke as well as Nicholas Payton resist the word Jazz. They understood the word as a tool to rip Black folk music from the creator and to take away the ownership from people who created it and erase the history that fostered it. Jazz is not the first example of this. There have been intentional and persistent attempts to dehumanize Black people and their culture.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that only Black people can play Black folk music; just as anyone can be a student of Japanese traditional music, Indian carnatic music, or Cuban folk music. Similarly, all are welcome to study Jazz. But one has to understand and know where it comes from in order to embody the resilience, humor, beauty, generosity, and ingenuity that brought about this art form. This is what makes the music you play Jazz.
In a 1979 essay in the New York Times, “If Black English Isn’t A Language, Then Tell Me, What is?” James Baldwin explained this point beautifully and sharply. Although he is talking about the role of language in articulating, controlling, and protecting oneself in a hostile and difficult environment, I think the same principle could be applied to Jazz: “A language comes into existence by means of brutal necessity, and the rules of the language are dictated by what the language must convey.” I think that the word “language” can be interchanged with Black Folk Music, a.k.a. Jazz. This music would not have existed had it not been for the fact of slavery and for the unimaginable strength of spirit and creativity and hopefulness that had to be expressed for survival of their humanity.
I think that for those of us who are involved in Jazz and who are outsiders, who didn’t suffer this fate, it is utterly important to recognize that there are areas of this art form we will never really fully understand. It is only by acknowledging this reality that we can tread into the deeper end. This music is sacred. It is spiritual. Many people before me referred to spaces that present Jazz as churches. Because we feel that sacredness and the spirit. As important as the components are, it’s not the pocket, not harmony, nor the structure that makes this music Jazz.
It is to get with what binds the structural elements of this music. To know where you stand in relation to it. It is part of the self-knowledge thing, which is really important for artists anyway. And it’s been my observation that African American artists do this Jazz thing with a knowing that we (“we” mean someone like me who is not an African American) can’t quite get to. I get this because I’m from another place (Japan) where a group of people share a common cultural unspoken bond and understanding. It gives me a distinctly different feeling when I speak in a group of Japanese people. There are cultural shorthands that have been passed down for generations and in our DNA. Anyone who’d visited Japan felt this. This feeling of being an outsider. You can’t really fight that and change the tradition and customs so that you can play and be part of it. No. If you want to participate, you have to respect the rules and be a student. I’d imagine it’s like that approaching Jazz. It’s silly to be jealous of African American artists or try and claim jazz for yourself. They have dearly paid the price, trying to convey their yearning for life.
What makes the music you play/compose Jazz is that understanding. It’s not in trying to emulate but to understand your relationship to it, with the respect to its history and tradition. Find the roots and be nourished by it. Once you do, I think you’ll grow in this music because Black Folk Music a.k.a Jazz is a generous and forgiving host that welcomes everyone just as its creators. I should also add that Louis Armstrong once said, “there are some people that if they don’t know, you can’t tell them.” So there is that. Lol.
But I have witnessed musicians figuring out their relationship to the self and Jazz; making peace with who they are and who they are not and truly forgive yourself for whatever it is or it is not. It involves giving up an illusion and facade and what you are hoping to project. And be real with oneself while setting the course for your visions. It’s like walking on a tightrope. Then they grow. It is remarkable how your deep and truthful self-knowledge can affect your musical manifestation so dramatically. Your acceptance of yourself and your relationship to this music will allow you to really reach an audience in a meaningful manner. Jazz is a serious business (totally fun but real fun is always serious) and you can’t half-heartedly dance with it. It’s not for the faint of heart.
This is the end of my mind wandering, for now, triggered by a request to contribute to the blog. I love this music that gave me my life. I love this music that welcomed me with open arms. I love this music that fosters the community of creative and kind and beautiful people. I have been an observer of its morphing, for better or for worse, for the past three decades at its spearhead. Some days I’m hopeful and some days I’m weary. So I continue to ponder this question and consider how I can be a real ally. I hope you get that the thoughts I wrote here are coming from a place of deep love and care. Thank you for reading.