Guilty indifference/The trumpeter who was Caliban
I don't subscribe to the "guilty pleasure" principle in art, as I've often mentioned. Where's all the morality in beat and tone? Of course, the people who make elaborate wink-wink justifications about their fondness for Jennifer Lopez music don't truly believe in guilt, not the beloved old monster of the classic, St. Augustine dimensions. They only want to admit a good-natured sympathy for the apes down at the mall, to participate in a few harmless yahoo pleasures without seeming to cede any of their own comparatively lofty social rank. Malls are without a doubt stuffed with terrible music, but it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone but the most ossified snob that platinum-popular music is not immune to catchy, comely melodies and heart-quickening performances. Music doesn't change in all its basic qualities -- the things that make it "work" -- just because it is aimed at this kind of listener or that kind of climate.
So let's not talk about "guilt," but let's say that something a little like it, some nagging sense of incurable astigmatism, arises from, not pleasure in music, but closer to its opposite: a numbness to a particular beauty, to a music universally lauded by good and smart listeners as beautiful. For example, J.S. Bach, Robert Johnson, and Hank Williams are three men pretty generally regarded as having gotten on to something. It's easy to understand them as pioneers in their field, and it should be easier yet to listen to their music and achieve pure emotional lift-off. But maybe you can't leave the launch pad. And you don't feel quite comfortable -- exactly civilized -- brushing it off with a no-accounting-for-taste remark. And so "guilty indifference" is born. It applies to something you know you are supposed to like, and indeed may "like" perfectly well. But you can't quite reconcile the evidence of your ears to the music's official reputation.
Well, I can report with self-satisfaction that J.S. and Bob and Hank are perfectly secure in this kid's canon. But these last two weeks I've been taking a fresh listen to the 1920s recordings of Louis Armstrong, in a last-ditch effort to avoid the judgment, "This sounds good, but I could live happily without hearing it again." I understand how Armstrong changed the map, and the compositional clarity and gutsiness of his soloing hits me loud and clear. But in honesty, if I were to magically lose what I've learned about the music and it were to hit me out of the blue, I don't think I might point right at the trumpet as the fertile source of genius in the Hot Five. The soloing of Barney Bigard and Johnny Dodds sounds just about as kick-ass to my non-specialist ears. I can't hear much more than high-spirited clowning in the singing, nor can I keep much focus after ten songs straight.
More subtly, there's a loose noisiness in the group playing that puts me off a little. Must be some glitch in my make-up that is attracted to smoothness, cool, and organization. Ellington, Goodman, Crosby, all those guys that admired and absorbed Armstrong's "method," if you want to put it that way, also smoothed it down and brained it up a bit (the last century has done a lot of smoothing and slotting to music, leaving the wobbly pitch and liquid time-feel of pre-industrialized music in a hard place, like a doughy old flop-haired sex goddess). The recordings of the Hot Five sound to 2009 man to have one foot in the shining future and another on the jostling streetcorner. I wish I could know how "Kind of Blue" and "Sketches of Spain" will sound in 2109. For now, for me, they have a direct access, and a happy irrelevance to academic explanation, that Armstrong's recordings can't match.
Mr. Armstrong, I've been taught to understand, was that rare figure who presents a startlingly fleshed-out version of something radically new to the world. (It might be better and not over-churlish to say, something so self-sure in personality, and obscure in its antecedent influences to a mass audience, as to seem radical and new.) His influence over the last hundred years has spread so wide and deep, his innovations so colored our eardrums, that it may take an act of will to imaginatively recreate a now-dimmed freshness: the revenge of time against success. The historians, annotators, critics, and grandees who have filled my CD booklet with fancy phrasework are also doing their part, distilling the old wine of wild inspiration with the stagnant water of hyperbole. "Rosetta stone of jazz" is one writer's estimation, which turns out to be a modest summation alongside "a lyric poet much greater than those now writing," "the Prometheus who stole the molten fire of improvised soloing from the gods and delivered it to the mortals," one of the "prophetic voices of the past which, if we truly listen, might help plot the way into a more humane future." Ralph Waldo Emerson and Walt Whitman are trotted out to have their say. The trumpeter is likened variously to Shakespeare, Caliban, DaVinci, Picasso, Einstein, Freud, Gertrude Stein, and, finally, the sky ("moving the tides and sending down the snow"). Is all of this helping?
It helps me, only because it makes clear that when it comes to certain artists, it won't do just to shrug and say, "Not my kettle of fish." I would hate to be ostracized by anyone who can even drop the name "Gertrude Stein" into a sentence. So few of them, and so many dummies cruising the malls. So I toss this personal shortcoming at you in blog form, and ask, what is your guilty indifference?
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15 comments
I completely understand your indifference to Armstrong, and have a similar feeling. But, after listening to West End Blues, and several other early recordings, I've come to a place where I certainly get him more as an innovator.
My indifference will cause some to blanch, and most to cringe--Kurt Cobain.
It's very hard for me to believe music would've been worse without him. I admit to nothing when asked if I've REALLY LISTENED to his lyrics,and songs.
I have. I hear a lot of whining, bitching, and moaning about how bad life is, and how everyone but me sucks.
All of this from a stone junkie to boot.
Sorry--I guess I just don't get it.
Robbie,
Have you heard Armstrong in more structured settings? With the Fletcher Henderson Orchestra in the 20s or with his own big band (formally led by Luis Russell - father of current singer Catherine Russell)? I like the early thirties big band stuff like "Black and Blue" and "Ding Dong Daddy From Dumas" and "Stardust" more than the Hot Fives and Sevens.
It's bluegrass for me mostly as my guilty indifference.
Bob
Excellent topic, Robbie, and thanks for inviting us to comment.
Would it be incendiary for me to say Bob Dylan? I realize his importance, but don't really enjoy or feel otherwise affected by his work, sadly. Some might expect as much from the likes of me, but oh well, you find what you look for.
Radiohead. The Who. The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black.
At the moment, my gguilty pleasures are John Wayne Sings America, and Jerry Reed sings Jim Croce. That, and uh, vinnie Vincent Invasion(whose song No Substitute i am currently working into a future alt-country classic, with Jon Graboff like slide).
But that's not what you asked. My guilty indifference is post 1995 U2, everything Prince has done since 7, and Hugh Jackman.
This has been a campfire topic before. It's puzzling to me what sticks and what doesn't. Why is it I can listen to Daniel Johnston for hours and can barely get past the first chorus of any Leonard Cohen song? I've tried, oh I have tried. Same with Patti Smith. Lights on, lights off. Reading along with lyrics or listening intently. Background while cooking dinner. Nothing.
Jad Fair and Half Japanese....can listen all day long. Frank Zappa. I just can't listen.
Grateful Dead. Not even a flicker of hope. I've tried, American Beauty and Workingmans' Dead. I wish it worked for me, but doesn't. I semi-enjoyed Garcia's work with Grisman.
I actually enjoy listening to Armstrong's Hot Fives & Hot Sevens stuff. I definitely haven't spent a lot of time with it to the extent I have with Bill Monroe's body of work. I think it's really a matter of where you start in terms of listening. My family itunes as a kid in the late 60's/early 70's was Elvis & Sun stuff, Cash, Buddy Holly, Marty Robbins, Merle. That is my base layer so to speak. No jazz, no classical. I didn't 'get' the Beatles until college in the mid-80's. And that was after and during my punk immersion. I'll bet someone would mention the Beatles here as a guilty indifference.
Those Louis Armstrong liner note quotes reminded me of the back cover of an old Wes Montgomery record: "Each note sounds as if Wes tore it off the instrument and buffed it a bit before hanging it on his never ending melodic line".
As for guilty indifference, for me it changes with time. Sometimes I was at a place in my life where I just wasn't ready for something, then years later it hit me. Or vice-versa. And certain things never did or will.
Elvis Costello. Pink Floyd. Radiohead.
Great post, Robbie!
I never feel guilty for being indifferent or even hostile to music that is held in high regard. It's ridiculous to think that everyone should be moved by every symphony, book or painting enshrined in the hallowed halls of Culture. Whatever Emily Dickinson, Louis Armstrong and Pablo Picasso were talking about, it doesn't relate to my life. I'll take Oasis over the Beatles any day.
Robbie's comments echo a feature that raised quite a bit of ire in the local newspaper(Calgary, Alberta) about the new U2 album being the beginning of the end for the band. So much of music is about time and place. When my older brother bought his first car he could only afford an 8 track and one tape to play on it - Steely Dan Can't Buy A Thrill. Just try driving around your small town listening to one album/CD over and over again. Combine it with the new sense of freedom of your first car and you have music permanently embedded in your consciousness in a positive way. Sure plenty of U2 fans will think their new album is their best, but there will likely be a good portion of their "fans" who think it is truly the beginning of the end. Personally U2 will never mean as much to me as Springsteen. Nothing to do with the music, politics, or anything. Simply Bruce was the voice of my childhood when everything meant the world to me. For my nephew who is 7 years younger thn me, U2 was his Bruce. When I first heard U2 I thought they were good but they didn't give me goosebumps like Thunder Road still does. Even if you have teenage children and do your best to stay up on what they are listening to with an open mind, you will still find yourself saying "I don't get it". And that's probably how it's supposed to be. Being open to listen to any music is a good stance to take and doing so will inevitably help you discover some great music that may not fit in with your "normal" listening taste, but there's nothing wrong with buying the new Willie album because based on past experience, you know it's likely something you'll enjoy.
Mr. Pink
I agree with Jeff!
Having said that, the music I am most indifferent to is "singing". You know, that stuff they do on American Idol. Lots of meaningless notes, vocal tricks, just showin' off without really interpreting the song. The style has always been around, but now it's EVERYWHERE thanks to Mariah, Whitney, Beyonce et al.
The funny part of all this showing off is that it means nothing these days-half of those fancy vocals are pitch-corrected and edited until they might as well just play 'em on a keyboard!
Today at 8:22pm, JL wrote:
"Here's my beef: If you overtly don't subscribe to the concept of 'guilty pleasures,' then why would you be guilty about your indifference either? I'm not guilty about any of my tastes; they yam what they yar."
I think there's a difference here, at least in Robbie's specific example. It's one thing to like some things that are commonly lauded by mall rats but derided by those with oh-so exquisite tastes (such as myself). It's another thing to find yourself failing to understand why something is universally considered to be the absolute godhead of a particular genre by seemingly everyone whose opinions you otherwise respect. I don't know if it's so much guilt as it is a nagging feeling that one is missing something. (I get that from the neverending praise heaped upon Kind of Blue. To me it's a yawner, but there have been multiple books written about it, and everyone and their idiot cousins call it the greatest jazz album ever. Maybe I should give it another shot.)
Robbie is right to feel guilty about not liking early Armstrong.
That stuff kicks ass! (Except when there's singing. I skip that crap.)
Springsteen was a touchstone for me and my friends in our late-70's college years. Now, he doesn't really speak to me. Every record since "Tunnel of Love" sounds like a rehash of chords and emotions. I've never been able to listen to the Dead either. Here's another: am I the only one who doesn't get the greatness of Billie Holiday?
My guilty indifference was The Beatles. I liked American music, and so did The Beatles. But I am happy having my Carl Perkins delivered by a guy named Carl and not by someone with a British accent. Of course, I still heard loads of Beatles music without having their records. It was in every nook and cranny anyway after a time. I like the idea of Buddy Bolden. I can't say I've heard his music, because there are no recordings, but Armstrong supposedly copped his feel and some of his tone, and Jelly Roll was studiously paying attention. I am still awestruck that Bolden had a hit in New Orleans in 1906 with a tune called "The Funky Butt". In 1906! I guess you had to be there.