KEN BURNS' "JAZZ"...
A Look at the Bright Side

by Floyd Levin

Never before has there been such expansive multi-media promotional activity as accorded the ambitious television presentation, "Jazz." Elaborate advanced notices appeared in every publication from People to the AARP Bulletin. "Jazz," directed by Ken Burns and co-produced by Burns and Lynn Novick, attracted record-breaking audiences during its PBS broadcasts through the month of January.

I was not among the many pundits who received advanced copies of the programs, but I did read several of their trenchant comments before the epic ten episodes aired. Before the series was even half over, the San Francisco Traditional Jazz Foundation's web site featured a "Burns Center," a bibliographic listing of the enormous coverage, primarily critical, which had appeared thus far.

Most of the reviews, written by critics engrossed in the post-bop era, expressed resentment with the emphasis on earlier periods of jazz. They mistakenly assessed Burns' probing exploration of the music's rich history as "hiding in the past."

To their further disdain, the last decades of jazz history are condensed into the final one hour and 48 minute episode. (I suspect that most true fanciers of Classic Jazz would view this as a proper panoramic perspective!) The January issue of Atlantic Monthly contained a lengthy and scathing review, "Good Television, But Sketchy History," by Francis Davis, biographer of John Coltrane. Davis decried the omission of Sun Ra and Keith Jarrett.

Ken Burns, anticipating the critics' response, said, "We have chosen to focus on the first 75 years, 1900 to 1975, and not the last 25, where the stories are on-going, and the arguments about who's good and who isn't have not yet been resolved."

Even diehard fans of traditional jazz cast their sharp barbs, usually at Wynton Marsalis, admonished as a late arrival on the traditional jazz scene. They dismiss the entire effort with a yawn, and consider the series as merely a primer for the general public -- "Too much time is wasted on the greats we all have recognized for years!"

Although I expected some disturbing moments during the series, I think the many plus factors greatly overshadow the programs' negative features. True, after reviewing over 100,000 musical segments (reduced to about 500) and editing one thousand hours of material down to less than 20, a few details did manage to fall through the cracks.

Unfortunately, Nat King Cole, Woody Herman, Mildred Bailey and Muggsy Spanier were noticeably overlooked. Benny Carter was only mentioned briefly. And the revival period launched on the West Coast during the early '50s deserved broader coverage.

These were serious omissions, and there were additional minor flaws, including some incorrect pronunciations. But, warts and all, Burns and his collaborators dished up a very tasty musical feast.

The blend of two thousand rare archival film clips, with 2400 photographs, 75 interviews, and several evocative quotes, was skillfully edited to create an intriguing encyclopedic documentary.
In the earlier episodes, informative tributes were paid to such seminal giants as James Reese Europe, Jelly Roll Morton, Freddie Keppard, King Oliver, the Original Dixieland Jazz Band, the New Orleans Rhythm Kings, Sidney Bechet, James P. Johnson, Fletcher Henderson, Bessie Smith, and scores of others.

Until viewing "Jazz," several generations had thought of Louis Armstrong merely as an entertainer noted for his vocalizing on "Hello, Dolly" in the film version of the Broadway hit, and his soulful recording of "What a Wonderful World." These inaccurate images were emphatically corrected with extensive footage, praise, and sincere acknowledgment in the first three programs and sustained by frequent references throughout the entire series.

In an interview with Charlie Rose, Ken Burns lovingly equated Louis Armstrong with Picasso, Einstein and the Wright Brothers. And Burns' impassioned comments published in USA Weekend included: "Armstrong is not only the most important person in the history of jazz, he is the most important person in American music in the 20th century! He re-arranged the molecules of the universe."

During most of the ten episodes, Burns underscores Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington as the "true architects of jazz." There is sufficient material to fill individual documentaries on each of these heroes. The extended contribution by Ellington, referred to as "the American Bach," is carefully documented from his rise to prominence in the '30s that launched jazz's transition from novelty dance music to a national treasure.

While exploring the dramatic saga in all its mutations, the programs trace the music from early candle-lit minstrel shows to the world's prestigious concert halls. The seventh installment illuminates the Swing Era and Bop's evolution with vignettes about Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Chick Webb, Count Basie, Jimmie Lunceford, Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald juxtaposed with comprehensive features on Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and Thelonious Monk.

The last segment spotlighted Dexter Gordon, Charles Mingus, Cecil Taylor, Stan Getz, and again, Louis Armstrong. It appropriately concluded with Duke Ellington's theme song, "Take the A Train," brightly updated by the Lincoln Center Orchestra led by Wynton Marsalis. They effectively relayed the jazz torch from past generations to the present with an anticipatory glance toward the future.

We should not underestimate the articulate spokesmen who wove their personal views into the story. They included: Gary Giddens, Dan Morgenstern, Gerald Early, Stanley Crouch, Milt Hinton, Ossie Davis, James Lincoln Collier, Bruce Boyd Raeburn, Wynton Marsalis, and especially Albert Murray.

Actor Keith David's deft narration and Geoffrey C. Ward's profound script provided added depth and perception to a subject never before treated with such finesse. Ward's coffee table book, Jazz: A History of America's Music (Alfred Knopf), is an attractive companion piece to the TV series. CD sets and video cassettes are also available.

The series' veritable merit was warmly revealed to me during a phone conversation with a colleague. The caller was in his early seventies, a man of letters, and an erudite member of the National Writers Association. His poetry and prose have been published extensively.

He had not previously been exposed to this music, and the purpose of his call was to tell me that the segment about Bix Beiderbecke (he even mispronounced the name!) brought tears to his eyes. My friend spoke emotionally about the young cornetist's warm tone, his flowing phrases, and the torrid sound he added to the ensembles.

Until the third episode of "Jazz," this man had never before listened to the beautiful tonality of Bix's horn. And he was deeply touched by both the music and the details of a tragic life. I realized this was the first time I'd ever spoken to someone who had just heard Bix for the first time, and I too was moved by the conversation. It reminded me of when I initially played a Beiderbecke recording half a century ago, and the identical emotions it evoked.

The equally stirring depiction of Charlie Parker's meteoric assent to fame and influence is graphically contrasted with a calamitous involvement with drugs and his death in 1955 when he was only 34 years old. This grim tale closely parallels the moving demise of Bix Beiderbecke in 1931.

If my friend's newfound awareness of Bix, and if similar responses to the tragic Parker story also drew other strangers to jazz, then the three million dollar budget and the six years Ken Burns and his associates spent shaping this documentary were very worthwhile.

"Jazz" has aroused the public's fascination of and appreciation for a music that for decades has occupied a cult-like stature -- all despite the disparaging words permeating the press, the internet, and radio talk shows... even before the first episode aired.

It was a fulfilling experience to most seasoned jazzophiles, and a revealing introduction to those who had never explored the genre. Hundreds of faces and places filling the TV screen during those ten nights brought the jazz story to an exceptionally large audience -- probably the largest it has ever attracted.

I wonder how many viewers, who previously were unaware of the drama behind the music, have now developed a passion for the sounds they heard? Will sales of jazz CDs and books increase? Will the membership lists of jazz societies grow? How many young players, influenced by the revered figures so vividly depicted, might be inspired to pursue musical careers and help fuel jazz's journey securely into its second century?

These are the plus factors by which we should judge Ken Burns' "Jazz."



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