JAM: August/September 2001 Issue: President's Corner

John Leisenring

Some Thoughts On Craft
I recently told a fellow musician that I enjoyed his new CD. I praised many things, but said that what I liked most of all was his impeccable craftsmanship.

It got me thinking about the relationship of craft and art. I have always been one who appreciated fine craftsmanship in things artistic. I enjoy what I consider to be the perfect placement of paint on paper, the fine lines of a well-finished sculpture, words put together with care and love. Even though a given painting might be considered high art, it bothers me if paint is applied in a sloppy manner, Jackson Pollack notwithstanding.

It is therefore predictable that I am bothered by jazz musicians whose craft I find lacking. I have no patience for people who either don't know or don't acknowledge by their note choices that "Satin Doll" changes from the key of C to the key of D in the third and fourth measures. Sloppy intonation irritates me. Otherwise good singers who insist on scatting when they obviously don't know the changes of the tune, or don't have the skills necessary to navigate the changes successfully, drive me right out of the club.

But wait a minute. By whose standards, as I like to ask my students of jazz and rock history, are musicians (artists) to be judged? And is craft, like so many other artistic elements, an objective term? Isn't it possible that my friend's CD, judged so highly by my ears, might be maligned by another listener? Could it be that intonation and timbre and note choices -- those things that my ear seeks out and judges -- have little to do with other people's judgment of high art?

Miles Davis was often chided for missed notes; "a great musician," people called him, "but not a very good trumpet player." But Miles' ear heard far more than the trumpet was designed to play -- the notes between a major and minor third, for instance -- and by forcing the trumpet to play notes which were not really there, he often cracked them, or missed them altogether. Lousy craft? Quite likely not. Stretching the boundaries of craftsmanship? Sure. And isn't great art, in part, the stretching of boundaries while maintaining at least some attachment to tradition?

Blues singers, as a rule, don't sing. They mumble, they moan, they shout. But they don't sing. Try to write down the melody to, say, Joe Turner's "Shake, Rattle and Roll." Just exactly what pitch is he singing at any given point in time? But this is not to say that blues singers don't produce artistic results. Judging from the emotional outbursts at a John Lee Hooker concert, I'd say some interaction was happening, something that some would call art.

Swing is usually high on anybody's list of things jazz must have. And yet, much of Cecil Taylor's music doesn't swing -- not like Count Basie does anyway -- and Taylor is considered by some to be one of the most notable artists that jazz has produced.

So, appreciation of craft has to be subjective, as are all elements of art. That jazz is high art is a given; no need to belabor that point further. And it will always be that some jazz lovers might opt for the music of Mel Torme over that of Joe Turner, Roswell Rudd over J.J. Johnson, Mobley over Coltrane. It's about what our ears hear and what speaks to our souls.

When I visit the Nelson Art gallery, certain works excite me while others don't. And that's okay. I don't even have to know why. The fact that Carol Comer remains one of the few singers who raises goose bumps on my arms is a result of her connection with my ears, with my soul. You may prefer someone else. That's okay, too.

But if I walk into a club and the house band isn't swinging, or the soloist is missing change after change, or the bass is out of tune and the drummer isn't listening, please don't hassle me if I turn around and walk right back out.

Dr. John Leisenring is the president of the KC Jazz Ambassadors and Professor Emeritus of Music at UMKC.

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© Kansas City Jazz Ambassadors 1996-2001. All rights reserved.






	Search our site:		John Leisenring Some Thoughts On Craft I recently told a fellow musician that I enjoyed his new CD. I praised many things, but said that what I liked most of all was his impeccable craftsmanship. It got me thinking about the relationship of craft and art. I have always been one who appreciated fine craftsmanship in things artistic. I enjoy what I consider to be the perfect placement of paint on paper, the fine lines of a well-finished sculpture, words put together with care and love. Even though a given painting might be considered high art, it bothers me if paint is applied in a sloppy manner, Jackson Pollack notwithstanding. It is therefore predictable that I am bothered by jazz musicians whose craft I find lacking. I have no patience for people who either don't know or don't acknowledge by their note choices that "Satin Doll" changes from the key of C to the key of D in the third and fourth measures. Sloppy intonation irritates me. Otherwise good singers who insist on scatting when they obviously don't know the changes of the tune, or don't have the skills necessary to navigate the changes successfully, drive me right out of the club. But wait a minute. By whose standards, as I like to ask my students of jazz and rock history, are musicians (artists) to be judged? And is craft, like so many other artistic elements, an objective term? Isn't it possible that my friend's CD, judged so highly by my ears, might be maligned by another listener? Could it be that intonation and timbre and note choices -- those things that my ear seeks out and judges -- have little to do with other people's judgment of high art? Miles Davis was often chided for missed notes; "a great musician," people called him, "but not a very good trumpet player." But Miles' ear heard far more than the trumpet was designed to play -- the notes between a major and minor third, for instance -- and by forcing the trumpet to play notes which were not really there, he often cracked them, or missed them altogether. Lousy craft? Quite likely not. Stretching the boundaries of craftsmanship? Sure. And isn't great art, in part, the stretching of boundaries while maintaining at least some attachment to tradition? Blues singers, as a rule, don't sing. They mumble, they moan, they shout. But they don't sing. Try to write down the melody to, say, Joe Turner's "Shake, Rattle and Roll." Just exactly what pitch is he singing at any given point in time? But this is not to say that blues singers don't produce artistic results. Judging from the emotional outbursts at a John Lee Hooker concert, I'd say some interaction was happening, something that some would call art. Swing is usually high on anybody's list of things jazz must have. And yet, much of Cecil Taylor's music doesn't swing -- not like Count Basie does anyway -- and Taylor is considered by some to be one of the most notable artists that jazz has produced. So, appreciation of craft has to be subjective, as are all elements of art. That jazz is high art is a given; no need to belabor that point further. And it will always be that some jazz lovers might opt for the music of Mel Torme over that of Joe Turner, Roswell Rudd over J.J. Johnson, Mobley over Coltrane. It's about what our ears hear and what speaks to our souls. When I visit the Nelson Art gallery, certain works excite me while others don't. And that's okay. I don't even have to know why. The fact that Carol Comer remains one of the few singers who raises goose bumps on my arms is a result of her connection with my ears, with my soul. You may prefer someone else. That's okay, too. But if I walk into a club and the house band isn't swinging, or the soloist is missing change after change, or the bass is out of tune and the drummer isn't listening, please don't hassle me if I turn around and walk right back out. Dr. John Leisenring is the president of the KC Jazz Ambassadors and Professor Emeritus of Music at UMKC. RETURN TO AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 2001 MAIN INDEX © Kansas City Jazz Ambassadors 1996-2001. All rights reserved.