Another sterling collection of essays by one of our best jazz
critics, drawn from his superb newsletter, Jazzletter. Lees
(Waiting for Dizzy, 1991, etc.) is back with more of the elegant
writing and insightful thought that has made him such a highly
praised music critic. Tying this collection together are some sharp
observations - both by Lees and by the musicians he profiles -
about the ethnic and racial roots of jazz and the ways in which
they reflect the tensions that afflict American society. In the
opening essay, he writes movingly about growing up in Canada as a
young jazz buff and about his encounters with racism both as an
adolescent and as a young journalist. Elsewhere in the book, he
offers profiles of Dave Brubeck, who is part Native American;
musicologist Dominique de Lerma, who discourses on the multiplicity
of cultures that have fed into jazz music; bassist Red Mitchell,
who offers some mordant comments on the decay of American
democracy; singer Ernie Andrews, who talks about the effects of
racism in Los Angeles both in the '40s and today. Finally, in one
of the longest pieces in any of his collections, he takes on the
anti-white bias of many black musicians and writers, and fires a
convincing broadside at the monumental and hollow edifice that is
trumpeter and composer Wynton Marsalis. This last piece is not
calculated to endear him to anyone of a black nationalist bent, nor
will its equally fiery attacks on white racism win him any friends
among neoconservatives. But Lees has long been one of those handful
of social and arts critics who say what needs to be said. Essential
reading for any serious jazz fan or student of American culture.
(Kirkus Reviews)
In candid interviews, jazz players, composers and critics share
their thoughts on how racism has affected their lives. Gene Lees
points out that many jazz musicians have been at least in part
Native Americans, but the Indian contribution has never been
acknowledged. Dave Brubeck, who himself has Indian ancestors,
describes how racism long made it all but impossible for jazz
groups composed of white and black players to book tours. And
Horace Silver recalls listening as a boy to the black Jimme
Lunceford band through the wooden slats of a Connecticut pavilion
to which blacks were not admitted - except as performers.
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