From jazz to jazz in education: an

investigation of tensions between

player and educator definitions of
jazz

by

Charles W. Beale

Thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

At the University of London, Institute of Education,
In April 2001.

Volume 1: Text and Bibliography

I

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(LOw)
 Abstract
This study investigates tensions between definitions of jazz found in two
overlapping but distinct contexts: 'real world' and 'education'. Definitions are
seen as ways in which characteristic musical features and social practices are
identified and thus named and evaluated as jazz. The literature review establishes
the context of the research problem and introduces the main theoretical strands.
Data take two forms: transcripts of lengthy semi-structured interviews with six
musicians, all UK jazz players and educators; and jazz literature from academic
and non-academic sources.

Significant tensions were found in a number of areas. In education, bebop was

more central to jazz, while fusion was less prominent. Processes of canonisation,
simplification and decontextualisation were also identified. A range of definitions
of ethnic identity was found and tensions between them were strong. In education,
however, ethnicity was less explicit. The journey of growth towards self-
knowledge was a consistent feature of both contexts, but in education learners
were also required to recreate core repertoire. Interaction in real world music-
making was central to the social practices of the style, but aspects of this
interaction were modified in education. Mentor and facilitator roles predominated,
and a subsequent reluctance to intervene in musical and educational interactions
was noted. Defmitions conventional to the musicological traditions of classical
music were dominant, and were particularly significant in education. It is
suggested that tensions found are caused by two factors occurring within
education. These are a need to restructure jazz as educational knowledge, and the
distinctive nature of the role of the educator in jazz.

The thesis exposes the need for a reconsideration of definitions of jazz in

education so that features and social practices found to be characteristic of jazz in
the 'real world' are also reflected in educational contexts.

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 Acknowledgements

Heartfelt thanks are due to Keith Swanwick and Lucy Green, who between them
supervised this study: firstly to Keith, who nurtured the project through its long
and unfocussed early stages with great wisdom; and then to Lucy, whose clarity
of thinking and high standards were invaluable as the text unfolded and was
subsequently refined.

Thanks too to the many fellow students, colleagues and friends, with whom ideas
have been tossed around and both milestones and anxieties shared. You're too
many to mention by name, but Matt Kelly's commitment was above and
beyond..., and Kevin Jackson and Mike Welsh both responded to endless requests
for support of various kinds with creativity, tea, sympathy, personal commitment,
alcohol and, above all, patience and understanding.

I have also to thank the interviewees themselves, who bared their souls willingly
and put in a great deal of time in the cause of the project. I hope it was worth it.

A number of institutions and related individuals also deserve a special mention:

Rutgers University, Institute of Jazz Studies, and in particular Vincent Pelote, Dan
Morgenstern and Lewis Porter, for their practical help, use of their unrivalled
facility and the time they spent just talking; Brunel University for providing
funding in the early stages; and Anglia Polytechnic University and Bob Reeve for
getting me interested in the first place.

Thanks to Philip Mundey, Nigel Scaile, Michelle James and others at the
Associated Board for their understanding in leaving me alone at various times in
the closing months, and giving me the time to complete the task when there were
many more pressing and practical jobs to do.

And finally thanks to Yuwrajh, for everything.

Charlie March 2001.

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 Contents

Chapter I Introduction 8

Starting point 8

Definitions 9
'Real world jazz' and 'jazz in education'; 'teaching and 10
learning in jazz'; players and educators; academics;
Data and theory; literature and interviews; the aims and 12
contribution of the study

The thesis structure 15

Chapter II Literature Review 17

The emerging academic 'voice' and the jazz canon 19

Jazz as a social phenomenon 25
Early jazz teaching and learning in real world and 29
education

Jazz learning since 1950: an expanding jazz education 34
alongside real world learning

Learning materials:
a focus on vocabulary 36
Assessment 41

Two studies on stave notation 44
The interdependence of real world jazz and jazz education

45
Summary 47

Chapter III Methodology 49

A. Interview Data Collection 50

The Sample 50

Anonymity 54

The characteristics of the interviewees 57

The long semi-structured interview 61

Procedure 62

Transcription 63

Questions and questioning techniques 67

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The interviewer/interviewee relationship 73
and roles

B. Data Analysis 78

Data reduction, display and conclusion-drawing 80
The generalisability, reliability and validity of 84
findings

Chapter IV Fusion and bebop: canonicity and the 87
boundaries between jazz substyles

A. Fusion 88

Fusion in education 96

B. Bebop 104

Swimming against the bebop tide 111

Summary and discussion of findings 117

Chapter V Tension, complexity and explicitness in 122
definitions of ethnic identity in jazz

Marsalis, 'heritage' and the 'Negroid' 124

Black and early jazz learning styles 131
Ethnicity as a 'highly flexible, creative construction' 135

Responses to Marsalis 142
Frank's American 'tradition' 145
Dave's concept of 'Essence': South African and African 148
American identities in a London jazz musician

Summary and discussion of findings 155

Chapter VI Openness, growth, self-knowledge and the 159
problem of educator control

Finding the self, accepting the self and self-expression 160
Searching, unpeeling and breaking boundaries in data on 168
Jarrett and Davis

More openness; following impulse; strong intent; 172
blockages and self-censorship

The limitations of defining oneself as a jazz musician 177

Summary and discussion of findings 183

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Chapter VII Group interaction: tensions between jazz 185
openness and educator control

A. Interaction in real world jazz 186
'Actionality' 186

Features of interaction in real world jazz 189

Interaction within a groove 196

B. Interaction in jazz in education: music-making 201
C. Interaction in jazz in education: teaching and learning 206

Reluctance to motivate learners 206

An emphasis on facilitator and mentor roles 209

The need to construct and break down rules 214

The need for educator control and for outcomes 216

Summary and discussion of findings 219

Chapter VIII The role of classical music in definitions of 222

jazz
Jazz as 'popular music' and jazz as 'art' 223

Defining jazz by referring to classical music 228

Defining melodic coherence in jazz 232
'Harmony' and 'counterpoint' in jazz: the higher status of 236
academic knowledge
The dominance of classical piano tone and good 241
'technique' in education
Weaknesses in the skills of 'classical students' 243
Criticisms of the classical curriculum and teaching styles 248

Summary and discussion of findings 251

Chapter IX Tensions between definitions of real world jazz 252

and jazz in education
Tensions between real world jazz and jazz in education 255
Education - factors within teaching and learning in jazz 261
Implications of findings and avenues for further research 262
Conclusion 268

Bibliography 270

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Appendices 296

A. Data Appendix

Interview A 298
Interview B 313
Interview C 336
Interview D 354
Interview E 376
Interview F 387

Jerry Coker extract 403

B. Code Indexes after two and six interviews 404

C. Interview Schedule 418

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 1

Introduction

Starting point

This research was inspired by a phenomenon that I and many of my colleagues

experience regularly as jazz musicians and educators. It is best described as an
Intuitive discomfort at the idea of jazz appearing in education, coupled with a
feeling that the social context of education somehow changes the music. As a
post-graduate student, I was one of the first generation of jazz musicians in the
UK to have a classroom-based jazz education to back up my initial classical
training and jazz playing experience. It was there that I first experienced the gut
feeling that the jazz I was being taught was somehow different from the jazz I
experienced as a player. Now, as Project Co-ordinator of the new Jazz syllabuses
of the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music (Beale, 1998; ABRSM,
1998), 1 have regular and sometimes heated communication with fellow player
and educator colleagues who feel a similar discomfort in various forms. This
thesis is an opportunity to study this previously unresearched phenomenon. It is
exploratory work, which begins from what jazz musicians and educators say and
write about what they do. It draws on a range of theory to define more clearly the
tensions between what I call 4 real world jazz' and 'jazz in education', and aims to
increase understanding of what this phenomenon is, and why it occurs.

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Definitions

The central concern of this thesis is jazz, and in particular the ways in which jazz
is articulated as a musical style in the definitions of players and educators. A
musical style can be seen as articulated in two main ways. On the one hand, a
style is articulated through music-making, in the sounds musicians make. On the
other, it is also articulated in the language people (in this case players and
educators) use in their writing and discussion to identify and thus conceive of
music as 'jazz'. In education, this language is particularly crucial, since it is part
of the educator's job to make explicit aspects of the style sometimes left implicit
by the player, in order to communicate them to learners. In this research, the data
take the form of terms used, singly and in combination, to refer to a wide range of
features of the style, and to the social practices involved in its production and
reproduction. The function of these terms is to name and so select features within
the music and its practices as characteristic of the style, and to point to them as
significant, valuable or desirable. The features and practices referred to were
extremely wide-ranging. They included characteristic patterns of sound, qualities,
values and attitudes, as well as approaches, functions and activities associated
with jazz. Collectively, these terms are the means by which listeners use language
to define the musical and social-practical features of jazz. Because of this
function, in the thesis I am proposing to call them 'definitions', as a constellation
term that encompasses this wide range of elements.

Single terms found included, for example, 'head', 'bebop', 'harmony',

'improvisation', 'band', 'black' and 'risk-taking'. More 'umbrella' terms included
the names of well-known players. Miles Davis, for example, was a significant,
even iconic figure within jazz when he was alive. Yet 'Miles Davis' is also now a
single term that refers to a sound world - a complex and many-faceted set of
musical features and social practices to be aimed for. The term defines a complete

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9


set of criteria against which to evaluate the playing of musicians or learners as

'jazz'. Terms also appeared in combination with each other. For example, the
specifically rhythmic aspects of Miles Davis' playing in a group might be
described both as 'black' and as 'risk-taking'. Some definitions also function by
referring to other styles, setting up relationships between, for example, fusion and
bebop or between jazz and classical music. Definitions such as these collectively
function as a means of organising and classifying pieces of music into repertoires,
labelling and so articulating ways of conceptualising the music. Seen in this way,
the research investigates how the musical style is constructed, and how what
counts as jazz is differentiated from what does not.

When combined, some of these definitions tend to be in tension with others, or at

least to 'push' in particular directions, towards characteristic features or social
practices. 'Miles Davis' and 'Dizzy Gillespie', for example, might be seen in this
way - definitions which articulate related but opposing stylistic goals within jazz,
or at least major points of bifurcation in the definition of the style, where a player
chooses how to proceed. The research focuses specifically on such tensions.
Perhaps 'Miles Davis' appears more in education than 'Dizzy Gillespie', for
example, or perhaps certain aspects of their playing are more emphasised in one
context than in another.

'Real world jazz' and 'jazz in education'; 'teaching and learning

in jazz'; players and educators; academics

This study considers definitions of jazz occurring in two related social contexts:
first, the 'real world' of the jazz player, and second, the equally real but subtiely
different world of the jazz educator. The two terms 'real world jazz' and 'jazz in
education' are used throughout, to differentiate between definitions of jazz found
in these two contexts. It is also important to make clear from the veiy start that,
although 'real world' and 'education' are separate for the purposes of data

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analysis, the activities occurring in these two contexts may also overlap. Some
learning, for example, takes place in 'real world' contexts during music-making,
and music-making can occur in 'education' contexts too, during learning.

For simplicity of language, those who play and write about jazz in the real world
are referred to simply as 'players', while jazz educators and those who write about
jazz in education are referred to as 'educators'. The term 'educator' is used as
more neutral than 'teacher', because the extent to which jazz educators see
themselves as 'teaching' is one of the areas investigated. The term 'player-
educator' is also used to identify those who do both. All interviewees were player-
educators, and I would describe myself as one too. Finally 'academics' is a term
referring to a third group of people generating definitions of real world jazz and
jazz in education. I am using this term in the sense defined in the work of
Gabbard covered in the next chapter (see page 19.). The perspectives of
'academics' are significant and influential in both contexts, but they are not
treated here as a separate category. Instead, since both 'players' and 'educators'
may or may not also be 'academics', analysis focuses only on the two contexts of
'real world' and 'education', and academic perspectives are seen as contributing
to definitions of jazz in both contexts in particular ways. The research focuses
exclusively on the interface between these two contexts, and on the ways in which
definitions of the style may or may not be in tension within and between them. I
will now dispense with inverted commas in all future use of these terms.

As well as examining definitions of real world jazz and jazz in education, which
is the main focus here, a third and less central area of enquiry concerns what is
here called 'teaching and learning in jazz'. Data on 'teaching and learning in jazz'
was extremely wide-ranging, and included accounts of knowledge, curriculum
structures, skills, levels, activities, teaching and learning strategies, teacher and
pupil roles, motivation and the aims and functions of learning jazz. The research
treats 'teaching and learning in jazz' solely as a contextual factor that may
influence defmitions of jazz in particular ways, and sometimes causes the tensions

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found. The possibility is also considered that 'teaching and learning in jazz'
occurs in the real world as well as in education.

To summarise, this research focuses on the definitions of jazz used by musicians

and educators, rather than on the sounds of jazz themselves. The thesis considers
three areas, known as real world jazz, jazz in education and, to a lesser extent,
teaching and learning in jazz. Findings concern tensions between real world jazz
and jazz in education, and factors within teaching and learning in jazz that may
cause such tensions.

Data and theory; literature and interviews; the aims and

contribution of the study

While the methodology is mainly covered in Chapter III, some introductory

remarks are appropriate about the relationship between data and theory in the
thesis and about the analytical method employed. These lead on to an initial
articulation of the aims and contribution of the thesis and to an account of its
structure.

This is an exploratory study, which is data-led. Definitions of all kinds were

admissible, from both writers and interviewees. Writing from a range of academic
and non-academic literature provided an overview of definitions of jazz. This was
then supported and augmented by a second, more detailed set of definitions,
gathered in long semi-structured interviews with six jazz musicians who were
player-educators. These interviews not only provided depth and a sense of the
particular, but also served to supplement the lack of coherent written material on
jazz in education and on teaching and learning in jazz. In the thesis, reference is
made to the 'writers' and the 'interviewees', to differentiate between literature
and interviews, though sometimes only the 'data' is referred to, and here both
literature and interviews are implied. In analysis, definitions from literature and

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12


interviews are compared and findings are treated as more reliable where they
support each other. Four areas of data were therefore considered in total: literature
on real world jazz; literature on jazz in education; interview data on real world
jazz; and interview data on jazz in education.

The research process was inductive, 'where the researcher will develop theoretical
propositions or explanations out of the data' (Mason, 1996: 137). An initial
review of the literature established some emerging themes and this led into a data
collection phase. These themes form the basis of Chapter 11 below, which lays out
the research context, and so establishes the scope of the work, though some theory
is also introduced as it becomes relevant in later chapters. A clear focus was
established at this stage on definitions included in the data, and such was the
range of these definitions that a decision was taken not to examine areas excluded,
such as social class, gender and, to some extent, nationality. As groups of
definitions within this data emerged as significant during a first round of analysis,
a process of synthesis began, whereby key conceptual areas important in the
definition of jazz were identified, pre-existing theory relating to these areas was
introduced and additional theory was developed. The key conceptual areas that
emerged in this process of synthesis were canonicity, ethnicity, personal growth
and self-expression, interaction and the role of classical music in jazz. Bergeron
and Bohlman (1992) and Citron's (1993) concepts of canonicity, or Gilroy's
(1993) division into 'essentialist' and 'nonessentialist' ethnicity are examples of
such pre-existing theory. The primary justification for the conceptual areas
covered is that they were the most common in the data and the ones where
tensions between the two contexts studied were most clearly articulated.
However, unsurprisingly, some conceptual areas were often already present or at
least implicit in the theoretical literature to varying extents. This was particularly
true in the literature of real world jazz. In this way, analysis of the data evolved in
the course of the research, through successive rounds of interaction between data
and this existing theory. In addition, this inductive process generated new theory
concerning tensions between defmitions of jazz in the real world and in education.

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Factors within the social context of education found to contribute to those

tensions are also discussed to some extent.

The range of approaches to defining jazz found in the data has meant that some
areas are less comprehensively covered in the thesis than others. This is partly a
function of space and partly a result of the amount of writing in the areas
concerned. It would be possible, for example, to write a complete thesis on
canonicity in jazz in education, or on personal growth and self-knowledge in real
world jazz. Instead, the approach employed here attempts an overview of jazz as a
whole. The main benefits of this are that the research has a finn basis in the
accounts of practitioners and writers involved in jazz, however wide-ranging and
complex, and that it takes a holistic approach to a many-stranded but nevertheless
unified phenomenon.

We can begin, then, to identify the contributions this thesis makes to the field.
The first contribution of the study is to observe which definitions are included, to
find patterns within them and to categorise those patterns into broad conceptual
areas. Although writing on real world jazz has already taken place in some of
these areas, jazz in education has not been studied before in this way, and a
formal comparison between the two areas has never been attempted. The
prominence of group interaction in definitions of real world jazz was also
unexpected, because the role of interaction is a relatively new and under-
researched field of jazz musicology, which has only come to prominence in the
past few years. The result may firstly be described as a new synthesis of recent
research, and one that considers some aspects of real world jazz in a unique way
in order to facilitate comparisons with the field of education. Secondly, and this is
the main contribution, the study aims to identify tensions between and sometimes
within definitions found. This unique focus on tensions between real world and
education is the central concern of the thesis, and one where theory-building is
most necessary, since so little has already been done. This involves, for example,
the identification of definitions that figure more prominently in one area than in

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another, and of definitions that vary from context to context. Thirdly the study
briefly considers factors within the social context of education that cause these
tensions.

The thesis structure

In Chapter II, an overview of the literature of jazz is presented. This is not

intended as a full review of the literature, since much of the literature is covered
as data in the main body of the work. Instead, this overview serves to establish the
context of the research problem and to introduce some of the main theoretical
strands that appear in the thesis as a whole, though others are introduced chapter
by chapter as they become relevant. It also identifies other issues already in the
field, refines further aspects of the relationship between real world jazz and jazz
in education, and so establishes more clearly the nature of the contribution this
research makes. The overview begins with a more general account of jazz
criticism, and focuses later on jazz in education, which becomes the main area of
concern. The methodology is considered in Chapter III.

In Chapters IV-VIIl, data deriving from both interviews and literature are treated
side by side, in conjunction with critical reviews of existing theory. Definitions,
real world and educational, which concern the substyles of jazz and the
development of a jazz canon are presented in Chapter IV, while those concerning
ethnicity are similarly discussed in Chapter V. The next three chapters focus on
personal growth and self-expression, group interaction in jazz and the influence of
classical music on the way jazz is defined. Real world and educator definitions are
treated together, to facilitate discussion and to enable explicit and implicit
conflicts between the two contextual positions to be brought to light. At the end of
each chapter, findings are discussed concerning the extent to which real world
jazz is, for example, more or less canonical than jazz in education, or whether
definitions of ethnicity in educational jazz conform more to one view of ethnicity

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15


in real world jazz than to another. Chapter IX concludes by drawing these strands
together around the central idea of tensions between the two contexts and
discussing factors in teaching and learning in jazz causing them. The thesis
concludes with a consideration of the implications of findings for educators and
avenues for further research. A large Data Appendix has been enclosed which
includes much of the significant interview data used to justify points made. Other
Appendices cover aspects of the analysis and interview schedule used.

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16
 Literature Review

The academic literature on jazz was a small field until comparatively recently,
and that of jazz education even smaller. Welburn (in Kirchner, 2000: 754) charts
the emergence of what he calls jazz criticism alongside jazz journalism through
the 20th century. He suggests that the first important histories began to be written
in the late 1940s and 1950s, with Blesh (1946), Ulanov (1952), Stearns (1956)
and Hodeir (1956). Even so, as late as 1964, Dave Dexter's (1964: 163)
bibliography of jazz runs to only 22 titles. As Hoagy Carmichael, quoted in
Peretti (1991), put it, at the time ... 'we didn't write about it, so it all went into
history ass-backwards' (1991: 211). Peretti suggests that the jazz knowledge lost
in this early period may never be 'recovered' through research and scholarship
(211), because little written evidence is available and because the significance of
jazz has itself been changing as it has entered the academic arena. Kennington
and Read's (1980) survey indicates a huge explosion of jazz-related writing in the
1960s and 1970s, and is the first to include jazz education within an overview of
jazz. Witmer and Robbins' (1988) survey of pedagogical materials and Herzig's
(1995) review of the education literature both indicate a similar increase in
writing at around this time. Lewis Porter (1993: 442) argues for a more rigorous
and scholarly 'investigation of the past', and elsewhere (1988) is critical of many
jazz critics and researchers for their lack of academic professionalism and general
knowledge of the arts. In his brief review of doctoral research in jazz
improvisation pedagogy, Bowman (1988) likewise comments that this writing and

Chapter II: Literature Review Draft Date: 3Oi)3/O1

17
much that has followed it is often below the standards of doctoral work. Brown
(1988) also suggests more work is necessary specifically in jazz bibliography.

The specialist journals on jazz and jazz education remain a small field. A
substantial proportion of the education-based articles used in this thesis come
from only two publications from the International (previously National)
Association of Jazz Educators: Jazz Research Papers and Jazz Educator's
Journal. The former is the only academic journal specialising in jazz education,
while the latter is partly based on the JAJE's annual conference proceedings and
is more of a trade magazine for jazz educators. Of 125 articles published in Jazz
Research Papers between 1981-88, Bash (1989) revealed 38 were broadly
historical, 72 were descriptive surveys, 12 were analytical surveys and 3 were
experimental in nature. Most are focused on higher education level work, and are
intended as much to facilitate the sharing of good practice between US teachers
and academics as to conduct a rigorous, scholarly or theory-based study of the
field. Some are by established writers such as Dave Liebman and Martin
Williams. Others, like Behnke's (1984) article, 'An Improved Adjudication
Form', are essentially descriptions of local activities, schemes of work or
assessment schedules shared by the educator concerned. The major academic
journals relating specifically to the musicology of jazz are the Annual Review of
Jazz Studies, JazzForschung and Jazz Changes, the magazine of the International
Association of Schools of Jazz, first published in 1994. Articles used as data here
come from these two, and also from the jazz magazines, such as Downbeat, Jazz
Journal, Jazz Forum, Jazz Life, Jazz UK and Jazz Monthly 1 . Some of these have
been going much longer than the academic publications, though their content is
extremely varied, and they function as entertainment and journalism as much as
criticism. All contain some material on education. This thesis also includes
articles from other related areas, such as black music, popular music, the
sociology of music and music education.

'All were available in near complete sets at the Institute of Jazz Studies, Rutgers State University,
Newaik New Jersey, a comprehensive resource the like of which does not exist in the UK.

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The emerging academic 'voice' and the jazz canon

As the literature has developed, so too has what Krin Gabbard has called the
academic 'voice' (1995:11) in jazz writing. He observes the steady
academicisation of a practice that was originally the province of the jazz
journalists, enthusiasts and partisan discographers, his 'amateurs' and
'exclusionists' (9), who were the old bedrock of the jazz audience and of jazz
criticism. Here, he is referring to jazz writers like Leonard Feather (1976), Gene
Lees (1994) and Martin Williams (1959, 1970), who often work both as
journalists and as academics, and reflect this in the style and content of their
work. A substantial proportion of their published writing, for example, consists of
compilations of articles written over many years since the 1950s from the
authoritative but by no means academic jazz magazines mentioned above, such as
Downbeat and Metronome. Gabbard pinpoints evidence of a distinctive set of
specialised 'metalanguages' (1995: 6), the new 'rhetoric of jazz studies' (1995:
11), and goes on to explain how academics have tended to 'professionalise' jazz
criticism with 'theory' and 'jargon-mongering' (1995: 18). This is a particularly
significant observation in the context of this research, in that it indicates a gradual
change in the kinds of terms used to define jazz as a style. Monson echoes
Gabbard in these observations and is also critical of what she calls the exalted role
allowed to the intellectual (1996: 210ff) and the ivory tower distance created
between criticism and the music under discussion.

This newer, increasingly 'professional' academic writing is mainly differentiated

from previous work by its more formal style, its more distanced and rigorous
approach and, most important in this context, by its canonical function. Bergeron
suggests that canons function in two main ways. First, they define a body of
exemplary works and so construct and embody 'a "standard" of excellence'
(1992: 4), and second they reflect a set of musicological methods or 'discipline'.
These methods bring order to the discipline, by identifying how works considered
exemplary should be structured and articulating a set of musicological criteria.

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19


Canons are also accused of excluding music that does not fulfil these criteria, and
of creating unhelpful binary oppositions between good and bad music. To munson
(1992, in Bergeron, 1992: 64-94), for example, analyses the criticism of jazz
writers including, amongst others, Stanley Crouch, Martin Williams and Amiri
Baraka. He points out that all three exclude the late 1960s jazz work of Miles
Davis, such as Bitches Brew, because such writers' ... will always privilege
European bourgeois myths of aesthetic transcendency, artistic purity, untouched
by function and contexts, and the elite status of artistic expression' (78). They use
inappropriate criteria, and so' ... underestimate the vitality, subtlety and
expressiveness of the pop traditions that influenced Davis' (82) at this time,
failing, for example, to see Davis as self-questioning and as mixing black and
white, pop and jazz, and bourgeois and working class in his music-making. As
Tomlinson implies in the quotation above, a canon can also change the status of a
piece of music, removing it from its original social context and making it seem
autonomous. Shepherd argues too that' "classical music" has appeared [his
italics] to many to approach the condition of music itself, a self-evident and
purely formal mode of aesthetic expression essentially divorced in its processes of
signification from the social and cultural contexts of its creation and
consumption' (1991: 162). Likewise, Cook (1990) defines decontextualisation as
a feature specifically of the criticism of classical music.

Citron (1993) similarly points out how the music of women has been excluded
from the canon of Western classical music. She suggests the canon in classical
music gathers together an organised and coherent 'body of preferences', a 'shared
knowledge' or 'commonality':
The canon organises subject matter within the discipline and
simultaneously represents the organisation of that material. It
implies boundaries and provides relational links among the
categories and paradigms developed over time. It helps to regulate
the research of musicologists: what is studied and how it is
structured for presentation to others. These parameters are

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dependent on value systems that have grown up with the canon and
go on to structure subsequent research ... One of the advantages of
a body of preferences is that it gives the discipline a sense of
shared knowledge: a commonality on which to build community,
communication and identity. (1993: 197)
Writing of this sort has an 'organising' and 'regulatory' function. Organising
theories are developed as part of the 'professional' role of the academic voice, and
both reflect and define what Citron calls the 'value systems' of the writers and
also of groups of listeners studied. These 'value systems' seem to have about
them an objective truth, but Smith (1988) points out 'contingencies of value' in
them, and, in her work on variability within canonical structures in literature, she
attempts to discover more about factors causing such contingencies. For Smith,
researchers and critics must examine such variabilities and '... endeavour to find
patterns, principles, regularities and, in that sense ... constancies of evaluative
behaviour' (1988: 14).

Gabbard is one of few writers in jazz criticism to discuss this issue explicitly, and
associates canonicity with ongoing processes of 'institutionalisation' and
'legitimisation' within jazz (1995: 1ff). To munson also notes '... we have
institutionalised jazz, evaluated its works, and enshrined those judged to be best in
a glass case of cultural admirabilia' (1992: 73). Gabbard goes on to point to the
proliferation of jazz repertory orchestras, the increasing number of academic titles
in jazz currently published and the new jazz division at the Lincoln Center as
examples of a growing 'sacral haze' and 'aura of inevitability' (1995: 3) around
the style. He is in two minds about this. On the one hand, he suggests that the
canon is a welcome phase that all emerging disciplines go through, as film studies
did in the 1%Os and 1970s, and as such is a sign of healthy growth in academic
interest and status. On the other, he points to the irony that' ... in other
disciplines, canons [are currently facing] powerful challenges from women,
minorities and those working with various post-structuralisms' (1995: 13).
Ironically jazz may be defining its canon just as other musics are deconstructing

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theirs. Gabbard describes Gunther Schuller's The Swing Era (1989) as' ... one of
the most important jazz texts in recent years' (1995: 11), but still suggests it is
characterised by a 'lingering preprofessionalism' in its use of hyperbolic language
characteristic of the jazz fan. He quotes Scott DeVeaux as describing Schuller's
(1989) work as '... a monument to the idea of jazz as an autonomous art' (542, in
Gabbard, 1995: 25)2

Canonicity is particularly central to education, where curricula function as ways

of organising and so regulating the communication of knowledge and skills in
powerful and often more institutionalised ways. Kress writes:
'... The education process is about processes of classification,
repositioning individuals with respect to potent
social/classificatory systems, re-ordering the classificatory systems
of those who are the learners (Kress, 1985: 63).
Citron particularly emphasises the importance of the 'repertorial canon' in
classical music education: 'Textbooks and anthologies, as the repository of the
canon, wield enormous power as determinants of canonical status' (1993: 25).
She goes on to discuss the dangers of power resting in the hands of the small
number of individuals who put such textbooks together.

A number of themes from this body of work are followed through here. The
research explores the 'discipline' of jazz, as it is expressed in real world and
education. It also discusses the range of the musicological methods used, and the
ways in which patterns of definitions found in literature and interviews indicate
what Citron calls the 'value system' found in both contexts. It examines the extent
to which, in jazz, the body of exemplary works Bergeron describes remains

2 1n the introduction to his most recent and substantial work on bebop, DeVeaux describes his own
study as 'an accounting of the social and musical factors' which led to bebop rather than as a
simple 'chronicle of a musical movement' (1999. 3). Like Gabbard, he is keen to see bebop as
emerging from a specific and complex social and economic context, rather than as arising
inevitably out of a linear narrative about an autonomous jazz.

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22
 contested, and considers how this contestedness extends to the function of the
music and the degree to which it is contextualised in assessing its value. The
thesis examines the canonical structures of jazz and considers the possibility that
more than one canon may be operating at the same time. It also includes
discussion of how such 'multiple canons' (Morgan, 1992: 61, in Bergeron and
Bohiman, 1992) are differently constructed in education from outside it, and
points to a number of tensions between the two sets of definitions.

Gabbard's academic 'voice' appears in its most explicit form in the work of a
second generation of university-based jazz writers, fully comfortable with the
styles and functions of the writing of academic world. These include Lewis Porter
(1988, 1993), Burton Peretti (1991), Kathy Ogren (1989), Paul Berliner (1994)
and Ingrid Monson (1991, 1996). Berliner and Monson are more specifically
concerned with education, and their work reappears at a number of points here.
Such academic writing tends to reveal structural relationships or to illustrate and
develop general theories and historical narratives, rather than simply pointing to
individual 'successful' performances in themselves. Repertoire is grouped
together because it demonstrates or refutes such relationships and theories - for
example that jazz is 'African American', or that jazz is 'art'. The academic voice
effects the attitudes and practices of players as much as educators. Giddins (1999)
is another example of this grouping process, one of a recent set ofjazz books
concerned with retrospective looks at the 'first century' of jazz. He notes,' ... by
century's end, repertory was firmly ensconced in the wings of cultural malls'
(636), and talks too of the development of a new kind of recreative jazz musician
'one who could express as much satisfaction in successfully navigating an
Armstrong invention as making one up, pethaps more' (636). Further evidence of
the professionalisation of the academic world of jazz is the existence of academic
jazz CDs, which include incomplete takes or several versions of the same tune
side by side. Charlie Parker's Complete Savoy Studio Sessions (Savoy ASJ5
5500) is one example of this, a five disc set which includes, for example, twelve

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takes of Marmaduke one alter the other, taken in one session on September 24th,
1948. Such extra takes are clearly not intended for uninitiated listeners, for whom
retakes of the same tune will begin to pall. Instead, they are intended for those
mainly interested in the development, analysis and categorisation of styles of
improvising. Likewise the ability now to buy legal fake books, real books and
transcriptions over the counter is a further sign of creeping respectability and
definitiveness in the jazz repertoire. Fake and real books, such as Sher (1983,
1988, 1991 and 1995) and, for early jazz, Wong (1988), are now freely available
over the counter, and provide definitive notations of key tunes. The Charlie Parker
OmniBook (1978) is perhaps the most commonly used of the hundreds of
available transcription books. All such publications and recordings enable players,
academics and, most important in this context, educators to point to written
versions of particular tunes or recordings as definitive, rather than relying on the
aural/oral tradition.

Alongside this tendency, Monson identifies a related function of the academic

literature as the need to '... prove to the unbelieving musical academy that jazz
improvisation and composition demanded serious attention' (Monson, 1996:4).
The word 'unbelieving' in the above quotation from Monson is important. it
identifies that that 'musical academy' is largely versed in the methods of classical
music, and that, for at least some academics, jazz still has something to prove.
This is explored further in Chapter VIII, where the notion is examined that
interviewees and writers often assign jazz similar status to classical music by
defining and evaluating it using the same terms.

The emerging distinction between player and academic 'voices' was well
illustrated in the recent encounter between the trumpeter Wynton Marsalis and the
academic James Lincoln Collier on 4th August 1994, as part of the 'Jazztalk'
series at the Lincoln Centre in New York (untranscribed but available from the
Lincoln Centre on tape). In a heated debate, both men reflected different methods
and standards in their arguments and language, and little consensus emerged.

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24
Collier, jazz academic and prolific writer, justified all his arguments from 'the
literature', and from recordings of key works. Two points at issue were Louis
Armstrong's trumpet embouchure and the influence of Armstrong's lack of
formal education as a 'Negro' on his alleged embouchure problems. Collier was
critical of Armstrong's embouchure, suggesting that it damaged his playing in
later years. He also relied on a number of authoritative though now more outdated
books including Stearns (1956: 65), which suggested that Negro and Creole
cultures were separate and had different educational systems. By contrast,
Marsalis spoke essentially as a player, and based his arguments more on lived
experience. He used slides of Armstrong, anatomical pictures and, most
powerfully, his own playing to demonstrate that Collier's position did not concur
with the technical facts of how trumpet embouchures work. Marsalis was also
able to cite Negro-Creole crossovers within his own family, and problematised
Collier's (1983) clear distinction, based on Stearns' (1956), between lighter-
skinned, better educated French or Spanish-speaking, notation-reading 'Creoles'
and darker-skinned, more 'intuitive', untrained 'Negros'. Marsalis, the player,
exposed in Collier, the academic, a lack of first-hand knowledge of trumpet
embouchure and of African American learning styles and ethnic fusions of the
period. He also demonstrated a better grounded practical understanding of the
ways in which Armstrong and others learnt to play. The central point in this
context is that underlying their discussion was the distinction between academic
and player. Their discussion of trumpet embouchure and ethnicity was
underpinned by a clash of different 'voices', grounded in the methodologies and
language each used for defining what was 'true'. We return to ethnicity as a
defining feature of jazz in Chapter V.

Jazz as a social phenomenon

In the 1950s and early 1960s, sociologists became interested in jazz as a social
phenomenon, rather as happened in the late 1970s and early 1980s' writing on

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popular music and subcultures (e.g. Hebdige's (1979) seminal account of the
emergence of youth subcultures in post-war Britain; Hebdige in Frith and
Goodwin, 1990: 56-65; Frith, 1976 and 1983; Willis, 1977; and Hall and
Jefferson, 1976). This established a second set of academic perspectives on jazz,
which focus on its social function. Nanry (1979) divides this early writing on the
sociology of jazz into the 'sub-culture' school, who emphasised deviance and the
characteristics of jazz musicians that set them apart from wider society, and the
later 'assimilationist' school, who saw jazz musicians as becoming gradually
assimilated into it. Sub-culture school writers like Merriam and Mack, for
example, defined jazz musicians as 'a source of anxiety' (1960:213) to the
general public and therefore saw the music as a 'music of protest' (213, quoting
Finkeistein, 1951), associated with 'crime, vice and greater sexual freedom ...'
This they put down to a 'lack of a formal education, relatively common among
jazz musicians ...' which '... is a fomenter of immaturity and disorganisation'
(1960: 215). They quote Cameron's work on the jam session:
'Jazz is at once radical and idealistic and suffused with the
glamour of Promethean artistry and the raw vulgarity of the brothel
To become a great jazz artist when one is sixteen is a wonderful
way of running away from the triple tyranny of home discipline,
school discipline and financial dependence'. (1960: 215, quoting
Cameron, 1954)
Becker's (1963) study similarly, although less pejoratively, identifies an
antagonistic relationship between the jazz musicians of 1948-9, who needed
'freedom from interference', and non-musician 'outsiders' or 'squares'. By 1967,
Edward Harvey, of the assimilationists, observed that jazz musicians were
changing, becoming 'less hostile towards audiences and the larger society, that in-
group norms promoting cohesiveness are weakening, and that jazz muscians are
becoming less inclined to interact only with their own kind' (1967: 34). He
observes the development a 'new occupational ideology in jazz', with 'increased
emphasis on acquiring trained competences in jazz music through participation in
schools with formal curricula' (41).

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26
 This work also considers the complex relationship between the function of jazz as
'art' and as 'entertainment' or 'craft'. Nanry (1979) identifies two types ofjazz
musician, the rational and craftsman-like 'bureaucratic' and the 'charismatic',
who is more concerned with jazz as 'art' or 'folk music'. Nanry suggests that
'most jazz-men ... have moved toward [sic] a "safer", more bureaucratised and
hence more professionalised reference group in their work and in their careers'
(343), that 'older pros are more craftsman-like'. He also identifies a separate
group of 'avant-garde artists' who 'have not come up through the ranks' (346),
arguing that these innovators were 'going to meet resistance from established
pros' (346). The jazz career line is becoming less clear 'under the impact of
music market conditions' (348), and he concludes:
The data from this study clearly show that conlonnity to
"bureaucratic norms" is the safest way to "make it", i.e. a
competitive level of skill, willingness to play anything, interest in
salary, a "moralistic" attitude toward the use of alcohol and
narcotics, showing up on time, dressing neatly, and so on ... (1979:
349).
Some writers do not accept this simple distinction between 'bureaucratic' and
'charismatic'. For Hughes (1974), musical flexibility is a valuable quality in jazz
musicians, and separating 'jazz musicians' from 'commercial musicians' is not a
tenable idea. Two more recent participant observation studies of jazz bands reveal
similar ambivalence. White (1987) points to a lack of financial stability in the
lives of the jazz musicians he studied. He was told to learn to read music by the
jazz musicians he worked with so he could do show and cabaret work too.
Christian (1987) carried out a second similar study, this time of what he calls
'semi-pros', who he describes as not full-time but earning some money from
playing. He too identifies a balance between Nanry's two categories, pointing to
'efforts to maintain musical integrity as expressed in the values and conventions
held by most jazz musicians - their music is not primarily a commercial
commodity but a creative artistic activity - and on the other hand, the need to

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27
operate within a market situation.' He concludes, with ambivalence, '... most
semi-pro jazzmen would rather not play at all than completely sell out to popular
taste' (1987: 238-9). This contrasts particularly interestingly with Adorno's view
of jazz as standardised and as' ... a captive of the culture industry and thus of
musical and social conformism' (1976: 34). Although expressed in terms of the
musicians' careers, underlying all this writing is a second theme concerning the
social function of jazz as 'art', as entertainment or as 'flexible', which appears
throughout the academic literature and at various points in this study. We return to
it in later consideration of bebop in Chapter IV, and again in Chapter IIII, and for
now need only observe that, along with other contested aspects of real world jazz,
this body of work indicates that its function is by no means clearly defined.

To summarise, the academic voice functions to organise and to make explicit

definitions of jazz, which for earlier players often remained implicit. In the
process, the influence of the academic voice is increasing, and is centred around
the greater need for academics to canonise and therefore define the significance
and value of the style. The role of the jazz musician as 'bureaucratic' or
'charismatic', and the function of jazz as 'art' or as 'popular music' demonstrate
further areas of contestedness within definitions of jazz.

We leave consideration of player and academic voices at this point, to focus more
closely on what I am calling, after Gabbard, the third 'voice' in the literature, that
of the educator. Because no formal history of teaching and learning in jazz has yet
been written, some account of the field and available writing is needed to define
the context of this research (see also my article on jazz education in Kirchner,
2000: 756-766). The following brief overview is divided into two sections,
covering early jazz teaching and learning and then jazz teaching and learning
from 1950 onwards. The focus here is on issues already being discussed in this
field, and in particular on the way in which an emphasis in the literature on the
increasing role of formal training in jazz education has not always proved
productive.

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Early jazz teaching and learning in real world and education

Information specifically on early jazz teaching and learning is scarce. A number

of biographies refer to the early jazz training and experiences of individual
musicians, while interviews conducted as part of the Tulane University Oral
History Project are another important source of material. Peretti (1991) quotes
from interviews with Jelly Roll Morton, Mary Lou Williams and Milt 1-linton,
which imply all were, at least in part, untrained. In one such interview, Jelly Roll
Morton, for example, reveals he initially learnt to play in D-flat 'because the keys
were further apart' and that many New Orleans bands 'played in hard keys (i.e.
difficult for reading players) because they didn't know any better' (Peretti, 1991:
102, his brackets). Likewise pianist Mary Lou Williams says Lester Young and
Earl Hines both had perfect pitch and could pick out tunes on the piano without
training. Peretti also suggests that what he calls the early 'ear bands' learnt In
different ways from the Creole more literate musicians, some of whom, including
Bunk Johnson, went to New Orleans University. Morroe Berger (1947) also
differentiates between training and skills along ethnic lines, and suggests that
black jazz musicians were very skilled even though they sometimes lacked
training.

Other accounts also suggest such real world yet skilful 'training' remained an
important way of learning jazz through the 1930s and '40s. Ellison (1964)
describes Minton's Playhouse as one of several centres, along with the Clef Club
and the Rhythm Club in New York, where early 1940s musicians could go to
learn the 'traditions, group techniques and styles' (208) of jazz. Leonard Feather
(1957) also describes the 'training ground' for musicians like Gillespie, where a
musician could play in '25 big bands in a short span', supported by commercial
funding for the music in nightclubs and dancehalls. As jazz became less
commercially successful, many bands of apprentices run by key guru figures were
forced out of business. Discussing the effect of the death of the big band on jazz
education, Gioia (1992) writes of the postwar West Coast:

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29


Unlike the jazz orchestras of earlier days, the enlarged combos and
bigbands of the postwar years existed oniy in defiance of the
economic climate ... It was increasingly clear to fans that the big
band was dead or dying. The only disagreement was over what
dealt the fatal blow: some said bebop, others criticised a tax on
dance venues; still others pointed to brute economics or a media
conspiracy (1992: 139-40).
A number of perceptions in this writing are relevant to this research, and warrant
further investigation. First I want to consider the perception of jazz musicians as
what Milt Hilton in Peretti (1991: 102) calls 'auto-didacts'. This has led to the
notion that jazz cannot and therefore should not be 'taught'. An assumption is also
made that all jazz was first learnt 'by ear', which his reference to Creoles as
'literate' above indicates may not always have been the case. Secondly, a further
perception emerges that, since 'by ear' is the authentic means of playing jazz, the
only way to learn jazz with authenticity is also through experience (see also
Collier, 1978, Nketia, 1974). Thirdly, definitions of ethnicity are also involved in
many of these perceptions of the informal nature of jazz education. Two theories
run side by side here, though no connection is proven: first that Negroes were less
likely to be formally educated and secondly that therefore all jazz musicians were
less likely to be formally educated too. Wynton Marsalis' contribution to the
Marsalis/Collier debate, considered above (1994), suggests, however, that a
simplistic distinction between Negroes and Creoles is hard to sustain, either on
the grounds of racial purity or of educational experience. It would certainly need a
detailed and systematic study to establish that a particular context of jazz learning
leads inevitably to a particular way of playing. It would also be hard to establish
that this context was exclusively 'experiential' or 'by ear', and exclusively
'Negro'. We return for a more detailed treatment of ethnicity in jazz in Chapter V,
and to black learning styles on page 131.

More recent research, again partly based on the Tulane material, also suggests
that, although opportunities for classroom-based jazz education have increased

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30
since the 1950s, both classroom-based and real world learning have had a role in
the education of jazz musicians from the beginning of jazz right through to the
present day. Kinzer (1996) points out the influence of the Creole-French Tio
family of New Orleans on the way clarinet was taught in early jazz. Tio Jnr.
taught Barney Bigard, Albert Nicholas, Johnny Dodds and Jimmy Noone for a
time in New Orleans as jazz was emerging in the 1920s. Kinzer reveals that
teaching and learning at the time was often remarkably formal, and grew from the
French tradition of classical training needed for the opera orchestras and the other
concert and marching bands. Tio's stated primary aim seems to have been 'to
maintain traditional Creole of color musical ideals commensurate with the
demands of nineteenth century Western concert music' (no page given). This was
said to have included work on tone, on scales and arpeggios, solfege, ear-training
and sight-reading. It also involved a teaching style that Kinzer describes as both
'demanding' and 'didactic'. Much of this work may be considered music
education as much as specifically jazz education. Nevertheless, it is reasonable to
assume that, even in the earliest days, many early jazz musicians at least learnt
their instrumental skills in teacher-led group and individual lessons. If this
account is accurate, they were also taught the crucial jazz skills of solfege and
ear-training too. They may not have been taught jazz itself, since in a sense it had
not been fully invented yet, but even in the earliest days they were taught (rather
than simply learnt) much of the knowledge and skills which formed the
foundation on which jazz could grow.

Close inspection of other biographical writing on individual musicians also

indicates that the same blurring in classroom-based and real world learning
characterises both early and more recent jazz education. Scott Joplin enrolled at
George Smith College in 1896 (Carr, Fairweather and Priestley, 1995). Jones
(1963), always a campaigner against general preconceptions that blacks were
ignorant, points out that jazz musicians, past and present, were and are generally
well educated, with good study skills and an ability to ask questions and be self-
directing as learners. Fletcher Henderson had a chemistry degree, while Benny

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31


Carter, Ellington, Coleman Hawkins, Jimmie Lunceford, Sy Oliver and Don

Redman all went to college to gain degrees in various subjects. Wayne Shorter
studied composition and music education at NYU (Gilbert, 1996: 6).

This body of work validates the concern of this research with the distinction
between classroom-based and real world contexts. However, it also points to an
unduly narrow focus in the literature on formal and informal context as the major
factor influencing the nature of teaching and learning in jazz, while other issues
have, by comparison, been ignored. For example, with the exception of the
examples given here, there is little discussion in this writing of what was actually
taught or learnt, nor is there acknowledgement of the complex ways in which
learners may assimilate and use knowledge and skill in their mature playing
styles. Peretti says Bix Beiderbecke was largely self-taught on cornet and suggests
his use of 'incorrect' fingerings therefore contributed to his style. Likewise
Collier (1978) argues that Armstrong's lack of early training led to limitations in
his embouchure and thus his range in the second half of his career. Earl Hines, on
the other hand, had early training in Pittsburg from two classical piano teachers,
which Peretti says contributed to his interest in playing very quietly and to a
certain 'detached' and 'aloof' European quality (1991: 112). Williams (1982, in
1992) suggests Monk would undoubtedly have been a square peg in a round hole
at a music college, and that his final playing style proves this. Yet it is reasonable
to suppose that Jelly Roll Morton's eventual ability to play in other keys was not
greatly limited by his first learning to play in Db, nor was l3eiderbecke's eventual
fluency greatly affected by his fingering technique. From a later generation, even
Miles Davis started playing the trumpet in his St Louis grade school (Carr, 1984:
14) and continued regular lessons, even briefly enrolling at the Juilliard School in
New York in 1944 while Dizzy Gillespie and Thelonious Monk, by contrast, were
primarily self-taught. All ended up with what most commentators would agree
were exceptional technical and musical skills. Indeed players of this calibre are in
a way the worst examples of the effect of learning style on playing skill, since
their subsequent careers suggest they were often talented enough to find ways

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around any technical or conceptual short-comings they picked up as learners.

Returning briefly to ethnicity, Peretti also observes that while whites tended to be
'anti-scholastic', many early black jazz musicians were consciously searching for
training, actively seeking out classroom help where necessary. Here, then, is
further evidence leading us to question the simple assumptions that teaching and
learning style affects later playing style, and that ethnicity relates either to
teaching and learning style or to playing style.

In more recent times, an opposite debate continues on the role of college-based

jazz education in the development of rounded jazz musicians. Ronnie Scott, for
example, in a recent interview before his death (Jazz Magazine International
1994, No. 26, no author given) admitted he would have preferred to go to college.
Dyas (1993) by contrast, sits on the fence, and argues that you should advise
students on a case by case basis as to the importance of real world and classroom
learning. He concludes that, while you can learn much from both, 'school will still
be there in the future, whereas these other opportunities may not' (71). Real world
learning, it seems, is still relevant, and for many essential. Dave Leibman writes
of his own more recent learning:
In the art form, the apprenticeship system works to the extent that
we try and emulate our masters. ... They pass on not only specific
knowledge of the craft, but through their example, they
demonstrate the mental, emotional and physical attributes
necessary to survive and to contribute to the world as an artist
(1996:61)
There is much further research to be done in this area, which would examine the
relationship between social context and learning style, between learning style and
future performing style and between all of these and ethnicity. Much of this would
probably involve detailed empirical studies of the reality of the learning of
individuals and groups over long periods of time. For now 1 want to suggest that
evidence from the scanty available research indicates that the various assumptions
made in the biographies are at least ripe for reconsideration, and that the present

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33
writers, many of them non-educators, have failed to take into account variables
other than learning context.

Jazz learning since 1950: an expanding jazz education alongside

real world learning

The major change of emphasis in jazz education since 1950 has been the
development of an expanded formal context for jazz learning. What follows is a
brief overview of this development. The first big American university jazz
courses appeared from initial clinics and summer camps at the University of
North Texas, Denton and Berklee College of Music in the 1950s and '60s. They
gave instant status to American educators who remain influential today, such as
Jerry Coker (1989), David Baker (1983) and Jamey Aebersold (1974). By 1995,
Helland's survey identifies 100 degree-granting programmes across the US, with
centres of excellence at Berklee and North Texas State, and later diversification
into jazz history courses at UCLA. Alongside the expansion of jazz education in
American universities, present day jazz education, like the music itself, has
become a world phenomenon, still mostly at university level. The January 2001
International Association of Jazz Educators' conference in New York had over
8000 delegates. Personal soundings of mine with conference organisers suggest
that around 90% were from the US, but others were from all over the world,
including Japan, Australia, South Africa and the UK. Schmidt (1986) indicates the
existence of a four year degree course in jazz at the Katow ice Academy of Music
as early as 1970. There are full-scale undergraduate degrees taking place the
University of Durban, South Africa and, in 1999, four courses were running in
New Zealand: one each at Christchurch, and Wellington and two in Auckland.

In 1998, Baker was listed as having wntten '... over 60 books on jazz improvisation,
composition, pedagogy and related topics.'(Jazz Educators' Journal, 1998: 100). In the same year,
Aebersold had 88 play-along book and recording sets on the market (Jazz Educators' Journal,
1998: 100) and lus catalogue continues to grow. This 1974 reference is one of the most obvious
and is still commonly used, though one of the oldest.

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34


Some universities, including the New School in New York or the Amsterdam
School of the Arts, offer whole under- or post-graduate degrees in jazz, while
hundreds of others offer modules, pathways or other components in jazz studies
alongside studies in popular musics or classical music. Conservatoire-style
courses in jazz, focused on performing and instrumental skills, such as that at the
Guildhall School of Music and Drama and Royal Academy in London, sit
alongside more academic courses, that specialise in the history, analysis and
sociology of jazz. A variety of post-graduate routes to jazz also exists, from an
approach based on history and analysis at the Rutgers University Masters
programme in jazz musicology, begun in 1997, to the more context-based
approaches and methods of ethnomusicology used at the University of Chicago or
Goldsmiths, University of London.

At US high school and UK secondary level and below, jazz education appears
patchy and lacks continuity. In some schools in the US and Europe, the whole
music curriculum is structured around jazz, while in others no music is offered at
all or teaching includes only the Western classical canon. Branch (1975) suggests
that school music departments favouring the development of multicultural
understandings or study of the black communities of the world often tend to do
more jazz4. In US high schools, big band and stage band traditions also thrive.
There are also positive signs that a range of possible routes to jazz is developing
in UK schools and instrumental services. Mark (1987) observes that jazz is more
accepted in the music curriculum, and charts the positive change in attitudes that
occurred here during the 1960s. The early success of the Associated Board Grades
in Jazz Piano and Jazz Ensembles (Beale: 1998), for which the present author is
Project Co-ordinator and Lead Moderator, also supports this. While at one level
this project represents a prime example of the canonisation and creeping
respectability discussed above, it also suggests the exciting prospect of a rapid

4 DiMaggio and Ostrower's study from 1982-85 also suggests that whites participate in axis
activity in the more than blacks in every area except for jazz, and this is supported in a follow-up
study by DeVeaux in 1992, sponsored by the US National Endowment for the Arts.

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35
expansion in the role of jazz in mainstream instrumental teaching and assessment
in UK schools and colleges, and thus of the development of future jazz audiences
and music-making in a more systematic and sustained manner. Jazz Services'
recent 'Pied Piper' project in Newcastle schools is one further example, and is
supported by Richard Michael's work in a state secondary school in Fife,
Scotland, and in Creative Jazz Education (Michael and Stroman, 1990), where he
suggests how the classroom music curriculum might be structured around jazz.
Many initiatives, such as the 'Improv.' Project, run at Blackheath Concert Halls in
1999-2000 and featuring Eddie Parker, are typical of this kind of useful jazz
education, often dependent on one-off funding, in this case from the UK's
National Lottery. However, welcome periods of intense national funding for
particular jazz initiatives and related educational projects for musicians in UK
schools are often followed by long periods of inactivity, where exciting work
begun is not followed through. Sustained and progressive jazz provision at school
level is still rare, particularly given the present insecurity in UK national funding
for music education at every level. The Lincoln Center's recent and highly
successful 'Essentially Ellington' festival, where high school big bands compete
to perform Ellington transcriptions to high standards, is a further evidence of the
possibility of further expansion in North American jazz education.

Learning materials: a focus on vocabulary

While accounts of the history and development of learning in jazz are scarce,
accounts of what to learn are plentiful. Indeed a comprehensive survey of the
materials available for teaching and learning jazz would be a complete thesis in
itself. I am forced to exclude, for example, all writing specialising in the
technicalities of learning particular instruments. The material discussed here is
included because it demonstrates the way in which jazz is almost exclusively
presented in these books as 'vocabulary', and that other aspects of real world
jazz are placed in the background and sometimes omitted altogether. In the

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process, the relevance of this research to that field is established, and central
themes discussed later are introduced.

The most common jazz tutors and textbooks are often North American, and
almost exclusively emphasise learning jazz as a language or vocabulary, which
mostly involves the rote learning of the melodic and harmonic materials of 1940s
and SOs jazz. In Baker (1983), for example, the learner develops their
'vocabulary' by rote learning of scales and short melodic patterns in bebop and
hardbop styles, usually in all twelve keys and in isolation. Chesky (1980) is
another such book, described with no hint of irony on the cover as a 'powerhouse
of originality'. In fact, after a brief introduction, it consists almost exclusively of
sets of quaver patterns in twelve keys, again for rote learning. Headings include
'patterns using fourths', followed by fifths, thirds, whole-tone patterns,
diminished patterns, and so on. Likewise, the basis of Coker's (1989) approach,
laid out in detailed lesson plans, is 7 weeks of scale and digital practice, applied to
chord sequences (see Data Appendix, page 378.). Steinel (1995) is similar, but
also includes a short text section on large scale form in improvising too, entitled
'Building Effective Jazz Solos' (1995: 87-110). Here jazz is at least described as a
language to be 'learnt conversationally, to not only expand our vocabulary ... but
also gain an intuitive understanding of proper pronunciation and grammar' (3),
though teaching strategies which facilitate such conversation are not much
discussed. Velleman (1978) also sees the development of a jazz vocabulary as the
central skill, which he defines as the 'internalisation of sound patterns prior to
their being studied in written form' (26). His method, based, he claims,
exclusively on the principles of learning language, involves drilling of patterns by
ear, learning solo passages as assignments and the minimum of theorising about
them. His method is more progressively structured than the others, in that, as
chapters progress, the number of cues and instructions decreases and the desired
elements of the improvised response become less and less specific.

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37
Even when tutors claim to be focusing learning on other areas, their approaches
often turn out to be based on learning melodic and harmonic material. Riposo's
(1981) 'whole brain approach', for example, begins with a simple explanation of a
left-brain right-brain distinction. The first 7-page section is devoted to an
explanation of the hemispheres of the brain. The introduction encourages the
student to do a 'mental shift' at the end of each unit, and elsewhere the player is
encouraged to 'take chances (play what you feel). This will cause your left brain
to give up its dominant role to the right brain. Rather than labelling what you
hear, simply take a chance musically ... respond by playing what you hear in your
right brain.' (98). Yet the rest of the book is remarkably similar to the others, and
consists in essence of 10 pages on jazz theory followed by 100 pages of written
out chord progressions and scales.

This concern for jazz as a prescribed 'language' or 'vocabulary' made up of

harmonic progressions and melodic lines is often to the exclusion of other very
obvious aspects of real world jazz mentioned throughout the data and covered in
more detail in later chapters, such as group interaction and personal growth
through self-expression. Baker (1983), for example, acknowledges the role of the
musical group in improvising in one line of his introduction, but never follows
this through in the body of his text. What Coker (1989) calls 'uniqueness in
improvising' has one page devoted to it, while structure and style also seem
afterthoughts, with four pages between them. In the material suggested for
teaching and learning, which makes up the bulk of his book, the group based and
personally creative aspects of real world jazz are effectively ignored.

A further relatively undiscussed issue in the educational materials is that of

defining exactly what the vocabulary of jazz is. Here we see one aspect of the
canonical process of the academic literature earlier occurring again in education.
Steinel, for example, states:
It is clear from listening to young improvisers that many have not
become aware of the basic jazz vocabulary. Some have a

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 command of the basic alphabet (scales and chords) and harmonic
grammar of jazz (chord scale relationships) but they seem to be
inventing their own language. Like a small child experimenting
with sounds, they haven't yet identified the basic "words" of jazz
(1995: 3).
Steinel's words imply an assumption that 'the basic jazz vocabulary' is easily
definable. Likewise, Helland (1995) notes a significant gradual change in
educational objectives towards what he says Gary Burton at Berklee calls 'bow
harmony works, what the grammar of this music is in order to play better' (1995:
23). Again, we have to assume that the harmony of jazz works in only one way
and that jazz has only one grammar.

Two tutor books stand out from the crowd because they attempt a broader
approach to vocabulary. Miller (1992) includes in his discography a range of non-
American and contemporary jazz composers, including Eberhard Weber, Ralph
Towner, Jarrett, Gar6arek, Zawinul, Wheeler, Liebman, Joey Caldarazzo, Andrew
Hill and Kenny Barron, along with several avant-garde composers. His approach
also balances Parker, Ellington, Mingus, Silver and Shorter with classical
composers including Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov, Chopin, Prokoviev, Stravinsky,
Ravel and Copland. Miller also uses modes as the basis for his method, and
differentiates between modal 'simple' tunes such as So What, Maiden Voyage and
Impressions with modal 'complex' ones, and here he gives examples of several
fast tunes with asymmetric harmonic rhythms and free forms. Kupferman's
(1992) 'systematic approach' to atonal improvisation is the most extreme, and is
an educational exegesis of his own personal vision of jazz, which is strongly
influenced by techniques from early 20th Century classical music. In Section I of
his book, he explores melodic techniques, including chromaticism, whole tones
and intervallic leaps, patterns of extended thirds and symmetrical scales (what
Messiaen would call modes of limited transposition). The second section is
devoted entirely to the use of tone rows, including rules about not including

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fourths, fifths, octaves, tetrachords and major and minor thirds. He then
predictably adds retrogrades and inversions.

Jazz harmony, arranging and composing is a further discrete area of the literature,
and indicates that the concept of a single jazz 'theory' is well on the way.
Levine's Jazz Theory Book (1998) and Runswick (1992) have become some of
the standard works in this area. Runswick, for example, includes a section on the
special layout of the jazz score in its own chapter (1992: 147ff), separate from
that of 'rock' and 'pop'. Useful information about theory and layout, the jazz
equivalent of Piston's Orchestration, is Riddle (1985) and Wright's Inside the
Score (1982), which contains long examples of charts by key composers including
Bob Brookmeyer and Thad Jones. Jazz harmony is dealt with most notably by
Grigson (1988) and Levine (1989), and at a lower level (and specialising in jazz
piano) by Harvey (1974), Cornick (1996) and, at beginner level, by Beale (1998).
Harvey is the most stylistically broad of these, but most focus exclusively on the
Il-V-I style harmony of bebop and hard-bop, even though early jazz harmony
tends to be more triad-based and many post-1950s approaches are modal or use
other non-cadential approaches. One approach to jazz for teachers geared
explicitly more to the classical pianist and demanding considerable knowledge of
classical theory is Aldiss (1997). Two other important major UK publications are
Eddie Harvey's Jazz in the Classroom (1986) and Michael and Stroman (1990),
one more focused on ensemble playing and the other on the secondary classroom.

This brief overview of this material contains further examples of unexplored

problems in the field, and demonstrates a lack of careful thought about the
relationship between real world jazz and jazz in education. Many aspects of real
world jazz remain undefined, while those that are defined seem partial. Some
show the development of sophisticated and original models of how jazz melody
and harmony work, but most lack any systematic treatment of the interactive
nature of jazz playing, and none give a thorough account of the groove-base
nature of the music, or any need for rhythmic flexibility and variety. A model of

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40
the process of improvising and personal creativity is rarely given, so that, for
example, the difference between improvisation and simple regurgitation is never
fully explored, nor is the importance underlined of continually searching for fresh
material as a player. There is little and sometimes no help for the teacher or
learner as to how to structure or communicate the material, and no guidance as to
how the material presented as actually to be played in practice. No doubts or
ambiguities are implied about the repertoire and musical materials, and many
aspects of its musical practices and values remain implicit. In all of these ways, it
is clear that, on the evidence of these materials, educator thinking concerning the
nature of real world jazz is partial in many respects. As a result, central aspects of
real world jazz are not projected as part of the educational experience.

Assessment

Assessment and the identification of jazz skills is an area with a small developing
literature. It is relevant here, because assessment is focused on the definition of
outcomes in jazz music-making in education, and therefore on defining areas of
conceptual importance within educational Jazz. While the problem of defining
what jazz is in education appears with particular clarity here, the available
literature reveals it is an area where consistency of approach and language is
sometimes hard to discern.

Tumlinson's (1993) study of assessment schemes is the most detailed and useful,
with 33 separate descriptors. Tumlinson aims for the 'objective measurement
through description, evaluation and diagnosis of music performance' (103), and
attempts to do so through a synthesis from the literature of descriptors used by
others. The 33 are grouped into 7 headings: harmonic appropriateness, rhythmic
usage, melodic usage, jazz style, individuality, expressiveness, and form. In an
Appendix, Gridley (1988) identifies a long list of improvisation skills jazz
musicians need. To instrumental skills, he adds the ability to remember changes,

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create phrases, edit work, think ahead and remember what has been played; the
ability to swing at the given tempo and respond to the rhythms of others; to
balance and project within a group and to play in tune and with good time; and to
remember how long you have been soloing and to play in the mood of the piece
and create something personal and original. Burnsed and Price (1984) propose six
categories of assessment in evaluating improvising: technical facility; melodic
and rhythmic development; style; tonal materials; emotional effect; and overall
effect. No mention is made of ensemble and group interaction skills here.
Behnke's (1984) adjudication form example includes marks for the interesting
categories of 'Jazz Ideas' and 'Jazz Excitement' under soloists and other factors
respectively. How these are to be evidenced is not made clear. Madura (1996)
identifies three areas - jazz theory knowledge, jazz experience and imitative
ability - as factors needed by jazz vocal improvisers.

Most of these assessment schemes reflect the concentration of jazz education at

HE level. However, Reeves's work includes the assessment of real beginners in
the first few years of learning. So too does the work of the Associated Board of
the Royal Schools of Music, whose Jazz Piano syllabus (1998: 16) starts with the
absolute beginner. The criteria here are more fully explicit, and divide into four
levels (Distinction, Merit, Pass and below Pass) and five Grades, each
representing the first five years of instrumental playing. The descriptors
themselves are focused on individual instrumental performance, and include, at
Pass level, technical control, feel, and careful preparation of the given material
alongside the ability to improvise for the correct number of bars and maintain a
flow. At Distinction level, technical control has become fluency, feel adds to
rhythmic flow and the material is used with confidence and ease, while the
improvising has become 'varied', 'inventive' and 'perhaps surprising' (ABRSM,
1998: 16). As one of the key authors of this model, I am too close to this work to
be able to judge its effectiveness, and it has in any case only been running for just
over two years. In the context of this review, I can at least observe that it is
uniquely based at the lower end of the educational spectrum, and lays out a

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42
comprehensive and progressive definition of what a jazz musician who has been
playing for a minimum of one year should be able to achieve. As such it will be
the starting point for a useful future debate.

There are several other attempts in the literature at defining levels of jazz
learning. Reeves (1986) identifies three broad levels of improvisation skill: first,
simplistic efforts to translate inner feelings into sound without the necessary skills
and knowledge; a second level concerned with mastery of form, rhythm, melodic
development and relationships between chords and modes; and finally a mastery
of the mechanics with more attention to the 'inner feelings' being conveyed.
Liebman divides the development of the jazz musician into three phases of
mastery in jazz. First comes the 'imitative' phase, next a 'period of heightened
self-criticism' and sensitivity which may involve sell-deception, self-criticism and
honesty, and finally the phase few reach, of full mastery and of 'artistic
breakthroughs' (1996: 6). Clark Terry also divides the jazz career into three
phases, he calls ... 'imitation ,assimilation and then innovation' (Steinel, 1995: 9,
quoting Clark Terry, no reference given).

It is hard to find a single thread running through all of these various attempts at
levels of jazz learning and assessment schemes, though all seem to achieve some
balance between recreative and creative skill. In this context, I want to observe a
general tendency for the more recreative areas of assessment to be defined in
clearer language. Areas such as successful scale playing and 'technical facility'
are relatively clear. By contrast, the language used in the more creative areas,
such as Behnke's 'jazz ideas', Reeves' 'inner feelings' and Tumlinson's
'individuality' and 'expressiveness', seems vaguer and less easy to define a level
or outcome for. Leibman is liberated from the demands of institution-based
language and can go even further, suggesting the need for 'honesty' and a lack of
'self-deception'. Finally group interaction is mentioned explicitly only by
Tumlinson, but is ignored elsewhere. These writers simply do not have the
linguistic tools to defme these areas with rigour, and underlying this lack of

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consistency and clarity of language, I also want to observe the lack of an explicit
rationale or philosophical basis for the definition of these features as the ones to
be assessed. The field seems full of independent educators simultaneously re-
inventing the idea of jazz in education in different ways without reference to each
other. It is hoped that this research, in laying out what such definitions are, may
begin a vrocess of building a consensus of some kind, or at least of agreeing on
areas where tensions occur.

Two studies on stave notation

Finally, there have also been two major studies of instructional methods in jazz
education examining the role of stave notation. These are relevant because a
distinction is implied, though never argued, between jazz education, where
notation is used more often, and real world jazz where the implication is that
notation is used in different ways or not at all. Bash's 1983 study was complex
and compared three 'instructional methods'. The first emphasised scale and
chordal activities in what was described as the 'traditional format' (1). The second
was described as an 'aural perceptive treatment' (11) and the third was 'historical
analytical' (III), based on listening examples from the Smithsonian Collection. 60
high school instrumentalists were put in a randomised control group pre-test post-
test design experiment and exposed to the methods singly and in different
combinations. The study aimed to test 'the validity of the non-technical
dimension as a supplement to traditional improvisation instruction', and
significant differences were found between a control group and all three methods
done singly. Differences were also found between I and I and II, and also
between I and I and III, while no significant differences were found between
groups doing I and II and those doing I and III. In a similar earlier study, Hanes
(1977) compared two approaches with 42 secondary school instrumentalists,
teaching them what he calls the same 'content' but half using notation and half by

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aural dictation, using call and response. The author concluded that there were 'no
significant differences between the two groups', though both improved.

The underlying but unstated issue in these studies is surely the role of stave
notation in jazz education, and the extent to which this role reflects real world
practice, but this is never fully argued or explored. Differences are found between
groups, but since the role of stave notation in jazz is never fully laid out,
successful learning or 'improvement' in jazz is cannot be defined. It is not clear,
for example, how the ability to read stave notation is measured in relation to its
function in other aspects of music-making such as playing tunes effectively or
embellishing a given notated part. These studies further demonstrate a need to go
back to first principles, to work out a more detailed, contextualised and
comprehensive rationale as to what jazz is in education and how it should be
defined, through an analysis of how it is defined in the real world.

The interdependence of real world jazz and jazz in education

I want to conclude this review with two authors whose work again supports the
need for this study, in that they suggest that real world jazz and jazz education are
increasingly inter-dependent. In his perceptive account of the 1980s resurgence
(1990), Nicholson powerfully points out the contradiction between Baker,
Aebersold and Coker's definitions of jazz in education, and what was going on in
real world jazz at the time:
Since the mid-1960s the techniques of hard-bop had been taught in
colleges and universities and educators such as David Baker,
Jamey Aebersold and Jerry Coker had, by the 1980s, written
exhaustive text books based on its methodology ... In place,
therefore, was an underlying set of standards, a community of
belief with shared ideas of good and bad.

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However, in the face of a rampant avant garde during the '60s and
the popularity of fusion in the '70s, such notions seemed
conservative and old-fashioned. Yet the methods of bard-bop
remained the basis of contemporary jazz improvisation (even the
best free jazz relied on its musicians knowing the rules first, before
breaking them). Mastery of the tenets of bop had long become the
basic requirement for a musician to participate in jazz, tangible
evidence of his instrumental and theoretical proficiency

The return to the hard-bop mainstream was therefore seen by many

young musicians as the diagnosis and remedy to what they
perceived as the problems that ailed jazz during the '60s and '70s.
It was an assertion of implicit and quantifiable values of swing,
melodic and harmonic ingenuity, structure and virtuosity - that
were a function of formal jazz education. (Nicholson, 1990: 22 1-2)

Elworth (1995) is equally critical:

the emergence of Marsalis and the current generation of new
traditionalists may lead to the acceptance of a stifling tradition in
which musicians are ostracised for not following limited and pre-
established protocols of both musical and non-musical styles.
(1995: 59)
Elworth contends here that a jazz in education oriented around such 'stifling
tradition' and limited 'protocols' helped produce the current group of highly
dominant 1980s neo-classicists, including Wynton Marsalis, whose primary
concern has become the maintenance of that tradition in their real world
professional lives. The first crop of real world jazz musicians born from the 1960s
and '70s expansion of jazz education (and therefore with experience of the newly
formed and taught jazz canon) includes the first ever school of 'new traditionalist'
players, whose main concern as players, not educators, is also the recreation and
preservation of past greatness.

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It is of course impossible to quantify the effect of educational jazz on real world

jazz in this case, since there is no other non-educated group to compare these
musicians with. They are independent, highly qualified and experienced
musicians whose views are complex and not to be derived solely from their
college experiences. Nevertheless, the possibility that educational jazz has an
effect on real world jazz, and even that future real world jazz will be defined more
and more through jazz in education is a powerful reason for studies of this type. It
implies that if we as educators get jazz in education wrong, the future nature of
the style of the music itself will be adversely influenced. Likewise, without
consideration of the two-way nature of the relationship, real world jazz may only
continue to exist outside education, while educators communicate a distorted
picture of the style.

Summary

The literature suggests above all that academic and educator 'voices' are playing
an increasing part in the way jazz is defined. As the process of canonisation and
of specialisation into educator, academic and player voices progresses, changes
are likely in definitions of jazz, but this has never been researched. The literature
on jazz education also indicates that, while the formal context of jazz learning has
increased, formal learning of jazz was taking place from the earliest days, and that
more recently, informal learning has continued to occur, though the balance
between them has changed to some extent. A focus on the effect of learning
context in jazz education has prevented the systematic study of what is taught in
jazz education, and this thesis seeks to redress that balance by focusing on the
definitions of jazz themselves. The materials on jazz demonstrate an increasing
but unacknowledged separation of real world jazz and jazz in education in their
focus on melodic and harmonic material, which has not yet been explored by
researchers. The material on assessment shows evidence of inconsistency, and of

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47
 a focus on the recreative aspects of jazz, because they are easier to define and
therefore assess. Group interaction was largely ignored. The two studies of
notation also demonstrate a lack of thinking about differences between the role of
notation in real world jazz and jazz in education.

In all these ways, much of the educational thinking in the jazz literature fails fully
to define and therefore take full account of real world jazz and of its relationship
with jazz in education. An emphasis on formal and informal context has meant
that little research has been done on how teaching and learning affects definitions
of jazz. David Elliot (1983) argues that the definition of a philosophical basis for
jazz in education remains a 'primary need' (p. iii). He defines what has become a
central issue of this thesis, when he points out '... the absence of a cogent position
on the nature and value of jazz and jazz-related music, and in turn, on the nature
and value of jazz education' (164). Then as now, a return to first principles is
needed, which is broad in its approach to musical style, and builds theory from the
accounts of players and educators. Such a study should identify areas of tension
between real world jazz and educational jazz, and suggest the factors within
teaching and learning that cause such tensions. This research attempts to meet that
need.

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Methodology

This research is both exploratory and descriptive in that it attempts to investigate,

document and, where possible, explain little-understood and complex phenomena,
in an area that contains many variables (Marshall and Rossman, 1989). Mason
(1996), quoting Miles and Huberman (1984: 20), defines qualitative work such as
this as 'context-embedded' and 'interpretive', and suggests that such work may
nevertheless be systematic, rigorous and flexibly conducted. It should have
reflexive qualities and produce social explanations to intellectual puzzles that are
in some way generalisable or have wider resonance. That said, Miles and
Huberman (1984: 20) also acknowledge some blurring of the pure categories of
qualitative and quantitative research even in studies of this kind, a trend which
they call the new 'epistemological ecumenism' (1984: 20). After Eisner (1981),
they argue that processes of synthesising, organising and explaining such rich and
colourful data combine the qualities of system with those of artistry.

The research design involved data gathering from a range of sources. Fieldwork
consisted of long semi-structured interviews with a sample of six jazz musician-
educators. The interviewees were asked to lay out their definitions of jazz,
enabling the researcher to '... find out how these people define the world'
(Spradley, 1979: 11). Mishler (1986), quoting Gee (1985), points out that what is
essentially story-telling is a vital part of making sense of complex experience.
The interviews were intended specifically to allow such complexity to be revealed

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49

L0
u.
in definitions, aiming to 'capture some of the richness and complexity of their
subject matter and explain it in a comprehensible way' (Rubin and Rubin, 1995:
76). The design also attempted rigorously to define clear analytical categories
such that coherent and verifiable findings emerged.

Other data was gleaned from literature relating to both real world jazz and jazz in
education, and included a wide range of texts - histories, analyses, academic
articles and journals, textbooks, other educational materials and interviews from
academic and other sources. The literature provided an academic, considered
perspective and an overview of published work in the field. The interviews
provided the spontaneous and considered views of practitioners, and enabled both
explicit and implicit issues, contradictions, areas of contention and other aspects
of their definitions to be explored in depth. They were also particularly important
in supplementing data on jazz in education, where the literature was sparse. We
focus in the next section on the collection of the interview data, before returning
to the literature again in discussion of analysis.

A. Interview Data Collection

This section explains how the interview sample was chosen, discusses the
importance of anonymity to the interview process and explains the rationale
behind the choice of the long semi-structured interview, including consideration
of questions, questioning techniques and the roles of interviewer and interviewee.

The Sample

The interview sample was necessarily small, since the interviews were long and
were intended primarily to allow a sense of the particular in depth to be revealed.

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The interviewees were chosen first and foremost because they were musician-
educators. With such a small number of interviewees, it was not possible to create
a formally representative and therefore randomly selected sample of the entire
population of jazz musician-educators. Instead sampling was purposive, or what
Mason calls 'theoretical' (1996: 100), and an emergent design model was used, in
line with the approach taken by Lincoln and Guba (1985). Here 'the researcher
manipulates their analysis, theory and sampling activities interactively during the
research process' (Mason, 1996: 100).

Denzin and Lincoln (1998) suggest that '... qualitative researchers must
characteristically think purposively and conceptually about sampling' (204).
Purposive sampling is considered appropriate where a sample must necessarily be
small and where research is exploratory. Patton (1980) suggests it focuses
research where only a small sample is possible on'... what cases [the researcher]
could learn the most from' (101), while Lincoln and Guba (1985) suggest
purposive sampling '... increases the scope or range of data exposed ... as well as
the likelihood that the full array of multiple realities will be uncovered' (1985:
40). Six techniques of purposive sampling are suggested by Patton (1980) and
Lincoln and Guba (1985). They are the choice of extreme or deviant cases, the
choice of typical cases, the choice of cases for maximum variation, the choice of
critical cases, the choice of politically important cases (designed to attract
attention to the study) and convenience sampling, which is the choice essentially
of available cases.

Patton (1980) was doing case studies in his research and indeed specifically
mentions 'cases' above. However, while a case study method was briefly
considered early on in the design process, it is important to emphasise here the
research focuses on 'jazz' as a whole phenomenon, rather than on the
distinctiveness of individual approaches to jazz in its various contexts (Yin,
1989). While context is a factor, the aim of this research was definitely not to do

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case studies, nor to focus on autobiographical study, but instead to focus analysis
on patterns found in the data across the whole sample.

The first consideration in this sample was to achieve maximum variation, so that
as many definitions of jazz could be covered as possible with the six interviews.
Variables considered initially were age, gender, main instrument, musical styles
within jazz played, educational context and the balance of performing and
education work. Later interviews continued to look at these factors, but also
included ethnicity and educational background too. Details of these are covered
below (see pages 57-61). Patton defines as typical an example which is '... not in
any major way atypical' (1980: 102). It was decided that the 'typical' jazz
musician-educator should be doing regular work both playing and educating, and
should be an experienced professional in each for at least five years. The first and
second sets of three interviews included one typical interviewee each (Ben and
later Frank). Patton also suggests the researcher actively 'look for critical cases'.
In his own work, examining programmes of study in the US, he suggests a critical
case would be one where '... if that program is having problems, then we can be
sure all the programs are having problems' (103). He also says the researcher
should 'identify 'key dimensions that make for a critical case' (104). In this case,
the key dimensions were that the interviewee concerned (Andy) had been
nationally renowned and respected as a professional player and a crusading
educator for many years. He was also someone who had especially long
experience of expressing a coherent view of jazz education to teachers as well as
being a player at national level. Dave was 'extreme' in Patton's terms in that he
had virtually no formal education, while all the others were 'typical' and
'extreme' in various of the respects identified above. None were 'politically
important' in Patton's sense, nor were any sampled for what Patton calls
'convenience'.

The sequence and timing of the interviews was carefully thought through, in line
with the 'emergent design' model of Lincoln and Guba (1985). Discussing the

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choice of interviewee, Denzin and Lincoln (1998) suggest'... such choices are
theory driven, not driven by a concern with "representativeness". Sampling
choices therefore typically evolve through ... waves of data collection' (204).
After the pilot, the first three interviews were conducted relatively close together
in time, and focused on a range of age and gender. Subsequent interviews took
place one by one, and interviewees were only chosen once initial analysis of the
previous ones had been undertaken and preliminary conceptual areas established.
The first interviewee was the 'critical' interviewee, an older, highly experienced,
influential, articulate and well-known male figure. The second was a male from
the younger, more iconoclastic end of jazz education and the third was a female
roughly in the middle of these two. All played different instruments. After
transcription and preliminary analysis, the others were chosen one by one to
address remaining or emerging themes and to ensure data covered conceptual
areas identified in initial analysis and examination of literature. Range of ethnicity
and jazz training emerged as especially important themes in the first three, so later
interviewees were chosen to explore definitions in these areas. The remaining
interviewees were all male. The fourth was a London jazz musician from South
Africa, lacking formal training. The fifth was chosen because he was a full-time
secondary teacher, while the sixth was another non-white musician, but this time
formally trained in jazz in the US. Strauss and Corbin (1998) suggest that in work
of this kind, 'data collection continues until theoretical saturation takes place'
(292). Lincoln and Guba (1985) argue for the two criteria of 'sufficiency', that is
to say a range has been covered, and of 'saturation of information', where the
interviewer 'begins to hear the same information reported' (44-45). After six
interviews, data on core definitions were indeed repeating themselves and
supporting definitions in the literature. Over 160,000 words of interview data had
been amassed and it was decided further interviews would make analysis
cumbersome.

At the point of this decision to stop collecting data, a trade-off is made between
size of sample and level of generalisability. Patton (1980) states,'... limited

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resources may mean that it is not possible to get detailed information from a
sufficiently large sample size to make generalisations. Indeed the problem of
small sample size is probably the most typical situation in the use of qualitative
methods' (101). Such purposive sampling certainly limits the ability of the
researcher to generalise from their findings to some extent. Merriam (1988)
stresses the importance in this kind of exploratory work of 'making
generalisations within specified levels of confidence' (173). In this research, some
confidence is achieved through the analytical process, where similarities and
differences in definitions were identified in detail across the whole sample of all
six interviewees and then related to the literature. Seidman (1991) also suggests
that '... a compelling evocation of an individual's experience' can be '... the
interview researcher's alternative to generalisability' (42), and that such an
approach is effective where one of the aims of the research, as here, is the'
understanding of complexities' (42). We return to generalisability again on page
84. below.

Anonymity

All of the interviewees were offered anonymity. Throughout the process, each
was allotted a letter, A to F, under which they were transcribed and analysed. At a
later stage each interviewee was given a false name beginning with those letters,
used throughout the thesis from now on: Andy, Ben, Carol, Dave, Eric and Frank.
Anonymity was crucial to the success of the interviews. Interviewees often
divulged personal information or viewpoints, and were asked questions designed
with the possibility of eliciting less than complimentary comments about others'
playing. Interviewees were also likely to meet and even be employed by the
musicians they were discussing again in the future. A considerable proportion of
the data could have been extremely damaging personally or pro(essionally to the
interviewee involved and could have changed public perceptions of their views,
had their name been associated with it. I was asking for private views from
professionals whose public face was crucial to their career. Mishler (1986) argues

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that anonymity can cause the alienation of interviewees, since they may not feel
personally acknowledged in the research process. He also favours giving context
to the reader in interpreting data. In this case, however, there was little choice.
The need for anonymity when eliciting potentially contentious data of this kind
also prevented any autobiographical slant to the research.

As the analysis progressed, it became clear that, although false names were used,
some viewpoints and language were still likely to be recognisable. The sample
was drawn from a relatively small pool of articulate, successful and often well-
known UK jazz musician-educators. Information about each included their
educational and class background, early musical experiences, bands played in,
instrument played, age, gender and ethnic origin. All were crucial to the study and
therefore essential to publish. A number of further strategies were therefore
employed to ensure anonymity. No biographical account of each interviewee has
been given in this final report. Instead personal details used above have been
mentioned across the sample as a whole, in a number of different orders. Names
of friends and colleagues in the data have also been withdrawn (See Data
Appendix, A3 1, for examples of this), except where distance of time or space
creates no likelihood of recognition. Names of well-known musicians were a
more complex issue. The names of living and currently well-known players were
often used to describe ways of playing and in some cases the relationship between
name and musical concept was crucial. Courtney Pine, Django Bates and others
are all iconic players like 'Miles Davis' above (page 9.), with whom particular
sounds are associated. In some places, sadly, names such as these had to be
withdrawn, especially where interviewees' comments were negative about them
or where they mentioned personally playing or recording with them. In others,
(D56c), where remarks were less controversial or less specific, names were
sometimes left in. Names of important and often dead icons like Charlie Parker
were preserved, except in the case of one of the most famous of all, with whom
Frank worked over several years. Here, to protect Frank's identity, his name was
replaced in the relevant data by Sonny Rollins (presented as [Sonny Rollins] with

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square brackets in the text and data), who is another player associated with the
same period and of similar stature and iconic status, though playing a different
instrument. Some data were also withdrawn from the presentation and analysis
process altogether because they were too personal to the interviewees concerned,
either by interviewee's request or at my instigation. None of these withdrawals
concerned data that materially affected the findings. All interviewees signed
consent forms allowing sections of their data to be used, and all were sent
complete copies of their interview and of the complete data appendix. Such
procedures are consistent with research focused on definitions of jazz, though
they would have been less appropriate in case studies of individuals.

Frustratingly, the most strongly expressed and possibly contentious data was often
the most value laden, valid and therefore significant. An ethical trade-off had to
be achieved whereby the majority of the data made sense and felt convincing to
the reader, while the identity of the speaker in individual sections of data was
hidden as far as possible. For example, several interviewees mentioned a
particular well-known British musician with whom none wished to work, because
they defined particular qualities in his playing and, indeed, personality. This was
an example of an unexpected and consistent pattern across the data, which
revealed important information about how jazz was defined. The sound of the
musician concerned would be immediately recognisable from his name, even to a
non-jazz literate reader. Without it, it is much harder for the reader to understand
exactly what the interviewees meant. However, while criticisms of Wynton
Marsalis were recorded as relating to him by name, a judgement was made that
criticisms of this other musician had to be kept less specific in the account
presented here. Although this musician was just as well-known, he was also based
in the UK, and it was not impossible that he would read the thesis and work with
several of the interviewees again. The hard but nevertheless ethically correct
decision was taken that the careers of the interviewees should be protected at all
costs, even where it compromised the richness of the findings.

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The characteristics of the interviewees

The purposive sample is now considered below in the light of achieving

'maximum variation'. In the following section, interviewees are not identified
individually with their genders, ethnicities, instruments played etc., and the order
in which they are discussed in each section is also varied to reduce the likelihood
of their being recognised by readers.

The player-educator: Central to the study was the idea of the player-educator -
all had to be actively experiencing jazz both as educator and performer. The
'typical' (Ben and Frank) did both, but some were primarily educators while
others were primarily players. One, for example, taught a small number of
students one-to-one at conservatoire level, but saw himself primarily as a
performer, while another was a full-time teacher, who had played more
extensively earlier in his career. The majority taught regularly part-time (see
below) and performed at professional or semi-pr& level.

Ethnicity: The aim was to cover a variety of different ethnic groups and jazz
styles. It was important that the sample include at least one African American,
since jazz and ethnic identity emerged as a central issue affecting definitions of
jazz in the literature data. The final sample included four white British jazz
musicians (one a Scot), one African American, originating from the West Indies
and one mixed-race South African, all with good general jazz knowledge. All also
specialised at various times and in various combinations in contemporary British,
Indian, New Orleans and beboplhardbop styles.

'I am using the terms 'professional' and 'semi-pro' here in the sense used by Chnstian, in White
(1987), see page 27. above. A 'senu-pro' is someone who is not a full-time musician but earns a
proportion of his income through playing. There is also a concern in White, not implied in this
context, with jazz as an artistic rather than commercial activity, and thus that semi-pnn would

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Gender: Carol was the only woman in the final sample. She was a singer, the
commonest role women have played in jazz, though by no means the only one.
The ratio of women to men in UK jazz in 1998 is much less than 1/6 (Jazz
Services Directory, 1991), but it was important to include a woman in the sample,
to achieve maximum variation. There were a number of instances where this
interviewee's definitions differed significantly from those of the others. Such
findings are potentially of great significance to those studying the under-
representation of women in jazz and women's experience as jazz musicians and
educators, and this interview certainly suggested that women do define jazz in
significantly different ways to men.

The magnitude and complexity of these findings made it necessary to place

gender issues outside the scope of this thesis, and I have already indicated that the
research is focused on definitions of jazz included in data, rather than on
discussion of those definitions which are excluded (see page 13. above).
Nevertheless, the literature on the area indicates that women were involved both
in real world jazz and jazz in education from the earliest days, and indeed have
been under-represented at every level. Unterbrink's (1983) historical survey of
jazz women at the keyboard points to the many women pianists and organists who
'taught jazz greats and played alongside the finest jazz musicians' (3), from
Ella Sheppard, director of the Fisk Jubilee Singers since 1871, to the early work
of Lovie Austin, Lii Hardin Armstrong and Mary Lou Williams, and right up to
Carla Bley and Marian McPartland. Unterbrink's work also support's Kinzer's
work cited earlier, (page 31.), in suggesting that women jazz musicians of all
races often had high levels of formal training in music. She points out, for
example, that Lii Hardin Armstrong enrolled as a music major at Fisk University
in 1918 aged 15, and later got a teacher's certificate at the Chicago College of
Music and later a post-graduate performer's diploma at New York College of
Music. Handy's (1981) work on black women in American bands and orchestras

rather earn money elsewhere than play jazz in commerciai contexts where their artistic integrity
would be threatened.

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is also relevant here, as is the other historical work on women in jazz (Gourse,
1995; Placksin, 1982), work on gender in music education (Green, 1997) and
work on how canonical structures have excluded women in classical music
(Citron, 1993). No research has yet been undertaken in jazz education on the ways
in which men's definitions of jazz are gendered. I also return to this area briefly in
Chapter IX.

Instrumentation: Choice of instrumentalist was also important to achieving both

a range of styles and of educational approaches. A drummer, for example, may
tend to emphasise melodic or harmonic understandings less, and is likely to
conceptualise problems of technical control differently from a pianist or guitarist.
Players cited as heroes of early jazz experience may also vary. All interviewees
had a main instrument and played at least one other instrument in a range of jazz
and sometimes other styles. The instruments played across the group were as
follows:

Main jazz instrument Others played in style

noted in interview

drum kit misc. percussion, bass

trombone piano
piano guitar, bass guitar, drums, flute, church
organ
flute baroque flute, bass flute, piano
voice piano, clarinet, guitar
tenor sax other saxes

Bass (upright or electric), guitar and trumpet were the three commonest jazz
instruments not covered in the sample. All those interviewed played main
instruments that were likely to allow experience of most major jazz styles, with
the possible exception of the flute.

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Age range: Interviewees ranged in age from early 30s to late 60s when their
interview occurred. The ages of each at the time of interview were as follows, in
ascending order:

333536474768

None were under thirty, to ensure sufficient experience in both contexts. As it

turned out, no-one in their fifties was chosen.

Educational context: Variety in educational context was a key factor. Some

interviewees specialised in particular age ranges and levels, including one who
was an instrumental teacher at a conservatoire and another who taught full-time at
secondary level but still found time to perform. Two others had been full-time
educators in the past. All had a minimum of five years' education experience.
Others taught part-time, from primary through to post-graduate levels. The sample
also included one person experienced at training music teachers to teach jazz, and
one who was working intermittently with special needs adults.

Jazz styles played: All were competent in a range of jazz styles, but each had
their own specialism and other stylistic interests too. The following thumbnail
sketches are not intended to be complete pictures of the musicians concerned, and
of course use terms problematised in the analysis, but they do give an indication
of how the musicians fitted within the sample.

One associated himself with hardbop and the music of Coltrane. Another was a
major figure in contemporary British jazz, having emerged through the British
jazz boom of the 1980s, and was also involved at various points in free jazz and
some contemporary classical music. A third was primarily a mainstream jazz
performer, who made his name in association with a very famous US jazz
musician of iconic status. A fourth specialised in combining jazz with musics

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60
from non-Western countries. One had a specialism in South African jazz, and one
was strongly associated as a performer with the boom in British jazz of the 1950s
and 60s, and also with the 1950s British 'Trad.' revival of New Orleans music.

Knowledge of classical music was not initially taken into account in the sample,
but emerged as highly significant in the interviews. Two claimed to have virtually
no knowledge of classical music, and had not been formally trained in the style,
while the other four had classical training to degree level, one as a mature student
after years as a self-taught jazz musician. Answers were so significant here as to
result in a chapter devoted to the role of classical music in definitions of jazz (see
Chapter VIII).

Jazz educational background: The initial interviews revealed a wide range of

ways of learning to play jazz, and this became more of a focus in the choice of
interviewees 4, 5 and 6. A decision was taken after interview 4 to interview a jazz
musician formally trained in the US. Others had learnt jazz through various
means, two on formal courses with 'jazz' in the title. One had never studied music
formally at all, though some rudimentary musical training in school had occurred,
and one, as already mentioned, learnt jazz initially that way but returned to
university later in life to study classical music.

The long semi-structured interview

The long semi-structured interview was chosen as the best instrument for several
reasons. A 'conversation with a purpose' (Burgess, 1988b: 137) or what Rubin
and Rubin (1995) call a 'guided conversation', it enabled the depth required, and
was also informal and flexible enough to be 'sensitive to the specific dynamics of
each interaction ... tailor-making each one on the spot' (Mason, 1996: 40). Rubin
and Rubin (1995: 5) state, 'Many qualitative interviews have both more and less
structured parts but vary in the balance between them', and this sums up well the

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approach taken. Burgess argues that the standardised interview in comparison

'does not engage with the texture of people's lives' (1988b: 53).

The key objective was to obtain definitions of jazz which contained what Rubin
and Rubin call 'depth, detail' and' ... vividness' (1995: 76). For depth,
questioning techniques allowed thoughtful and full consideration of questions
asked. To this end, interviewees were initially encouraged to continue speaking as
long as they wanted without interruption except to request clarification. Follow-
up questions requested particulars and where possible technical details and
specifics, adding solidity and clarity to the evidence obtained. These details show
self-evidently that 'things are so' (Platt, 1988: 6). Platt goes on to suggest that in
both quantitative and qualitative approaches, the particular can also make the
picture more convincing through its aesthetic appeal (See also Eisner, 1981). She
argues that the picture becomes humanised and rhetoric adds persuasiveness to
logic. Likewise vividness was achieved through asking for first-hand experience,
and also by encouraging a relaxed expansiveness. Hull talks of moments in these
kinds of interviews where talk was a 'trigger to remembrance of lived events'
(1985: 29).

Procedure

An initial phone-call established availability and context, confirmed that

anonymity would be assured and indicated roughly how long the initial interview
would take. Subjects were sent the schedule in advance (see Appendix C, page
418.), to give a sense of what the interview contained and to allay any anxieties.
Manner, language and tone were intended to communicate a sense of partnership
in the process, that they would be helping me out personally. As far as possible, I
was a fellow musician rather than an 'academic'.

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The interview began with a short briefing that included the details from the
introductory section of the schedule. Interviewees were told they would be sent a
transcription for comment. The interview was conducted at a mutually
convenient, quiet and relatively personal place, either my house or theirs, often
over coffee around a table. Interviews were sometimes conducted on one long
occasion, depending on the time available and how fulsome answers were.
Carol's was the longest, both in time and in words, stretching over three interview
sessions. Each interview was followed, sometimes much later, by a post-
transcription follow-up meeting, at which each interviewee had been previously
sent what they had said. Some were more thorough at reading their data than
others, and the follow-up was mainly an opportunity to clarify outstanding issues
and for them to comment if they wanted.

All interviews were recorded on cassette using a small mono dictating machine
with built-in microphone. This proved adequate but less than ideal for
transcription purposes. The tapes were relatively noisy and levels were sometimes
low, but it was rare for more than the odd word to be inaudible.

Transcription

Powney and Watts (1987) outline a number of possible transcription conventions,

which vary in terms of the level and type of detail recorded. The convention
chosen was closest to that used by Bentley and Watts (1986), where the aim is to
'...represent speech reasonably closely to written dialogue' (1986: 150). All
transcription is inevitably partial, omitting much non-verbal information as well
as timing, intonation, tone of voice, accent and speed. While non-verbal elements
are clearly helpful in making some meanings clear or in some cases more obscure,
such elements were not generally the focus of the transcription process. However,
individual cases were noted where particularly significant:

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74. Charlie: Can you define what you mean by McCoy Tyner?

75. Ben.' [Pause] He was the bloke who played with John
Coltrane.
Here, for example, the pause is particularly significant because it adds to the
meaning of Ben's response (see pages 75-6. below).

Transcription and a preliminary summary normally took place within a few days
of the interview, though this was not always possible. In line with Powney and
Watts (1987), interviews were divided up into numbered utterances with lettered
sub-sections, and words transcribed using the punctuation and other conventions
described below. Each new speech was given an utterance number, and where
necessary subdivided into paragraphs with a lower case letter. 'Charlie' was used
for the interviewer, and false names beginning with letters A-F were used for the
interviewees, and these appear in the text of the thesis and in the Data Appendix.
Inaudible or ambiguous words were given [.....?], with an attempt at a 'nonsense'
transcription where possible (example at Data Appendix, A31e, '... [talons on
Josephs fish?] ... '). Anything inside square brackets was not part of the
utterances of the interviewees. []is used in a number of ways: sometimes to
indicate the omission of a name, or an unclear or inaudible word; sometimes to
imply, almost as in a play script, a tone of voice (D28a); or, as in Dave's sung
examples, to indicate other information (see Data Appendix, D28k). In the data
presentation and analysis chapters that follow, data extracts are edited down, to
save space and make points clearer. Conversational rhythms, inflections and
repetitions are often omitted. Sections of the complete transcriptions, unedited
down, are given in the Data Appendix where indicated. Underlining is used to
indicate emphasis.

Shorter and less significant pauses were mostly ignored, while [pause] and
sometimes [long pause] is used for longer and more significant pauses. In the
thesis text, '... 'is used to indicate where examples are edited down to direct

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focus. 'Urns' and 'Ers' were often excluded in these transcriptions, except where
particularly crucial to the sense. Other paralinguistic effects (Powney and Watts,
1987: 150) such as laughs and coughs are mentioned where they are considered
relevant to the sense. Punctuation, sentencing and paragraphing were designed to
give the reader some feeling for the conversational style. Dave rarely used 'full
stops' in his speaking, for example, and sentences would run on one into another,
comment and narrative in alternate phrases:
38.h) Dave: And then I became so confident. Wow! man!
like, yeah! like, a do a bit of swing, ... of course, at that time I was
quite happening, sort of thing, you know, ... I could now swing,
and my sticks looked good, and (played and stuff But ... then I
decided well may ... it's time for me to go abroad, I want to learn a
little bit about other things now, I want to go to experience the
music of Europe and all these great artists and people that you
always hear of on the radio and the records, I must go and see
what it's all about
38.i) ... and besides, things were becoming so in South Africa
for me that it became a little bit, er, ... you know, I started feeling
that I don 'tfeel right anyway, because it's becoming difficult, you
know, there's this apartheid, and I have now friends and musicians
that I know from all different race groups, white and Indian and
very tribal blacks, and, like, my community which is, like, we were,
like, the Cape ... the coloured, the Cape coloured people, you
know. And this was all ... I mean, this was all things that were so
unnecessary but we were categorised in all these different ... the
government decided that they were going to categorise the people.
So (came from a different ethnic group, you know, than ... from
than my other friends that I had, like
Sentences and paragraphs in such instances were defined in ways that aided the
understanding of the reader rather than to represent pauses in the flow. In the
above example, the choice of the 'And' (38i) and the 'But' (38h) in the middle of

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each paragraph are clearly not the beginnings of new grammatical sentences, but
they were judged to be places where a new idea was introduced. At the 'And',
Dave changes from narrative to personal comment, and at the 'But', a new
direction is indicated in the talk, as he cuts across his previous assertions. The
paragraph change from 38h to 38i is both analytical and also an editorial decision,
signalling to the reader a new set of ideas, focusing on a new topic and allowing
the text to breathe. In the talk itself, it simply ran on as a continuous flow.

This next example from Frank was much slower and more laconic, even hesitant,
using shorter sentences. Some mannerisms were edited out to facilitate reader
flow, while the 'you know' mannerism gives some sense of the slower delivery:
65.a) Frank: Well, he ... sort of like encouraged me to take solos
off the records, you know. A lot ofpeople say transcribe, but that's
a dWerent thing. See, I did transcription at [top US jazz college]
as wel4 and the way they taught transcription is ... you know
...without even your instrument, ... without your instrument, you
just go to the record, and you transcribe the solo that you want.
And that's effective, you can, you know, learn a lot from doing
that. But that ... in a sense, is just a technical exercise. You know,
you won't learn a lot of the music that way ... about the sound
about the physical ... music.
Where short extracts from a number of different interviews or from the same
interview are juxtaposed, unbroken lines separate each contribution (see pages
192-195. for an example of this).

Questions and questioning techniques

The interview schedule (see Appendix C) was structured in two clear parts. The
first was about the musicians' musical experiences and the second about their own
education and experiences as educators. The first was designed to get a picture of

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the musician in their context, encompassing their life, musical background and
influences. The 'milestones' question (2) usually led on to their early life quite
easily, though it was often necessary to go back over the structure of their lives to
fill in gaps. Some tended to gloss over their early experiences and had to be
brought back to their school and early lives later. Dave was the most prominent of
these, going off at fascinating and often relevant tangents (D24a-o, B66a-1), but
rarely delivering the schedule in the given order. From Question 3 onwards
(present musical life), questions focused increasingly on 'good' and 'bad', to
encourage interviewees to define what they felt was significant or valuable in
their own playing and the playing of others.

In each area the structure moved from an opening question (e.g.: 'what music do
you do at the moment?'), to a series of follow-ups which clarified their responses
(e.g. 'who with?'), and requested more detail on the values underlying their
activities ('what do you like/dislike?'). The same approach followed through into
the education section (4). The end checklist proved unnecessary in all cases, but
was a useful fall-back position and aide-memoire.

Literature on interview techniques focuses on the differences between 'starting-

point' and 'follow-up' questions and between 'open' and closed' questions.
Oppenheim (1966) argues that open questions add vagueness and often need
probes that should in her view be non-directive (42). Closed ones lead often to a
loss of expressiveness and imply a more directive approach. McCracken (1988)
begins with the concept of the 'grand tour question', usually general and non-
directive; and prefers to use the term follow-up 'prompts'. These prompts include:
'contrast' prompts, like 'what is the difference between x and y'; 'floating'
prompts, where the interviewer flicks eyebrows, repeats a key term or asks for
more information without leading; 'category' questions, which mop up the
remains of a topic under discussion, once a respondent has had a first go at it; and
the concept of 'auto-driving', where a stimulus or comment is required.

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Richardson, Dohrenwend and Klein (1965) suggest that the distinction between
open and closed questions is too simplistic. They argue convincingly that there
are degrees of directiveness, and that some directiveness is an inevitable part of
the interview process. They also distinguish between questions that follow up and
those that cross the line of thinking of the respondent. Pure openness leads to lack
of relevance while pure closedness leads to a lack of participation. Any interview
must therefore balance the need for relevance to the topic with an equal and
opposite need for interviewee participation as the interview progresses.
Richardson goes on to argue that 'open questions are more likely to be used in the
early stages of a study' (148) and that later follow-ups, in his case sometimes in
further interviews, may produce more specific responses through closed
questioning.

In line with McCracken (1988), starting-point questions were essentially the same
for all interviewees, and were usually open, allowing the interviewees to control
the initial direction of talk and introduce their own concepts and views.
Occasionally minor alterations or paraphrases of wordings facilitated a smooth
transition from the previous topic. Some informality and even jokiness was
encouraged as an icebreaking gambit.

There were examples throughout the interviews of follow-up questions in all of

the categories that Richardson proposes. These included 'extension' questions,
requesting more information (A32); 'echo' questions which repeat the last word
or idea and imply sympathy (A48); 'clarification' questions which request
clarification of a muddy area and request depth (A36); 'summary' questions, of
the 'is this what you mean?' type - these I tended to avoid, because they could
potentially be leading; 'confrontation' questions where the interview presents
inconsistencies in what was previously said (E382); and 'repetition' questions
where the same question is essentially repeated and sometimes reformulated to
achieve better replies (F '19). A 173-178 (see Data Appendix, page 307.)
demonstrates a standard opening, a follow-up and a subsequent focus on detail.

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Although the interview schedule had been piloted, wordings of follow up

questions varied in their length. Particularly in the earlier interviews where I was
less experienced, I sometimes responded with questions that lacked focus, though
this improved later. Towards the end of a section, questions were sometimes
introduced which revealed the direction of the research more clearly. These fall
into Richardson, Dohrenwend and Klein's (1%5) category of questions that cross
the interviewee's line of thinking. Here, for example, is a respondent comment
followed by a question:
4(TX).b) Carol: ... those choices that I will have made in the run up
to any performance choose to come out in the performance,
but 1 don't necessarily push it ... sometimes they come up in the
gig, sometimes they don't. So I mean it's partly a conscious
process, yeah.

401. Charlie: But you try not to monitor yourself as you do it

there isn't a little voice at the back of your head saying ... OK
we've had a bit of this, now let's have a bit of that, say, or a sort of
a perspective on things. I mean, it's this idea of 'in the moment'
I'm trying to explore, I suppose, because
Once a section was well underway, I extended the open and non-leading question
approach slightly, offering my own experiences as foils to theirs and sometimes
asking how what they had just said related to what they said before. There are a
number of precedents for this. Rubin (1995, esp. Chapter VI.) suggests the
interviewer can sometimes be highly pro-active, even provocative in engaging
with the perspectives of the interviewee, in order to go down another level of
depth. This needs careful balancing, as Seidman comments:
There are times when an interviewer's experience may connect to
that of the participant. Sharing that experience in a frank and
personal way may encourage the participant to continue in
reconstructing his own ... Overused, however, such sharing can

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 distort an interview and distract participants from their own
experience to the interviewer's ...' (1991: 66)
Whyte (1981) is a further precedent here. In his participant observation studies
observing Italian slum-dwellers arguing about baseball and sex on street corners,
he suggests that arguing on some matters' . . .was simply part of the social pattern
...' (302). Such arguments are indeed common currency in discussions amongst
jazz educators.

Deutscher (1972), in Brenner (1978), argues the opposite, that questions should be
as unloaded as possible, and that the sequence of the interview should ideally be
such that the subject's responses are not affected by previous queries or
responses. My approach here was to begin each section in as neutral a way as
possible and to make perspectives plain only once the interviewee had already
given their own view earlier in the interview, or where it would help the
interviewee to clarify their position. Here I bring Andy back to an earlier answer
to get more depth from him:
230.Andy: ... later on, of course, as you get more adept at
emotional control ... And I hope I never loose that, you know, that
link between emotional

231. Charlie: In a way, that's ... thaiparticular comment about

emotion connects back to the thing about what's distinctive - how
you teach emotional involvement

232.Andy: Yeah, sure

233.a) Charlie: ... which we never really got to the bottom of in

the last question ... I mean .. . jazz ... has a directness about it, it
has an emotional honesty about it which is inevitable, I suppose

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233.b) But there are also an awful lot of improvisers, you and!
both know, I suppose, who are continually emotionally distant
from what they play.

234. Andy: Yeah, yeah. Well, I think there is a variety

Again, not to have been involved in a genuinely interactive debate or 'guided
conversation' with the interviewee (Rubin and Rubin, 1995) would have stifled
the flow and formalised the interaction.

Towards the end, I very occasionally took decisions to leave the area of the
question altogether. Seidman advocates an interviewer should 'follow your
hunches' (1991: 68) and '... when appropriate, risk saying what you think or
asking a difficult question ...' (1991: 68). In two examples, this paid particular
dividends. With Ben, I sensed he had something to say at one stage (Data
Appendix, B61-661), and prompted him to go out on a limb and leave the schedule
behind. My intuition inspired a long and revealing answer, connecting the values
of jazz with his vision of a society where people co-operate rather than compete.
The same occurred with Eric. He had answered all the questions but somehow
failed to address the issue of the relationship between his view of jazz and his
own teaching style. At the end of the interview, having allowed him to answer in
full using the open questions, I decided I would challenge him directly. The result
was again both revealing and relevant, establishing that he had crucial doubts in
his mind about piano touch (see Data Appendix, E378a-387, and Chapter VIII,
page 241.).

An example of the opposite judgement occurred with Frank, where I decided not
to follow up a sensitive question, even though, rightly but frustratingly, it meant
we never really got to the bottom of an issue. It is also an example of a case where
the interviewer-interviewee relationship became an important variable. Frank was
relatively phlegmatic and generally less forthcoming. I expected ethnicity to
emerge explicitly as a key feature for him, since it had done with Dave, but it

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didn't, emerging instead indirectly in other ways. Below, we were covering the
issue of the styles of music in his upbringing for the first time:
15. Frank: Yeah, yeah ... because it was such a natural
feeling, you know ... as soon as I started playing ... I sort of got
into a little wnateur band ... we started trying to learn some of the
stuff that ... was current at that time

16. Charlie: What sort of music was it?

17. Frank: Well I was in [Caribbean island] then, so it

was calypso and reggae and some soul stuff you kzzow.
Then we returned to the issue, to try and delve deeper, but I decided not to address
the ethnicity issue directly, hoping that he would bring it up himself:
53. Frank: Yeah, I was, because ... I mean, we never
had jazz records at home, we had country and western records
[laughs], and we had ... some soul and funk things, reggae,
calypso ... but no jazz records

54. Charlie: But that sounds like ... 1 mean ... is there anything
special ... 1 mean, special about your family's as opposed to other
people's ... or do you think that's most people's experience

55. Frank: That's most ... especially in the islands

that's most people's experience. I would say, maybe ninety-nine
point nine per cent of the population's experience ... there's a
small minority that ... are probably hip to what's happening
outside of the Islands. Imean, country and western,for some
reason had an impact down there ... You find with a lot of West
Indian families ..., of my generation especially ..., they had
records like Jim Reeves and ...[laughsJ things like that at home,

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seriously! ... Johnny Cash, you know. That's ..., I heard those
records. And my mother liked classical music too
I was hoping to discover whether his West Indian background had given him any
special understanding of jazz. Rather than discuss West Indian music, as I had
expected, he gave other significant but unexpected comments about country and
western and classical musics. Richardson, Dohrendwend and Klein (1965) and
Reese, Danielson, Shremaki, Chang and Hsu (1986) cover the effects of inter-
racial interviewer/interviewee pairings and this was undoubtedly a significant
issue here. Richardson et al. comment, '... it is especially complex for whites and
African Americans to interview each other' (1965: 76). Herb Rubin had a similar
experience in this example from Rubin and Rubin (1995):
Herb noted that early in his community development study his
interviews lacked depth on questions of race and ethnicity, because
he was afraid to ask follow up questions on this topic' (1995: 120)
Powney and Watts (1987) discuss the danger of what they quote Brenner as
calling 'directive probing' (138-9) and self-fulfilling prophecy, essentially that the
study is compromised to some extent by the interviewer revealing their own
categories in this way. In this case, I sought not to impose categories directively
on Frank, but wanted to get him to reveal his own.

The interviewer/interviewee relationship and roles

An appropriate combination of empathy and objectivity, insider and outsider, was

hard to achieve. Building on the purer distinctions set up by Merriam (1964),
Netti (1983) and others in the long running emic/etic debate within
ethnomusicology, Herndon (1993) points out that '... insiders and outsiders are
not polar opposites, but exist as points on a continuum' (1993: 66). He
emphasises the need for the scholar to become 'more forthcoming and self-
reflexive' (1993: 68), adding, in a quote from Headland et al. (1990):

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 When I act, I act as an insider; but to know, in detail, how I act ... I
must secure help from an outside disciplinary system. To use the
emics of non-verbal (or verbal) behaviour, I must act like an
insider; to analyse my own acts, I must look at (or listen to)
material as an outsider. But just as the outsider can learn to act like
an insider, so the insider can learn to analyse like an outsider
(Headland, in Herndon 1993: 68).
Netti suggests:
If we are to construct a detailed but broad picture of the music of a
society as culture, we must decide which route we are taking at any
one time, but eventually we will probably find it necessary to
follow both and to discover a way of reconciling them (1983: 14).
Adelman (1981) indicates similar complexity in his paradoxical view that the
interviewer should, '... remain uninvolved in terms of empathy ...' while '...
maintain[ing] rapport' (4). McCracken (1988) sees the investigator/respondent
relationship in terms both of scientist and collaborator. He adds that the
relationship should be 'not too intimate', to prevent the interviewee giving the
researcher what they think the researcher wants. He argues that research
objectives must remain hidden to some extent, to allow an unstructured response.

Turning now to interaction, Brenner (1978) promotes what he calls the 'social
interaction paradigm'. He is critical of previous writers such as Deutscher (1972),
who he quotes as saying, 'the interviewer must be an inert agent who exerts no
influence on the response by tone, expression, stance or statement' (Deutscher in
Brenner, 1978: 122). Rubin and Rubin likewise describe the interviewer/
interviewee relationship as collaborative, that of 'conversational partners' (1995:
91). Mishler (1986) sees this collaborativeness as being located in a shift of
emphasis away from researcher problems and towards respondent problems. The
interviewer facilitates the respondent's efforts in constructing meanings from
experience, and grants respondents the right to control the construction of
meaning.

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Phillips describes the social interaction itself as introducing 'an important

complex variable' (1978: 215) into the research. Mishler (1986) sees the
relationship as defined partly through the cultures of the interviewees:
Questioning and answering are ways of speaking that are grounded
in and depend on culturally shared and often tacit assumptions
about how to express and understand beliefs, experiences, feelings
and intentions' (j78: 7).
This then establishes a paradox, that the only way to establish such beliefs is
through getting the interviewee to express them through their ways of speaking.
The interaction itself has an inevitable effect on the structure and thus the content
of what is said. The medium in a sense defines the message.

In the interviews themselves, relationships certainly varied considerably, and

often developed within each, depending on how much we already knew each
other and the contexts in which we had met. At one stage in Ben's interview, for
example, he suggests that there are aspects of the playing of McCoy Tyner that he
finds less useful:
71. Ben: ... Keith Jarrett is not the only one of course but he
is quite important ... I'm not so much into the McCoy Tyner or

72. Charlie: Why not?

73. Ben: It's never really appealed, you know ... it's just a
sort of taste thing, I suppose, an aesthetic thing, but ... and not so
much of the straight ahead bop things.

74. Charlie: Can you define what you mean by McCoy Tyner?

75. Ben: [Pause] He was the bloke who played with John
Coltrane.

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 76. Charlie: Yeah, yeah, but I'm saying what sort ofplaying ... I
mean, I think I know what you mean, but I want you to articulate
more clearly from the point of view of the research what you mean
by

77. Ben: Well I mean I just sort of drew McCoy Tyner out of
the air really ... but there's a certain stylistic thing that a lot of
pianists do
[full text in Data Appendix, B71-81]
After I had asked Ben to explain his own views on McCoy Tyner, what that
phrase means to him above, he wrongly assumed that I was unsure who McCoy
Tyner was, and implicitly challenged me, such that I had to explain my position at
B76. In the process, his view of me in the role of 'qualified' interviewer changed.

It is worth considering my role with each interviewee separately. Dave's data was
full of rambling anecdotes and social detail, and revealed a rich experience of jazz
and of individual students and teachers, at times almost overwhelming the
structure of the interview. With him, my role as interviewer became formally to
channel and structure his ideas rather than to facilitate flow. By contrast, Andy
was more concise, distanced, formal and highly organised. The critical case and
already familiar with many of the issues, he demonstrated his experience by
coming forward immediately with fluent, comprehensive, issue-based and less
personal answers in many conceptual areas. In comparison to Dave, he went
straight to the point of each question, sometimes second-guessing the interview
structure. He was someone for whom I had respect, and I sensed also a
collaborative, even paternal enthusiasm for the project.

I had never spoken to Frank on more than the most colleague-to-colleague level
before, and this inhibited the collaboration to some extent. So too did the fact that
he was relatively shy - there was some awkwardness at times. The issue of

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ethnicity was crucial here, particularly affecting questioning techniques (see

above, page 66). There were other occasions where I felt unable to get further
depth, his responses indicating that he was unwilling to do so. Frank seemed to
decide what his answers were, and then to repeat them, with variations, in
response to a range of questions as the interview continued. One method of
teaching improvising, for example, recurs several times (F73a, F138b, F141,
F153, F294, F318, F334, F358, F390, F392 and F396). I sensed his teaching was
more varied and complex than he felt able to articulate in the interview.

By comparison, I knew Carol well already as a fellow musician, fellow teacher

and friend. Our conversation was open and frank, and she agreed both that the
interview and research had deepened our relationship, and that our relationship
also deepened the interview. Rubin and Rubin (1995) note several differences in
cross-gender conversational patterns, including hesitation, avoidance of bluntness
and more 'indirect language', which they see as evidence of strategies used by
women to get around male dominance. Babiraki describes a set of ethnographic
methods, that 'place multiple voices and interpretations in the written work'
(1997: 134), and mentions small group interviews with no leader. She critiques
the dialogic interview strategy as sometimes creating a 'delusion of alliance, a
search for self in the other' which can sometimes place subjects at greater risk of
exploitation and manipulation. Stacey (1991) argues that ironically 'ethical
questions of authority, exploitation and the inherently unequal relationships
between researcher and informant/subject are not eliminated or even minimised
by ... ethnographic strategies, but simply acknowledged by them' (Stacey, 1991,
in Babiraki 1997: 121ff). Methods used in this study were not truly 'ethnographic'
in Babiraki or Stacey's sense, nor was there much sense of Rubin and Rubin's
'strategies' at work. It is important nevertheless to acknowledge in these
interviews a range of gender-based power modalities at work, both same- and
cross-gender.

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At times, the interviewees were thinking their ideas through, and sometimes
relating them for the first time:
66.a) Ben: ... I've thought about things a lot in the past, and!
mean I continue to think about the philosophy behind it, but at the
moment it's very much a doing phase, so! mean, it might take me a
while to dig these things out, because I'm ... I'm working on
assumptions that I'm not verbalising at the moment but that's OK,
I don't mind doing that.
The pace of delivery of the answers is also significant here, as are indications that
interviewees are unsure of themselves or thinking out loud. A first utterance was
sometimes qualified by a second in which the same ideas appeared again
differently ordered or seen in a more considered light. This was enabled by a
conversational pattern of long paragraphs and some occasions where the same
question was asked twice.

B. Data Analysis

Miles and Huberman (1984) identify data reduction, data display and conclusion
drawing as the main activities of analysis in qualitative research. They define data
reduction as the process of 'selecting, focusing, simplifying, abstracting and
transforming the raw data' (1984: 23). This occurs 'continuously throughout the
life of any qualitatively oriented project, in forms ranging from sampling
decisions to data coding and summaries' (23). Analysis also occurs during the
interviews themselves, at the points where new interviewees are decided, and in
the process of transcription, where decisions are made about the structure of the
talk. Hull (1985) notes the way in which the analyst interprets the record in the
light of their accumulated knowledge of the participant's meaning systems.
Adelman (1981) states that an important ability of the researcher is to 'converse

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and make sense, whilst at the same time considering his own categories in a self-
conscious manner' (4).

The analysis focused on the definitions found in the data, and on the nature of the
relationships between them. This gave the research a strongly data-led emphasis,
which has something in common with Glaser and Strauss's (1967) concept of
grounded theoiy. Analytical categories within the code indexes emerged through
the data, data collection continued until categories were 'saturated', and more
abstract and general expressions of categories followed, which could be used as
the basis of exploration or comparison with other theoretical schemes.
Throughout, however, some interaction occurred between inductive and deductive
reasoning. Many jazz terms (bebop, free jazz, the musical group, the teacher,
eclecticism) were symptoms of analytical categories that were clearly pre-existing
in the literature, or what Bryman and Burgess (1994) call 'pre-specified'. Bryman
and Burgess (1994) also write that they believe qualitative research '... cannot be
reduced to particular techniques nor to set stages, but rather that a dynamic
process is involved which links together problems, themes and methods' (1994: 2)
- a 'messy interaction between the conceptual and empirical world, deduction and
induction occurring at the same time' (2). Richards and Richards also say that 'the
more vulnerable and tentative ideas emerging from the data are harder to
incorporate in ordered categories than are codes describing characteristics of the
data or allocating material to major known topics' (1994: 168). Analysis was
therefore also a process of watching for pre-existing categories to be modified,
extended or contradicted by the data, and of allowing the emergence of new ones.
Towards the end came a process of clarification, where the messiness of the data
began to be replaced with a sense of the totality of definitions found and
conceptual areas covered.

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Data reduction, display and conclusion-drawing

Several phases of data reduction took place. Richards and Richards (1994)
describe data control methods as processes of analysis in themselves. An initial
phase consisted of creating summaries of the interview data, making paraphrases
of the content of the interviews and reducing each paragraph to a sentence, a
technique recommended by Rubin and Rubin (1995: 166). These reductions were
never used in the final analysis. They were nevertheless a useful way to begin to
map the full extent of the definitions found in the massive amount of interview
data, and to begin to make preliminary links with the literature. They gave a
picture of the general direction of each interview, and helped identify early on the
conceptual areas where each interview was delivering a sufficiently consistent,
comprehensive or detailed picture. From these summaries some initial writing
was produced, not used in this final presentation.

In a second, detailed coding process, important definitions were indexed term by

term across all six interviews. From this moment on, all analysis focused on
'jazz', and not on any one interviewee's account. As each interviewee's
definitions were added to the index, the pictures of 'real world' and 'educational'
jazz became richer and more vivid. The two Code Indexes in the Analysis
Appendix indicate aspects of the path taken at this stage of the analysis. Initial
categories (noted in the analysis by their starting letter) of Culture, Learning,
Ethnic identity, Processes, Qualities, Style and Values developed to represent
areas they spoke about in the first two interviews. These areas remained broadly
stable, though terms became increasingly refined as analysis developed: culture
became culture/context/group of people and increasingly overlapped with
'ethnicity'; learning became 'learning (and teaching)' and so on. A family tree of
categories and a large number of sub-categories began to emerge, to represent
adequately the complexity and richness of the data (Bliss, Monk and Ogborn,
1983). From the start, some codes had significant overlaps with others, and were

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ill-defined umbrella terms. 'Culture: Influences', for example, contains many
examples of musicians whose 'style' was influential to several interviewees. At
this stage, reading too became more focused on conceptual areas where data was
rich and dense.

Within each major code, sub-categories developed, again some overlapping or

superceding each other 'Culture: music Industry' and Culture: hofessional' for
example. A coding system developed using the capitals and underlinings
indicated, such that Cm and CPr represented these two codes, and were written in
the margin in the interviews at the places where the ideas occurred. (Compare
Code Indexes 2 and 6 in Appendix B to see how the extra underlined level of code
was introduced).

As the analysis developed, patterns emerged of several kinds. First a series of

'hotspots' within the interviews developed, where a single piece of data appeared
in the indexes in a number of different places, as significant in several categories.
B52a-58 is an example of this (Data Appendix, page 323ff), appearing in all the
following places in the index:

Cm (Culture, music Industry) SBk (Style, Brecker)

LB (Learning, Boundaries/categories), SBr (Style, British jazz)
LC (Learning, Crossover), SCh (Style, Change within style)
LL (Learning, Listening), SCI (Style, Classical)
LLu (Learning, Lumpy), SC (Style, Crossover)
LPr (learning, Projection), SF (Style, Free Jazz)
LR (Learning, Repertoire), SFu (Style, Fusion)
LSk (Learning, Skills), SIn (Style, Internal dynamics)
LTe (Learning, role of Teacher), Sir (Style, Jarrett)
LT (Learning, Technical control), SJa(Style, Jazz)
PCh (Processes, Chords/chord symbols), SR(Style Repertoire)
PCr (Processes, Creativity), SRo (Style, Rock)
PFu (Processes, Fusion), SWo (Style, Wonder, stevie)
Pif (Processes, Influences), VAc( Values, Accept)

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Pit (Processes, Interaction), VIn( Values, Inclusive)

POr (Processes, Organic growth), VK (Values, Keep moving)
QEc (Qualities, Eclecticism) VLe (Values, Letting it out)
QJ'Ja (Qualities, Natural) VO (Values, Openness)
QOp (Qualities, Open) VPI (Values, Place for everything)
SBe (Style, Bebop) VS (Values, Success, building in)
SBo (Style, Boundaries)

These particularly significant sections of interview data became central features of

the analysis, drawing together definitions from a range of conceptual areas.

Some codes also became sites of particular density, attracting large numbers of
references. Some became unwieldy - LTe, Learning: role of Leacher and LVo,
Learning: Y.Qcabulary were two examples of this (see Analysis Appendix, Code
Index 6). Others appeared many times, but only in a single interview. Learning:
Arpeggios (lAr) is an example of one of these, appearing only in Frank's
interview. Others were clearly central, such as Learning Boundaries/categories
(LB), which was the place where references relating to boundaries between jazz
and other styles were initially stored. Learning by Ear (LEa) was another that
attracted references from all six interviews. Conversely, others remained
significant in the literature although they did not in fact fill up as expected in the
interviews - Ethnic Identity as a whole remained relatively small, because the
interviews contained few direct references to the term despite its central
importance in the literature and as an underlying factor in the interviews.
'Qualities' in the music developed, and by interview 6 included qualities in
musicians and teachers too. 'Values' also became much more extensive as it went
on, and included a wide and disparate range of items.

At the Code Index stage, no attempt was made to draw categories together and the
tensions and overlaps between them were allowed to develop, without what Miles
and Huberman (1984) call 'stock-taking' or truly systematising. Their slightly
unwieldy appearance reflects this. It was important to remain 'open to ideas,

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patterns, new categories or concepts, that may emerge during the process'
(Richards and Richards, 1994: 149). In this phase, where particular points, ideas
or intuitions began to float to the surface of the thought process, 'memos' were
written, put in a separate folder on the word processor and returned to at a later
date (Bryman and Burgess, 1994: 2). This proved a useful way both of recording
the process of analysis and methodological issues encountered and also of
retaining analytical ideas, combining categories together or considering what to
do next. Below is a sample of A-D from the final index of what were eventually
203 memos in alphabetical order written during this analysis and stored in a
separate folder:

Accurate and smart vs. spirited and going for it Coding if things recur
Aims Coding problem
Answering questions Coding process
Anti-System, pro-inspiration Coding refinement
Band Social Structure Communication
Being 'in' your voice Communication vs. complexity
Blues Comparison re authenticity
Blur student/teacher relationships Complexity
Boundaries Contexts
Break boundaries Crossover
Canon-building Cultural integration
Choice D and the whole musician
Classical structures in jazz D ignores tradition/innovation
Class title/approach D key elements
Classical music criticism 0 simplicity of approach
Classical music experience Dark gaps in life hidden
Classical music, narrow Delete confidential section
Cliches Dialectic
Clustering data Differentiate categories
Code dissonance between interviews Dynamics/style/Quality

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From the codes and memos a third stage developed, where data were organised
and bundled together. Significant and relevant categories were established, and
data were chosen from the index and pasted into individual files under code
headings - a process in a sense of restoring colour to the data in its new context
alongside other pieces relating to the same topic. At this point, the data began to
be organised in terms of important 'topics' for writing. Further reading was also
allowing new and more complex connections to be made between interviews and
data at this stage, and a new grasp of the detail had begun to allow a richer sense
of the relationship between the detail and the 'big picture' to emerge. Working
across these topics, themes developed which could make coherent chapters for
presentation of findings. Cross-references between notes on literature (arranged
alphabetically by author) and interviews developed.

As writing began around the key themes and topics, it became clear that the most
coherent and concise approach in presenting the data would be to work by theme
and to avoid treating writer and interviewee data separately. Final chapter
headings emerged quite late in the writing, as did some of the important analytical
points. Writing too was a process of analysis in a way, a point of final
clarification and of making explicit in language patterns found within the data or
connections between topics and codes. One problem was somehow to preserve
this sense that some data connected to many topics, while ensuring the analysis
made sense as a linear text. One sentence could contain four terms relating to
definitions that appeared in the text in four different chapters.

The generalisability, reliability and validity of findings

In interview work of this kind, validity lies in what Richardson, Dohrenwend and
Klein (1965) call internal coherence. Within a single interview, we watch for
recurring patterns of ideas, and a consistent, rich and colourful picture of the
individual concerned should emerge. It should be one that 'rings true' to the

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reader both in its consistencies and also in its human inconsistencies at times.
There were certainly moments of seeming self-contradiction, occasions where
questions and issues were left tantalisingly half-answered, and sections of
relatively unfocussed and rambling discussion - what Richards and Richards
above (page 79.) call 'vulnerable' data. While all this added what I have earlier
described as depth and vividness, and hence authenticity, it did not facilitate easy
decisions about the validity of findings. In later listening and reading, it was not
always clear which definitions were speculative, less definitive and momentary,
and which were more thought through and integrated into the interviewees'
attitudes and working practices. The follow-up meeting was another important
means of checking, further clarifying and establishing validity at individual
interview level.

Further validity and some generalisability were also provided through the ways in
which interviews and literature are mutually supportive. The code indexes
enabled observation of the number of occurrences of particular ideas. Definitions
that appeared in a number of contexts or a number of times were more likely to be
central to any conclusions. This rested on careful identification of findings which
were consistent across a number of interviews and of other findings which were
inconsistent and indicated contestedness.

Mishler (1986) questions the way in which concepts of generalisability, reliability

and validity are used in research of this kind, arguing that the experimental
paradigm is sometimes inappropriate. In this context, the discussion of the
interviewer/interviewee relationship above indicates that there is no way of
measuring an objective 'truth' or validity. Rubin and Rubin (1995) suggest that a
transparency in the way that the interviewer works is a key sign of validity, a
convincing sense of the interviewer's engagement with the problems of working
this way, through notes on the major decisions taken to follow up themes and
thoughts on analysis. It is therefore important in this regard that the reader should
have access to the data, to check the writer's interpretations. The definitions of the

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interviewees are produced in a process whereby they individually negotiate and

even learn new positions in relation to the interviewer and questions asked. It is
thus unlikely that they would give completely identical answers to the same
questions at another time, and another interviewer might also be drawn to other
follow-up issues. Nevertheless definitions that recur consistently across
interviews and literature are likely to be more central to the view of jazz found,
and the sheer length and depth of the interview is such that reliability is likely
where terms recur.

In summary, we note, then, problems of generalisability, reliability and validity

with regard to the small size of the sample and its 'purposive' construction, the
developing nature of the definitions under discussion, the social interaction
between interviewer and interviewee, ambiguities in the interpretation of language
used and the somewhat personal nature of the process of analysis. Nevertheless,
the power of research of this kind lies finally in three kinds of insight, all of which
I hope this study demonstrates. First it lies in the richness of the picture gained,
containing convincingly 'truthful' insights embedded in the data. Definitions of
jazz found will, I hope, ring true with the reader's own perceptions, and support
each other across the data. Secondly it lies in the power of the findings, which
help to explain and clarify the messy and contested webs of terms within an area
like jazz, and reveal consistent and coherent patterns which take the research
forward and have explanatory power. Thirdly, it lies in the generation of cogent
questions and hypotheses for further research.

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Iv

Fusion and bebop: canonicity and

the boundaries between jazz
su bstyles

We begin examination of the data with the first and possibly most obvious
conceptual area found, that of the substyles of jazz. While later conceptual areas
need more justification, there is little need to justify a focus on this one, since a
massive amount of data in both interviews and literature included the terms
discussed here. Jazz has traditionally been organised into a number of substyles,
the most common of which are New Orleans or early jazz, swing, bebop, cool,
hardbop, free jazz and fusion'. To give an exhaustive account of all of these
would become a history of jazz in itself. Instead, this chapter focuses on fusion
and bebop, two contrasting substyles that between them produced the richest data
covering both real world jazz and jazz in education. Definitions of the boundaries
between the substyles of jazz in and outside education are examined, including
some substyle definitions that indicate relationships between jazz and other styles
too. Tensions between them are identified. These include a greater tendency to
play or learn about past substyles in education, and a need to define the
boundaries between them in more definitive ways and to decontextualise and

'See Berendt (1989), Collier (1978) and Walser (1999), among many others, for examples of the
use of these terms.

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simplify aspects of their features. These are all seen as indicating a trend towards
greater canonicity in education.

A. Fusion

In the real world, the term 'fusion' was used to refer to a bewilderingly wide
range of music, most of which was defined as floating near the edges of jazz.
Fusion often referred to the substyle of the late 1960s, as exemplified by the work
of Miles Davis or Weather Report. However, fusions with many other musics,
including free, classical and other non-Western and folk styles were sometimes
also defined as jazz. The widest possible range of opinion and type of definition
were evident as to whether fusion was jazz or not, and this ambiguity was also
compounded by the common view that processes of fusion were intrinsic to jazz
from its earliest times. Stearns, for example, famously defines the whole of jazz as
'the result of a 300-year-old blending in the United States of two great musical
traditions, the European and the West African' (Stearns, 1956:3). Schuller too
sees jazz as 'multi-colored' (3), 'a music compounded of African rhythmic,
formal, sonoric and expressive elements and European rhythmic and harmonic
practices' (1968: 3), while Gioia talks of the ability of jazz to 'swallow up' other
musical idioms (1997: 200). In all these ways, the term 'fusion' exemplifies well
a problem central to real world jazz and to this study, of defming where its
boundaries and the boundaries of its substyles begin and end, It is therefore also
an obvious place to start when considering whether such boundaries change in
education.

Wynton Marsalis gives the simplest and perhaps most extreme definition - that
'fusion' is not really part of jazz at all. In his Jazz Forum interview, Marsalis
writes that fusion 'does not address the 'fundamentals of the form' (Brodowski,
1989: 34), which for him are around polyphonic improvisation and the majesty of
the blues. The fusion of the 1970s was 'music that to me represents a decline'

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after what he guardedly admits were some initially 'very, very good' (Brodowski,
1989: 34) albums by Weather Repoit He does not give details as to what the
'fundamentals of the form' are, but polyphonic improvisation and the blues are
areas associated with the roots of jazz and are most commonly found in earlier
substyles. His definition of fusion, then, is based on assumptions of higher quality
in older jazz, and shows he sees fusion as a 'decline' from some kind of an earlier
golden age.

For most other writers, fusion floats somewhere nearer the centre of jazz, though
rarely at its core. The most common definition of fusion in the literature pinpoints
the closer relationship between jazz and what is called 'rock' music, itself a style
whose definition has its associated ambiguities, which are not our focus here (but
see also page 223). Berendt (1989) gives three different definitions of fusion.
First, he notes in fusion four aspects of the 'rock' influence on jazz: 'the
electronicisation of instruments, rhythm, a new attitude towards the solo, and ... a
stronger emphasis on composition and arrangement as well as on collective
improvisation' (38). This relationship between jazz and what Berendt calls 'rock'
clearly takes jazz away from its roots for Marsalis. Yet in a second related but
distinct definition, he adds that, 'there were a lot of elements besides jazz and
rock that were fusioned into this music' (37) and asserts that the 1970s also saw
'the gradual development of a new kind of musician who transcends and
integrates jazz, rock and various musical cultures' (36). In a third definition,
Berendt also suggests fusion is paradoxically characterised by 'countless overlaps
and interconnections'. Seen this way, fusion developed through the interaction of
free jazz with many other styles of music. Berendt lists conventional tonality and
musical structure, traditional jazz elements, modem European concert music,
elements of what be calls 'exotic musical cultures' (India, above all), European
romanticism, blues and rock (36). Radano (1985) also concentrates on crossover
into classical music in his approach to fusion.

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Agostinelli (1986) takes a more bottom up approach, and in an academic article

uses a survey of jazz musicians' opinions to develop a definition of fusion. His
summary identifies fusion by chord sequence (more open and modal), its
electronic or funk-based 2 instrumentation, inclusion of Latin, East-West, rock and
classical rhythmic elements, a lack of bebop phrasing, the predominance of riffs
and repeated percussion rhythms and a relative lack of opportunities for
improvising. Like Berendt, he also mentions the broader sense of the word, as
signifying any jazz that fuses with other music. In this sense, Agostinelli too
defines ij jazz as fusion 3 . Berendt's third definition, along with Agostinelli, is in
direct contradiction with Marsalis' total exclusion. Marsalis' boundaries are
almost completely closed, while Berendt's and Agostinelli's seem extremely
fluid. In the real world fusion seems almost impossible to define.

Turning now to the interviewees, all refer to fusion or related terms, often in
similarly complex ways, and reflect many of the same conflicts. In a key piece of
data (B50-67, see Data Appendix), Ben, for example, reveals that for him, real
world jazz includes:
52.d) Ben: . . . free music... the late Coltrane stuff like
Ascension, and Eric Doiphy Out to Lunch ... what Evan Parker
does, and some of the free improvisers ... Jazz ... is quite open now
bits of country and western music that come into Charlie
Haden, Keith Jarrett, Pat Metheny, there's also world music
influences ... there's a lot of Indian music floating about ... and
bits of rock music, and bits offunk and soul and all that stuff.
He later includes classical music too (54a) and summarises by opening
jazz up completely:

2 The use of the term 'funk' here does not of course refer to the sense of term used by Floface
Silver, but to the popular style of the 1960s and '70s.
3 Megill (1984) points out similar problems of breadth specifically in teaching fusion, and includes
in fusion a wide range of players such as Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor and Anthony Braxton and
Archie Shepp as well as the various fusions with rock music too.

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52.e) I mean I would say that jazz is more of a space where a lot
of different things can happen, and it seems to me pre-eminently
suited as a cross-cultural space
Ben also uses the term 'eclectic' many times, at B17e, B23c, B23d, B2'7c, B52a,
and Bi 14. Jazz is 'open' and 'eclectic' now, a 'cross-cultural space', a set of
interactive rules for musicians rather than a single bounded canonical repertoire of
any kind. This is also the first of many appearances of the term 'open' in the data.
As analysis progressed, this term and other related ones to do with 'flexibility'
recurred in the data, and eventually became central to the findings.

Frank's account is perhaps the most interesting because it contains tensions of

various kinds, and also because it is more similar to the Marsalis definition above
than to Ben's, while retaining some features in common with both. Frank came to
jazz in his teens, through a teenage ambition to play in some of the funk band
horn sections of the 1970s:
F35: Frank: I wanted to play soul and funk, you know, like the
Earth, Wind and Fire horn section.
Later he gives a different account of this music, which implies it contains a lack
of musical sophistication:
F233 Frank: I liked it very much because that's all I knew ... at
the time ... it was very basic ... we were playing calypso, reggae,
some funk stuff, you know, James Brown type stuff... Parliament,
Kool and the Gang, things like that ... Earth, Wind and Fire, you
know, very basic music ... and it was good, because that music I
enjoy still today, you know, so it was good
When describing the fusion influenced by these bands, it's even clearer his view
has now changed:
283. Frank: ... I try to be open about it [fusion I, and I like
some of the fusion things ... fusion in the sense of Latin ... nor in the
sense of the word as it's used ... where you put a backbeat down
and you ... get an electric bass and an electric guitar, and call it

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fusion ... it's electric instruments doing rubbish. in certain cases,

sometimes it's great ...Weather Report, Chick Corea, you know,
brilliant stuff... Herbie Hancock, you know.
There are several examples of contradictions being played out here. His first
sentence about openness reveals fascinating evidence of a tension between his
personal definition of jazz as a generally open music and his exclusion of fusion
from the canon of jazz, even though he knows he should be open to it. Again,
although the Parliament, Kool and the Gang and Earth, Wind and Fire that he
loved in his high-school days are now 'basic' (F23 1), and therefore to be excluded
from jazz, ironically he still likes them on a personal level. Finally, electric
instrument fusion is 'rubbish', but, like Marsalis, he has to admit that Weather
Report, Chick Corea and Herbie Hancock are 'great' and brilliant'.

Other data in Frank's interview indicate further complexities in the relationship

between 'funk' and 'jazz'. Below he suggests that, while he plays 'funk' grooves
in his jazz, he prefers them played using the 'acoustic' instruments of swing and
bebop:
273. Frank: ... my favourite sound is an acoustic sound ... I like
electric things as well, but my favourite is an acoustic set-up, you
know, regardless of what kind of music you're playing, even if it's
funk ... because I just think acoustic instruments in my opinion
sound better

245.a) Frank: The music that I do with my bands ... [isJ in a sort
of acoustic jazz format, with acoustic piano, acoustic bass, drums

245.b) Recently i've just made a record, which was Teleased ... a
few months ago, and that's sort of acoustic but using more
contemporary rhythms, you know, more of the music that! really
grew up with before I learned about jazz ... so funk and soul kind
of influences, that's where that's coming from

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For Frank, 'acoustic jazz' instrumentation is clearly important in defining ajazz

sound (see also F265 in Data Appendix). Yet in other respects, the music his own
band plays sounds surprisingly close to the 'basic' and 'rubbish' music described
above, with its 'contemporary rhythms' and 'funk and soul influences'.

At this point in the interview, since he mentioned 'funk and soul', which he had
elsewhere implied was not jazz, I checked that we were still talking about 'jazz'
in his terms. His response was revealingly defensive in its repetition:
246. Charlie: Right, so ... and ... would you describe that as jazz
still?

247. Frank: Well, yeah ... it is jazz ... I would call it jazz
definitely ... because there is improvisation, you know, [having?]
the same ... sort of... the same approach to jazz, you know, it's
just that it's done in a different way with the beat ... and rhythms
and the ... and harmonically ... but definitely it is jazz, and that's
what I've been doing ... from late last year until now
A further feature of jazz emerges here, about the importance of improvisation and
the personal. Frank can play 'funk and soul' in his own bands as long as it's 'done
in a different way'.

Later, like Berendt above, Frank adds another element to his definition of fusion,
by introducing fusion with European folk musics by current British jazz
musicians he works with:
283. Frank: ... some stuff done in Sweden and Norway where
they take their own folk music and sort of combine it with jazz,!
think is quite interesting ... in England, there's Tim Garland, he's
doing some Celtic stuff with jazz, and ... Eddie Parker's another
guy ... I've heard some of his stuff and Django Bates
He then contrasts this with the 'jazz tradition':

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the thing about those guys, though, is that they have a certain
understanding of the tradition ... of the jazz tradition, they do know
about it, and then they've ... moved on and added their own
personality or their own personal experiences into it. So, that's
exactly what I'm talking about ... jazz doesn't have to come from
America to be good
We return to Frank's tradition concept later in discussion of bebop and again in
Chapter V., page 145. There is more tension in Frank's position here. He finds
the folk music fusion of Tim Garland and the eclecticism of Eddie Parker and
Django Bates 'interesting'. Yet these last musicians pass the test as jazz only
because their playing also contains this understanding of the 'tradition', which
Frank indicates is jazz's defining feature and seems inherently of higher status.
Like the 'funk and soul' of earlier, these new folk influences may combine with
jazz but they do not fundamentally change what jazz is for him. Neither are at the
core of the style, but instead are interesting developments of it, floating nearer its
boundaries.

Dave's data contains interesting parallels to Frank's:

68.a) Dave: ... because of a certain way that I play, Ido get
called mostly to play jazz, or, let's say, a more serious form of
music ... not, never pop music, music with ... repetitive rhythmic
patterns and stuff like that, ... because I'm more free in my spirit
and my approach, and ... improvising skills and stuff. And, I mean,
jazz certainly leans, perhaps ... it is one of the rules ofjazz
particularly that you take melodies and you play them beautifully
and skilfully, and then you improvise, you interpret the melody
dfferenily, and that is where the improvisation comes from. You
know, you improvise and certainly, you use the structure and ... the
sequence of all the changes, the chords involved in the tune, and
you beautify them by improvising, playing very skilfully around
those changes.

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For Dave too, it's not what you play, it's the 'serious' and 'free-spirited' way that
you improvise around it that makes it jazz, or in this case fusion, rather than
simply pop music. Jazz musicians have opportunities to improvise, which be
defines as to embellish and personalise or 'beautify' the material, and to 'interpret
the melody differently'. Any musical material can be interpreted in this way,
including Frank's 'funk and soul'. Dave's 'pop music', by contrast, is more
repetitive, and varies less from the composed material in performance - it's not
'serious'.

We should note in passing that the 'seriousness' of jazz occurs elsewhere in other
data too. Peretti (1991) quotes from an account of a CBS film session (Hodes
1977) about the politics of recording engineers, the lack of ambience and sense of
performance in studio work, 'this play we live, these hours we waste, this silliness
we engage in' (Hodes and Hansen, Selections from the Gutter, 1977: 30-1,
quoted in Peretti). Such 'silliness' is echoed by Andy, who did sessions in the
1950s, but went into teaching because of what he saw as 'duff'ness in the music,
despite some highly skilled 'craftsmen' musicians:
75.b) Andy: ... I mean, one of the reasons that I went into
teaching was because ... that period was a terribly duffperiod for
popular music particularly ... well I thought so anyway ... so you'd
got, f you were a professional musician, you were actually playing
a lot of crap in studios and stuff like that, which I did ... I just
figured that by going into teaching, I'd meet a better class of
music, you /020w.
Peretti prefers jazz as less 'silly', while Andy indicates here that there are
boundaries between such 'duff' popular jazz and his 'better class of music'. We
return to jazz as 'art' later in this chapter and again in Chapter VIII, page 223.,
and note here that 'seriousness' and 'art' are treated as features of fusion too.

To summarise, Ben's jazz is completely 'open' and 'eclectic', a 'cross-cultural

space'. Frank plays funk less 'repetitively', aiming to 'develop your personality'

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and be 'open', and calls this fusion. However, for Frank, fusions with Swedish,
Norwegian or Celtic folk musics, though 'interesting', float too near the edges of
jazz to impact on his core jazz tradition. Both acoustic instrumentation and
improvisation are also important elements in defining jazz for Frank. If these
elements are in place, he is happy to define the music as jazz, even if the rhythmic
and harmonic content of the music is classified as funk and soul. Dave seems to
take a similar line. In his terms, the playing must be 'serious', 'free in spirit and
approach' and involve improvising or 'interpreting differently', and both Peretti
and Andy suggest jazz is not 'silly' and not 'duff'. Through adding these elements
of group improvisation, interaction and personal interpretation, a jazz musician
can transform funk or indeed any style into 'fusion' and thus into jazz. Fusion in
the real world is ambiguous, contested and its status as a jazz substyle varies
considerably from account to account. We learn too that jazz is not only defined
by the features of its substyles, but also by the nature of the interaction and
improvisation involved, what I call here the social practices of the style.

Fusion in education

We turn now to fusion in education, and begin with the general finding that there
were only a handful of references to fusion in education in the interviews, many
fewer than in discussion of real world jazz. Fusion also occurred much less
frequently in the educational materials. Educational jazz repertoire of the
Aebersold and Real Book type, with honourable exceptions like the 'New Real
Book' series (Sher (ed.), Vol. 1, 1988, Vol. 2, 1991) contained many fewer
examples of fusion tunes.

Dave discusses how learners often come to jazz through fusion, as does
Agostinelli (1986). In the next example, he discusses how educators must find
what he calls a 'middle ground' between jazz and other styles associated with
fusion when working with younger musicians:

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180 a) Dave: ... a lot of people that ... come to workshops are not
particularly enthusiastic about this jazz music. ... Younger
musicians, they want to play ... fusion and modern, sort of... I
don't know all the terms that they have for the music ... cross-over
and ... world music, arid some people are just enthusiastic about
Latin American music, or ... they just want to play salsa, and
others want to, [Jamaican accent] "I'm a reggae musician, you
know, me want to play reggae and ting, you know."
180.b) So you have to somehow try to find a middle ground
whereby you can say, "Well, look, whatever it is that we have to
offer here has a lot to do with all the music that you do, as well,"
Here Dave indicates that it may not be self-evident what he means by fusion. The
terms keep changing and an ambiguity is implied which means he has to explain it
in some detail. In his first sentence he also instinctively separates fusion from
'this jazz music'. As before, his fusion can also mean fusion with Latin music and
other world styles as well as rock.

This section contains important evidence of an explicit difference between

educational jazz and real world jazz. At 180b, Dave refers specifically to the role
of the teacher in finding some kind of 'middle ground' between what the jazz
students expect and would like to study, and the kind of music that will develop
their skills. Educational jazz can include fusion, but even for Dave, it cannot be
dominated by it, regardless of initial student experience and opinion. The student
is not able to find their own way through the music, and there is an implied
prescribed core curriculum in 'what we have to offer' which is strongly
differentiated from 'the music that you do'. Real world jazz contains fusion and
indeed it is from fusion that many real world musicians approach jazz, after
experience in reggae or other popular styles. However, jazz in education or 'what
we have to offer' is different from this, and what he calls a 'middle ground' has to
be found between the two.

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Gridley (1978) and Yurochko (1993) have both attempted to define fusion in the
two best established jazz history textbooks, aimed approximately at the level of
the US first year undergraduate. Gridley's book is popular, and is now in its
seventh edition, which came out in 1999, though the edition referred to here is the
first. As such, his account of jazz is an apt example of the potency of educational
canons (see Kress (1985) in Chapter II, page 22.). These books are also at a
fascinating crossroads between educational and academic functions. Gridley and
Yurochko explicitly relate a rigorously researched history of the style, but they
are also pedagogic. The books are structured for readers of a particular level, and
sometimes advise tutors and students as to how teaching or learning may best be
achieved. Here, we focus specifically on the effect of these structuring processes
on definitions of fusion.

In the following extract from his book, Gridley (1978) separates jazz from rock
and funk by unambiguously defining ten bullet-point features of rock and funk not
present injazz
Jazz of almost any period can be distinguished from rock and funk
in that rock and funk typically have:

A. shorter phrase lengths

B. less frequent chord changes
C. less complexity of melody
D. less complexity of harmony
E. less use of improvisation, especially in accompaniments
F. much more repetition of melodic phrases
G. more repetition of brief chord progressions
H. much simpler drumming patterns
I. more pronounced repetition of drumming patterns
J. more pronounced repetition of bass figures
(Gridley, 1978: 317)

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There is a strong tendency to generalise here. Indeed, Gridley seems happy to

ignore even the most obvious exceptions to the criteria he sets up. Basie's C Jam
Blues is full of short phrase lengths, for example, while Miles Davis' So What
contains very few chord changes. There is a relative lack of complex melody and
harmony in both of the above tunes, while there can be little doubt that repeated
basslines are a fundamental part of jazz, from early Jelly Roll to Zawinul's
Birdland.

After the bullet-points, he continues:

'Not only does jazz ordinarily require the solos to be improvised
fresh each time they occur, but jazz also requires that the
accompaniments for the solos be improvised. ... Rhythmic feeling
provides another means for distinguishing jazz from rock and funk.
Where jazz places emphasis on flexibility and relaxation, rock
stresses intensity and firmness. Where jazz attempts to project a
bouncy feeling that has a distinct lilt to it, rock and funk seem to sit
on each beat instead of pulling it along or leading it as jazz does
(1978: 317)
His account supports those of Frank and Dave, then, in the need for 'fresh' solos
and improvising, but he seems to want to differentiate between jazz and 'rock and
funk', rather than gathering the rhythmic styles of 'rock and funk' into a new
fusion. The language fails him in his descriptions of the 'rhythmic feeling' of
jazz, an area which is notoriously complex and subtle, and hard to put into words.
Yet as an academic and educator, he feels it is his role to define canonical
boundaries.

Yurochko (1993) attempts a similar exercise of boundary-building for 1980s

fusion, using a binary opposition to separate the terms 'pop-fusion' (which he
defines to include Yellowjackets, Spyrogyra, George Duke, Lee Ritenour and
Herbie Hancock's 'Rock it') and 'jazz fusion' (Chick Corea Electric Band, late
Miles Davis and Weather Report). His bullet-point table is reproduced below:

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Pop Fusion Jazz fusion

1. Simple Song forms 1. Extended forms
2. Less emphasis on 2. More emphasis on
improvisation improvisation
3. More emphasis on studio 3. More emphasis on
effects performers
4. More commercialised 4. Less commercialised
5. Small bands 5. Small bands and large
bands
(Yurochko, 1993: 220)

Gridley goes further, drawing a detailed chart of the 'parallel streams

distinguishing jazz from rock and jazz-rock':

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Chapter IV: Fusion and bebop

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101


Other than the obvious contradictions between the bullet points they contain, the
pattern in these two books is that Gridley and Yurochko feel they must create
clear boundaries between the styles concerned using simple criteria and linear
narratives. Evidence gathered from real world data suggests, however, that in
fusion real world boundaries are blurred, that real world criteria are complex and
contested, and that a number of overlapping, parallel narratives might better
reflect the real world position. The tell-tale admission at the bottom of the left-
hand page of Gridley's chart implies that he himself does not believe these styles
can be easily differentiated. One reason for this bullet-point style becomes clear in
the Appendix at the back of his book concerning assessment:
you should devise your own listening exams that are tied
specifically to materials you have put on tape for student listening
assignments in your music library or listening lab. However,
especially for extremely large enrolments, multiple choice exams
of factual material are often more convenient ...' (Appendix, no
page number)
Gridley provides several hundred sample multiple choice questions, and it
becomes clear that many of the definitions provided here are specifically
pedagogic and function as one word answers to questions in undergraduate
exams.

I'm now going to sumrnarise, beginning by focusing only on definitions of fusion

outside education. Here 'fusion' is defined in extremely complex, ambiguous and
sometimes contested ways. Openness, interaction between players and the
'personal' are all mentioned in the data alongside a range of definitions of the
substyle of fusion itself. It is a substyle that does not lend itself easily to
canonisation, since almost any style can become 'fusion' in certain circumstances.
In the context of jazz, 'funk' and 'fusion' are defined in part by the similar
rhythmic and harmonic material they contain. Further definitions of fusion based
on particular musical material include jazz with elements of Latin American,
African, Indian and other 'folk' musics. However, fusion was also defined not

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only by its eclectic material, but also by the in which that material is played,
and this is true of much jazz too. While Ben is completely 'open', Dave is happy
to define fusion as jazz if the spirit is 'free', the approach 'serious', the patterns
less 'repetitive' and if there are opportunities to 'interpret differently'. Frank uses
different terms, but, like Frank, Dave is happy to call 'funk and soul' jazz too if
there is improvising and the instruments are 'acoustic'. Berendt and Frank both
define fusion as a fusion of jazz with rock and sometimes funk and soul, though
Marsalis, out on a limb here, says such fusion is not jazz because it fails to
address his definition of the 'fundamentals of the form', which include
polyphonic improvising and the blues.

Like Berendt (1989), Frank also uses the term 'fusion' at different times to refer
to all kinds of fusions, and here Frank includes Latin and funk, European and
British jazz, in interaction with his 'tradition'. Here, using acoustic instruments
and including improvisation makes Frank more likely to categorise music as jazz,
even if other styles like funk, soul or folk musics are involved. However, even in
real world jazz, the 'tradition' seems unaffected by fusion in Frank's account.

Turning to jazz in education, fusion generally appears much less often in the
interviews - the balance of styles appearing in education is different from that of
real world jazz, though fusion is more visible in the history textbooks. Dave seeks
what he calls a 'middle ground' between what he perceives as students' initial
interest in all kinds of fusion and 'what we have to offer' as educators. This also
suggests that students tend to have less choice in the repertoire they play in
education. in the case of Gridley and Yurochko's textbooks on fusion, while we
cannot be sure, it seems reasonable to assume that an observable tendency to
simplify has its origins in the pedagogic function of these two texts. The
knowledge communicated must be at a level where complexity is not revealed in
full, and the degree to which it has been learnt must also, in Gridley's case, be
assessable using multiple choice questions. The result is a set of educational
defmitions which, in the accounts of Gridley and Yurochko, alter the fluid nature

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of the boundaries of the style, directly contradict each other in some cases and
have about them a canonical definitiveness which other data suggests real world
accounts of fusion often lack.

B. Bebop

In some ways, definitions of bebop indicated it was remarkably similar to fusion.

It too began as an initially contested substyle, for example. As Berendt describes
fusion, so Gioa writes that bebop as 'modernism' in jazz '...was simply an
extension of jazz's inherent tendency to mutate, to change, to grow' (1997: 200).
In other ways, however, it was defined very differently. Bebop tended to be even
more associated with jazz musicians' definitions of 'art', while fusion retained
some links with popular music. In education, its position was often, though not
always, central to jazz as a whole, while fusion became more peripheral.

While defining the rhythmic and harmonic features of fusion was problematic,
and included a range of musical possibilities, there was considerable consensus in
the literature about the central features of bebop, which included polyrhythm, a
lighter and more transparent horn sound, new rhythm section textures, virtuosity
of technique and harmonic complexity (Ross Russell, 1976). Ross Russell also
traces the development of the trumpet sound of bebop from Roy Eldridge to
Dizzy Gillespie and later Miles Davis. Collier (1978) also sees Coleman
Hawkins' 1939 Body and Soul recording as an early example of bebop because it
uses a new 'modernist' approach, 'virtually an exercise in chromatic chord
movement'. After the first phrase of the melody is stated, the entire 3 minute track
is a 'solo improvisation of understated but nevertheless complex virtuosity'
(1978: 351). DeVeaux (1999), in a more recent and thorough account, notes in
bebop an associated 'disregard for audience sensibilities' also characteristic of
what he calls other 'modernisms' (8) of the time. While its features and repertoire
seem stable, bebop's status as jazz has changed. Initially bebop was seen as

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highly controversial, and, just like fusion, it was unclear whether bebop Wa-S jazz
or not. In the hard-fought 'moldy figs and modernists' debate (Ulanov 1947), the
moldy figs were highly critical of 'modernist' bebop as 'fetishizing technique,
introducing excessive hannonic and rhythmic complexity and ... being too
mesmerised by the devices and concepts of European art music' (Elworth, 1995:
49). This emphasis on technique, complexity and European art music meant it was
simply not jazz. For the 'modernists', however, the development of the language
of jazz in new directions was part of the radical and mutating spirit of the music,
and its new status as 'art' was less of a problem 4, and perhaps even an advantage.

From the moldy figs and modernist debate onwards, the debate about defining the
status of jazz as 'art' is a consistent feature of the discussion of bebop, and, as we
saw earlier in discussion of fusion, is evident across all of jazz from bebop
onwards. Giddins, for example, compares bebop with the 'Rum and Coca-cola'
pop music of the 1940s and argues 'jazz will never (and probably should never)
be a pop music again' (in Baker 1990: 40). For Giddins, the solution to jazz's
erstwhile lack of mass popularity is for it to 'demand its fair share' in the 'quality'
market. Gendron (1995) charts the construction in the jazz journals and
magazines of the time of what he calls an aesthetic discourse, which legitimates
the style and creates a context for the art versus mass culture debates in jazz that
followed. In this view, bebop becomes a music:
'... against commercialised music in general. It reasserts the
individuality of the jazz musician as a creative artist, playing
spontaneous and melodic music within the format of jazz, but with
new tools, sounds and concepts' (Ross Russell, 'Bebop', 1948,
reprinted in Williams, 1959: 202).
Yurochko (1993) echoes this view of the jazz musician as 'creative artist',
focused on 'tools, sounds and concepts' in his textbook view of bebop as 'aloof',
'music intended for musical intellectuals rather than the masses' (102). Bebop is

4 See Chapter II, page 27. for Nanry's discussion of the role of jazz musicians 'artists' as opposed
to folk musicians, as 'charismatics' rather than 'bureaucratics'.

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more high status because it is intellectual and conceptually complex. Over time,
bebop as 'art' becomes jazz as 'art' too.

Within the context of bebop, a substyle of the past with clearer boundaries than
fusion, Frank's data indicates that some degree of 'openness' remains, as in fusion
above. Frank served an apprenticeship in a band run by an international star of the
1950s, who is here called [Sonny Rollins]5:
123. Frank: ... it was very open, but I mean [Sonny Rollins] was
a senior musician, you know ... a legend, basically, so .. [for]
anybody to try to ... cut in on that, it wouldn't make any sense, of
course it was his band. ... as far as the music was concerned, he let
us put it together, whatever we wanted to play was fine, so he was
quite democratic with what he did, the way he ran the band.

124. Charlie: Was it basically a very straight-ahead thing, then

125. Frank: Yeah, it was very straight ahead ... definitely. You
know, it was post-bebop, 1950s kind of style ... like, the [Rollins
band] that was established by [jazz musician 2], ... you know, in
the mid-fifties, so that kind of thing.

126. Charlie: But Imean, you know,free music was happening

and fusion was happening and ... those kind of things but he had
his sound

127. Frank: Yeah ... he was [Sonny Rollins], so, you know
A carefully poised balance is struck here. On the one hand is a need for 'open'-
ness, a consistent feature of real world jazz and one found in fusion earlier.
Musicians should express themselves to some extent ('whatever we wanted to

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play was fine'). Improvisation was still involved and, within certain largely
unspoken stylistic boundaries, there were opportunities for 'whatever we wanted
to play'. On the other is the need for the band to play the bebop and hardbop tunes
most associated with its star. [Rollins]' sound was iconic, and respect for him is
implicit, unstated and assumed - 'he was [Sonny Rollins], so, you know...' and
'he had his sound'. At 125, Frank indicates that reproducing 'his sound' was the
defining aim in this band, of greater importance than presenting the ideas and
skills of each of the other players. While advocating a degree of openness, Frank
is actively involved in reproducing and perpetuating a jazz canon here.

Turning now to the jazz curriculum, further canonical tendencies are revealed.
Evidence of bebop's journey from the radical and contingent substyle of the
'moldy figs and modernist' debate to its present centrality was hard to find.
Instead bebop and hardbop were the 'tradition', central to a jazz canon that in
education is debated but nevertheless assumed. In this area, interviewees seemed
to follow some of the more recent literature on the neo-classicists (Nicholson,
1990) where the centrality of bebop is again a given. In describing his one-to-one
saxophone teaching at HE level, for example, Frank reveals an even stronger
emphasis on bebop and the 'tradition' of Parker, Coltrane, Rollins, Shorter (F382-
5) - the 'great players':
259. Frank: ... If you look at John Coltrane, man, he knew bebop
inside out, he studied Charlie Parker, and ... he sort of like
just exploded, you know, took it to its own limits. You've got to
learn the tradition, Charlie Parker knew Lester Young ... I think if
you look at all the great players, you can see that they learned the
tradition and then they sort of developed their own personality into
whatever ... they learnt their instrument, they learnt the tradition of
the music, and they developed their own personality. Because
sound is very important, and learning the tradition, that's where
you learn about sound, it's by checking out the tradition.

5 For a reminder of why this was methodologically necessary, see Chapter III, page 55. above.

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(see also Data Appendix, F283)

There is much less 'openness' evident here, and the ideas in his own playing of
introducing elements of 'funk and soul' are gone. The role of fusion in education
is also much reduced in Frank's account of jazz in education. The repetition in the
data here signifies emphasis, and he differentiates strongly between learning the
'tradition' and 'developing your own personality'. Moreover, the 'tradition' and
'developing your personality' are in an educational sequence here. Parker, Young
and the 'tradition' of bebop and the 'great players' of the past come first in the
learning process, and 'developing your own personality' comes later and is more
advanced. The 'tradition' is something Frank feels should be preserved at all
costs6. Bebop and hardbop are jazz substyles of particularly high status for Frank,
and in education, openness is clearly less important while they are being
assimilated thoroughly.

Taking Frank's data on real world jazz alone, several definitions of the
relationship between jazz and fusion were evident, which vary according to the
musical and social context. In the first, Frank the creative jazz composer/writer
writes his own material, mostly for acoustic instruments, and finds fusions with
folk music 'interesting'. Here repertoire and instrumentation are more personal
and are grounded in 'what I really grew up with', which he mentions includes
everything from Jim Reeves to funk, soul and calypso [see also Data Appendix,
F55] . Frank plays fewer standards, writes his own tunes and aims for a different
sound here, using references to other styles he considers more 'contemporary'
('funk and soul'). Bebop and hardbop are much less prominent here, though
references to them remain in his preference for 'acoustic' instrumentation. The
second we might call the definition of Frank the performing musician, playing
straight-ahead tunes in the [Rollins] band and being 'experimental' within that
framework - no 'funk' is possible in this jazz. Finally, we can identify in this data
a third definition of Frank's, which he uses in education, and is even less open
and more canonical still. Here 'developing your personality' is a more advanced

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skill, and the recreation of the styles of past masters is the main aim. Jazz is
defined very differently in education, particularly for the less experienced student.

As in other places in the data, Frank's definitions of real world jazz repertoire are
characterised by great flexibility and beset by contextual tensions, particularly
with regard to fusion. The audience is one factor here, which features more in the
real world than in education. At times, he responds more to the canonical
expectations of his audience in his real world jazz playing, and must fit in with
[Sonny Rollins'] band, but at others, he makes a very different and more personal
jazz. Slobin (1993) identifies a similar need to respond flexibly to the canonical
expectations of an audience in his discussion of polka. He talks of the:
line between the rules of dance-band musicians and those of an
"art" or "concert" group that can enjoy pushing audience
expectations without having to worry about dancers tripping up
their partners ... (Slobin, 1993: 103)
Slobin goes on to describe how the polka band-leader on a function gig has to
adapt the band's playing to the age and jazz experience of their audience. Here the
creative limits are more narrowly proscribed and programmes are dominated by
what he calls 'canonical dance-tune repertoires' (103). Both for Frank and for
Slobin, the 'rules' about freedom and flexibility within the style are determined
partly by the context. As with Slobin's art or concert group, Frank pushes
audience expectations more in his own band, while the repertoire and improvising
in the [Rollins] band conforms to different audience expectations and sounds very
different. Both are called 'jazz' or 'polka' in any case, and this flexibility seems
characteristic of both.

Eric, like Frank, sees bebop as central to jazz in education. He finds the harmonic
language of bebop pianist Bud Powell to be invaluable 'background' for learners,
who are often steeped in modal and fusion improvisation strategies:

6 See also later discussions of ethnicity in Chapter V, page 122.

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43. Eric: ... Have you met Miss Jones', ... they just can't play
it, because it's different ... you've got to go back round to simple
Bud Powell voicings, to learn to do this, they don't seem
interested, they want to play like Julian Joseph. OK! But Julian
Joseph could play Bud Powell voicings f he wants to. He's got a
background. And I think it's ... too often young kids just miss out
on this ... [you've] gotta learn to walk first, right, right
Experience of Bud Powell is part of this 'background' of jazz:
400.b) Eric: ... what is needed in this country is afar better
substructure of educated jazz musicians to give the broad
background. So that you know what we mean when we're talking
about Ragtime, Dixie, Jelly Roll Morton, Swing ... you know,
bebop ... so that you understand that before you go to study it in
depth ... you have a background to fall back on.
Eric takes a similar distinctively educational approach to that of Dave in the
earlier fusion examples. Real world learners have an inappropriate love of the
playing of Julian Joseph too soon, and need to learn to 'walk first' in education.
All three imply that bebop forms the foundation of jazz skills, information and
knowledge. Significantly none mention fusion in defining this foundation, and we
saw earlier how even Dave (at 180a-b earlier, page 97), who is respectful of the
learners' starting positions in fusion, is anxious to wean them onto the more
demanding and focused educational territory of bebop.

This canonical position is also to be found in the literature, perhaps most

predictably but also with some eloquence in the confident assertions of Wynton
Marsalis. Here he is in 1989 advocating a need for learners to play or understand
past styles:
We must always differentiate between eccentricity and
individuality. Individuality is something that's earned and very
few earn it because it is a long process. It means that if your
personality is strong enough, then it will absorb all these influences

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and still be itself. It does not mean that you have avoided
everything and come up your own way. No great artist has ever
done that. Not Bach, not Beethoven, Louis Armstrong, Charlie
Parker, Duke Ellington. All of these musicians could play or
understand every style of the music that came before them. All of
them (in Brodowski, 1989: 30).
Marsalis also makes comments referring specifically to the educational
knowledge of jazz:
In no other field has there ever been the feeling that knowledge is
incorrect. But in our field for some reason that knowledge is
always attacked. They should be teaching them to play the blues
and to swing. Instead they are learning funk drumming.
The higher levels of thought which are manifested in the music
of Coltrane, Monk, Ellington are not being studied at these schools
(Marsalis in Jazz Forum - Brodowski, 1989: 30).
Characteristically definitive in his statements, Marsalis believes that, although
individuality is ideal, knowledge of Ellington and Parker is an essential part of
being his kind of jazz musician. His 'greats' spring to mind, without
qualification. Even Marsalis is not, however, an entirely un-reconstructed didact.
In College Musician, 1986, he wrote:
'Since the Renaissance, you go to school to learn what has
transpired so you know what to do ... because the conception of
any creation is a dialogue with that which has been created' (26)
Like Frank, then, Marsalis suggests some creativity is allowable.

Swimming against the bebop tide

Data from the other interviewees gives an even greater sense that, in education,
they are swimming against an assumed bebop tide. Andy bemoans an exclusive,
inflexible and unquestioning reliance on teaching bebop and modal styles, which

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he describes as 'American', at the expense of 'previous techniques' such as the

melodic embellishment of New Orleans improvisers:
168.c) Andy: ... the American teaching seems to me to be a bit too
stratified, and structured
168.4) And there is no questioning on the part of the tutors in
those courses on the kind ofjazz they're teaching ... there is one
particular kind of what they see as jazz, which is kind ofpost-
bebop ... it incorporates bebop but it also has a modal thing and
the jazz scale syllabus and all the rest of it... there's no hint of,
say, listening, going back to previous techniques like melodic
embellishment, ... I'm thinking particularly about early jazz.
Andy is clearly signalling an over-emphasis on bebop and hard bop in jazz
education, but also fails to mention fusion in this context too. He is nevertheless
keen to advocate an emphasis on past jazz players in education.

Ben and Carol go further than Andy, unconvinced that bebop is relevant to all
jazz learners at any level, though, like Andy, it is impossible for them to ignore it.
Although they are against bebop in education, their arguments indicate its
dominance. For Ben, the high technical demands of bebop prevent the 'sense of
success' which he feels is necessary in jazz learning:
52.b) Ben: No, ... if that's (bebop] your definition ofjazz, then
jazz is exactly the wrong music to give you that sense of success
it's exactly the wrong thing in the amount of knowledge and skills
of various sorts, knowledge as well as just command of the
instrument, knowledge of repertoire and tunes ... it's a vast area
and ... takes an awfully long time, so no, emphatically not.
52.c) But luckily, jazz isn 'tjust bebop. ... I also include bits of
funk, jazz-rock and fusion stuff as well, although there are of
course people that say, well, "jazz is Mike Brecker," and it's not,
you know, so there's another thing, you know, jazz isn't learning
those licks, it's not to do with those things specifically or

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exclusively either, I mean, that amount 0/technical command of

the instrument also takes a very long time to do, let alone the fact
that it's a very narrow thing to do anyway, you know, there's more
to it than that.
Ben begins by suggesting that 'jazz isn't just bebop', but adds that it isn't only
Michael Brecker either. The principle he elaborates is that jazz is eclectic now,
and no one can 'specifically or exclusively' define what jazz is. In education, he
implies this allows him to draw on a broader range of styles called jazz, and he
isolates the issues of technical level and knowledge of repertoire as reasons why
the demands of bebop are inappropriate in education. Like Andy, he is critical of
the narrowness of that kind of jazz education too. He can choose music that is at
the level of his students or suits their background, and this enables his students to
feel successful.

Given the range of musical resources on which Ben can draw and his avowedly
open and eclectic real world stance, it is surprising to find that he sometimes
teaches 'Bbjazz' from the mainstream era all the same. He indicates below that
this is partly because this is what his learners want:
58. Ben: ... what I do at [local adult education] College is
very much a sort of Bb jazz workshop, even though I do take it in
different ways sometimes, but we learn about chords and scales
and we do a repertoire of those jazz workshop tunes like So What
and Song for my Father and things like that.., that's what! see as
being the most traditional end of what I do in that sense. ... people
who are looking for a jazz workshop and go to [local adult
education] College are expecting that sort 0/thing, so that's what!
give them.
The jazz repertoire in education is now relatively set in the minds of these
learners, such that if Ben ignores bebop entirely, they feel they will not have had
the jazz experience they 'expect'. In addition, although Ben finds bebop

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inflexible and demanding as a teaching tool, he also studied it himself, and

grudgingly admits that it can be useful:
131 .b) Ben: I had a big problem with bop ... I didn't want to
play that way, ... what I discovered was that through trying to play
some of those tunes, you find yourself rediscovering or recreating
bop cliches, because they are solutions to certain problems, like
getting around chords ... articulating the harmony by
arpeggiating it.
131 .c) As soon as you start doing that, you're already going into
the phraseology of bop music, and it starts to come, whether you
intended it or not.
Like Eric, he admits that bebop helps jazz learners solve certain harmonic
'problems' when they improvise. The function of bebop here is put across as
pedagogic rather than stylistic. It's a good jazz style because it helps learning and
in particular harmony teaching, rather than because it is played in the real world.

Ben also mentions two other educational contexts he works in where bebop is not
mentioned at all, and where the recreation of particular past styles is much less
important. With classical students, for example, Ben is explicitly keen on 'not
setting a prescriptive thing' but 'trying to put back in their own thing' in a jazz
education whose aims are 'partly therapeutic':
60.b) Ben: What I do at the [London conservatoire] with classical
students is different again ... it is partly therapeutic, what I do
there, you know, they've been starved of their own creativity for
many years, and partially it's trying to put back in their own thing,
so that they get used to doodling and creative stuff themselves.
60.c) ... so it's ... encouraging them to listen to different forms of
jazz and just let their ears take them where they're gonna go, and
not setting a prescriptive thing of you've got to listen to
Thelonious Monk first, or whatever it is

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In school, however, it's slightly different, with a focus on 'musicianly awareness'

and activities which have 'social import' and emphasise listening and interacting
through music:
60.d) Ben: Now, when I go into schools and do a one-day
taster thing, for a start off I don't do so much singing in those
situations ... it's very hard to get fifteen year olds to sing, they just
won't do it... but clapping games and rhythmic games and stuff
yeah, and things to do with musicianly awareness sort of thing, so
just space and stuff like that

60.f) Now that's what I would think of as the jazz in education

side of things ... so in other words it's not learning bop, it's
extracting some of things that come out from all different areas of
jazz which have social import if you like.
Ben's educational jazz varies, then, depending on the needs of his learners. His
more real world 'eclectic' approach feeds through into an educational defmition
of jazz which emphasises group skills and 'things ... which have social import',
an area to which a whole chapter is devoted later (Chapter VII). Most interesting,
though, are the clear tensions between Ben's eclectic approach in the real world
and his use of 'Bbjazz' in education. In these contexts, he feels compelled to
teach a jazz that his earlier account indicates he would rarely play in public.

For Carol, a singer, bebop posed her considerable technical problems, and created
in her a fear, almost a guilt, that if she couldn't sing bebop, she was somehow not
a jazz musician. As a learner, she too was compelled to play bebop. In the
example below, she tells how she felt less comfortable scatting 'in bebop fashion'
on the course she went on, and this led her to consider the possibility that she
might not be a jazz musician at all:
187.a) Carol: I think some people on the course feel completely
happy within the jazz idiom ... the way ofplaying, the way of
improvising, the actual music that you're given, the whole

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repertoire, the early ... bebop or modern or later ... I've always
had a very broad, eclectic approach to the music I like ... I don 'ifit
necessarily into one area.
Instead she too describes herself as more broad and 'eclectic'. Like Ben, though,
there are hints that she accepts her own jazz contains elements of bebop style:
193.b) ... some of my numbers don't have any words, they've just
got a scat head, which is more traditional mainstream-type stuff
as a horn-player ... So it's probably my own preconceptions really
that tell me I'm not ajazzer ... there's something I fear, I think,
it is this ... bloody bebop stuff where, "she can't scat in a bebop
fashion over a 2/5/1 since she's not a jazz singer..."
As her 'fears and inabilities' settle down, Carol even suggests that her ideal jazz
musician can do both bebop and other styles too:
193.c) But if! think about other artists like [woman jazz singer 11
or [woman jazz singer 2] 1 mean [woman jazz singer 3] can do
both, [3J can do free and scat very well over changes ... you know,
so I guess there are jazz musicians and jazz musicians.
Carol had a fear of bebop herself, and felt that as a jazz musician she was required
to sing bebop and to conform to the kinds of music-making already covered in the
data of Dave, Andy and Marsalis. She feels discomfort with the general definition
of a jazz musician as someone who can scat over bebop changes, to the extent that
she is prepared to consider defining herself as no longer a jazz singer. Despite all
this, and even though her real world repertoire and experience is more eclectic,
she admits, like Ben, that bebop is pedagogically useful, and that the jazz singers
she most looks up to can indeed scat over changes in bebop style. In education,
there is clear evidence from even the most progressive players that the bebop is
dominant.

This chapter has included data from all six interviewees, as do all of them.
However, before sumrnarising the findings of this chapter as a whole, I want to
end this section by focusing briefly on a comparison between the accounts of real

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world and educational fusion and bebop given by Frank and Ben, since their data
was particularly rich. Frank and Ben define real world jazz differently. Broadly
Frank's data contains two definitions of real world jazz: one which is primarily
concerned with recreating past jazz and another which is more personal to him but
still contains strong references to the 'tradition' in, for example, the acoustic bass.
Even in both of Frank's versions, however, there is at least some 'open' space for
individual players to make their contributions 'democratically', though bebop and
the 'tradition' are always more central to his playing and to his conception of the
style. Ben's jazz is more eclectic and more open to influences from other styles.
His real world jazz seems more 'open' than Frank's, and his definition of
educational jazz also demonstrates a wider set of aims and probably learners too.
His real world openness allows him the possibility of a wider range of jazz
repertoires and sounds in his education work, which might include fusion to a
greater extent than Frank. He does not always use these possibilities, however,
and bebop surprisingly appears in his educational canon as 'Bbjazz'. Frank's
educational aims are likewise more focused on transmission of the jazz tradition
than his real world playing is, while his curriculum includes a strong sequential
differentiation between earlier recreation of the tradition and only later
development of the personality.

Summary and discussion of findings

We can now finally draw together the strands relating to fusion and bebop. Real
world jazz emerges as a loose family of substyles, each of which has a different
and changing status within the developing jazz canon. As real world jazz, bebop
began as an outsider to the jazz canon. It was initially criticised by the moldy figs
as too 'modern', but later emerged as representing high 'art' in real world jazz,
embodying a spirit of seriousness as the 'tradition'. Few of these changes in status
are present in educational accounts of bebop, however. For Frank, bebop and
hardbop now represent a clearly defined 'tradition', as the core repertoire of jazz

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in education. No ambiguity about bebop as 'art' is present, and bebop is also

removed from its changing history and context, presented instead as series of
abstract tunes and skills to be acquired 7. Critics of bebop in education, like Andy,
Ben and Carol, see it as creating a narrow, inflexible, specialised and recreative
jazz curriculum, which is often too technically demanding and prevents success.
Yet despite these definitions of bebop as unsuitable in educational contexts, even
Ben and Carol, the interviewees whose real world playing was the most eclectic,
indicated that bebop was both stylistically important and pedagogically useful in
their education work, even if the learner was not keen to sound like a bebop
player in the end. Interviewees and writers took up a range of positions in relation
to bebop in education, but none could ignore it. Their strongly expressed doubts
only serve to indicate its underlying dominance within definitions of jazz in
education, a dominance which differs considerably from its real world position.

Bebop has at least settled into a clearly definable set of tunes and musical
features, and concerns about what real world repertoire constituted bebop were
notably absent from the data. With fusion, by contrast, even the real world
repertoire itself was contested, and a number of complex, ambiguous and
sometimes mutually contradictory boundary lines were drawn by interviewees
and writers, in Frank's case, boundaries were even applied inconsistently within a
single interview, and separate performer, composer/writer and teacher roles for
fusion within the style were defined. Although it began over 30 years ago now,
fusion's status is still much less secure than that of bebop, even in real world jazz.
In the real world, it remains in the same position as bebop was in the late 1940s,
floating in a range of positions, from outside jazz altogether (Marsalis' position)
to a position which seems rarely to be within the core of jazz itself. Within the
jazz canon, fusion sits at the opposite extreme to bebop in a number of respects. It
is the complex and ambiguous outsider to bebop's clearly defined and coherent

'See also chapter VIII., pages 239-40, where I argue bebop acts as the Bach chorales of jazz
education.

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insider, and while bebop is definitely 'art', fusion is sometimes pop music or
indeed any other kind of music played 'seriously' and with a 'free spirit'.

Fusion was much less prominent in all the accounts of jazz in education than in
accounts of real world jazz. Ironically Dave described fusion as the music that
many inexperienced jazz musicians, including Frank and Ben, use to come to jazz
in the first place. It is the first jazz repertoire that many jazz learners take to, and
the repertoire they can often play before they enter classroom jazz education. Yet
it was defined in the data on education as the music from which students should
be weaned onto the 'real' repertoire, which centres around bebop, hardbop and
sometimes early jazz too. Jazz in education is again revealed as a separate style
from the jazz that learners find outside it. The textbook data on fusion is also
strong evidence of further developing contradictions between real world jazz and
jazz in education. In education, definitions of fusion become simplified and
sometimes ignored, and there was evidence of the suppression of fertile
complexities and ambiguities found in the real world music.

Across the repertoire as a whole, data from Ben and Frank revealed a similar
reduction in complexity, and the range of repertoire that appears in education is
more restricted and determined by different contextual factors. Frank's students
will receive a narrower range ofjazz repertoire in their lessons than they would
hear him play on his own CDs, and his own playing on those CDs will vary
depending on whether they are with [Rollins] or under his own name. Ben's
students will also receive three different jazz repertoires depending on whether
they are at an adult education college, a school or a conservatoire, but he only
uses bebop and hardbop in education. In education, all interviewees sought to
ensure a solid understanding of the tradition was in place, and only sometimes, in
the case of Ben, to develop self-expression and creative skills and to facilitate
social skills through improvised music-making. The real world considerations the
interviewees gave included the audience, the iconic status of the band within the
jazz canon and the need for the player to express themselves and communicate

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their own vision of the music. In education, none mentioned the audience or the
musical status of the band, though the needs and expectations of learners were
mentioned by Ben. Self-expression was considered a secondary consideration by
Frank, to be covered only after the tradition was assimilated, while for Ben, it was
more important for some learners than others. We return to self-expression in
Chapter VI.

We can now say more about tensions between real world and educational
definitions of fusion and bebop. The prominence of both substyles changes in
education. Bebop is very prominent in jazz education, but competes for centrality
with the 'eclectic' school in the real world. In education bebop is also
decontextualised, so that its still debated journey to a position of centrality is
ignored, and musicians like Carol feel pushed by their educational experience into
improvising in bebop-like ways in their later lives, or feel guilty about not being
able to do so. Bebop's status within the educational canon is particularly
powerful. Fusion is less prominent in education, and is rarely used as central
there, even though in the real world it is a core if contested style. Where it does
occur in education, it is much simplified. In education, the jazz repertoire as a
whole also tends to be more focused on Frank's concept of the tradition, and
grounded in the past.

Finally, a number of features of teaching and learning in jazz may also be

identified as associated with these tensions. The first is a need to adapt the music
to a set of technical levels. Ben's account of bebop as too demanding is one
example of this, though here, it seems canonical tendencies are so powerful that,
even though bebop can be too hard to play successfully for the majority of
learners, it is nevertheless the core repertoire of jazz in education. The second is a
need to break substyles and other musical processes down into simpler and clearer
structures, as in Gridley and Yurochko's bullet-point definitions of fusion and
Frank's sequence of the tradition first and expressing the personality later. In the
process, fusion is the style that changes most, since in the real world it was

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defined as the most complex and ambiguous. Third is a need for the educator to
prescribe repertoire in negotiation with the learner. Some data pointed to some
educator flexibility here, in Ben's adapting his repertoire to his learners'
expectations, and in Dave's 'taking the middle ground' between fusion and a
more education-based repertoire. The main picture, nevertheless, consistent across
bebop and fusion, is of an increase in prescriptiveness and a decrease in
'openness' and eclecticism, thanks to a tendency to canonise and to make substyle
boundaries more simple and definitive in education than in the real world.

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Tension, complexity and

explicitness in definitions of
ethnic identity in jazz.

Ethnic identity was consistently central to interviewees' and writers' defmitions

of jazz. As with terms relating to the substyles of jazz, data on this conceptual
area was very plentiful, though again complex and sometimes perplexingly
contradictory. The identity positions explored here are discussed most coherently
in the work of Paul Gilroy (1993). Gilroy lays out his approach as follows:
Critical dialogue and debate on these questions of identity and
culture currently stage a confrontation between two loosely
organised perspectives which, in opposing each other, have
become locked in an entirely fruitless relationship of mutual
interdependency. Both positions are represented in contemporary
discussions of black music, and both contribute to staging a
conversation between those who see the music as the primary
means to explore critically and reproduce politically the necessary
ethnic essence of blackness, and those who would dispute the
existence of any such unifying organic phenomenon' (1993: 100)

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For Gilroy, both positions have their associated problems. The first 'essentialist'
position 'ignores the internal differentiation of black cultures' (100), and assumes
that closed and unified ethnic identity categories such as 'black' or 'African
American' are unproblematic, and are indeed helpful ways of defining ethnicity,
particularly in a field where the 'black' voice is often seen as under-represented.
The second 'anti-essentialist' position applies the concepts of hybridity and fusion
to ethnic identity. It therefore 'moves towards a casual and arrogant
deconstruction of blackness while ignoring the appeal of the first position's
powerful, populist affirmation of black culture' (100). As we shall see, I have also
refined this binary divide by introducing the concept of 'explicitness', and this is
explained later. The terms 'openness' and flexibility', identified as key ideas in
the previous chapter, recur in data on ethnicity too, associated often with anti-
essentialist views of jazz.

The data is organised around each position in two long sections. Three
particularly significant aspects of these definitions were identified in analysis. The
first was the general range and nature of ethnic identities associated with jazz.
Following Gilroy's first position, an interviewee or writer could associate a single
ethnic identity strongly with jazz, calling all jazz 'black', for example, or one
definition of ethnic identity could be associated with several ways of playing jazz.
In other examples, following his second position, one way of playing was
sometimes associated with a number of identities, with all ethnic identities or with
none at all. Analysis also focused on the level of explicitness of ethnic identity in
definitions found. Some writers and interviewees made ethnic identity explicit in
their definitions of the music, by making ethnic labels prominent Others
consistently discussed and referred to musicians of particular ethnic groups, but
ethnicity itself was not explicitly mentioned. Thirdly analysis revealed significant
differences between these aspects of definitions of ethnic identity in real world
jazz and those in jazz in education. Further data relating to teaching and learning
also concerned the definition of a 'black' learning style associated with jazz.

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Three key concepts found in the data are used to focus discussion: 'essence',
'tradition' and 'heritage'. Between them, they serve to reveal the range of
possibilities found in the definition of ethnic identity in jazz. Ethnicity also
proved to be a conceptual area associated with many of the other definitions so far
found. These included art, entertainment, professionalisation, bebop as 'black'
and the concept of a 'black' learning style.

Marsalis, 'heritage' and the 'Negroid'

'Jazz is an art form and it expresses a Negroid point of view about

life in the twentieth Centuiy. It is the most modem and profound
expression of the way Black people look at the world. It is not like
what Black people did in sports, where they reinterpreted [his
italics] the way the games could be played, bringing new
dimensions to competitive expression in boxing, basketball, and so
forth. Jazz is something Negroes invented [his italics] and it said
the most profound things not only about us and the way we look at
things, but about what modem democratic life is really about. Jazz
is the nobility of the race put into sound; it is the sensuousness of
romance in our dialect; it is the picture of the people in all their
glory' (Marsalis, W., 'Why we must preserve our jazz heritage'
Ebony, February 1986: 130).
Wynton Marsalis is a highly influential jazz musician and educator whose views
have made him an icon, a figure so powerful that four out of six interviewees
mentioned his name unprompted in connection with some aspect of jazz'. In the
above quotation, he definitively links all jazz, real world and educational, with a
clearly defmed single ethnic identity. At the same time he defines jazz as being to

L
See below page 142., for more detailed discussion of these references.

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do with other qualities that be defines as 'Negroid', including art, modernity,

profundity, invention and democracy.

Before exploring Marsalis' views in more detail, we should note that this
tendency to link jazz with a single ethnicity is to be found elsewhere in the
literature too. Here, for example, is Kofsky:
There can be little question among serious students of the music
that jazz has inevitably functioned not solely as music, but also as
a vehicle for the expression of outraged protest at the oppression of
Afro-Americans as a people and the specific exploitation to which
jazz musicians, as black artists, have been perennially subjected in
an artform of their own creation (Kofsky, 1970, quoted in Branch,
1975: 25)

Jazz as 'Negro music' ... 'drew its strength and beauty out of the
depths of the black man's soul' while white men' ... try to steal
everything they can and make money off it, and then have the
audacity to call it their own' (Baraka, in Lees, 1993: 3 and 4)

Bebop is' ... the exact registration of the social and cultural
thinking of a whole generation of black Americans' (Baraka, 1967:
16)
And in education:
There is a danger of 'Negro jazz modernists' who '... have some
formal training in music and who would like ... to dig up the deep,
rowdy stream of jazz until it becomes a very thin trickle of
respectable sound indeed' (Ellison, 1964: 8)

Many more writers identify at least a black perspective, though some have also
attempted to define a black aesthetic (Gates, 1988) and a black political stance
(Berger, 1947). Gates' well-known example of 'signifying' as 'black double-

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voicedness' or 'repetition with a signal difference' (1988: 51) is a key example

of this, of which he says, 'there are so many examples of signifyin(g) in jazz that
one could write a formal history of its development on this basis alone' (1988:
63-4). Often such writers suggest a 'truth' or at least distinctiveness to black
perspectives which whites cannot achieve, or argue that historians of all races
should take such perspectives into account. Floyd (1983: 46-57) argues for a US
black studies in music, bemoans the lack of black scholars and points out white
bias in much of the US history of black people. One example of white bias he
covers is the 'white origin theory' that Negro spirituals were 'derived directly
from white hymns and spirituals that had been appropriated and slightly modified
by slaves for their own use' (1983: 46, quoting George Pullen Jackson, white
historian, 1943). Porter (1988) argues too that in the field of academic jazz '...
one simply cannot understand many important historical and musical facts if one
looks at them entirely from a non-black cultural viewpoint' (200). He lists
inaccurate preconceptions often held by outsider non-black writers. These
include early jazz musicians' lack of education, their supposed preferences for
raw and vulgar timbres, that black players excel in rhythm, that they are less able
to explain their music in speaking or writing and that jazz musicians used
incorrect or inadequate technique. Treitler is the most extreme of all, in his
suggestion that, 'Afro-American music is not comprehensible except as an
expression of Afro-American experience' (Treitler, 1996: 7).

An essentialist, Marsalis (1994) is also clearly fighting against some defujitions of

'black' ethnicity in jazz, which he says 'keep black music in its place'. He
strongly repudiates the 'noble savage' view that jazz musicians are not technical
musicians or that they have instinctive rhythm, referring here to Williams' idea of
the Negro 'rhythmic genius that is not like other races' (1970: 8), which Baraka
ridicules as the 'all got rhythm' stereotype (as Jones, 1967: 14). Collier (1985),
by contrast, observes a tendency for (white) jazz writers to treat their subjects as if

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the latter were middle-class whites, and to define jazz more as art 2. He cites
problems of suspicion and communication between black musicians and white
interviewees. There is a paradox, then, in Marsalis' assertion that jazz is
unequivocally 'ait' because it '...broke the rules of European conventions and
created rules that were so specific, so thorough and so demanding that a great art
resulted...'. He contrasts the 'objective fact of the art' with the ... 'openness to
everything.., shown by others which ... shows contempt for the basic values of the
music' (New York Times, Sunday July 31st 1988). Collier wants to change the
nature of 'art' so it can no longer ignore 'black' jazz, while Marsalis wants
'black' jazz seen on equal terms with existing 'art'. Several mutually
contradictory definitions of 'black' are revealed here, but the concept of 'black'
itself is clearly alive and well as a definition associated with jazz, and many
writers, white and black, feel the need to defend it.

For some US blacks and commentators of all ethnic backgrounds, it remains

important for US African Americans to keep cultural control of jazz, to reclaim it
and to prevent it from becoming subverted. Indeed Marsalis actively asserts black
artistic power. Jazz was certainly not born from adverse social conditions and an
implied intuitive ignorance. Instead, 'Negroes invented a form based on freedom
...' founded on '... principles of respect for the individual and collective
expression in artistic performance' (New York Times, 1988: 131). 'Negroes' have
been around in the US for three hundred years, he argues, and jazz as Negro
culture is 'serious business' (1986: 131). Here he is supported by Sonny Rollins in
another recent interview (Belden, 199'7), who echoes interviewees' earlier concept
of 'seriousness' (see Chapter IV, page 95) in relation to jazz. We can relate our
earlier definitions of jazz as 'serious' then, and jazz as 'art' partly to a need to
proclaim African Americans as a racial group to be taken 'seriously' as 'artists'
within US cultural life. Jazz becomes a vehicle for the promotion of more
'serious' views of African American ethnicity, and the need to promote the

2 See also jazz as art above, at Nanry, Chapter II, page 26., and in discussion of both fusion and
bebop, Chapter IV, pages 95 and 104.

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concept of African American ethnicity affects the way jazz is defined too. In the
process, Marsalis excludes the possibility that jazz and other African American
music which functions in non-'art' ways might be worthy of equal but possibly
differently grounded kinds of respect.

Marsalis quickly establishes his black 'greats', and in doing so, he is drawn into
the canonical tendency discussed in the previous chapter. Armstrong's solos
'were functional and became timeless at the same moment', Ellington had 'taken
the music to the highest levels' (131), and Parker's work was 'pure and totally
informed by Negroid standards of expression' (132). He is 'presenting important
works from the canon with all the passion and intelligence that can be brought to
bear' (Conroy, 1995: 30). He simultaneously asserts a 'black' ethnic identity,
defines jazz as a 'black' artform and so challenges the aesthetics of Western
(white) art.

In recent years, Marsalis' language has moderated. In 1995, significantly writing

in 'American Heritage' rather than the more narrowly focused 'Ebony', he links
'artistic' quality with 'America' rather than explicitly with the 'Negroid':
'Jazz is American. It belongs to everybody now, black, white,
Latin, to all those who have added to it and all those who have
been moved by it...', the '....best expression there is of American
culture' (Scherman, 1995).
A little older and perhaps politically wiser now, and better established at the
Lincoln Center, he points to other elements in jazz, like an 'American' spirit of
play with others, respect for others' individuality and finally spirituality - 'that
love in the music'. This spirit is echoed in a number of other US writers, who
define jazz as 'America's classical music' (Sales, 1984), or argue that jazz is
'likely to express our century' (Williams, 1970: 3). Elliot too defines jazz as 'the
first truly indigenous music of the United States' (1983: 109), in opposition to
earlier established accounts of North American musical history which he suggests
still virtually ignore jazz altogether (see also Ewen, 1977). The 'black' is less

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explicit here, though a number of commentators, including Lees (Newsletter,

1993/4), still note what they see as the predominance of black musicians he hires.

Finally Marsalis sets his definition of jazz up in opposition to his equally

unambiguous concept of popular music, which he criticises for what he sees as its
lack of musical skills and understanding of the ethnically 'true' blues and jazz
tradition. Bloom writes: 'Marsalis is vigorously opposed to pop music, clinging to
the elitist notion that there is junk and there is alt..', and quotes Marsalis as
saying:
we now live in a world of artistic skullduggery - inside jobs,
lying, back-stabbing, theft, larceny ... In the past jazz was one of
the few forms in mass media that gave a realistic image of the
panorama of Negro life ... Now however, with few exceptions like
Bill Cosby, black people have been pushed all the way back into
minstrelsy (Bloom, 1984: 136)
and later
If we bad a better sense of art and a stronger sense of history, we
wouldn't have to accept the idea that entertainers are artists. I have
nothing against pop music, but I do resent the pretension attached
to the entertainment of today ... an economic breakthrough is not
the same as an artistic achievement' (137)
An Adornian art/entertainment distinction recurs here too, then. This time it is
associated with ethnicity, and this time, unlike in Adorno's work (1972), jazz is
'art'.

Similar African American or 'black' music ideas also appear elsewhere in the
literature. Peretti, for example, sees the history of 1930s and 'lOs jazz in terms of a
dialectic between a dominant commercial US (white) urban jazz culture and the
'great black folk tradition', which he sees, perhaps naively, as fundamentally non-
commercial. The 'great black folk tradition' of the 1930s' ... was under constant
siege' (1991: 86) until bebop reclaimed jazz as black in the 1940s. Radio was

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largely dominated by white dance bands who played relatively 'sweet' music. For
Peretti, though, black identity itself remains coherent and intact despite such
outside pressure. Baraka (1987) also echoes Perretti and Marsalis in his
condemnation of all jazz fusion, and in particular Miles Davis' 'Bitches Brew'
album, as 'dollar sign music'. He contrasts the 'real and aesthetic life of the
people' or the 'masses of the Afro-American people' (189) with the 'heavy
corporate hand' creating 'dead formulas' even from the blues3.

To summarise, Marsalis is spinning a complex web here with great passion and
intelligence. He defines real world jazz primarily as a product and expression of
African American experience, particularly in his earlier writing, though this is less
explicit later. He associates jazz with the 'black race' and 'art', and by implication
popular music with 'white' and commercial entertainment or 'skullduggery'. In
his later definitions jazz becomes 'America's classical music', defying any white
American to assert that American culture does not include African American jazz.
He differentiates African American identity from American, while simultaneously
defining jazz as American, and so attempts to raise the status of jazz and black
identity simultaneously within a highly stratified and conservative US musical
life. In doing so, Marsalis narrowly defines the field of jazz, and effectively
excludes fusions with other ethnicities and musics, as well as established jazz
traditions based in other countries and played by musicians of many other ethnic
origins. Even in this most unequivocal data, we can also observe how terms used
to define ethnic identity interact with a range of other meanings too, and thus
define jazz in different ways. 'Black' jazz and 'white' jazz are sometimes read as
'art' music and 'commercial' or 'pop' music, and Marsalis is not only using
ethnic identity to define jazz, but also using the 'seriousness' and 'artistic'-ness of
jazz to define African American identity too.

3 Though unrelated to ethnicity, there are a number of other references to record companies
elsewhere, most notably Ben's views that they distort the natural development of the music, and
fail sufficiently to nurture musicians by thrusting them into the limelight and pigeon-holing them
into musical categones (see Chapter VI, page 162.).

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Black and early jazz learning styles

If jazz may be defined as 'black', as Marsalis and others suggest above, then it
follows that teaching and learning in jazz might somehow be 'black' too. We turn
now to references from the literature to a distinctive and clearly defined 'black' or
'African' music education of some sort

Wilkinson (1994) argues that there is evidence of the influence of what he calls a
distinctively 'West African' pedagogical style in the early jazz teaching and
learning of New Orleans. He suggests 'the educational process by which a jazz
musician was trained in New Orleans was largely derived from African
approaches to music education' (39), which emphasised 'active participation
rather than formal teaching'. There was much imitation and, quoting from Nketia,
'slow absorption through exposure to musical situations and active participation,
rather than formal teaching' (Nketia, 1974: 87). Collier (1978) also links early
jazz education with Nketia's work on methods of music instruction in Africa,
where he speaks of musical 'learning through social experience' (Nketia, 1974:
59):
The organisation of traditional music in social life enables the
individual to acquire his musical knowledge in slow stages and to
widen his experience of the music of his culture through the social
groups into which he is gradually absorbed and through the
activities in which he takes part' (Nketia, in Collier, 1978: 60)
Thus the young:
rely largely on their imitative ability, and on correction by others
when it is volunteered. They must rely on their own eyes, ears and
memory, and acquire their own technique of learning' (60)
Starks (1981) calls this the 'oral tradition' and then divides teaching and learning
styles into a written 'European' and the more 'oral' 'African'. If we follow this
line of reasoning, the only way to learn jazz with authenticity is to pick it up

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through 'oral' experience of the social context, often defined as 'black' or

African4.

Along with the idea that that early jazz musicians had little formal training came
the notion introduced earlier that they were somehow less skilled (see Chapter II,
page 29.). Here we need reiterate only that Baraka (1963) and Peretti (1991) are
'essentialists' and argue that black musicians were not necessarily unskilled
simply because they were sometimes untrained. In early jazz education, while
whites tended to be 'anti-scholastic', they suggest many early black jazz
musicians were consciously searching for training. This is also reflected in the
attitudes of the interviewees (D38v, A3 ii). Those who felt they had missed out on
a formal training in music were the keenest to learn in later years. Both for these
learners and for early critics, an underlying assumption is revealed that a training
inside the classroom (by implication, white) is somehow more valid than one
based primarily on musical experience outside it5 (by implication, black).
However, Wilkinson (1994) also argues that while learning methods were
sometimes different, the skills that people learnt in early jazz education were
often much the same as those learnt in classrooms. In short, some notions of
'black' learning as exclusively non-classroom-based were found, but a range of
other definitions of 'black' learning were also present in the literature.

The question of whether formal learning and even academic study itself has a
'white' bias is also a subject for discussion in the arena of black studies. Baraka
(as Jones, 1963) goes on to suggest that jazz as a 'learned art' is essentially a
'white' music. He is critical of musicians (presumably of any ethnicity) taught in
this 'white' way, who understand the more 'generalised emotional statements'
(149) and understand the style as music, but 'seldom as an attitude or woridview'.

4 1n Chapter II, page 31., 1 cover recent research evidence (Kinzer, 1996) which contradicts this
assumption, and indicates that even in the early days a wide range of written and oral learning
methods were used.

similar phenomenon is noted in Andy's account of his harmony training, in Chapter VIII, page
238.

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We saw earlier (Chapter II, page 19.) how Gabbard points out how jazz is
increasingly 'academic', and we can see here that Baraka associates 'white' with
'academic' as a pejorative term within jazz. Treitler (1996) even discusses the
possibility that the 'detached objectivity' of the academic definition of knowledge
is rooted in ethnic identity:
Is the very idea of scholarly research, which tends to emphasise the
gathering of all available evidence and viewing it with detached
objectivity, too foreign to the spirit of African American music-
making to contribute much to a real understanding of its qualities
and achievements? (1996: 7)

Ellis Marsalis, father of Wynton and veteran jazz educator, takes a more balanced
view, which acknowledges that cultural differences can affect definitions of
knowledge. Formal education is
indispensable for a certain kind of development and there's also
a way that it's a hindrance for a certain kind of development which
needs to be nurtured culturally, especially when the education is
foreign to the culture (Marsalis, E., in Vacher, 1991: 6).
Yet he continues:
Most American music is taught with European concert music as
the primary objective, so that means that the exercises, the
literature, the medium of expression, the sound production - all of
these things which have to do with music and the sound of music
as taught in institutions - are aimed at the development of people to
perform or sing European concert music. So if there's another form
of music that's derived from a different cultural or racial process, it
can become a deterrent (in Vacher, 1991: 6).
Here Marsalis (Senior) also identifies a mismatch between the 'black' 'cultural
process' of jazz and its 'whiter' and more formal educational analogue. Crucially
he picks up here a parallel between what he calls the 'medium of expression' of
European concert music and the 'cultural or racial process' that underlies it.

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Starks (1981) goes further, suggesting specifically that the emphasis on harmony
he observes within jazz criticism and pedagogy is an example of such
inappropriate interpretation and teaching. Instead he reiterates the point that jazz
is part of a 'very strong orallaural/visual tradition', emphasising 'rhythms of talk',
'rhythms of walk' and 'rhythms of dance' (178).

Sands (1996) has the broadest and most vigorous vision of a clearly defined
African American music education, this time in a rare article discussing school
level work. Unlike Marsalis, her African American music curriculum includes a
'body of styles, genres, attitudes, approaches, and processes of making music'
(228). She mentions awareness of performance practice of Gospel and R 'n' B
styles, along with the importance of awareness of the political and social
commentary of some styles, including calypso too. She also mentions aspects of
the Catholic religion and the New African religious forms in the US, including
'aspects of ritual and spirituality that were psychologically and emotionally
appealing and socially and culturally significant' (228). Teachers require the
appropriate 'analytical skills' and the depth of experience to be able to integrate
such music into the whole school year. 'Black' may be clearly defined here but
the range of music and ethnic groups included is broad. Lundquist and Sims
(1996) also back Sands up, stressing the separate qualities of 'African American
Music Education', but suggesting it should include experience of a variety of
musical cultures, appropriate African American course content, teaching
strategies, interactional styles and speech patterns. Teacher perspectives on
knowledge should be changing not fixed, 'fresh each time', 'unfolding in the
classroom', because, as Lundquist puts it, 'the structure of a musical tradition is
revealed in its transmission' (1996: 330). Knowledge, for Lundquist, is defined
as 'continuously re-created, recycled and shared by teachers and students alike'
(332). These articles represent the most wide-ranging account of a distinctively
African American music education.

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There is a considerable body of largely American writers who define a 'black' or

'African American' learning style. Yet, while all apply the label and see it as a
valid category, they do not all agree on what it means. In music education as
elsewhere, definitions of exactly what 'black' is are extremely varied. Some
'black' jazz learning was defined in this data as largely by experience, but from
its earliest days, some data also indicates that both black and white jazz musicians
were taught some aspects of their craft in classrooms and formal lessons. It is
clear too that the rhythmic, interactive and improvisational aspects of jazz are
often seen as needing to be learnt through experience, and it is these that are
considered more 'black'. Nevertheless, most jazz musicians, past and present,
achieved their skills through some combination of classroom-based learning and
real world experience, both from earliest jazz to the present day. The rest of this
chapter shows that the divide between 'black' and other ethnicities can also be
defined in many other ways. The diversity of evidence presented here suggests
that generalisations, which define a single distinctive African American learning
of any kind, are hard to sustain in jazz. It is therefore particularly interesting that
the data indicates that attempts to sustain such definitions recur with such
frequency. It seems there is a strong need in the US, both inside and outside
education, to define jazz as an African American music.

Ethnicity as 'a highly flexible, creative construction'

We continue now with further definitions of ethnicity which I am associating with

Gilroy's second 'anti-essentialist' theoretical position. Tagg expresses both
musicological and ideological 'discontent' (1989: 285) with the use of terms such
as 'black music', Afro-American music' and 'European' music. He argues that
such terms are 'taken for granted', and in his view they 'pre-ordain certain sets of
feeling and behaviour for one race and deny them to the other' (295). This results
in 'stereotype expectations' (295) of 'constant arse-wiggling, pelvis grinding and
jive talk' (295) from listeners and musicologists that have their origins in 'old

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European cultural patriarchy' (294). He problematises 'black' as too often

meaning solely 'African American' and questions what he calls the
misconceptions that 'black music' should be necessarily associated with 'blue
notes' (288), 'call and response' and 'rhythm' (289). He points out that
improvisation was part of the European music tradition from Sweelinck to Liszt
and Franck (290), and that improvisation too is not necessarily more 'black' or
African' than 'white' or 'European' (290).

Stokes (1994), after Giddens (1990), also argues that the concept of place is
becoming increasingly separated from geographical space in connection with
music. For Stokes, simple categories of ethnic or national identity in relation to
place are hard to justify in contemporary life. Instead, interactions between the
local and the global are creating a situation where a '... more general process of a
highly flexible, creative construction of ethnicity ... is increasingly common'
(1994: 16). In Stokes' view, globalisation is causing all ethnic categories, and thus
categories between musical styles with ethnic labels, to become less strongly
bounded. The 'two-ness' of what Du Bois calls African American double-
consciousness (1969) is a further and much earlier acknowledgement of this very
different interpretation of the nature of 'blackness' and of ethnicity as a whole.

Gilroy himself is more closely aligned to his second position in his account of the
'Black Atlantic'. Gilroy is keen to identify what he calls, 'the processes of
cultural mutation and restless (dis)continuity that exceed racial discourse and
avoid capture by its agents' (1993: 2), and challenges '... the idea of blacks as a
national or proto-national group with its ... hermetically enclosed culture' (33).
Ellison supports this in his description of 'Negro' as a uniquely American
construction (1964: 261). In a question about hip-hop, which could easily be a
critique of Marsalis' views on jazz, Gilroy asks:
'... how a form which flaunts and glories in its own malleability as
well as its transnational character becomes interpreted as an
expression of some authentic African American essence ... What

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is it about black America's writing elite which means that they

need to claim this diasporic cultural form in such an assertively
national way?' (34)
For Gilroy, jazz is malleable, part of a process of '...the circulation and mutation
of music across the black Atlantic ...' which' ... explodes the dualistic structure
which puts Africa, authenticity, purity and origin in crude opposition to the
Americas, hybridity, creolisation and rootlessness.' (199). 'Black' is a term which
is 'internally divided [his italics]: by class, sexuality, gender, age, ethnicity,
economics and political consciousness' (32). To this list, Tagg would want to add
musical style. Most cuttingly, Gilroy suggests that ideas such as those of Marsalis,
which set up clear dualisms between 'black' and other ethnicities in music stem
from'... the need to project a coherent and stable racial culture as a means to
establish the political legitimacy of black nationalism and the notions of ethnic
particularity on which it has come to rely' (97). They are a 'defensive reaction to
racism' (97) such that 'European romanticism and cultural nationalism
contributed directly to the development of modern black nationalism' (97).

Few would dispute the importance of African American identity to the roots of
early jazz. Yet as the 20th century has progressed, some of the academic literature
of jazz suggests that the idea of jazz as purely urban 'black' folk music has
become modified, thanks to processes of globalisation, professionalisation and
fragmentation. Ogren (1989) sees 'black' ethnic identity as separating from jazz
over time. Early jazz was a focus for urban black US cultural expression, and'
from rent parties to Harlem Renaissance salons, jazz performance enabled black
Americans to affirm - not reject - their individual and collective parts' (164). In
particular it signified at the macro level the migration of African Americans from
the agricultural South to cities and industrial life (164) and became, for Ogren, 'an
unmistakable challenge to white cultural domination' (11), in its 'participatory
performance (13) and its rhythmic style that 'forces a response from or seduces a
participant' (16). The blues elements in jazz also communicate 'the stories of
black Americans (18) and the 'distinctive qualities of black music' (19). Later

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however, she suggests that gradual professionalisation and commercialisation

began to separate black identity from the entertainment role of the music: '... new
peiformance locations and job opportunities in northern cities sustained
improvisational musicians, permitting the survival of techniques and audience-
performer interactions as salient characteiistics of black musical entertainment'
(55). In Huggins' (1995) account of James P. Johnson's interview with Tom
Davin (324ff), Johnson narrates how he would often have to resist the temptation
of 'breaking into a rag' (318) at certain places - his professional role playing for
dancing classes was becoming increasingly separate from the 'breaking into a rag'
appropriate as part of the 'black' tradition. Nancy's (1979) account also supports
this view (see also Chapter II, page 25. above), stressing the extent to which the
professionalisation of jazz musicians led to a gradual broadening away from its
African American roots and a move towards a more secular, less religious
conception of the style. The two became separated, such that 'African American
cultural survivals couched in religious terms had a greater chance to endure
because they were perceived as less of a threat to white Americans' (44). For
Nanry, only the religious music, unlike jazz, still retains many of the attributes
seen as most authentically African. Berger (1947) also questions the 'blackness'
of jazz after the 1930s. He suggests instead thatjazz should best be read as an
analogue of white US perceptions of US blacks, or the 'resistance to the diffusion
of a cultural pattern', because the traits of jazz that have survived paint a distorted
picture of black ethnic identity. Spirituals 'show the Negro in a submissive rather
than exuberant role' (461), and commerce, the fact that 'black' music sells, causes
the popularity of jazz and thus of black identity, the 'triumph of commerce over
racism' (461).

Others argue that definitions based on specific ethnicities of any kind are
unhelpful. Asante (1987) critiques the Eurocentric 'universalist' view, which at
best 'reverses ideologies of racial hegemony rather than restructuring and
reshaping the fundamental racial categories in which they participate' (204).
Appiah (1992) too calls for the abandonment of the concept of race altogether

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because it 'confuses socially constructed descent systems and prejudice with

biological heredity' (204). Appiah goes on to challenge the 'common history' of
all who share similar skin and bones, arguing that seen from that perspective, 'the
heterogeneity and particularity of African cultures and experiences are collapsed
into a simplistically unified racial essence' (204). Instead, he stresses the
heterogeneity of African cultural texts and practices, the continuities that remain
among precolonial, colonial and postcolonial cultural productions and African
histories, and the necessity continually to be challenging an often unstated
presumption of Western cultural superiority.

Along with Tagg, whose focus is mostly popular music, Ingrid Monson is the
musicologist specialising in jazz who best crystallises this approach to the
relationship between ethnic identity and jazz. Again her focus is the validity of
boundaries between ethnic categories in music:
The extensive jazz literature devoted to categorising what in the
music is "white" and what is "black" is fundamentally flawed
The question that has animated these discussions must be
reformulated: instead of asking which components belong to an
essentialised category of "black" or "white", we must ask, In what
way do jazz musicians draw upon multi-cultural and musical
knowledge in their articulation of particular aesthetics and
ideological positions in music? How do we/they draw boundaries
(however flexible and contested) around a particular aesthetic,
which may include participants from many ethnic and racial
groups? It seems to me that the polymusicality of many jazz
musicians ... should not be seen as the liquidation of cultural
identity but rather as an important component of the cultural
identity of a cosmopolitan group. (19%: 131)

'Categories such as the jazz community, African-American

musical aesthetics, European American musical aesthetics and so

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forth are significant but not clearly bounded. There is much room
for overlap and difference between any two individuals within and
between categories' (p126)
Jazz is 'polymusical', again 'flexible' and 'contested' in both its musical and its
ethnic boundaries, and contemporary jazz musicians 'do their homework' and are
often familiar with and incorporate a wide range of musical styles from around
the world.

Several writers who define jazz as associated only with African American identity
neverthless support the view that African American and Western European
identities do not stand still. Focusing on jazz audiences rather than players, and
obviously speaking primarily about the US, educator and player Ellis Marsalis
sees jazz as '... no longer of interest or relevance to the black community'.
Instead he sees the main role of jazz as 'the music that ultimateLy freed white
Americans from the imperialism of European concert music ...There was a point
in time when the music no longer served mainly the black community. They also
became influenced by other outside aspects' (Vacher, 1991: 11).

Despite his essentialist views of African American identity mentioned elsewhere,

Baraka (as Jones, 1963), also charts the steady decline in 'authenticity' of early
ragtime, which he sees as originally a Negro appropriation of white piano
techniques:
Northern Negro pre-jazz music was almost like a picture within a
picture within a picture, and so on, on the cereal package. Ragtime
was a Negro music, resulting from the Negro's appropriation of
white piano techniques used in show music. Popularised ragtime,
which flooded the country with songsheets in the first decade of
this century, was a dilution of the Negro style. And finally, the
show and "society" music the Negroes in the pre-blues North made
was a kind of bouncy, essentially vapid appropriation of the

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popularised imitations of Negro imitations of white minstrel

music... (111).
Blacks appropriate white piano techniques. Whites popularise and dilute this
black style. And Negroes finally re-appropriate this white style too. Rather than
being an expression of African American culture, jazz came to symbolise that
culture. This was true both for the whites who played it and listened to it, and for
a black audience needing to feel in touch with their roots, even though their
musical interests had later moved on to other styles like r 'n' b later in the
century6 (Ward, 1998: 411).

Here, then, is a cluster of views from varying sources that define ethnic identity in
jazz as highly complex and changing over time. 'White' and 'black' are defined
as interdependent concepts in a more complex field where they interact with other
terms like 'academic', 'art', 'professional' and 'folk tradition'. In this body of
work, relationships between style definitions and ethnic identities are seen as
being constructed and continually renegotiated in more flexible ways. As a result,
they are subject to pressure from a range of local, regional and global economic
and social forces, which, it is argued, make concepts like 'black' actively
unhelpful to an understanding of musical style. As Monson and Gilroy suggest,
such definitions become 'multi-dimensional', jazz becomes 'polymusical',
'hybrid' and 'creole', and an idea like 'black' jazz comes to signify too wide a
range of both music and ethnic identity across both sides of the Atlantic to be
useful.

b
Ward writes of the jazz avant-garde of the 1960s: 'Unlike the music itself, which was usually
born of a more subtle and complex mix of spin tual and artistic, as well as commercial, racial and
political imperatives, the cultural nationalist deification of Coltrane, Coleman and the rest was in
part an elitist, intellectual project. It had much more in common with romantic Western bourgeois
ideals of the suffering, soul-searching artist than most of its well-educated, increasingly
Afrocentnc advocates could either recognise or easily admit. The modern jazznian's self-
conscious pursuit of a meaningful "art", the embrace of social alienation as a performance
technique, and the use of inaccessibility as a political statement, actually had little to do with an
Afncan tradition, preserved and endlessly recreated in the most popular African American musics,
which invanably sought to collapse the distance between performer and audience, and between art
and social function' (1998:411)

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Responses to Marsahs

Such 'flexible' and 'polymusical' definitions also appeared in the interviews,

often as responses to Marsalis. We begin with two interviewees in whose
accounts ethnicity was less explicit. For Eric, a secondary teacher who teaches
much of the music curriculum through jazz and sees links between jazz and
classical music, Marsalis was identified purely as a useful role model. As an
educator, Eric can sell jazz to his learners as on equal terms with classical music -
to paraphrase, 'if Marsalis can do both styles, so can the kids I teach' (E69b,
E335). Significantly, Eric never mentions Marsalis' position on ethnicity, nor was
it mentioned by Andy (A 172b).

Frank, African American, was also knocked out by the level of musicianship, skill
and sheer intensity at a performance he saw of Marsalis' band:
4J75 Frank: ... a gig that I saw with the Wynton Marsalis band

179. Frank: ... the level ofperformance ... done by people like
Miles Davis and John Coltrane ... they were playing closest to that
level ... out of all the other bands that! heard in New York, you
know ... (F, 179)
The terms 'black' or 'African American', however, are rarely mentioned in his
interview, nor are they ever associated with Marsalis.

For the others, ethnicity is more of an issue. Ben, a white British player who
appeared initially in the 1980s British jazz renaissance, finds what he calls
'narrow' ethnic definitions of the sort Marsalis indulges in to be fundamentally
antithetical to his whole conception of jazz:
111.a) Ben: ... because I mentioned Wynton Marsalis earlier on,
I think it's best to say what jazz iyjj..j. ... I find what he's doing to

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be very naughty, and it's well understandable ... it's important for
black people to establish some control and some power over
something, ... but I don't think you go about that by saying, "Jazz
is ... ", and then give a narrow definition according to whatever
your whim is of what jazz is, and then say jf you're not playing this
you are not a jazz musician.
In an extension of this position, he goes on to discuss how Marsalis becomes
representative firstly of black music and secondly of jazz itself. His views are
therefore listened to on other issues as well, including the role of bebop in the jazz
canon and the principle of recreating past styles in jazz performance:
111.c) Ben: ... he's a very visible black musician at the top of
his trade, he's got hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of
company support behind him ... People take what he's saying as
gospel, and it isn't, it's rubbish ... and especially/or black
musicians here in Britain, that look to American musicians to take
their lead, well, you know, it's very damaging, and you can see it
happening quite a lot in the black musical culture here, is that
there seems to be this erroneous notion going on that, "Oh, you've
gotta to learn how to play bebop, you're nothing fyou haven't
learnt to play bebop", so then everyone starts cutting each other
up, you know, playing faster and/aster Giant Steps, or what's
that other Coltrane tune ... Steps to Heaven, you know... and all
that kind of thing, as if it meant something. And it doesn't. It
meant something to John Coltrane, you know, but it doesn't mean
anything to recreate that kind of music, it just doesn't ... unless
you've got the right feeling or approach to it. But it doesn 't mean
anything of itselfper Se.
There is also a black dimension, then, to the issue of the role of bebop in the jazz
canon. In place of recreation, he goes on to argue that, '... as a jazz musician or as
a creative musician, you create the music that you want to hear,' and that the most
unhelpful attitude is to '... lay it on everybody else, "Well, it's shit, because it

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doesn't sound like Art Tatum", you know, ... life leaves those people behind ...'
(hid). Instead,
lll.e) Ben: ... jazz is a space in which everybody is talking to
each other, and there are certain skills, and attitudes and
techniques, that ... and knowledge, just plain information, that, if
you're gonna play with people, and establish in a language so that
you can play with people, that you have to take care of...
[much summarised, full text in Data Appendix, Bill]

This long section of Ben's data brings together several ideas from previous
chapters, and unites them around ethnicity. Ben's 'space', already defined as
stylistically 'open' and 'eclectic' in the earlier chapter, has an ethnic dimension
too. Marsalis' definition of jazz is too ethnically closed for Ben, and for many of
the interviewees, but it is also stylistically 'narrow', and does not contain the jazz
openness and interactivity Ben defines as at the heart of the improvising musical
group. Ben also argues that the music industry creates ossification and disrupts
the 'natural organic' process of 'everybody tahldng to each other' by imposing
commercial pressures on musician and listener cultures (See Data Appendix,
B54d). Like Baraka, he believes commerce sometimes distorts ethnicity in jazz in
counterproductive ways, imposing Marsalis' views on the rest of us whether they
represent the views of local jazz or not. While Baraka argues commerce dilutes
black identity, Ben argues that Marsalis' influence and the financial power of
record companies are both forces which strengthen such narrow views of jazz as
'black', and thus oppose the more 'organic' ethnic identity and musical
formations within jazz that he favours.

Dave, South African, is equally critical of the focus on past African American
achievement in present day jazz playing and teaching. Like Ben, he finds
Marsalis' influence on UK black musicians unhelpfully divisive and focused on a
stylistically narrow view of jazz:

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72.e) Dave: ... young black musicians in England at the moment,

.they have this great ... everything revolves around what Miles
Davis j to do and what Coltrane used to do, and what Wynton
Marsalis is now reviving, so everything that is jazz revolves
around that. Nobody knows about the greatness of Evan Parker or
John Taylor or people such as that, or Bobby Wellins or Django
Bates, our own great, really respected ... musicians
While all the interviewees supported Marsalis for his musicianship and his ability
to cross over from classical music to jazz and back at international level, there
was little support for Marsalis' strong association of jazz with one narrowly
defined 'black' ethnic identity. Such responses may also reflect subtle differences
between the ways in which issues of ethnicity are negotiated in UK and US jazz.
We cannot be sure whether interviewees like Frank give implicit support, and it
was not methodologically possible or sensitive to pose the question, 'Is jazz
black?' in quite such positive terms. It was up to them to make their own
definitions as they wanted (see the sections on questioning techniques and on
ethnicity in Chapter III, pages 66. and 72.). The possibility remains that those who
did not express an opinion on Marsalis and ethnicity may indeed have had strong
views and associated jazz strongly with one or other ethnic group, but chose not
to mention it during the interviews. That choice in itself is significant, and reveals
the extent to which ethnicity may be a crucial, even taboo issue.

Frank's American 'tradition'

We began our discussion of Frank's 'tradition' in earlier sections of data on bebop

(See Chapter IV, page 107-8.). Here, we note the way in which he adds an ethnic
dimension to the definitions he sets up. Frank criticises British jazz musicians for
having 'holes' in their playing, because it's not 'grounded' (F253):

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253. Frank: ... 1 wish that ... the method of learning was more
like America. Because in America a lot of musicians learn the
tradition before they ... broaden 1?]... whereas in England it's
different, you find musicians trying to broaden before they know
anything about the tradition
He goes on to suggest that such musicians '... should learn from the people who
sort of invented it ...'. Interestingly he hints here at a relationship between the
'tradition' and a 'method of learning' at 253, though he frustratingly never
elaborates.

For Frank too, 'there's no such thing as British jazz', because the ethnicity of the
player is irrelevant - 'jazz is jazz' just as 'classical music is classical music'
(F255). Yet in Frank's description of what he calls the 'tradition', he refers
continually to the improvising and composing styles and vocabularies of key
players, who are all African American. His definition of the 'tradition' is detailed
but is never specifically identified as African American. At F259ff, he goes on to
explain the 'tradition' in terms of how individuals within the band play,
characteiising jazz in terms of the sound, phrasing, inflections, the level and types
of group interaction in and around the music. He contextualises all these ideas in
terms of an overall balance of creative and 'traditional' elements within a
performance. Frank's approach is similar to Eric's, in that through learning the
tradition, from drum tuning to Rollins' inflections, players gain flexibility and an
understanding of the range of possible ways of playing, what Eric calls a 'means
to an end' in his interview. Learning by ear, transcribing and imitating key
features and an emphasis on rhythm become between them a teaching and
learning method, which eventually gives a player the vocabulary to sound as
though they are part of the extended musical family of jazz. You can hear the
Charlie Parker or the Sonny Rollins in their playing alongside their own
contribution. Ethnic identity is clearly defined, but, as with Eric earlier (page
142.), is never made explicit.

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One further example demonstrates the same point. Asked about differences
between jazz and classical music, Frank says he sees classical music as a tradition
with:
402 Frank: ...a lot of do's and don 'ts, ...' [where ]'... you can't
applaud, you know, or scream or shout, you know... even though,
emotionally you may feel like doing that, ...' because of '...the
snobbery and all that ... you sort of like, ... you kijow, sort of sit on
your true frelings...' '... you can't go, 'OW!',[scream, then
laughs]you now, whereas with a jazz concert you can sort of
express yourself, the audience have more erm, ... freedom of
expression, in jazz...'. (This ...J '... makes the musicians feel good
when they get that kind offeedback ...' [so I'... jazz is more of an
audience-participation music ... whereas in a classical concert,
you know, regardless of how expressive the soloist was, they would
wait until the whole piece was finished...' [because]'... it's
disrespectful to the composer or ... or the piece of music fyou sort
of like applaud during the performance ... and because of the
structure of the pieces, I can see why as well, you know ... a jazz
soloist, he is part-composer, as I said before, so it's part of the
structure of what he's building that gets the people going and sort
of reaches the audience. (Frank: 401-4 condensed)
Here Frank identifies characteristics in musician and audience behaviour
(audience participation, applause, freedom of expression through communication
with the audience) which Monson (1996) and Berliner (1994) both identify in
their work as broadly African American. Again, Frank never argues them as such.
In this data as a whole, a mainstream jazz tradition is clearly defined, but only in
terms of its musical features, and Frank makes only general remarks about
differences between players and learners of different ethnicities. Ethnicity is
markedly less explicit in Frank's data than in Marsalis', even though his views
about jazz in education are much the same. Nevertheless his 'tradition' has about
it an implied but unstated African American slant.

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Dave's concept of 'Essence': South African and African American

identities in a London jazz musician

Dave is from South Africa of mixed race, a so-called 'Cape coloured'. He left
South Africa in the mid-70s and had been living in London at the time of the
interview for over 15 years. His life in some ways exemplifies Stokes'
observations about the distinction between place and ethnicity. Initially Dave uses
the American greats in jazz as his model, but later sees all music as an expression
of the 'roots' of the player concerned. His definitions are underpinned by heartfelt
opposition to racial prejudice and therefore to narrow categories of ethnicity in
jazz of the essentialist kind. Unlike Marsalis, Dave rejects ethnic classifications
altogether as the basis for categories of musical style, while simultaneously and
perhaps paradoxically developing a personal style that explicitly articulates his
own South African heritage. He speaks often in long sentences full of
grammatical cul-de-sacs and colourful language, which were hard to transcribe
and even harder to summarise briefly in the extracts below. It is therefore
particularly worth reading the Data Appendix references given for this section.

Made painfully aware of his 'black' South African roots thanks to apartheid, Dave
discovered, as many immigrants do, a desire to express his own 'South
Africanness' as a jazz musician. He describes this moment of personal awakening
at a concert by South African jazz musicians in London:
11 7.c) Dave: ... when I first came to hear those guys ... I took a
turn around in my ltfe and thought, 'Yeah, man ... i'm a musician
from South Africa, ... I will continue to want to learn, because...
the standards were already set about the great American music,
like the bebop and the Charlie Parker, and Dizzy and Miles and
Trane and... that incredible Lester Young and all those ... noble,
wonderful people; ... from Duke Ellington, who you can place at,
like, the pinnacle,

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11 7.d) ... but I then realised that ... although I came away from
South Africa in order to get away from ... [what] I have
experienced in South African life, ... it's not something that I can
disregard, ... because if I did that, I might as well cut off my legs...
you know, these are my roots, and without your roots you cannot
grow in any direction
In passing, we can note the clear evidence here that Dave is also defming a jazz
canon here. More importantly in this context, though, is the way he implies the
existence of distinctively South African peiformance practices, ways of hearing
and ways of listening in his own music and that of others (D54f, D76b, DI 17a),
using the term 'inflections' in these other examples not quoted here for the way in
which rhythmic and harmonic features are personalised. if he wanted to, there is
potential here for him to define and celebrate a specifically South African identity
in jazz, in opposition to the American greats.

His response, however, is exactly the opposite. His experience of apartheid leads
him to see the expression of roots as generally the right of all human beings:
56.b) Dave: ... if I hear people, such as Charlie Haden, Pat
Metheny, Miles Davis, you can see America, you can hear it in the
music of Duke Ellington, you can see the cities of New York, you
can see that Chicago ... you can hear that life ... you can hear it in
that music. You can hear laments, you can hear the people of
Brooklyn and of Georgia, you can hear all of that. When Pat
Metheny plays music with Jim Pepper, you can see eagles soaring
across the Grand Canyon, you can hear it, you feel it in the music.
56.c) And in England, with people such as Django Bates, or Jan
Bellamy or the Arguelles brothers, ... those people, when they play
music, ... you can hear and feel ... English countryside and the
Welsh beauty ... So that is very important for me, ... I know that it
is there, it's an essence. Now the essence is something that for me
is perhaps ... like, fifty percent of the whole thing, that goes, the

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essence about who you are, where you come from, and the
expression that you have about your music, the pride that you have
in your heritage
Roots are clearly central to his conception of music-making in general, and
certainly to his definition of jazz. We return to Dave's central 'essence' idea in a
moment and follow it through in a more systematic way. But the above extract
certainly makes clear that, for Dave, while South African jazz is important to him
personally, jazz as a whole can be associated with y ethnicity.

At this point in the interview I am interested in how he relates this to his

definition of jazz, and continue at 57 by asking him directly:
57. Charlie. How does that relate to any idea of what jazz is?
His answer and the ensuing discussion reveals the same strong desire in Dave not
to be associated with too narrow a definition of jazz:
58. Dave: [pause] About the ... ooh! [laughs I... well!

59. Charlie: ... I mean, because, the other bit that you've said is,
that you didn't say is that they are British J^z musicians and
Anzericanjg musicians, and er, so

60. Dave: Well, I mean, you see

61. Charlie: I mean, would you consider yourself for exwnple, a

South African jg musician?

62. Dave: Yeah, or rather, I mean, I like to put it better than

that, I'm a musician from South Africa.

63. Charlie: Right.

64. Dave: I mean, it's like, you can't say

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65. Charlie: Brackets jazz? No?! [laughs]

66. Dave: Er. Not ... [ie not a musician from South Africa
(who plays jazz)]

67. Charlie: Maybe not... (agreeing]

68.a) Dave: Maybe not, because I mean I, amongst other things,

I'm involved with so many different things that has to with music,
that, I suppose, ... because of a certain way that I play, I do get
called mostly to play jazz, or, let's say, a more serious form of
music, not, never pop music, music with repetitive patterns, or like
repetitive rhythmic patterns and stuff like that, i'm never called
upon like that, because I'm more free in my spirit and my
approach, and er, ... improvising skills and stuff
Dave places ethnicity in the foreground of his view of stylistic thinking - it is
explicit - but does not specifically place African American ethnicity or South
African ethnicity in the foreground of present-day jazz as it is performed or
taught. Instead he defines jazz in terms of his more 'open' and 'free-spirited'
approach to music-making, involving improvising and the embellishment of given
material (see also Chapter IV, page 94.). The openness and free-spirited approach
mentioned earlier in discussion of fusion now takes on an ethnic dimension too.

At 61-66, he is reluctant even to use the term 'jazz' because he feels it to be

limiting, and one which means many things to different people - he has to clarify
the difference between pop music and jazz to clear this up for me. Despite giving
every indication that he would describe what he plays as jazz, he does not want
nevertheless to be labelled a jazz musician. Instead he wants to be called a
'musician from South Africa'. We return to the limitations associated with
defining oneself as a jazz musician in Chapter VI, page 177. Like Frank he shies

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away from narrow ethnic definitions of jazz, but, unlike Frank, he also shies away
from narrow musical definitions of jazz too.

Dave's experience of race discrimination has given him a strong belief in our
common humanity:
72/) Dave: ... My approach has simply been that if... no matter
where you come from, or how little or how much you know, there
is something for everybody that can be shared, ... you cannot put
yourself out on a special place because, as I pointed out earlier on,
that in any walk or category of life ... humanity is all. I mean, if we
had realised the fact, and adhered ourselves to the principle that
we are all really equal, then ... there could have been all sorts of
things that might not have turned up as bad as they are
In a reference to his experience of racial conflict there, no person, but also no
ethnicity or musical style can put itself out 'in a special place', in a set of closed
ethnic categories. Instead a musical performance should have a 'character of its
own', with everybody joining in, whatever their level and ethnicity. It should feel
natural and full of deep feeling - these key ideas recur throughout his interview.
For Dave, a good jazz performance or workshop should involve musicians' and
students' celebration of their heritage and revealing their 'essence' in group
music-making, authentic because it is of the community and therefore to a certain
extent uncontrolled, multilevel and chaotic - almost a denial of too specific an
identity of any kind (see D12a in Data Appendix).

We return to Dave's 'essence' concept now, to demonstrate, as this chapter

closes, how ethnicity is bound up to varying degrees with other definitions of the
music. Here, for example, 'essence' also links to qualities of confidence,
precision, correctness, blend and beauty:
86. b) Dave: ... we have to know it's a performance, it's
important, you have to be ... confident and you have to be sure that
what you are doing is absolutely correct, and it's precise, ... once

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you have those principles sorted out, then you can beauti)c,' the
music, ... you can find the magic in the music, you know, the
essence will then start just to blend, you have all the right
ingredients, so the aroma that comes out of this mixture of things
that you smell and feel and taste, that is splendid.
In the following two extracts, the same idea, again associated with 'roots', implies
first a deep understanding of style, seemingly combining the sound, texture,
rhythmic vocabulary and 'driving force' of the music and later, in British free
jazz, the generation of a 'beauteous energy' authentic to the players:
99.c) Dave: I wanted to analyse and learn about how to play
different kinds of contemporary music. And of course... [to learn
about] the swing jazz, and the, what they call, avant-garde and
modern jazz and that sort of thing you know, and bebop
particularly ... those periods, like, to learn and understand all the
roots and things about that. So, I started listening to Ellington
Count Basie and also Coltrane ... Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie
and all that.
99.d) And particularly ... focusing on the drumming skills of that
time... the real ... essence and ... the roots of that kind of
approach to music ... So I did, and still do spend a lot of time
researching and looking into all those methods ofplaying ... just to
make the music ... strong, like, the backbeat, like the ... driving
force, particularly the ... role that the rhythm section plays in the
music

103.a) Dave: Well what attracted me to it was sound particularly

sound, and different textures and ... nuances in the music ... it
seemed to be formless and yet I could feel, I could sense ... a very
finely developed skill ... they played music which was quite of a
different nature ... some of it had ... just a lot of energy ... quite
beauteous energy ... on the other hand... a lot of chaotic energy

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 in it ... There was, yet again a word that I like to use, essence,
something very ... special about it
Dave's 'essence', then, begins from pride in heritage and identity but spreads out
to include pride in the sounds, textures and nuances of the music, and therefore
involves preparation, correctness and precision in performance. What results is a
'splendid aroma', which results from the mixture of the 'essences' of all the
musicians involved.

To summarise, then, Dave strongly feels himself to be a South African musician,

and in the field of South African jazz he defines the style distinctly from other
jazz styles. At the same time, he sees both his playing and teaching as reflecting
the need for the expression of 'essence'. Learners (or perhaps participants is a
better term) should express themselves and celebrate their heritage, not his, even
if the musical materials they use, as is often the case in Dave's work, are strongly
influenced by sounds associated with South African jazz. Dave loves his
'American greats', but does not associate contemporary jazz with any one
ethnicity, and indeed has replaced such a concept with a vision of jazz as
expressing any ethnicity, just as the ethnicities of Parker, Coltrane and Lester
Young were expressed so well in their day. Both views coexist for Dave. An
American phenomenon in the past, jazz is now a contemporary music, which is
organised around beautifying material and is played by players of all ethnicities,
expressing their 'essence', regardless of the ethnicity of the communities from
which it originally arose.

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Summary and discussion of findings

This set of data is particularly perplexing, and it is hard to discern many coherent
patterns in these often overlapping and conflicting definitions associating jazz and
ethnic identity, beyond an initial conclusion that ethnic identity is more closely
associated with jazz than any other kind of contextual label, and is clearly central
to it. It is possible, however, to define some extremes. At one extreme lies the
position of Marsalis and others, for whom jazz is almost exclusively African
American, and for whom assigning explicit and closed ethnic labels is less
problematic. His was the main example of a clear and coherent ethnic identity
associated with jazz. Marsalis' position is powerful and internally consistent,
supported both by his own commercial success, the considerable authority of
influential elements within the New York musical establishment and many
perceptions of artistic integrity. His grand narrative of African American identity,
and those of other critics mentioned, were found to be features of some accounts
of both of real world jazz and educational jazz. Despite the narrow and relatively
closed accounts of Marsalis and Frank, even they suggest a need for some degree
of musical openness, creativity and individuality, which they define as part of the
jazz tradition too. For Marsalis, these data suggest musical boundaries and ethnic
boundaries are essentially the same, and both are closed. Frank, however,
suggests that jazz musicians from Britain such as Eddie Parker and Django Bates,
neither of whom consider themselves as upholders of the African American
tradition, nevertheless play jazz in a way which acknowledges his idea of the
tradition sufficiently. While ethnicity is not explicitly mentioned with reference to
such openness, we must accept that for Frank there remains a general sense that
some openness is desirable and indeed essential in real world jazz, and that
ethnicity may be included in that.

At the other extreme lies the 'polymusical', 'multi-dimensional' or 'anti-

essentialist' view that any single definition of ethnic identity simply cannot take
account of the 'hybridity' (Gilroy) and 'flexibility' (Monson) intrinsic to all

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ethnic identity. For them, terms like African American, American, South African
and British used in the data are not clearly definable, and their relationship with
the places concerned and particular ethnic groups is increasingly tenuous.

Between these two extremes, individual interviewees negotiated a range of

positions on some kind of continuum, which sometimes varied in and outside
education. These positions were highly personal both in their configuration and in
their explicitness, and can really only be considered individually. Taking real
world jazz first, Dave felt his own ethnic identity was being expressed in his
playing, but this ran alongside the strong conviction that any music, including
jazz, can express any ethnicity. 'Essence' was a crucial, roots-based ingredient in
good jazz, but not a term which referred to any one ethnic group. Ben was close to
Dave and seemed closest of all the interviewees to Monson's 'multi-dimensional'
approach, in his assertions of cultural complexity and his image of jazz as a
'space' where styles and ethnicities of all kinds should ideally be free to interact
(B!! le). Carol echoed this view, due partly to her experience in Indian music.
Frank seemed careful not to label music or musicians as 'African American',
though he is himself African American, and sees jazz in terms of a 'tradition'
made up almost exclusively of African American players. Eric also defended this
mainstream tradition of jazz as its core without explicit mention of ethnicity, and
Andy saw American and British jazz as having some distinctive features.

Turning to jazz in education, a consensus seemed to emerge in the literature (Ellis

Marsalis, Peretti and Sands) that the 'black'-ness both of jazz in education, and of
teaching and learning in jazz goes in and out of focus over time. The concept of
'African American' is important, but must be seen as changing and broad. In this
view, jazz becomes one of a wide variety of musical styles sharing common but
flexible 'black' traits, and it is even harder as a result to identify a single 'black'
style in its own right. 'Black' is associated at one stage in jazz history with 'folk
tradition', later with popular music, and still later with art.

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In the interviews, definitions of ethnic identity relating to education were often

less explicit. In his real world playing, Frank, for example, referred to a wider
range of jazz styles, periods and ethnic identities in his playing than he used in his
teaching, which seemed predominantly based on the African American players of
the 1940s and 50s up to Coltrane. He never made the African American nature of
his teaching repertoire explicit. Instead he used his 'tradition' concept, and never
explicitly stated that he was celebrating or teaching the 'African American' in any
sense. Dave, the other non-white interviewee, saw his personal playing as
expressing his South African roots, and used music from a wide range of ethnic
groups both in his teaching and playing. There was little evidence of tension
between real world and education in his data, and instead both players and
learners should express their own 'essence' through their music.

In real world jazz, the overall impression is one of a series of conflicting and
contested definitions simultaneously present and in considerable tension, greater
than anywhere else in the data on jazz. Stokes sees these variations in terms of a
complexity with which musicians, and in our case educators too, have to struggle,
in making sense of ethnic identity in music:
'Even now, when musicians are overwhelmed by consciousness of
other musics, they struggle to make sense of them, incorporate
them, relegate them to lower rungs on ladders of complexity,
difficulty, interest and so on, in terms dictated by their own musics
and views of the world' (1994: 16)
In this sense, the definitions of ethnicity found here have much in common with
the definitions of real world fusion discussed in the previous chapter. In
education, however, the data indicates that the stylistic breadth and ambiguity of
jazz lessens, while the range of definition of ethnic identity remains equally
broad, from 'essentialist' to 'non-essentialist'. Tensions between these positions
were much less evident, however, because, on the evidence both of the
interviewee accounts and of the literature, they were made less explicit. This lack
of explicitness would seem to have its origins in the tendency, noted in the

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previous chapter, for jazz in education to become generally more decontextualised
as it enters the canon of great works, or invents its own. It is perhaps paradoxical
that the more jazz is argued as 'good in itself' in this way, the less contextual
labels such as ethnicity become significant. Whatever the future holds, it seems
clear that, with regard to ethnicity, jazz in education is taking a different path
from jazz in the real world.

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 VI

Openness, growth, self-

knowledge and the problem of
educator control

In previous chapters, consistent reference has been made in passing to definitions

concerning self-expression and the personal in jazz. In this chapter, we focus on
data containing definitions relating to this conceptual area. In these definitions,
the notion develops that real world jazz is partly defined by the individuals who
play it, who are necessarily empowered, as an intrinsic part of the improvised
nature of the style, to take their own decisions as to what musical vocabulary to
employ in their playing. This sets up a tension with earlier definitions relating to
the substyles, canons and vocabulary of jazz. Definitions are explored which
define the function of jazz as a means by which musicians develop inner self-
awareness and find, accept and express themselves. Across the data, a consistent
picture emerges of real world jazz as a lifelong journey of growth towards a
musical and personal self-knowledge through self-expression. This journey,
which takes place in the lifetime of all jazz musicians, is defined as one of
continual learning through interaction with other musicians. Because real world
music-making is defined here as a process of learning too, this was one of the
areas of the data mentioned in Chapter I (pages 10-11.) where it was particularly
hard to differentiate clearly between real world and educational definitions.

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Where it was hard to differentiate, the broad term 'jazz' is used. In this part of the
thesis, the focus is more clearly on the effect of teaching and learning in jazz on
definitions of real world jazz, and the extent to which the personal, flexible and
open nature of the style is reflected in definitions of teaching and learnIng. This
journey towards these internally defined goals contrasts with a focus in earlier
chapters on externally defined stylistic features of the style, such as particular
substyles, vocabularies or ethnicities. It is finally suggested at the end of this
chapter that a tension is evident between these two sets of goals, and that this
tension between internal and external is a feature of real world jazz, but is less
prominent in education, where internally defined stylistic goals are often
articulated as less important.

Finding the self, accepting the self and self-expression

One of the most influential jazz educators of his generation, Dave Liebman (1988,
1991, Fisher, 1991) is one of the few jazz writers who considers this area. He
suggests the 'artist ...' is '... trying to be in touch with his inner self'... 'S/he
attempts to communicate these perceptions to the world through a chosen art
form' (1988: 1) and aims for a universality or truth by trying to '... integrate his
individuality with those attributes and feelings that are common to mankind as he
observes it' (1) (gender of jazz artist sic). Leibman suggests that in jazz, the artist
learns not about the 'art form', but primarily about him/herself through their 'art
form'. David Sudnow also supports Leibman's view in Ways of the Hand (1978:
152), focusing again on the heightened self-awareness he achieved through
observation of the 'improvised conduct' of his own hands. Both separate the
'inner self' or 'individuality' from the external, and both share the idea that the
'inner self' and 'artform' are in some kind of dialectical process. Educator Ed
Sarath (1996) also writes of how in jazz the musical materials are experienced '...
as extensions of the self' so the' ... relationship between artist and material thus
takes on a degree of intimacy and cognitive breadth simply unobtainable outside

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of creative experience' (1996: 124). He sides with Ben's earlier eclecticism,

expressing a desire for music education to be a series of '... active,
contemporaneous, creative and integrated experiences rather than., fragmented,
passive and largely past-based learning' (1996: 123). His pedagogical aim
therefore becomes to be 'creating the present' as a 'lens to the past' (125).
Connecting the personal with the new, the processual and thus to the present time,
he argues'... innovation is seen as the gateway not only to progress but also to
tradition' (128). In all his work, Sarath signals this strong need for jazz musicians
of whatever level of experience to take a personal position in relation to tradition,
and thus for teaching and learning in jazz to be exploratory and interpretive in
emphasis rather than static and reproductive. For Berliner, jazz musicians learn
'constellations of traits and concepts' (1994:135) by using other musicians as
models. They aim for what he calls 'original invention' (142), and the musical
result is always partly derivative of others and partly unique. Away from jazz, a
similar debate about tradition or innovation and the linked concepts of inner or
outer experience, can be found in the work of other writers about the arts and arts
education. The work of Malcom Ross (1974), for example, argues that music
education combines self expression and self-discovery with highly disciplined and
recreative technical achievement, and suggests the self goes through resultant
periods of dissolution and reforming as it is challenged by new external musical
experiences. Such periods of 'formless functioning' (1974: 82) are part of all
educational experience. For Abbs, too, arts education is both about our 'aesthetic
awareness of the tradition' (1989: 173) and also about revealing '... the
lineaments of our own nature to us.' (177), a process which he defines as the
'dialectics of creativity' (10).

This dialectic in jazz learning and music-making between inner musician and
external environment, and also between creative self-expression and what might
be called recreative and largely canon-based work, can be identified through
sections of every interview and the work of a number of other writers. Ben refers

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to acceptance of the external 'influences' that shape the learner-musician's inner
identity:
54.b) Ben: ... the story now is not about all these people doing
their own specialism, it's about accepting your influences, and
working through your influences, and allowing your influences to
manifest themselves through your own creativity. [full text in Data
Appendb]
He describes the musical results of such interaction between the individual and
the 'influences' of their environment as follows:
54.d) Ben: ... more and more people are allowing these
influences to come into their music, so fyou ... pick at random a
Pat Metheny album ... you're gonna hear a bit of Country and
Western and you're gonna hear a bit of modern changes time sort
of thing, and you're gonna hear a bit of African or ... music from
around the world there. All of these things are there and they're
in the atmosphere that we're breathing you can't help it, they
come in.
Substyles, vocabulary and the past achievements of great players become no more
than 'influences', inner musical resources on which jazz musicians can chose to
draw. Their status in defining the style is reduced. Just as jazz learners ideally
accept their own music background, Ben suggests that the '... very natural organic
...' process within the complex environment of jazz should be 'allowed' to
develop. As in the previous chapter, his language is focused on 'allowing' rather
than intervening to assert a particular view of jazz.

Ben is also critical of the way in which record companies and other external
institutions impose the agendas of Marsalis and others on us. His ideal
environment for music-making is supportive, nurturing and feeding, and he goes
on to discuss how early exposure to record company success can lead to pressure
on the individual to conform. In this way, musicians can lose this sense of who
they are (B66k, full text in Data Appendix):

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 66.k) Ben: ... it's bad/or one person to be exposed too early
[they I get all the limelight and then have this heavy burden, of
people expecting them to be brilliant all the time ..., but my God,
you soon lose it fyou're not being nurtured properly, and if...
there isn't a healthy atmosphere of other players around, of other
creative music happening ... they all have slightly different
emphases and concerns and all that, and they alifeed each other
66.1) So from an educational point of view, that also applies, you
know, that people have all these different emphases, and the point
for me is to try and set up a situation in which they can begin to
work through their own influences and start exploring their own
musical personality and make-up.
Corbett (1997) also identifies the problems for working bands in the UK of record
company 'input', for example in the company 'suggestion' once a recording is
proposed that better known players replace unknowns in the bands of newly
signed musicians. Corbett also goes on to identify a pressure within many record
companies for musical consistency rather than development and growth within
their artist portfolio. As a result, he argues the repertoire and performances of
players signed to major labels can lack evolution and freshness and' ... the
vivacity and fascination of jazz quickly drains out of the system when the
incentive to change, grow and learn is lost' (35).

Ben's 'natural' and 'healthy atmosphere' of real world jazz is characterised by

non-prescriptive plurality, acceptance, of allowing yourself to be fed by others.
For him, substyles and vocabularies are ideally in free interaction, away from the
constraints of the critical canon or the commercial pressure to repeat past
successes rather than to move on. The primary goal of Ben's jazz education
becomes this healthy nurturing of the inner personal growth of learners, by
allowing them to extemalise their influences in this way. No 'jazz' repertoire is
prescribed, then, in his ideal educational jazz, and educators should not impose
their own canonical agendas. Instead they 'set up a situation where they [learners]

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can begin to work through their own influences'. The learner brings their own real
world 'influences' to the learning and 'works through' them, growing and
changing until they reach self-awareness. Ben finds this hard to achieve in
practice, as we saw in earlier data on his varying teaching repertoires (Chapter IV,
pages 113-115.), and in his use on some occasions of 'Bbjazz'. In this light,
much of his data can be seen as the result of a tension between these two very
different approaches. One defines jazz principally as a knowledge to be learnt,
and the other sees it as a journey of personal growth and self-knowledge through
music-making and self-expression.

While Ben sees the function of jazz education as 'accepting your influences',
Carol uses a more active verb, when she talks of 'breaking through' ... 'your past
experiences' to enable the learner musician to 'stay present with the moment':
392.e) Carol: ... when you improvise ..., you tend to rely on things
you've experienced in the past ... just through not being able to
stay present with the moment, you'll go back a couple of steps to
something that you have actually experienced ... so f somebody
tends to go into funk solo a lot, then they'll start going funky
whereas f they know a lot more than that, they may not. So your
past experiences can actually be a pain in the butt if you don't
break through those
Ben talks of 'influences' and Carol of 'past experiences', while Andy calls this
inner memory 'a corpus of knowledge' which 'has to be got rid of' (A96, see next
page). For Andy, however, students should not accurately reproduce such a
'corpus of knowledge'. Instead, they should use such vocabulary as what he calls
a 'subconscious stylistic type':
278. Andy: ... Ifyou're listening to ... say, Kind of Blue, Miles
Davis or something like that ... they should take it in as a feeling,
almost a subconscious stylistic type, which they can use or not
go away and play, but don't copy it, you know,
Frank puts the same idea a different way:

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 302. Frank: I encourage them to steal. But i/you're going to
steal ... don't just steal it and use it as it is, you take it apart, and
see
304. Frank: ... why you liked, why you wanted to steal it, you
know. And then put it back together in another way. So you could
take a line, and take the notes and see why they work, and then
jumble them up and use the same notes, but it'd have a whole other
meaning.

Even for Frank, stickler for the 'tradition', the learner jazz musician must 'put it
back together in another way', or what Dave earlier calls 'interpret the melody
differently' (see page 94). Andy goes on to describe the way in which learners
memorise phrases, and so develop what he calls a 'dynamic library':
96.a) Andy: Yeah, well, I think it's very similar to the way in
which art students learn. For some reason, people in jazz seem to
think that they have this basic, unique talent, but in actual fact they
don't realise they've been got at by listening to generations of
music even before they start as players, so they already have, (f
you like, a corpus of knowledge which has to be got rid of. So the -
fyou 're gonna be a ... I mean, there's three things that I see,
which you've probably heard me say before, as being necessary to
playing jazz. The first thing is pitch control, the next thing is a
memory, because you ' ye got remember what you're discussing, but
the third thing is what I call a dynamic library, a library ofphrases
and rhythms which are unique to you because you select and reject
all the time that you're getting this stuff to assemble.
96.b) And of course, it's very similar to the way in which children
learn language in that you take in the stuff that you like and you
reject the stuff that you don't like, and it combines inside the
subconscious mind so that you actually ... it never comes out

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 when it's regurgitated, it doesn't come out exactly the same way
that you learn it.
His account of the learning process in jazz at 96b contains the elements of 'take
in', 'reject' and 'combine inside the subconscious mind'. As with the others, the
individual interacts with their external environment, and the end result is not an
exact copy but a more personal expression of the inner individual - 'it doesn't
come out exactly the same way that you learn it'. The learner-musician's jazz
vocabulary is 'dynamic' and develops and changes with their musical experiences
throughout their life. This recombining of existing ideas in new ways is also
explored by Koestler (1964, 1976), who finds what he calls 'bisociation' at work
in many areas of human behaviour.

In the example below, Ben uses the different term 'unpeel' for Andy's process of
'take in', 'reject' and 'recombine'. For Ben, rather as in Swanwick and Tiliman's
(1986) spiral of musical development, learners develop in a linear fashion, but
musical learning can also be seen as a circular process. As the onion unpeels, they
become more and more themselves through learning and then revisiting a set of
material, rejecting what they have no need for and recombining the rest. In the
process, learners should actively endeavour to put themselves in new learning
environments as Miles Davis did, because it 'knocks their corners off':
127. Ben: ... a lot ofjazz education or development or
whatever is self-education, and someone like Miles was very good
at being able to surround himself with players that did slightly
different things ... and he would put himself in this new situation to
gain something himself, to bring out another side of his playing,
or, which happened more often than not, is to actually get more to
the centre of what he was by putting himself in a drastically
different situation. It actually knocks the corners off to ... it
unpeeled him more, so he was getting more essentially down to
what was him, you know.

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Liebman (1988) uses a related idea to Andy's 'dynamic library', which he calls
the 'body of personal expressive devices', [his italics]. These are a set of personal
phrases and also nuances of phrasing, articulation, intonation and dynamics which
'give personality' to the playing. As individuals interact with other players, they
gradually develop their own vocabulary by choosing the parts of the music that
suit them as individuals in a process of musical growth. He divides this process
into three phases, each characterised by a more mature level of self-awareness and
individual control over the vocabulary.

All of these data indicate a consensus in the interviews, that learning vocabulary
by rote is merely what Eric calls a 'means to an end'. The 'end' of learning such
vocabulary is sell-expression. No good jazz musician can merely play
stylistically, without individuality, because if they do, this journey of growth is
not evident in the music. Ben calls this playing with individuality to 'inflect'
(B131c) and we also saw Dave discussing the need to 'interpret differently'
(D250a) in his earlier discussion of the difference between pop music and fusion.
For Dave, improvising at the drums is continually about finding material that will
'embellish' (D86c, Dilid, D131c) or 'complement' (D105b, D192d, D202b) the
existing structure or tune in personal ways. The material concerned is specifically
jazz-like because musical features in it demonstrate a process of growth and
change through interaction. Andy's library is 'dynamic', and learning never stops
because the musical process remains fresh and 'in the moment'. We can hear jazz
musicians continually refining Leibman's 'personal expressive devices', and
improvising in jazz is defined as a continuous process of education through
memorising, rejecting and recombining.

There was a striking lack of prescnptiveness in this data, which contrasts strongly
with the canonical tendencies found in earlier chapters, and this has implications
for the nature of teaching and learning. A strongly student-centred approach to
repertoire is put forward, which gives the musician control over their own
learning and over their own definition of a jazz style that is in any case also

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167
'dynamic' and changing. The past is also much less important, and is in some
senses not important at all. The 'openness' of previous chapters is revealed as
having its origins in the space left in jazz for the individual musician to fill with
their own contribution to the music-making. Without such 'openness', self-
awareness cannot develop, and the process of learning and growing through
unpeeling cannot take place. A lack of openness leads not only to poor learning,
then, but also to unstylish music-making.

Searching, unpeeling and breaking boundaries in data on Jarrett

and Davis

Personal growth in jazz was often defined in the data through discussion of jazz
musicians who have become role models, and whose lives have come to
symbolise these ideals. Keith Jarrett and Miles Davis were the two musicians
most mentioned. and for both, the aim is to be 'playing a searching kind of music'
(Davis, 1989: 262), to be 'cutting edge' (261). This search transfers from the
inner individual to the outer style definition too. For example, when Davis moves
into fusion in the latter part of the 1960s, Carr (1984) sees Davis' personal growth
as part of a drive to move jazz on into new areas and to re-inforce its links with
African American music and with a wider audience. Giddins too describes Davis
as 'a terribly conscientious avant-gardist, continuously remaking jazz in his own
image' (Giddins, 1981: 59). However, others such as Freddie Hubbard, (in
Feather, 1976: 37-46) see him as a 'spoilt kid', who had 'gone off in a strange
direction' (45) and see his pre-1960s work as purer and more innovative. Along
similar lines, Walser (in Gabbard, 1995) also argues with Brofsky and Cole's
uncritical account of Davis' My Funny Valentine (1964), because they
conveniently ignore various cracks, splits and other problematic corners, and
instead discuss the idealistically clean text of a 'master'. Walser suggests such
problematic corners are evidence of the inner 'searching' that is characteristic of
great jazz performers and performances. Tumlinson's views concerning the

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misunderstanding of Miles' fusion period by critics concerned to uphold
canonical standards are along similar lines (see Chapter II, page 21.).

Jarrett talks of preventing the inner self from 'crystallising' by playing 'without
an anchor' or stylistic preconception because 'that's where real art begins'. In a
1981 interview, he observes, 'You never really arrive, and if you do arrive, then
why the hell do you have the rest of your life?' (Seaker, Lelmert and Shaw,
October 1981: 41). Like Davis, this journey of growth in his playing has inspired
criticism as well as praise, particularly when he has explored the foreign territory
of classical music. Recent classical performances have encompassed recordings of
Bach, Shostakovitch, Handel and Mozart (Rockwell, 1992: 40; Solomon, 1997).
After mixed reviews for his earlier Bach 48 Preludes and Fugues, Jarrett's 1992
Shostakovitch recording was described in a New York Times review as having
'finally staked an indisputable claim to distinction in the realm of classical music'
(Rockwell, 1992: 40). In 1995, an even better received set of recordings emerged
(Solomon, 1997) including Handel Suites for Keyboard and Mozart Piano
Concerto No. 23. The same qualities of exploration and unpredictability are also
criticised in his jazz. Trzaskowski, in Jazz Forum (1992), says the inclusion of
some funk pieces on the Tribute album 'breaks the theme, style and mood' (p39-
40), clearly expecting a more consistent approach. Along with other critics, he
finds Jarrett's grunting and other vocal sounds, his 'suffering and vomiting' (39-
40) distracting, rather than enhancing the communication of self-expression.

Jost (1981) indicates that the free movement in jazz was also an important
location for this searching. He argues that musicians such as Don Cherry, Archie
Shepp, Ornette Coleman and Eric Dolphy were searching for new 'autonomous
musical' jazz language, and that critics and audiences ignored these purely
musical aspects of their work because of a 'sociologising' emphasis in the
political and socio-cultural background of the free movement (Jost, 1981:
Introduction). This quotation, taken from free musician Steve Lacey in Derek
Bailey (1992), expresses the same need for 'searching' well:

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 'For me, that's where the music always has to be - on the edge - in
between the known and the unknown, and you have to keep
pushing it towards the unknown otherwise it and you die.' (54).
while a recent obituary of Don Cherry, another free musician, said:
'Cherry was a musician who valued genuine exploration and
musical communication over empty virtuosity... ''(Downbeat,
January 1996: 13)

The searching idea appears as valuable in the interviews too, firstly as 'risk-
taking' and secondly as 'breaking the boundaries'. Andy divides jazz musicians
into two kinds, woodshedders and risk-takers, and enjoys particularly those who
'attempt something':
106.a) Andy: ... I think there are two types ofjazz player.
There's ... those that wood-shed phrases and actually stick them
into any kind of context, and you sometimes find musical athletes
who do this sort of stuff, so there's a change, and out comes that
phrase. The younger they are, the more obvious these phrases will
be, so you will actually hear them dropping in stuff which they're
currently woodshedding.
106.b) The other kind ofplayer is somebody that takes a chance,
the risk-takers, and I think they're the ones that I'm really
interested in - I'm one myself. I'd rather somebody attempt
something and come unstuck so they, for instance, they may be
trying to thread a rhythmic device or a melodic device through an
ascending passage through a descending sequence of harmonies,
and when they 're screaming out the top, I cheer for them
[laughsJ...

Frank's description of the playing of his hero Coltrane and then of Miles Davis
defines his highest level of playing as that of 'breaking the boundaries':

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 189. Frank: With that kind of ... boldness ... It was almost
being arrogant in a sense, but it wasn't, you know. He was just
playing what he felt... But it was like, damn, you know, how
could you do that, you know?! But he was just brilliant. He was
just breaking the boundaries
For Carol, jazz is also about the learner developing their individuality by breaking
personal and musical boundaries:
495.a) Carol: ... we are not trying to turn out replicas
musicians who copy, lock, stock and barrel what everyone else
does ... there's no point in that.
495.b) ... each student is a unique individual human being which
is ... unlike any other ... however, f they assimilate different
languages and ideas, but still remain in touch with what want
to say, ... then you 're still going to end up with a student who is
individual ... unique, and encouraging of breaking of boundaries.

Liebman suggests the underlying goal in jazz is personal liberation, what he calls
getting 'beyond yourself':
it's up to you to find your way but there is defmitely a need for
artists to get beyond themselves ... The point is to stretch beyond
the point that you would normally go. And that liberating
experience is something that the artist has that the ordinary person
doesn't ... (Liebman, in Fisher, 1993: 43-4)
To summarise, data on Jarrett and Davis is consistent with that of the interviews
in identifying the definition of a process in jazz whereby jazz learner-musicians
gradually 'unpeel' (B 127), and achieve self-knowledge and thus seif-realisation.
This growth is defined using terms including 'searching', 'going beyond
yourself', 'suffering and vomiting', 'taking risks', 'breaking boundaries' and
aiming for the 'liberating experience'.

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More openness; following impulse; strong intent; blockages and
self-censorship

Interviewees were all asked about the process of improvisation, and this yielded
some fascinating responses from some interviewees, many of which concerned a
need for what Carol again called 'openness'. Carol sees successful improvising as
requiring the improviser to 'remain open to everything that's going on', both to
your own inner impulses and also those of others around you as an improviser:
392.c) Carol: ... fyou 're not careful, you can shut down quite
easily when you're improvising ... you don't actually remain open
to everything that's going on. And that's a challenge, so people
shut their eyes and off they go ... into oblivion really ... regardless
of what's going on behind them or around them
392.d) ... somewhere from inside, you follow an impulse which
can be conscious, you can actually decide beforehand if you want
to explore a particular area ... you can make that decision and
then see what happens, or it can be completely open, so that it's
never speced until it happens. ...then you follow your impulse
through, or you follow the process through to the end of your
statement
Although the word itself is not used, Ben echoes this same need for openness in
his analogy between improvisation and bird-watching, an inner openness which
allows 'the unconscious thing to come through':
107.b) Ben: ... by learning how to consciously manipulate your
materials, you are also creating the space which allows the
unconscious thing to come through ... [my UK jazz musician
friend] has a phrase for it, as a wildlife photographer, which is
that you can 'tforce that bird or that beast to appear, you have to
wait for it; but as soon as it does appear, you have all your
techniques together, your camera, and the way that you frame the
shot, and all that, which you can do [clicks fingers] like that, really

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 quick so that you 're in to it, seize the moment and then you've got
your shot ... because the animal's gone straight away. And you
can't trap the animal, because that changes it, you know ... that's a
really useful image, I think...
For Ben and Carol, then, jazz improvisation requires the ability to 'create the
space' to let ideas come through. Letting them come through requires all the
openness and flexibility of previous chapters. Past musical experiences and
learning are in the end only preparation for the moment when the bird appears,
and at that moment, a reliance on past vocabulary is distracting and therefore
actively unhelpful.

Both these examples emphasise the way in which the improviser works at a
number of levels simultaneously. The player is 'allowing' the impulse, but there is
a balance to be struck between the need to work 'instinctually' or 'letting be' and
the need to develop a more critical and consciously pro-active awareness of one's
own practice:
56. d) Carol: ... I'm still an instinctual musician, I still don't
necessarily analyse everything I hear, or understand everything I
hear, Ijust let be, you know, very much ... and I have to still
encourage myself to be more aware in a critical way, because my
tendency is not to do it
Malcom Ross (1974: 109) introduces a similar model of the impulse being
realised in a 'resolved form' or 'gestalt'. He gives examples of forms elsewhere in
the performing arts, where the gestalt is unresolved due to unhelpful conscious
interventions of various kinds.

Carol's description of free musicians and free styles indicates that 'intent', as
distinct from self-indulgence, is the feature to look for, and is the result of being
'in the moment':
088.: ... this ability to be in the moment and performing
is interesting, ... this thing about: you can be self-indulgent or

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 experimenting with sound which is different from being wit/un a
performing context, ... and I think ... [jazz musician 1/ and [jazz
musician 2] together anyway seem to be able to be in that moment
and produce the intent really strongly in what they are doing, and
be able to move, and go with the impulses rather than censoring
them before they even come out, so ... I mean, obviously there must
be some censorship going on, on some level
This can lead to too little or too much self-censorship, and control of self-
censorship is clearly a jazz skill. Soon after, she adds:
403. Charlie: ... Is it possible to assess good and bad in
improvisations?

404. Carol: It's quite difficult, f you just see each student as a
one off, so f you had twenty students to look at, I mean obviously
you can judge technical ability, mastery of instrument, expression
of ideas, yes, you can say whether they're more satisfying or not,
but again it depends on the player's intent, I mean it's ... am 1
convinced or am I not convinced, really, by a performance. Even
someone with small technical ability can convince me, with their
intent.
If 'intent' is in place and the impulse is folLowed through because openness has
been achieved, then other aspects of the person's playing, including technical
skill, become less significant. The performance becomes valuable for being
'convincing', somehow coherent and expressive because it is an open and truthful
expression of the 'intent' of person at that moment.

Liebman (1988) talks in similar ways of the need to 'keep open and receptive so
that anything that occurs either consciously or unconsciously can be included or at
least not come as a surprise ... living fully in the moment' (8). He finally
identifies an 'ideal mental state ... of relaxed intensity ...' which '... enables the
mind to be open and flexible as well as allowing the body to execute technique

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 gracefully' (8). All of this allows the musician to use their intuition, which he
argues 'has to be trusted at times, especially for the artist, whose goal is to
constantly strengthen the intuitive faculties at work during the creative process'
(6). Players should avoid the dangers of 'putting on a show' where 'the language
may be jazz-like but the spirit is not' (39). Carol calls this being 'self-indulgent'
and 'experimenting with sound' above.

Inner inhibitions or 'blockages' can also prevent improvisers from playing well.
In this extract Carol explains that at one stage of her musical development, a
physical tension was causing a 'blockage' in her breathing and thus in her
improvising:
98.a) Carol: I ... I brace myself. I breathe and then I brace
myself and then I sing. And there's this ... this bracing in the
middle, which is totally unnecessaiy, but it's a sort of blockage
point of tension in what Ido. ... For me, I don't breathe in, and!
just give it all away. You know, so eveTything that's mfrrored in
my singing technique is mirrored in my life.
Elsewhere she extends the 'blockage' idea further, finding that technical
blockages can have subconscious personal or emotional origins. Work Carol did
with one teacher was clearly helpful in unblocking on several levels at once:
86.a) Carol: ... I think ... there are areas ofyour voice, timbral
areas or pitch areas that you can't use, they're often loaded with
emotional significance, not always but sometimes. Either the fact
that you 'ye never used them before, so you think you can 't, or
there's actually an emotional baggage around that noise, which is
why when you break through those, you actually release much
more than just the voice
86.b) And her way of teaching was very much about accepting
1) accepting the voice 1 had and 2) encouraging me to go into
those areas

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 Again the terms 'accept' and 'release' crop up along with Carol's 'breaking
through' - the aim is to 'let the voice out', not teach to sing 'properly' by defining
a particular way of singing. The primary need is for the learner to accept and
release their own voice, and both technique and the language of the musical style
are secondary. Acceptance of and release of self, the pre-requisites of growth,
come from inside the learner, and not from an outside educator.

Carol continues by making a connection with Alexander technique. She discusses

the problem of blockages caused by the learner 'bolting on' techniques, and
suggests learners should become aware of physical and mental habits and tensions
(Leibowitz and Connington, 1991: 44ff) which cause 'inhibition':
256. Carol: ... there are dfferenI ways of dealing with voice or
teaching progression ... in terms of Alexander Technique and what
have you, they are strongly against you bolting on 'techniques' in
inverted commas, in order for you to find your voice. It's actually
about taking things away to allow the voice to come. ... it's more
a kind of an external tacking-on thing that's happened in order to
try and manipulate the voice, as opposed to relying on the natural
structure and form that's already there ... which works wonderfully
because the body is made to sing
Green and Galiwey (1986) also have a theory of 'inhibition'. They use the
concept of two inner selves: Self 1 where 'doubts, fear, suggestions, corrections
and concepts' (103) are located, and Self 2, our 'vast reservoir of potential' (28).
In their terms, Self 1 can block Self 2 and musicians must learn to become 'self'
aware, trust themselves and 'let go' (1986: 102-24). They use similar language to
Carol here, of 'allow the voice to come' and 'relying on the natural structure'.

Frank, the staunchest believer in the importance of the 'tradition', also implies
that blockages which 'stifle creativity' can be caused by pre-learnt vocabulary,
technical structures and other 'preconceived ideas' of various kinds:

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 133. Frank: ... I tend to steer my students away from licks and
patterns, because that sort of like stifles your own creativity
because it allows you to ... to rely on preconceived ideas, you
know, as opposed to letting your mind wander... within the
changes ... you come up with your own ideas
Carol calls this 'being too mechanical in your methodology':
392.b) Carol: ... you become too mechanical in your methodology
there are mechanics of learning to doing certain things which
we just talked about ... and eventually I think you have to let go of
them, to actually be able to improvise honestly...
The aim, then, is to 'improvise honestly' by 'letting go' of the 'mechanics of
learning'.

The limitations of defining oneself as a jazz musician

All of the interviewees were accepted by the jazz community as jazz musicians
and educators, conducted jazz workshops and classes, had devoted their lives to
jazz and spoke about little else. Yet surprisingly the interviewees consistently
found it hard to identify themselves as 'jazz musicians'. As the culmination of this
chapter on openness through growth and self-knowledge, the next section
examines data on this phenomenon, taking each interviewee in turn. This need to
avoid the limitations of style labels further supports the general finding of a need
for openness and personal growth in these interviewees' definitions of jazz, and of
a discomfort with strongly defined style boundaries and labels of any kind.

Here, for example, is Carol. After a year on a jazz course and several before in a
'fairly crap to mediocre jazz band', she still finds it bard to define herself as a jazz
musician:
181. Carol: ... I think f I hadn't been to [conservatoireJ, 1
would have continued to have sung in a fairly crap-to-mediocre

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 jazz band. I wouldn't have known how to further my own musical
ideas, I wouldn't have had the confidence to do it, the exposure to
the language.

182. Charlie: Would you have described yourself as ajazz

musician before it?

183. Carol: No. 1 was saying Iwas jazz, but Ireally didn't
know what! was talking about ... [laughs]... I mean I was singing
jazz repertoire ... but I hadn't got a clue ... really.

184. Charlie: ... Would you call yourself a jazz musician after
you'd done it?

185. Carol: Well, the honest answer is I actually don't know.

186. Charlie: Right.

187.a) Carol: I think some people on the course feel completely

happy within the jazz idiom, you know ... I've always had a very
broad, eclectic approach to the music I like, and therefore I hadn't
been searching, I wasn't searching for some utopian ... or fitting
into a niche, I don 'tfit necessarily into one area. I mean jazz is a
bloody wide area ... I could but it depends what you mean.
'Jazz is a bloody wide area' and 'it depends what you mean' by jazz - Carol is not
being evasive, and seems genuinely not to know whether to call herself a jazz
musician. Her personal approach is 'eclectic' (C187a) and fusion-based, and she
goes on to describe her own project as based on elements of Hindustani classical
music, 'bass-driven funk', 'folk stuff', Latin rhythm dance stuff and jazz waltz
'it's all of those things ... with the voice central' (260). For Carol, being a jazz
musician is also about learning to grow, to 'further your own musical ideas' and

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to develop the 'confidence' to do so. She feels happier defining herself as a
'musician who improvises', because it gives her the freedom she needs and there
is less pressure to conform to the style definitions of others.

At the same time, two other definitions are present, even in this short extract. First
she calls herself ajazz musician who 'sang jazz repertoire' early in her career in a
'crap to mediocre jazz band', and in this phase was clearly doing an utterly
different kind of music than she does now. These earlier performances she now
rejects as jazz, rather as Frank did in his rejection of Earth, Wind and Fire
(Chapter IV, page 91.). Second, on her course, she learnt that she 'hadn't got a
clue' at that early stage, because she had not had enough 'exposure to the
language' for others to call her a jazz musician. That 'language' is the 'language'
of mainstream educational jazz, including bebop and hardbop, which she
discusses elsewhere and has influenced her work, however 'eclectic'. She
describes, for example, how jazz has certain rhythmic and harmonic peculiarities
and requires her to scat over changes. She also admits that despite her
'eclecticism', many of her tunes have the head-solo-head format that has its
origins in this mainstream. This mainstream 'head-solo-head' jazz is neither
'eclectic', nor is it the jazz of the 'crap to mediocre jazz band'. Her problem, then,
is to decide where to position herself in relation to these three co-existing
definitions: 'eclectic', 'head-solo-head' and 'crap to mediocre'. In the end she
defines herself as eclectic - jazz is more than simply 'singing jazz repertoire' and
'exposure to the language' - but this means she is unsure if she can qualify as a
jazz musician to those who define jazz in other ways.

This data also suggests a relationship between real world jazz and jazz in
education. As a learner, Carol's exposure to mainstream jazz skills in education
gave her an underlying lack of confidence as a scat singer, improvising over
bebop and hardbop changes in the real world, which contributes to the difficulties
of self-definition that she articulates. While she confidently asserts a deeply held
set of definitions of jazz as 'eclectic', another part of her remains unconvinced

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that she is a proper jazz musician, because she lacks both the skills and the
inclination to sing in these mainstream ways. Mainstream and more recreative
educational definitions deriving from her days as a jazz learner continue to have
considerable power, and these prevent her from being able to define herself
comfortably as a jazz musician in the real world. They also point to tensions
between real world and educational jazz, in relation to which Carol finds it hard to
maintain a consistent position.

Dave has similar problems of self-definition. In data used earlier (D68a, see page
94.) we saw how he prefers to see himself as a South African musician, who is not
called to play repetitive patterns, and who tries always to beautify and personalise
the music he plays. He continues:
68.b) Dave: So perhaps, if that is what makes one a jazz
musician, then be it so, but, ... I think the term ... 'jazz' is quite
limiting because if you talk to the layman in the street ... you can
walk from here to the end of my block, meet three people and ask
them about jazz, and everybody's gonna have a different story.
Like Carol he finds the term 'jazz' 'limiting'. Like Carol too, he implies a number
of definitions co-exist, this time belonging to different audiences, and what 'the
layman on the street' sees as jazz is not open enough for him. He then goes on to
discuss the substyles covered in the bebop and fusions chapter earlier. He
mentions New Orleans jazz, which has its own 'essence, and textures and colours
and beauty in the way of expression,' (D68b), while '... other people would regard
jazz as only John Coltrane and Miles Davis, and the bop era with Dizzy Gillespie
and all that kind of stuff ...' Then he returns to the theme of these views as
'limiting':
68.c) Dave: And yet all of that, Imean in my view, is limiting,
because you limit yourself by placing the music in such categories.
I think jazz would be more, I mean ... expression of... the skilled or
even the unskilled musician in giving ... his truest and most
heartfelt expression musically ... I would rather like to think of that

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 as jazZ so ... even ifyou want to turn ... folk music [into jazz?]
that's why I say, I can't put any limitation ... I don't like to think
of... you have the categories, but it's hard/or me ... to define what
they are.
If you 'place the music in such categories', he argues, you limit yourself. In the
end, he returns to his own definition of jazz, as based around improvising over
changes and interpreting melodies beautifully, skilfully and differently than they
were first conceived. No repertoire is prescribed, and instead, Dave, like Peretti
(see page 129. above), treats all music as 'folk music' and values the best music
as imbued with 'true' and 'heartfelt' expression (68b). His 'essence' concept is in
a sense his solution to the clearly difficult problem of defining jazz.

For Ben, we know from earlier chapters that jazz is equally eclectic, complex and
open. (see especially B lila-c, in Data Appendix). He never discusses himself as
a jazz musician, but we can summarise his position by saying jazz is not about
particular ethnicity, nor is it about sounding like any particular individual
musician. Instead jazz is a 'space in which everybody is talking to each other'.

Even in the 1950s, Andy says jazz changed 'a fantastic amount':
31.f) Andy: so you've got, er... and it also seemed like jazz
itself was changing a fantastic wnount, because one ... you'd get
new Charlie Parker records out, say, one week, and next week
you'd get a record of the new MJQ or the new Gerry Mulligan
Quartet or, you know... or some of those West Coast bands ... it
seemed like the stuff was being thrown out all the time
and faced with the same question, he too avoids defining jazz too definitively as a
separate style, instead falling back on his position that jazz and classical music are
unified and defining himself as a 'musician who specialises in jazz':
120.b) Andy: ... Idon't think of myself as ajazz musician...
rather as a musician who specialises in jazz. And I think all these
influences should be reflected in one's work, you know.

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 130. Andy: No, I don't think there's any division [between jazz
and classical music]. Ifmd the big fault is actually in comparing
musicians of both types of music, is to compare players. I think
that's probably wrong. I think that, really, that the jazz musicians
are composers, and they should be compared with composers,
rather than with interpreters, f you see what I'm trying to say,
Frank has less of a problem defining himself as a jazz musician, but, as we have
seen, still incorporates elements from other styles like funk and soul under that
heading.

The pattern here is of a general discomfort with the term 'jazz'. None embrace it
wholeheartedly, and each interviewee has found ways of taking up carefully
poised positions in relation to the various definitions of jazz that present
themselves. They find locating themselves in relation to such a range of
definitions to be both personally and professionally tricky. All have in common a
need for openness and personal growth in jazz for which there is so much
evidence above. Ben and Dave particularly seem to resist defining any set of jazz
features that are stylistically limiting or based in historical or ethnic narratives.
Ben resists bebop, methods such as Aebersold, and the Marsalis/Collier school of
jazz criticism. For Dave, resistance to such definitions seems to stem from his
experience of apartheid and a deeply held belief that any ethnic or other
boundaries are 'limiting'. Andy and Eric are unifiers, concerned to emphasise
jazz's relationship with classical music and the development of 'musicians', who
have a rich understanding of both jazz and classical styles and skills. We explore
this further in Chapter VIII. Carol's definition is the most eclectic and personal of
them all.

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Summary and discussion of findings

As in previous chapters, the concept of what the interviewees call 'openness' is

defined in this data as a central feature of real world jazz playing and of the
educational process. This time 'openness' occurs as an inner state of mind, as well
as being expressed through the musical material used. Inhibitions and blockages
to such openness are defined as being outside the learner. Blockages are created
by being too 'mechanical in your methodology', by learnt physical techniques that
'inhibit', and by other kinds of physical, educational and, for Carol, emotional
limitations. They are seen as 'bolted on' (C256) techniques, 'Sell 1' blockages
(Green and Gallwey), 'preconceived ideas' (F133), 'mechanical' (092) or 'out
of boxes' (E273). To avoid 'blockages' of this kind, learners should 'allow' their
natural selves to emerge, to 'accept' and 'release' the self, because this enables
them to improvise 'honestly' and 'truthfully'. Ideally, jazz musicians live fully 'in
the moment' when they improvise and keep open and receptive. They respond
both to the playing of others in the improvising and also to inner impulses without
inhibition, so that 'intent' and 'truthfulness' are maintained. The ideal is Carol's
'freedom of choice', Leibman's 'personal liberation' and not relying on
'preconceived ideas', such as those outlined in earlier chapters.

What does this tell us about the view of the educational knowledge of jazz and
about the teaching and learning presented here? Clearly certain kinds of
knowledge, learning strategy and outcome are seen as appropriate. The main
'knowledge' of this approach is formed in the 'dynamic library', which belongs to
the learner and over which they have control. Yet knowledge of self is also as
important as knowledge of external influences. The aim is not to reach any
particular educational goal or to achieve mastery of a repertoire, but to become
more 'yourself' through a circular process of selecting, reject and recombining, or
what Ben calls unpeeling. This makes comparative assessment extremely
difficult, and for some inappropriate. In this view of jazz, learning is

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conceptualised in terms that make it hard and even irrelevant to define specific
outcomes and tasks at all. For some educators, no repertoire is ideally to be
prescribed, so that 'natural' and 'organic' processes of fusion and interaction can
occur in the classroom. For all, there was a consensus that educators must take a
position with regard to the relationship between learning about the musical self
and learning about repertoire and other external aspects of jazz knowledge.
Finally, placing 'jazz' itself on a curriculum is problematic, since, thanks to on-
going processes of self-definition, none of the jazz musicians indicated they were
totally prepared to see themselves as jazz musicians.

In the context of the goal of 'true' or 'honest' self-expression, educational

outcomes defined by others or defined before the moment are actively damaging
to the process of growth towards seif-realisation. The emphasis on self-discovery
and self-awareness through self-expression implies a learner-educator relationship
that is therefore facilitative rather than directive, and which emphasises nurture
rather than control. As we shall see, this is supported by data in the next chapter.
Improvisation, and indeed education itself, is defined as a process of self-
actualisation, through the articulation of inner knowledge. As a result, educational
prescriptiveness and intervention are to be actively avoided, to allow musicians
and learners to define their own stylistic goals, and so to define themselves. This,
paradoxically, is defined as good jazz as well as good jazz learning.

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 Group interaction: tensions
between musician openness and
educator control

In this chapter, we examine definitions that establish group interaction and the
social practices of music-making as a central part of the musical style of jazz. The
processes of personal growth and self-expression identified in the previous
chapter are placed into the context of a group interaction, as so often occurs both
in music-making and teaching and learning. This conceptual area was much less
prominent in the literature, and is one that players and educators have traditionally
identified less in their definitions of musical styles. Nevertheless, with the
exceptions of those authors identified later in this chapter, it is clear from the
interviews and from what writers imply that specific qualities of group interaction
play a crucial role both in real world jazz and in jazz in education too. This
chapter analyses the substantial number of definitions found relating to the nature,
values and organisation of interaction in jazz. Terms describing the nature of such
interaction included 'sharing', 'support', and later 'trust'. Musicians were also
defined as playing with certain interactive qualities, such as 'selfishness', 'ego' or
'dominance', which prevented them from interacting in the music in ways
characteristic of good jazz. All of these qualities were then applied not only to the
musicians, but also to their playing. For example, features were identified in the
groove, which were defined as embodying such qualities. In all this data, real

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world jazz was defined as involving characteristic kinds of interaction in music-
making. Qualities of openness and flexibility continue to recur as in previous
chapters.

This chapter is also examining teaching and learning in jazz. Interaction in music-
making also occurs in teaching and learning contexts, such as lessons, classes and
workshops. Those concerned are in role as educators and learners as well as
musicians. The second half of this chapter is therefore divided into two sections,
both relating to jazz in education. The first concerns what I am calling interaction
in music-making, and is the section where differences between interaction in real
world and educational jazz are discussed. The second concerns what I am calling
interaction in teaching and learning, that is to say interaction that occurs as a
function of teaching and learning in jazz. The section on interaction in teaching
and learning discusses data on the construction of educational tasks, the roles of
educator and learner, and other ways in which the nature of interaction in music-
making is affected by its function as a learning context for those involved. As in
previous chapters, tensions caused by differences between definitions of
interaction in music-making are identified, and the effects of teaching and
learning on these aspects of music-making are discussed.

A. Interaction in real world jazz

'Actionality'

Until the work of Berliner (1994) and Monson (1996) appeared, group interaction
lacked prominence in the jazz literature and was not much considered. Monson's
book (1996) is the only substantial study of jazz specialising in group interaction.
Her premise is that while individual musicians negotiate a path through a chord
sequence, a groove or other musical structure, they are also negotiating an equally

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important path in relation to the playing of the other musicians in the band. This
negotiation occurs by ear moment by moment, and is audible in the ways in which
musicians respond to changes in each other's playing in the course of a
performance. Monson's interviewees often described the music in ways that
reflected this emphasis on interaction, and the same kinds of description were
found in interviewees' accounts here.

Earlier writers have also referred to this interactive aspect of real world jazz,
though the ways in which the music is affected are rarely identified in detail.
Williams (1970) talks of jazz as a music which not only 'exalts the individual to
find his own way' but also 'places him in a fundamental and necessary co-
operation with his fellows' (15). Lewis (1987: 191ff) identifies 'conventions and
constraints' within musical groups in professional situations, while Bastien and
Hostager (1991), in a study involving video analysis of performances, describe
jazz as a social psychological event. Using essentialist ethnic labels of the sort
discussed in Chapter V, Chernoff (1979) sees music as reflecting the 'community
foundation' of African society, which is founded on the principle that
'individuality must be related to participation' (166), and excludes the 'by heart'
individual in African society, who acts merely at random and without purpose.

A few writers indicate that such moment by moment co-operative interaction by

musicians changes the way in which the processes involved should be defined.
Important musical decisions are taken in performance, through group
improvising, which can affect features as fundamental as length, pacing,
dynamics and intensity. These decisions are regulated by the organisation of the
interaction of the group rather than by a composer. Monson, the major thinker in
this area, calls this phenomenon the 'actionality' of jazz, and goes on to analyse in
detail how these moment by moment interactions between jazz musicians, often
of great subtlety, can influence the music at a variety of levels. Gabbard also
argues that the analysis of jazz improvisations should involve different or at least
additional procedures to those used to analyse compositions (Gabbard, 1993: 80,

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quoted in full in Chapter VIII, page 236.). Monson supports this, suggesting that,
rather than being seen as 'intended' compositions held together by some kind of
organic unity, many jazz performances should instead be analysed in terms of the
ways in which musicians negotiate their way through the musical form as a team.
For Berliner, too, the 'collective conversation' of the music and the 'negotiation
of a shared sense of the beat' (1994: 349) are central to jazz, and the group
dynamic has a crucial role in shaping the 'larger performance' (368). The
resulting performance reflects the complex interplays both between the material
used and the improvised elements of the performance and between the various
musicians involved, in what he calls an 'ongoing interplay between Collective
Improvisation and Precomposition' (383, caps. sic).

Monson's 'actionality' concept is also echoed in Marsalis' (1986: 131) account of

Louis Armstrong as 'this man who stood up there and improvised music that
made perfect sense, that expressed intellect and emotion in action' (131) [his
italics]. Gennari also separates jazz as an 'oral performative medium' from what
he calls 'Modernist discourse' as follows:
...the Modernist discourse, with its reduction of the process of art
to self-contained products ..., has discouraged or even pre-empted
a full reckoning with the meanings of those artists and art works
which it has chosen to embrace ... [that is to say that] ... jazz
operates as an oral, performative medium whose meanings
manifest themselves in the realm of social discourse and action
(1993:72)

We focus here on jazz as a set of social practices, then, rather than as 'self-
contained product'.

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Features of interaction in real world jazz

We turn now to the examination of terms used to define the features of group
interaction in music-making. These included 'ego', 'dominance', 'sharing',
feeling comfortable' with other musicians, 'getting close' to them in the music-
making; 'complementing', blending' and 'supporting'.

'Ego' was one negative feature of players, which was seen as affecting the
interaction and became a feature of the music too. Here Dave discusses the sound
of a particular British jazz musician:
127.b) Dave: ... I would never call [famous British saxophone
player] to play in my band, although I love his playing ... I would
go and play in band, but I don't need [fcunous British
saxophone player] and his kind of sound in my band, simply
because he's not sympathetic, or I don't think that his approach
has anything to do with what ... kind of music that I play
Dave is vague, but Carol mentions him too, and is more direct:
227. Charlie: ... are there things, when you hear it, in other music,
or ... players you don't admire, players that actually turn you off

228. Carol: [pause] It sounds crazy ... ego. Hm? Inflated ego.

229. Charlie: Hm..

230. Carol: I can't be around it, ...you have to 'xxx' I

pronounced cx, cx, cxl : [the same famous British saxophone
player] gives me a head-ache
Carol sees this kind of 'ego' as a male thing and also associates it with a particular
way of improvising and particularly with the 'male-ego saxophone':
503.b) Carol: ... it's a whole society ... expression of self ... is not
accepted... so jazz, also being a male-dominated music, ... is

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even more going to have that kind of issue involved in it

Therefore, the simplicity and emotional quality of voice is not
going to be allowed to exist in the same way perhaps that
dominance of male-ego saxophone is.
The playing is seen as directly expressing the negative quality of 'dominance'
within the band. Instead, she needs to feel that her band is a safe space in which a
woman can work, without fear of male control expressed through interaction in
music-making.

Elsewhere, she links 'ego' with band members having a 'broad taste in music':
208.b) Carol: They're also musicians who have a very broad taste
in music and play other styles, and are particularly interested in
folk or Indian. Yeah, so they don 'tfeel they have to be one thing
or another in their musical lives, and I get on with them all, which
is paramount and none of them have got huge egos, which is also
paramount, erm ... really. So that's [band nwne] and they're
it's nice that there's another woman in the band, so that it's not
male dominated.
It is important to Carol that members don't 'feel they have to be one thing or
another'. The dominant 'ego' of one player is to be avoided because it reduces the
level of musical flexibility in the group. This dominance affects flexibility not
only at the level of player-player interaction, but also in the vocabulary too.
Players who 'have a very broad taste in music and play other styles' are
particularly desirable because of their stylistic flexibility as well as their personal
flexibility too. The one reflects the other in Carol's data, and indicates a need for
musicians to facilitate not only their own self-expression but also the self-
expression of others in their real world playing. Self-expression is also
specifically referred to here as not 'accepted by society', and Carol positions
herself and the style as a whole as going against a grain of some kind here.

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Andy also mentions 'ego', again reflected in music-making, through being out of
tune:
218.a) Andy: ... when people rehearse music, they have to realise
that everything has to be sacrificed on the altar of music, and
that none of it reflects on their egos or anything like that, ... that
I'm sorry about your ego, but f you're playing sharp then for
Christ's sake pull off or whatever
Eric's response to the question about what he dislikes is remarkably similar to
Carol's. His data indicates that 'ego' and 'dominance' are features of jazz playing
to which men are also sensitive, and he also defines an interest in 'sharing' and
'playing together' as important:
131. Eric: ... the ultimate nightmare rhythm section ... that
just don 'tfunction together ... working with people who ' ye got
huge egos, who are only interested in ... themselves, they're not
interested in sharing or anything like that. You know, why bother?
it's not a competition ... at times it's a joust, you know ... a
friendly joust, but you're not ... out there to try and ... demolish
somebody, ... you're there to play together and play musically,
that's why you practise your (thing?], so you can accomplish that

Dave also mentions 'sharing'. He needs to work with people who listen
sensitively - people he feels 'comfortable' with and can 'get close to' in the
music:
127.c) Dave: ... (band member],for instance, ... he's melodic,
there's something about him as a person that I can ident[y with
we can sit at the same ... we can share things. I like to be able to
share ... any kind offeeling that I have. I'd like to get close ... I
mean, it's not that I want to get into anyone's head particularly, or
I don't want anybody to have any kind of special feeling for ... me
and what I do, but I'd like to at least know that I'm very
comfortable with some-one ... comfort and an understanding that

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what we're going to do has not only got to do with ... going up
there and blowing your ass off and playing all the licks and chops
that you know and stuff like that, I can't use musicians like that in
my music
For Dave, feeling 'comfortable' and 'sharing' are part of the group dynamic of his
band, qualities in the group or the individuals he plays with. Again the terms he
uses shift directly from words relating to group closeness into 'licks and chops',
and indicates that these qualities are directly reflected in features of the music too.
He is aiming for a particular jazz-like 'comfort' in the music itself, and it must
sound as though the players are comfortable with each other too.

Such 'comfortable'-ness is also necessary in group composition. Dave writes his

tunes by ear with his band, inventing musical structures that reflect his own ideas
but also the inflections and ideas of other members too. The nature of their
interaction is reflected here:
131.a) Dave: ... we'd take a composition, and ... we work out this
structure ... I started from forming a melody and a bass line, and
then going to the piano next and first of all. I have to work out my
harmonies and know that ... whoever's going to be the keyboard
player... knows exactly what it is that I want... sometimes people
can play chords and I don't even know what they are, and I say,
'Well, that sounds great but it's not what I'm hearing ... and I'd
even go to the piano, and put my fingers, rather say ... 'Play that,
let me add this note here', and 'can you not play that'.
A pianist with 'ego' or 'dominance' would respond badly to Dave's instructions
and the harmonies would be affected, while some-one devoted only to the music
and to the team effort of Dave's band would make Dave feel 'comfortable'.

Here is the full range of occasions where Dave uses the term 'complement':
1O5.b) Dave: ... I have to listen more carefully so that ...what I am
doing is complementing this music instead ofjust canying it along.

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192.d) Dave: ... my approach has to do with establishing first of

all the pulse, the movement adhered to the pulse and then
everything else that complements that pulse rhythmically...

202 b) Dave: ... the other things about ... rhythms where they
complement each other, ... which I think is perhaps the core of my
teaching ... has to do with melody being rhythm [his emphasis]
using a melody as a rhythm and then adding other things, ... other
melodies to that other melody, but it's also rhythmic, ... which is
like, ... complementary rhythm, it's something that complements
what's going on.

226.c) Dave: If you are going to play totally improvised music,

music that has no, er ... formal structure, ... then ... you are going
to have to listen perhaps a lot more to what's going on around you
and then be as complementary as you possibly can to those sounds
in order to make the improvisation sound like music.

Dave also uses the terms 'blend' and 'support' in ways related to his
'complement' idea:
234. Dave: ... I think perhaps the most important thing in
improvising is to know that you are blending with whatever else is
going on around you in playing ... that you feel that you are
being supported rhythmically and... structurally by the other
instruments ... or perhaps fyou are part ofa rhythm section ... you
are supporting the soloist out there who is improvising, so you
have to make him sound good ... you can 't just play any old thing
or ... take up ... your sawphone and just ... blow into ... the wild
beyond and hope that some-one is going to catch up with you
you have to have it so that ... you are as close to the other

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instrumentation as you possibly can be because ... that is what

beautifies the improvisation.
Frank and Ben echo Dave in their use of the terms 'blend', 'support' and again
'complement':
73.a) Frank: Well, scales and arpeggios and ... just sound
production, you know ... intonation ... projection of your sound,
you know, ... and things like that ... he [Rollins] would stress those
things. And blending with other instruments, you know.

85.a) Ben: Yeah, I mean, this doesn't happen very often

because I don't put myself around that much but I don't like people
that don't listen, and I do like people that listen and support and
complement, or I do
For Frank, the group was a crucial element of the learning process in his time with
[Sonny Rollins] (see also Chapter IV, page 106.). [Rollins] taught his young
apprentices to listen and complement, also 'supporting' them through the music
itself:
107. Frank: ... He would do everything that he wanted on [his
instrumentJ you know ... if he wanted you to really open up and
climax your solo, he would start like really ... supporting you and
pushing you ... it would feel almost like somebody picking you up,
you know, ... the way he would play behind you

The establishment of trust was a further feature defined by several interviewees:

103.a) Ben: Yeah, well, yeah. Imean, there's a specific thing
there which I do with quite a lot of workshop situations ... it does
take a little bit of establishment of trust and so on

60.c) Carol: ... I wanted to get my own band. I still felt pretty
insecure about just playing with anybody and just going to jam

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sessions and things like that, and so I wanted to get a band

together, which I could feel that I could trust

131.a) Dave: ... it has to do with getting deep into ... and having
people to trust what I'm trying to ... I also feel I have to trust
somebody implicitly, because my methods are very unorthodox ... I
mean, 1 cannot sometimes exactly write down exactly what I want,
butldo know what it is thatihear ...so iflcansharethat, and
somebody can embellish that for me, then Ifind, Great. Now Ican
work with these musicians.

This cluster of features in the music relate directly to our earlier concepts of
openness and flexibility, which continue to recur. All of this careful listening,
blending, complementing, trusting and feeling comfortable leads to added
opportunities for the music to become more flexible and more open, to go in a
range of different directions:
213. Frank: Well, yeah ... I tend to get musicians that I think are
open, you know

214. Charlie: Open to

215. Frank: ... open to different ideas happening on the spur of

the moment, that can move with you, you know, as opposed to set
in a certain way, and this is the way we do this song so we 'II do it
this way, and this the jjy way that we'll do this song, you know
I want to be able to change the performance as it happens
In the best jazz, then, support, trust, sharing, blending and complementing lead to
an openness and flexibility which allow the group's music-making to be more
adventurous and risky.

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Interaction within a groove

I have suggested that features of the interaction are defined as occurring in the
music itself. The clearest example of this was the data on the roles of individuals
within a groove. All interviewees and writers saw rhythm and 'groove' as central
and distinctive features ofjazz. I want to digress briefly here to demonstrate how
the term 'groove' was used in the data generally, because it informs the later
account given of the interaction process.

Asked about what he is trying to teach, Eric sees the groove as 'the only thing
that's different' between jazz and classical music:
217. Eric: Oh, yeah, it's the groove definitely, that's the
beginning for me. ... The only thing that's different for jazz, from
any other kind of music is it's rhythm,just the pulse ... the freedom
so that's what you try and teach ... get them involved in it
through clapping and stamping, you know, jumping up and sitting
down on the beat, you know, just trying to feel a groove
Eric, like Andy, often defines jazz by pointing to similarities and differences with
classical music. He also reinforces the necessity to experience the 'freedom' of
the groove in practice, by physically 'feeling' it in the body.

Earlier he contradicts himself with a further reference to the 'groove' of classical

music:
191. Eric: ... I'm trying to get them to think about music
essentially ... in terms of rhythm ... So ... if they come into me, and
they're gonna play a little piece by Bach, I want it to go: da-da-.
dat-daa da-da-tak-at daa[crisp, 3/4] instead of. der-der-dert-der
der-der ... [sluggish] You know, I want it to move, groove, I want
it to groove

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We return to the relationship between jazz and classical music in Chapter VIII.
Here Eric defines groove as a feature in music of both styles: first, a regularity in
the pulse which allows the listener and player to 'feel the beat'; and second, a
particular attention to the clear and subtle articulation central to the rhythmic
character of the music. The 3/4 light and shade in the rhythmic phrasing and
stresses of a Minuet should be clearly articulated, like the subtleties within the
swing of a good jazz trio. In both cases, this enables musicians and listeners to
'feel the beat'.

This data seems to imply that 'groove' is a feature many styles possess, and is not
a defining feature only of jazz. However, other data suggest that 'groove' is
somehow more prominent or significant in jazz, and that specific features of j
grooves set them apart from grooves in other styles. For example, Eliot writes:
the musicians threaten and/or affirm the regularity of the time
without destroying it altogether by throwing it off completely or
achieving congruity with it (1983: 201)
the result is a continuous rhythmic tension - an exquisitely
balanced rhythmic activity, an instability within repose - which is
the essence of jazz (202).
Within a jazz groove, he identifies firstly elements which express a regular
underlying pulse, and secondly elements which change or which challenge that
underlying regular pulse within a polyphonic rhythmic texture. These elements
are in tension with each other, and interweave in ways that enable the listener not
only to feel the beat, but also to feel when a soloist or group member is pulling
back or pushing forward against the regular pulse in expressive ways. It is this
interaction between the two that Eliot defines as distinctive to jazz.

I want to return now to the groove in the group context, and to the openness and
flexibility of interaction with which we ended the previous section. Ben sees this
process of openness and flexibility as going on in the rhythmic processes øfjazz.

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He begins by suggesting that he likes the playing of musicians who play simply or
'state where things are':
87.b) Ben: ... I like complex things, ... however I also like
people to state where things are... not adumbrate all the time
and sometimes it's good just to play straight grooves, you start
cooking ... it doesn't have to be massively complicated rig/u from
the off... I mean those people can also play very, very simply.
And part of the reason why they're so good and you like what they
do is because they're just .. .just their basic sense of groove is
really solid, really nice, and that's how they can phrase around it.
Ben echoes Elliot here. 'Phrasing around it' and playing simply are both
important and in tension with each other - there is room to personalise and take
risks, to challenge the regularity of the 'cooking' once a simple groove has been
established. Later this group element becomes even clearer, where he discusses
'taking care of the centre'. Here he introduces the idea of members of the group
taking it in turns to 'state where things are', while others take risks with the
groove:
99.b) Ben: And it depends very much on the people you're
playing with ... sometimes there are things where the centre of
who is taking care of certain parts of the music changes ... there
are times when you sense that you've got to state certain things,
maybe to do with a complicated rhythm piece or whatever ... and
there are times when you can't do it, you're lost, so you're relying
on others to do it for you, so you can get back in or whatever
Within an improvisation, members of the group must ideally be flexible and are
continually changing roles. Sometimes players are 'stating where things are' and
supporting others by keeping the pulse clear, and at others they may be acting as
individuals, out on a rhythmic limb. The musician's job, Ben suggests, is to use
the space between these two extremes in expressive ways within the group,
creating tension and release through degrees of the unexpected. Individuals are
involved in a collective process of what Elliot calls 'affirming' the time and

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simultaneously of 'threatening' or 'destroying' it. The roles of each within the

group interaction as 'affirmers' or 'destroyers' may change from moment by
moment. The trust, support and complementing facilitate openness and flexibility
in who takes which role, and all of this can be heard in the music as it is played.
Again we are returned to factors within jazz that facilitate openness, this time
through particular kinds of group interaction.

Frank uses the word 'deep' to describe the extent to which he is able to improvise
flexibly in this way. He suggests that with less experienced players, he has to
work hard to support others in 'carrying the band', rather than be free to play in
more flexible ways:
340. Frank: Well, when I improvise, I listen to the sound that's
being played, the backdrop for me to play on top of, and depending
on how deep it goes, that's how deep my improvisation will go
for instance, f I'm playing with students, ... you have to... really
cany the band, . .. play the shapes for them ... let them know
where they are. Whereas jf you 're playing with an experienced
band, then you can really become creative because you don't have
to cover all the ground
With a more experienced band, the level of knowledge and therefore of mutual
support and musical 'trust' is greater, and the result is more flexible and open.

Finally, there were two references to interaction in real world jazz in the
interviews that related to individuals actively taking control of the organisation of
the interaction and showing leadership, rather than relying democratically on the
group. Frank described how [Rollins] would keep tight reins on his young jazz
apprentices through the music:
107. Frank: ... and f he wanted you to stop, you know, he
would let you know ... he would just do something and ... Oh, Oh
that's it then ... if he wanted you to play soft, he would just

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disappear, you know, and go way down, you know, and you 're] I
like, Oh.', Shit! you know [laughs]
Second, Eric mentions wanting to be more proactive with his trio, as he is with his
classes in later extracts:
45. Eric: He also said to me ... as he heard the trio, he said, er, 'Why do you
let the drummer and bass-player lead you?'

46. Charlie: Mm.

47. Eric: And er ... I've never forgotten it ... so ... every time I play with a
bass-player and drummer, I try to ... try and work them into the ground.
He too is in control of the organisation of the interaction, particularly focusing on
the level of 'work' or energy of the band. Both of these examples indicate the
possibility of a range of forms of interaction working in addition to the kinds of
more 'democratic' interaction defined earlier.

In all these examples, the nature of the group organisation of interaction is defined
here as a central part of the style in real world jazz. In particular, a jazz group
should be mutually supportive, non-competitive, non-egotistical, unselfish and
trusting. Such competition, ego, trust and mutual support in the musical group are
directly reflected in the level of stylistic openness and flexibility in the music,
which are again seen as desirable feature of the style and its social practices. In
this context, such features of the group interaction determine how far the band can
go and in what directions with the material they are presented with. The music
was seen as embodying the personal characteristics of individuals: their strengths
as soloists including their honesty, their emotions, their personality and their
selfish and unselfish qualities; and, for Carol, though not explicitly for others,
their gender. These data also indicate a close analogy between rhythmic process
and the group process - between 'rhythms that complement each other', rhythms
that complement melodies and people or groups that complement each other. The
'close'-ness Dave describes in a group of band members transfers to closeness of

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instrumentation and thus directly into what he calls the 'beautification' of the
sound itself. The music is seen as expressing the nature of the relationships
between the musicians. A good jazz player is one who interacts flexibly with
other players in particular ways, both in the music and around it, and facilitates
the self-expression of others and thus of the group as a whole, as well as
expressing themselves. A good piece of jazz will demonstrate such interaction
through characteristic features in the playing.

B. Interaction in jazz in education: music-making

We turn now to interaction in jazz in education. Here two kinds of data are
distinguished. First, there was data on interaction in music-making, which was
also the emphasis of the data above. Second, there was a substantial and varied set
of data concerning interaction in teaching and learning. This second set included
data on curriculum structures, the roles of educator and learner, and the level and
type of intervention found in teaching and learning.

Data covered so far suggest that certain qualities of interaction, what Monson
suminarises as 'actionality', are characteristic of the music-making of real world
jazz. Data presented in the next section indicate that interviewees wanted the
same qualities to be present in education too. Where they were not present in
learning transactions, educators indicated unease in various ways. Secondly,
interviews and literature contained much less data on interaction in educational
music-making. There was also evidence that interviewees felt a tension between
the need to be 'educators' and to work with other musicians as 'learners', and a
need identified above within the musical style for flexibility and openness through
sharing and mutual support, which was not always characteristic of such roles.

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We begin with data concerning interaction in the music-making of jazz in

education.
56.b) Ben: ... I am not heading towards getting them to play
walking bass ... or with jazz articulation or whatever, but I'll do
things which encourage some of the basic skills which are
fundamental to jazz... they're ... social skills. You know,
listening is an important social skill ... so's projecting ... it's all to
do with interacting skills.
Ben sees what he calls 'social skills' as central to his jazz teaching in schools as
well as to his jazz performing. He defines a fascinating analogy between
interaction in wider society, interaction he facilitates within jazz music-making
and the interaction he expects of his learners as a jazz educator. He stresses that
'social skills' are part ofjazz style, as important as walking bass, and focuses on
facilitating listening, projecting, interacting and awareness of the contributions of
others in his educational groups. In this next example relating to a school jazz
workshop, he describes teaching the balance of loudness between players as 'a
social thing', which directly affects how people play:
46. Ben: ... you quite often find people who ... come along
thinking (that] to play as loud and blaringly fast as possible is
jazz. And I try to put people right on that, but not necessarily from
a point of view of "Don't play so loud" ... it's just more a kind of
situation of... playing with people, it's a social thing, and you
can 'tjust go around blasting, splatting people against the back
wall

60.d) Ben: Now, when I go into schools and do a one-day

taster thing, ... [I do?] things to do with musiciw'zly awareness
so just space and stuff like that ... so you don 't just hog all the time
space, that you're really listening to the other musicians, that
everybody's participating at their own level ... it 's a sharing

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environment, everybody's contributing and fulfilling themselves at

their own level as much as possible
I used this data before in Chapter IV to compare Ben's approach with that of
Frank, who is more prescriptive in his choice of educational repertoire. Here, the
same data demonstrates Ben's greater focus on group skills. Listening, sharing
and 'musicianly awareness' of others in the music are crucial, and again such
awareness is immediately demonstrated in the decisions learners take as to how to
play. 'Hogging the time space' and playing 'as loud and blaringly fast as possible'
is explicitly defined as 'not jazz'. The terms are different, but the underlying
definition of the features of the interaction is the same as in the real world data
covered earlier.

Ben reinforces this 'sharing environment' in a long and fascinating tirade [see
Data Appendix, B63-67]. In it, he advocates the principles noted above, of mutual
support, sharing and principles he describes as 'non-Thatcherite'. He applies them
in everything from jazz and the music industry to M16 and the problems of
parking and public transport in Sheffield. At the end of this section, he draws his
ideas together to sum up the aims of his educational work:
121.b) Ben: ... what I try to do is create ... a kind of meta-space,
meta-language, in which all those things can exist together, and
then using the general musical skills and social skills that I was
describing before, all those things, ensemble work and so on, to try
and ensure that those things are going to be balanced in some way.
Ben's 'meta-space' again defines jazz as a social activity. Jazz skills are social
skills. Sharing, co-operation, sensitivity to others, listening, awareness of others
and projecting are key elements, without which jazz improvising cannot occur.
The musical materials used, the sounds themselves, the 'all those things' of the
quotation, are of secondary importance, because they have to be 'balanced'. His
'meta-space' works on a number of levels. First there is the musical 'meta-space'
where individuals interact in groups outside the music (see B63-7) in the way he

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describes bus companies are organised in Sheffield competitively' rather than co-
operatively. We return to competition below in discussion of interaction in
teaching and learning, at page 207. below, and again as part of classical music
education in Chapter VIII. Then there is the meta-space of jazz music-making,
where players interact, again co-operating flexibly and openly, listening, aware of
each other and supporting each other through the groove or by not 'hogging the
time space'. Then there is the meta-space within which whole musical styles may
also by analogy 'listen to each other' and fuse, interacting and fusing
'organically' rather than establishing closed boundaries. Finally, there is the
learning meta-space, where learners interact and support each other in the learning
transaction. In this crucial section of data, Ben defines the organisation of
interaction in educational jazz as embodying first a particular organisation of
society, and then the organisation of the learning environment he designs. All are
democratic, interactive, even slightly anarchic, and designed to facilitate the
learning of self-awareness and the ability to respond to others.

Carol's data on educational music-making is often on similar lines. Here she

identifies that, for the learner, awareness of your own contribution and those of
others is a jazz skill:
443.a) Carol: Well, it's being aware ... it's being aware of the
contribution of everybody in the group. Can you hear them? Are
you aware that your own contribution has to be loud enough to be
heard, so you can't.., hide your light under a bushel, because
somebody else wants to hear it
Carol's 'contribution being loud enough' expresses a similar idea to Ben's
'projecting' above. Dave uses similar language to argue that everybody should
'feel they are contributing' to the 'grandeur' of the music:
84.a) Dave: ... one of the things that's most rewarding for me, in
any activity that I do, [isJ that everybody is equally involved in it,

'At Data Appendix B15a, Ben also suggests that classical music is 'based on competition', and
see Chapter VIII, page 248.

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everybody feels that they are contributing ... to the final or the
overall grandeur of what's going on..., so ... even f somebody
just has to stand in the back, and cannot sing a note of music, but
jumps up and down and sings, ' Whooh, Whooh,' ... that person
will feel that I have .. given it my best shot in shouting, 'Hey, hey,
hey', like that, and I'm part of it and without me being there, this
thing wouldn't sound as grand as it does.
Dave stresses equality and the inclusion of all here, rather than specifically
awareness of others, and also expresses a strong need for respect for the
contribution of all involved. Dave's conception of interaction in good jazz chimes
with his view of jazz as a place where all heritages are welcomed, and, in this
case, all levels of ability too (see D12c, D72f and Chapter V. page 152.). Seen in
tenns of teaching and learning, this is a mixed ability group, where the teacher
involves all levels through improvising. All players as learners are ideally equally
prominent and equally valuable, regardless of what they play. The musical
'content' or material is less relevant than the involvement of all. Learners are
defined here as interactive contributors, and decision-making in the group is seen
as more complex than simply following what the leader or educator says. At the
same time, Dave is actually defining the nature of the musical style too. In these
respects, his views parallel Ben's and Carol's, and also reflect definitions found in
data on real world jazz.

These examples of data from three of the interviewees, then, suggest that
definitions of social interaction through music-making in jazz education reflect
those in real world jazz. Ben stresses 'listening' and 'awareness', and the
importance of a 'sharing environment' in the classroom, where, in the music,
'splatting people against the back wall' and 'hogging all the time space' is to be
discouraged because it is musically anti-social. Carol and Dave also need the
'contributions' of learners to be 'projected' and for all to contribute at their level.

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C. Interaction in jazz in education: teaching and

learning

We turn now to interaction in the teaching and learning of jazz, focusing

particularly on the ways in which it affects the interaction of music-making. Data
on teaching and learning were particularly wide-ranging and rich, and this was an
area about which interviewees spoke often and felt strongly. The main finding
was a consistent reluctance on the part of the interviewees to intervene using
'teacher-pupil' types of educational relationships, even in more formal classroom-
based contexts. This reluctance is revealed in discussion of a number of issues,
including the role of Grade exams, the problem of getting learners to listen, and
dealing with the generally unmotivated learner. We begin with motivation.

Reluctance to motivate learners

In accounts of their own musical development, interviewees often described

moments of inspiration, where musical light bulbs came on to motivate them and
the challenge ahead became clear. In a deeply personal extract too long to allow
the full flavour in the main text, Dave, for example, describes how, after hearing
Billy Cobham live for the first time (D38n-q), initial shock, joy and then
depression is followed by an overwhelming motivation to learn, which arises out
of the intensity of the musical experience. Interviewees seemed to expect this
from their learners too. Jazz was portrayed as its own motivation, and
interviewees were often reluctant to motivate learners by intervening in ways
characteristic of teacher-pupil relationships. Andy, for example, expresses
surprise that he has to motivate students at all, and in particular that he has to get
them to listen to the music:

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3.b) Andy: Ifindat the moment that I'm having tofonnalise

things which I did, just because I love the stuff... for instance,
listening to music generally, I listen to a hell of a lot, and ... to
have to tell students that they should listen to music seems a bit
daf- barmy to me, you know, but ... you do have to do it.
3. c) ...andlknowthatwhenlfirstheardit... Ineversleptfora
week, it was like falling deeply in love, you know, I really didn't, 1
was so excited by ... this new stuff.
Andy listened out of love when he was learning to play. Now that the learning is
what he calls 'forinalised', however, he has to control and even dragoon his
students in HE classrooms and workshops to do the listening that he defines as
part of the style's aural tradition and the behaviour of a jazz musician.
'Formalisation' changes the motivation for the activity, and this change of
motivation makes Andy uncomfortable. 'It somehow shouldn't be this way', his
data says.

Grade exams brought up Ben's most explicit discussion of motivation, and, like
Andy, he sees any kind of teacher-based or institutional intervention as unhelpful.
His view of exams as competitive goes against his view of the jazz group as
sharing and supportive. More importantly, he argues, like Andy, that Grade exams
motivate students to learnior non-musical reasons, a 'weak superficial carrot to
dangle in front of people to get them to practice' (15b). He contrasts this with
other extremely motivated learners he meets at workshops:
50.b) ... there are people who come along ... they just know that
they've got to play. And it really is a matter of life and death
almost ... they're in a desperate state of wanting top with
people, to get out of their own flat, to play different music, to have
different challenges ... challenges but also to be in a position
where they can play something, not to be always failing ... you
know, it's very important to be giving people success, and not

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continually be withdrawing the carrot several more yards so that

they've got to keep on going
Like Andy, Ben's jazz learners 'just know that they've got to play'. For Ben, the
educator's role is to design musical 'challenges' that ensure success. In this way,
successful music-making becomes its own motivation, while Grade exams
'withdraw the carrot' and therefore reduce such feelings.

This finding that jazz educators were reluctant to motivate students in this way
also appeared elsewhere in the interview data. When asked what was hardest
about teaching jazz, two other interviewees specifically mentioned the
unmotivated student, and in both cases their follow-up responses indicate that
they did not see it as their role to motivate them. Dave works mostly in less
formal contexts, and described such students as having an 'attitude':
1 70.a) Dave: Things that Ifind d[/1cult? ... I've come across
some people that come to workshops perhaps with an attitude ... an
attitude of 'well nobody can actually teach me anything', or, 'I
already know that.' or 'I'm not really interested in that sort of
thing'

170.c) Dave: ... Ihave a great skill of like, ... sussing out people,
you know ... I can immediately see ...who has an attitude or who is
perhaps ... uncertain ... And I always ... I [slaps knee] home in on
those people ... at the best of times, just go over and say,
completely innocently, 'Ididn't come ... in any way to be a
challenge or a threat to you ... there's nothing threatening, it's just
a thing of sharing'

172. Dave: ... the only thing that Ido find difficult, is when I
come across somebody that has an attitude or a person that
would be disruptive somehow to ... in something that you are trying
to do as a group effort, and stuff like that.

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In this example, the emphasis on 'sharing' immediately suggests a parallel with

the ideal of 'sharing' within the musical group too, covered earlier in this chapter
(page 202.). If the learner does not want to learn, then Dave is not going to make
them. He is there to 'share' with learners, but not to 'teach' them.

Frank describes the same kind of problem in one-to-one HE work, in answer to

the same question:
314. Frank: The hardest thing ... is to try to teach somebody who
afready knows. Because you run into ... a brick wall ... because
they don't really want to learn ... they question everything you say
try to prove you wrong in a sense ... it's like they're resistant to
what you 're trying to teach, which means ... they can't learn
anything from you, ... so it doesn't make any sense for them to be
there in the first place. That's one of the hardest things, Ifind, and
it's one of the most ... unenjoyable parts of it.
Regardless of classroom or workshop context, it '...doesn't make any sense ...' to
'make' students learn jazz. Instead, learners motivate themselves, and glean what
they can from 'sharing' with the jazz musicians they meet. Once more, it is not
the role of the jazz educator to motivate a learner into conforming by non-musical
means.

An emphasis on facilitator and mentor roles

As well as the specific nature of their roles as motivators, there was a general
emphasis in the data on facilitator and mentor conceptions of the educator role.
This is again consistent with the need to maintain a particular kind of interaction
in the music-making, and a reluctance to enter into formal 'teacher-pupil'
relationships. For Ben, the facilitator offers learners an 'open structure':
96. Charlie: 's your role on the process?

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97.a) Ben: Yeah, it's sort offacilitator really. What people do

is that you give them a kind of open structure, like for example a
pentatonic scale for example, and you let them play with it, you
know, break it up...

97.b) Ben: ... 1 try to encourage people to explore the

possibilities, just by making things up themselves. I mean, like, I
go through the process first of all of... leading ... I do this thing
"ghost", where I start it off, I'm the soloist, getting everybody to
follow what I'm doing ... and then ... I let them have afree noodle,
so that they're exploring for themselves, and then we get into
structuring a piece of music, built up on those notes of the scale.
And what might happen is that I give people some notes and play,
and get them to change them to invent their own
Openness recurs once more, this time in education. B is a 'facilitator', who
'encourages', getting learners to 'explore for themselves'. For Carol too, the
'facilitator' (C418a) provides materials, sets up a conceptual area and provides a
stimulus, but rather than being 'taught', the learner develops their own self
awareness, by discovering what it 'feels like' to work in that area (C420). She
works by trying to 'feed off their ideas' (430b) as well as achieve her goals. Full
text is in the Data Appendix, C418-436. Carol's focus on sell-awareness, covered
in the previous chapter, gives her account a particularly strong student-centred
emphasis.

At various times, all the interviewees also talked about what Andy called
'mentors', who had been important to them. Here are data examples from five:
3.b) Andy: Ifyou're lucky, you get a mentor, like I did, you
know, [musician's name] who was a ti-ad, clarinet player... he
caughtthe bug ... and he relayed itto me. Andlknowthaz when!

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first heard it...! never slept for a week, it was like falling deeply
in love...

13.g) Ben: Then somewhere along that time, afriend of mine,

who was much older than me ... 1, sort of, befriended this guy who
was living next door but one to me ... and he was responsible for
quite a lot of my musical education

38.c) Dave: ... I learnt a lot of stuff there. Somebody would

come along and sing a Shirley Bassey ballad, and, like, the drums
have to go, Whaaa.1 (sustained whisper, like soft sticks cymbal
roll], like, how do you do that ... And somebody wants to, has to do
this kind of sound, like, a, chk chk-ah, chk chk-ah, chk chk-ah, chk
chk.-ah, chk chk-ah [quiet, very fast, minim 180, clicks]. How do
you do that? Edwin, how do you do this, man? Like, er, ... oh, I
remember Mr. Willy used have, er, ... let me try that out, it's like a
train kind of a sound. So you learnt to play

45. Eric: Er, in Glasgow, as a music student, I got friendly

with [man's name] ... He was an art teacher in Glasgow who had
his own jazz band and it was from him that Ifirst heard the tune
'Footprints' and, er ... the tunes from 'Miles Smiles' ... I got
friendly with him, and he invited me along to his house one night,
and let me hear 'Maiden Voyage', and again ... wow, that really
knocked me out. Another turning point ... and when he showed me
how to play the chords to, er, ... I think it was 'Milestones', and I
realised there was only two changes there, you know again, that
was a big change and discovery

95. Frank: Playing standards, you know ... in an organ type

way... but anything, we would just play anything we wanted, ... I

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did that for about a year, year and a half, I guess, and then
[musician's name I, ... my saviour (laughs] ... came to my rescue
again. Because he was playing with (Sonny Rollins] at the lime,
and he got ready to leave the band, and he told me that 1 should
audition ... I guess he obviously thought I was good enough to
audition, so ... yeah ... I dropped everything and ran off to New
York ... and auditioned.
Carol did not mention any one specific mentor, though a number of teachers and
friends became important to her and she was proactive in seeking out exactly who
she wanted and why.

A mentor, then, is a particularly influential member of the peer group, somewhere

between a friend, a colleague and a teacher. They either have irregular contacts
with the learner, or, if contact is regular, they tend to be influential friends with
record collections. Relationships with mentors are generally non-pedagogical in
nature, in that they have less power to intervene than a teacher, and do not control
or structure the knowledge learnt. At the same time, these extracts indicate that
learning of the most valuable and deep kind can take place, often through putting
learners in specific musical contexts, or through the mentor answering questions
in exactly the right way and at the right time when the knowledge is needed.
Mentors seem influential and important, often pointing interviewees in key
directions at critical moments, or leaving influential or challenging attitudes
which rub off over a period of time.

There were interestingly two examples of formal 'teaching' in the data, which
went against this general pattern. In one, Andy discusses directing an ensemble,
while in the other, Eric talks about lower secondary state school classroom work.
In the following extracts, perhaps because of the contexts involved, they intervene
more directly to control the interaction. Here is Andy, in data discussed earlier to
do with ego, this time demonstrating the way in which he manages his learners:

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218.a) Andy: ... I think that teaching itself is an acting job,

almost, and that periods of mock-rage and humour are really
important ... the reason that I say something to somebody when
I'm pointing it out is because, "You can't get away with that, it's
just that music's too serious to bugger about with ", and that I'm
sorry about your ego, but fyou're playing sharp then for Christ's
sake pull off, or whatever

218.b) ... one of the first things that I try and do, is get on this
relationship with my students, in that I can say what I want to with
them , and I say it with a bit of a chuckle sometimes or mock-anger
sometimes, ... they usually get used to it... it's a risky business, 1
have to say, it's treading a tight-rope, you can over-do it
sometimes and people forget it, and then you've got the job of
comforting the girl student who's weeping in the corner or
something, but... in the years that I've been teaching,! can't say
that's happened to me more than a couple of times ... so I try to
avoid that, and obviously, we don't want to damage students by
putting them down too much and... we have to be encouraging
and all the rest of it, but there again, the constant re-iteration of
what they're doing wrong is important
His role as an educator changes Andy's way of dealing with other musicians. In
feeding back to them 'what they're doing wrong', he intervenes directly using
methods which differ from those used by Ben and Carol earlier.

In this example from Eric too, the democratic and 'sharing' elements of the jazz
group are less prominent:
179. Eric: ... you ... have to be confident without being
arrogant ... you just ... you have to have an authority about you.
But it's not an authority of; 'You will do as I say,' but it's an
authority of saying, 'Look man, I know what I'm doing here. Just

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shut up and try this ... and try this, you know' [laughs/ ... That's
that may sound arrogant but ... for me, it's ... I know that it works.
Eric is keen to emphasise that he is not simply saying 'you will do as I say'. He
too is motivated by the music and wants to leave space for the learner to fill,
though his descriptions of his interventions suggest he does often prescribe what
to do.

Both these last two examples feature management of learning which might be
described as more pro-active, and are likely to result in musical outcomes that are
less 'flexible' and 'open'. There are noticeable tensions here between the way the
interviewees themselves define interaction in real world jazz and the need they
also clearly feel as 'teachers' to control learning transactions. Eric's 'shut up and
try this' stance, for example, contrasts with his earlier suggestion that 'ego' is a
problem in his 'ultimate nightmare rhythm section' (E131, quoted on page 191.
above).

The need to construct and break down rules

The design of tasks was another area where interviewees were reluctant to
intervene. Here, the same concern for flexibility and openness in music-making
was evident in their descriptions, though educator control is not always
relinquished entirely. For Andy, 'rules' have to be temporary:
183.b) Andy: The other thing of course is the temporary nature of
rules ... I think one constantly has to ... Ikeep] on saying that for
now it's important that you obey these particular parameters, but
tomorrow I might say to you, you know, "We'll break those down,"
you know, that now we're gonna do ... we'll say good-bye to those.
183.c) And this is a process, of course, which goes on constantly,
I've found it throughout my iqe, is that I'm constantly constructing
my own rules and having to break them down

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The educator makes an assessment of the amount of musical freedom a student

can handle, and designs a suitable task. S/he necessarily constructs temporary
rules and is continually re-assessing and breaking them down again as the student
grows out of them. The aim is that learners should construct and break down rules
for themselves in the end. For Andy, there is at least some openness in tasks set.
There are no wrong answers as long as the rules of the moment are obeyed, and
instead, jazz education is about putting learners in situations 'which they have to
make up things to get out of':
262. Andy: No, you don't actually tell them to do things. You
put them in certain situations, disorientating situations, which they
have to make up things to get out of, f you see what I mean.

264. Andy. ... that call and response thing, ... you have to make
aresponse to the call, and inthe way thatidoit ... Ihave had
some daft questions, I must say, about that kind of thing. Somebody
once asked me, "How do you tell whether this is the correct
answer to the question? ", musically, you know, there's thousands
of them! But you do get some odd questions asked like that.
However, in designing the 'call' and setting up a 'call and response' task in the
first place, Andy continues to control some aspects of educational tasks. This is
not a completely 'real world' situation in that sense.

In HE one-to-one instrumental teaching, Frank's approach is similar. His students

are 'working with arpeggios' and he limits them to a four note group:
296. Frank: So working with arpeggios, I find, sort of opens up
the thought, you know, because you have less to work with, so
you've really got to ... think much harder about making it creative
because it's limited and you don't want to ... it's so much easier
to repeat yourself ... when you limit yourself to four notes

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298. Frank: But you've got to find ... the possibilities and
and really work hard ... because that way, rhythm comes into it,
and that's how you find that you won't repeat yourself, because
rhythm Ifind is half of music, you know
Frank's arpeggio method is another activity where knowledge and outcomes are
relatively strongly prescribed. Its rules focus students, he believes, on the
rhythmic possibilities of the task, and limiting pitch possibilities helps the ear to
focus on the harmonic role of each pitch. Nevertheless, the paradox remains that
through controlling the task, Frank aims to develop the student's ability to create
for themselves, to 'open' them up and to develop their own control of the musical
materials.

The need for educator control and for outcomes

Some interviewees went further, indicating that some jazz teaching need have no
defined educational outcome at all, or at least that this was their ideal state. Carol
and later Dave expand on this theme:
100. Carol: ... before, I was very concerned about, "Oh God, I
must give them a singing technique, I must get them to do this, 'this
and this," ... I had a fairly loaded outcome because I felt
pressurised to deliver ... but it's more about a kind of open-ended
outcome where I don't actually know what's going to happen a lot
of the time in the lessons, which is pretty scary but I think that's
it is afundwnental of teaching, I think, it is that you have to let go
of that need to control.
Carol even makes an explicit connection between 'letting go of that need to
control' and having a 'jazz experience':
106. Carol: Well, ideally, in some terms jazz is put forward as a
free improvised music, freedom of expression being paramount.
Erm ... you cannot predict outcomes because you don't know what

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you 're going to do ... supposedly. So, f you take that and you're
true to it, then ... you can have a jazz experience.

443.b) Carol: ... in fact in quite a lot of lessons I don't end up

where 1 intended to end up by the end of the lesson, because things
take their time and you end up doing other things.

444. Charlie: Right, so you wouldn't impose in that situation?

445.a) Carol: Nor unless 1 felt that ... we weren't particularly

going off in a helpful direction,
445.b) ... either you're totally child-centred, student-centred
work, which would never impose anything ... I don't think that's
what i'm about ... completely ... I have something I would like to
impart beforehand. I don 't just walk in and say, 'right what are we
going to do today then, what ideas have you got as students, what
problems are you having?'
As a classroom music teacher, Carol clearly understands the need for her to
manage the group to some extent, and is confident that she can do so - she is not
simply an inexperienced teacher idealistically under-controlling her class.
Interestingly she shies away from the idea that she relinquishes control altogether,
and her role as educator will not let her do so. Nevertheless, she associates the
'need to control' within teachers with insecurity, rather than being ready to take
risks and 'not impose anything', and seems 'ideally' to want to impose as little as
possible on the learning process. She is close to relinquishing control of
educational knowledge altogether at these points, to allow more open interaction
in music-making.

Dave is close to using a similar approach at times in his workshops:

92.d) Dave: ... this might fascinate you, but I never know what
the result of any of my workshops are going to be, how it's going

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 to turn [out] ... I have no idea. I very seldom go with any
preconceived ideas ... I might go with, OK, there's so many people
and, so many play this and someone is going to play violin and
someone tuba ... but... I know that I have to get everybody
involved... I must go home, leave those people with a smile and
say, 'Oh, yeah, man, that was good fun, today', somehow, you
know.
In the above examples, neither educator or learners enter the process knowing
how each will respond to the musical or pedagogical stimulus of the other. An
ideal world is revealed where improvising performers and improvising teachers
have almost infinite flexibility. As with the music-making, much of the lesson is
improvised through interaction.

Perhaps the strongest evidence of a tension between interaction in music-making

and interaction in teaching and learning is the way in which interviewees
expressed awareness of it. The following comment from Andy expresses this
awareness as a tension between 'the freedom of music' and 'these bloody rules':

1 78.a) Andy: ... one of the things I often say to my students is,
"Beware of teachers, beware ofpeople like me," because it's
easier to teach f you 'ye got a structure than if you haven't, but in
the end, of course, the freedom of music is very important, and if
you think that it's just made up of all these bloody rules and things,
then you're wrong, you know.
Eric echoes this, in his claim to be 'anti-system':
273. Eric: ... I'm aware that the Associated Board ... now they
have given that impression ... that, you know, it's a system. But it's
just ... a means to an end ... you know, you've got to learn this to
get on. And, er, ... teachers are so frightened about the whole
thing that it's easier to give them a system, but ideas, it's a drip
feed, you know ... get a system, get turned on and then play ... you

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know. In other words, read the academics, that's the bread and
butter bit, you know, before you come to the main ... main course
ofplaying [claps/or emphasis J ... is ... is what I'm interested in.

Such 'bloody rules' or 'systems' seem anathema for jazz educators. The data
suggests that even for these two, every attempt is made to dispense with them, or
at least to make them temporary. The learner is told to obey yet paradoxically to
ignore what the educator is saying. There is a fascinating tension here between the
need built into the music-making for flexible and open interaction, and the need
for the educator to present such music-making within an educational structure and
therefore to control the interaction themselves.

Summary and discussion of findings

Elliot (1983) calls jazz a 'complementary integrating activity rather than a

competitive, syntactically-virtuosic display' (204), and this, with Monson's
'actionality' concept, sums up well the specific nature and special importance of
interaction in real world jazz improvising. Indeed the style was in some data
defined more by the organisation of the interaction between musicians than by the
musical material played. While listening and responding are of course part of
group music-making in many styles, interaction was defined as affecting the
construction and the value of real world jazz on many levels. Interactions were
defined by several interviewees as involving listening, blending, mutual support,
trust, a lack of competitiveness and a lack of selfishness and ego. Performances
were defined as anarchic, egalitarian and democratic, and as a natural organic
process where the recurring features of openness and flexibility predominate.
Where it is done stylishly, group interaction in real world performance acts to pull
the music-making in more or less unpredictable ways away from the stylistic
norms of the past and, like self-expression, to introduce unpredictable and
personal elements of openness and flexibility in the moment of creation. A

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tension central to jazz as a style is defined in the data, between jazz as substyle or
vocabulary, jazz as journey of self-expression and jazz as group interaction.

Such interaction in music-making was also reflected in definitions of jazz in

education to some extent. Interviewees consistently sought to achieve interaction
in educational jazz similar to interaction they defined as occurring in the real
world, and they said they organised the learning in their workshops such that the
same kinds of interaction would be achieved. In some cases achieving such
interaction became the main educational aim, and was the central and defining
'jazz'-ness of the activity, regardless of the musical material used. However, in
data relating to education, there was generally much less discussion of interaction
in music-making. The predominance of data covered in previous chapters
suggests that jazz in educational contexts is taught more as a repertoire, a set of
sub-styles, a language or vocabulary, than it is as a way of interacting or a means
of self-expression. The tension identified in the previous paragraph is less evident.

Data was fertile in this conceptual area on teaching and learning in jazz.
Relationships defined as prominent in teaching and learning included mentor and
facilitator, and the motivation of learners through non-musical means was
generally seen as inappropriate. Formal 'teacher-pupil' relationships were rarely
mentioned and, even in discussion of work in schools, the kinds of intervention
characteristic of more directive teaching styles were often not evident, with the
two exceptions noted on pages 212-214. In situations where they clearly desired
changes in learner behaviour or evidence of increased motivation, jazz educators
would nevertheless do their best not to intervene, for example in dealing with less
motivated learners. Consistent rules in the construction of tasks were evident but
were often characterised by unease on the part of the educators concerned, who
sought to subvert or avoid them. Educational outcomes were kept vague despite
an understanding of the need to keep aims and starting points clear. A general
suspicion of teacher authority was evident, as was a strong reluctance to intervene
in 'educational' ways and a reliance on relationships which sought to reduce

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levels of control between teacher and taught, or at least to focus them only on
certain aspects of the task.

Educators clearly wanted to maintain the maximum flexibility of outcome in the

music of their learners, as in real world jazz, and to generate for learners the
widest possible range of possibilities in the music created in teaching and
learning. They often used the same terms in both contexts, including 'sharing',
'supporting' and ( again) 'openness', and spoke of everyone 'contiibuting'
equally. As a result they did their best to take roles which allowed learners to keep
control of at least some aspects of the definition of educational tasks, outcomes
and processes. Taken together, these two phenomena suggest that jazz educators
tend towards a student-centred and non-directive approach in order to preserve the
qualities of interaction that they define the style as needing. The Teal world style
needs a particular kind of teaching style if its features and social practices are to
be preserved.

In practice, however, learners described in the data were no longer able to

improvise with absolute freedom in most educational contexts. Instead, educators
tended to organise group interaction so that learners were made to work within
musical and behavioural rules and to achieve prescribed tasks. These rules and
tasks themselves may have been 'jazz-like'— perhaps they required the learner to
play using certain arpeggio structures used in the style, or to take a certain set of
musical decisions that jazz players have also to take in the real world.
Nevertheless, relationships of teaching and learning were universally seen by
educators as restricting the openness and flexibility of the jazz learner as player.
A central tension is revealed between real world jazz and jazz in education. In the
real world, jazz musicians need to play in open and flexible ways and to manage
interaction to ensure this occurs. Yet in education, jazz educators tend pro-
actively to direct learners towards specific tasks, sounds and modes of group
interaction at particular stages in their development.

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 VIII

The role of classical music in

definitions of jazz

This final chapter of data analysis concerns the wider stylistic context in which
definitions of jazz occur. It focuses on references to 'classical music' and its
associated terms, and presents data that suggests that 'classical music' and its
associated musicological traditions play a substantial role in the way in which
musicians and educators define jazz. While it may seem perverse to devote a
chapter in a thesis about jazz to 'classical music', findings in this chapter are in
some ways the most important of all. This is initially because of the extent to
which interviewees discussed 'classical music' in relation to jazz, but mainly
because such discussion reveals how 'classical music' and definitions of the
features and social practices associated with it are highly influential, even
dominant, in real world jazz and even more in education. They are used not only
to define the features of the music, but also to define its status in relation to other
styles. It is in this data that we see most clearly Monson's observation of the need
to prove to the 'unbelieving academy' the status of jazz (1996: 4, quoted on page
24. above). Findings also demonstrate the fascinatingly ambivalent relationship
jazz has with 'classical music', and reveal tensions between the two styles which
often leave educators in paradoxical positions.

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This research is not concerned with definitions of 'classical music' in themselves,
though this emerges to some extent. Instead, it focuses on what the interviewees'
and writers' definitions of 'classical music' tell us about their definitions of jazz. I
will now dispense with inverted commas in future references to 'classical music'.
Before the data on classical music itself, we begin with a brief consideration of
further literature on jazz as 'art' and its emergence and simultaneous presence
with jazz as 'popular music'.

Jazz as 'popular music' and jazz as 'art'

There has traditionally been a tendency to associate jazz with popular or

entertainment music. We should note immediately a long-standing lack of clarity
around the meaning and function of terms such as 'rock' and 'pop', 'popular
music', 'rock music' and similar style classifications, some of which first
emerged in discussion of fusion in Chapter IV. The theory of popular music and
of the social contexts that surround it is discussed by, amongst many others,
Middleton (1990) Moore, (1993, esp. Introduction), Frith (1983, 1990, 1996),
Shuker (1994, 1999) and Walser (1993). In this body of work, popular music is
often defined not only in terms of the musical materials involved, but also in
terms of the way its social contexts and the technologies of its production and
distribution differ from those of classical music and give it a different status and
functions. Jazz is sometimes defined in similar ways, and is included in these
discussions. This is partly thanks to Adorno, who was a key instigator of this
debate (1972) and saw jazz entirely as popular music, in that it was a
conimodiuied part of the culture industry, and a standardised, pseudo-
individualised music (1972: 24-26). Leonard (1962) also sees jazz as the first
music to have grown up in a mechanised context where players, distributors and
listeners have specialised functions and where technology facilitates new musical
effects but fundamentally changes the aesthetics and function of the music it
touches (1962: 90ff). Returning briefly to ethnicity, jazz is also often seen as a

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part of popular music, in the sense that it is part of the wider family of musics
sometimes defined as African American (Small, 1987). Again these are said to
share certain features, practices and functions (Merriam, 1964), and to operate in
social contexts which are fundamentally different from those of classical music.
Such views have already been problematised in Chapter V.

There are still writers and players who hold on to these definitions of jazz. In a
recent Downbeat article, Helland (1997), for example, asserts that the roots of
jazz remain in 'popular forms', and that musicians are neglecting a source that
speaks directly to a potential audience that have an emotional connection to the
style. Gene Lees in his Newsletter (1994) is also critical of what he sees
developing in Marsalis and others as an increasingly arts-based jazz performance
culture at the Lincoln Center in New York. He writes scornfully of' ... a kind of
hot-house jazz dwelling in the past, supported artificially by grants ... like the
most precious and obscure classical music... '(no page numbers). Lees identifies
here an outside pressure to produce 'hot house' jazz, grounded in a somehow
unauthentic 'arts' audience, but also an underlying sense that he and others are
somehow swimming against the tide, in wanting to avoid association with
classical music. Like Corbett (1997, discussed on page 163. above), Nanry (1979)
also positions jazz firmly in the context of the record company and commerce in
general. He outlines a complex relationship between musical innovation and the
size of a record company, which operates such that smaller independent record
companies tend to foster innovation more, while such innovation is then slowly
stifled in a process of assimilation into more conservative monopoly multi-
nationals later. There are, of course, the memorable examples of jazz as
successful popular music, from Herbie Hancock's Headhunters album (1974) to
Ellington's Take the A Train, and the many albums of Miles Davis that have done
relatively well commercially over the years.

Yet jazz musicians are sometimes highly critical of popular music, as data
covered in earlier chapters has shown. Since the time of Benny Goodman's

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ground-breaking 1938 Carnegie Hall concert (Gioia, 1997: 125) and the
emergence of bebop soon after, they have felt a need to define jazz as separate
from popular music too, as part of the 'arts' and as a music to be taken seriously.
The critics have an important role to play here, as Nanry identifies. Describing
jazz criticism as essentially 'mythopoeic', about the creation of myths about
music and musicians, Nanry (1982: 148) identifies in it several myths around jazz.
These include jazz as entertainment and therefore as a 1920s threat to moral order,
jazz as symbolising black nationalism and therefore a threat to white US 1960s
social and political order, and jazz as 'city music', created by an 'outcast
minority'. For Nanry, however, all these myths are gradually being replaced by
what he terms the 'art' myth. Again this thesis lacks the space to give even an
overview of the meanings of the term, and is restricted only to the consideration
of evidence in the jazz literature and interviews as to what is meant by it in this
context. In Chapter IV (page 95.), we also covered the way in which the concepts
of jazz as 'serious' and popular music as 'duff appear in both interviews and
literature in relation to 'modernist' bebop.

Employment patterns evident in the interview data support this picture of jazz as
what we have already seen Hughes (1974, and Chapter!!, page 27. above) calls
'flexible', and as involving some popular and some 'serious' work. Ben, Carol,
Dave, Eric and Frank's more arts-based work included, for example, commissions
from the Arts Council and other similar bodies and work in Arts Centres (B30o,
C202c, D163a, E6Th, F245a) , some of which also involved education work. At
the same time they also gave examples of working in more popular contexts:
38.u) Dave: ... So great, now I'm beginning to land on my feet,
all my skills are improving, I'm beginning to play in various
bands, like Ronnie Scott's, and I (coast?] into the Radio Orchestra,
the BBC Radio Orchestra, John Taylor called me to play, Don
Rendell, Bobby Wellins, Don Weller, Humphrey Lyttleton ... I don't
know, the list goes, all these people start, 'There 's this young
South African drummer, you know, give him a show, you know.'

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 50. a) Carol: ... [singer name] is an Australian jazz singer who
really influenced me at the time ... so I did all his stuff... with a
few Nina Simone songs and things like that, ... and began to get a
sort of ... local following ... we were called "Martini Time" which
is the name of one of [the singer's] songs.

31 .h) Andy: And the next job 1 got was actually in commercial
palais bands ... [band leader] and all these places, where you got
fifty new tunes a night ... it was also interesting because, of course,
you either read them or got fired, and so there was money
involved, which focuses the old mind wonderfully, you know
31.i) ... and of course, I also wrote some big band arrangements
at that time, and I actually got engaged by [band leader J's band,
which was playing at the Lyceum, to transcribe big band
arrangements off the hit parade

Individual interviewees negotiated individual positions in relation to both

categories, and defined what was valuable about the music in different ways from
context to context. Using the terms 'entertainment' and 'low quality', Andy
demonstrates his own resolution to the problem, arguing here, in relation to
Ellington, that jazz can be th entertainment and art:
205. Andy: ... some of the great music, looking back at early
jazz, ... actually quite a lot of it was entertainment music, ...for
instance , Duke Ellinglon 's jungle period writing, ... the reason he
did that of course, was to get the customers in and entertain them
and in the end, we look at it, and some of that is some of the
greatest writing that's ever been written in jazz ... in other words it
doesn't necessarily mean that, because you're entertaining people
that you're going to be playing ... er, low quality music. I don't
think they're mutually exclusive, you know.

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 For Andy, jazz generally can be high quality and entertaining. These examples
indicate vividly the extent to which the function of jazz as popular music and/or
as art is a live issue in both literature and in the daily professional lives of
musicians. Such references to jazz as 'serious' and as 'art' point to the way in
which the status of real world jazz has been either broad or contested, depending
on your perspective, since the late 1930s. We can observe too that this data
indicates jazz as a whole is increasingly seen as 'great' music, alongside and
sometimes by implication within the same canon as classical music, even though
it simultaneously retains elements of the musical material, context and functions
of popular music.

We turn now to the substance of this chapter, which is the analysis of definitions
of the relationship between jazz and classical music. The data presented here
particularly focuses on a clear tendency not only to organise and so define a jazz
repertoire in its own terms, but also to define its status in relation to existing
definitions of what is important in classical music. This further supports the
contention that the status of jazz is changing, and that, particularly in academic
and educational writing and discussion, it is increasingly treated as a 'serious'
music or as 'art', as classical music is. Meanwhile, in the second half of the
chapter, a paradoxical tendency is identified in data on education, for classical
music students to be described as having failings of various kinds, and for
attitudes in classical music education to be criticised in various respects.

It was possible to categorise these data into four types. First, there were many
examples of interviewees defining real world jazz by comparison - Ellington, for
example, might be 'as fascinating as Mozart or Bach' (E123). Second, a number
of terms common in the musicological analysis of classical music were found -
'harmony', 'counterpoint' and 'motive' were used to describe features considered
significant in jazz too. Other language used in both literature and interviews
suggests a tendency to canonise and to categorise into repertoires and hierarchies
of greatness (see Chapter II, page 19ff.) as occurs in some accounts of classical

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music. Third, descriptions of work with what were defined as 'classical students'

revealed what the interviewees saw as failings in skills and attitudes associated

with such students. Fourth, interview data revealed consistently vehement

criticism of curriculum structures and teaching styles associated with classical

music.

Defining jazz by referring to classical music

There were a large number of references to jazz in the data as valuable or

significant simply because it was 'like' classical music or because musicians were

like classical composers. To give an idea of the density of these references, below

is the complete Code Index under the single heading 'Style: Classical music':
IassicaI: A31j, A37a, A49, A134, A140b, A155, A158c, A174a-c, A183a,
contemporary ci., B3, ci. stops at Wagner, Bllc(see also id], lack of 20th cent.,
C30a; weird, varied, B17g, B23c, berlo, B25a, C430b, C436; seriahsm,
minimallsm, B25b, baroque flute, B27b, influences, B32b1c, Hoist musical Butlins,
B32d, interpretation, obj., B44, not love for all styles, B54a, musicians as starved
of creativity, B60b, C310;and rhythm skills, B60c; unreal expectations rel.
career, B60c; narrow listening, B60c; C24a; Singing teachers unwilling, C48a;
helps jazz harm., C56a; C168a, C154a, C164; style of teaching too theoretical,
0340, pianist quasi-classical, precision, (John Taylor), C214a; no din in lang, not
ped., jazz and ci., 0511; unable to imp., hard to teach, 0172; formal, disciplined,
awe-inspiring, 0254; mystery, happy to keep, D256; play without music, ci. not
mentioned, E18b; ravel voicings useful, not bach, E53; ignorance me bevans,
E53; phrasing, style, vs rkirk, E57; ellington, like moz, bach, schu, E125[see SGI;
beet, bach straight from jazz, E185; bach, E191; 2-5-1, Vivaldi, E221;
contrapuntal lines, E221; and knowing tradition, moz, beet, hay, E353; teach
every day, E357; dot beten two to make points, E361; Cl reading techniques,
E365, hear duff., reductiveness, E365; vs jazz rhythm and form, E369; style of
hearing, E373; church class harms, cads, F31a, mum, messiah, F57; jazz is jazz,
ci is ci, F255a; the sound of tradition, tunes but no sound, F255b; classical St.,

lack creatMty, instruments in themselves, F289; focus on sound, intonation,

written pieces, F289, need to become more aural, F289; never taught, F394;
same format, tools used drtferently, j and ci, F396; ci precorrposed, no
comp/self exp, F398; audience reaction, snobbery, sit on feelings, F402;

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228
 applause at end, respect, F404a; less self exp, so applause for peil not structure,
F404b;

It contains a particularly even spread across the six interviews and demonstrates a
high level of density in references to classical music, regardless of the level of
classical training each interviewee had.

Specific examples of references to named composers included:

123. Eric: ... Ellington, he's just one of the greatfigures in jazz
I've studied his music, and I just find it as fascinating as Mozart
or Bach.

125. Eric: ... I hear his sounds, and I think, 'How did he do
that? ... it's like Schubert, it has that purity about it. But how he
could put together these voices of the band to make the sound that
he did, to me is just the sign of a genius
Further references by Eric to Beethoven's Fifth and Bach occur at E185-222, and
at E353, Mozart, Beethoven and Haydn. Andy sometimes did the same:
211.c) Andy: ... the high points ofjazz are just as full of impact as
some of the high points of orchestral music ... there's bits of an
Annstrong solo or a Charlie Parker solo which in my view rise to
the heights of, say, the slow movement of the Eroica . .. just
fantastic, you know.
It is not clear here exactly how the 'musical impact' of the Eroica is seen as
similar to that of Armstrong or Parker.

For Ben and Carol, it was more 20th Century classical music:
11.c) Ben: [my schoolteacher]... was partly coming from the
school that said that music was that thing that died when Wagner
died. But he listened to Bartok... Bartok and Stravinsky were
about as far as he got ... Luckily we had a common interest which

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 was Debussy ... Debussy is still my favourite composer ever, and
the source that a lot of stuff springs from.

3. Ben: ... I compose for the various groups that I'm

involved with in the jazz field, and also i've begun to move in the
last few years into a kind of contemporary classical area

25.a) Ben: Berio ... had a great ear for textures and
harmonies and sonorities, and! loved that thing where the
harmony... it's non-functional but it's kind ofpara-functional, so
in other words he does use things like cadences but they're very
much disguised... and Berio ... borrowed things from integral
serialism

Carol also mentions her early classical training, of which she was critical,
and in this section describes a lesson she gives to jazz and rock musicians,
again using Berio:
430.b) Carol: ... another lesson we did last time, d4fferent group,
was to look at non-harmonic, en-hannonic, is that the correct
word? No, non-harmonic, means of accompanying a melody. We
had the melody as a stimulus, and then we were exploring other
ways of doing it. And I did have a framework, which was very
close to what Berio had done, in the back of my mind and I was
trying those ideas out within the group, but actually also trying to
feed off their ideas at the same time.
Such references were less common in the data of Frank and Dave, neither of
whom experienced a formal classical training or were born in Western Europe.
Even in their interviews, however, considerable acknowledgement of and respect
for the 'formality' and 'discipline' of classical music was evident:
D 254: ... I have had so little experience or know very little
about it, lain always very awe-inspired by great formality ... like

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230
classical music, and 1... can never quite understand the way it all
works ... I love listening to classical music ... it's for me quite
fascinating, and I think to myself, "Wow," you know, there is so
much discipline involved
The Code Index in Appendix B (page 404.) also includes many other direct
references to 'classical music' under Teaching and Learning.

Like the interviewees, some jazz critics, including Feather (1957), Schuller
(1968), Williams (1970) and Collier (1983) have also felt the need to define the
status of key jazz musicians by reference to classical music or composers.
Williams asserts that Armstrong would play 'with such commanding presence as
to be beyond category, almost (as they say of Beethoven's late quartets) to be
beyond music' (1970: 59) ... 'The showbiz personality act, the coasting, the
forced jokes and sometimes forced geniality ... all these drop away as we hear a
surpassing artist create for us, each of us, a surpassing art' (59). Leonard (1962)
notes some earlier examples. First, Howard Taubman on jazz itself, in a reference
which resonates with Eric above (E123):
'Though it may shock the idolaters of the masters, it is fair to say
that Ellington is a composer in the tradition of Bach and Haydn'
(Leonard, 1962: 146, quoting Howard Taubman, New York Times,
29th December 1940: Section VII, 15: 'Swing and Mozart too')
and then Lilla Bell Pitts, music educatoc
'If Johann Sebastian Bach were alive today, he and Benny
Goodman would be the best of friends' (Leonard 1962: 151,
quoting Pius, Vice-President of the Music Educator's National
Conference, in Music Educator's Journal, XXVI, October 1939:
18-19: "Music and Modern Youth')

Williams and Collier are also not shy to use the term 'genius', the ultimate term
reserved for the classical composer. Williams uses it about Louis Armstrong
(1959, Introduction) and Collier the same in a whole chapter entitled The Nature

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of Genius in his 1983 Armstrong book. For Williams, Duke Ellington becomes
the 'master', using 'all his sonorous resources'. Basic becomes the 'rebuilder' of
jazz form, Charlie Parker the 'innovator', creator of a 'new musical language'
(123), Monk is the 'speculator', alter whose performance we come away 'not
wanting to hum such pieces so much as wanting to hear them again' (142).
Horace Silver in comparison is only second level, a 'craftsman' (178), rooted in
gospel and hard bop.

These are all further examples of the canonical tendencies identified earlier and as
such need little further discussion. On one level, these writers are simply arguing
the value of this music in the strongest terms available to them. These jazz
musicians seem autonomously 'great' and are treated essentially as great
composers are. Jazz is also seen as 'music itself, rather than as arising from a
social context or from the work of teams of players in interaction. The language
used refers only to the musical material - its 'sonorous resources', its 'jazz form'
and its 'musical language', and not to the initial social context or function of the
music. In the context of this chapter, these new data are further evidence of the
powerful need to define the status of the jazz musicians concerned as somehow
equal to classical music, not only by comparing them with classical musicians, but
also by using the same kinds of terms to define their achievements.

Defining melodic coherence in jazz

Turning again to the academic literature, there is further evidence of a tendency to

assign status to jazz by valuing it using terms, and thus criteria, which have their
origins in the musicology of classical music. Three of the most common terms
found were 'motive', harmony' and 'counterpoint'. At the same time, other data
suggests that, here as elsewhere, other academics are using new terms to define
melodic coherence in jazz.

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The motive is a key building block in many accounts of structural coherence in
classical music (Reti, 1951; Cook 1987), and also recurs as a term in the jazz
literature. Owens' (1974) work on Charlie Parker is the most well-known example
of a reductive motivic analysis, and shows a line of thinking re-inforced in later
work on the fugal pieces of the MJQ (1976) and to some extent in his more recent
1995 study of bebop too. Owens examines over two hundred Charlie Parker solos,
and suggests in essence that the vocabulary of his entire output can be reduced to
64 'principal motives', laid out in a long typology. The implication is that Parker
is good jazz because his solos, though improvised, may be seen as containing
similar motivic structures to those found in Bach and are constructed with similar
rigour. Stewart (1973) is a further example of a similar approach, this time using
Schenkerian analysis common to the analysis of Schubert and Brahms (Forte and
Gilbert, 1982; Cook, 1987) to define relationships between foreground,
middleground and background in Clifford Brown solos. Hodeir, early pioneer of
the analysis of jazz, is equally critical of solos which he considers lack structure.
He argues that even solos by players with homogeneous styles are often marred
by 'disconnected bits of nonsense' which 'show an incapacity for thinking
through a thirty-two-bar chorus' (Hodeir, quoted in Smith, G, 1983: 96-7).
Likewise, Sonny Rollins' solo on Blue 7 was famously celebrated for its motivic
coherence by Gunther Schuller. In an article which Walser describes as '... an
important milestone for jazz scholarship in that it dealt specifically and rigorously
with the details of an improvised solo' (Walser, 1999: 213), Schuller (in 1986b)
sees a 'thematic unity' in Rollins' work which makes it 'greater' than less
thematic improvisations. He calls Rollins a 'motivic' improviser. According to
Davis (1986), Rollins' response to the article was to stop reading such reviews.
Walser's comments are a useful clue here to a process underway when Schuller
and Hodeir were writing, and clearly still current in the work of Owens and
Stewart, whereby musicologists were examining the melodic structures of jazz for
the first time, and using the procedures that they knew worked elsewhere. Terms
like 'motive' were used to measure transcriptions of jazz solos against similar
standards of motivic coherence used to value Bach.

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There is also evidence in the jazz literature of a more recent move by jazz
musicologists away from reliance on terms derived from classical music, and
towards defining the melodic features of jazz improvisation using other terms too.
Gregory Smith (1983), for example, sees jazz improvisation as 'formulaic
composition', along the lines of the epic poetry of Homer. Here the perfonner
constructs an improvised story, '... from a flexible plan of themes, some
essential, some not ... the basic incidents and descriptions repeatedly encountered
in epic poetry: the assembly of guests, arming for battle, return, recognition and
the like ...' (1983: 6). He acknowledges the flexibility of improvising, and
discusses the notion of spontaneity at some length, adding, after Ferand, that
improvising 'without evident direct preparation' does not equate to a real freedom
or free will. Like Nettl (1974), he believes the line between composition and
improvisation is blurred. Smith too remarks of the Blue 7 solo mentioned above,
'... there is nothing systematic about the motivic interaction of Rollins'
improvisation' (Smith, 1983: 104). He seems to imply here that although motivic
patterns are observable, they are not evidence of Rollins' 'system'. Smith
proposes instead a taxonomy of other possible improvisation processes similar to
those of Smith, including 'paraphrase', 'ornamentation' and the like.

Bash (1981) identifies 'formulae' within Parker's playing, and argues that every
mature musician develops a repertory of motives and phrases, and that even
performances considered spontaneous are usually precomposed to some extent.
Brown (1981) identifies exactly repeating motives in the solos of Oscar Peterson,
but significantly also looks for 'contours', that is, inexact repetitions of similar
phrases, defming a contour as '... a general impulse, perhaps as integral a part of
his personality as his hand-writing' (Brown, 1981: 28). Blancq (1984) looks for
'continuity' rather than coherence in his analysis of Clifford Brown, and argues
that Clifford Brown's melodic lines are significant because they ... 'unfold in a
logical and dramatic way, so that the listener is exposed to a more complete
musical statement rather than an episodic improvisation' (Blancq, 1984: 25).

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Spring (1990) explores the use of what he calls 'formulas' in the playing of
Charlie Christian, finding that formulas 'exhibit a great deal of variability in
detail, so that even though they are persistent, they are not repetitive' (Spring,
1990: 12). In his model, each formula has a 'core' with prefixes and suffixes, and
can be placed metrically in different places in the bar. Van der Bliek (1991)
attempts a similar approach with Wes Montgomery's playing, focussing on
Movin'Along, Blue 'n' Boogie and West Coast Blues. He identifies 'recurrent'
and 'prominent' ideas, which can be pitch cells or modes of melodic construction.
Like Nettl (1974), his starting-point is the 'model' that the improviser uses, its
rhythmic, melodic and harmonic character. While looking to find 'coherence', he
also sees improvising as taking place against other constraints such as the physical
layout of notes on the instrument. His analysis distinctively involves the detailed
study of treatment of particular bars within the chord sequence across successive
choruses of a given solo, observing, for example, rhythmic variation around given
'models'.

Looser still is another concept found in the writing of Gunther Schuller - of a

band or player's 'fingerprint', or 'personal sonoric conception' (1986b: 29). This
term defines a more abstract, intuitive but nevertheless recognisable set of
continuities in improvised performances. For Schuller, the essence of the identity
of a band or player, such as Monk, Mingus or Miles Davis, remains constant as a
developing narrative across a number of performances over many years. The
elements defining that identity are often the slides, timbral changes and
flexibilities around the given pulse that, for example, characterise Parker solos
and the vocal style of Billie Holiday (Brackett, 1995), as much any 'motivic'
repetitions and developments.

Others follow Schuller in arguing that the more non-motivic areas in a jazz solo
are the most significant, and that improvising allows for more plastic use of
melodic material. Krin Gabbard's comment in his 1993 critique of Williams'

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1966 analysis of Parker's 'Embraceable you' is perhaps the most challenging to
the notion of the value of motivic consistency or coherence in improvising:
Parker's work might just as easily be discussed in terms of how he
destroys the illusion of organic unity in his solos (Gabbard, 1993:
80, my underlining).
He transforms our view of Parker's work, by suggesting that jazz musicians create
musical tension or excitement by disrupting or at least extending harmonic and
motivic coherence, and by pushing the structural boundaries of the harmony and
melody to the limit.

A much wider set of definitions of melodic coherence is evident in these more

recent examples, from the loosest chaos theory of Gabbard via 'contours' and
'formulae' to 'sonoric conceptions' and 'fingerprints'. They contrast with
Schuller's strict motivic improvising and Owens' motivic analysis, because they
admit elements of unpredictability, spontaneity and interaction in analyses of
improvisation. Melodies are valued for their expressive moments of
ornamentation and embellishment around given norms, rather than for the clever
way in which they may be unified by reference to a single piece of melodic
material. Even here, however, the issue of status recurs. Recent jazz academics
understand the partialities of using musicological procedures useful in analysis of
Bach fugues or Schumann piano works to analyse Charlie Parker or Clifford
Brown. Yet even they feel a strong need to find ways of defining the value of jazz
solos which are accepted and have equal validity in the academic arena.

'Harmony' and 'counterpoint' in jazz: the higher status of

academic knowledge

Alongside 'motive' were other recurring terms, including 'harmony' and

'counterpoint'. These are particularly interesting because they are not necessarily

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terms that jazz musicians would have used when writing these tunes, though some
might have done. Discussion of these terms leads into an account of data from
Andy which demonstrates a tension between the real world harmonic knowledge
of a successful jazz arranger and the standard 'H. and C.'-style academic
harmonic knowledge of the Bach chorale.

A top-flight jazz musician and arranger, who had written for professional big
bands and for BBC broadcasts for many years before he came to his classical
training, Andy first discusses differences between the harmony of jazz and
classical music as differences in taste between 'curry' and' lettuce leaf':
31. i ) Andy: ... there were certain things I could hear, but I
didn't know what they were, and couldn't put them down ... later
on I realised that ... they were ... traditional four-part harmony
I'd gone into dissonance very early ... I always compare it to
eating curry for a year or two, and then trying to taste a lettuce
leaf ... (laughs)
31.]) and ... when I went to study with a man called [man's
name] ... so he put me on sixteenth century counterpoint,
Palestrina, Vittoria and Byrd and all that, for a couple of years,
and that really did straighten me out, I did start to hear
consonance in the way that it should be ... what one melody does
to another melody, and lowe him a debt/or that, you know.

As a jazz musician, Andy goes on to say that his growing understanding of

classical harmony proved to be a way of improving what he calls his 'horizontal
writing':
37.b) Andy: ... I wrote rotten Bach chorales ... I remember
trying to write a Bach chorale quite early and! was really doing it
with chord symbols ... obviously the horizomal writing was pretty
duff...
He suggests that this was due to a lack of knowledge on his part:

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 I didn 't know about suspension, I didn't know about, er . . . for
instance, category of interval, ... there's a whole knowledge which
the French call solfege which we don't teach in this country,

In spite of his long experience in the real world as a professional jazz composer
and arranger, he defines his later classical harmony training, learnt on a formal
university course, as somehow more valid and complete. He had to hear
consonance 'in the way that it should be' and had gone into dissonance 'early'.
He was 'straightened out' by counterpoint training,' ... there was no way you
could gain that knowledge except through Bach chorales'. To say that jazz only
gave Andy part of the picture would be an understatement. He clearly feels that
his classical training in harmony gave him a framework in which he could
contextualise all his earlier musical experience. This included a new set of terms
('suspension', 'category of interval') and a new set of rules as to what was right or
wrong harmonically. Given that he is almost exclusively a jazz composer, there's
even the fascinating implication here that his jazz writing improved as a result of
studying Palestrina, Vittoria and Byrd. From the literature, Dave Liebman comes
close to Andy here in his respect for what he calls the 'rules of counterpoint and
voice-leading' (1988: 75ff). In his discussion of bebop, Liebman calls it the
'callisthenics of jazz improvisation' and 'should be mandatory for all music
education majors, classical and musicology students' because it 'operates in a
very logical way' and is 'similar to the rules of counterpoint and voice-leading as
taught for hundreds of years in classical conservatories'. Bebop becomes, in a
sense, the Bach chorales of jazz - a set of high status autonomous texts, which are
good in themselves and take on special importance in the teaching of harmony
and counterpoint.

Eric also mentions counterpoint in the context of his jazz teaching, and talks of
hearing 11-V-I progressions in terms of 'linear movement':
365. Eric: ... Ifind it odd that classical musicians... general
term here ... don't seem to recognise the Il-V-I movement in the

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 same way that jazz musicians do. Er, ... very good classical
musicians have said that they hear it as counterpoint, they hear it
as...

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instead of... we hear just two-five-one [sings D, G, C]... you

know, whatever we hear, but we can reduce it down to that
whereas they hear it much more as linear movement
Asked to identify differences between the two styles, Andy adds elsewhere that he
found inversions and 16th Century counterpoint including species counterpoint
particularly useful (A41), though he adds that the role the walking bass line takes
in jazz modified these insights to some extent. For Andy and Eric, jazz harmony
also contains 'horizontal writing', linear movement' and 'counterpoint' too, just
as Owens (1974) argued above that Charlie Parker solos contain motivic
structures of the same kind as we see in Bach. They apply such terms to jazz, even
though the jazz musicians who invented bebop harmony would rarely discuss
their work in terms of concepts like 'counterpoint' or 'what one melody does to
another melody'.

There are two sets of terms and two knowledges at work here, a real world
knowledge and an educational knowledge, and the terms of the educational
knowledge are often based in classical music. To extend Andy's curry and lettuce
leaf analogy even further, both curry (jazz harmony) and lettuce leaves
(contrapuntal harmony in the style of the Bach chorale) are on the same menu.
Yet the menu itself, the framework or system which defines the range of

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conceptual possibilities within 'harmony', seems to be the menu of Bach chorales,
voice-leading, of consonance and dissonance, all terms conventional to classical
music. We have no terms with which to conceive of an educational knowledge of
harmony which does not include counterpoint, and the model of harmony and
counterpoint applied in classical music education is clearly seen in the data to
reveal useful insights in some kinds of jazz, otherwise it would not be used by
these interviewees. What is interesting here is that, in the academic and
educational world, Bach four part choral harmony, Palestrina counterpoint and
motivic and Schenkerian analysis continue to have a particular power which
allows them, as models of the analysis of Shepherd's 'music itself', to apply to
jazz. Even educators of long experience like Liebman and Andy seem blithely
uncritical of the concept of harmony and counterpoint in jazz, even though there
are obvious contexts in which the two are surely musically incompatible. Other
styles of harmony common within jazz, such as the blues, modal harmony and
free jazz fade into the background, and appear much less in textbooks or academic
or educational discussions of jazz harmony, just as other kinds of classical
harmony do too in the canonical structures of classical music. Academic writing
in jazz, then, is beset not only by the problems of using words to identify musical
features in improvising, but also of having to differentiate between the ways in
which those words are used in classical music and jazz. A conflict between two
conceptual frameworks is being played out, and this data indicates that this
conflict is particularly fierce in academic and educational circles, where both
Andy's interview and these academic analyses indicate that the influence of
definitions originating in classical music remains particularly powerful.

The dominance of classical piano tone and good 'technique' in

education

There were several instances of tension between jazz in education and what
interviewees described as 'classical' conventions of instrumental teaching. For

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example, Ben has little respect for what he sees as a dominant set of standards that
he defines here as playing an instrument 'properly':
B40a Ben: ... I'm not playing the f,nain instrument] properly,
in a classical way ... this spurious argument that says that in order
for you to be able to play jazz, you have to learn classical music
first. This is a good sound, solid, all-round form of education,
which will equip you to go on and play anything else after that.
Crap!
The major example of this was found in data from Carol and Eric on piano tone
and piano 'technique'. We begin with two contrasting definitions of good piano
sound in jazz. Of the pianist in her band, Carol said:
214.a) Carol: ... My pianist's playing is quasi-classical, because
she was ... a very good classical pianist before she changed to
jazz, so she's got the kind ofprecision that John Taylor's got
...which I like, ... the sensitivity there.
John Taylor plays exclusively jazz, but nevertheless has 'precision' and
'sensitivity' associated with 'classical' music. It is as if the surely more strictly
accurate description of the player as having 'jazz' precision and sensitivity is
somehow inappropriate while 'classical precision and sensitivity' is especially
valuable.

We turn now to Eric, who has two different definitions of piano tone in real world
jazz, but only one in education. First, here is Eric discussing the 'hard piano tone'
of real world jazz pianist, Thelonious Monk:
379. Eric: ... it's very difficult... one person could find
Thelonious Monk somebody who plays with a really hard piano
tone ... others could find him, like I do, just the most incredibly
exciting pianist because of his hard piano tone.
The data suggests that there are two sets of standards in assessing real world good
piano tone - Monk's exciting 'hard tone' and Carol's John Taylor 'sensitivity'. In

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two separate instances discussing his own teaching and learning, Eric then goes
on to mention the concept of 'technique':
20. Eric: ... it was this guy who came to school who turned
me around ... he began to get my technique sorted out.
and later.
24.a) Eric: Well I had two teachers. The first one ... the first
lady that I had ... she was very hot in technique
Later, he expresses very different preferences than those for Monk expressed
above (379). In this example, which relates to education, he advocates only
Taylor's 'sensitivity' and 'good tone' approach. Oscar Peterson and Fats Wailer
are broadly from the same school, and are certainly not Monk-style players:
301. Eric: ... musical playing as a piano player is a big thing
in my mind 1?] ... I haze people playing with bad piano tone ... I
seem to get ... terribly young pianists that play like they've got
fingers of steel ... with no sense ofpiano phrasing. They should go
and listen to Oscar Peterson, and listen to the beauty of his sound
Fats Wailer, Bill Evans ... beautiful piano sound
To check that I was clear as to what he was saying, I asked him directly about
how his previous statement related to his description of Monk:
381: Eric: ... If! know some one is wrong, from a clearly
technical point of view, then I would just say, 'Look, you know,
that's wrong. If you do it like that, you are going to end up with
tendonilis, or you are going to play with bad tone or you 'ii never
execute that fast passage, right ... fast passage accurately
because of the way you're fingering. That's one thing ... that's just
purely technique ... musical points are slightly different.

382. Charlie: But there is an overlap between the two, isn't there?
Or there are points where it is possible to argue ... you know, if
you'd been teaching Thelonious Monk, you might have said, on
balance,

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 383. Eric: You're doing it wrong! ... [finishing Ch 's sentence]

384. Charlie: ... "soften your tone, mate." [laughs]

387. Eric: Listen, it horrifies me to think, if! had had Stan

Tracey as a pupil, that I would have stopped him playing the piano
the way he does.
Once again more open, complex and ambiguous definitions of 'good' music-
making found in real world jazz are in tension with narrower definitions in
education. Moreover, these narrower definitions are this time clearly derived from
classical music, and labelled as such.

Weaknesses in the skills of 'classical students'

All the interviewees spent at least a proportion of their time teaching jazz to
learners who already had some perfonning experience of classical music, and all
discussed teaching jazz to what they called 'classical students'. These 'classical
students' were consistently presented in the data as being different from jazz
students, and as having a set of characteristic weaknesses in their skills. The focus
of these weaknesses was on three main areas: working by ear, rhythm and
improvisation. Here is Dave, who said his hardest challenge as a teacher was
getting some 'classically trained musicians' to 'do anything at all':
172. Dave: ... I have come across some students where they're
all classically trained musicians and ... I have to say to them,
"Look, I know you can read all this stuff, and I can't read any of
those things, but I want you to improvise, and try to do something,
and they don't do an y thing at all (D's emphasis], ... [they say] we
can't do that ... but as I say, 1 soon, out of my box of tricks, I will
find something that will turn them around.

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243
 Eric was classically trained. At home, his family played by ear in the
evenings. He recounts here how surprised his dad would be when he
returned from a classical music college with fellow music students from
the conservatoire:
E18.b) My dad found it very strange when I would come
home as a music student with people who really could play very,
very well, they couldn't play without the music. He would say,
"What's the matter with them? Why can't they ... why don't they
sit down and play?" "What do they have their music for?" I used
to wonder about that too.
Frank's experience was similar
289. Frank: ... in classical music ... the musicians it creates are
just ... instruments in themselves ... they are not creative
enough, and the music ... or the way of teaching doesn't teach
them to be personally creative ... it trains them to have beautiful
sounds, good intonation and to play written pieces ... it's been
difficult to ... make them change their way of thinking and make
them become more aural about the music
Here Frank unusually, if briefly, describes the strengths in classical students, and
this is the only instance in the interviews where educational strengths were
described. Frank emphasises his role in changing a pre-existing practice here, a
key observation. Jazz teachers must not only teach jazz, but also change pre-
existing practices.

The need for classical musicians to become 'more aural about the music' is
echoed in another group of data about what E calls hearing 'as a jazz musician':
373. Eric: ... I loved that quote that my son came up with ... a
few years ago, that, 'I play like a classical musician but I hear as
a jazz musician.'
Eric defines jazz as a distinctive way of hearing music:

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 375. Eric: ... my son realised very quickly ... that jazz theory
was something that he should learn. So he set about learning it
over a couple ofyears, just sat there and absorbed all the theory
books.
His son 'looks at it' differently from classical musicians:
375. Eric: ... classical musicians don't look at it like that
[He] consequently could hear all these 11-V-I's, could hear guide
tone lines, could hear inner chromatic passing-tones, all that stuff
so when you listen to classical music, you of course hear all that.

376. Charlie: Right

377. Eric: So, er, ... that's what I mean. I think that's a good
way ofputting it ... that you can play classical music, but you hear
it as jazz music.
Being able to 'hear' these theoretical concepts gives Eric's son the ability to 'hear
as a jazz musician' or 'hear it as jazz music'.

Andy has a similar idea, which he calls 'a really working knowledge of how
music works':
174.b) Andy: Now it strikes me that it's a waste of time for guys
to learn contrary motion in thirds ... while they're in college
whereas they don't have a really working knowledge of how music
works.
176.c) ... as far as a knowledge of music, a real thorough
knowledge of harmony, and how it works ... again, a lot ofpeople
on the classical course at [the university where he teaches] seem
to think that harmony is something that you'll never need anyway,
so they concentrate on their tuition, and they're going to pass that
antipathy on to their students f:hey teach as well.

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While it is useful for all musicians, harmony is something that classical students
feel is 'something you'll never need anyway', and the classical music curriculum
instead focuses on 'contrary motion in thirds', the skills of classical instrumental
performance. Jazz musicians by contrast need the complementary compositional
skills of 'hearing' harmony and applying harmonic structures in their improvising.

Andy also specifically identifies some of the 'classical rhythmic habits' these
classical students have, together with the rhythmic features of jazz which classical
orchestral musicians find difficult to cope with (A140c):
136.a) Andy: ... one of things that interests me is getting people
who have been classically trained, and what it is that prevents
them from becoming jazz players. And Ifind one of the things,for
instance, are the ... classical rhythmic habits which are actually
learnt by rote ... If... most classical musicians are brought up
in the Classical period, Mozart and Haydn ..., then they
automatically have a terrific respect for the first and third beat of
the bar, ... and everything else is an anacrusis to that, or a
passing-note from that, and this is very difficult to kick. Also, of
course, jazz players have ... rhythmic clichés which they find
difficult to kick. For instance the syncopated quaver, and stuff like
that, which, f they play classically, they have problems, you know

In this example, Andy differentiates between the two styles by their rhythmic
clichés. He is careful not to imply that jazz musicians are better than classical
musicians - they have their habits too.

Carol echoes Andy in defining what she calls a 'first beat of the bar society':
374. Carol: ... when students ... start improvising, they tend to
start on the first beat of the bar ... out of insecurity, and because
that's ... we are a first beat of the bar society initially ... don't leave

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 any space ... don't know what it feels like to start three and a half
beats in
Carol goes further than Andy here. She sees the 'first beat of the bar society' as
the society jazz educators face in their work. Jazz is again defined as going
against some kind of norm. No specific implication is given here that that norm is
derived from classical music, though Andy sees a focus on the first beat as a
predominantly classical characteristic.

There were also descriptions in the data of educational activities focused

specifically on these issues. At a London conservatoire and working with
'classical' students, Ben suggests he tries to get students to 'put back in their own
thing' (B60b, quoted in Chapter IV, page 114. above). Here Ben is aiming to
develop a specific set of skills in these classical students, and to work in a
'therapeutic' and non-prescriptive way. On other occasions, he does prescribe
repertoire in different ways, so by being non-prescriptive here, he aims to develop
in these classical learners the jazz skills of taking decisions for themselves about
the vocabulary and repertoire they play, and how they should improvise.

Taken as a whole, this data indicates a consensus that jazz educators have special
barriers to overcome in their work with classical students. Jazz education involves
getting classical students to: become 'more aural about the music' and more
'creative'; get used to a less 'prescriptive' approach; become less of a 'first beat
of the bar society', 'hear it as jazz'; get a working knowledge of 'how the music
works'; and finally, learn to 'play without the music'. The focus of jazz education
is specifically to overcome a number of barriers to good jazz playing which
classical music and its analogue in education set up. The aims of teaching and
learning jazz are defined here as involving not only learning the skills and
vocabulary of jazz, but also as overcoming other learnt habits of classical music.
As Swanwick comments in his discussion of Priest's 1989 article on playing by
ear, 'students in any kind of formal music education should surely be able to
engage in at least some of these very natural musical strategies' (1999: 56).

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Criticisms of the classical curriculum and teaching styles

Finally, equally striking was the extent of the interviewees' criticisms of the
curriculum and teaching styles associated with classical music. Here no strengths
were mentioned at all. Andy, Ben, Carol and Eric' all had experience of classical
music education at tertiary level, and a selection of their criticisms follows,
structured as a series of bullet points. In education, classical music education was
seen as:
• Based on 'hatred' and 'fear' and 'competition' between learners:
13.a) Ben: ... this teacher ... basically instilled a real hatred of
the instrument and fear .. . fear and hatred are the basis of the
classical music education system
[a full account of this phase of Ben's training is given in
the Data AppendLr, B12-28J

Using fear as motivation; characterised by 'over-specialisation' and 'narrow,

nasty' attitudes towards other players and styles:
40.a) Ben: ... the motivation for checking out my own playing
or certain aspects of my own playing was from the point of view of
fear ... oh, hell, I'm going to be exposed, people are going to think
I'm shit ... actually the further you go into classical music
training, the less you are capable ofplaying any other sort of
music. It's completely narrow, it's a terrible thing, it's a
specialising to the point of redundancy, and inculcating really
nasty attitudes towards other people, other players.

Lacking vocational relevance:

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 174.a) Andy: ... they're taught by orchestral players, who seem to
imagine that all of them are going to end up in the ISO ... the
number of orchestras elsewhere is getting thinner by the minute,
and they're preparing for that. fSee Data Appendix, B60bJ

Uninspiring, standardised, 'showered with dandruff and likely to kill one's

love of music:
49. Andy: ... I love Beethoven's music now, but prior to that I
found it a very difficult concept, just seeming like, er, a standard
repertoire, dusty old, unexciting music to me at that time.

43.b) Andy: ... there was no way you could gain that knowledge
except through Bach chorales and of course that was this
horrendous stuff called classical music teaching at the time, which
you wanted to ... avoid because you were trying to take care of
your love of music ... I was afraid that if! got into that too much it
would kill it.

44. Charlie: Why was that ... because

45. Andy: Well, because of the ethos of classical training at

that particular time, it just seemed to be showered in dandruff

Overly theoretical; lacking in direct or aural experience of music itself; highly

teacher-directed and narrowly prejudiced:
30.a) Carol: Well ... there was teaching Bach four-part harmony
and counterpoint like it's been taught in like, you know, fifty-sixty
years ago, as far as I could make out. Complete lectureship from
the front - go away - do this - Oh, that's wrong, this isn 't very good

'Dave and Frank were the least knowledgeable about classical music education, and rarely
mentioned it in terms.

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 - never any referral to the ear, ever, ever, ever - so you were trying
to do music as a set of rules without hearing it, erm, ... history
lectures dry, uninspiring, by and large, prejudiced, can't mention
gay composers like Britten ... anything past the Romantic really
wasn't really ... run by a professor who didn't believe in stereos
and even he didn't like music, so he'd never buy any equipment to
listen ... no practice rooms ... bad pianos

Stylistically rigid, and ignorant of jazz and its significance or skill levels:
53. Eric: ... more often than not, the harmony teachers that I
had just said, you know, 'You've got consecutive fifths there'... or
I said, 'Yeah, but I don't want to ... don't want to sound like
Bach. I want to ... sound like Bill Evans ...', you know, and it was,
'Bill who?'

48. a) Carol: ... when I ... started having lessons with someone
who was very broad ... it took me about twenty-five phone-calls to
get her because everybody else, as soon as I mentioned jazz, just
slammed the phone down practically

To summarise, classical music education is portrayed here as involving a

relatively rigid and notation-based repertoire, taught mostly through teacher-
centred and competitive teaching strategies and without sufficient practical
experience of the music or awareness of how it relates to other styles. References
to stylistic narrowness and ignorance of other styles appear several times, again
revealing jazz musicians as feeling unrecognised in this context, and also
contrasting starkly with our theme of openness and flexibility from earlier
chapters.

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Summary and discussion of findings

From this data, it is reasonable to suggest that what the writers and interviewees
call classical music plays a substantial role in the way in which musicians and
educators define jazz. Why should such a large emphasis on classical music be
evident, and what does this mean both for real world jazz and also for jazz in
education?

One reason is that references to classical music increase the status of jazz. Taking
the academic 'voice' first, Krin Gabbard (1993) observes that currently 'a
disproportionate amount of jazz scholarship is and has been devoted to finding the
most effective means for identifying and exalting favoured artists' (8). He
suggests that writing and speaking of this kind is evidence of a need within jazz to
define itself as comparable in 'value' to classical music, and goes on to argue that
this is inevitable for the legitimation of teaching and research in jazz. Gabbard's
focus on legitimation is important, and defines a key function of academic
research shared by teaching too, that is not necessarily found in performing. As
the music is increasingly researched and taught, those involved are required to
argue some level of legitimacy for jazz, in a way that players have no need to do.
These kinds of comparisons are part of the coming of age of a mature jazz studies,
and a symptom of the changing status of jazz as a music worthy to be studied.
Walser's comments concerning motivic coherence are along similar lines (page
233. above). What this research shows is that, in their concern to argue the
legitimacy of jazz, educators, along with academics, are tending to change the
way in which it is defined.

Such processes of coming of age and of increasing status demonstrate a further

tendency in the data, noted by Gabbard in his comments about legitimacy, to
canonise and decontextualise jazz. In my initial references to the development of
the jazz canon quoted earlier (Chapter II, page 20-21.), Citron suggests that the
'parameters' of the canon are dependent on value systems that have grown up

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with it. However, this data indicates that what she calls the 'parameters' of the
'value system' of jazz grew up with the creation of a different canon, that of
classical music. Terms like 'rhythm', 'harmony', 'counterpoint', 'motive' and
'piano tone' set up expectations as to the kinds of structural features to be
identified and valued by listeners. However, these expectations are not
stylistically neutral and are laden with associations with the classical music to
which they were originally applied. Paradoxically jazz educators are not only
defming their own canon and defending it in a relatively new and changing field,
but are also using the language and so valuing the structural features principally
associated with another style as they do so.

One explanation for this phenomenon might be that the writers and interviewees
are simply using terms and references with which they are already familiar. It
might be argued that the study of classical music precedes that of jazz, and there
is an existing and effective musicological language and values. However, a
number of findings from this chapter seem to indicate a more active competition
for status between jazz and classical music, particularly in education. Carol and
Andy indicate a frustration with the 'first beat of the bar society', for example.
Data on teaching jazz to classical students also show that many have already
absorbed an approach to music making which is antipathetic to the musical
practices of jazz, because it is predicated on reading stave notation, and contains
less emphasis on improvising and working interactively by ear. Eric is aware of a
number of approaches simultaneously available to piano tone in jazz, but feels
able only to offer learners the one involving 'classical' technique. Andy learnt to
conceptualise jazz in a 'better' way afterwards by using the terms of classical
music. His performing knowledge of jazz became subsumed and formalised
within a later university education dominated by terms originating in classical
music. Terms like 'counterpoint' are seen as valid ways of describing jazz, even
though they are not terms musicians playing the music would necessarily
recognise as associated with it. Such terms remain outside many definitions of the
style itself currently, but are found in the academic literature and in education.

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The terms, language and references of classical music are a particularly dominant
force - one that interviewees and writers were unable to ignore and which change
the definition of jazz found in education to a significant extent. On the evidence
of this data, the stylistic playing field in music education is not level, but instead
is tipped in favour of classical music, a music which both literature and interview
data shows still commands a necessary 'respect' as music 'in itself', even for
those interviewees not versed in the style. Once, as it were, the music stops, and
the naming of parts necessary for evaluation and education begins, the canonical
language and therefore what Citron calls the 'parameters' and 'value system' of
classical music knowledge take over. Jazz learners sometimes come to the context
of jazz education already skilled in classical music and in the use of its terms.
Classical music effectively determines many aspects of the way in which jazz is
spoken about, analysed, valued and taught. It plays a increasingly significant part
in determining its status, and therefore the way in which it is to be defined, and
this influence is more pronounced in education than outside it.

Finally, we turn to findings concerning teaching and learning in jazz. Data

concerning attitudes to classical music education and to the weaknesses of
classical students tell a very different story from that found in the real world. Far
from wanting to be like classical music educators in some way, the interviewees
indicated that there were significant problems with the structure and teaching and
learning strategies of classical music education. It produced students who needed
to unlearn rhythmic habits, and who had an unhealthy dependence on notation and
a fear of improvising. The curriculum was narrow and over-prescriptive, and the
approach to performance was insufficiently based on an understanding of the
musical processes involved. While jazz educators indicated a need for equal status
with classical music, they were simultaneously highly critical of the educational
tradition that goes along with it. It would be unwise to infer anything about the
nature of teaching and learning in jazz from these interviewees' comments about
the short-comings of classical music education. However, we can at least observe

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in closing that these negative comments are consistent with the findings in earlier
chapters, and that the ideal curriculum of these jazz educators involves an
understanding of groove, interaction, self-expression and improvisation, and is
open, stylistically flexible and predominantly student-centred.

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lx

Tensions between definitions of real

world jazz and jazz in education

This concluding chapter gathers together and discusses the research findings
concerning tensions between real world and educational jazz. It identifies significant
tensions in a number of conceptual areas and proposes that two factors within teaching
and learning in jazz contribute to those tensions. In the final section, the implications of
these findings are discussed and possibilities for future research are suggested.

Tensions between real world jazz and jazz in education

We begin with definitions of the substyles of jazz. Three tensions were noted with
regard to fusion. First, in line with theory on canonicity, fusion was consistently less
prominent in texthooks and other discussion of music-making around education, and it
also figured less in educational material focused on performance. For Marsalis, it
should be excluded from jazz altogether. Fusion was also actively discouraged in
education by Dave and Frank, who felt that jazz skills were often better fostered in the
study of more mainstream styles. Even for Ben, whose real world defmition was the
most eclectic, 'Bbjazz' appeared more in education. Secondly, the many ambiguities
and contradictions as to the status of fusion, present in the real world, were less

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evident. Textbooks provided evidence that educational definitions of fusion were much
simplified. This simplification was partly a function of the level of difficulty, and a
need to articulate the style in ways seen as appropriate for less experienced learners by
reducing differences between fusion and other styles to a series of bullet points.
Thirdly, fusion was defined as a 'harder' sub-style in education, even though
paradoxically it was also seen as the substyle through which interviewees indicated
many real world musicians came to jazz initially.

Two tensions can be discerned in definitions of bebop. First and most importantly,
while fusion became less prominent, the tunes and vocabulary of bebop became more
prominent in education. Unlike fusion, bebop's repertoire was also more clearly
defined and so too were its features and its merits as a style worthy to be on a
curriculum. Bebop and hardbop were consistently seen as important in providing
'solutions to harmonic problems', even by interviewees who used it little in their real
world playing. Bebop was close to becoming the 'Bach chorales' of jazz education as a
set of abstract and autonomously valuable harmonic and melodic improvising
techniques, to be mastered as good 'in themselves'. Dave for example, felt the need to
establish his 'middleground' between the real world fusion-based experience of
budding jazz musicians and the demands of jazz in education. Second, a reduction in
complexity was present in educational accounts of bebop similar to that found in
fusion. The initial contestedness of bebop as jazz, as expressed in the 'moldy figs and
modernists' debate, was replaced by an often unquestioned assumption that it was
central to the style, and its tension with a more eclectic and contemporary jazz was also
less evident. Like fusion, bebop becomes simpler and more decontextualised in
education, and processes of canonisation are evident.

Three main findings emerged concerning ethnicity. The first is that the full range of
definitions of ethnic identity in real world jazz was also found in education, and the
same tensions between the various strongly held essentialist and anti-essentialist
positions Gilroy identifies were present. At one extreme were definitions that
associated jazz with a single, unified 'black' or African American identity. At the other

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were those that denied the possibility or usefulness of associating jazz with any unified
ethnic identity at all. The existence of a black learning style was one area where this
tension was articulated. However, across both literature and interviews, my second
finding is that in education ethnic identity was generally much less explicit in
discussion of the musical style. Whatever their real world positions, the interviewees
rarely taught jazz as 'black' or as belonging to any ethnicity. Frank's 'tradition', for
example, involved almost exclusively African American players, but they were rarely
defined as such. Discussion of the extent to which certain ethnic identities are
associated with real world jazz was present in much of the real world literature and in
every interview other than Eric's, but it was noticeably absent from interview data on
education. As in bebop and fusion above, this is further evidence of a tendency for
complexities and tensions between definitions to be suppressed in the educational
construction of the style. The absence of a particular feature in the data, such as explicit
reference to ethnicity, is clearly a less reliable finding than its presence. As I mention
in Chapter III above (pages 7 1-3.), interviewer-interviewee relationships may have
affected the extent to which ethnicity was made explicit. It is possible, though I suggest
unlikely, that if facilitated to talk about these issues in other ways or by another
interviewer, interviewees would have produced a more explicit set of definitions of
ethnicity in educational jazz. The fact that it was a pattern across several interviews,
and that these ideas were also absent from the educational literature and textbooks
suggests that this less explicit position is a more general characteristic of definitions of
jazz in education. The phenomenon of reduced explicitness also supports the more
general finding that in education contextual tensions, such as the role of ethnicity or the
function of the style as 'art' or entertainment, are suppressed. The third, perhaps more
tentative finding is therefore that, as with bebop and fusion, educational processes
cause ethnicity in jazz not only to become simpler but also to become decontextualised.

Many of the features of the journey towards openness and self-knowledge also
appeared in discussion of education, and this is a central finding, connecting with the
blurred nature of the boundary between real world and education in this area. Music-
making was defined as a journey of learning, both about the sell and about the style.

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Nurture, support, feeding and a non-prescriptive approach were defined as ideal

features of jazz in education too, because they facilitate processes of self-expression
and personal growth towards sell-knowledge through the development of self-
awareness. Several interviewees also discussed the problem of facilitating learners,
particularly from classical backgrounds, to play in ways which were not only good jazz
but also contained aspects of the learners' own personal way of playing. Features of
education work described as undesirable included a 'need to control', which Carol
suggested teachers of jazz needed to 'let go of', and the idea that prescribing
educational outcomes tends to reduce the musical possibilities available to real world
players. A tension is revealed here between jazz in education as learning about musical
features and jazz in education as learning about the self. In the real world, music-
making is seen as leading to personal growth through sell-expression. The objective of
playing in ways 'truthful' to the self was frequently articulated, and this kind of
learning was articulated as a central feature of the style. In education, these notions are
in tension with an extra externally defined need to use certain substyles and
vocabularies, and this was seen as inhibiting such 'truthful' playing and learning. The
journey of growth towards self-expression, though present, was therefore also less
prominent in education.

The qualities of interaction defined as characteristic of real world jazz were most
clearly reflected in music-making in education through the interviews, and were
generally covered in less depth in the literature, with the exception of the work of
Monson and Berliner. Ben, for example, defined interaction as a crucial skill in real
world jazz musicians and, as 'social skills', interaction also featured in discussion of
learners too, where many of the same 'co-operative' qualities in the music were
emphasised. Educators were consistently described as facilitators and mentors, and
interviewees gave many examples of educational situations where they shied away
from intervening as 'teachers' in order to preserve a group interaction in the music-
making that was controlled by learners. Learners were often described as having to
define their own direction and as having to motivate themselves, and tasks were
designed to leave space for learner decision-making. Interviewees nevertheless

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described some situations where they did intervene in more directive ways, or where
jazz was seen as some kind of system to be learnt, but in each case, in line with Carol's
'letting go of the need to control', misgivings were expressed about this kind of
teaching role. The more jazz appeared in schools and education and became more
directive and teacher-led, the more the features of interaction defined as necessary for
successful real world jazz were less likely to be present. As with self-expression above,
a tension was evident between the need for the educator to intervene in musical
interaction to facilitate effective learning, and a real world need for such intervention
not to be present in music-making in order to achieve openness and flexibility.

Finally, we return to the musicological context in which definitions of jazz occur. Here
the main finding is that terms originating from the criticism of classical music were
more prevalent in definitions found in jazz in education than in those of real world jazz.
Educators were more concerned to communicate the status of jazz, and did so by
identifying, naming and evaluating features associated with good classical music, and
using comparisons with classical music more in their definitions. Jazz features and
social practices that fitted analytical and other models of good classical music, like
those of bebop, tended to be defined as more valuable in education than outside it. At
the same time, more mature and subtle definitions of jazz are emerging in the academic
literature, which identify different and more distinctive features as characteristic of the
style, though there was less evidence of these newer definitions in interviewee and
writer discussion of education. References to jazz as popular music were also notably
absent in education. Definitions of musical qualities such as those of piano touch and
sonority in jazz were also influenced by those from classical music. Eric indicated that,
in education, pianists like Thelonious Monk would be asked to change their approach
because their piano touch was, in effect, insufficiently classical. This too indicates
some simplification of the complexity of jazz piano touch in the real world, as well as a
tendency to revert to classical models of good playing already common in education.

Interviewees valued the academic knowledge associated with classical music more than
their real world knowledge, even though their real world knowledge was gleaned

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sometimes from long experience working in jazz at the highest levels. Classical
training was defined as more valid, both in Eric's discussion of piano touch and in
Andy's account of his harmony training. It was more systematic and comprehensive to
them, and it functioned for them as a way of contextualising and organising their real
world knowledge. The most obvious explanation for such tensions is an increased
pressure in education to establish a status for jazz as valuable, or worthy of study, and
an increasing competition between the two styles in the context of the dominance of
models of value in music which originate in the musicological traditions of classical
music. Paradoxically, however, interviewees also indicated that they sometimes found
rhythmic habits, approaches to the use of notation and approaches to improvising
common in classical music education unsatisfactory for the teaching of jazz, and
expressed frustration at having to 'unteach' classical music. While classical music was
seen as valuable, many aspects of the educational tradition associated with of classical
music were seen as an active impediment to good jazz learning. Taken together, these
data also point to a bias in definitions of jazz in education in favour of features and
social practices valued in classical music, and this is the main finding. Jazz educators
face particular problems. First, the musicology of jazz is still developing, and this
makes it harder for jazz educators to define clearly what is important for their learners.
Secondly, the terms and criteria used to define jazz as valuable originate in the
evaluation of another style.

We can now summarise these findings concerning tensions between definitions of real
world and educational jazz. In education, substyles change in prominence, such that
bebop is defined as more prominent and fusion less so. Ethnicity becomes less explicit
in education, though the full range of positions on ethnicity is still present. Self-
expression and the process of growth towards self-knowledge are present but less
evident, because they are in tension with an increased need in education to play using
certain substyles and vocabularies. Group interactions in jazz music-making tend to be
less sharing, supportive, trusting and democratic in education, and are generally less
prominent in educational definitions. Fewer musical possibilities were likely to result
in education, therefore, and the whole idea of group interaction as intrinsic to the

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musical style was less prominent. Jazz was found to be more associated with the canon
of classical music in education, and also more associated with 'art'. Complexities and
ambiguities within real world jazz were generally simplified and made more definitive,
tensions between definitions were generally made less explicit and the central jazz
qualities of openness and flexibility, as expressed in varying ways across a number of
different conceptual areas, were generally reduced. Individually, each of these
differences between real world and education is significant. Taken together, they
amount to a wholesale redefinition of the style that affects everything from the smallest
of its musical features to the reasons for its very existence.

Education - factors within teaching and learning in jazz

We can now identify two factors within teaching and learning in jazz, which can be
seen as contributing to these tensions. I am expressing both as tendencies, since I have
noted along the way individual examples that do not follow them.

Jazz as educational knowledge

Seen as a whole, these findings point to a tension between what I suggest are two broad
categories of jazz, each with its own characteristics. In the real world, jazz tends to be
more blurred, more open, more personal, more changing and less organised in
consistent hierarchies by status. In education, jazz tends to be more fixed, more closed,
less personal, less changing and more organised in consistent hierarchies by status. One
factor contributing to this tension is the tendency for jazz to be restructured as it
becomes educational knowledge. This was evident, for example, in data on the
substyles of jazz, where a more definitive and canonised bebop became more
prominent than a more fluid and contested fusion, and divisions of substyles into levels
of difficulty and other pedagogic structures to aid learning were evident. Similarly, the
values underlying the musicological traditions of classical music increased in
importance. Modes of group interaction and the role of the self were less emphasised,
for example, and other contextual tensions, such as those concerning ethnicity, became

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less explicit. Interviewee accounts of jazz in education can thus be interpreted as

reflecting such tensions, between a real world need to define content such that some
openness and flexibility remained and a tendency in education for aspects of the style
to be restructured in this way.

The role of the jazz educator

A second tension follows on from this, this time between the role of the jazz musician
and the role of the jazz educator. While the jazz musician structures and organises their
own musical behaviour and knowledge in free interaction with others, and both allows
and supports others to do the same, the jazz educator must paradoxically also
restructure and re-organise the musical behaviour and knowledge of other musician-
learners. A second factor within teaching and learning in jazz, then, is the way in which
the role of the jazz educator involves intervening in various ways in educational and
musical interactions, in ways additional to those necessary for jazz musicians. There
are many instances of data on group interaction and on the design of educational tasks
that can thus be seen as attempts by the educators concerned to achieve a balance
between the opposing functions of these two roles. These include: Andy talking of a
need for rules but also a need to keep the rules flexible; Ben defining starting-points
and then adding melodic strategies, such as 'ghosting' where learner decision-making
was needed; Carol and Dave needing openness of educational outcome in workshops
and one-to-one lessons; Eric needing a system but being 'anti-system'; and Frank
designing arpeggio tasks which students must adhere to, but which somehow also
encourage learners to explore rhythmic possibilities. Likewise, mentor and facilitator
roles predominated, learner motivation was not seen as central to the role and
discomfort was often expressed where intervention was necessitated.

Implications of findings and avenues for further research

While this research has focussed on tensions found between definitions of jazz, many
of its implications concern changes in educational practice and the development of

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deeper understandings of the educational processes that cause such tensions. The major
implication of this research is that new and more sophisticated ways of conceptualising
and communicating musical styles in education are needed, which take account of
characteristics of jazz that this research identifies are sometimes lost. Perhaps the most
crucial consideration of all is that some of the most powerful jazz learning takes place
in contexts other than classrooms, in ways which allow learners to structure the
content, sequencing and pacing of the knowledge learnt, to design their own
educational outcomes and to work with people who do not see themselves as educators.
While the work of Kinzer and others suggests that classroom-based learning is often an
important part of jazz education, this data suggests that the nature of jazz in the real
world is such that 'education', as it is currently practised, can actively impede the
articulation of crucial elements of the style.

Some obvious changes in emphasis in the way jazz is taught present themselves.
Learner bands should play in real world contexts as much as possible, for example, and
other links and cross-overs between real world and education should be strengthened
and indeed made central to the learning process, such that both academic and
educational approaches to jazz are suffused with real world definitions. The many
tensions between substyles, between ethnic positions, between 'moldy figs' and
'modernists' and between the many different definitions of what jazz is must again be
part of all learners' experience of the style, whatever their level, even if the result is a
less coherent and unified curriculum, if present trends towards formal learning in jazz
continue, however, we must accept that jazz is mcreasingly likely to be taught and
indeed played in classrooms. This points to the need for a new rationale for a
classroom-based jazz education, which must be founded on a definition of jazz closer
to its real world nature and on an understanding of how learning about jazz occurs in
such contexts. In this jazz education, educational practices and ways of facilitating
music-making should, as far as possible, exactly replicate practices in the real world
style, rather than be hampered by those of classical music's more established and, in
this data, much criticised educational tradition.

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One implication of these findings, therefore, is the central importance of further
academic research into the nature of jazz learning in the real world. In-depth study of
the accounts of interviewees here and the many other oral histories in the various
archives in the US is needed, to discover and record the educational processes and the
nature of the contexts involved. Further research is also needed which explores the
interface between real world and education, by bringing learners into musical contexts
that are not educational in the formal sense or by bringing non-educator musicians into
classrooms, and studying their effects. There are some precedents for this already in
other areas of music education research relating to secondary education (Swanwick,
1999: 89-92). Another important task is to analyse the learning that tends to occur in
these real world musical contexts. Careful observation of the skills, attitudes and
knowledge the musicians develop in those contexts is necessary, as is even more
careful thought about how learning takes place, so that both the structures of
knowledge and the roles involved can be replicated effectively for learners. Some
starting point hypotheses are suggested in the data. It seems, for example, that jazz
learning is sometimes what Ben called 'lumpy', rather than smooth and controlled, and
does not necessarily work in clear progressions from old to new styles or from simple
to hard. Instead, learners somehow find the part of the style that appeals to theni and
begin their journey towards jazz from that point - sometimes from classical music,
sometimes from rock or other popular styles, and sometimes from non-Western musics
too. Some are previously completely untrained, while others have extensive previous
experience of formal music education. As learners, those interviewees who were
trained through real world experience covered most major jazz styles in the en& but
crucially, they did so at their own pace, in a sequence of their choosing and in contexts
which favoured practical music-making. Bebop, for example, appeared in the
foreground when they were ready for it, rather than at a particular point in a pre-
defmed progression of difficulty or of historical importance. Some came to jazz
informally first and then went to school later, while others were jazz students first and
felt a later need to grow away from the more limited starting-points they had been
given. Systematic exploration of the nature of such varied and 'lumpy' learning, and of
how best to facilitate it in classrooms, is one possible future research focus.

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The dominant canon of educational jazz found here, with its bebop emphasis, is also
ripe for reconsideration. While the African American roots of jazz are clear, for
example, and should continue to be celebrated, women jazz musicians are under-
represented in the history and in educational music played, and so too are the musics of
the other traditions we know were to be found in and around New Orleans at the turn of
the century, such as those of West African, Brazilian and Afro-Cuban origins. Early
and indeed contemporary jazz from South Africa also springs to mind as an area which
has yet to be given its due weight in education, as there are many accessible and
distinctive tunes from South Africa now appearing in real world contemporary jazz
from the likes of Abdullah Ibraliim and Chris MacGregor. In presenting jazz as a
history or 'tradition', educators also need the teaching skills and the conceptual tools to
take positions that can acknowledge and make sense of complex pluralities and
interactions between past and present 'jazz' styles. Rather than take a purely linear
approach, they must be able to ensure an appropriate balance between several
narratives in the teaching of jazz history, such that past and present canons and views
of ethnicity are presented in ways which give a complex picture, while somehow (and
this is the challenge) ensuring their curriculum has coherence. A new model of
'musical style' in education is necessary, which should contain not only an account of
repertoire and vocabulary which allows for continual change, fluidity and interaction,
but also actively facilitates the processes of group interaction and of the inner
improviser as self. It might also be possible to conceive of a number of equally valid
jazz curricula, each appropriate to a different group of musicians or learners around the
world. A plurality of jazz styles should be reflected in a plurality of educational
approaches too.

Finally, educators also need to consider the general balance between the recreation of a
canon and the creative processes of jazz. Educational structures must be developed
which enable the individual learner to reproduce existing knowledge alongside
opportunities for them to learn about themselves and about the music through defining
their own knowledge. Learning to personalise, embellish and re-interpret individual

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tunes and whole repertoires is as important, it seems, as reproducing them. Learning to

reproduce canonical repertoires should be counter-balanced by learning focused around
critiquing and subverting them. In the context of the fundamentally recreative
'Essentially Ellington' festival, for example, a further way to balance creative and
recreative in jazz education might be to add a category for high school composers or
improvisers to write new material, also to be played at a concert finale at the Lincoln
Center. Training for jazz educators specifically in adapting new, uncanonised material
that is personal or contemporary to them for use in their education work might also free
the repertoire up, and require the development of new skills in educators, such as the
ability to transcribe or adapt for particular groups, rather than use familiar pre-
published material.

The role of classical music as a contextual element which changes the nature of jazz is
also of fundamental importance. Another important starting point for a wholesale re-
evaluation of jazz education would therefore be that jazz should somehow be defined
more in its own terms, rather than in relation to a set of terms that have their ongins in
classical music. This is not straightforward, since the data indicates such a general
dominance of the terms, features and social practices of classical music in jazz. An
important way forward is to focus learners on the discovery of the idiom through
engagement with the sounds and social practices of jazz music-making, rather than
through discussion of it. This enables the groove-based, interactive, creative and 'by
ear' environment in which learning can take place, and facilitates the continual creation
and recreation of the style. The challenge here is one of resourcing such an approach,
such that all learners, whatever their age and level of experience, get access to
instruments, spaces and starting-points for musical activity. This is, of course, a
conclusion supported by many music educators over the past thirty years (Swanwick
1979, 1994, Paynter 1992). Educators too, most of whom have been immersed in an
education system dominated by approaches to musical style derived from classical
music, need as deep an understanding of and indeed immersion in, real world jazz as
possible. Their own definitions should be rich and authentic enough to include those
elements excluded in some jazz curricula currently. It should be grounded in

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experience of working with musicians and other educators from a range of cultures, in
experience of the process of improvising in a group and in experience of their own
journey of growth towards self-expression. Where the language around that style is so
contested, the process of music-making is particularly crucial in defining the nature of
a style.

The present research could also be developed in a number of other ways. One next
step, mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, would be to follow up the perspectives
of these interviewees with a study of the learners who work with them. This could
verify these findings and examine learners' own definitions of jazz too. A focus on the
aspects of knowledge that educators tend to define and the parts they leave 'open'
would be one starting-point, as would a study of strategies educators use to achieve
learner control. This could focus on when and why it was achieved, and, perhaps most
importantly, when and why it was the educator's decision not to achieve such control
of knowledge or of educational interaction. Interviewee perspectives from this research
could be compared with classroom reality, and observations and/or videos of classes,
workshops and other learning contexts could be followed up with interviews with
pupils and educators concerned. One hypothesis might be that, while educators say
they avoid intervention, in reality they intervene more than they say, but do so in
particular ways. The present study could also be broadened by interviewing further
musician-educators from specific backgrounds, which could include American or
African American musician-educators, and could aim to explore ethnicity as a variable
in various ways. The relationship between musical style and its analogue in education
also merits further investigation. Possibilities might include an examination of how far
a particular training in jazz affects a learner's future definition of the musical style, or a
comparison of the nature of definitions found here with those of musicians or teachers
in popular or classical musics.

It was made clear on pages 13. and 58. above that the main focus of this research was
defmitions included in data and literature as associated with 'jazz' rather than those
excluded, and that the complexity and magnitude of gender issues found necessarily

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place them outside the scope of this work. Nevertheless, findings suggest that gendered
definitions of jazz also warrant further investigation. Carol couched discussion more in
terms of her personal feelings about players and styles and articulated her experience of
the style more in terms of her personal confidence. She also tended to see the role of
the jazz educator differently and was conscious of herself as a woman reading jazz in
different ways from the majority of male jazz musicians, though it was unclear what
this meant for her. Her perspectives were particularly valuable because of their
strikingly different emphasis, though the fact that the men did not label their
perspectives as 'male' in the same way is equally significant. Her challenging
discussion of jazz as '... a male-dominated music' and of the 'dominance of male-ego
saxophone' (C503b), for example, suggests that, in her mind at least, jazz is indeed a
strongly gendered concept, although this was not acknowledged equally by other
members of the sample. The work of DahI (1984) resonates with Carol's remarks, in
her observation of jazz instruments as gendered, and of saxophone and trumpet as'
the most popular aggressive solo instruments in jazz'.

Conclusion

Put at its most challenging and also admittedly at its most theoretical, the central
implication of these findings is that the problematic nature of definitions of real world
jazz is antithetical to the need to codify and transmit it in a structured way as
educational knowledge. For educators, the problem may now be reframed as a need to
design new forms of educational knowledge which embody and facilitate open and
flexible definitions of musical styles, while still imparting to learners a coherent set of
skills and understandings. A congruence is required between the knowledge structures
and roles defined within music education and those intrinsic to the musical styles being
taught.

In providing a necessary educational coherence, this research indicates that the

methods commonly used in education to transmit and reproduce musical styles may

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focus students away from the jazz values and social practices of interactivity, openness,
risk-taking and personal expression, and towards closer adherence to other kinds of
stylistic and educational norms. Classical music education is often seen as a style
where such values are less prominent. Here the more personal and self-expressive skills
of embellishment and improvisation which were central to music-making in the ages of
Bach, Mozart and Liszt, have died out almost completely in the educational tradition
and in the real world too, notwithstanding the early music movement. The almost
universal derision in which the pedagogy of classical music was held by interviewees
was striking. Equally striking was the commitment and consistency with which, where
it had occurred, they pointed out how their own classical training had lacked a
knowledge of 'how music works', and failed sufficiently to acknowledge their own
identities and backgrounds as musicians. These findings amount to a swingeing
critique of such training. Nicholson (see page 46. above) suggests that the neo-classical
movement spearheaded by Marsalis may be first evidence of a similar feedback
relationship between jazz in education and real world jazz. Were that to be the case, we
may be at a turning point where education changes jazz for ever, and academic and
educational definitions of the style pennanently reduce opportunities for open and
flexible knowledge, for the creative or for the genuinely student-centred.

As relative newcomers to formal education, we jazz musicians seem to have thrown

this issue up in particularly high relief. Earlier (page 48.) I pointed out that David Eliot
(1983) identifies 'the absence of a cogent position on the nature and value of jazz and
jazz-related music and in turn, on the nature and value of jazz education' (164).
'Absence' is the key word here - it implies short-comings and a lack of coherent
educational thought. As an exploratory study, this research can do little more than
enable a more coherent explanation of a problem facing music educators struggling
with increasing demands to deliver a broader range of musical styles. The challenge is
to define a conception of musical style in education, which facilitates coherent and
effective learning without compromising the characteristics central to that style.

Chapter IX: Tensions Draft Date 3O/O31

269
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From jazz to jazz in education: an

investigation of tensions between
player and educator definitions of
jazz

by

Charles W. Beale

Thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

At the University of London, Institute of Education,
In April 2001.

Volume 2Appendices

Appendices Draft Date 3O)3iO1

296


Appendices

A Data Appendix
extracts from:
Interview A 298
Interview B 313
InteMew C 336
Interview D 354
interview E 376
interview F 387
Jerry Coker extract 403

B Code Index Appendix

Code Index extract after two Interviews 404
Code index extract after six Interviews 408

C. Interview Schedule 418

Appendices Draft Date 30/0301

297
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 Jazz Improvisation 1

Week 1 Distribution of syllabus.[...} Begin playing scales (pp. 9-10) and

digital patterns (hand out) at second meeting. Begin Preparing
"Essential Patterns and Licks" (hand out) for Week 2. Read pp.3-
10 in text.

Week 2 Apply digital patterns and "Essential Patterns" (1-4) to exercise

tracks of play-alongs, "Giant Steps" and other tunes. This
procedure will continue for several weeks, until patterns 1-17 are
covered.

Weeks 3-7 Continuance of pattern practice and application. Perform melodies

and improvise on all assigned Bebop and Standard vehicles (on
handouts and practice tape). Learn and apply 7th-3rd resolutions
on Il-V progression (pp29-33). Read pp. 11-46 in text.

Week 8 Playing examination on bebop tune, plus a written mid-term

examination.

Weeks 9-11 Modal tunes. "Aural familiarisation With All Scale Tones" (pp.
56-7). Pentatonic scales and fourth intervals (pp. 49-50,62, and
hand-out). Intensity-building devices (pp 60-1). Melodic
development (pp 57-60). Side-slipping/Outside playing (pp. 62-4).
Perform melodies and improvise on all assigned modal tunes
(hand-outs and tape). Read chapter 2 (pp. 47-65).

Weeks 12-14 The Blues. Read Chapter 3 (pp. 66-74). Perform all assigned blues
tunes. Listening to good 'models' on record. Emphasis on
uniqueness (p. 66), structure (pp. 67-70) and style (pp. 70-71, plus
in-class listening).

Week 15 Playing examination on modal and blues vehicles, plus a written

final examination.

ftranscribed from Coker, 1989: 69-70, omitting some administrative mailers where indicated by
/ ...J. Page numbers refer to other books by Coker used on the course. See text, page 34/.

Appenthces Draft Date 30/03i01

403
 Appendix B

Code indexes

Brief extracts from the Code indexes:

1. after analysis of two Interviews

2 after analysis of six interviews

Some codes have been withdrawn In the

published version to protect confidentiality.

Appendkes Draft Date 3O/O3V1

404
 I Code Indexes I
1 After two Interviews Learning and Teaching, Values J
Codes in alphabetical order In capitals: by category; again by Subheading; underlined
means using two letters as Identifier

ie: EPecategory:Environment, subheading: Peergroup;

EPo=category:Envlronment, subheading: Popular musics;

capital letter and/or underline Indicates code letter

means new subheading
means same subheading new reference;
A3.1. reference in interview A, page 3, .1 of the way down the page;

bold equals key passage

I. Learning (and teaching)

AQtivlties break up pentatonic, B25.2, ghosting, B25.3, free noodle, 825.3, given
notes, B25.3, given structure, rh, notes, B25.3, then allow them to
change, B25.3; play for 2, rest, B26.4; make phrase note by note,
B27.3;
aiance positive and negative re-mt. , A27.8;
Boundaries , structures and freedom, scale syllabus, A9.7, bach, A22.3, atrophy,
A22.4, breaking, A24.1, playing properly, B8.5, social norms, B13.6, go
own way on interp., avoid presc., B13.8, B15.5; cultures not enclosed,
sealed, B28.5;
Classical music , fear and hatred, B2.6, B3.2, badly taught, B2.6, ci. as correct, Bi 3.2,
as damaging other styles, B13.3, fear of exposure, B13.1;
confidence 817.8;
Contexts , workshops, Bi 0.1;
creative skills needed by starved ci, 517.4 [see PCJ;
Crossover , A17.2, A21.9, A33.4, means good fored., B15.5;
as Discovery , by doing, error, experiential, Al .3, A3.9, A3.8, A4.2, A7.7[vs
Repertoire], in SNe, A9.4, experience, A28.9; 825.4;
by Ear , A3.3, environment, A7.7, stretch, A9.7;
Ego , out the way, pro., A27.7, A30.4;
Early experience , inortance of folkmusic, A1.3, singing, Al.2, A3.1, tradition, Al2.9,
debussy, B2.4, includes pop musics, Bl .4, B2.7, B2.9, irish music, B2.8
classical, A6.4;
Enjoyable , A27.9;
Environments , Al .2;
Is. rovising skills needed by ci. mus., B17.5
Independent , B2 3;
intensity , A3.1, A25.2, loud and high, B13.7 [see also QL0]; Jazz, In
Education 1 . ed. crossover, A19.9, A20.1;
Interaction skills Fostered in education as in own circle, feed, Bl 9.9
Language ,A13.7;
Level , sirrlitied, A28.5; hard to find, B24 2, damage if wrong, B24.3;
beginners, see LAc Intermediates, herventIlate B26.4;
Listening , and observing, singing back, A7.8, A8.3, A22 2, Bi 6.3, B21 .5, to
balance, B28.5;

Appendices Draft Date 30/03101

405
Lumpy ,.learning, B14.5; language, B21.5; breakthroughs, B23.7;
Methods , doodling, transcribing, B7.8;
MQdeI , Al2.9, A13.7;
Motivation , A1.3, Grades weak carrot, Intrinsic better, [see LI love], B3.5, need to
play, B14.2, carrot, 814.4; Notation, A4.4, Bi 6;
Musicianship general, via jazz, Bi 7.3, awareness, 817.7, longterm ear, B23.5;
Nurture , environment, B42, not achieved through mus. business limelight,
819.8;
Osmosis , learning Interp., 813.6;
eergroup , A4.2;
Epular musics , ed experience of, A7.2, B2.7;
Fractice , A25.2;
Erofessional training and experience, A4.5, LP, school dances etc, B2.9, 83.3;
Erojection , B16.3[see also QPr);
Repertoire/style [vs Discovery], breadth, A20.3, big world, A21.6 classical, A21.5, B7.7,
define by group, B16.3, expactations, 817.1;
Btiyth m Skills for cI. students, Bi 7.4;
satisfaction from pert. with depr. kids, B23.8;
School and music college experience, good, B2.2, unsatisfying, A7.4, A8 6, 68.5;
elt , A24.5, control, [see also QMa] A28.9, self-education, B9.6;
!ngIng and tapping early, Al .2, learning tunes, A3.1, learning phrasing etc., A7.8, less in
schools, 817.7;
JsiIIs , pitch, memory, dyn lib. Al 3.2, A25.1, technical, Al 4.5, A31 .3, for
employment, A21.3, emphasis on musical sk, 68.8; in educationrjz. ed.,
816.5, B17.l;
Space Bl7.7[see QSpJ; losing place, B26.4;
tratlfied , A20.2;
tdent , A24.7, A24.9, focus on student, B24.2;
tyie ,formal/informal, [see also LD], A8.7, A14.5, own sweet way, 81.9;
role of ]acher , demanding job, Al 2.2, mentor role, Al .3, 63.4, St. beware, A22.2,
maintain St. confidence, A24.5, enthusiasm, love, laughter, the bang,
A25.7, A27.5, A27.9, sensitivity, A27.7, musicaitty, A30.3, own musical
confidence, A30.3, creating dis. situations, not tell to do, A31 .9, In
family, Bi .5, respondIng to St., B16.3, facilitator, B24.5, break It up,
B25 2;
Technical control , and bebop/level, Bl4.7;
Theoretical vs practical. knowledge , A3.9, how works, A21 .4, harmony works, P21.7,
A22.3 [see also Discovery, experience], 67.8;
Th i nking B17 8;
by Ijanscribing , 82.8, Gnu High, 65.5;
Qcabulary , A13.2, cliches, A29.8, quotation, A32.5, exemplars, sub-con. types, not
copy, A33.3, across styles, A33.4, breadth desirable, 821.4; [see SPe],
quirky, 621.5, incl,scales, B22.6, expanded intervals, leaps, exploded
chords, 622.8, to keep pushing, 831 .2[see VNe;

V Values
Audience , not pissing off, B9.3;
Avoiding cliches , [see also VK, SF] Al2.3, Al2.7, A13 8, A16 4, coltrane clones, A20.6,
as unemotional, A29.8; use but 'not particularly, B30.7[see PlO coding
index]
take care of aby , A9 7fsee also LMI;
become more essentially yourself by unpeeling layers, miles davis, 830.5
working from th directions , free and organised, A24.1;
career expectations classical, B17.5;
Gtiecking out absolutely everything you possibly can, B4.9, B5 9, B12.2, choosing
inns, Bl2.3, class narrow, B17.6;
Choie for consumer, vs spoonfeeding, Bl8.6,

Appendices Draft Date 30/O3l

406
Communication regardless of language, can be barreihouse, B27.9; leads to jazz as
alive, vs frozen, B27.9;
mpetition antI-, 63.5;
Confidence building, In audIence, 69.3, building in student, support not tear to
shred, B10.3, in own interpretation, B13 2, of passive consumer to
contribute, B18.4, 618.5, kids, B23.9,
Co-operation not society as mdiv., B19.3, nurture, support, 6198, B19.9;
Curiosity 642;
Eirst idea often best B26.4;
Going your own way B4.2, B4.5;
Idealism narrow-mindedness, A9.1, classical music ed. as narrow, 83.9;
independence 642;
Living life well A31.5;
Love of music A6.1, A25.5, early hate of classical, Moz., B1.6
Keep moving A9.5, 9.7, Al 9.3, classIcal, A21 .5, atrophy, A22.4, mus. md. ossified,
B15.4, Jazz as moving on, A33.8, tubes, Bll.4, 11.5;
Letting it out B15.3;
Marxismltrotskyism music as bourgeois, 63.1, working class, 63.2, toffs/greasers, 64.1,
tension between politics and music, B3.1, 64.5, music as product, B9.3,
richer and more Ignorant minority, Bi 8.8; far left narrow view of freedom
etc., B27.8;
Museum culture against, Marsalis, and exclusive ownership, B27.8;
New, try for even outlandish, keep pushing, B31 .2;
Openness St. attitudes, A24.7, in 0 and A. A32.1, miles d., B4.7, wonder, B15.1;
avoid narrow, B27.8, et al., [SB, SCI NAt etcj, 831.2;
NQn-prescriptive B17.8, in teaching, B24.2; style, B28.5;
Earticipation by all avoidance of passivity, B18.4, B18.5;
ersonalise appropriate, renew, inflect licks, phrases etc., 830.8; avoid regurgitation,
recreation, 630.9;
Elace for everything all styles, 614.2;
Popular musics craft, A10.8;
Questioning 64.2;
taking Blsks A1O.l, A14.5, A30.5;
breaking Rules temporary, A24.5;
Seize the moment B27.4;
Self-criticism A13.8, honest, B12.9[Liebmanj;
sharing environment, thro' listening, Bi 7.8;
Success building in, B14.4;
Wtiere people are at start from/respect B24.2

Appendices Draft Date 30/03)01

407
 2. After Six Interviews: 'Learning and Teaching', and 'Values'

Codes in alphabetical order in capitals: by category; again by Subheading; underlined

means using two letters as identifier

le: Epeacategory:Envlronment, subheading: Peergroup

EP0.category:Envlronment, subheading :Popular musics;

capital letter and/or underline indicates code letter

means new subheading

means same subheading new reference;
A32a reference In interview A, utterance 32, paragraph C;

bold equals key passage

all proper nouns lower case
Ca pea category titie(down left hand side) or case Interview Iabel(A-F)
ft - following paragraphs
(J refers to another similar or same coding under another heading

1! Learning (and teaching)

AQtivities break up pentatonic, B97b, ghosting, B97b, tree noodle, B97b, given
notes, 89Th, given structure, rh, notes, B97b, then allow them to
change, B97b; play for 2, rest, B103b; make phrase note by note,
Bl07a
Jexander c8Oc; C411a;
&itiquated Uni. education, C12b, C30a, C30c;
pp1ication to instrument, D54d, and performance, D84d; applying rudiments etc in
context, D105g, D141a; take fresh look, D168d;
a jazz Approach pedagogy which works across a range of styles, C51 1, C51 3; D84d;
Arpeggios, working from [F key idea] F73a; F139b; work on, way of approaching chord structures
for single note inst., knowing when to change, F141, hear chord length,
F143; F145, F149; adding rhythm, creative rh training, F149b; enables
seeing new possibilities, F151; applying arps to context, F153; grows,
adding other notes, Fl 59; method fosters difference by forcing to limit,
F294, opens up thought, demands creative response, F296; good for
gen mus skills, range of inst., technique, F318; F334; better than licks,
reflect inner lines, forces melodic line, F392;
aasics before being creative, D101b;
glance positive and negative re-tnt A2l8b; C453a-b;
Qdy voice as in the body, C114; feeling as physical, C114; dance, CiOa-c,
C158a, C168b, C260, and rhythm, pulse, D192b; C250; body learns
thro practice, C340; physical, C368; use, tensions alex., connection
body, sound, C41 la;
nooks/resources mehegan, levine, dobbins, El 13a; dobbins, E321; berklee tapes, F87-9;
Boundaries/categories structures and freedom, scale syllabus, A75a, bach, A178b, atrophy,
A178c, breaking, A183a, playing the flute properly, 827f, social norms,
B46, go own way on inteip., avoid presc., B48, B54d, D68a; cultures not
enclosed, sealed, Bill e; defining boundaries, C250; limit In order to
later allow, C439, C441 a, F322; if students break out, let them, if
confident, C447b; define self against ghall boundaries, C447d; any ed.
process as closing/opening, C447e-C449; no restriction, devt of flow
and pure se. exp. thro any lang., C469; knowing about bounds before
breaking, C495b/c, A96e; bounds as personal, emotional, style, C497;
categonsatlon of people by race, D381; knowledge D50c; Jazz
definitions, D68b; limits of categories, D68c; draw categories In terms of

Appendices Draft Date 30R)3i01

408
 theory instead, time, melody, harmony, D70a; barriers, boundaries,
break down, coitrane, high level, F131, F189, say ing this is possible,
jcoltrane, cparker speed harmony, Fl 97;
Breakthroughs one a week, vs more complex model, Bgla;
teathlng C78, In and out, blockages, C98a; as soul, C164;
Iarlty in teaching, C26a
Classical music fear and hatred, badly taught, B13a, ci. as correct, B40a, as damaging
other styles, specialised, B40a, fear of exposure, B40a; cl trained,
unable to imp at all, 0172;
Qonfidence B60e; validation, C12e, affirmation, C58a; personal confidence, C30f,
C36a, C36c, C44, C54a, C64, pupils gain, C66a, C310; helped by
vocab, lose spont., C142b; C181; thro rhythmic presence, C344; fear,
C392aib; E89;
ntexts workshops, B30c; beath, early lack of gear, now midi etc., E69a;
ontroj teacher, need for, C100;
creative skills [see also PCrJ needed by starved cl., B60b[see PC]; E185; cell, point of
development, E191; must give info, tunes, to enable Cr., E209, happy
non-cr., vs those who put stuff in, E21 1; creative teaching, new ways,
E215; from facility, F59; via comp and arr., push to come up with things,
F73b; encouraged by arp method, Fl 51; try, Fl 63;
Crossover A140a, A176b, A278, means good for ed., B54d/e; range of egs, C479;
Diagnostic role D54d; E107; continual, E261; F310;
as Discovery by doing, error, experiential, A3b, A31d, A31e, A31g, A61b[vs
Repertoire], C383, In SNe, A69, experience; B97b; mistakes, C348;
C358; D84b; skills and experience, Dl 01 b; free, D103b; tech. and
methods enable faster progress, Dill b; dictatorial vs discovery, E24b;
find out Dorian, funky b3, D29; leads to better aural skills, E29; all self-
study, E61; guide, point, not tell, E87; self-discovery, E185;
disadvantages of own devices learning, F45b; to teach self, F99b;
by Ear [see LIII A27a, environment, A61b, stretch, A75a, v early, EB, ElO;
C30a; stereos, C30a, C30c, C30d, twitching ears, C54b, ear-
cleaning, C54e, C56a; hear structurally, C56b [seeBlO3c, B89g]; bebop
as good for aural, C142a; aural awareness, C176; C386; own, and
pianist's, D131a-b; unorthodox sound, from ear, D151d; via discovery,
E29; ear training tapes, singing, F89; vs transcribe, F65a-b;
Ego out the way, pro., A218a, A244b; inflated, cpine, C228, C487, not in D's
band, blow, licks, chops, vs share, IVShI D127b, authenticIty, 013Th;
Dl 70-2; nightmare rh. sec., not sharing, blind with science, E131;
Early experience importance of folkmusic, A3d, singing, A3a, A27a, tradition, A9c,
debussy, Blic, B17c, Includes pop musics, B7a, B13b, Bl3c, 012e,
024d, EU); Irish music, B13b, classical, A47; ballet start, ClOa, ClOb;
non-musical family, Clod; rnge of context, D6b; stop, hang-out, listen,
D6i1j; something happened around me, D6k, filled life, 061, rich, D24d;
pert. exp., D28a; street sing, clap, rhythm, sa, etc., Di 15b; family
support, Dli 5c; piano at home always used, Dli 5e; mus. tam., E4;
scot., E6; chords in some keys early, E6, B13b; rconway, E8; start own
kid band, E16b; home environ., E16d, supportive, always playing, at
home playing, E18a; wclass tam., sacrifices., E26; dad tpt am, bro sax,
F6, dad unc band, F9; amateur band, calypso reggae, F15; church
class, harms, recognise later, F31a; dad, folk, calypso, F3lb; those who
grew up with jazz vs others, F51b, vs no jazz, F57; u take early
experience for granted, F237; being more prepared than you thought,
F237;
Encouragement and acceptance, C453a; cool uniforms of mch band, D24a; not pushing,
D115c-d; family support, F5ia;
Enjoyable A218c;
Environments A3a; demanding, C54a; shouting, 024k;
fiamework C430a, C439; judge the amount to define, C439; also defined by class
name, C489b;

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409
Etinctioning musician aim of ed, C56a(see also Practical;
Gj.iildhall F135; (search morej, hired to teach, F139; F286; St less grounding in
trad, F302a; students more experienced, ner pro, but more classical,
less grounded, F302a;
Healing, learning as C48a;
History playing styles, cliche jyancey kjarrett, E229;
Imagery learning, C80c;
Improvising skills needed by cI. mus., 660c; not knowing what's coming out, C56b, C58c;
not just jazz, Cl 08; over changes, vs. mnichols, jtppett, Cl 93c;
Independent own researches, Bi 1 c;
Intensity A27a, A193, loud and high, B46[see also QL0];
Jazz, in education/j. ed. crossover A158c, A158d; Jazz skills as eartralning, C54d; as a
teaching approach, practical vs intellectual, C336, C340; as teaching
bad habits, but marsalis, E69b; j . as one approach to problem, E187;
Individual, student as C80c;
Interaction skills Fostered in education as in own circle, feed, B661; pianistic isolation,
C12c, C30c; teachers, C24b; social learning, C66a; $tevens, C443;
bass/drums, D28n;
Integrating, learning as socialisation, with others, D38c;
Knowing what you're doing singing, vs. naturally, C56b;
Language A96d;
Level simpkfied, A226; bebop, 52c, hard to find, B93a, damage If wrong,
B93b; break down creative proc. B97b1c; beginners, see LAc;
Intermediates, hyperventilate, B103a; readiness, ClOh; demanding,
C54a; mixed, C328; notebound at start, C392b; defined levels of devt.,
D28o; new level, D38d-e; interest in jazz came later, D38j; high skills,
D85b vs. simple, D84d; making sense, D105d; level as extra finesse,
beauty, skill, D107c; speed as easy/hard, D194b; simple bpowell first,
wiak first, E43; tv increases, of bb, E103; higher, chd-scale rshlps, cells,
imp, motive, E231; leibman's three levels, competent, Interesting,
inspirational, E257b; high level for kid, exciting, E271a; Inexperienced,
with talent, F97; new level with artb, F133; fewer limitations at higher
level, arps, Fl 59; harm, 1-3-5-7, foundation, Fl 59; student level, F221;
impro as take things to other level, F320; level allows creativity, cover
ground less, F340;
Limitations, as teacher, knowing [see VHu] Dl 70a;
Listening and observing, singing back, A63a, A63b, A178a, B56b, B85a; to
balance, Bille; C22b, C148ft; C386; early, D6c; in group, D281, D28n;
Intensively, to masters, D38j; D54b; ears grow bigger, open, hear
elements, D105a; group in, D105b; listening and feeling things, D105d;
relax within, observe, Dl 92c; for self, Eli 3a; style of listening, clTjz
E373-5; buying loads of records, F51a; strtch aural skill, F63; other mus,
aural progs., berklee, F87; listening as practice, F370;
Lumpy learning, B52a; language, B85a; breakthroughs, B91a;
Methods doodling, transcribing, 627c, E261; reliance on what can write, not do,
E159c; tapes, F89; see [LArJ
MQdel A96a, A96; E2i7-29;
Motivation A3b, Grades weak carrot, intrinsic better, [see LT love], B15a, need to
play, B50b, carrot, B50b; decision to learn, D38q, D99a;
Notation [see also SN0] A31g, B9b; poor, C316a; no theory, D20a, no idea of
reading, D30b, gradual dawn, D30e; more sound than sight, D38c;
learnt, D38f, hang-up, D38v; hear before read, E29;
Musicianship general via jazz, B60a, awareness, B60d, longterm ear, B89g; via arps,
F318;
Nurture environment, Bi 7c, not achieved through mus. business limelight, B66j;
Openness, to learn lack of, Dl 70a;
Osmosis learning interp., B46;

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410
 Outcomes openness of, ClOO; C106; rel Grade 8, closed, C362; not finite, C362,
C364; to low, group, If useful, C443b, need to lirrut from Insecurity,
C447c; no Idea of result, D92d; partial openness, flexibility of level,
E173b;
Eeergroup/mentor A31e; B13g, B17e, E45; ClOg; C22b, other jazz musicians, Cl89;
sisters' boyfriend, D28b, D28c; D28f; D30d, D30e; hear something then
ask qs., D36b; D38e; E45, someone saying something at right moment,
E49; envy of other kids, F13; peers know no jazz, F45a; F83; other
musicians, F169;
Ehysical feeling process voice as, C80c, C9OD; the physical music, vs technical, F65a;
Elano skifls C54b; E16a, E16d;
Eopular musics ed. expenence of, A55a, Bl3b;
Eotential fulfil, C54ff see also talent?), C66a; natural talent vs technique, C80b;
Eractice A191, A193; Importance, C418; D28k, D28l; D38j; as life, broad
lessons, D86e; regular, non-tlmewasting, E55; time to, F139b; focus on
technique, execution, intonation, harm, rhyth, F362; make schedule,
F368;
Eractical C26a, active, C36a-b, Cl 76; C328; vs Intellectual, C340;
Erofessional training and experience, A31h, LP, school dances etc, B13f;
Erojection 856b [see also QPrJ; F73a;
Quahfications as weak carrot, B15a, as velidatlon, tho not best skills, C58c; important
for edn., D163b;
Qualities of teacher Inspiring, supportive, helpful, D24J, Inspiring, not thrust upon, 050c;
Dl 68a;
Relevant G328;
Repertoire/style [vs Discovery), breadth, A168b, big world, A176, classical, A174,
complexity, A228, B27c, define by group, B56a, expectations, B58; rh
sk. fund to alt styles, C340;
Btiythm Skills for ci. students, B60b, C3l0; C336; basic to alt musicmaking, C340; feel
the space, ttomklns, C428, C430a; mch. band., D24b; time, 054b; draw
line, D70b; D84b; D166d; skits key, D182, 0190a, drumset, 0188; how
rhythms inter-relate, Dl 9Gb; pulse, subdivision, approaches, 019Gb;
movement and dance, pulse, Dl 92b; sense of rhythm, 0192c; leeling of
fit Into whole, D192c; pulse vs rhythm, 0192d-e; pulse, speeds,
easy/hard, as taking a walk, D194b, subdivide, 0194d; rhythmic
relaxation, D200a; syncopation, not quite on beat, 0200c; identity
anchors in group with good time, 0202a; explain kickbeat placement,
E67b; feeling of time, E67c; tundamental, placement, El 73b; El 91,
E335; basic, E203; central, rh, pulse, freedom, E21 7; E331; using
arpeggio method, F149b;
Rules C30a;
satisfaction from pert. with depr. kids, B91b;
school and music college [withdrawn, confidentiality)
A183, control, [see also QMaI , self-education, B28e; self-Image, C86b;
personality, not structures, but also later as, C136; sum of parts, 0176;
as only In part a jazz musician, 0184-Sit; as a tier-in, G187a; as lorn,
C250; pour out stuff, C268; degree of sell In music vanes, 027Gb;
release from self to God, c276c; not rely on past, C392e; who 'jou are,
essence, heritage, D56c;
jnging (and tapping) early, A3a, D6b, D12a; learning tunes, A27a, learning, phrasing etc.,
A61b, less in schools, B60d; dOe, C1Oj, C12d, choir, C30c, C48a;
C38, C44, having singing lessons, C46c; vocal technique vs jazz
teaching, C66c; C386;[Ioads of C]; pot, tray, banging, D24g, D24j;
become singer, 026; in school, D44a; singing wshops, D92e, 0166f;
tapping=jazz=bad, E24b; mum early, pno, F27; aural, F89;
kiIIs pitch, memory, dyn lib. A96a, A191, technical, A106b, A252, for
employment, A174b, emphasis on musical sk, B27g; in education/Jz.
ed., B56c, B58; technical, br., C78; harm, tech, etc. C136; rh, mel., chd.,

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 jazz lang , appr., C336; thro body, C340; rhythmic presence, C344; rh
aw., hrm, lang., spark, Into unknown, C372; 1st beat Insecurity, C374;
place melody in/outside harmony, C374; tech ab., mastery of inst, expr.
of ideas , 0404; mel and m. lang increase, tech fluent, physical ease,
C409; flow and self expression, thro any language, no restriction, C469;
lack in community music, D12c; learn form/routine, sing song in head,
D28c; technical skills, co-ord., C28g; sound quality/texture, D28j; D30e,
tuning, reading, vocab., identify styles, D30e; of backing, D38d; flexible,
reliable, D38e; skills, D38u, D38w; play in any key, D48b; skills vs
deeper expression - spiritual, D50b; D68a; substance, Dl 05e; scoring,
placing insts., copy, D155b, make it sound bigger, D151b, D155c; small
band skills, ghall, beyond scales and harm., D166c; gen skI., D178; rh,
mel, harm., E173b; E's model: groove, seq., repertoire, history, E217-
29; early basics, reading, listening to blend, F49; scales arps, sound,
Intonation, projection, blend, F73a; comp/arr., creative, F73b; modes,
cadences, chords, F89; rh, mel her., F298; F summary - creativity,
melody, m, knowledge of seq, sound proj. emotional aspects of lines,
listening, F328;
Space B60d [see QSp]; losing place, B103c; C374;
tea1ing vocab, good, F302b; steal, take apart, see why, put It back diflerent,
F304;
tratif led Al 68c;
ti.ident A189, A191, focus on student, B93b; understand motivation, D54d;
range, E12, E105, El 67-9; lack understanding of why playing, E41; as
not all bright, therefore give basis, E397b;
style, of learning formallinformal, [see also LD], A65b, A106a/b, own sweet way, Bi la,
hang-up over lack, 038v; feeling need, C66c;doing It vs lessons, C76;
doing, and listening, 0148; follow up transc. with arrangement, C489a;
structured vs environment, D8c; D2Oaib, uncertainty and conviction,
D20b; by unearthing, D30e; by hearing, then asking qs, D36b; in
touring, learning, Integrating, D38c; decision to learn for self, D38q;
open, all registered, D48a; inspire not thrust knowledge upon, D50c; tell
what notes to play, structure first, 0147; tch imp., not 'do as I say',
D236; not impose will, El 6c; self-taught, Fl 69;
support rel. university choice, confidence, Cl Oj, Cl 2a; formal training in mchg
bands, F47;
role of Iacher demanding job, A88a, E177; mentor role, A3b, B13g, St. beware,
A178a, maintain St. confidence, Al83e, E179, enthusiasm, love,
laughter, the bang, A199, A2l3, A218b/c, C80d, E175, El77, El 81 a,
fire up, terrorise/sweet, E267; sensitivity, A218b, musicality, A244a, own
musical confidence, A244b, creating dis. situations, not tell to do, A262,
F294; in family, B7c, responding to St., B56a, facilitator, B97a, break It
up, B97b/c, fac. as provide materials, done It oneself, C418a, provide
stim., area, material, eg rhythm charts, 0420, C430a-c; to be open to
Insights of pupils, ClOO[see QOp, VOp); need for control, Ci0O; not
iorce outcomes, 0102; rships feed teacher and pupil, C168b, C319a;
tailor to person, C320b; admitting you don't know, C322; as not all-
knowing, 0322; as learning for self all time, B89b, 0328; both provide
framework and feed of student, C430b, have agenda, 0436, not totally
st-centred, C443b, C445b; t's power to open/close, 0451; personality,
vs pedag. skill, 0451; Importance of keeping alive as t., 0481; patience,
D50a; encourage, support, D54c; ensure equal involvement of all,
084a; as opening life to others, willing to learn, D92b; activities, 011 7h;
learning to teach on job, warm-ups, natural, enthusiasm, 01639; suss
attitude, and weakness, D170c, 0172, not want to learn, question, never
accept, respect, resistance, F314; warm-ups, 0200a; identify anchors,
D202a; point out cues, D202c; not teach Impro, 'do as I sa ', D236;
teach irnpro. ,point out elements in mel., 0236, gIve easy structures,
0236; as communicator, E12[see CCo, VCm, QC0]; turn on kids, feed

Appendices Draft Date 301U31U1

412
 right stuff, E16a; direct bb, not impose will, E16c E67d; balance of
skills tech vs. harm., E24ab; encouragement, E24a; choose moment to
say., E49;[see also LPe] energy, enthusiasm, E&9; encouragement,
E89; forty lessons a year progression, one is easy, E89, E91; [see also
ORe, bigband dir.]; range of strategies for abilities, E105, adaptable,
E107, sus level, E173b; diagnosis, E107, E261; demonstrating, E163;
respect based on skills, E179; record- keeping, E181a; challenge
of going about it new ways, ElBia, E215; students as people,
Communicating, El8lb; teacher-directed fooling around, E215;
efficiency, need to cut crap, get pupils far, E269, mean it when call for
attention, E291; as assessor, E397a; set problems vs give answers,
F73b, learning how to teach, make understandable, logical, makes
sense, practical use, F139c; from example vs explanation, F139c;
switch on lights, F3l 2; hard to start with, later easier, F31 2; creative via,
eg - write eg, look, analyse, try not to do what I did, give structure to
work within, F322, F324;
leacher Training cynicism, El 57, teaching notes, gaelic culture, El 59b; in own coures,
assume no prior knowledge, El 73a;
TeaQhing as means to learn E67a; E67c; perennial student, El l3a;
lechnical control and bebop/level, B52c; not 'bolting on' techniques, C256;
Ietminologyjazz , C56b; emphasis in exp. leamg in sa., 20b, 24c;
paradiddles etc., 034a, D38f; jazz drums, D166g, E16d; sort out pno.,
E20; tech vs harm., making It up, E24a; E107; keep up, El 13a; gives
facility, to exp self, F59; good to stretch, F63; F71; arpeggios help,
F318; execution, F362;
Theoretical vs practical. knowledge , A31e, how works, Al74b, harmony works, A176a/c,
Al 78a[see also Discovery, experience], fits together, El 91, analyse
whats happening, F306;B27c, D168d; C340, In body phys. learning, vs
intellectual, C342, make mistakes, C348; way of life leads to exp.,
D2Oab; gradual realisation re theory, D30c; status of knowledge high,
'knowing nothing' but playing, D38a; add bits of information piecemeal,
D38a; D84b; doing, D99f; skills, plus how it works, DiOla, A96e;
methods and tech enable speed, Dli lb; practice, approaches and
knowledge, D166f; eg of know, but not feel, move, D192a; reliance on
writing, not doing, El59c, demonstrating, El63; doing, yet can teach
monkey, E327; inexperience as working mus, F99a; applying concepts,
arps, in musical context, F153;
Ihin1ing B60e; not thinking, E257a;[see also PCn]
by flanscribing 81 3b, Gnu High, B23a; C26a; c386; C483, C487; drum breaks, D30b;
intensive, D34b; off records., E35; vs take oft records, physical vs
technical, capture feeling, F65a-b, F382;
QcabuIary A88c, A96a, cliches, A246, quotation, A268, exemplars, sub-con. types,
not copy, A278, across styles, A278, breadth desirable, B81; [see SPe],
quirky, B85a, md. scales, B89bff, expanded intervals, leaps, exploded
chords, B89d, to keep pushing, Bl 33[see VNe I; enhance/get In way of
self exp., C136; licks, C140, Increases confidence, Cl42b; Cl74b; Gh
gave exposure, C181; rhythms, Cl87c; avoid external tacking on(?),
C256, avoid mechanical, C392b; increase lang., C409; follow up transc.
with arr., make inherent, C489a; not aim to sound like eg, C493a,
replicas, C495a; no need to like all styles, C503a; of grooves for
drummer, textures, D28k, D38c; range increases D28o; awareness of
other vocabs., D38e; sa formula, D48c, rhythms, D202b[many more];
latin egs., D240a; egs of techniques, eg fast swing, D240b; simple sa
mels., ellington, D240c; licks, D242-4, as platform to bounce from,
D244a, can limit or restrict, D24-4a; licks also help with comfort, ease,
D244b; D99f, D117c, set standards, D244b; ticks as avoiding melody,
structure, and personal element, D250a; avoid saying exactly what
some-one else said, D250b; one swing rhythm, E16c; memonse exactly
as is, E55; reproduce, El27; tyner lh, E215, cparker rh, E217; effects,

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 trem, crush, E225; In edn., no clone, find own way, E267; voicings,
modal, alt, E307; egs for particular Impro techniques, eg rhythm
cparker, making notes count mdavis, opeterson tech., bevans sound,
E341; aim for certain sound to create, E343; focus specifics, learn a bt,
E345, E347; cliches, leads to musical sense, E395b; easier to assess,
E397a; jazz kids miss vocab, need ednal structure pre-uni, E400a-b;
Inflection, feeling, inside, F65b, F382; steer clear of licks and patterns,
stifle creat., F133, F163: playing Qfl licks, against slavish copying,
make It own, Fl 63, Fl 65; not play exactly same, but take spirit of that.
bass snd, pno comp etc., F267; brecker vocab Issue, note for note copy,
see SBk; stealing good, but from the best, F302b; steal, take apart, re-
use, F302b-4; tapes with classic recs., F382; focus on inflections, devt
ot own lines, authentic phrasing, F388; use sclae and arp, not licks,
F392;
WatchIng, learning by D24f, 024h; from other players, Fl 69;
Whole application teacher assessment of student, based on, D54d;
Work hard, C26a; exemplars what you like, is successful, cwllson, lamrnas,
berberian, bach,C479; awareness of what it is to seing in others, C493b;
5 yrs, 038r;

V Values
Alcept voice, C86b; influences, B52a; teachers accept students, C453a; gh
accepts bhol. as enough, C505[relevant?1; C521;
Allow music to come, C142b; surrender, C168a; C256; let, F203;
Arrogance, rudeness, avoid teachers, D50c;
Apply yourself Al 91, D50a, give best shot, D50a;
Audience not pissing off, B28c; fitting niche, C292b; participate more in j than ci,
F402;
Avoiding cliches [see also VK, SF] A88b/c, A92, A98, A134, coltrane clones, A168e, as
unemotional, A240; use but 'not particularly', B131a[see PlO coding
indexj;
Awareness, musical opened, C358; expanded, aware of options, C386, C374; D38h; style of
hearing, see Sd, SJ, E375;
take care of baby A75b[see also LM]; not lose hunger for knowledge, self exp., F129;
come more essentially yourself by unpeeling layers, miles davis, B127;
et shot, give it your, every time D50a, D84a; D84d; 086c; Dli ic;
removing blocka ges [see PBII
working from pth directions , free and organised,183a;
Career expectations classical, B60c;
Change things In people, not take people as are, D54a, add to, not change, D54e;
Checking out absolutely everything you possibly can, B17g, B23f, B32c, choosing
mt Is, B32c, class narrow, 860c; D38h; other mus., F87;
Choice for consumer, vs spoonfeeding, B66b; for students, C66a; choosing
way, C358;
Communication regardless of language, can be barrelhouse, Bill b; leads to jazz as
alive, vs frozen, Bulb; ElO, E12;
Campetition anti-, B15a; C208a; D54b; not, but friendly joust, E131;
Complete person combines physical, emotional, technical, C409, talso LSk], C51 9a; jazz
mus as composers, A134, A168a;
Confidence building, in audience, B28b, building In student, support not tear to
shred, B30c, in own interpretation, B40a, of passive consumer to
contribute, B66b, kids, B91b; school, C1Oj; university, C12b; C48a;
courage and conviction, C236c; via rhythm C344, C358; D38h; earty
arrogance of youth, D38l, later discouragement, D38o; to back out
gracefully, Dli lc; E89; as player, E271b;
Commitment to kids time went quick, E203;
Go-operation not society as mdiv., B66gff, nurture, support, B66j-k;

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 ieating, experience of need for in school, E81;
Qzlture, as basis for music D54h, cultural distinctiveness as beauty, D56a;
curiosity 817c;
Different ideas, perceptions [see ODi] reflect in playing over same chord sequence, F294;
Dtfficult, nothing is too simple, apply yourself, D50a;
DicipIlne iron, methodical, non-timewasting, E55; In practice, on one style, E321;
Ease C94b; avoid tension, C98a; aim for phys. ease, emotional ease,
expressive ease, C493a; D84d; comfort, enough to embellish, Dilid; at
home as kid, E18a; comfort, E259;
Equality humanity is all, 0721;
Easence finding that, who you are, 50% of whole thing, pride 056c; style has
ess., D68b; essence as blend, In group, D86b; D86d; roots, D99d; in
free, D103a;
Expenenced = good C368; [see LD, LE, LP0, LPr, LS, LTh, Pill; D38d; life-experience, D92a;
facility on inst., from tech, leads to creativity, F59;
Feeling at home, In love with style/lang., C471;
Finesse skill, beauty, D107c;
First Idea often best B103c;
flow/fluency C469;[seeQFI]
Fellow through (Impulse) screaming out the top, Al 06b, C390c; creates cohesiveness, C3900;
392d; C398a; by letting go of surrender to process, C398b; avoid
preconceived, ride on C402b;
Ereedom of/self expression C106; applying in jazz, but other musics too thro' lmpro., C108; self,
Cl 36, C266; C270b; expression to God, C276b; as a bird, C394; C469;
lack within society, C503b; Pukwana, deeper than skills, D50b; not pop
music, D68a; hunger, F131; because less precomposed, F153; self
expression thro trad., F255; high form of s-ex., F330;
ender/reminism C22b, C40, C208b, C208c, macho, C222; jazz as male-ego-dominated,
anti-simplicity, anti-emotion, C503b;
Give, wanting to as musician, D50c; D105g; give back, E285;
Gye and take
i of musical ideas, F21 7;
Goo1 time, all to have in workshops, D84b; D92d; Dl 63d;
Going your own way B17c, B17d; E267;
going with what fIppens C236c; Impulses, not censor, C388; from blackness, C392a; let mind
find new areas, F203; go with sounds heard, F209; let It happen, F344;
Gjowth painful, C12e;
Heaspace, create Dl 68c; D54b; D76a; radio, D159c; clear mind, F209;
Heritage, pride in D56a-c; sa, hard because restrictive, Di 15a; vs need to be european,
american etc., Dl 15a; roots, solid planting, not growing all directions,
011 7d, bond with musical understanding, Dli 7e; d6 gras from heritage,
D117f;
Hemility always someone better than you, D38g; little knowledge, D54d, Dii la;
as teacher, D170b; ElOib;
Idealism narrow-mindedness, A67a, classical music ed. as narrow, Bl7aib;
Inclusive ie not excluding other styles, C471; B52c;
Independence B17c;
Integ ration, cultural vs apartheid, D61;
Interactivity, aim enables creative steering to take place, F99b, eg rollins, F103;
Intrconnectedness of all with all, nature, and politics, culture too, D76a, is this blend,
D86b?;
Indidualiem C90bc; personal imagery, C90d; acknowledgement fo difference,
C102; individuality, C174b; C262; C495b; Individuality, E389;
being In your volce[lyJ C162[see alsoQig] ; basis of camp., Dli 7g; Inside the phrasing/feeling,
F65b;
jazz as important as music, Ei77;
Living life well A256; balance, not all-consuming, E287;
Love of music A43, A197, early hate of classical, Moz., B9a; ClOh, E16a;
Keep moving A73, A158d, classical, Ai74b, atrophy, A178c, mus. md. ossified, B54c,

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 jazz as moving on, A338, tubes, B301, B30m; problems of, in school,
E307;
Letting It out B54b; release, C86c, of breath, fundamental, C94a; let go of garbage,
C398b;
Life process, music as C362;
LQSe self in process [see also P10)01 education, D163d;
Marxisrnitrotskyism music as bourgeois, B13d, )rklng class, B13e, tolls/greasers, B17b,
tension between politics and music, B13d, B17d, music as product,
B28c, richer and more ignorant minority, B66d; far left narrow view of
freedom etc., Bulb;
Mechanical, avoid the and notebound, C392b;
Mistakes, make loads of as teacher or player, E73, El 73a;
MQdesty D92a; see (VHU]
Museum culture against, Marsalis, and exclusive ownership, Bill b/c;
Musician, any style training as aim, Al2Oa, C519b; musician first, D62;
Never completely happy D155d[search in others); E247, level, E253; avoid complacenecy, F133;
t,Iew, try for even outlandish, keep pushing, B133; C158c; not coasting as teacher,
C328; hunger, so much laid down, F131;
Obvious, don't avoid [see QObI (trying to find something else/new?) C158c; jarrett, C236b;
Openness st. attitudes, A189, In 0 and A. A264, miles d., B17e, wonder, B52e,
C30b; avoid narrow, B60c, Billa, et at., [SB, Sd NAt etc), B133;
opening up, C48a; avoid pushing, C90d; C100; of ednal outcome, ClOO;
C358; widest range of options, C370; not shutting down, remaining
open, C392c, thinking know it all, preconc., F316b; open mind on style,
C519c, C521a; open mind leads to leaming, D48a; helps learning, open
to receive, D54c; pop narrow, D68a; limitations, especially black culture,
D72d-e; open up to rollins, F103; musical process, players, to ideas
spur of moment, sensitive musicians, give and take ideas, F215;
n-prescriptIve B60c, in teaching, B93b; style, Bl 1 id/e; C208b; vs recreate particular
sound, E343, E347; better to prescribe and get achievement, E395a-b;
articipation by all avoidance of passivity, B66b; passive nation, C344; Sth At., D12a;
people's music, D54g; D84c; D92d; audience part., F402;
erform, because of who you are Dl 51 e, so give space for individual within comp., Dl 51 e;
ersonaliselpersonalIty appropriate, renew, inflect licks, phrases etc., B131c; avoid
regurgitation, recreation, B131c; after transc., C489b; personal/musical
link, C497, ci. as rect and creative, transcends, C51 9b; Fl 03; european
personalise trad., F283; personality thro arps, F308; F320, F335;
Elace for everything alt styles, B50a;
?laying yourself effectively(PyJ Fl 95;
Popular musics craft, ABic;
EraticaI vs philosophical, E199, vs academic, E273;[check others], serious,
E279; E285;
prejudice, anti- d3Oa
Questioning B17c;
Beaching out in performance, D105g;
Bespect lot others musicians, avoid dis, slows you down, Dl 511; Dl 59c-d; sadness of jazz
camps, E379;
Bespectable but not too resp('), E103;
Beyerence to greats, E347;
taking Bjsks A77a, AlO6a!D, A244c; jazz as, vs staying within tunes, C60h;
breaking Rules temporary, Al 83e;
ele the moment bird photo, B107b, bird fly, C394, catch/ ride on Impulse, C402b;
Surrender to m., C142b; present in the moment, C236c; tippett, nichols,
C388; not rely on past, C392e; choosing before or in the moment,
C400b; decisons, consc. or not, C4O2aib;
self-criticism A99, honest, 840a[Uebmanj; D155c; E67a; self-examination, E311;
provement, continual
e)t-i m Dl 55d; Eli 3b; teach self, F99a;

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416
 flarIng environment, thro' listening, B60d; teaching as shared experience,
D54d; D84c; D86c; D86e; teaching as, D92a; no money changes
hands, D92c; not challenging or threatening, D170c; not egos, E131;
Snobbery, inverted, avoiding miss amadeus, jazz only, due to treatment, E24;
Iays with stuff jarrett, C236a;
stretch yourself F203;
Success building in, B50b;
support others blend, support, D234;
sympathy with other musicians, understanding of roots, Dl 27a; close to other
mus., D127c;
system, anti- E271 b; as means to end, E271 b, as way around teacher fear, E271 b;
music as not a system, E285, A234;
Thinking, improve quality Dl 68a; high speed, harmony, cparker, Fl 97;
lolerance C521a;
being in Thuch with self C495b; self-discovery, E185;
Uncertainty, eliminate in performance, [see VC0], by practice, and group partscipatlon, ease,
D84d;
validate voice of student, not so much emulate or listen, C491;
Where people are at start from/respect B93b;
WhQlesome [see VU] life, full and, D86e; improve quality, full, 0168b;
Whrk, hard them into the ground, E89, us, Al 91, E93; F21; not enough on road,
F129;

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 Appendix C

Interview Schedule

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 RESEARCH INTERVIEW
No. 1.2 (Modified 1 7J95)

Interview Structure

At the start I will turn on the tape recorder!

Confidentiality: Interviewees' names will be kept confidential in all future

use of the interviews.

The whole interview or sections will be recorded, transcribed in full,

analysed. A copy will be sent to the interviewee for checking as part of
process, and in a second interview, you will be shown a preliminary
analysis of what you said and asked to comment. Further questions will
be asked to clarify issues and avoid mistranscription and
misunderstanding.

Aim: The interview will hopefully enable you to tell your own story about
your musical life, past and present, and to discover how your approach to
music has changed over time - to discover your values, the general
principles by which you operate as a musician and teacher.
I will try to give you freedom to talk. Questions may be asked to elucidate
and elaborate on things as we go through, but you lead the way. You can
of course decide not to answer any question asked.

Previous interviews have taken two to three hours, including breaks.

Questions
1 General Information

Name

Age

Instruments played

2 Your life
What happened when? What were the milestones in your musical and
educational life, and how have they affected your current practice as a
musician and teacher?

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 Was there music around you when you were growing up? What sort?
From when? At home? At school?

How did you learn your instrument? Were you well taught? If so, what was
good about it? lf not, what was lacking?

Were you in any way self-taught? If so, how was this achieved? What
general influences would you say there were on your progress?

Were there seminal musical experiences in your life? Groups you were
part of, performances you heard? What was important about them at the
time, and what has stayed with you now?

Were you a musician at school? Was the music good there? What was
good about it? Bad about it? is there anything you learnt at school that has
stayed with you since then? Does anything from then still affect your
playing/teaching now at all? If so, how? If not, why not? Was there a
particular teacher who had an influence? What influence?

At each stage, in the above 1 will be asking what you learnt that has
stayed with you, and how this has affected your current playing and
teaching

3 Present musical life

What music do you at the moment?

People
Who do you do it with? Why with those people? Are there particular
musicians (players, composers, recorders) who you admire? Why do you
admire them? What do you look for in musicians you play wth? Are there
things that attract you or put you off in the people you play with?

Music

What is the material you play with these people? What is it about that
particular music that attracts you to it? What do you get out of it? Are
there things that you do not enjoy about it, or would want to do differently
in an ideal world? Why?

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420
4 Education Work

Tell me a bit about your background as a teacher of Jazz. How did you get
into teaching? How long have you been doing it for? Who with? At what
level?

What education work do you do at the moment? How did you get into
doing it?

What do you find most satisfying about teaching? What do you find
hardest? Why?

Would you say you use jazz to teach general musical skills, skills
applicable in other areas? What skills do you think you are teaching? How
are they learnt?

What woutd you say are the main features of jazz that you try to put
across in your teaching? Why those features? If you had to define what
jazz is, its distinctive features in a few sentences, what would you say?
How does your teaching reflect these features?

Tell me about a particularly memorable jazz performance you have heard

recently or in the past. What was good about it?

What would you say is going on when people improvise? Describe the
process,as you see it.

With that in mind, is it possible in general to assess good and bad in

improvisations? What do you look for in yourself? What do you look for in
students?

What features of your own playing have you tried to improve on in the
past? How have you tried to achieve this? Why did you use those
methods?

Would you say it is possible to teach someone to improvise? If so, how? If

not, why not? Do you have any strategies or ways of working you
particularly like to use to do this, or general principles you abide by in your
work? What do you feel you achieve by using them?

Do you use models in your teaching, particular players or pieces of music

as exemplars of styles? How do you use them? Why do you use them like
that?

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421
Have you ever taught classical music? Are there similarities between the
teaching of jazz and classical music in your view? What are they? Are
there also differences? What are they?

At the end, I will check that the following have been mentioned in some
way:

Form/structure
rhythm
melody
harmony
emotion/being moved
singing, listening, the ear

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