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JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL

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Message par Patlotch le Lun 25 Fév - 11:42


j'ai en 2002 consacré plusieurs chapitres à la dimension sociale du jazz dans mon livre JAZZ ET PROBLÈMES DES HOMMES, intégralement en ligne, avec sommaire d'accès

on les trouve quant aux aspects sociaux et économiques
dans I1 le contexte spectaculaire du jazz

I1 1. économie quand tu nous tiens
I1 2. culture et crise de l'art dans la Société du Spectacle
I1 3. les choix des musiciens
I1 4. le comportement des publics
I1 5. "jazz" des médias et jases des experts
I1 6. premier interlude : pour qui sonne Ornette ?

et pour la dimension de "musique raciale", "musique d'un peuple en lutte"
dans II1 l'éthique africaine -américaine du jazz

II1.1 le jazz de la Nouvelle-Orléans et la mentalité africaine
II1.2 le jazz et l'enracinement ethnique, africain, africain-américain
II1.3 la création collective, les échanges, l’individualité et le groupe
II1.4 la hiérarchie dans le groupe, le rôle de leader, d’arrangeur
II1.5 la relation au public, le don aux auditeurs
II1.6 avec Leroi Jones aux sources du jazz
II1.7 de l’influence des Gospel et Spiritual dans le jazz
II1.8 quand les musiciens de jazz parlent du blues
II1.9 le blues et l’harmonie du jazz (hypothèses)
II1.10 permanence du rapport aux sources africaines

j'emprunte à Betty Carter en 1955 le titre du sujet



(à suivre)

Patlotch
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Message par Patlotch le Dim 3 Mar - 7:43


JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL Quote-the-artist-s-role-is-to-raise-the-consciousness-of-the-people-to-make-them-understand-amiri-baraka-92-71-94




Patlotch
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Message par Florage le Sam 4 Mai - 21:43


GANGSTA' JAZZ
l'économie politique de la marginalité
devenue symbole culturel de l'Amérique des années 30 !
Patlotch a écrit:pas trop le temps, mais signalé, j'y reviendrai... La bande son ( je la connais par cœur depuis....) est sur mesure du problème et le texte largement extrait du livre signalé réédité en 2016 (première édition française 1997), dont la petite bombe discrète jetait un pavé dans l'histoire connue du "Jazz", critiques français secoués en tête de la "discrétion" sur le problème. Pensez donc, le jazz au plus haut niveau n'aurait existé que grâce aux mafias !!! Mais on ne dira jamais assez l'importance des musiciens italiens et juifs dans l'histoire du jazz, à cette époque et depuis...Une heure, trop court, mais incontournable pour découverte et plus, si affinité

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL Jazz_Echo-1re_couv
1997

Que seraient devenus Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Earl Hines ou King Oliver sans les gangsters qui les employaient ? Ces mobsters et ces racketeers, souvent juifs ou siciliens, n'étaient pas aveuglés par les préjugés racistes qui empêchaient l'establishment blanc d'apprécier et de soutenir les musiciens noirs. Dans les clubs qui proliférèrent pendant la Prohibition, ils assurèrent la sécurité de l'emploi nécessaire à la constitution d'orchestres stables et à la maturation d'un style. Et ce sont les politiciens conservateurs qui, en faisant de la Mafia leur bouc émissaire, ont mis fin à l'âge d'or du jazz.
À l'appui de cette thèse étonnante, Le Jazz et les gangsters propose une enquête et une documentation exceptionnelles, une peinture réaliste de la vie des premiers musiciens de jazz et du milieu de la pègre à la Nouvelle-Orléans, à Chicago, New York et Kansas City. Ronald L. Morris lève ainsi le voile sur un pan méconnu de l'histoire de la culture populaire. Les gangsters, conclut-il, se sont comportés avec les jazzmen comme les grands mécènes de la Renaissance : "Il n'y eut peut-être jamais, dans toute l'histoire de l'art, d'association plus -heureuse."

Ronald L. Morris, a enseigné l'histoire sociale dans des universités anglaises et améri.caines, écrit sur le roman noir américain et pratiqué le jazz.
Préface et traduction de l'américain par Jacques B. Hess [jazz-érudit accepté par l'Université française, et contrebassiste à ses heures...] [


Une heure dans les Etats-Unis des années folles, les roaring twenties, entre prohibition, frénésie et essor du jazz. Dans les grandes villes, les clubs poussent comme des champignons. Et les musiciens dansent un curieux pas de deux avec les mafieux...

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 838_gettyimages-1084714982
Le chanteur de jazz Frankie Laine, dont le père avait travaillé comme barbier personnel d’Al Capone, ici à New York en 1948, accompagné du batteur Jimmy Crawford. Crédits : William P Gottlieb Collection - Getty

Au milieu des années 1920, les Etats-Unis basculent dans la folie du jazz qui, en peu de temps, va conquérir la planète. Or cette musique est alors essentiellement le fait d’une génération de jeunes musiciens noirs. Des noirs qui à l’époque sont loin d'être toujours bien considérés. Aussi, se met en place un système de mécénat et de protection, les musiciens se plaçant sous la bienveillante houlette des mafias italiennes ou juives dont les patrons - qui ont le même âge qu’eux - gèrent les boîtes de nuits et les clubs de New-York ou de Chicago. En pleine prohibition, les gangsters s’entichent en effet de cette nouvelle musique dont ils font la bande son de leurs cabarets.

Dans cette histoire on croisera des hommes sanglés dans des costumes impeccables, des femmes chapeautées de cloches, les crissements de puissantes décapotables et des rafales de swing...



m'étonne pas que l'historien britannique Eric Hobsbawm, ait écrit en 1966, sous le pseudonyme de Francis Newton, une  Sociologie du Jazz qu'on m'a offert pour mes vingt ans...

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 51fpJ6GAe7L._SX371_BO1,204,203,200_

Il s'est beaucoup intéressé aux "gens ordinaires" qui font aussi l'histoire : Rébellions - La résistance des gens ordinaires : jazz, paysans et prolétaires, trad. Stephane Ginsburgh et Hélène Hiessler, Éditions Aden, Bruxelles, 2010 (éd. originale : Uncommon People: Resistance, Rebellion and Jazz, 1998) Marx et l'histoire, Paris, Fayard, 2010

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 41jc8p7e%2BlL._SX350_BO1,204,203,200_


Florage

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Message par Florage le Jeu 25 Juil - 8:44

Patlotch a écrit:on ne l'a pas toujours su ou pas voulu le dire, le jazz ne serait rien sans les gangsters, la franc-maçonnerie américaine, les Juifs, les Italiens, et naturellement les Afro-Américains, qui se croisèrent aussi, dans tous les sens du terme, en prison

Le blues du pénitencier
5 épisodes d'une heure
France Culture
Plus qu’un thème, la prison est un territoire que les musiques du monde entier ont autant exploré que dénoncé. Si l’on a cherché à y étouffer des mélodies inouïes de puissance et de beauté, on y a aussi organisé des concerts mythiques, et rêvé de liberté plus fort qu’ailleurs. On s’y est déchaîné contre la misère sociale et les injustices politiques. Et, accessoirement, on y a inventé le blues… Le bruit des clefs, les pas des matons, le raffut des gamelles rythmeront cette série musicale et carcérale. Franchissons les portes du pénitencier, dont les murs ne seront jamais assez hauts pour faire taire les voix les plus inspirées, qu’elles soient coupables ou innocentes.

Épisode 1 : Coupables et innocents
22/07/2019
Forçons les portes d'un monde de béton aux arbres de barreaux fleuris de désespoir, où la musique ne fait guère tomber les murs… que sur un plan symbolique....

Épisode 2 : Rage contre la machine
23/07/2019
Second temps de cette série musicale consacrée à l'univers carcéral. Aujourd'hui, nous explorons les geôles qui ont enfermé prisonniers politiques et inspiré...

Épisode 3 : Petite histoire des concerts en prison

24/07/2019
Retour sur les concerts en prison légendaires : de Johnny Cash à Johnny Hallyday, bon nombre d'artistes ont franchi les portes du pénitencier pour jouer...

Épisode 4 : Sing Sing’s Songs
25/07/2019

Florage

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Message par Florage le Lun 9 Sep - 5:55


Toni Morrison et Max Roach : La voix et le rythme
France Culture 09/09/2019 (1ère diffusion : 14/01/1995)
American Center, Paris, Festival d'Automne, novembre 1994
Par Gérard Tourtrol - Avec Toni Morrison et Max Roach - Réalisation Géraldine Prutner

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL Medias_file_w600_h600_FAP_1994_MU_07_PHO_600
@ DR
Patlotch a écrit:ce n'est pas son prix Nobel qui m'a incité à lire Toni Morrison, mais le titre de son roman Jazz en 1992, et plus encore cette rencontre avec le batteur compagnon de Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, Clifford Brown, Coleman Hawkins, Abbey Lincoln dont il fut le Pygmalion avec le disque "We Insist! Freedom Now Suite"...

... celui que la mise de son talent musical au service de la cause afro-américaine, engagement majeur de sa vie et lui valut d'être sur les listes noires des compagnies de l'industrie du disque durant les années 1960, à l'époque de Money Jungle avec Charles Mingus et Duke Ellington


JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL PAR50766
Guy Le Querrec, Magnum

6 août 2019

Florage

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Message par Florage le Lun 1 Juin - 4:41

@sowetokinch "a aimé" cette information
à George Floyd

Soweto Kinch

The Black Peril / Riot Music




Sax, riots and racism: the radical jazz of Soweto Kinch
Ammar Kalia, The Guardian, 21 novembre 2019

The saxophonist-rapper faces constant racism – and has also been accused of it. He explains the black cultural celebration of his new album, and why he defended a Labour activist accused of antisemitism

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 3549
Soweto Kinch: ‘Jazz has a stronger political heart now than it ever has.’ Photograph: Iza Korsak undefined

It’s rare to see Soweto Kinch without his saxophone. Six foot tall and most often dressed in black, he can usually be found, sax in hand, at his jam night in his hometown of Birmingham or at a session at Ste am Down in London, although I saw him last in May at 2am in a hotel bar in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, joining vocalist Gregory Porter for an unexpected set. “You never know when you might need to play,” Kinch says, tucking his saxophone case under the table between us.

Over the past 15 years, he has played a lot. Now 41, Kinch has released six albums, on themes ranging from austerity to maths, and curated an annual festival. A lyrically dextrous MC as well as saxophonist, he has long been championed as the future of British jazz. Yet, when a jazz revival bubbled into the mainstream three years ago, American players such as Kamasi Washington and younger Brits such as Shabaka Hutchings and Nubya Garcia were at the forefront. “I’ve just had my head down, honing my craft,” Kinch says. “Black British music has always been beautiful and powerful, and now the younger generation are getting some recognition.”

The contributions of black culture to western society are the focus of Kinch’s seventh album, The Black Peril, which gets its live premiere at the London jazz festival on Friday. Its 24 tracks explore the musical legacy of 1919 – the year of the first world war armistice and anti-black race riots across the US. Kinch, who studied history at Oxford, says: “I was struggling to understand what that historical moment means, why it’s not remembered as much as it should be, and why these conflagrations happen.”



Musically, he says, “1919 was a primordial soup, a moment of unity between different forms of black music, which we have lost now. America hadn’t yet claimed jazz as its own and reggae hadn’t been seen as a cultural export from Jamaica.”

It is this sense of unity that drives Kinch’s current work, a combination of early 20th-century ragtime with postwar classical atonality, mixed up with West Indian folk, hip-hop and trap. “I wanted to explore dualities,” Kinch says, “the guttural and the cerebral. There’s an unbridled joy that comes through the music, a refusal to be dehumanised in the face of racism.” Kinch gestures to the Afro-spiritual origins of black music: “For African people, music is part of an entire way of engaging with the sacred. If you feel something emotional in the music, it’s not because that’s an F sharp being played, it’s something far deeper.”

Kinch has been the subject of racism, including an incident he documented on social media this year when he was refused service in a pizzeria. Another was more recent. “On the train down to London today I was asleep and this white guy wakes me up to sit down next to me, despite there being loads of empty seats in the carriage,” he says. “He just kept elbowing me really aggressively, like he wanted a confrontation. I politely told him to stop, but of course no one else stood up for me – in fact, one person even came to his defence and said it was me that had to leave.” Kinch is defiant in the face of these microaggressions. “The one thing these people want is to silence us and that isn’t something I will give in to.”


JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 1996
Soweto Kinch playing live in 2016.
FacebookTwitterPinterest Soweto Kinch playing live in 2016.

Photograph: Edu Hawkins/Redferns

Yet, this unwillingness to stay quiet has landed Kinch in trouble. When the activist Jackie Walker was expelled from the Labour party in March for antisemitic comments, Kinch described it as “persecution without trial”. He says: “Jackie was making some very nuanced comments, like the fact that some Jewish people were involved in financing the slave trade, which is something she admits her ancestors might have been involved in, as she is half Jewish. And rather than being talked with, she was just shut down.”

Kinch admits he “may have unwittingly used offensive tropes” and is “open to learning”. He says of the ensuing backlash: “The last thing I intended was to cause any harm to Jewish people, and I am fully aware of how words can get misconstrued. But we need more discussion so that words aren’t weaponised for political ends. A lot of people will see me – Oxford-educated, darling of the BBC – and say: he can’t complain. But it’s especially important for someone with my platform to speak up, to show that racial injustices continue, and to set an example of learning from my own actions.”

The Black Peril has a specific meaning – “the fear of black men miscegenating with white women”, which Kinch sees as having dominated white thinking, preventing black people becoming part of society. “It’s why I wanted the music of [early 20th-century black composers] James Reese Europe and Samuel Coleridge-Taylor to influence the record, to fight the notion that diverse Britain began somewhere after a boat called the Windrush when black people were invented – along with Reggae Reggae Sauce. We have a history of being here for much, much longer than that.”

Why has this history been neglected for so long? “Black cultures suffer from trauma when dealing with the past. We like to jettison anything that’s more than five years old.” It is for this reason that Kinch emphasises the lineage of the music he plays.

“When I hear early jazz, it’s got a pulsating energy I identify with Busta Rhymes and Missy Elliott,” he says. “Lyrically, I’m embodying the swag that comes across with Paul Dunbar’s 19th-century poems, for instance. That’s why I say things like ‘I’ll outrun a wagon wheel’ or ‘I’ll fight a grizzly bear with my bare hands’. Conquering material realities to create something supernatural has got a very long history within black culture. Calypsonians do it, toasters in reggae culture do it, MCs do it.”

The result is a kaleidoscopic record that veers from the jaunty clarinet and foot-stomping trap-swing of Riot Music to the big band harmonies of Alms. Throughout, Kinch raps in a surly, understated baritone, while his alto sax playing is tenderly perceptive, looping between the surging vamps of tracks such as Sirens. The album plays like a swirling montage, an effort to resist the linear narration of history.

By colliding genres in this way, Kinch is trying to “recreate the shock that the audience would have felt at hearing rag for the first time or jazz.” He feels that jazz holds that radical place once more. “Jazz has a stronger political heart now than it ever has,” he says. “People like Shabaka Hutchings, Christian Scott and Theo Croker understand the power of diaspora in ways that I don’t think were possible 20 years ago, when major labels controlled the ways artists would collaborate. Now we just hit each other up on Instagram.” The live performance will feature choreography to underline the connections between black dance styles, “from ragtime dancing to buck to breakdance”.

Ultimately, The Black Peril is the effort of an artist to place himself firmly within the rich diaspora of black music. “If there is one takeaway to be had, it is that I am absolutely now proud to be black and British,” Kinch says. “But that’s contingent on a new definition of patriotism, one that includes all the people who have traditionally been excluded from it. If we’re going to go forward, we need to abandon the attachment to whiteness.”

With that, he picks up his saxophone. “The days of needing gatekeepers to say what’s cool, and to articulate what music means before the musicians get a chance to do it themselves, are numbered,” he says. “We just need to play.”

Soweto Kinch: The Black Peril is at London Jazz festival on 22 November

Florage

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Message par Florage le Lun 1 Juin - 6:46

@sowetokinch "a aimé" cette information
à George Floyd

Soweto Kinch

The Black Peril / Riot Music




Sax, riots and racism: the radical jazz of Soweto Kinch
Ammar Kalia, The Guardian, 21 novembre 2019

The saxophonist-rapper faces constant racism – and has also been accused of it. He explains the black cultural celebration of his new album, and why he defended a Labour activist accused of antisemitism

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 3549
Soweto Kinch: ‘Jazz has a stronger political heart now than it ever has.’ Photograph: Iza Korsak undefined

It’s rare to see Soweto Kinch without his saxophone. Six foot tall and most often dressed in black, he can usually be found, sax in hand, at his jam night in his hometown of Birmingham or at a session at Ste am Down in London, although I saw him last in May at 2am in a hotel bar in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, joining vocalist Gregory Porter for an unexpected set. “You never know when you might need to play,” Kinch says, tucking his saxophone case under the table between us.

Over the past 15 years, he has played a lot. Now 41, Kinch has released six albums, on themes ranging from austerity to maths, and curated an annual festival. A lyrically dextrous MC as well as saxophonist, he has long been championed as the future of British jazz. Yet, when a jazz revival bubbled into the mainstream three years ago, American players such as Kamasi Washington and younger Brits such as Shabaka Hutchings and Nubya Garcia were at the forefront. “I’ve just had my head down, honing my craft,” Kinch says. “Black British music has always been beautiful and powerful, and now the younger generation are getting some recognition.”

The contributions of black culture to western society are the focus of Kinch’s seventh album, The Black Peril, which gets its live premiere at the London jazz festival on Friday. Its 24 tracks explore the musical legacy of 1919 – the year of the first world war armistice and anti-black race riots across the US. Kinch, who studied history at Oxford, says: “I was struggling to understand what that historical moment means, why it’s not remembered as much as it should be, and why these conflagrations happen.”



Musically, he says, “1919 was a primordial soup, a moment of unity between different forms of black music, which we have lost now. America hadn’t yet claimed jazz as its own and reggae hadn’t been seen as a cultural export from Jamaica.”

It is this sense of unity that drives Kinch’s current work, a combination of early 20th-century ragtime with postwar classical atonality, mixed up with West Indian folk, hip-hop and trap. “I wanted to explore dualities,” Kinch says, “the guttural and the cerebral. There’s an unbridled joy that comes through the music, a refusal to be dehumanised in the face of racism.” Kinch gestures to the Afro-spiritual origins of black music: “For African people, music is part of an entire way of engaging with the sacred. If you feel something emotional in the music, it’s not because that’s an F sharp being played, it’s something far deeper.”

Kinch has been the subject of racism, including an incident he documented on social media this year when he was refused service in a pizzeria. Another was more recent. “On the train down to London today I was asleep and this white guy wakes me up to sit down next to me, despite there being loads of empty seats in the carriage,” he says. “He just kept elbowing me really aggressively, like he wanted a confrontation. I politely told him to stop, but of course no one else stood up for me – in fact, one person even came to his defence and said it was me that had to leave.” Kinch is defiant in the face of these microaggressions. “The one thing these people want is to silence us and that isn’t something I will give in to.”


JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 1996
Soweto Kinch playing live in 2016.
FacebookTwitterPinterest Soweto Kinch playing live in 2016.

Photograph: Edu Hawkins/Redferns

Yet, this unwillingness to stay quiet has landed Kinch in trouble. When the activist Jackie Walker was expelled from the Labour party in March for antisemitic comments, Kinch described it as “persecution without trial”. He says: “Jackie was making some very nuanced comments, like the fact that some Jewish people were involved in financing the slave trade, which is something she admits her ancestors might have been involved in, as she is half Jewish. And rather than being talked with, she was just shut down.”

Kinch admits he “may have unwittingly used offensive tropes” and is “open to learning”. He says of the ensuing backlash: “The last thing I intended was to cause any harm to Jewish people, and I am fully aware of how words can get misconstrued. But we need more discussion so that words aren’t weaponised for political ends. A lot of people will see me – Oxford-educated, darling of the BBC – and say: he can’t complain. But it’s especially important for someone with my platform to speak up, to show that racial injustices continue, and to set an example of learning from my own actions.”

The Black Peril has a specific meaning – “the fear of black men miscegenating with white women”, which Kinch sees as having dominated white thinking, preventing black people becoming part of society. “It’s why I wanted the music of [early 20th-century black composers] James Reese Europe and Samuel Coleridge-Taylor to influence the record, to fight the notion that diverse Britain began somewhere after a boat called the Windrush when black people were invented – along with Reggae Reggae Sauce. We have a history of being here for much, much longer than that.”

Why has this history been neglected for so long? “Black cultures suffer from trauma when dealing with the past. We like to jettison anything that’s more than five years old.” It is for this reason that Kinch emphasises the lineage of the music he plays.

“When I hear early jazz, it’s got a pulsating energy I identify with Busta Rhymes and Missy Elliott,” he says. “Lyrically, I’m embodying the swag that comes across with Paul Dunbar’s 19th-century poems, for instance. That’s why I say things like ‘I’ll outrun a wagon wheel’ or ‘I’ll fight a grizzly bear with my bare hands’. Conquering material realities to create something supernatural has got a very long history within black culture. Calypsonians do it, toasters in reggae culture do it, MCs do it.”

The result is a kaleidoscopic record that veers from the jaunty clarinet and foot-stomping trap-swing of Riot Music to the big band harmonies of Alms. Throughout, Kinch raps in a surly, understated baritone, while his alto sax playing is tenderly perceptive, looping between the surging vamps of tracks such as Sirens. The album plays like a swirling montage, an effort to resist the linear narration of history.

By colliding genres in this way, Kinch is trying to “recreate the shock that the audience would have felt at hearing rag for the first time or jazz.” He feels that jazz holds that radical place once more. “Jazz has a stronger political heart now than it ever has,” he says. “People like Shabaka Hutchings, Christian Scott and Theo Croker understand the power of diaspora in ways that I don’t think were possible 20 years ago, when major labels controlled the ways artists would collaborate. Now we just hit each other up on Instagram.” The live performance will feature choreography to underline the connections between black dance styles, “from ragtime dancing to buck to breakdance”.

Ultimately, The Black Peril is the effort of an artist to place himself firmly within the rich diaspora of black music. “If there is one takeaway to be had, it is that I am absolutely now proud to be black and British,” Kinch says. “But that’s contingent on a new definition of patriotism, one that includes all the people who have traditionally been excluded from it. If we’re going to go forward, we need to abandon the attachment to whiteness.”

With that, he picks up his saxophone. “The days of needing gatekeepers to say what’s cool, and to articulate what music means before the musicians get a chance to do it themselves, are numbered,” he says. “We just need to play.”

Soweto Kinch: The Black Peril is at London Jazz festival on 22 November

Florage

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Message par Florage le Ven 5 Juin - 7:20


TELLE MÈRE, TEL PÈRE, TEL FILS

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL Amina-and-Amiri-Baraka-AAIHS
Ras Jua Baraka (born April 9, 1970) is an American educator, author, and politician who is the 40th and current Mayor of Newark, New Jersey. He was previously a member of the Municipal Council of Newark and the principal of the city's Central High School until he took an indefinite leave of absence to run for the 2014 Newark mayoral election, which he won on May 13, 2014.

A Newark native, Baraka is the son of poet and activist Amiri Baraka and his wife Amina.
WE WANT TO LOVE OURSELVES FREELY...
Unfettered images of our grandmothers In our dreams
WE WANT to praise our own God and
WE WANT to see his reflection in our children’s eyes
WE WANT to draw him blue
like jazz
with long dreads and thick lips

WE WANT music everyday
and especially on Sunday
WE WANT dancing to be a prerequisite for success
WE WANT the blue jazz funk rock soul hip-hop r and b
And the wealth created from it to be our babies inheritance and
WE WANT it taught in elementary schools all over the world
WE WANT to speak for ourselves

We don’t want handouts
We just want everything we created
And everything we created
And everything that was created as a result of what we created
With interest
But the good thing is-we are willing to share


WE NEED a guarantee income for all
Education like fresh air
And food and water and shelter
And be FREE from sickness and diseases

WE NEED long life
to collectively oppose death and stagnation
WE NEED ideas and imagination
We should be against hoods the sheeted whites ones
The ones that take and keep taking from the meek
And often defenseless
Even the glorified trap
- Yeah we against the trap too


WE NEED our skies free from poison
to be able to breath in sunshine
and feel the wind on our faces

WE NEED and end to war
and oppression


WE NEED the people to own their own labor

WE NEED every corner of every country developed
and ever community empowered

WE NEED it all turned right side up
we need the raw materials from the earth used to end poverty anywhere it exists

WE NEED the callouses on our hands and the pains in our lower back
to be added to our savings

WE NEED health care to be free
and information to be FREE
and ideas to be FREE
the news to be FREE
and the PEOPLE TO BE FREE
YEAH AND THE PEOPLE TO BE FREE

WE NEED to end to slavery in all forms
and end to exploration and

WE NEED all the money in all the banks every part of the world to be
used for our collective benefit

WE NEED to outlaw lies
and teach the peoples history in all languages from the view point of all of us

WE NEED to allow everyone to vote to be represented
no matter where the are as soon as they are of age
to dismantle the electoral college
and make a Racism and White supremacy illegal


WE NEED to ban the confederate flag and label every monument to
genocide with a red letter
or just plain tear them down
and replace them with statures of black and brown women that carried us through the darkest
moments of history

WE NEED to destroy all nuclear weapons
but first start with automatic rifles and handguns

WE NEED to replace the war on drugs with a war on ignorance
we need to destroy the pipeline to cages
and use the savings to develop the human spirit
to treat illness social, mental and physical

WE NEED freedom
not just the bill of rights
but rights to build our own lives
to be FREE from destituteness
and hatred and hungry children
FREE from sickness with cures

Underdevelopment and cold winter nights with no heat

FREE from losing our land or block our community our homes

FREE from choking to death in our own backyard
And schools that undermine our self esteem

FREE from praising those that lynched us
and
FREE to pray in any language and to any one we choose
FREE to be free how we define it and free to not live with nothing
and
FREE enough to know the world is made up of all of us not some of us
and that only when all of us are free none of us will be
and that our collective existence is tied directly to our individual existence a coexistence with ourselves one big we
this is -
WHAT WE WANT AND WHAT WE NEED; WHAT WE NEED and WHAT WE WANT
and WE WANT IT THIS VERY MOMENT IN THE IN NOW AND THE FOREVER!

Lyrics: Ras Baraka @rasjbaraka
Music: Jerry Wonda @princewonda
Video Directed by: Ayana Stafford-Morris
Video Produced by: Udi Aloni


Florage

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Message par Florage le Sam 6 Juin - 13:25


Soweto Kinch a écrit:We need to stop tinkering around the edges of white supremacy and expecting decency from a system which is designed to destroy black lives.

I don't want to see another broadcast from a black church appealing for calm, or expressing forgiveness for racist murderers. I don't want to see our hymns, dance and culture symbolically being used to re-enslave us.

Marching, boycotts, confrontation, protest is powerful... we also need to  DIVEST OURSELVES.. take our wealth, art, value out of this machine. The only solution to centuries of mechanised white supremacy is to bring its engine to screeching halt.

No more gormet coffee, no coltan, no more cocoa, no more cool street style, no more jazz, afrobeats, grime, drill, dancehall, funk or soul. Not a single braid, morsel of jerk chicken, or scrap of soul food. Stop the carnival. No more driving their buses, thrown into frontline care with no protection, no more cleaning and scrubbing dirt they don't even have to see. No more providing this system of white supremacy with a veneer of cool and a catchy soundtrack.

We need to bring this entire system to its knees!
1er juin
@sowetokinch "a aimé" cette information
à George Floyd

Soweto Kinch

The Black Peril / Riot Music




Sax, riots and racism: the radical jazz of Soweto Kinch
Ammar Kalia, The Guardian, 21 novembre 2019

The saxophonist-rapper faces constant racism – and has also been accused of it. He explains the black cultural celebration of his new album, and why he defended a Labour activist accused of antisemitism

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 3549
Soweto Kinch: ‘Jazz has a stronger political heart now than it ever has.’ Photograph: Iza Korsak undefined

It’s rare to see Soweto Kinch without his saxophone. Six foot tall and most often dressed in black, he can usually be found, sax in hand, at his jam night in his hometown of Birmingham or at a session at Ste am Down in London, although I saw him last in May at 2am in a hotel bar in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, joining vocalist Gregory Porter for an unexpected set. “You never know when you might need to play,” Kinch says, tucking his saxophone case under the table between us.

Over the past 15 years, he has played a lot. Now 41, Kinch has released six albums, on themes ranging from austerity to maths, and curated an annual festival. A lyrically dextrous MC as well as saxophonist, he has long been championed as the future of British jazz. Yet, when a jazz revival bubbled into the mainstream three years ago, American players such as Kamasi Washington and younger Brits such as Shabaka Hutchings and Nubya Garcia were at the forefront. “I’ve just had my head down, honing my craft,” Kinch says. “Black British music has always been beautiful and powerful, and now the younger generation are getting some recognition.”

The contributions of black culture to western society are the focus of Kinch’s seventh album, The Black Peril, which gets its live premiere at the London jazz festival on Friday. Its 24 tracks explore the musical legacy of 1919 – the year of the first world war armistice and anti-black race riots across the US. Kinch, who studied history at Oxford, says: “I was struggling to understand what that historical moment means, why it’s not remembered as much as it should be, and why these conflagrations happen.”



Musically, he says, “1919 was a primordial soup, a moment of unity between different forms of black music, which we have lost now. America hadn’t yet claimed jazz as its own and reggae hadn’t been seen as a cultural export from Jamaica.”

It is this sense of unity that drives Kinch’s current work, a combination of early 20th-century ragtime with postwar classical atonality, mixed up with West Indian folk, hip-hop and trap. “I wanted to explore dualities,” Kinch says, “the guttural and the cerebral. There’s an unbridled joy that comes through the music, a refusal to be dehumanised in the face of racism.” Kinch gestures to the Afro-spiritual origins of black music: “For African people, music is part of an entire way of engaging with the sacred. If you feel something emotional in the music, it’s not because that’s an F sharp being played, it’s something far deeper.”

Kinch has been the subject of racism, including an incident he documented on social media this year when he was refused service in a pizzeria. Another was more recent. “On the train down to London today I was asleep and this white guy wakes me up to sit down next to me, despite there being loads of empty seats in the carriage,” he says. “He just kept elbowing me really aggressively, like he wanted a confrontation. I politely told him to stop, but of course no one else stood up for me – in fact, one person even came to his defence and said it was me that had to leave.” Kinch is defiant in the face of these microaggressions. “The one thing these people want is to silence us and that isn’t something I will give in to.”


JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 1996
Soweto Kinch playing live in 2016.
FacebookTwitterPinterest Soweto Kinch playing live in 2016.

Photograph: Edu Hawkins/Redferns

Yet, this unwillingness to stay quiet has landed Kinch in trouble. When the activist Jackie Walker was expelled from the Labour party in March for antisemitic comments, Kinch described it as “persecution without trial”. He says: “Jackie was making some very nuanced comments, like the fact that some Jewish people were involved in financing the slave trade, which is something she admits her ancestors might have been involved in, as she is half Jewish. And rather than being talked with, she was just shut down.”

Kinch admits he “may have unwittingly used offensive tropes” and is “open to learning”. He says of the ensuing backlash: “The last thing I intended was to cause any harm to Jewish people, and I am fully aware of how words can get misconstrued. But we need more discussion so that words aren’t weaponised for political ends. A lot of people will see me – Oxford-educated, darling of the BBC – and say: he can’t complain. But it’s especially important for someone with my platform to speak up, to show that racial injustices continue, and to set an example of learning from my own actions.”

The Black Peril has a specific meaning – “the fear of black men miscegenating with white women”, which Kinch sees as having dominated white thinking, preventing black people becoming part of society. “It’s why I wanted the music of [early 20th-century black composers] James Reese Europe and Samuel Coleridge-Taylor to influence the record, to fight the notion that diverse Britain began somewhere after a boat called the Windrush when black people were invented – along with Reggae Reggae Sauce. We have a history of being here for much, much longer than that.”

Why has this history been neglected for so long? “Black cultures suffer from trauma when dealing with the past. We like to jettison anything that’s more than five years old.” It is for this reason that Kinch emphasises the lineage of the music he plays.

“When I hear early jazz, it’s got a pulsating energy I identify with Busta Rhymes and Missy Elliott,” he says. “Lyrically, I’m embodying the swag that comes across with Paul Dunbar’s 19th-century poems, for instance. That’s why I say things like ‘I’ll outrun a wagon wheel’ or ‘I’ll fight a grizzly bear with my bare hands’. Conquering material realities to create something supernatural has got a very long history within black culture. Calypsonians do it, toasters in reggae culture do it, MCs do it.”

The result is a kaleidoscopic record that veers from the jaunty clarinet and foot-stomping trap-swing of Riot Music to the big band harmonies of Alms. Throughout, Kinch raps in a surly, understated baritone, while his alto sax playing is tenderly perceptive, looping between the surging vamps of tracks such as Sirens. The album plays like a swirling montage, an effort to resist the linear narration of history.

By colliding genres in this way, Kinch is trying to “recreate the shock that the audience would have felt at hearing rag for the first time or jazz.” He feels that jazz holds that radical place once more. “Jazz has a stronger political heart now than it ever has,” he says. “People like Shabaka Hutchings, Christian Scott and Theo Croker understand the power of diaspora in ways that I don’t think were possible 20 years ago, when major labels controlled the ways artists would collaborate. Now we just hit each other up on Instagram.” The live performance will feature choreography to underline the connections between black dance styles, “from ragtime dancing to buck to breakdance”.

Ultimately, The Black Peril is the effort of an artist to place himself firmly within the rich diaspora of black music. “If there is one takeaway to be had, it is that I am absolutely now proud to be black and British,” Kinch says. “But that’s contingent on a new definition of patriotism, one that includes all the people who have traditionally been excluded from it. If we’re going to go forward, we need to abandon the attachment to whiteness.”

With that, he picks up his saxophone. “The days of needing gatekeepers to say what’s cool, and to articulate what music means before the musicians get a chance to do it themselves, are numbered,” he says. “We just need to play.”

Soweto Kinch: The Black Peril is at London Jazz festival on 22 November

Florage

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Message par Florage le Mar 16 Juin - 7:35


The Last Poets,
inventeurs du rap dans les années 60
avec Amiri Baraka/Leroi Jones
sont toujours là
pour les moins de 77 ans qui n'avaient pas d'oreilles
il n'est pas trop tard pour comprendre
ce qu'ils disaient déjà


The Last Poets :  
"Il y a beaucoup de diamants noirs en Amérique"


France Culture, , 16 juin 2020
(1ère diffusion le 21/03/2019)

Ce soir Umar Bin Hassan et Abiodun Oyewole, deux membres du groupe "The Last Poets" nous parlent comme ils le feraient dans un de leurs poèmes : avec rythme, force et beauté.
JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 838_gettyimages-837960130
Umar Bin Hassan, Baba Donn Babatunde et Abiodun Oyewole :
"The Last Poets" au Festival du Livre International d’Édimbourg en 2017
Crédits : Roberto Ricciuti / Contributeur - Getty

Cette émission est co-animée par Marie Richeux et deux étudiants, Marwan et Miguel, et a été enregistrée dans le cadre de la semaine spéciale de France Culture consacrée à la semaine de la presse à l'école.

Après un long silence de 20 ans, The Last Poets sortent, en 2018, à l’occasion des 50 ans du groupe, un nouvel album intitulé Understand What Black Is, sous le label Studio Rockers.

Né à Harlem, le 19 mai 1968, en pleine ère Black Power et après l'assassinat de Martin Luther King, The Last Poets est devenu un groupe phare de l'époque, avec sa poésie urbaine déclamée sur des percussions africaines.

Les pionniers du rap ont aujourd'hui un flow plus posé, mais leurs textes rageurs n'ont en revanche rien perdu de leur intensité. Chacun y va de sa litanie en parlant de ses propres expériences de l'oppression et développant une soif fervente voire révolutionnaire de changement social.



L’essentiel de ce qu’on connaissait, qui faisait partie de notre culture avant l’esclavage, a été effacé. Et tout ce que nous avions, c’était ce qui était inné d’un point de vue uniquement biologique, ce qui était en nous, on ne pouvait compter que là-dessus. La musique fait partie de nos vies. Même à l’époque où l’on ramassait le coton, on inventait des chansons. On parlait justement de ces chansons des plantations. On n’a jamais cessé d’être des gens musicaux. Pour nous la musique, c’est comme faire une prière. C’est notre force, notre pouvoir. […] Nous avons reçu en héritage une manière de communiquer avec notre peuple qui touche aux racines de notre peuple. Quand on en parle aujourd’hui, ça fait 50 ans qu’on porte ce flambeau-là. C’est incroyable parce qu’il y a toujours beaucoup d’amour, nous n’avons pas disparu avec la nuit.

La poésie est quelque chose de si profond qu’il faut mûrir pour comprendre ce qui fait un poète. Et ça vient avec tout un tas de choses qui arrivent dans une vie. Je ne pense pas qu’on puisse réellement définir un chemin précis pour devenir poète. Je pense que la personne qui essaye de vivre sa vie et qui traverse différentes étapes de changement, doit trouver une manière de vivre malgré ces changements et la poésie est un moyen extrêmement intéressant de se parler à soi-même. Les poètes écrivent sur des leçons de vie, c’est une façon de montrer un exemple, un goût de ce que c’est de vivre et de traverser des conflits.

Umar et moi on a eu de la chance parce qu’on a toujours rencontré des gens qui nous ont apporté ce soutien-là. Nos dieux, nos croyances et la puissance de cette vie, le respect que nous pouvons avoir aussi pour nos ancêtres. Je ne serais pas là sans mes grands-parents, sans tous ceux qui étaient là avant. Je tiens quelque chose d’eux que je vais à mon tour passer, transmettre. C’est une histoire incroyable et c’est vraiment l’histoire américaine la plus emblématique en même temps. Car l’Amérique a pris ces morceaux de charbon et a mis une pression incroyable sur eux, jusqu’à ce qu’ils n’aient plus d’autre choix que de mourir ou de se muer en diamant. Donc il y a beaucoup de diamants noirs en Amérique, à cause de cette pression qui a été mise sur nous, à laquelle on a été confrontés, rien que d’essayer de vivre en Amérique… On parle toujours du contexte racial, la race joue un rôle nous le savons, mais mon sentiment depuis quelque mois, c’est que l’Amérique souffre surtout d’une forme d’immaturité. Je pense que l’Amérique n’est qu’un enfant qui refuse de prendre ses responsabilités et de montrer de la considération pour ceux qui l’ont tant aimée.
Traduction assurée par Marguerite Capelle et Xavier Combe

Sons diffusés :

The Bridge, issu de l'album "Understand What Black Is" par The Last Poets, 2019
Black Is Chant, issu de l'album "This Is Madness" par The Last Poets, 1971
Générique de fin : Black Eye Blues par Gertrude 'Ma' Rainey, 1928


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Message par Florage le Lun 29 Juin - 8:28


De Nina Simone à John Coltrane, beaucoup d'artistes passaient outre la censure pour dénoncer les inégalités. La musique peut s’avérer être un outil important pour évoquer des sujets épineux et parfois sociétaux. Le jazz ne fait pas exception. Il s’est même révélé d’une extrême utilité lors du mouvement des droits civiques. Un thème qui sera d’ailleurs repris par plusieurs artistes à cette époque.

« SI VOUS N’AIMEZ PAS, N’ÉCOUTEZ PAS »

Tels sont les mots du célèbre dramaturge américain à l’origine du Black Arts Movement, Amiri Baraka. Si les tensions entre les Blancs et les Noirs étaient à leur paroxysme pendant la ségrégation aux États-Unis, l’art a permis d’évoquer la plupart de ces sujets. En poésie, en littérature, en peinture mais aussi en musique. Pour sa part, le jazz a été un vecteur majeur pour évoquer les problèmes constants d’injustice au pays de l’oncle Sam.

Des pointures comme Louis Armstrong ou Duke Ellington, par exemple, s’abstenaient d’évoquer haut et fort les problèmes raciaux et l’injustice dans leurs chansons. Auquel cas, les deux musiciens étaient sévèrement critiqués pour leur prise de position. C’est ainsi que les maisons de disques des artistes de jazz ont appliqué une censure. Les textes avec des connotations sociales évoquant l’injustice et le racisme ambiant étaient tout bonnement supprimés des chansons.



Dans son album intitulé « Mingus Ah Um » paru en 1959, Charles Mingus aborde dans l’un de ses textes une affaire concernant neuf jeunes étudiants américains empêchés d’aller à l’école. Dans cette affaire de 1957, le gouverneur d’Arkansas de l’époque estimait qu’il s’agissait d’un état d’urgence et avait appelé la police pour bloquer l’accès de l’école à ces étudiants. Seulement, sur cette chanson intitulée « Fables of Faubus » (du nom du gouverneur Orval Faubus), aucune parole n’apparaît sur l’enregistrement. Commercialisée par le label Columbia Records, cette dernière avait des paroles « si incendiaires qu’ils ont refusé de les enregistrer », raconte le journaliste Michael Verity.

Charles Mingus n’est pas un cas isolé. D’autres artistes ont subi le même sort en décidant cependant de passer outre les recommandations des labels. Mingus a quant à lui pu sortir la version officielle de sa chanson, un an plus tard sur le label Candid Records.

PASSER OUTRE LA CENSURE
« L’une des critiques les plus flagrantes et les plus dures des lois Jim Crowe dans tout l’activisme du jazz. » C’est ainsi qu’ont été décrites les paroles de Mingus passées outre la censure de son premier label. Par ailleurs, d’autres grands noms du jazz en ont aussi fait les frais, comme le raconte si bien le journaliste Tom Schnabel pour la radio KCRW : « Nina Simone a chanté l’incendiaire ‘Mississippi Goddam’, Coltrane a chanté un triste chant, ‘Alabama’ pour pleurer le bombardement de l’église de Birmingham, Alabama en 1963. Sonny Rollins a enregistré ‘The Freedom Suite’ comme une déclaration de liberté musicale et raciale. » Ajoutons que l’album de Max Roach We Insist! Freedom Now Suite a connu la même punition de censure.



Néanmoins, pour pallier cela, les artistes se sont recentrés, préférant jouer pour leur propre communauté. Un façon qui leur permettait de rester libres et maîtres de leur musique et de leurs textes, sans risquer la censure. Le jazz s’est alors réinventé avec de nouveaux codes et des thèmes évoqués sans pudeur.

Tout comme le gospel au fil des années, le jazz a pu représenter fidèlement les personnalités et les opinions des artistes afin d’évoquer des évènements historiques. Plus qu’une histoire américaine, le jazz est parvenu à s’exporter au-delà de ses frontières. Le premier festival de jazz de Berlin s’est tenu en 1964 et fut introduit par un certain Martin Luther King Jr. Quand le jazz et l’activisme font bon ménage.

Florage

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Message par Florage le Mer 8 Juil - 9:14


BLACK MUSIC LIVE MATTER

Les trésors du label jazz-soul militant Black Fire
Guillaume Schnee, Jazz à FIP, 29 mai 2020

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 801x410_jimmy-gray-1
Le producteur Jimmy Gray / DR
Le label Strut a compilé titres classiques et raretés sorties entre 1975 et 1993 de l'emblématique maison de disque de Washington.

Au début des années 70, le spiritual jazz résonne comme un hymne de la scène jazz avant-gardiste contestataire et afrocentriste américaine et les labels comme Detroit's Tribe ou New Strata-East sont à la pointe de ce mouvement musical hérité d'artistes comme Alice Coltrane ou Sun Ra. En 1975, le DJ et producteur de Richmond Jimmy Gray s'associe au saxophoniste James ‘Plunky’ Branch tout juste revenu de New York pour fonder le label Back Fire. Outre, African Rhythms l'album culte du groupe Oneness of Juju, Gray va superviser la sortie de plus de seize albums entre 1975 et 1993 dont le label strut a sélectionné dix pépites sur sa compilation Soul Love Now: The Black Fire Records Story


JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL A0738155188_16

Le premier titre dévoilé, Children of Tomorrow's Dreams, est un classique de spiritual soul de 1976 signé Theatre West, emmené par le musicien et dramaturge originaire de Dayton dans l'Ohio, Clarence Young III. Theatre West était un collectif musical et théâtral connu pour l'oeuvre pluridisciplinaire "The System" en 1971, dépeignant la réalité noire américaine de l'époque.

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 600_oneness-of-juju-2
Oneness of Juju en studio / DR

Outre trois titres de Oneness of Juju, dont une version live de African Rhythms, la compilation présente un enregistrement du saxophoniste et flûtiste Byard Lancaster avec les Drummers of Ibadan de Tunde Kuboye au Nigeria, le sublime spiritual jazz dansant du vibraphoniste Lon Moshe, le groove gospel explosif du soulman Wayne Davis, du maître percussionniste ghanéen Okyerema Asante et du collectif Southern Energy Ensemble.

à écouter

L'afro-groove militant de Oneness of Juju

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 801x410_oneness-of-juju
Le label Strut sort "African Rhythms 1970-1982", une anthologie de 24 titres du groupe culte de l'afro-groove avant-gardiste des seventies.


Membre actif de la scène jazz avant-gardiste contestataire et afrocentriste américaine, le saxophoniste James "Plunky" Branch s'est illustré très vite avec son groupe The Soul Syndicate fondé à la fin des années 60 avec le bassiste Kent Parker puis avec sa collaboration avec le jazzman sud-africain exilé à Ndikho Xaba. En 1971 à San Francisco, il fonde la formation Juju (talisman) avec des camarades embauchés comme lui sur un spectacle théâtral : La résurrection des morts, signé du dramaturge Marvin X. Le groupe s'installe à New York sur l'invitation du saxophoniste free jazz Ornette Coleman et sort deux albums emblématiques de jazz percussif sur le label Strata-East.
[...]

"Shaman!" la conscience afro-jazz d'Idris Ackamoor & The Pyramids
JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 801x410_idris_ackamoor_et_the_pyramids_1
Plus spirituel que jamais le collectif avant-gardiste du saxophoniste Ackamoor poursuit son voyage cosmique avec un nouvel album épique et présente un premier titre dédié au pianiste et poète américain Cecil Taylor.


Groupe mythique de l'afro-jazz libertaire et militant de la côte ouest des années 70, Idris Ackamoor & The Pyramids a fait une pause de 35 ans avant de revenir sur scène avec sa musique exploratoire mêlant percussions africaines, spiritual jazz, free jazz et groove puissant. Toujours dirigée par son leader charismatique Idris Ackamoor, insaisissable multi-instrumentiste, la formation se présente en septet sur son nouvel album Shaman! produit par Malcolm Catto, tête pensante de l'institution britannique du groove The Heliocentrics. Une nouvelle oeuvre moins militante que le précédent album An Angel Fell avec ses thèmes plus introspectifs et spirituels comme cette suite extatique et épique de 8mn en hommage au pionnier du free jazz Cecil Taylor qui fut professeur du saxophoniste Ackamoor.
[...]

Florage

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Message par Florage le Dim 26 Juil - 12:16


Aux sources du funk :
la sueur, les larmes et le groove de l’Amérique noire


Amaury Chardeau, Juke-Box, France Culture, rediffusion de l'émission du 28 septembre 2019

Après la soul qui avait bercé les espoirs du Mouvement des droits civiques, le funk et ses rythmiques endiablées marquent un brutal retour à la réalité, celle des ghettos, des émeutes, de la contestation de la guerre au Vietnam et de la radicalisation des Black Panthers.

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 838_rf_omm_0001557303_dnc.00707205301
Soul of a nation : Afro-centric visions in the age of Black Power :
underground jazz, street funk & the roots of rap 1968-79

Crédits : Soul Jazz Records
A l'origine du funk, on trouve James Brown qui depuis le milieu des années 50, chavire l'Amérique de sa soul explosive. En 1965, il enregistre Papa's got a brand new bag qui, par sa rythmique et sa célébration de la danse, annonce la révolution que confirmera la sortie, en 1967, de son album Cold Sweat et la publication de ses concerts à l'Apollo Theatre de Harlem.

Oubliés les artifices excessifs de la soul music, place avant tout au rythme, et au tandem basse-batterie pour donner le tempo de la danse!

Les années suivantes, cet héritage sera repris par deux musiciens majeurs : Sly Stone et George Clinton dont les groupes respectifs, Sly and the Family Stone, Parliament ou Funkadelic explorent et développent cette nouvelle esthétique musicale.

Mais l'émergence du funk doit aussi être relue à l'aune du contexte d'alors, les tensions raciales qui traversent le pays, le bourbier vietnamien, l'essor de la télévision et des émissions à destination de la jeunesse afro-américaine...



Live filmed Performance 1972

Programmation musicale et archives
Archive pré-générique : Angela Davis : We're threatening the oppressors (1971), réédité sur la compilation Groove revolution (2015)
Parliament : P. Funk (wants to get funked up), album Mothership connection (1975) - fond sonore -
Parliament : Give up the funk (tear the roof off the sucker), album Mothership connection (1975)
Horace Silver Trio : Opus de funk (1952) réédité sur la compilation Roots of funk 1947/1962 - fond sonore -
Dyke and the Blazers : Funky Broadway, part 1 (1968) réédité sur la compilation Soul shots (1988) - fond sonore -
Fatback Band : Mister bass man de l'album Keep On Steppin' (1974)
James Brown and The Famous Flames : Please, please, please (1956) - fond sonore -
James Brown : Papa's got a brand new bag, Parts 1, 2 & 3 , version originale du morceau de 1965 édité sur la compilation Star time : Mr. Dynamite (1991)
Archive : l'émigration des Noirs vers les grandes métropoles, extrait de "Vingt millions d'Américains noirs : Atlanta et Los Angeles” in Cinq colonnes à la Une, ORTF, 04/08/1967 ORTF (reportage de Michel Parbot)
The Sensational harmonizers : He never lost a battle (1981) -  fond sonore -
Speaker : Introduction to James Brown sur la scène de l'Apollo Theatre de Harlem, le 25/06/67
James Brown : Cold sweat, live at the Apollo (juin 1967)
Archive : extrait du reportage "Harlem au printemps" réalisé par François Chalais et diffusé dans l'émission Panorama, 26/05/1967
Joe Tex : I believe i'm gonna make it (1966) réédité sur la compilation A soldier's sad story / Vietnam through the eyes of black America 1966-73 (2003)
Edwin Starr : Stop the war now (1970) réédité sur la compilation A soldier's sad story... (déjà citée)
Archive : la guerre vue par de jeunes Noirs d'Atlanta, extrait de "Vingt millions d'Américains noirs : Atlanta et Los Angeles” in Cinq colonnes à la Une (déjà cité)
Carla Whitney : War (1975) réédité sur la compilation A soldier's sad story... (déjà citée)
Archive : émeutes à Chicago, Actualités françaises, 18/7/1966
Sly & the Family Stone : Underdog, de l'album A whole new thing (1967)
Sly & the Family Stone : Everyday people (single, 1968, puis incorporé à l'album Stand, 1969) - fond sonore -
Archive : annonce de la mort de Martin Luther King, France Inter, 17/4/68
Marva Whitney : I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired (things better change before it's too late) (1968), repris sur la compilation James Brown's original funky divas (1998)
Archive : exclusion de Smith et Carlos des JO de Mexico, France Inter, 18/10/1968
Thomas Rufus : Do the funky chicken (1969)
Archive : Les Afro-Américains et le capitalisme selon Romain Gary, France Culture, émission Paradoxes, 9/6/1970
Funkadelic : Can you get to that, album Maggot brain (1971)
The J.B.'s : Gimme some more (1971) réédité sur la compilation James Brown's funky people (1986) - fond sonore -
Betty Davis : They say I'm different, de l'album du même nom (1974 )


JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 838_71mdhef8lml-_sl1200_
They Say I'm different Crédits : Betty Davis

À noter
Rediffusion de l'émission du 28 septembre 2019.

La possibilité d'exporter les playlists de Juke-Box,  proposée jadis grâce à Soundsgood, a pris fin le 1er mai 2020, à la  suite d'un changement de politique commerciale de cette société.

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Message par Florage le Mar 28 Juil - 11:41


BLUES, A SOCIAL CALL
j'ai souvent indiqué que j'incluais dans le "jazz" notamment toutes les musiques afro-américaines dont une des principales sources est le blues, et ce qu'il implique des rapports sociaux et historiques du "peuple noir" aux États-Unis

ce livre de Robert Springer n'est pas récent (publié en 1999, c'est en fait une thèse de 1983), qui se penche sur les Fonctions sociales du blues, un terme que l'on pourrait discuter s'il s'agissait d'e réduire le blues à un fonctionnalisme social
JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 711rHxldaUL
La fréquentation de la musique de blues passe le plus souvent par plusieurs niveaux de perception *. Dans une apparence première, due sans doute à une assimilation trop rapide du blues aux negro spirituals et aux chants des esclaves, on s’attend à y trouver des exemples plus ou moins évidents de contestation, voire des incitations à la révolte. Au-delà de cette connaissance superficielle, le Noir que l’on rencontre dans le blues semble se résigner et prendre presque goût à son sort et le genre ne semble faire état que de préoccupations liées au quotidien.

Pour ne pas rester sur ces impressions quelque peu décevantes il a fallu progresser dans l’analyse, notamment grâce à la transcription puis l’étude de centaines de morceaux.

C’est ce niveau de lecture qui révèle que, si certaines contradictions et incohérences sont dues au caractère oral de cette musique, d’autres ne s’expliquent que si elles participent d’une volonté appuyée et si elles opèrent comme masque de la contestation.

Par-delà le blues, cet ouvrage vise à réhabiliter tous les genres issus de la poésie ou de la littérature orale, dans un monde où l’oralité a depuis longtemps perdu sa prééminence face à l’écriture. L’étude des faits de culture oraux est une branche non négligeable du savoir qui a permis la connaissance et la compréhension de nombreux groupes ethniques ou culturels. Et, de même que dans certaines traditions populaires les mythes sont appréhendés comme des histoires vraies, le blues, lui, peut être considéré comme la véritable histoire du peuple noir américain.
* Springer ne généralise-t-il pas son propre cas ?  À partir de ma propre expérience de découverte du blues dans les années 60, je dirais que ses "impressions décevantes" n'engageait que ses attentes fondées sur des présupposés théorico-politiques, un certain gauchisme esthétique donc. De même je prendrais des distances avec sa prétention de définir Le blues authentique : son histoire et ses thèmes (1985) pour « considérer comme la véritable histoire du peuple noir américain ». Quelque chose dans le blues dépasse le blues et ne s'y réduit pas, on le sent très bien à la lecture des romans de Toni Morrison, dans lesquels on a l'impression d'une "vie blues" des personnages afro-américains, même là où il n'y a ni chant ni musique

recension par Claude Macherel : Le blues dans le texte
L’Homme, Revue française d’anthropologie, 158-159 | avril-septembre 2001, Jazz et anthropologie

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Message par Florage le Dim 2 Aoû - 6:48


BLACK LIST AGAIN STATE VIOLENCE
1927-2020

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 500x500cc

We Insist:
A Century Of Black Music Against State Violence

Bobby Carter and others, npr, June 26, 2020
America Reckons With Racial Injustice
In the liner notes to John Coltrane's 1964 album Live At Birdland, Amiri Baraka (then writing as Le Roi Jones) contemplated the gift the saxophonist and his band offered with this music inspired by the horrific deaths of four Black girls in a Birmingham church bombing inspired by white supremacist hatred. "Listen," Baraka wrote. "What we're given is a slow delicate introspective sadness, almost hopelessness, except for Elvin [Jones], rising in the background like something out of nature... a fattening thunder, storm clouds or jungle war clouds. The whole is a frightening emotional portrait of some place, in these musicians' feelings." Baraka is describing the transformation in art of unfathomable pain, the human response to violence, into grace. Not transcendence or reconciliation – but grace, the honor of one presence, the ability to face injustice and remain whole and gain the energy to respond. That's what Coltrane created in his landmark piece, which you'll find in the middle of the list below, as part of a history that parallels American culture's development: the story of Black American music and its response to oppression, and particularly, state-sanctioned violence.

In recent weeks, musicians have responded to the crowning of the Black Lives Matter movement as a central force motivating social change by writing new anthems, a remarkable new chapter in protest music. Listeners have connected creative leaps like Lil Baby's "The Bigger Picture" and Terrace Martin's "Pig Feet" to the hip-hop classics that challenged police violence in the 1990s and beyond, and to singular historical works like Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit." The truth, though, is that the witnessing, coded or open warnings and encouragement and political dissent communicated through today's urgent soundtrack characterize the whole of Black American music. From the oldest shout songs that surfaced on the Georgia coast to the spirituals that were revered after Emancipation, shared choruses documented brutality and exhorted people to resist. Jazz and blues songs that, to white listeners, seemed like good fun for dancing were news reports to those who knew how to listen. The civil rights movement codified hymns of resistance, but the soul and funk that poured from radios paid mind to police harassment and other threats too, sometimes more pointedly. There was never a moment, in fact, when Black musicians put aside their commitment to telling the truth of how Black people have been wronged, and survived, and fought back.

The 50 songs discussed in this list often describe specific acts of police violence but they are not limited to that subject. Together they construct a kind of timeline of an ongoing movement within American music, stretching back more than a century. It is meant to be revelatory but not complete. The songs here take on some of the ugliest stories with which America — and, since it goes international, the world — has to reckon. They mourn the dead and fight for the living. Some are easy to identify as protest songs; others feel like a party. Many address police violence directly decades before that subject became a lodestone in hip hop. Some of these songs have been misinterpreted even when their messages are perfectly clear. All contribute to the history of Black people showing what America's official histories would hide in plain sight: the destructiveness of white supremacy and the uprisings against it that are not only organized and political, but personal. Like music itself, this spirit of resistance takes many shapes, but has never been silenced. As Baraka said of Coltrane, all you have to do is really listen.

Listen to the songs featured below on playlists via Spotify and Apple Music.
pour les images et commentaires, voir l'original
1927–1963: Witness & Resistance

Sara Martin "Georgia Stockade Blues" (1927)
Louis Armstrong "I'll Be Glad When You're Dead (You Rascal You)"  (1931)
Ethel Waters "Supper Time" (1933)
Billie Holiday "Strange Fruit" (1939)
Vera Hall "Another Man Done Gone"(1940)
Leadbelly "Duncan and Brady" (1947)
Louis Jordan "Saturday Night Fish Fry" (1949)
Alex Foster & Michel Larue "Follow the Drinking Gourd" (1958)
Lord Commander "No Crime, No Law" (1959)
Abbey Lincoln & Max Roach "Triptych: Prayer/Protest/Peace" (1960)
John Coltrane "Alabama" (1963)

1967–1985: Black Power

The Equals Police on My Back" (1967)
The Lumpen "No More" (1970)
Marvin Gaye "Inner City Blues" & "What's Going On" (1971)
Gil Scott-Heron "No Knock" (1972)
Archie Shepp "Attica Blues" (1972)
Stevie Wonder "Living For The City" (1973)
War "Me and Baby Brother" (1973)
Sweet Honey in the Rock "Joanne Little" (1976)
Fela Kuti "Sorrow, Tears & Blood" (1977)
Rick James "Mr. Policeman" (1981)
Nina Simone "I Was Just A Stupid Dog To Them" (1982)
McIntosh County Shouters "Wade the Water to My Knees" (1983)
Wynton Marsalis "Black Codes" (1985)

1985–2012: Policing & Protest

Toddy Tee "Batterram" (1985)
N.W.A. "F*** Tha Police" (1988)
Tracy Chapman "Across the Lines" (1988)
Public Enemy "Anti-N***** Machine" (1990)
Main Source "Just a Friendly Game of Baseball" (1991)
Body Count "Cop Killer" (1992)
Rage Against The Machine "Killing In the Name" (1992)
Ice Cube "Who Got the Camera" (1992)
KRS-One "Sound of da Police" (1993)
Queen Latifah "Just Another Day..." (1993)
Michael Jackson "They Don't Care About Us" (1996)
Lauryn Hill "Forgive Them Father" (1998)
Hip Hop For Respect "A Tree Never Grown" (2000)
Gregory Porter "1960 What?" (2010)
Esperanza Spalding "Land of the Free" (2012)

2014–2020: Black Lives Matter

Vince Staples "Hands Up" (2014)
Ambrose Akinmusire "Rollcall for Those Absent" (2014)
Kendrick Lamar "The Blacker the Berry" (2015)
Georgia Anne Muldrow "Blam" (2018)
Jorja Smith "Blue Lights" (2018)
Our Native Daughters "Mama's Cryin' Long" (2018)
Terri Lyne Carrington & Social Science feat. Malcolm Jamal Warner "Bells (Ring Loudly)" (2019)
Rapsody "Nina" (2019)
Terrace Martin "Pig Feet" (2020)
Lil Baby "The Bigger Picture" (2020)
Leon Bridges "Sweeter" (2020)

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Message par Florage le Mar 4 Aoû - 12:39

via @sowetokinch
@jazzfm · 1h a écrit:Saxophonist Soweto Kinch has announced a new online festival that takes place in September. The festival will showcase performances, historians, artists and notable cultural figures from cities across the UK
JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL Event-Poster-scaled-e1595156736186
This unique collection of performances, and curated content will be screened in an online festival from September 14-18th.

As well as new commissioned performances, we’re inviting historians, artists and notable cultural figures to discuss the modern implications of this past: including Kehinde Andrews, Lowkey, Nicholas Payton and Jason Moran. Moreover, we’ll be drawing on local councillors, venues, promoters and cultural leaders to contribute to a lively series of panel discussions.

Join us from London, Hull, Salford, Liverpool, Cardiff and Newport for this exclusive curated series of performances, bringing the past to life and making sense of the present!

LIVE MUSIC, DANCE, NEW COMMISSIONS, EXCLUSIVE VIDEOS and ALBUM CONTENT, INTERVIEWS, PANEL DISCUSSIONS and much MORE.




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Message par Florage le Dim 30 Aoû - 5:33


UN OISEAU TRÈS SOCIAL

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL Magni
un disque sorti en 1955 en mono, pressage français par Barclay,
fantastique couverture de David Stone Martin

les artistes, -poètes, écrivains, musiciens, acteurs... -, ont cette capacité d'exprimer des émotions qu'ils ressentent ou non, émotions tirées de leur propre vie ou de celles d'autrui.e.s dont ils partagent des conditions ou moments de vie. Il n'en demeure pas moins une différence sensible lorsque ces émotions sont les leurs propres, et communes avec celles de leur communauté sociale. C'est un peu comme avec la formule : « La plus belle fille du monde ne peut donner que ce qu'elle a »

c'est toute la grandeur de Charlie Parker d'avoir fait son jazz avec ses conditions de vie et celles de la communauté noire des années 40 et de l'avoir porté au plus haut degré d'universalité musicalement, dans un langage traversant les frontières. C'est aussi pourquoi le bebop revival, même quand il atteint voire dépasse les prouesses techniques des novateurs du style, n'a littéralement aucun rapport avec les conditions sociales de notre temps, ou plutôt le même que tout académisme, un sens de fait conservateur et  réactionnaire

How Charlie Parker Defined the Sound and Substance of Bebop Jazz
Richard Brody, The New Yorker, August 29, 2020


JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL Brody-CharlieParker
Parker rendered the surfaces of music turbulent and cosmically intricate.
Photograph by Eliot Elisofon / The LIFE Picture Collection / Getty
Parker rendered the surfaces of music turbulent and cosmically intricate.Photograph by Eliot Elisofon / The LIFE Picture Collection / Getty
The roots of bebop were formed in the nineteen-thirties, when Thelonious Monk was playing largely in private in New York, Dizzy Gillespie was shaking up the Cab Calloway trumpet section, Kenny Clarke reconfigured his drum kit in Teddy Hill’s band, and Charlie Parker fell through a music warp while playing “Cherokee” in a jam session. But it found its form and flourished in the nineteen-forties, and it’s Parker, whose centenary falls on Saturday, who lends the music its definitive sound, tone, legend, influence, and curse.

In the abstract, bop is the harmonic and rhythmic complexification of jazz, based on the substitution of a new and more elaborate framework of chords for the ones originally anchoring pop songs. Organizationally, it’s the shift away from big bands (with their emphasis on compositions, arrangements, and unison playing) and toward individual soloists playing in small groups centered on extended improvisations. Aesthetically, it’s musicians’ self-aware transformation of jazz into an exemplary element of artistic modernism. And in tone, it’s a virtual sonic documentary of the world as the musicians experienced it at the time of its flowering—a musical representation of anguish, irony, derision, and idealistic yearning.

Bebop (the term wasn’t the musicians’ own; Clarke said, “We called ourselves modern”) arose on the brink of the Second World War, and came to fruition while the war was being waged. It’s one of the triumvirate of modernisms that was born from a generation of noncombatants, of 4-Fs. Like Jackson Pollock and Orson Welles, Parker, Monk, and Gillespie were deemed ineligible for service; what Welles did for film direction and Pollock did for painting, Parker, in particular, did for jazz, by representing the unrepresentable. Parker’s art is one of sonic images that give form to ideas that were hiding in plain sight or off the map of American mainstream culture; his tone embodies the very urgency of these representations. The abstractions of his art expressed the violence, the horror, the existential danger of wartime; furthermore, his art also gave voice to the blare of total mobilization in pursuit of victory in the war—and the injustices and indignities borne by Black Americans at home, which mocked the ideals of that national effort.

People could and did dance to Parker’s music, but it was essentially concert music; it wouldn’t have served to back a floor show (as many big bands did, despite the epochal inventiveness of their music). With its intricate harmonies, Parker—nicknamed Bird, which was in turn short for Yardbird—turned soloing into a jittery and skittering rope dance of chord changes that made his melodic inventiveness, his depth of feeling, his supersonic virtuosity, and his mercurial imagination all the more astounding. Parker’s music had an effect akin to that of Welles’s deep-focus complexities in “Citizen Kane,” uniting the foreground and the background, rendering the complex musical framework conspicuous. Like Abstract Expressionism, it rendered the surfaces of music turbulent and cosmically intricate.

Among the local horrors of racism at the time was the drafting of Black men to fight in the war—in segregated outfits—when, at home, their rights were denied. A leading Harlem nightspot, the Savoy Ballroom, was closed because of racist paranoia and policies. A white police officer’s shooting of a Black soldier named Robert Bandy resulted in a riot, in Harlem, in August, 1943. When the war ended and Black servicemen returned home, the agonizing contradiction between that outcome and the ongoing racism and segregation (as cited in Leo Hurwitz’s documentary “Strange Victory,” from 1948), poverty and police violence, which was amped up by the spread of heroin through Harlem, and the psychological dislocations and unaddressed traumas of postwar life. (As James Baldwin wrote, in “The New Lost Generation,” about the postwar years, “If one gave a party, it was virtually certain that someone, quite possibly oneself, would have a crying jag or have to be restrained from murder or suicide.”)

Parker was born and raised in Kansas City, where he began his career as a teen-ager. From his earliest successes to the end of his life, he was a consummate, authoritative, bone-shivering blues artist, even as his musical passions ran toward Bartók, Stravinsky, and other European modernists. To those accustomed to swing, let alone New Orleans styles, Parker’s music sounds hectic, disjointed, and scribble-scrabulous, but it quickly became a vital inspiration to a younger generation of musicians. (Miles Davis was still a teen-ager when he first performed and recorded with Parker, in 1945). Parker’s music is jumpy, crowded, energized to the breaking point, recklessly exposed—and, although he was joined by other musicians of similar inspiration (such as the pianist Bud Powell), Parker was the most self-revealing, the most vulnerable of them all. The sense of thrilling and terrifying existential adventure in his playing is reflected in the consuming furies of his life—and in the glorious yet burdensome mythology that turned him into a legend even while he lived and performed.

The stories (both true and false) that accreted around Parker included those of the heroin addict (seemingly, since adolescence) who nodded out on the bandstand only to wake up in a flash and take wondrous solos; the unreliable friend who borrowed money casually and pawned borrowed saxophones; the figure of immense appetites, who drank whiskey by the quart, was seen taking eight double shots before going onstage, and consumed Benzedrine pills by the literal handful. Even as his addictions deepened, his fame rose, culminating in the opening, in 1949, of the New York jazz club Birdland. (He had no financial stake in it; it borrowed his name and fame without paying him for it, though he played there often—until he was banned, on the grounds of his erratic behavior.) The fans and revellers who surrounded Parker included unofficial musical amanuenses, who followed him from gig to gig, recording his every note. As a result, Parker’s studio recordings, treasures though they are, take second place to the flood of bootlegs that preserve his musical legacy at its most inspired and uninhibited. (There's a playlist below.)

The first batch of records under Parker’s leadership is from 1945. By 1949, he was reportedly seeking a new musical pathway out of the style that he already exemplified, and that was already widely emulated by the best of younger musicians (many of whom, of course, would enter musical history in their own right). The early nineteen-fifties sped by—with the loss of Parker’s cabaret card (thus rendering him ineligible to perform in New York night clubs) and the death of his infant daughter, Pree. He suffered from depression, attempted suicide, and was again hospitalized. His alcoholism worsened, his health deteriorated, and he had premonitions of his death—even as he was forging advances on his style, with ever wider harmonic extremes, ever more fragmentary phrases, ever more daring effacements of the regularly pulsating beat.

When Parker died, in 1955, at the age of thirty-four, jazz was undergoing another revolution—with Davis at its forefront and other musicians, such as John Coltrane and Cecil Taylor, emerging. Above all, American society was on the verge of historic progress, owing to the devotion and the sacrifice of Black people demanding civil rights and an end to segregation. Parker didn’t live to see either transformation. Parker’s drive toward perpetual revolution in ideas and styles, and in personal bearing, foreshadowed the history of jazz to come. And his martyrdom to an art of self-revelation, demonstration, defiance, and revolt foreshadowed the tragic heroism of a generation of civil-rights leaders to come.


Richard Brody began writing for The New Yorker in 1999. He writes about movies in his blog, The Front Row. He is the author of “Everything Is Cinema: The Working Life of Jean-Luc Godard.




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Message par Florage le Sam 5 Sep - 8:30


QUELLE PROTESTATION ?

ce n'est pas moi qui prétendrais que le Jazz n'est en rien une "musique de protestation" mais il n'a jamais été que ça, et la protestation de la part des meilleurs est toujours venue par leur musique, pas d'un discours politique plaqué sur elle. D'aussi bons musiciens furent parfaitement réac ou du moins sans souci de questions raciales entre autres. Le fait est que ce furent et que ça reste massivement des musiciens blancs et mâles

la protestation fut aussi musicale dans le sens d'une lutte contre la récupération par l'"Amérique Blanche", à vrai dire l'accaparement par le Star System capitaliste d'une musique qui n'a jamais renié qu'elle était jouée pour le plaisir, née qu'elle fut dans les bordels et soutenue par les gangsters. Ainsi le bebop fut-il une réaction à l'affadissement musical de la Swing Era particulièrement par les Big Bands blancs, et le free jazz aussi un souci de sortir des sentiers battus musicaux

quant à enseigner la protestation à l'Université, ça me laisse songeur comme tous les slogans qui montent aujourd'hui des Campus américains, et qui voudraient s'inscrire dans la tradition inhérente à la musique de jazz comme porteuse de la situation sociale de la Communauté Afro-Américaine dans ses contradictions. S'il y a coupure de l'art des élites des réalités sociales, c'est parce que l'élitisme est inhérent aux rapports sociaux capitalistes, et vouloir recoller les morceaux à l'intérieur du système c'est comme le mélange de l'huile et de l'eau. Alors les artistes se donnent bonne conscience en faisant de la "musique engagée", bonnes âmes pour belle affaire qui ne change rien aux rapports sociaux

on sait que je déteste le gauchisme esthétique qui débouche inévitablement sur l'appréciation de l'art en fonction de son "message", raison pour laquelle les gauchistes peuvent tant apprécier de la merde esthétique, pourvu qu'elle les transporte, musique militante comme on dit musique militaire. Je n'ai pas au demeurant connu de gauchistes qui apprécient le jazz, leur truc étant le rock, le hard, la punk, le metal... bref, les trucs qui font marcher le commerce de la musique. Et quoi qu'il en soit, comme disait Leroi Jones


JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 2254afae7cb3790cf158663316395f9b

Jazz Has Always Been Protest Music. Can It Meet This Moment?
Giovanni Russonello, The New York Times, Sept. 3, 2020

Over the past 50 years, the music has become entrenched in academic institutions. As a result, it’s often inaccessible to, and disconnected from, many of the very people who created it: young Black Americans.

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL 06Jazz-Protest-1-superJumbo
Jazz remained a resistance music because it was the sound of Black Americans building something together,
in the face of repression.
Credit...Diana Ejaita

If the Black Lives Matter movement has an anthem, it’s probably Kendrick Lamar’s “Alright.” Five years after its release, it’s still chanted en masse by demonstrators and blasted from car stereos at protests, fluttering in the air like a liberation flag.

Like many revolutionary anthems past, this one is the work of young jazz-trained musicians. Terrace Martin’s shivering alto saxophone and Thundercat’s gauzy vocals are as powerful as the track’s spitfire refrain: “Can you hear me, can you feel me?/We gon’ be all right.”

Mr. Martin, Thundercat and the famed saxophonist Kamasi Washington came up together in Los Angeles’s Leimert Park scene, where Black music, poetry, theater and dance have blended for decades. Romantically, it’s the kind of place you’d imagine as the backbone of the jazz world, like Spike Lee’s Bed-Stuy of the 1980s or Dizzy Gillespie’s Harlem in the ’40s. But today, local scenes like this one are barely surviving. It’s the Ivory Tower, not the city, that has become the tradition’s main thoroughfare.

The music known as jazz grew up in New Orleans, in the decades after Emancipation, as Black and Creole people founded social clubs with their own marching bands. As it evolved, jazz remained a resistance music precisely because it was the sound of Black Americans building something together, in the face of repression. But at the end of the 1960s, just as calls for Black Power were motivating musicians to create their own publishing houses, venues and record labels, a new force emerged: Schools and universities across the country began welcoming jazz as America’s so-called “classical music,” canonizing its older styles and effectively freezing it in place.

This year, the pandemic and the protest movement against racial injustice have created a moment of enormous potential. Conversations about radical change and new beginnings have crept into seemingly every aspect of American life. But as jazz musicians reckon with the events of 2020, they have found themselves torn between the music’s roots in Black organizing and its present-day life in the academy.

The very institutional acceptance that many musicians sought in the mid-to-late-20th century has hitched jazz to a broken and still-segregated education system. Partly as a result, the music has become inaccessible to, and disconnected from, many of the very people who created it: young Black Americans, poorer people and others at the societal margins.

Of the more than 500 students who graduate from American universities with jazz degrees each year, less than 10 percent are Black, according to Department of Education statistics compiled by DataUSA. In 2017, the last year with data available, precisely 1 percent of jazz-degree grads were Black women.

“The education is the anchor,” the saxophonist J.D. Allen, 47, said in a recent interview. “We should be questioning our education system. Is it working? Is there a pipeline into the university for indigenous Black Americans to play their music, and learn their music? I don’t think that exists.”

Over the past five or 10 years, a number of musicians have helped pull jazz back into the cultural conversation, usually with message-driven music. It’s no coincidence that, like Mr. Lamar’s colleagues in Leimert Park, virtually all of them come from strong city scenes and learned much of what they know outside of school.

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The flutist Nicole Mitchell took over the jazz studies program at the University of Pittsburgh last year. “The music is about community,” she said.
Credit...Emily Berl for The New York Times


That’s noticeable in the calypso futurism of the London saxophonist Shabaka Hutchings, and in the surrealist suites of the Chicago-based flutist Nicole Mitchell and her Black Earth Ensemble. The markings of outsiderism are all over Georgia Anne Muldrow’s new album with her Jyoti project, “Mama You Can Bet,” full of dusty, sample-based jazz collages, recorded alone in her Los Angeles studio.

Raised by musicians in Leimert Park, Ms. Muldrow remembers feeling immediately affronted when she enrolled in the New School’s jazz program. “I was like, ‘What are you trying to teach people?’ I was the worst student of all time,” Ms. Muldrow said in an interview, laughing as she remembered that she hadn’t lasted a full year. “At the center of the teaching would always be the idea that jazz is not about race. And it absolutely is. It was absolutely about where people weren’t allowed to go, which made them travel in their music.”

Inspired in part by the Black, Indigenous and people of color (BIPOC) theater artists who this summer published a 29-page list of demands for their industry, and by the female and nonbinary musicians who formed the We Have Voice collective, Mr. Allen and a number of other musicians recently began holding Zoom meetings. The group, which includes artists on three continents, has titled itself the We Insist! Collective in a reference to the rebel music of Max Roach, Abbey Lincoln and Oscar Brown Jr.; late last month it released a manifesto and charter listing 10 demands for the schools and other institutions that compose jazz’s mainstream economy.

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL Merlin_156474114_7f713eab-00d0-424f-9eea-cee05f5f55de-superJumbo
"Is there a Pipeline into the university for indigenous Black Americans to play their music, and learn their music?”[/i] said J.D. Allen. “I don’t think that exists.”
Credit...Calla Kessler/The New York Times


Educational institutions must commit to revamping their curriculums around an anti-racist understanding, the collective wrote. A Black Public Arts Fund must be created to help increase the representation of African-American students in jazz programs. And educational institutions should work in partnership with “grass-roots local community organizations,” recognizing where the music has historically grown.

“The story of jazz is that of the pursuit of Black liberation, and that liberation can only happen through the dismantling of racism and patriarchy,” the manifesto reads.

Black musicians have built institutions since before the word “jazz” was even used. In 1910, James Reese Europe organized the Clef Club, effectively a union and booking agency for Black musicians in New York with its own large ensemble. But as white audiences fell in love with the music too, white entrepreneurs stepped in to handle the record labels, the publishing companies and the best-paying clubs.

The civil rights movement progressed and white liberal audiences recognized jazz musicians to be some of the country’s great artistic leaders, but they rarely treated those musicians as the scholars and thought-leaders that they were. White journalists, historians and broadcasters reserved that job for themselves.

At the midway point of the 1960s, after releasing his masterpiece, “A Love Supreme,” John Coltrane started a large ensemble with deeply spiritual intentions; he was abdicating the throne as jazz’s mainstream hero, and moving beyond many critics’ comprehension. That same year, a collective of musicians in Chicago formed the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians [AACM], supporting each other in creating new music and educating young people on the South Side. Months earlier, in a series of concerts known as the October Revolution in Jazz, musicians in New York had seized the gears of concert presentation, breaking with the clubs.

“I think the music is rising, in my estimation. It’s rising into something else. And so we’ll have to find this kind of place to be played in,”
Coltrane said at the time, calling for musicians to lead the way through “self-help.”

Somehow, it was in this moment that jazz programs began to spring up in academia, declaring the music’s history basically complete and assembling rigid curriculums based on bebop theory.

When the saxophonist and former Coltrane collaborator Archie Shepp was offered a job at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, in 1969, he hoped to teach the music as he was playing it: in conversation with African diasporic culture, in collaboration with theater artists and dancers, in spaces designed around the ethics of the music itself.

“I quickly learned that that was not too feasible, and mine was a point of view that was not welcomed,” Mr. Shepp, 83, said in an interview. He proposed setting up a program in African-American music within the music department, but was shut down; he landed in African-American studies instead. “The idea of Black music input or some nonwhite element being integrated into the academic experience was immediately rejected,” he said.

Mr. Shepp was one of the various cutting-edge musicians who were invited to teach at the university level around this time, but never fully embraced by music departments. “They were not willing to tolerate an Archie Shepp or a Max Roach, a Sun Ra or a Cecil Taylor,” the historian Robin D.G. Kelley said in an interview. “They kicked them out and said, let’s open the doors to ‘professionals’” — primarily white instructors who weren’t top-tier public performers.

JAZZ, A SOCIAL CALL Merlin_147075756_f16b1a96-cbfd-4034-868c-353adc79baf5-superJumbo
Jason Moran tells his students to bear in mind that they should always be in tension with the institutions they seek to change.
Credit...Richard Termine for The New York Times


Combined with the resegregation of public education and the defunding of arts programs in many cities, the effects of academicization have been profound, and ironic. Jazz got a crucial nudge into the academy from Wynton Marsalis and his fellow young neo-traditionalists, who were guarding against what they saw as the corruptions of fusion and free jazz. But even the music made by the ace students in academic programs nowadays rarely upholds the qualities Mr. Marsalis meant to protect: the swing rhythm at the music’s core; a clear commitment to the blues; focus on lyricism.

When the esteemed drummer Billy Hart, now 79, took his first university teaching job in the 1990s, he got the sense that the academy was finally ready to hire real practitioners. “It became some kind of fad,” he said dryly in an interview. “They decided that the students would be better suited if they had somebody that had experience.”

Naledi Masilo, a jazz undergrad at the New England Conservatory and the president of its Black Student Union, said that with the events of this summer, she and other Black students felt called to speak up.

“Until the recent uprising and Black consciousness on all of these school campuses, there weren’t many conversations had on campus on a deep level about what role Blackness plays in this music,” Ms. Masilo said. “It was especially shocking to me in this jazz program, where there’s only three Black students and three Black faculty. There was a disconnect — how are you teaching this music without giving any real influence to the people and the culture?” (After publication, the chair of the school’s Jazz Studies department said there are currently five students and six faculty members who identify as Black.)

The students made three immediate demands, calling for action within the month. A group of N.E.C. alumni followed with a forceful letter of its own, co-signing the students’ ultimatums and adding more — including that the jazz department be renamed the department of Black American music.

Jason Moran, the MacArthur-winning pianist and multidisciplinary artist, is a professor at N.E.C., where he advises the Black Student Union. He tells his students to bear in mind that they should always be in tension with the institutions they seek to change. “An underground movement has to be underground,” he said in an interview.

In his own classroom, he rejects the notion of having a written curriculum. “What I talk about in my classes between my students and I, the kinds of conversations we have to break down about repertoire — who wrote what and why — is not on a syllabus,” he said. “You would never detect it if you searched it, because I don’t teach that way.”

Some schools are starting to approach the integration of humanities, history and artistic instruction that Mr. Shepp and others had in mind 50 years ago. One is Harvard University’s Creative Practice and Critical Inquiry doctoral program, recently founded by the pianist Vijay Iyer and driven by a mostly female faculty from a variety of global traditions. Another is the Berklee Institute for Jazz and Gender Justice, founded by the drummer Terri Lyne Carrington, who conceived of the program with activists including Angela Davis.

Ms. Mitchell, the Chicago-based flutist, took over the jazz studies program at the University of Pittsburgh last year, stepping in after the death of its prior director, Geri Allen. Founded by the saxophonist Nathan Davis in 1970 as a concession to Black student activists, Pitt’s jazz program was attractive to Ms. Mitchell because of its focus on scholarship and musicology, as well as learning the notes.

Upon arriving, she proposed that the jazz program partner with the school’s Center for African-American Poetry to open a small venue in the community engagement center that Pitt was building in a historically Black neighborhood. The administration immediately said yes.

“This will be place for local musicians to perform, for students to connect with local musicians,” Ms. Mitchell said.

“The music is about community,”
she added. “So if a student graduates and doesn’t have any connection to community, that’s a real rip-off for that student in terms of what they’re supposed to be gaining. And it’s also a rip-off for the future of the music.”

Jazz Is Built for Protests. Jon Batiste Is Taking It to the Streets.June 24, 2020

Correction: Sept. 3, 2020
An earlier version of this article included a quotation that misstated the number of students and faculty members at the New England Conservatory who identify as Black. There are now five such students and six faculty members, not three and three.

A version of this article appears in print on Sept. 6, 2020, Section AR, Page 9 of the New York edition with the headline: Is Jazz Capable of Meeting This Moment?

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