Jazz has been a part of my life, constantly but not very intimately—like wallpaper you only occasionally notice—since the beginning. This is almost entirely due to my dad, who is a jazz fan and an amateur bassist. When he is not having a jam session of his own, the music can often be heard from his stereo; and we have gone to our fair share of jazz concerts together. Indeed, even this book is from his house.
Paul Berliner came to jazz through a side door. A professional ethnomusicologist, he specialized in the mbira (thumb piano) of Zimbabwe. He approached this project with the same anthropological method: immersing himself in the music by listening to and learning it as much as possible. He attended concerts and took trumpet lessons from professional musicians. He also conducted in-depth interviews with dozens of practitioners, resulting in thousands of pages of notes. Berliner performed musical analysis, too, by transcribing a great many solos. This is, in a word, a thorough book.
Berliner attempts to take the reader through the many stages of jazz improvisation—from beginner to advanced—as well as the many conceptual levels that comprise it: melody, harmony, rhythm, motivic development, interacting with other players, and so on. More than most genres of music, playing jazz requires an extremely high level of technical competence. Beyond merely being able to manipulate the instrument, a soloist must have a firm grasp of fast-moving, complex harmonies in order to compose an appropriate solo. And since every solo is supposed to be fresh and original, soloists cannot overcome the difficulty by planning out their solos beforehand.
In his classic study of oral poetry, Albert Lord contends that ancient bards (like Homer) were able to “improvise” enormous poems by combining lines of pre-memorized poetry that fit the meter. I thought jazz might be the same way. But even though Lord’s work is referenced by Berliner, this framework seems only partly applicable to jazz improvisers. True, they can familiarize themselves with the harmonic structure, and memorize licks, phrases, and melodies that can be combined or modified to form the solo. However, unlike the tradition Lord describes, in jazz there is a very strong emphasis on spontaneous composition, and Berliner relates many negative reactions to soloists who over-rely on prepared material. Novelty is more highly valued than consistency.
Jazz, then, is democratic in one sense (every player helps to collectively compose the piece) but undemocratic in another (a great deal of training is required to play it at even a basic level). For my part, although I have musical training and understand the basics of music theory, I found myself daunted by the many challenges Berliner describes. Could I make a solo that was melodically attractive, harmonically accurate, rhythmically interesting, stylistically appropriate, and—most importantly—genuinely new, day after day, night after night? No, I very much doubt I could. Let those braver than I make the attempt.
Berliner did his best to make this book accessible to a layperson. The musical transcriptions are confined to the back, so the text can be read straight through. And he mostly refrains from using academic jargon or technical terms. However, though clear, Berliner is unfortunately not an engaging writer. The prose is cumbersome, lifeless, and dry. If not for the direct quotes frequently interspersed—inevitably more engaging and colorful—this book would be painful to read.
Style aside, this is a thorough and intelligent study of an extraordinary music tradition. Berliner has done an admirable job in putting to paper processes and activities (the many skills involved in making music) that are fundamentally not linguistic, and therefore elusive. I will be surprised if a better ethnomusicological treatment of jazz appears anytime soon.