So I'm neither trying to write off jazz as a valuable genre, nor diminish anyone's appreciation if it. That being said, today I want to tackle the question that journalists and critiques alike have tried to answer for decades: "orchestra or jazz?"
Of course, the dispute is more commonly presented as "classical or jazz." Somehow over the years, the meaning of the word "classical" has evolved from its literal definition. While the word is now widely used as an umbrella term for more or less anything played by an orchestra, it actually only accounts for European music written between 1750 and 1830, which is merely a small taste of what Western orchestral music has to offer. And in deconstructing this stereotype, I've subsequently brought up my first point: orchestral music is diverse. It represents the varying styles, tones, and techniques of hundreds of years worth of composers. Take Renaissance music for instance, which, due to the influence of the church, was almost entirely sacred a cappella masses and motets. Or Romanticism, which introduced programme music, a style that musically renders an external narrative— a common example being Berlioz's Symphony Fantastique, which uses instruments to tell an epic tale of love, murder, and execution.So when people say they find orchestral music boring, it probably stems from the dozens of repetitive Bach chorales and Mozart rondos they've heard in their lifetime, and not from Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture which climaxes with the eruption of a battery of artillery cannons, or Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring which caused rioting during its debut due to its unconventional harmonies.
And it isn't only the differing styles and forms that make orchestral music so diverse. An orchestra is an expansive collection of instruments, each of which provides a different timbre to the mix. The range in pitch and texture from the piccolo to the double bass allows for otherwise inaccessible depths. Yet despite the distinctiveness of each instrumentalist's role, the final product is still completely unified. Each musician reacts and responds to the conductor's every facial expression in such a way that connects all the individual melodic lines.
This accordance of performers with one another is also exemplified in chamber ensembles. For practical reasons, chamber musicians are trained to breathe in unison with each other, but if you ever get the opportunity to watch them perform live, it becomes evident that the technique transcends setting the tempo and coordinating the entries. Synchronized breathing is instinctive, and manifests music's connective qualities.
Orchestral music is losing it's relevance, however, and jazz is becoming more and more reputable. Along with its admittedly innovative rhythms and inventive riffs, one of the main reasons for jazz's growing popularity is, frankly, it's portability. While a symphony orchestra can consist of 60 to 100 musicians, a typical jazz band at its biggest is around 25 members. And when each additional member needs an additional chair, music stand, and instrument, jazz bands are consequently more efficient. But efficiency only goes so far, and personally, I think the limited timbre really thins out the texture of a standard jazz band (which mostly consists of brass voices) and restricts the depths it can achieve.
But convenience isn't all jazz has to offer. Arguably, the genre's biggest attraction is its scope for personal interpretation and expression through improvised soloing. And while the solos are usually greatly virtuosic and require a high degree of musical adeptness, they sometimes tend to lose their melodious character and become gratuitous, fortuitous, and overly spectacular. Now, that isn't to say there isn't a place for show-offy solos. Orchestral concertos often include cadenzas which are unaccompanied, often improvised, ornamental solos not unlike those performed by jazz soloists. But from my experience, a jazz song will go from solo to solo to solo, while a concerto will use a cadenza as deliberate, climactic tool to move the composition towards its finale.
I've heard Big Band pieces that have worked for me, though. Some of Yellowjackets' works, for instance, will strategically feature one or two solos to enhance the arrangement, and it can actually be quite effective. But when a piece is almost entirely comprised of improvised solo, it starts to feel nonlinear and unmelodious.
American comedian, H Jon Benjamin captures it perfectly with his experimental jazz album, Well, I Should Have... (subtitled Learned to Play Piano). Benjamin "never liked jazz very much," and intentionally recorded the album to illustrate his impression of it. As the title suggests, he isn't trained on piano, or any instrument for that matter, and features himself as a solo pianist anyways. And when I first listened to the album without context, it took a while for me to clue in that it was a joke, because the solos aren't too far off from most professional improvisations I've heard.
All jokes aside though, whether you prefer orchestral, jazz, or any other genre, everybody benefits from music in a really transcendent way. Because when you watch somebody express something, it's inherent to feel a response that speaks to your personal ambitions, desires, and goals. But when that response becomes sympathetic, your personal qualities are removed from your reaction, and you become fully immersed in what's being expressed. This phenomenon is called the "Dance of Sympathy," and a common example is when someone taps their toes or bobs their head to music. They are using their bodies to respond sympathetically to the ebb and flow of the music. When you surpass yourself to freely exist within a melody, you encounter the music from a first person perspective.
And that intuitive, life-giving experience is why orchestral music gets me jazzed.
Very well thought and excecuted points, this blog is gets me jazzed for your future blogs
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