Ted gioia how to listen to jazz

How to Listen to Jazz by Ted Gioia

English | 2016 | ISBN: 0465060897 | 272 pages | PDF | 2,4 MB
Jazz is the great American art form, its very essence is predicated on freedom and creativity. Its sound unequivocally calls forth narratives of past struggles and future dreams. Yet jazz can be as inscrutable as it is mesmerizing, especially to outsiders who don’t know what to make of improvisation or unexpected shifts in melody or tempo. How does a casual listener learn to understand and appreciate the nuances between the unapologetic and innovative sounds of Louis Armstrong, the complexity of Coleman Hawkin’s saxophone, and the exotic and alluring compositions of Duke Ellington? How does Thelonius Monk fit in alongside Benny Goodman and John Coltrane?

In How to Listen to Jazz, award-winning music scholar Ted Gioia presents a lively, accessible introduction to the art of listening to jazz. Covering everything from the music’s structure and history to the basic building blocks of improvisation, Gioia shows exactly what to listen for in a jazz performance. He shares listening strategies that will help readers understand and appreciate jazz for the rest of their lives, and provides a history of the major movements in jazz right up to the present day. He concludes with a guide to 150 elite musicians who are setting the tone for 21st century jazz.

Both an appreciation and an introduction to jazz by a foremost expert, How to Listen to Jazz is a must-read for anyone who’s ever wanted to understand America’s greatest contribution to the world of music.

How to Listen to Jazz (by Ted Gioia)

Virtually everyone of a certain age can recall where they were when they first heard about the assassination of John F. Kennedy, or the September 11 attacks, but most jazz fans can also recall another crucial event in their lives: the moment when they first caught “the jazz bug”. For me, it was in January 1974, when our junior high band teacher, Earl Faulkner, told us to leave our instruments in the cases, as the hour rehearsal would be devoted to playing jazz recordings. We listened to tracks from Maynard Ferguson’s album “MF Horn” that day, and that was enough to spur my interest. Over the next few years, Mr. Faulkner lent me several recordings—including the Musicraft 78s by Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker, which had a considerably greater impact on me than Ferguson’s “MacArthur Park”. I am forever indebted to Mr Faulkner and countless other mentors who helped the music find me—yes, it finds us, not the other way around—and I take special pride in sharing my love of this music through the internet, the classroom, and personal contact. My most recent opportunity to expound on the wonders of jazz came just a few weeks ago during my trip to the East Coast. Happily, it coincided with the publication of a new book by Ted Gioia, “How to Listen to Jazz” (Basic Books), which—with the blessings of Gioia and his publicist—I presented to a friend of the family who is just learning about the music.

Many established jazz fans might believe that Gioia’s book is too elementary for their needs. After all, most of us learned basic listening skills when we were first exposed to the music. However, I contend that this book should be required reading for jazz fans young and old, because throughout this volume, Gioia proves that the best way to revitalize our own passions for jazz is to share the music with others. He recalls the excitement of attending a jazz club for the first time, and how he thought that anything could happen on the bandstand that night. Then he applies his 30 years of experience as a critic and historian to reveal the truths and falsehoods of that notion. Gioia explains the structure of jazz without resorting to musical jargon. Want to recognize swing when you hear it? Gioia suggests going to YouTube and listening to a junior high or high school jazz band that doesn’t know how to swing. The rhythmic tension is unmistakable—and completely absent when following up with a recording of the Count Basie Orchestra. Gioia has an even more audacious way to approach the music of Charlie Parker: sing along with Bird! Even if the listener can’t match Parker note for note, Gioia notes that it won’t take long for the listener to “be immersed in the essence of the bebop sound. You will feel the rhythmic structure of the phrases; you will internalize the chromaticism and cadences even if you have no notion of the technical rules that guide them.”

Gioia also uses many standard techniques to introduce listeners to jazz. There are the schematic “AABA” essays which describe famous recordings eight bars at a time, assigning letters to each section, and explaining what happens in each episode. Eventually, he delves into the history of the music, and tells about several of the major innovators. However, Gioia sticks to the music, and wisely avoids the often-told tales of Louis Armstrong’s affection for Swiss Kriss and Charlie Parker’s stay at Camarillo. He also steers his readers away from the critical conceptions heaped upon the music by his predecessors, asserting that a listener can enjoy free jazz better by jettisoning conceptual baggage, and just appreciating it on an emotional level. As Gioia states, “you can always come back and analyze it later.” He discusses the music in the post-Coltrane era, offering astute opinions on fusion, ECM/World Music and neo-classicism. The closing section may the most valuable of all, as Gioia discusses contemporary jazz and the unique ways that jazz has mixed with other genres. He stops short of predicting the next innovation in the music, but he seems as anxious as the rest of us to explore the new sounds. As an appendix, Gioia includes a list of 150 jazz musicians currently in the early to middle stages of their careers for readers to follow (and because it’s a list, you can all argue about its contents amongst yourselves).

Just as I return to the works of George Orwell, Jonathan Swift and William Zinsser for necessary inspiration as a writer, I plan to keep Gioia’s book handy to remind me of my love for jazz and my joy in sharing this music with others. As I told my young friend a few weeks ago, jazz is like nothing else in the world, and it is the primary force in my life. Ted Gioia’s book explains the reasons why, both for me and for millions of jazz fans all over the globe.

How to Listen to Jazz

A «radiantly accomplished» music scholar presents an accessible introduction to the art of listening to jazz (Wall Street Journal)

In How to Listen to Jazz, award-winning music scholar Ted Gioia presents a lively introduction to one of America’s premier art forms. He tells us what to listen for in a performance and includes a guide to today’s leading jazz musicians. From Lo A «radiantly accomplished» music scholar presents an accessible introduction to the art of listening to jazz (Wall Street Journal)

In How to Listen to Jazz, award-winning music scholar Ted Gioia presents a lively introduction to one of America’s premier art forms. He tells us what to listen for in a performance and includes a guide to today’s leading jazz musicians. From Louis Armstrong’s innovative sounds to the jazz-rock fusion of Miles Davis, Gioia covers the music’s history and reveals the building blocks of improvisation. A true love letter to jazz by a foremost expert, How to Listen to Jazz is a must-read for anyone who’s ever wanted to understand and better appreciate America’s greatest contribution to music.

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I’ve just finished reading this book (and when I say reading I mean reading & listening to Gioia’s recommendations) and I’ve been sitting here for the last couple of minutes, listening to random jazz on Spotify, having coffee and a cigarette and simply being grateful that such a book exists.

A joyous excursion into the exciting and wondrous world of the music where everything is possible!

How to Listen to Jazz is a book I picked up as part of my wish to learn more about the origins and the cultural evolution of jazz, while looking at it from a musical standpoint more than a historical. Ted Gioia was definitely the right man to turn to for this!

The music scholar talks with such passion and knowledge about the subject that it’s hard not to get swept away by his enthusiasm. Briefly co A joyous excursion into the exciting and wondrous world of the music where everything is possible!

How to Listen to Jazz is a book I picked up as part of my wish to learn more about the origins and the cultural evolution of jazz, while looking at it from a musical standpoint more than a historical. Ted Gioia was definitely the right man to turn to for this!

The music scholar talks with such passion and knowledge about the subject that it’s hard not to get swept away by his enthusiasm. Briefly covering structural things like rhythm, phrasing and pitch, he explains how to understand structures of songs by guiding the reader through a couple of examples. There are then short passages on the different eras jazz has moved through, followed by a look at a couple of grand jazz innovators and a list of contemporary jazz artists worth listening to.

There are so many people who love jazz, and who speak of it with such passion and devotion, that I have always concluded that my own indifference to the genre must be the fault of me, not the music. So what could be more fitting than a book titled «How to Listen to Jazz»?

It is clear that Ted Gioia not only loves jazz, but wants you to love it too. In clear and understandable language, he explains essential musical concepts as dynamics, phrasing, pitch, and personality. He gives helpful summarie There are so many people who love jazz, and who speak of it with such passion and devotion, that I have always concluded that my own indifference to the genre must be the fault of me, not the music. So what could be more fitting than a book titled «How to Listen to Jazz»?

It is clear that Ted Gioia not only loves jazz, but wants you to love it too. In clear and understandable language, he explains essential musical concepts as dynamics, phrasing, pitch, and personality. He gives helpful summaries of the major sub genres of jazz – swing, bebop, cool jazz, fusion, etc., while also explaining the significance of jazz giants like Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Billie Holiday, Miles Davis and John Coltrane. And he does it all without a hint of elitism or condescension.

Probably most helpful to me as a fan primarily of pop, rock and folk is the realization that jazz is not focused on replication. Every other musical genre seeks to repeat what was originally written and recorded, but with jazz, the distinctive element is spontaneity. Jazz is never the same, which explains why you’ll see so many jazz artists doing their own versions of the same classic songs. Jazz’s goal is not to repeat the song, but to explore it, reinvent it, and even deconstruct it. In contrast to the «realm of perfect replication,» jazz is for those «who want to be in attendance when the miracle happens.» (49).

I doubt my love for jazz will ever match Gioia’s, but as a result of reading this helpful book, I am at least motivated to open my ears and listen.

Feel like I’m finally ready to be that white-guy-in-his-20s at cocktail parties.

Really good introduction for complete newcomers that I feel I will keep going back to. Includes chapters on basic terms, history of trends, and key artist profiles. Definitely recommend listening to the Spotify playlist in between sections.

Picked this up while randomly perusing the shelves at the library. It turned out to be a delight. Gioia is as big a fan of jazz as he is a learned critic. He starts out by talking about really using your ears to listen to the music, gives a little background on rhythm and structure, then moves from the origins of jazz through each type of style/era (complete with recommended songs/artists for each period of innovation), and then closes with some of his favorite innovators (Louis Armstrong, Colem Picked this up while randomly perusing the shelves at the library. It turned out to be a delight. Gioia is as big a fan of jazz as he is a learned critic. He starts out by talking about really using your ears to listen to the music, gives a little background on rhythm and structure, then moves from the origins of jazz through each type of style/era (complete with recommended songs/artists for each period of innovation), and then closes with some of his favorite innovators (Louis Armstrong, Coleman Hawkins, Duke Ellington, Billie Holiday, Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Ornette Coleman).

I was going to try list and link to all the recommendations, but there are just too many. Instead, I’ll simply link to a few of my favorite jazz songs below this review.
——————————————
WORD I LEARNED WHILE READING THIS BOOK
ostinato
——————————————
A few of my favorites.
— «Watermelon Song» (William Parker)
— «Blue Pepper» (Duke Ellington)
— «C Jam Blues» (Louis Armstrong)
— «Turnaround» (Joshua Redman)
— «Bird’s Lament» (Moondog)
— «My Funny Valentine» (Sarah Vaughan)
— «Blue Moon» (Billie Holiday)
— «Paranoid Android» (Brad Mehldau)
— «Mad World» (Postmodern Jukebox)
. more

This book may be useful to complete beginners, but I feel somewhat misled. I got it because of the name, and because the first chapter or two really did orient me toward aspects of listening and appreciation that were helpful. But by page 75 I looked up and said «What happened? This has just become another history of jazz, and a pretty cursory one.»

I can’t really blame Ted Gioia for my disappointment with How to Listen to Jazz. I knew how it was gonna go. I’ve been listening to jazz with pleasure my entire adult life. Recently, though, I’ve been approaching my keen music fandom with the idea that putting in more work will yield more pleasure. Specifically, I want to know the elements from which music is made, so that I can afford the craft involved an adult appreciation,much as I know an elegant paragraph or a delicate pie crust in a way t I can’t really blame Ted Gioia for my disappointment with How to Listen to Jazz. I knew how it was gonna go. I’ve been listening to jazz with pleasure my entire adult life. Recently, though, I’ve been approaching my keen music fandom with the idea that putting in more work will yield more pleasure. Specifically, I want to know the elements from which music is made, so that I can afford the craft involved an adult appreciation,much as I know an elegant paragraph or a delicate pie crust in a way that’s informed by experience. I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole of music-nerd YouTube and this title was enthusiastically recommended by uber-nerd, crush-magnet, Adam Neely, so I assumed it was somewhat rigorous, not having merited his gentle enough but not-infrequent scorn.

How to Listen to Jazz: A Q&A with Ted Gioia

My goal with How to Listen to Jazz was a simple one, but also challenging: I wanted to provide an entry point into jazz for newcomers, but do it in such a way that even a very knowledgeable fan would find something useful or insightful on every page.
&#151Ted Gioia

Ted Gioia

» data-original-title=»» title=»»> Ted Gioia has tasked himself with writing a book that asks people to drop their musical prejudices and open up their ears. The challenge in writing a book like is to find a middle path between, as Gioia says, «those who pretend that music is objective science and those who insist it is «subjective whimsy. » For my money, he has succeeded; talking about the nuts and bolts of melody, harmony and rhythm in a clear, comprehensible, knowing way, while finding myriad ways to communicate the joy («jouissance») in the music.

Ted was kind enough to respond to some questions I sent him.

One of the foundations of the book is that there are standards that are inherent in the music. Talk about the process of teasing these out. If you want to grasp the dangers of imposing external standards on the music, just look at the long, sad history of warring camps in the jazz world. In the 1940s, traditional jazz musicians complained about bop because it didn’t sound like

Louis Armstrong

Finally, the jazz wars seem to have ended. Okay, we have a few skirmishes on the border—I saw an exchange of fire a few days ago on the

Kamasi Washington

» data-original-title=»» title=»»> Kamasi Washington front—but this is all child’s play compared with the full-scale battles of days gone by. And I will be the first to celebrate the cessation of hostilities. Let’s enjoy the peace dividend.

But there’s a larger lesson at stake here. Different genres and subgenres bring with them their own standards, and make different demands on us. My enjoyment of the music—and my understanding of it—have been enhanced by trying to live up to these demands. Our response to the music comes with a responsibility—two words that derive from the same etymological root. And part of that responsibility is to enter into the distinctive worldview and templates that come embedded into the music.

Why was it important for you to bring in your own experience in learning how to play this music? This book is more autobiographical than anything I’ve ever written. I felt that the best way to teach readers how to listen to jazz is to share the path by which I learned to listen deeply to the music. Between the ages of 15 and 25, I spent around 10,000 hours at the piano, and many more hours studying the performances of the best musicians I could find, in person or on record. My subsequent work as a music critic and historian is built on this foundation.

What did I learn from that apprenticeship? Sad to say, I learned to appreciate the greatness of the masters through my own mistakes, and through all the slow, hard work I put into gaining fluency with the basic building blocks of the music. I struggled and fought my way through every aspect of jazz, from how to start and end a phrase to how to how to create rhythmic misdirection and float over the beat. I really didn’t possess a mature grasp of jazz until I was in my late twenties and, in retrospect, I’ve often wished I had been a more precocious learner, or had had access to skilled teachers. I really taught myself, and a day at a time. It’s no exaggeration to say that I had to invent my own pedagogy. But this slow path brought some advantages—I developed analytical and methodological tools that have proven invaluable in helping me conceptualize and articulate what’s going on in the music. I draw on these hard-won learnings in How to Listen to Jazz, and I feel that I have dealt with a number of key issues in a way that hasn’t been done in other books on the subject.

Can you flesh out this quote a bit: «We can tell that we are encountering a real work of art by the degree to which it resists [your emphasis] our subjectivity.» Some people will tell you that our responses to music are purely subjective. But everything I’ve learned about music runs counter to that claim. My previous book on love songs describes in great specificity quasi-universal qualities in music that cut across cultural and individual differences. The same is true in my books on work songs and healing music. Music critics and historians ignore these factors at their own risk. They undermine their work to the extent that they believe they can impose their whims or ideologies on the music.

In the course of reading jazz and blues history, I’ve never encountered your interesting points that statistics used to track diseases can also tell us about the spread of jazz and that looking at African-American farming plots can help trace the genesis of the blues. Why do you suppose more of this cross-discipline work hasn’t been done-or have I simply missed it? I learned these analytical techniques through sheer happenstance. In my early twenties I studied the diffusion of innovations at Stanford Business School. My professors had no intention of teaching me skills I could use in writing music history books, but I later saw how these predictive models could answer key questions in my research into early blues or traditional love songs.

By the way, my readers would probably be surprised by how much my analysis of music has been enhanced by studying microeconomics, game theory, statistics, business strategy and other issues outside the typical purview of music critics. This is true of both my writings on music history but also my writings and talks on the current music industry.

I love that you call those who deconstruct and recombine musical memes «the gene splicers of jazz.» Why did you choose that metaphor rather than alluding to the idea of «influences»? The notion of influence tends to promote linear and static thinking. But when we apply the metaphor of DNA and genetics to our discussions of musical evolution, we can grasp the dynamic and complex nature of these processes with more insight.

Take for example, saxophonist Lester Young. A static lineage model would tell you that he was a major influence on Stan Getz and a handful of other postwar saxophonists. End of story. But a better way of understanding his impact is to look at how his expansion of a ‘cool’ vocabulary, with its emphasis on melodicism and understatement, entered into the global music DNA—and could be adapted by anyone seeking a certain kind of aesthetic experience. Once you view Lester Young in that way, you start hearing how he shaped movie soundtracks, bossa nova, pop music, a cappella vocal arrangements, even classical works such as John Adams’ recent sax concerto. You understand Young better by viewing his innovations—which were essentially genetic mutations in the sphere of music—in this wider context.

You have a definite brief against «global entertainment corporations.» Tell us why and what you think might be done to ameliorate their negative influence. I listened to more than one thousand new releases last year, and I am on track to do the same this year. I cast a very wide net in my listening—I check out all music genres, and though I pay attention to highly-promoted commercial releases from the major labels, I also listen closely to little-known projects from small indie labels and self-produced albums.

This is a large investment of time, but it gives me valuable insights into the priorities of the global entertainment corporations. I can see what they are choosing to promote, and compare it against the projects they turn down or ignore.

And what do I learn from this? My conclusions are depressing ones. First let me share the good news: there is more outstanding music recorded today than at any point in history. But here’s the bad news: it’s harder to find than ever before. The big entertainment corporations are doing a terrible job of scouting talent, nurturing it, and giving it a platform to reach a large audience. There’s a crisis in the music business. And this isn’t just my personal opinion—just look at sales figures and financial statements, or talk to the talented musicians who are trying to build careers in this environment.

Why are labels making such bad decisions? We can speculate on the causes. I would love to give an ear test to folks making decisions at the major labels. How skilled are they at actually hearing what’s happening on a recording, and grasping what the musicians are doing? And then I’d like to give them a polygraph test to see which is more important to them, promoting artistry or making money? And, then, I’d like to have a test to gauge their degree of commitment to musical values, and their courage in pushing against the groupthink and conformity of the huge corporations that employ them. Finally, I would like to compare these results against those of the visionary label execs from today and the past—people like John Hammond or Manfred Eicher or George Martin. I have a hunch we would find some answers to our questions, no?

Do you have a specific idea who the audience will be for this book? Do you hope it will work its way into the educational market? I’ve been blessed with great readers. I hear from them all the time—especially in the last few years, with the rise of social media and worldwide connectivity. And I learn from them too.

Many of my readers are musicians, some of them absolute masters of their instruments. Others played in bands in the past and have transitioned to other careers, yet still have big ears and trained sensibilities. Some have never had musical training, but care deeply about the music. This very smart audience keeps me honest. I have them in mind while I write, and that helps me avoid glib and facile treatment of the subjects at hand.

I try to write in such a way that every one of these readers is served by the book. My goal with How to Listen to Jazz was a simple one, but also challenging: I wanted to provide an entry point into jazz for newcomers, but do it in such a way that even a very knowledgeable fan would find something useful or insightful on every page. I’ll leave it to others to judge whether I live up to that goal.

Close(d) Listening: Ted Gioia’s “How to Listen to Jazz”

Jazz’s past bests its present in worthwhile if flawed new book

It happens with amusing regularity: I meet somebody at a party and the talk turns toward what we do for a living. When I say I write about music, there’s a flicker of startled curiosity, followed fast by a sharpening of attention. “What kind of music?” asks my new pal. “Mostly jazz,” comes the reply, and with that I can watch the clouds roll in.

“Oh,” he or she says, and I don’t need much more context to know what’s going on. Jazz, and my presumed expertise in the subject, has pressurized the conversation. Sometimes what comes next feels like a defensive apology, and sometimes it’s a veiled dismissal, but even when it’s more earnest-“So, what should I be listening to?”-a stubborn insecurity suddenly hulks at the center of our exchange. The mere idea of jazz strikes this person as lofty and intimidating, esoteric and possibly scary. And as an arbiter of this self-serious music, I stand for tsk-tsking superiority and judgment.

The best response a critic can muster in this situation is to disarm presumptions, wrestling the fear back to a manageable scale. The second-best response is to offer a way forward, with clear vision and concrete recommendations. Ted Gioia, a veteran jazz critic and historian, attempts to combine these two approaches in his new book, How to Listen to Jazz (Basic). Part music-appreciation manual, part pocket history, part conversion tract, it feels like a considered response to precisely the sort of exchange I’ve just described. Early on, Gioia lays out a thesis, “the notion that careful listening can demystify virtually all of the intricacies and marvels of jazz.”

Gioia-who helped establish the jazz studies program at Stanford, and whose previous books include The History of Jazz (Oxford, 1997)-comes to this task with well-tested expertise. His writing is conversational and full of illustrative examples, geared toward a reader who’s earnest and curious but a little tentative.

He begins with a chapter titled “The Mystery of Rhythm,” kicking around thoughts on the miracle of swing. In order to grasp what constitutes a great jazz rhythm section, he suggests, you should listen to some that are fair-to-middling. (I can attest to the effectiveness of this approach, though it sounds about as appealing as a flu vaccine.) He’s more crisply insightful on the genius of a rhythm team that locks in but breathes, as opposed to a programmed track: “Like John Henry in the famous folk ballad, jazz musicians beat machines, and the competition isn’t even close.”

Gioia is a historian at heart, or maybe by force of habit. A chapter called “The Origins of Jazz” delves into turn-of-the-century New Orleans; the next chapter, “The Evolution of Jazz Styles,” bounces from the Chicago school to Harlem stride to Kansas City swing, and so on. These pages feel dutiful and cursory-Jazz for Dummies. And by presupposing the absolute need for a broad historical foundation, they undercut the book’s given premise: Does a novice really need to grasp Jelly Roll Morton to properly dig Joey Alexander? To make an analogy with cinema, an art form roughly as old as jazz, it’s like insisting that you can’t be considered film-literate without having seen the works of the brothers Lumière, let alone Citizen Kane.

But this seems to be the author’s conviction, rooted in personal experience. How to Listen to Jazz is scattered with hints of memoir, and they point to an admirably comprehensive disposition. Gioia, a pianist, recalls studying Charlie Parker solos at half-speed on his turntable, and suggests singing along to Parker’s melodies as a means of cracking bebop’s code. He urges a listener to ignore the cerebral discourse around free jazz and focus on its emotional charge. Elsewhere he describes the measures he once took in order to hear Louis Armstrong with fresh ears. He spent the previous two weeks listening only to jazz from before Armstrong’s time, by the likes of Kid Ory and King Oliver. When he finally allowed himself some early Pops, he writes, it was “as if we [had] moved, in a single, inspired step-change, from Euclid’s geometry to Newton’s calculus.” Gioia stops short of urging you to recreate this experiment, but uses it to make a point: We shouldn’t approach Armstrong as a relic. “We need to recalibrate our perceptions and experience this music as part of the same spirit that, during the 1920s, also produced the masterworks of Joyce, Woolf, and Proust.” Amen and amen.

There are some missed opportunities in Gioia’s book, and they have a lot to do with his imagined reader. He’s disdainful of pop, and disinclined to build bridges; he can’t seem to envision a mode of listening that draws connections across genre. The book’s final chapter, “Listening to Jazz Today,” would seem a perfect moment to apply close-listening skills to music from our own era, but while Gioia makes some perceptive observations about the current scene, the analysis lacks for evidence. “Nu Jazz” is his term for a music that “draws on the full range of sounds and tools on the contemporary music scene,” but in a book that otherwise brims with examples, he leaves this idea on the table as an abstraction.

“The ideal way to experience jazz will always be firsthand, at the source, fully present at the moment of inspiration and realization,” Gioia writes sagely. But having burnished the usual jazz canon in previous chapters, he declines to provide any contemporary guidance. An appendix, “The Elite 150: Early- and Mid-Career Jazz Masters,” is just an alphabetical list of names, offered grudgingly, as if at the urging of the publisher. As happens a bit too often in this book, it’s more a show of critical authority than a useful methodology. There’s no question that Gioia knows How to Listen to Jazz, but his effort to empower the reader isn’t demystifying after all. The guy at the party is nodding, but he’s stealing glances around the room, plotting his exit strategy.

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