‘IMPROS VERSUS JAZZOS’
REINIER BAAS, JAMESZOO, AND EXPLORING THE RICHTINGENSTRIJD IN A NEW GENERATION OF DUTCH JAZZ
by
Thijs Janssen
Master’s thesis
July 4th 2019
University of Amsterdam – Graduate School of Humanities
Arts and Culture – Music Studies
Student number: 10341900
Supervisor: Maarten Beirens
University of Amsterdam Graduate School of Humanities Master’s program Contents
Introduction 3
1. Jazz in the Netherlands 8 1.1 The birth of the Hollandse School 8 1.2 Developing the impro practice and the rise of Dutch ensemble culture 14
2. The Richtingenstrijd 25 2.1 Constructing a jazz narrative 25 2.2 The Richtingenstrijd as a narrational device 32
3. Reinier Baas 39 3.1 Life and music 39 3.2 Baas and the Richtingenstrijd 45
4. Jameszoo 52 4.1 Life and music 52 4.2 Jameszoo and the Richtingenstrijd 58
Synthesis and conclusion 64
Bibliography 66
2 Introduction
Impros, avant-gardes, creative improvised music, free jazz, ‘current improvised music’, New Dutch Swing and perhaps most well known and used: Dutch improvised music or Hollandse School (translated as ‘Dutch School’). Many terms have been used to delineate the new style of jazz music that emerged in the Netherlands during the late 1960’s and 1970’s. This style included an outspoken and explicit search of a Dutch cultural identity and an increasing association with experimental and innovative elements in jazz music. Musicians like Han Bennink, Misha Mengelberg, Willem Breuker, Leo Cuyper, and collectives such as the Instant Composers Pool and the later Willem Breuker Kollektief, strived to move and change the boundaries of what was ‘permitted’ in the traditionally American-focussed jazz practice – as well as in the performance tradition as on a more organizational level – and aimed for a free and an explicit Dutch improving jazz practice. Inspired by 1960’s counterculture phenomena such as Fluxus and free jazz, these improvising musicians (or ‘impros’) intentionally distanced themselves from already established and traditional jazz musicians (or ‘jazzos’) like Rita Reys and Pim Jacobs, creating a divide in the Dutch jazz life of the 1970’s. As musicologist Loes Rusch has put it: ‘During these years, the meaning of jazz within Dutch cultural life altered from being identified primarily as an American musical form to one that was identified with the Dutch musical community.’1 In search for a musical cultural identity of their own, the impro musicians developed their practice during the 1970’s alongside other avant-gardists in the Netherlands. Contemporary composers such Theo Loevendie, Reinbert de Leeuw, and Louis Andriessen, shared the same goal as the impro pioneers: opening up the established musical tradition for a new music and democratizing the musical infrastructure in the Netherlands that had long been structured by hierarchy and exclusion. Together, contemporary composers and improvising musicians began an overhaul of Dutch cultural life, sparking the Dutch ensemble culture. Inspired and influenced by their contemporary music allies, the impros succeeded in not only creating a musical practice for themselves but also creating a supporting organizational infrastructure for funding that practice, establishing educational programs such as open
1 Rusch 2016: 4.
3 workshops, stage opportunities, governmental recognition, the attraction of new audiences and beginning union-like institutions for Dutch improvised music. Along with this growing establishment and development of Dutch improvised music as a practice and tradition, the divide grew seemingly larger between the impros and jazzos in the Dutch jazz scene of the 1970’s. Where the improvising musicians were searching for a way to express their local cultural identity in a free and interactive music, the jazzos stayed true to the American-focussed traditional jazz model. This resulted in a battle of directions in the Dutch jazz life, or what now is known as the Richtingenstrijd. Musicologist Loes Rusch has written extensively on Dutch jazz culture, the development of Dutch improvised music and the Richtingenstrijd between the impros and jazzos. Moreover in her work ‘Our subcultural shit-music: Dutch jazz, representation, and cultural politics’ (2016), Rusch provides a different understanding of the Richtingenstrijd and argues how this battle of directions could be seen as set of selective homogenous and often paradoxical representations that construct and support a local frame of reference through which individual musicians, musical groups, performances, and institutions, are positioned and valued to this day.2 It is interesting how Rusch has stated that the Richtingenstrijd between the impros and jazzos of the 1970’s, that we now recognize as the start of the Dutch jazz tradition, continues to influence and inform the jazz discourse of today and continues to construct the jazz narrative in the Netherlands. And this is especially interesting to examine nowadays, because although impro groups like the ICP are still performing live and the impro culture and infrastructure is still an embodiment of the current Dutch jazz culture, a new generation of Dutch jazz musicians has risen. Players like Reinier Baas, Joris Roelofs, Jameszoo, Ben van Gelder, Morris Kliphuis and others, have made name for themselves in the Netherlands and abroad as skilled and respected jazz musicians. Also, the Dutch jazz discourse has shown an interest in ‘claiming’ and framing these young and upcoming jazz musicians as part of the explicit Dutch jazz tradition. Through initiatives as the documentary New Generation, a series of portraits of young jazz musicians in the Netherlands who are ‘linked’ to musicians of the previous Dutch jazz generation, there is an attempt to secure a future for Dutch jazz.3 Positioning and valuing these youngsters as explicit Dutch jazz musicians places them in
2 Rusch 2016: 50-51. 3 NPO 2018.
4 the framework of Dutch jazz tradition that Rusch has noted is still determined by the representations of the Richtingenstrijd. This interest raises certain questions of how the current generation of Dutch jazz musicians relate to the tradition of Dutch improvised music and jazz in the Netherlands, and moreover how we can see the relation between the Richtingenstrijd and these young musicians. In this thesis, I will aim to answer these questions and examine how and to what extend we can see the Richtingenstrijd as a narrational device that is part of discursive frame of reference against which individual musicians, groups and institutions are positioned and valued, in relation to today’s Dutch jazz generation. In order to view this relation, I will be looking at two case studies of both prominent and highlighted young Dutch jazz musicians, who each have a different but relevant place in the current Dutch jazz scene, and use Rusch’s representations of the Richtingenstrijd as an analysing method. The first chapter consists of a historic literary study on jazz in the Netherlands, discussing the jazz climate in which musicians like Mengelberg, Bennink, and Breuker, discovered a desire to search for their own local cultural identity in jazz music and steer away from an American-based jazz model. In providing such a historic overview, there will be a focus on Loes Rusch’s work on the development of Dutch improvised music and the establishment of the Dutch ensemble culture in relation to cultural politics and jazz historiography in the Netherlands. Also the work of musicologist and historian Floris Schuiling – such as The Instant Composers Pool and improvisation beyond jazz (2018) – will help in understanding the formation of the impros’ work as a distinct Dutch musical practice and view how the improvising musicians were inspired and influenced by other non-Dutch players such as Eric Dolphy, Albert Ayler and Ornett Coleman. This first chapter will also include the establishment of the avant-garde musical infrastructure in the Netherlands, the further characteristics of an explicit impro practice and the relation between the improvising musicians and the contemporary composers in the Dutch ensemble culture. The following chapter will delve deeper into the Richtingenstrijd and examine how the developing impro practice distinguished itself from the remaining jazzo practice in the Netherlands and how they were perceived in the jazz discourse. However, before viewing the differences between the impros and jazzos and moreover Rusch’s understanding of the apparent homogenous and dichotomous representations
5 of these jazz groups, this second chapter will include a background of the complexities of jazz historiography and the influential role of (iconic) representations in the construction of a jazz narrative. Musicologist and historian Scott DeVeaux and Tony Whyton have both written essential works on these topics and therefore will be used as an important theoretical foundation of this chapter. After discussing these works and theories, I will move on to research Rusch’s concept of the Richtingenstrijd as a narrational device and systematic valuing frame of reference in terms of an analysing method for the following case studies that will represent the current generation of Dutch jazz musicians. The third chapter will then contain the first case study: Reinier Baas. Born in 1985, Baas is a young but highly respected jazz guitarist and composer in the Netherlands. He has studied at the Conservatory of Amsterdam – where he was only recently appointed as head guitar teacher at the jazz department – and at the prestigious Manhattan School of Music. With his collective The More Socially Relevant Jazz Music Ensemble (TMSRJME for short), Baas has won the Dutch national Edison jazz award in 2013 as well as in 2017, and has been noted numerous times by jazz critics as ‘the most exiting and hip jazz band the Netherlands has to offer’.4 As one of the Netherlands’ most lauded and well respected jazz musicians, Baas will be an interesting first case study in viewing the Richtingenstrijd as a continuing value system in the Dutch jazz discourse.5 The fourth chapter and second case study is on Michel van Dinther (1992-), better known as Jameszoo. This young composer, producer, DJ and electronic sound artist has recently made name for himself with his debut album Fool (2016, Brainfeeder [the notorious jazz label from Flying Lotus, TJ]) as one of the most talented and strikingly futuristic jazz musicians in the Netherlands.6 Different from Baas, Jameszoo has had no musical education and although his experience as a producer and performing artist is vast for his age, he explains himself as a ‘quirky and unknowing guy who just does the things he feels’.7 Despite his apparent modesty, Jameszoo was awarded the ‘John Peel Play More Jazz Award’ by jazz DJ Gilles Peterson in 2017 and as an upcoming and important Dutch jazz musician he was also included in the documentary New Generation for – among other things – his collaboration with the Metropole Orchestra.
4 Sprangers 2012. 5 Herman 2013. 6 Hoorntje 2016. 7 Couvreur 2016.
6 Jameszoo is an interesting case study for this research, because he represents a different branch of jazz within the Dutch jazz scene but is similarly framed, appreciated and highlighted as the future of Dutch jazz and included by the jazz discourse as a part of the new generation of Dutch jazz musicians in the tradition. To conclude this thesis, the last chapter will contain a brief comparison of the case studies and an overview of the research’s findings. All of the used sources and literature can be found in the bibliography, as well as the referred scores.
7 1. Jazz in the Netherlands
1.1 The birth of the Hollandse School
The Dutch jazz tradition is quite a young one. Only during the 1970’s, the jazz discourse in the Netherlands started to distinguish a unique Dutch jazz sound and practice. Outspoken musicians in the improvised music scene like drummer Han Bennink, saxophonist and bandleader Willem Breuker, pianist and composer Misha Mengelberg – who was less vocal then the other two though still a crucial player in the birth of Dutch improvised music – and pianist/composer Leo Cuypers, became more aware of their musical practice related to their local roots, distinct Dutch- and Amsterdam based cultural identity, and their attitude towards the dominating American jazz tradition. They increasingly identified themselves as Dutch jazz musicians, playing uniquely Dutch jazz music that was not played anywhere else – as musicians like Bennink and Breuker often would like to emphasize to journalists. In 1970, Bennink proudly claimed the importance and relevance of their Dutch jazz, although in a manner he much later said to regret:
‘(T)here is no such thing as an American avant-garde. Also, there is no European scene; there is only a Dutch scene. Believe me, it’s true; the best music of the moment can be heard in the Netherlands. I read somewhere that people organize jazz-trips from the Netherlands to the United States… Well, that is absolute ludicrous. The trips go the wrong direction. They should organize for the Americans to come over here!’8
Besides the fact that Bennink clearly promotes the idea of Dutch improvised music being the jazz to watch out for, it is striking how he relates this explicitly Dutch jazz music to its American counterpart. In understanding Bennink’s position in distancing himself from the American jazz tradition, it is important to include a view of the jazz scene in the Netherlands during the 1950’s and 1960’s as the period that led up to the break between the improvising musicians and the more traditionally American jazz focussed musicians.
8 Koopmans and Vuijsje 1970: 19.
8 Jazz made its entrance as a popular music in the Netherlands after World War I: a time in which urban audiences were increasingly drawn towards syncopated music, replacing the repertoire of light classical music and operettas as the prime styles of entertainment. This new style gained popularity through the 1920’s with the rise of Dutch jazz groups such as Theo Uden Masman’s The Ramblers – who released the first jazz record in the Netherlands in 1929 – and became known as an urban, modern and progressive music. And although jazz connected with a larger growing audience, its popularity was met with a strong condemnation from the more conservative media and governmental establishment. As news reports came out addressing ‘the dance problem’ that included wild exiting and pornographic behaviour, official governmental investigations were held in attempt to restrain public dancing by for example altering the liquor licensing laws.9 This public debate partly led Dutch jazz enthusiasts to found one of the oldest jazz magazines in the world: De Jazzwereld. In this periodical, De Jazzwereld not only provided their readers with an agenda of upcoming jazz concerts and instructions to play instruments, but also defended jazz music against the condemnations by promoting an image of real jazz. In this image, jazz was a ‘pure and innocent expression of African sensibility: a simple expression of a simple race from a civilization that was far below us’.10 And although this perception was steeped in racism, it helped jazz music in the Netherlands becoming more publicly accepted, as through the upcoming decades and all the way through the 1950’s jazz ‘transformed’ (not implying a sense of hierarchal evolutionary development) from teenage culture dance music to a repertoire for ‘connoisseurs’. Whereas rock and roll gained more popularity with the youth in this period, jazz became a more sophisticated genre for ‘those who understood music’. For example, the most prominent Dutch jazz magazine of the 1950’s called Rhythme, in which jazz was perceived first as a popular music on equal footing with rock and roll and other ‘dance music’, released an interview with Elvis Presley in 1957 using Presley’s own remarks on his ‘little knowledge of music’ as proof that rock and roll was an inferior music style to jazz. And in 1960 the magazine announced that it would solely focus on jazz music, including a recurring segment on the history of jazz.11 This could be seen as the marker of jazz becoming an autonomous and legitimate art form in the Netherlands
9 Van de Leur 2012a. 10 Van de Leur 2012a. 11 Schuiling 2018: 59.
9 with its own history and future, which was no longer valued as a ‘simple expression of primitive black cultures’. However, jazz was still understood during these years as a genre in which African-Americans were the prime and foremost innovators of the music. Especially free jazz became very popular and appreciated by the Dutch jazz critics in the early 1960’s. Where cool jazz was the main style of jazz music in the 1950’s, Jazzwereld christened free jazz as the ‘new thing’ that their readers should know about, as the magazine devoted many of their publications between 1965 and 1973 to that style of jazz. In 1966, Jazzwereld held a public poll on ‘best musician overall’, which was dominated by African-American musicians like Albert Ayler, John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman, Archie Shepp, and Miles Davis. Also, Coleman’s At the Golden Circle (1965, Blue Note Records) and Coltrane’s Ascension (1965, Impuls Records) and Meditations (1966, Impuls Records) were the main contenders for ‘record of the year’.12 Musicologist Floris Schuiling states in his recent book The Instant Composers Pool and improvisation beyond jazz (2018), that with the new valorisation of jazz as a musical art form in the Netherlands and the upcoming style of free jazz, certain Dutch jazz musicians started to notice the jazz practice as something they could contribute to instead of a tradition they could only participate in through an ‘imitating’ fashion. By seeing jazz not solely as an African-American racial expression but more as an autonomous art form and intellectual pursuit, which one could contribute to through artistic achievements and not purely through black cultural experiences, it laid the groundwork for a sense of artistic authenticity in Dutch jazz.13 And where cool jazz had been around in the United States since the 1940’s, making its entrance in the Netherlands in the early 1950’s, Dutch jazz musicians were strongly influenced by this already established style of playing. Besides, although cool jazz does include plenty of opportunities for soloing and improvisation, this West Coast cool style has a more rigid musical framework in which individual players are provided with less affordance to play freely outside of the musical conventions than free jazz. More specifically, where cool jazz could be viewed as having a foundation in counterpoint, formal arrangements and other classical music elements, free jazz is build more on the idea that these conventions are too limiting for individual players and one should attempt to break loose from these
12 Jazzwereld 1967: 21-23. 13 Schuiling 2018: 59-60.
10 conventions by pushing the limits of musical boundaries. For example, free jazz includes unconventional instrumental techniques, called extended techniques, such as overblowing tones, multiphonics and alternate fingerings on – in this case – wind instruments. Also, dominating jazz compositional forms such as twelve- and thirty-two- bar blues structures are exchanged for free forms that are centralized around improvisation. Consequently, these free forms allow musicians to play and improvise outside of harmonic and rhythmic structures, meaning they can choose notes outside of the accompanied chords, make improvisational changes to the harmonic progression in their solos, and move in- and out of the regular meter. Although free jazz provided the player this new free musical movement space, many free jazz artists including Coltrane, Ayler, and Coleman, also made use of the previous ‘jazz language’ and used plenty of musical elements like swing, blues and bebop licks, conventional jazz harmonies (ii-V-I changes, (dominant) seventh chords, diatonic harmonization, etcetera), and prescribed harmonic progressions with a somewhat clear sense of a tonal centre. The result of this new free musical space and the new appreciation of jazz was that Dutch jazz musicians felt that there was an opportunity to include something personal in jazz music, instead of playing a solely foreign idiom. This sparked the search for a number of Dutch players to find their own local identity and artistic- values and qualities in jazz, as music critic and journalist Bert Vuijsje noticed in a 1963 publication for Vrij Nederland:
‘Until recently, most Europeans chose to imitate. Also in the Netherlands we saw how different musicians started as boppers, began to play West-coast during the 1950s and then changed to hard-bop around 1956. Consequently, concerts by Dutch jazz musicians were often tedious, even useless, considering the many concerts by great American musicians. However, the Holland Jazz concert that took place recently at the Amsterdam Concertgebouw showed how exciting things have started to happen in Dutch jazz. Some soloists seem to have found a way […] of expressing their own personalities […]. Especially the more experimental and avant-garde musicians attracted particular attention.’14
Vuijsje refers with ‘avant-garde musicians’ to the Mengelberg Quartet, consisting of Misha Mengelberg on piano, Han Bennink on drums, Piet Noordijk on alto, and Arend Nijenhuis on double bass. Misha Mengelberg’s (1935-2017) name started being mentioned in the Dutch jazz discourse from 1958. Although in these years his playing
14 Koopmans 1977: 156-157.
11 was already recognised as having ‘strikingly good solos’, Mengelberg was mostly perceived as an oddball who did not get a lot of attention from the cool jazz loving audience and critics.15 Heavily influenced by Fluxus – a movement that originated in 1960’s New York and focussed on the merging and constant renewal of art forms like visuals arts, music, and theatre, also by bringing those forms together in (improvised) performances – and the unique playing of Thelonious Monk, Mengelberg’s music did however connected with Han Bennink (1942-). The drummer had to that point played different styles of American jazz such as swing and hard-bop, but was similar to Mengelberg struck by the free playing of musicians like Monk. Also similar to Mengelberg, Bennink was interested in different art forms (Bennink also attended art school in 1960’s) and the process of seeking for the boundaries of artistic conventions and ‘thinking outside the box’. The two formed the Mengelberg Quartet in 1962 with Noordijk on alto saxophone and Langereis on double bass – although the occupation of bass player changed frequently – and in a few years the quartet grew to become the most popular jazz group in the Netherlands. Mengelberg, Bennink, and Noordijk all won the renowned Wessel Ilcken Prize and were voted as ‘best musicians’ in their category in Jazzwereld’s 1966 poll, also winning the contest for ‘best group’ and ‘best record’.16 However, the quartet did not survive much longer as in 1966 the group split up because of disagreement over the musical direction it was heading in, which had a lot to do with the addition of saxophonist and composer Willem Breuker (1944-2010). Prior to his encounter with Mengelberg and the others, Breuker had been playing a lot with drummer and man who is generally known as the very first ‘Dutch free jazz musician’: Pierre Courbois. Due to his experience and outspoken style, Breuker made an impression on Bennink and Mengelberg and so they invited him to the quartet. Moreover, Breuker connected with them because of his artistic vision in redefining the possibilities and conventions in jazz music and envisioning jazz as a politically engaged form of avant-garde art.17 A clear example of that vision is Breuker’s defining performance of ‘Litany for the 14th of June, 1966’. This piece was performed at the Loosdrecht Jazz Competition in 1966: a festival that was known as a home for traditional jazz styles such as ‘Dixieland’ and ‘modern jazz’. ‘Litany’ commented on the catastrophic riots in Amsterdam that
15 Schuiling 2018: 60-61. 16 Schuiling 2018: 61. 17 Rusch 2016: 37.
12 followed after a suspicious death of a protesting construction worker. Backed by an eighteen-piece orchestra, a singer chanted several related newspaper reports. Although this level of political engagement in a jazz performance was already unprecedented at such an event, ‘Litany’ also stood out musically from the other competitors. The piece largely consisted of pre-composed material including graphic scores that was combined with improvisation, played by classically trained- and jazz trained musicians. Also, Breuker paid special attention to the theatrical aspects of the performance, dividing the orchestra over three different stages and working out the visuals aspects in great detail. As all these elements were later often used as the basis of Dutch improvised music, Breuker’s ‘Litany’ is generally acknowledged as one of the earliest examples of the Dutch jazz style and as Rusch calls it: ‘A pivotal moment in the establishment of improvised music’.18 With the disbandment of the Mengelberg Quartet over the improvisational music direction the group was heading into, Breuker suggested that they (Bennink, Mengelberg, Breuker) should start a new group that was more committed to the free forms they had been searching: the Instant Composers Pool (ICP). With the formation of the ICP, we could mark the birth of the Hollandse School from which on there was a growing distinction in the Dutch jazz scene between improvised music (played by so called impros) or avant-garde, and more traditional ‘mainstream’ jazz (played by jazzos). Although the emergence of Dutch improvised music as a distinct style was a long and nuanced process, as for example many pioneers such as Bennink continued playing traditional jazz styles (in his case ‘Dixieland’ with the Stork Town Dixie Kids) even though the ICP was already formed, and also many others than the ICP were involved in the development of Dutch jazz (for example composer Theo Loevendie, who will be discussed in the upcoming paragraph), the formation of the ICP could be viewed as a distinct milestone in the birth of Dutch improvised music.19 The ICP sparked a growing distinction between the impros and jazzos and thereby their ‘battle of directions’ – better known as the Richtingenstrijd – that split up Dutch jazz life in the 1970’s, as well as the further development of improvised music as an explicit Dutch style. The second part of this chapter will focus on that development of the impros’ practice and the foundation of the infrastructure for Dutch avant-garde music.
18 Rusch 2016: 36-37. 19 Schuiling 2018: 61.
13 1.2 Developing the impro practice and the rise of Dutch ensemble culture
Before delving into the characteristics of the impros’ practice and their developing Dutch improvised music, it is important to shortly come back to the positioning of Dutch jazz against American jazz (Bennink’s previously mentioned quote) and address the pitfall of a dichotomous ‘Dutch against American’ understanding of the development of the impros’ practice. Although there was certainly a growing distinction between improvised music and traditional American focussed mainstream jazz – and I will also discuss that apparent opposition in the second chapter on the Richtingenstrijd – improvising pioneers like Mengelberg are known to have drawn heavily on American (free) jazz artists and styles for inspiration in the development of Dutch improvised music. But where those American artists – for example Eric Dolphy, Anthony Braxton, and Thelonious Monk – were in search for their often African-American cultural identity and expression through music, Dutch improvisers felt increasingly detached from free jazz and its form of improvisation. Simply said: free jazz was a style for- and forged by a growing group of Afro-American musicians expressing their ‘black experience’ in the United States, where breaking loose from musical conventions was synonymous for the liberation of black consciousness, self-definition and self-expression in a racially oppressive society. And although Dutch jazz critics and impros were sympathetic to the issues of their fellow American improvisers, they felt it was no longer ‘theirs to play’. Schuiling states:
‘Initially, Dutch musicians responded sympathetically to the politics of free jazz musicians; they recognized a similar political outlook, although they acknowledged that they were obviously dealing with a very different political context. This raised the question for them of what the political significance of their own music could be.’20
Similar to the American free jazz players, Dutch improvising musicians were beginning to search and fight for their own cultural self-definition and –determination. In the early years of the ICP, impros were reluctant to name their music ‘jazz’ and as the black power movement increasingly intertwined with free jazz, musicians like Bennink were starting to feel even more alienated by their American counterparts. This is also around the time when Bennink made several damning statements about free jazz being commercially
20 Schuiling 2018: 68.
14 driven, incompetent, and Dutch jazz instead being the jazz to watch out for [quote mentioned in the beginning of this chapter, TJ]. Bennink’s use of a ‘Dutch versus American’ dichotomy here – which he later said to regret; he just wanted to fire back against the musicians who he felt were looking down on the impros – is dangerous for our understanding of the development of Dutch improvised music in these early years. The emergence of improvised music was never solely a movement against American (free) jazz, but more a new branch of improvised music that desired its own cultural- and musical identity, and a branch that grew out of the creative space that free jazz (among other things) had created. Seeing free jazz and free improvisation both as part of an international genre of improvised music, provides a context in which Dutch improvised music is more a school of improvised music (Hollandse School) instead of a possible Dutch ‘replacement’ of American free jazz.21 As Mengelberg concluded an 1977 interview for the ICP’s tenth anniversary, when asked about the definition of the term ‘improvised music’:
‘Mostly, it means jazz. That’s the most developed, urban form of improvisation. In the United States, that is. We renounced jazz for a while […], Dutch and more generally European circumstances are so different that you end up with different improvised music. In the back of our minds it is the music of De Zaaiers, Jack Bulterman, operetta, in short, everything you heard on the radio as a little boy. You have to work that into your music.’22
In contrast to Bennink’s quote on the position of Dutch improvised music against American jazz, this quote from Mengelberg provides a far more nuanced and clear example of how impros were searching for their national- and local identity in music. This also provides perhaps a better understanding of the beginning of the Richtingenstrijd: the split in Dutch jazz life was not so much a ‘Dutch versus American’ issue, but more a growing distinction between Dutch jazz musicians who were searching for their own local Dutch identity in improvised music and the musicians in Netherlands who stayed true to a more American traditional idiom of jazz music. Consequently, one of the forming characteristics of the impros was a growing awareness of their local roots and the desire to create their own musical identity in an outspoken way. And although most improvising musicians did not think and create their
21 Schuiling 2018: 77. 22 Nederlands Jazz Archief 1977.
15 music in those terms – especially in the early 70’s – impro pioneers and Dutch jazz critics were beginning to understand improvising music in the Netherlands more and more in the context of local identity, (local) political engagement, and self-awareness.23 Only in 1977, the publications of jazz writers Bert Vuijsje ‘Hoe groot is de Hollandse school?’ (translated as: How big is the Hollandse School?) and Rudy Koopmans’ historical overview of improvised music in the Netherlands Jazz: improvisatie en organisatie van een groeiende minderheid (translated: Jazz: improvisation and organization of a growing minority) were the first ones to clearly connect the impro scene to its local context. 1977 is not coincidently the same year as the previous quote from Mengelberg on what he thought Dutch improvised music included, as from that year on there was a growing consensus among jazz critics on what the Hollandse School contained and a spiked interest in the impros’ practice.24 Another characteristic of the impros could be found in this remark from Mengelberg: humour and irony. Besides representing a very specific local Dutch identity being ‘something everyone heard on the radio in the Netherlands around that time’, the musical examples Mengelberg mentions are commonly seen as commercial and kitsch. The use of well-known popular- and commercial music clichés in improvisations was something that characterized the ICP’s practice from the beginning. The combination of a very simple musical theme – in terms of harmonic, melodic and rhythmic structure – within an extremely atonal, chaotic and ‘uncomfortable’ musical framework, often generated a banal comical effect. And because the ICP mostly used theme and clichés that were familiar to the audience, people felt they were in on the joke and felt therefore also free to laugh at the performances. This however does not mean that every audience member had to know the musical reference or theme by heart; the humoristic effect laid more in the simple, and moreover very accessible and approachable, musical qualities. Schuiling also recognizes this in his research into the early ICP performances and mentions a 1967 (previous to the first ICP record) radiobroadcast of ‘Die Berge schütze die Heimat’.25 The piece consist of an allemande, a quiet classical dance form originated
23 Rusch 2016: 134-135. 24 The growing understanding and consensus among Dutch jazz critics like Vuijsje and Koopmans on this new improvised music being explicitly Dutch, was very important for the further construction of the Dutch jazz narrative and the shaping of the impro practice as ‘Dutch improvised music’. I will discuss these processes in chapter two, using the work of Rusch on the canonization of Dutch jazz. 25 Schuiling 2018: 79.
16 in Germany and also often used in French suites, surrounded by a tangle of atonal and a- rhythmic free improvisations. Again, it is the combination of simplicity and ‘incomprehensible’ complexity that creates a humoristic effect. Although many ICP performances were also based on unfamiliar and obscure references that may have not created that level of familiarity for the audience, it could be argued that through the early use of such national musical clichés the impros communicated to the audience and jazz critics that their improvised music had certain relevance for the Dutch jazz scene. Often linked to local roots and their awareness of Dutch identity, humour and irony made Dutch improvised music stand out from other improvisational music and (American) jazz, as well as their eclectic taste of different musical influences for these clichés and references. The use of clichés and themes points us towards another important characteristic of Dutch improvised music and especially the practice of the ICP: idiomatic free improvisation.26 This could perhaps best be described as the incorporation of different ‘idioms’ – in other words: genres, technical approaches, practices, compositions, musical themes, references and clichés – into a context of free improvisation in which the idiom functions as somewhat of a constructing basis. An idiom could then be a starting point, a recurring element in various forms, a jointly theme for all players, or an inspiration for further improvisation. Furthermore, the most important function of the idiom is to enable the players of a larger ensemble (as many impro collectives such as the ICP were moving towards larger groups of players) to interact. This may seem as a common task in jazz, but Dutch impros like Mengelberg found that non-idiomatic free improvisation such as the more American based free jazz, was not able to provide a musical context in which musicians could react and interact to one another in a meaningful way, and that baseless freedom in music would end up in new restrictions:
‘[…] Music-technically it’s a useless concept [non-idiomatic free improvisation, TJ], a very dangerous concept. If you look at the concrete facts, the music we just heard, then freedom is the last thing that comes to mind […]. Such rebelling for its own sake is trivial, it gives you nothing substantial to deal with. You just end up with new forms of discipline.’27
26 Bailey 1993. 27 Vuijsje and Witkamp 1966.
17 This manner of using different musical influences (eclecticism), genres, and compositional material into free improvisation, is one of the things that made Dutch improvised music stand out from other improvisational music. However, later on in the twentieth century, improvising musicians in the United States also began to incorporate more composed material into their work and performances, something historian and musicologist George Lewis has noted in his writings on free improvisation in America. Lewis, who sees these American improvising musicians as ‘the second generation of improvised music in the US’ (probably counting 1960 free jazz musicians as the first), also draws a comparison between the trend of using idioms in free improvisation and the Hollandse School.28 The impros’ political and aesthetical stance on freedom being the highest and most important goal and right for expression, connected with their desire to not play music outside of any existing style or idiom, but rather to critically and actively deconstruct and juxtapose these idioms in their musical practice. Here, we can see a clear example of the connection between the impros’ practice and contemporary composition. For Mengelberg, this connection with the contemporary classical tradition was obvious, as he studied composition and music theory at the conservatory of The Hague but also came from a renowned family of composers and conductors. His father Karl Mengelberg (conductor and composer) was the nephew of the famous Dutch conductor Willem Mengelberg, who was unfortunately entangled in a complex situation during WOII.29 Also as previously mentioned, Mengelberg was heavily influenced by the contemporary art movement Fluxus, which perhaps led his modern classical background more towards the experimental and performative direction. However, the use of contemporary composition(-al elements) – for example: twelve- tone rows, collage techniques, modern counterpoint, serial patterns, graphic notation, John Cage-like chance and decision models, etcetera – was not per se an attempt to establish a relation between the impros’ music and contemporary classical music, but more a way to discover new territories in a musical practice and the boundaries of what
28 Lewis 2014. 29 During WOII, Willem Mengelberg often conducted in Nazi Germany including audiences consisting of high-ranking Nazi officers. During the occupation of the Netherlands, Mengelberg was also a prominent member of the ‘Nederlandsche Kultuurraad’ (Dutch Board of Culture), which task it was to make the Dutch cultural scene more ‘welcome’ for National Socialism. The respect for the once beloved and lauded conductor quickly faded and after WOII, Mengelberg was banned from the Dutch musical society, his name stripped of the walls of the Concertgebouw, and he spent most of his days in Switzerland.
18 was possible and allowed in musical performance, without abandoning an established musical form. For impros like Mengelberg, the use of contemporary musical material and compositional forms came naturally because of their background, and they also felt this was useful for their practice to explore their freedom in music, but what turned them away from following a traditional contemporary compositional path was the hierarchy and restrictions of such a tradition. Schuiling states: ‘For Mengelberg, part of the challenge of the ICP was to develop a musical practice in which composition could be embedded in a non-authoritarian social practice.’30 In this challenge, the impros connected with other avant-gardists in the Netherlands, among which the four other members (Mengelberg himself being the fifth) of a group called the Five: Louis Andriessen, Reinbert de Leeuw, Peter Schat, and Jan van Vlijmen. Together with Mengelberg they all had studied composition under Kees van Baaren at the conservatory of The Hague and were searching for a renewal of Dutch musical life and a more socially engaged (in other words: democratized) form of music making.31 As both the contemporary- as the improvising musicians were searching for alternative musical practices and shared their dissatisfaction with the established Dutch cultural scene, they often used each other’s venues and organized so-called ‘eclectic performances’ together also in search for a new audience. Both ‘parties’ had found that in order to enable a group of musicians to jointly search for new musical boundaries, that group had to be flexible in terms of instrumentation, line-up, repertoire, interaction, and therefore small enough to maintain that flexibility while also staying motivated, specialized and familiar to each other. And as the smaller ICP of the late ‘60s had grown in numbers into small ensemble, becoming the ICP Orchestra in the ‘70s, a lot of other small and avant-garde ensembles rose: Volharding (1971), Ensemble M (1972), Schönberg Ensemble (1974), Hoketus (1976), Slagwerkgroep Den Haag (1977), Delta Ensemble (1978), and also the newly founded Willem Breuker Kollektief (1974).32 This last one was formed after Breuker had left the ICP because of a disagreement over the use of improvisation and composition: in short, Breuker felt his compositions were less appreciated and moved towards a more contemporary music ensemble form were there was less focus on collective free improvisation and more emphasis on his composed material. The rise of such small avant-garde improvised- and contemporary music
30 Schuiling 2018: 82-83. 31 Rusch 2011: 124. 32 Rusch 2016: 41.
19 groups and the alliances – on an ideological and musical level – between these groups became known as the Dutch ensemble culture. Although the concept of a ‘pool’ [small, flexible and democratized ensemble, TJ] of musicians was not brand new in the contemporary music tradition, composers like Andriessen, De Leeuw and Loevendie – who all are now appreciated as part of the Netherlands’ most important contemporary composers – were inspired by the impro practice and the ICP.33 Such contemporary composers had similar problems with the classical symphony orchestras that dominated the Dutch scene as the impros had with the American focussed jazz big bands and combos: it promoted a strict conventional fixed practice, structured by hierarchy. And although these musicians often came from different backgrounds, they not only found a shared musical solution in small flexible ensembles, but also a shared idea of an organizational structure for the Dutch cultural life. Rusch notes: ‘While jazz musicians and contemporary composers musically responded to different conventions, they both depended on the same national musico- cultural infrastructure and governmental spending on the arts.’34 One of the problems the impros and contemporary musicians had with the established hierarchal cultural infrastructure was that until well into the 1970’s, all financial governmental support was spent on symphony orchestras, opera companies, and other traditional classical focused projects and institutions. On the other hand, only very few jazz projects – like Boy Edgar’s Big Band in 1965 – received any funding and if they did, it was little in comparison.35 More importantly, the funding system was closed of to any musicians ‘in the field’ and those in office determined cultural spending, which caused a growing gap between established government officials and the groups that were pushing for a new music. Impros and contemporary composers therefore felt it was no longer the time for them to attempt to receive recognition and funding by working within the system, and jointly organized public events such as the Notenkrakersactie to persuade those in power to fund their work and projects. On November 17th 1969, music students, composers, musicians and other artists connected to the early avant-garde scene, disrupted a concert of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra to rally against the
33 In 1964, Ton de Leeuw (not a family member of Reinbert de Leeuw) introduced the idea of a ‘mobile ensemble’: a small group of players as an addition to symphony orchestras. De Leeuw thought such a small group could achieve ‘new ways of playing, draw new audiences, and open up the music practice’. 34 Rusch 2011: 134. 35 Samama 2006.
20 conservative programming and demanded a more democratized system of the Concertgebouw’s management and the Dutch cultural scene. The protest was led by the Five, and was one of the earliest public collaborations between the improvising- and contemporary music scene in attempting to reform the Dutch cultural infrastructure. These efforts were somewhat quickly rewarded, as in 1970 the BEVEM was established: the ‘Movement for the Renewal of Musical Practice’. This could be considered as an important milestone in the development of Dutch ensemble culture, because the BEVEM was entirely dedicated to the ‘radical and democratic renewal of musical life and the search to unite composers and performers in the struggle to realize the principles of workers’ control and self-determination in the musical field’.36 That same year, improvising musicians ‘raided’ the Foundation for Jazz in the Netherlands (SJN, from 1976 known as SJIN: Foundation for Jazz and Improvised Music in the Netherlands) and took over control of the foundation’s board. And in 1971, SJN’s new board of impros established another organization, or perhaps better called ‘union’: the Professional Association for Improvising Musicians, better known as BIM.37 Although it would take several years before the impros actually were funded by the Dutch government, BIM (what later resulted in the world famous Dutch jazz stage and organization Bimhuis) and SJN worked towards public funding for Dutch improvised music, venues and stage opportunities for improvising music and avant-garde groups, education through open workshops and schools, and a central base for the impro scene.38 Up until this point, I have discussed mostly musical- and music-related traits of the impros practice. However with the inclusion of the impros’ active strive for a democratic, self-determined and renewed cultural infrastructure, the understanding of the improvised music scene and the development of Dutch improvised music becomes far more complete. Dutch improvised music and the Dutch ensemble culture in a broader sense is as well characterized by its musical characteristics as it is by its ideological and organizational ones; it all supports a common goal: freedom for self- expression and the determined search for a cultural and local identity. And as I have
36 Adlington 2008: 540. 37 Rusch 2011: 136. 38 Rusch 2011: 136-137. In 1974, SJN received 40,000 guilders in subsidy. The funding quadrupled a year later to 160,000 guilders; although this was still a small amount on that year’s total arts budget of 140,8 million guilders.
21 argued in this chapter, that goal largely formed the impros’ musical practice and the ways they have created spaces, organizations and the infrastructure to support and develop what is perceived as a distinct Dutch jazz sound. Although it can be stated with confidence that the discussed characteristics such as improvisation, composition, local identity, humour, eclecticism, theatrical forms, anti- hierarchal and democratic musical organizations and infrastructure, etcetera, are the key elements of Dutch improvised music, there is also room for consideration. With the ICP as its most prominent representation, the impro practice was increasingly built on pre-composed material. And although the connection between improvisation and composition – furthermore the improvisation with and between composed materials – was always a crucial factor of the ICP, it could be argued that the aspiration for total flexibility and freedom is somewhat not achieved. During the late 1970’s and 1980’s, the ICP became more and more a fixed group of players that increasingly relied on Mengelberg’s compositions and the repertoire of other (jazz) musicians and composers such as Herbie Nichols, Thelonious Monk and even the more swing-based work of Duke Ellington. Collective and conducted improvisation always remained an important aspect in every ICP performance, but the free improvisation of the impros’ early years was later often reserved for smaller groups of players, like the Bennink-Mengelberg duo. Also, Rusch has noted in her work on the Dutch ensemble culture that the interconnectedness between the impros and contemporary musicians that sparked the ensemble culture and the existing musical infrastructure in the first place, has now largely faded. Although the infrastructure for an avant-garde music still very much exists in the Netherlands, as previously partially discussed, Dutch musical life has become fragmented. Rusch mentions the observations of cultural historians Roel Pots and Kailan Rubinoff that the improvising- and contemporary music scene are pretty much isolated and segregated from one another in terms of networks, educational programs, venues, festivals, and institutions.39 This would mean that the eclectic musical infrastructure the Dutch ensemble culture strived for, would have more or less ‘failed’. However, I disagree to a certain extent with these observations. Even though it could be said that the impro culture has created a scene for itself with venues like the Bimhuis, educational workshops at various locations and programs at the conservatories, institutions like the Dutch Jazz Archive and festivals like the October Meeting, I would argue that the lines
39 Rusch 2011: 138.
22 between the impro scene and the contemporary music culture are quite thin in the Netherlands. Although there are nowadays few public collaborations between these avant-garde groups, the Bimhuis is located in the same building as the Muziekgebouw aan ‘t IJ (the most prominent venue for contemporary music), the Dutch Jazz Archive also features written pieces on Loevendie and other contemporary composers, conservatory students at the jazz department often collaborate during school projects with students from the contemporary- and composition department, and new organizations like Splendor aim to provide a creative space for both styles of avant- garde music and the interaction between them. Also, it could be argued that it is ‘normal’ for these different musical groups to develop their own scene and infrastructure after the joint struggle for recognition and opportunities in the Dutch culture life. The fact that both groups have moved into a perhaps more isolated place in the musical culture in the Netherlands, would not have to undermine the history of ‘unique alliances’ that laid the foundation for that particular musical culture in the first place. In this first chapter, I have given an overview of the early- and mid-twentieth century jazz climate in the Netherlands in which the desire rose for improvising musicians to search for a distinct Dutch jazz practice, and how the impros’ practice and organizational infrastructure further developed. As mentioned earlier in the chapter, the development of Dutch improvised music split up the Dutch jazz life in the 1970’s, as there were some Dutch jazz musicians in that period who were not inspired by the impros’ quest and stayed true to the traditional American focussed jazz model. Furthermore, the disagreement between the impros and jazzos on what sort of jazz style was ‘relevant’ for the Dutch cultural scene – and therefore worthy of funding, audiences, stage opportunities and recognition, etcetera – grew into a battle of directions: the Richtingenstrijd. However as Rusch has examined in detail, the Richtingenstrijd promotes seemingly homogenous and dichotomous representations of both Dutch jazz groups. Moreover through Rusch’s analysis, the Richtingenstrijd can be understood as a representation – and therefore constructor and supporter – of a value system that informs further jazz debates in the Netherlands and provides a ‘local frame of reference through which individual musicians, bands, musical groups, performances, and institutions are positioned and valued’.40 The second chapter of this thesis will focus on the Richtingenstrijd and will also include a background of the complexities in jazz
40 Rusch 2016: 50-51.
23 historiography and representational processes in constructing a jazz narrative, to then perhaps create a better understanding of how Rusch’s work can be used as an analysing method for the case studies of Reinier Baas and Jameszoo, and how they as young Dutch jazz musicians are being valued through the narrational representations of the Richtingenstrijd.
24 2. The Richtingenstrijd
2.1 Constructing a jazz narrative
The ‘Richtingenstrijd’ as a term is used for the battle of directions between the impros and jazzos that split up the Dutch jazz life in the 1970’s, as the previous chapter has discussed, and is commonly seen as a crucial constructor of the Dutch improvised music tradition and the Dutch jazz narrative in general. However, as Rusch has discussed in her work ‘Our subcultural shit-music: Dutch jazz, representation, and cultural politics’ (2016), the Richtingenstrijd is constructed by the simplified dichotomous, selective and sometimes paradoxical representations of the jazzos and impros. To understand the Richtingenstrijd as such, it will allow us to see the value system those representations have constructed in the Dutch jazz discourse and see how perhaps even current jazz generations are being positioned and valued through the local frame of reference that the Richtingenstrijd – as a narrational device – has established. Even though the Richtingenstrijd could be seen as one of the most important influencers of the Dutch jazz narrative and –discourse, the constructed representations of that Richtingenstrijd on the debates and conflicts between established (jazzos) and newly emerging (impros) musicians, are not unique for the Dutch jazz tradition or for the Dutch jazz climate of the 1970’s per se. To understand this point, we can look into the work of Scott DeVeaux and Tony Whyton, who are both mentioned early on in Rusch’s analyses of the Richtingenstrijd as important sources of inspiration.41
‘Even a glance at jazz historiography makes it clear that the idea of the ‘jazz tradition’ is a construction of relatively recent vintage, an overarching narrative that has crowded out other possible interpretations of the complicated and variegated cultural phenomena that we cluster under the umbrella jazz.’42
This quote illustrates the main argument of DeVeaux’s often-used 1991 essay ‘Constructing the jazz tradition: jazz historiography’. DeVeaux argues that the American jazz tradition is an ideologically loaded construction, built on the stories of iconic musicians like Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, and John Coltrane, to then create a
41 Rusch 2016: 5-14. 42 DeVeaux 1991: 531.
25 narrational frame work (in other words: tradition) which can be used to control who is admitted to the jazz tradition and who is excluded, seemingly based on aesthetical factors. By discussing and moreover deconstructing the ambiguity of the American jazz tradition, DeVeaux provides a critical analysis on the issues surrounding jazz historiography and the selective use of narratives in the constructing of a jazz tradition. Similar to the Richtingenstrijd, the American jazz tradition is mainly debated between two opposing musical- and ideological groups who both have their own vision on the content of the narrative, and also the current state of jazz, and the direction jazz should be headed in. In short, this debate could be seen as an example for Rusch’s comment on conflicts between established and emerging musicians. In DeVeaux’s work, he discusses that the tradition is debated between the so-called neo-classicists and avant-gardists. Neo-classicists, mostly led by prominent trumpeter and artistic director of the Jazz at Lincoln Center Wynton Marsalis, draw their inspiration from a very specific period in jazz history: predominantly the ‘swing era’ of 1935 and the ‘bebop era’ of the 1960’s. DeVeaux states that this group aims to influence jazz – as well as what we know to be the history of jazz, the contents of the jazz tradition, the future of jazz, and moreover who has a claim on jazz music – from an idealized version of the past. The neo-classicists argue that since the late 1960’s, jazz has lost its core essence by straying from the basic jazz musical principles, such as its blues foundation, swing rhythm, compositional structure, non-commerciality, etcetera.43 Therefore, any jazz style post- 1960 like fusion and free jazz would not fall under the term of ‘jazz music’ and consequently is excluded from the jazz narrative, as the neo-classicists have argued determinately. Simultaneously, the neo-classicists’ opposition formed by the avant- gardists argue however that the exact essence of jazz lies in the constant development and ‘mutation’ of the music. DeVeaux states that aside of the opposing views on jazz, both groups stand for the same principle: ‘[…] any change that fails to preserve the essence of the music is a corruption that no longer deserves to be considered jazz.’44 Over the years, many musicologists and historians have written critically on both the neo-classicistic and avant-gardist ideologies surrounding jazz music and the jazz tradition, although it could be stated that the neo-classicists have endured more criticism than their counterparts. Writers like Alan Stanbridge (‘Burns, baby, Burns: jazz
43 DeVeaux 1991: 551. 44 DeVeaux 1991: 528.
26 history as a contested cultural site’, 2004), Stuart Nicholson (Is jazz dead?: or has it moved to a new address, 2005), and Eric Porter (What is this thing called jazz: African American musicians as artists, critics, and activists, 2002), have delivered detailed critical analyses of the racially loaded complications and questionable ideologies behind the often excluding neo-classicistic views. And although DeVeaux has also included a critical assessment of this group, the previous quote on the ‘essence of the jazz’ illustrates how he emphasizes the larger issue in the battle between the neo-classicists and the avant- gardists: the essentialist pitfall of jazz historiography. DeVeaux discusses how the search and apparent preservation of an ‘essence’ of jazz and a supposing singular definition of the jazz tradition that represents that essence is counter-productive for the jazz discourse and in fact meaningless, as he states: ‘[…] the struggle is over the act of definition that is presumed to lie at the history’s core; for it is an article of faith that some central essence named jazz remains constant throughout all the dramatic transformations […].’45 In his research, DeVeaux calls for a new perspective on the jazz narrative and the ways in which the jazz discourse looks at its content and construction. Instead of focussing in jazz historiography on the essentialists’ ideologies that centralize the aesthetics of jazz music and use those aesthetics to construct a frame of reference which can be used to selectively exclude certain styles and musicians from the tradition of jazz – in the case of the neo-classicists this would be free jazz for example – we should situate jazz within its social parameters such as ethnicity, commerciality, freedom, race, and socio-political environment. With this new perspective, DeVeaux opened up the field of jazz research, because the type of research did not have to be dominated by an aesthetical- and ideological American jazz foundation and therefore allowed musicologists to look into different jazz phenomena all around the world. This also laid the groundwork for what is now known as ‘new jazz studies’: a range of musicological, social and critical theory research that links jazz to social topics such as reception, musical communities, cultural and musical hybridity, gender issues, and performance studies.46 For example, early on in her work on the Richtingenstrijd, Rusch acknowledges the important influences writers like DeVeaux have had on her type of analysis on Dutch jazz as it allowed her and others to explore (local and also non-
45 DeVeaux 1991: 528. 46 Rusch 2016: 5-6.
27 American) jazz music in a more interdisciplinary and sociological manner, also including the relationships between music-making and cultural politics and identity and representations, without focussing in a counter-productive way on the aesthetical discussions on the ‘essence’ and definition of jazz.47 And so in DeVeaux’s view, researches could now view the jazz tradition more as an ideologically loaded construct, which is mainly told through the accounts of great innovators and masterpieces that are legitimized by the supporting infrastructure of established institutions and authoritative musicians such as Wynton Marsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Centern. In providing insights on the complexities and essentialist pitfalls of jazz historiography, DeVeaux mentions in his last paragraph that these icons and the elevation of great musicians as objects of veneration play an important role in the construction of a tradition.48 However, in his 1991 essay, DeVeaux does not actually elaborate further on this role of iconization. This brings us to the work of musicologist Tony Whyton, who is also mentioned early on in Rusch’s work as an important influencer on her understanding of the Richtingenstrijd and a pioneer in the research on the political, cultural and social history of jazz in Europe.49 Whyton explores in his Jazz icons: heroes, myths and the jazz tradition (2010) the influential role of icons and their representations in the formation of the jazz tradition and -discourse. Often, this tradition has been described through a canon of the works and lives of what DeVeaux mentioned as ‘elevated great musicians’ – or ‘icons’ – for few would deny that musicians such as Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, etcetera, have had a key impact on the development of jazz music and therefore its history. Moreover, these musicians have formed a ‘canonical silver lining’ along which we understand jazz history, signifying and distinguishing different periods of jazz music through their musical style, techniques and works: ‘Basie plays swing and Parker plays bebop.’50 In his work, Whyton argues that the influence of these jazz icons on the construction of a jazz tradition goes further than forming the content of the canon. Icons have become detached from their historical and social context, by elevating them to a deified and superhuman status. Hereby, icons have become something more than solely human musicians: they are intangible objects of veneration, making them the epitome of the jazz musicians (think of Davis as ‘the
47 Rusch 2016: 6. 48 DeVeaux 1991: 552. 49 Rusch 2016: 8-9. 50 Janssen 2017: 9.
28 innovator with an attitude’, and Coltrane as ‘the spiritual master’) and therefore the golden standard – or measuring device – of who is admitted to the jazz narrative.51 Through this process, great musicians have become fixed objects that have acquired a symbolical and indexical role as the embodied representation of the ideals and values of jazz, and those can be subjective, selective and can be used as a tool of power; as Whyton has elaborated in his work using the neo-classicist writings of Stanley Crouch and Albert Murray (‘ideological allies’ of Wynton Marsalis).52 Whyton argues that because of this process, icons and their representations as the embodiment of jazz music and the golden standard of the jazz narrative have a fundamental impact on the construction of the jazz tradition and the upholding support of that narrative. The ways in which Whyton approaches jazz as a constructed cultural and historical narrative and thereafter deconstructs the jazz tradition, looking at the formative roles of icons and their representations in the jazz discourse, clearly have had an influential impact on Rusch’s understanding of the Dutch Richtingenstrijd as a narrational device, as I will further discuss in the following paragraph. The use of representations – or sometimes referred to as ‘a repertoire of stereotypes’ by Rusch – is helpful in analysing the construction of a jazz narrative, the value systems such a narrative promotes, and the relation between certain jazz musicians (or icons) and that narrative and its discourse, as Whyton has illustrated in his work.53 When discussing ‘jazz icons’, Whyton uses five definitions to provide an understanding of the term: the icon as visual image, as symbol, as uncritical object of devotion, as deity, and as sign.54 Although there has been some research on the role of icons in the formation of the American jazz tradition before Whyton’s work, most of the debates about iconization and canonization are limited to visual representation. Whyton however argues that with these five definitions, he provides a more complete understanding of how certain great musicians have become elevated and intangible fixed icons and how they can be used as the embodied representation of jazz in jazz historiography and its discourse. Moreover, Whyton states that this representation itself is highly ambiguous and that icons are often used in contradictory ways:
51 Whyton 2010: 16. 52 Whyton 2010: 18-19. Similar remarks can be found in: Janssen 2017: 9. 53 Rusch 2016: 51. 54 Whyton 2010: 6-12.
29 ‘In promoting the pantheon of icons as a central means of telling the story of jazz, advocates of the constructed jazz tradition frequently draw upon a range of cultural influences and narrative devices to represent iconic figures, some analogous, other contradictory. […] from the celebration of the African American hero to the romantic genius, mythical god […]. These sources are by no means mutually supportive and often contradict each other, and yet the narrative of a homogenous tradition and its celebrated icons continues to ignite the imagination and dominate today’s understandings of jazz.’55
Although I will elaborate in the following paragraph how Rusch uses different representations from Whyton [this is a logical result of studying a different jazz tradition in another country, TJ], it becomes clear that Rusch follows the same analytical path as Whyton in researching how the Richtingenstrijd could be seen as a constructed set of often contradictory representations that together form a narrational device to value and position musicians in the Dutch jazz tradition and discourse. And although Rusch’s representations (low versus high art, the swinging professional craftsman versus the autonomous creative artist, American purist versus creative activist) have different names, they are quite similar to the ones Whyton uses in illustrating how the American jazz tradition as a seemingly homogenous jazz narrative is constructed and supported by these paradoxical representations. For example, one of Whyton’s most important representations is the Afro-American hero and the genius. The Afro-American hero represents the great black jazz musician as a ‘self-made man’, who through hard work, discipline, intellect, and the ‘black experience’ of the United States, has overcome all obstacles and oppression and came out as a hero due to his own earnings and makings. The genius however, represents that same great musician as someone who is born with a natural superior talent and although the genius will have to work his way up, his unique artistic abilities make him instantly great and ‘he was always going to make it’, even though his life may have seem tragic.56 Although these representations are clear opposites of one another, both are used simultaneously for the icon and enable him to be viewed as a ‘heroic role model that transforms the stereotypical image of the intuitive primitive into a disciplined intellectual, and a mysterious, intuitive and naturally
55 Whyton 2010: 17. 56 Janssen 2017: 10. This representation also ties into the remarkable relation between jazz icons and problematic drugs issues, and especially how their drug abuse is romanticized or completely left out. The fact that Charlie Parker tragically died at the age of forty-three after multiple drug-related suicide attempts, self-destructing his own genius, does not attenuate his representation of ‘the genius’. In fact, it amplifies his representation in the jazz narrative and discourse.
30 talented god-like figure’.57 Also, Whyton discovers in his research on iconization and the corresponding rhetoric in jazz discourses, that another important element of the icon is gender. Besides the fact that almost all (American) jazz icons in the tradition are exclusively male, Whyton argues that the entire narrative and the constructing factors behind that narrative are male dominated: ‘All manifestations of iconic figures serve to support the upholding of a masculine ideal’, adding: ‘The preservation of standards and the integrity of the tradition itself are an exclusively masculine domain.’58 The inclusion of gender studies in jazz research has been introduced before Whyton by scholars like Anthony Easthope and Sherrie Tucker, however such works often focussed solely or almost entirely on the complexities of gender in jazz. Whyton’s (and DeVeaux’s) work is a clear example of a ‘new jazz studies type of research’ that has opened the door for musicologists like Rusch to look at jazz in a more – for lack of a better word – ‘complete’ manner, and the use of representations and icons allows the researcher to include issues such as gender and other socio-political elements in the analyses of jazz narratives, which has resulted in a new perspective on Dutch jazz and the diversity of Dutch jazz practices.59 Although the jazz research in the Netherlands would benefit from Whyton’s type of cultural and critical approach – Rusch’s work on the Richtingenstrijd and the representations and cultural politics in the Dutch jazz scene is a good example of this – I would argue that Whyton’s (and perhaps Rusch’s) approach also has a downside in studying jazz phenomena such as Reinier Baas and Jameszoo, namely the lack of musical incorporation. In focussing on the influences of representations and iconization in the construction of the jazz tradition, Whyton leaves little room for the actual music of the icons or other artists discussed. And even though the artists’ lives and works are included in his research on iconization, Whyton mostly uses those in the contexts of his ‘icon terms’ (visual representation, symbol, uncritical object of devotion, deity, sign) and corresponding representations, without researching the actual music itself on an analytic micro level. And as this thesis focuses on Rusch’s analysis of the Richtingenstrijd through representation to look at the relation between Baas, Jameszoo, and the Richtingenstrijd, there is a ‘danger’ in not including the music itself. However as
57 Whyton 2010: 21. 58 Whyton 2010: 34. 59 Rusch 2016: 13. Perhaps an even better example of this could be found in: Gebhardt and Whyton 2015.
31 DeVeaux has argued, focussing too much on the aesthetical aspects of jazz can be counterproductive for jazz research and the jazz discourse in general, and it can be argued that the analyses of the music itself are less relevant for researching the inner workings of the jazz tradition through Whyton’s approach. The following paragraph will delve into Rusch’s understanding of the Richtingenstrijd and those representations used to construct the battle of directions between the impros and jazzos. Chapter three and four will consist of the analyses of Baas and Jameszoo through Rusch’s representations, although I will also attempt to include some description of their actual music – also in relation to the music of for example impro pioneers such as the ICP – as possible to provide more ‘musical depth’ in their case studies as examples of current Dutch jazz musicians.
2.2 The Richtingenstrijd as narrational device
In 1986, impro musician Willem Breuker and traditional bebop pianist and composer – and prominent jazzo – Frans Elsen were invited to a VPRO broadcast to discuss the issue of jazz funding in the Netherlands. As representatives of the opposing jazz groups (impros and jazzos), the soon heated discussion between Breuker and Elsen illustrates how the growing tensions of the 1970’s between the emerging improvising musicians and the established traditional jazz musicians had resulted in a dichotomy within Dutch jazz life. Especially on the subjects of subsidies, education, infrastructure, and – in DeVeaux’s terms – the question of the essence of jazz and who stayed true to that essence, the disagreement and moreover the tone of the discussion between Breuker and Elsen revealed exactly how different the impros and jazzos were at this point in Dutch jazz history.60 As discussed in chapter one, the differences between the impros and jazzos started as early as 1958 with the free jazz performances of the young
60 Rusch 2016: 45-46. Excerpt interview: ‘[Willem Breuker] What is jazz, man? Explain me. Bullshit. [Frans Elsen] The only thing I want to say is that it weren’t the jazz musicians who changed the name [of Dutch jazz and SJN to SJIN, TJ], it were the improvising musicians. So, if you ask me ‘what is jazz’, I don’t need to explain, because everyone know that by now, but if you ask me to explain the difference between jazz and improvised music, then I can tell you that we never made such a distinction, but you did. Otherwise you would never have changed the name. Okay? [WB] Well, it was just because the name did not cover it anymore. [FE] It still doesn’t. [WB] Ah man, fuck off. You think you guys have all the wisdom about ‘what a jazz musician is’. That is just false, I mean… [FE] No that is not true.’
32 Mengelberg. Young emerging musicians were drawn to this developing free improvising music, while established traditional jazz musicians simultaneously started to refuse to play with these early impro pioneers. As Koopmans noted in 1977: ‘That was when the diverging opinions began.’61 However, while in 1977 both jazz critics and researchers Koopmans and Vuijsje wrote on the emerging impro scene and the growing disagreements that resulted in the Richtingenstrijd, journalists and musicians associated with the Stichting Jazz in the Netherlands (foundation for Dutch jazz: SJN) and the Jazz/Press magazine published the year after a ‘companion to the Dutch jazz world’ (1978) that presented the Dutch jazz scene in a different way. This Jazz & geïmproviseerde muziek in Nederland companion promoted a homogenous and even harmonious Dutch jazz community in which traditional jazz and newly improvised music uneventfully coexisted in the Dutch jazz scene.62 The book consisted of numerous short historic narratives that together attempted to ‘tell the unique story of Dutch jazz’, and even though the tone of the companion was signalling towards a more self-aware and optimistic attitude on the future and ‘relevance’ of Dutch jazz, the fact that these narratives left out or glossed over the fiery debates and disagreements of the Richtingenstrijd between the impros and jazzos and instead represented jazz in the Netherlands as a homogenous, undisputed and wonderful phenomenon, raises questions surrounding the function and purpose of such narratives in relation to the construction of the Dutch jazz tradition. In her work on Dutch jazz and the Richtingenstrijd, Rusch aims to answers these questions and illustrates along the lines of the theories of DeVeaux and Whyton how such narratives can be seen as constructs of selective representations that are often used to build a tradition and moreover a local frame of reference that can be used as a fixed tool of power in valuing and positioning jazz musicians.63 Whyton’s theory on representations is remarkably helpful in doing so, because it not only illustrates how a certain jazz narrative can be seen as a construct of such representations, but also how these representations themselves are often contradictory, highly ambiguous and promote a simplified and fixed version of actually very complex and diverse musical systems. And as Rusch shows in her understanding of the Richtingenstrijd as narrational device, representations are easily used and even could be seen as a ‘linguistic virus’ that
61 Koopmans 1977: 154. 62 Rusch 2016: 17-21. 63 Rusch 2016: 20.
33 can quickly spread through a discourse with journalists, writers and researchers copying each others terms and notations. For example, Rusch and historic musicologist and jazz researcher Walter van de Leur noted that when in the 1970’s the Dutch jazz discourse increasingly recognized the impro scene as a distinct Dutch jazz practice, journalist often attempted to capture – similarly to the previously mentioned companion in terms of a simplified reading of the past – the story of Dutch jazz in a singular narrative by stressing the particularities and distinctions rather than the subtly similarities and collaborations between improvised music and traditional jazz.64 The Richtingenstrijd could be seen as a result of the growing tensions between the impros and jazzos and their different views on jazz and its infrastructure, and a result of how these tensions were amplified and reinforced by a jazz discourse that was informed by a repertoire of stereotypes of constructed binaries: low art versus high art, commercialism versus authenticity, purist versus activist, and the professional craftsman versus the autonomous artist.65 The first representation of low art versus high art is somewhat of a familiar dichotomy in the arts. Although it could be argued that through the entire history of culture there has always been a hierarchal standard of what is perceived as ‘good and high art’, the representation of low versus high most explicitly has made its entrance into the arts discourse in the 1960’s and 1970’s. As Western societies relied more and more on capitalistic systems and increasingly valued material wealth and status after WOII, art movements such as pop art, Fluxus, countercultures with sometimes leftist and communist views, and also the impro movement, questioned and ‘played’ with the perception of what was esteemed as ‘highly valuable’. The impros viewed their practice as a free and individual expression, and argued that such an autonomous artistic product should be allowed to develop independently and outside of the commercial market. Impro pioneer Breuker often stated how jazz should not be seen as a mere form of commercial entertainment and even boycotted jazz clubs that promoted jazz in such a way: ‘Jazz is misplaced. It doesn’t belong in dancings and bars, because to me it is concert music.’66 Besides the perhaps interesting similarity with Wynton Marsalis’ view on jazz as a concert music, Breuker’s remark illustrates not only his aversion to jazz as a commercial form of entertainment but more so his aim to delineate Dutch improvised
64 Rusch 2016: 134. Similar remarks can be found in: Van de Leur 2012b. 65 Rusch 2016: 47. 66 Vuijsje 1978: 150.
34 music as a serious art form. The very act of first rejecting the label of ‘jazz’ for their practice and ‘changing the name’ – as Elsen brought up in his discussion with Breuker – of established Dutch jazz institutions as the formally known SJN, shows how explicitly the impros wanted to distance themselves from the traditional jazz’s connotations with commercialism and entertainment, but also the ‘slavish and uncreative’ studio work that made up a large part of the jazzos’ Dutch jazz circuit. Again Breuker:
‘Conversely, serious classical music is more highly regarded and better paid. My opinion is that we belong to neither category, because both those kinds of music are fundamentally reproductive. The existing classifications are not applicable to our practice, which is purely creative.’67
The impros’ deliberate labelling of their music and supporting infrastructure, as well as their – however inconsistent – rejection of jazz as a commercial and a reproductive capitalist product of entertainment (how they saw the jazzos’ practice), and even their collaborations with contemporary classical composers who represented a more ‘serious music’, illustrates their awareness of the socio-political values of the arts and their desire to position improvised music as a form of high art. This simplified and to a large extent false dichotomy of the impros’ practice as a creative high art and the jazzos’ traditional practice as a commercial low art, further influenced the Dutch jazz discourse in valuing and positioning jazz artists, in which traditional American focussed jazz became devaluated as ‘slavish and uncreative’ and improvised music as jazz that identified with the ‘present and the things to come’.68 This closely ties in with the second representation of the swinging professional craftsman versus the autonomous creative artist. The jazzo musician became to represent the narrative type of the professional artist, whose circuit was mainly dominated by studio jobs, radio gigs and orchestra work. Elsen, who was known for his conservative views on jazz, regarded the jazz musician as a craftsman who took his profession seriously, in which reading- and technical skills were a crucial factor as well as giving forth a professional attitude of a competent musician. As studio- and orchestra musicians often held onto their gigs for a longer period of time – which also meant that jazzos had to promote their music less actively and were financially more independent from government subsidies than their impro counterparts – it was important for the
67 Schuiling 2018: 65. 68 Rusch 2016: 48.
35 jazzo to maintain these musical skills.69 For the impro musician, who saw the jazzo circuit as slavish and uncreative American-imitating commercial work, these skills were much less relevant let alone required. As ‘autonomous creative artists’, the impro musicians became to represent freedom and originality that was linked with their local identity.70 Although the narrative type of the impros did not align with professionalism and skilful music making, some of the impros such as Mengelberg were musically trained artists. However at that time, Dutch improvised music was not something that was supported by established educational programs. Conservatories were focussed on the American traditional jazz practice and thus the jazzos claimed a sense of professionalism and respectability that also was important for their image towards jazz audiences. Although the impros did have some form of educational structures such as workshops, until this day the vast majority of professional Dutch jazz education is focussed on the American jazz tradition and leaves little room for freely improvised music as an established jazz form.71 Whereas the impros perceived the jazzos to soullessly imitating American jazz, jazzos perceived the impros to suffer from ‘an originality obsession’ that resulted in so-called piep-piep-knor music, and these perceptions resonated through the Dutch jazz discourse and supported the narratives types of the opposing musical groups.72 The dichotomy of the craftsman versus the creative had an important influence on the jazz (educational) infrastructure in the Netherlands and the level of respectability, relevance, and authenticity a jazz artist could claim, which was important for not only the artists’ reputation but moreover for their options for funding and stage possibilities: the positioning and valuing of Dutch jazz musicians. Furthermore, the position of the Dutch jazz musician in society and the question of corresponding funding also plays a role in Rusch’s last representation: the American purist versus the creative activist. As previously discussed, the emergence of the impros should not be seen as an anti-American phenomenon per se, but more as a desire for the development of finding ones own cultural identity in free improvised music. However,
69 Kuyper 1967: 22. 70 The term ‘local’ is more suitable than ‘national’ in this case, because most of the impro scene was based around Amsterdam, while the jazzo circuit of radio orchestras and studio gigs was mainly based in Hilversum: the media capital of the Netherlands. 71 Rusch 2007: 35-45. 72 Rusch 2016: 118-144. Piep-pier-knor refers to the often-unrecognizable squeaking sounds of impro music.
36 as Rusch has found in her analysis of the Richtingenstrijd, the jazzo musician came to represent the narrative type of the American purist, who took pride in being part of the American jazz tradition instead of being outspoken and explicit in their position in the Dutch jazz tradition. Jazzos mainly saw jazz as a purely American product, and even acknowledged that it was a black American product for that matter, as Elsen once stated: ‘All Dutch are white men who never in their youth visited a black church. […] All jazz is borrowed culture.’73 On the other hand, impros saw their practice as a solely Dutch jazz product, which consequently also had a function in openly expressing their (local) socio- political views. Besides that many impros held (far-) leftist views, impro performances were even being held during political meetings of parties such as the Dutch communist party CPN and the Pacifist Socialist Party PSP, as trombone player Willem van Manen reflected on in 1982:
‘We have a political function on these meetings; we teach the people that music has an intrinsic value, which can’t be manipulated like background music played at the dentist or at a warehouse [Manen refers to jazzo music, TJ]. That’s why we believe that you need to play music that is so compelling that people need to stop talking; just because the music is so forceful in its own right.’74
The impros, in the narrative type of the creative activist, believed that their music had a potential of bringing about social and political change and therefore music had a crucial role in society that should be funded by the government. Although the impros’ ‘de- Americanization’ (or appropriation for that matter) of jazz was not only a rebellious movement to distinguish themselves from the jazzo practice, it was a conscious effort to position themselves as relevant social art that was deserving of funding. In the representation of the purist versus the activist, Rusch argues that we can recognize how the Dutch jazz discourse has positioned jazzos as musicians who aren’t active and aware of their role as Dutch jazz musicians and engaged with Dutch jazz in relation to the national socio-political climate in a way that the impros are. Similar to the two previous representations, this dichotomy can be seen as simplified and false, as it can be easily argued that the ‘purist’ American jazz the jazzos strive for has always been intertwined with the expressions and outcries of socio-political desires of the Afro-American communities in the United States and therefore jazz could be seen inherently as a
73 Rusch 2016: 49. 74 Rusch 2016: 49-50.
37 political expression, as well as it can be argued that the impros have held a paradoxical stance on their musical practice being deserving of funding because of their social role and relevance while also claiming independency from the same status-quo and established institutions. As Whyton has mentioned earlier, the representations used to construct a jazz narrative such as the Richtingenstrijd have no need to be homogenous and true, in fact they are often highly ambiguous and contradictory. As from the late 1970’s and early 1980’s the impro practice became more and more synonymous with Dutch jazz and the became the representation of Dutch jazz for local and international audiences, the narrative types Rusch describes became more embedded in the Dutch jazz discourse. The growing image of the impros being the creative, (commercially) independent, locally engaged Dutch artists was largely ‘set against’ the growing image of the jazzos being their total opposites. Based on those constructed simplified and dichotomous representations of the impros and jazzos, the Richtingenstrijd became the crucial narrational device that informed the jazz discourse and developed into a local frame of reference through which individual artists, performances and institutions are positioned and valued. Consequently, it resulted in a more apparent fragmented jazz life in the Netherlands: Bimhuis is the place for impros, the Concertgebouw is the place for jazzos, conservatories and studio gigs are for jazzos, freedom and creativity is only found in the impros’ music.75 Through the work of DeVeaux, Whyton and Rusch, it becomes clear that such representations and narratives promote a certain set of values in the telling of a jazz tradition, and these values can be used as a tool of power when it comes to the upholding of that tradition and moreover the power to value, position and even admit or reject a young and emerging jazz artist to the tradition. This brings us to the case studies of Reinier Baas and Jameszoo. Both artists are part of the current Dutch jazz generation and both – although their musical careers and styles are very different – could be seen as already highly respected and established artists. Perhaps more importantly, both Baas and Jameszoo are being positioned and valued as explicitly Dutch artists, and it will be interesting to see how they relate to the Richtingenstrijd as such a narrational valuing system according to Rusch.
75 Rusch 2016: 51.
38 3. Reinier Baas
3.1 Life and music
‘[…] I am not concerned with the question in which ‘school’ or tradition I fit. For me, the essence of jazz is about ideas, not about perfection. I am searching for something I haven’t heard before. […] Of course I am striving for a technical level that communicates to the listener that I am representing my craft. And that it sounds right. Sounding well is far more important than playing well, although your technique is like a weapon: because of your technique you can play what is inside your head.’76
Guitarist and composer Reinier Baas is considered as one of the most important representatives of Dutch jazz at the moment. Having won the Dutch national Edison jazz award in 2013 for his album Mostly improvised instrumental indie music (2012, self- released) and in 2017 for his latest record – a partly improvised instrumental jazz opera – Reinier Baas vs. princess discombobulatrix (2017, self-released), Baas is also perhaps the most lauded Dutch jazz musician of his generation.77 Besides his award-winning records, Baas has been granted various composition assignments by for example the November Music Festival and the North Sea Jazz Festival, and only last year he received a carte blanche from the Concertgebouw of Amsterdam while also being appointed as new head teacher at the Conservatory of Amsterdam. It is then safe to say that Baas (born in 1985) has made quite a name for himself over a relative short period of time and is highly valued in the Dutch jazz discourse. Besides playing alongside Han Bennink, saxophonist Benjamin Herman, Joris Roelofs, and others, Baas is best known for the work with his band The More Socially Relevant Jazz Music Ensemble. Together with some of his friends including saxophonists Ben van Gelder and Maarten Hogenhuis, drummer Mark Schilder, and bass player Sean Fasciani, TMSRJME quickly emerged ‘as the best that Dutch jazz has to offer’.78 Although Baas is popular with audiences and the jazz status quo, his attitude towards jazz music can be described as ‘headstrong’, as perhaps his 2013 remarks (mentioned above) indicate. After his first Edison, Baas was interviewed a lot by
76 Andriessen 2013. 77 This year, Baas is nominated again for the Edison. 78 Herman 2013.
39 newspapers and jazz platforms on his views on Dutch jazz and how he saw the role of the (upcoming) young jazz musician in relation to for example his audiences and the jazz discourse in general. This interest was partially sparked by the striking titles of Baas’ band and records. ‘More socially relevant jazz music’ and ‘mostly improvised indie music’ indicate that Baas is aware of the questions surrounding the creative and commercial autonomy and relevance of the jazz artist is today’s society.79 Baas explains that the name TMSRJME is an ironic comment on the modern jazz musician: ‘Nowadays, young jazz musicians are mostly concerned with attracting a large and diverse audience with their music. Of course my band is also concerned with attracting young audiences. However, the challenge lies in attracting audiences without compromising the music.’80 And earlier in 2012 he stated: ‘My goal is to play the music I want to play, and with the people I want to play with. […] I want to do everything in my own style, non-commercial. I am not interested in being a sort of chameleon that is usable everywhere.’81 Baas’ comments illustrate that he is aware and concerned with the ‘kind of jazz musician’ he wants to be and he elaborates in a tone of voice that perhaps already can remind us of comments made by impro pioneers such as Breuker and Bennink. After his studies at the Conservatory of Amsterdam and the Manhattan School of Music, Baas stood out for his quirky and eclectic playing. Influenced by not only the traditional jazz taught during his studies but also modern classical music by composers such as Stravinsky and popular psychedelic music by Jimi Hendrix, Radiohead and Massive Attack, the Dutch guitarist has proven to be difficult to label. After he received his first Edison and was asked on stage how he would explain his ‘stubborn and quirky music’, Baas replied: ‘I think it is about having respect for the history of our music, while choosing to not give a damn about anyone and do what we want.’82 However, this statement on ‘our music’ somewhat contradicts the Baas’ first comment on not being concerned with taking part in a certain tradition. As in the previous comment he explicitly stated ‘not caring to which tradition he belonged to’, Baas also refers to ‘our music’ as a sort of tradition that he does belong to and respects to a certain degree.
79 The use of the term ‘indie music’ can be perhaps explained as a reference to the widely used musical ‘indie’ label to delineate a very popular but broad style of music that draws from a sense of commercial autonomy, but at the same time is extremely popular with the young generation of today. 80 Kuyper 2011. 81 Van der Valk 2012. 82 Baas 2007.
40 Although these comments can raise some confusion to which musical tradition Baas refers to, it can be clearly stated that he positions himself as a Dutch jazz musician as he more evidently explained in 2017:
‘As a musician I could say that I am influenced by players like Wim Overgaauw [considered a jazzo guitarist, TJ], but I am also heavily influenced by the impro scene, the provos, ICP Orchestra. In that sense, you could say that I belong to that tradition. Although with my composing it is somewhat more complicated: I try to learn something from everything.’83
This quote illustrates how Baas sees his music as Dutch jazz with both jazzo and impro roots, but perhaps more importantly how he makes a consistent distinction between those styles of Dutch jazz and uses that distinction to elaborate on the different aspects of his music. Although I will analyse Baas’ comments further in the following paragraph using Whyton’s and Rusch’s theories, not focussing too much on the actual music itself, it is interesting to see how his musical work, style and process, corresponds with his remarks. Baas’ playing can be characterized be a striking high level of technical control. From his earlier work with TMSRJME to his later solo records, most compositions are filled with up-tempo themes, aggressive staccato-like attacked licks, and fast-changing chords within the bars. Baas plays his soloing scales and chords often with the high b- and e-string ‘open’ (not fretted), which produces a lot of overtones and crispy sounds. All of this results in dense textures, which Baas prefers in order to ‘get the mad of you’.84 For example, the 300bpm ‘The dance of princess discombobulatrix’ begins with a rhythmically and harmonically shifting theme – played in unisono by four wind instruments – that ‘thunders’ over a pedal point played by the bassist.85 Although it comes across to the listener as a tangle of notes that hints towards a freely improvised line, Baas has carefully scored everything and maintains an overviewing structure.86 Closely listening, the track starts of with a fast swing timed drum part that includes a lot of chaotic fills – which increase in intensity as the composition develops, as with the closing theme the drum part mostly consists of wild cymbal sounds – accompanied by
83 Melzer 2016/2017. 84 Baas and Cleaver 2019. 85 Baas 2016. 86 Baas 2015. Many thanks to Reinier for sharing his music and scores with me. The scores are included in the bibliography and consist of exemplary excerpts of the entire scored compositions.
41 the bassist’s pedal point that comes across as straight timed, creating a certain rhythmical tension in the rhythm section. As noted in the score, the bassist’s stretched notes progress from Am – D7 – F#m – Am for the first half of theme A [0:25-0:55] and consecutively progresses over Am – C6 – B7 – Am in the second half, not clearly indicating a traditional jazz harmonic progression that often relies on tonic-dominant relations to create and resolve tension.87 This can also be recognized in the harmonic progression during theme B [0:55-1:09], which is somewhat more approachable because of the theme’s long stretched notes, even though the chords unconventionally progress from Am – C6 – C#m/B – Am – Db(#11)/Ab – Gbm(6/9) – F7 – Ebmaj7(#9b9) – D7(#11) – Am. Although there is some ‘resolved tension’ to be heard in the IV-I relation between D7 and A minor, it can hardly be argued that these harmonic progressions are following a traditional jazz scheme, which results in a relatively unpredictable listening experience. This tension in the rhythm section is reinforced by theme A. Played by all four wind instrumentalists in unisono, the theme consists of a fast phrase that ‘hops’ over large intervals and rhythmically shifts by the subtle addition of a few notes per bar.88 Because of the high tempo, these longer phrases consist of almost indistinguishable notes to the listening ear and therefore contribute to a very chaotic and volatile sounding theme. This chaos ends with a moment of clarity [1:52-1:58] when only the saxophone and clarinets remain, harmonizing in a few stretched notes, before easing into Baas’ solo. Baas then also starts almost ‘cautiously’ improvising, emphasizing only a few staccato picked notes without an aggressive attack. He however quickly builds up his solo by speeding up and playing longer and denser phrases that again often include large intervals that sound melodically unconventional – but not too dissonant – over the harmonic progression of Am – D7 – F#m – Am. From [3:30-3:50] Baas switches the texture of his improvisation from staccato and almost bebop-like timed licks to more softly and freely strummed chords. In this, Baas does not follow the accompanied progression but in stead moves freely from chord to chord, emphasizing open strings and changing alterations within these chords and rather approaching his solo as a succession of dense sounds. Even though these chords do not follow the harmonic progression and their dissonance increases towards the end of Baas’ solo, they
87 Baas 2015. 88 Baas 2015. For example: bar 25 to 33 illustrate how this phrase varies in length but remains its striking character, creating a rhythmical shift.
42 somehow fit well into the composition. The solo ends with the reconnection of these micro soundscapes to the prescribed harmonic scheme when Baas picks up the progression again. This points towards an important aspect of Baas’ music: the combination of organization and disruption. From an often-composed framework or basis, Baas uses chaotic and complex melodies and improvisations over mostly unconventional and alerted chords to create a sound that shifts between tension and resolve without using too much traditional jazz harmony of II-V-I’s, blues schemes, and generally ‘predictable’ musical material.89 Another example of this is the older composition ‘Do you know Ben van Gelder’. Using a similar unconventional harmonic progression (meaning that similarly to ‘The dance of princess discombobulatrix’ this composition does not rely on the explained traditional jazz harmonic structures), uneven metric changes, and a compositional structure that is not held together by themes and choruses and designated solos, Baas builds a framework in which there is room for saxophonist Ben van Gelder to improvise freely. Even where parts of long stretched notes are prescribed for the altos, Baas scored those with the notation ‘freely’.90 In his improvisations, Van Gelder combines extended techniques such as overblowing, alternate fingerings and often ‘projects’ his notes with false air, creating a kind of strange, ‘dirty’ and unfocussed tone in his playing.91 Even though the band is following a certain composition, there is room for interaction and free playing: something that can be understood as an influence Baas picked up from the impro tradition. Some compositions such as ‘Introduction to rise and fall’ and ‘Homunculus’ even largely consist of free improvisation. However, there are multiple recurring traditional- and modern jazz (and modern classical) influences in Baas’ music. Many of Baas’ improvisations and themes are played in swing or shifting between a swing and straight feel, sometimes using a walking bass or pedal point with swing timed traditional drumming, and his licks can be often described as having strong ‘hard bop’-type timing to them. Even though this thesis does not focus on the musical relation between the case studies and the musical groups of the Richtingenstrijd, Baas’ position of a Dutch jazz artist with both jazzo and impro roots can somewhat be understood through the discussed musical characteristics above.
89 Traditionally in jazz harmony, the shifts between tension and resolve often rely on a dominant to tonic progression (V-I or II-V-I) or an alternated version of such a progression. 90 Baas 2010. 91 Baas 2012.
43 Baas’ headstrong quirkiness is also reflected in his personality on stage and in his process around his music. His free improvised jazz opera is to be performed in a pink princess dress and blue wizard costume (image 1), most of his albums are featured with cover art of Baas hysterically screaming or posing randomly with a goat, and he releases his oddly long-named albums independently to maintain artistic control.92 Although Baas aims to represent his craft and professionalism – for example, Baas performs in a regular suit during any performance other than his jazz opera – he also incorporates humour and irony into his music, career and image. Even though there are similarities between Baas and both the impro and jazzo scene, the question to which musical group Baas belongs, is irrelevant. More importantly, Baas’ life, music, and comments, illustrate how the groups of Richtingenstrijd have influenced current young Dutch jazz musicians like Baas and how – because of his relevance in the Dutch jazz scene and his position as an explicit Dutch jazz musician – this case study will be interesting to use in viewing exactly how the representations of the Richtingenstrijd continue to position and value young musicians and how those representations are used perhaps not only by the discourse but by musicians themselves to place and describe their music in the Dutch jazz tradition.
Image 1: Baas (on piano) performing Reinier Baas vs. princess discombobulatrix.93
92 Kuyper 2016. 93 ‘Reinier baas vs. princess discombobulatrix – live @Bimhuis Amsterdam’ 2016.
44 3.2 Baas and the Richtingenstrijd
After discussing the history in jazz in the Netherlands and the development of the impro practice in detail, and looking at a more theoretical approach to jazz historiography and the construction of jazz narratives through icons and representations, this analysis aims to illustrate how the Richtingenstrijd and its representations according to Rusch continues to inform and determine the positioning and valuing of young jazz musicians in the Dutch jazz scene. By looking at the case studies of Reinier Baas and Jameszoo and their relation to the Richtingenstrijd’s narrative types and representations – focussing on the artists’ comments, music, and the corresponding jazz discourse – we can perhaps view Rusch’s understanding of the Richtingenstrijd as a narrational device that serves as a local frame of reference. However, it is important to note that as my aim is to illustrate Rusch’s theory and not give a full scope on the lives and music of the case studies, the discussed points below can be described as somewhat ‘distilled’. For a fully complete analysis on Baas and Jameszoo, more could be done in terms of musical analysis, viewing their reception and personal views over a longer period of time, and perhaps the inclusion of face-to-face interviews. Also at this moment, the discourse on the case studies is limited to mostly media coverage, as Baas and Jameszoo are not (yet) mentioned in any academic literature and other non-media type sources. Nevertheless, in viewing the relation between the case studies and the Richtingenstrijd to illustrate the as such constructed sets of values in the Dutch jazz scene, Rusch has noted that media sources and other works by journalists can be very helpful.94 Baas shows multiple similarities with Rusch’s first representation of low art versus high art. The guitarist can be seen making a distinction between what Rusch has described as characteristics of the impro and jazzo narrative type in this representation. And as Whyton explains, although these distinctions and characteristics are often contradictory, they are just as often used simultaneously to construct an apparent homogenous narrative, which is also recognizable in Baas’ remarks and work.95 More importantly, Baas shows a consistent use of the characteristics of Rusch’s narrative types, for example as he explains the name of TMSRJME as an ironic comment on the jazz musicians’ search for larger audiences and success. The ironic titles of ‘relevant jazz
94 Rusch 2016: 118-144. 95 Whyton 2010: 17.
45 music’, ‘improvised indie music’, and ‘smash hits’ (title of his latest record), indicate that Baas somewhat rejects jazz as a commercial product, or at least is aware of (mainstream) jazz’s connotations with commercial entertainment. However, while Baas points towards that rejection with popular dominations such as ‘indie’, he also claims to be influenced himself by a lot of popular music that may be considered as ‘commercial’, and admits that he also searching for publicity by for example posing in a remarkable pink dress during a press shoot (image 2).96 The use of ironic titles to distinguish his music from those other types of more commercially driven jazz music, can also remind us of the impros’ rejection of the label ‘jazz’ to align their practice with more serious forms of music. Even though the use of such labels and titles can be perhaps explained with a sense of humour, Baas shows that he is aware of such issues and uses the representation of low art versus high art to position his work.
Image 2: Baas posing for an interview with newspaper De Volkskrant.97
96 Melzer 2016. 97 Kamer 2016.
46 Another important characteristic of this representation is that the jazzo related studio work and radio gigs were labelled as a form of low art. Baas also refers to this narrative type in his comments on ‘not wanting to be a chameleon’, aligning himself with jazz as a creative high art in which he ‘wants to do want he wants, non-commercially’. However, after the release of his improvised opera, Baas also states that he is done with the hard work that comes with creative autonomy and that he would love to play just as a session musician, suggesting that a session musician’s work is far more easy and relaxed.98 Even though these comments are separated by four years in date, it shows that Baas sees the jazzo related work as more ‘plastic’ that requires less of a musician and consequently is valued less than the more serious type of jazz music such as his own improvised jazz opera. As discussed earlier, Baas shows musical similarities to both the impro and jazzo practice. It is striking how he has explicitly described his music as having roots in both practices, while simultaneously using the dichotomy between the impros and jazzos and the corresponding narrative types. Also in Baas’ media coverage, there is a use of these opposing narrative types to homogeneously describe him as a Dutch jazz artist. Besides often referring to having both impro and jazzo influences and combining serious music forms such as contemporary classical music or opera and jazz with popular music, journalists position and value Baas using Richtingenstrijd indicators such as the Bimhuis versus the Concertgebouw, being original and creative versus studying at conservatories, and having a strong connection with the local jazz scene versus making conscious financial decisions. For example, in one of his biggest published interviews in the newspaper NRC, Baas is praised for not striving for commercial success, even though he teaches at conservatories, quickly followed by remark that he is performing next month at the famous impro festival ‘The October Meeting’ in the Bimhuis.99 It shows how the tropes of the Richtingenstrijd are used in the positioning and valuing of Baas as a Dutch jazz artist by the discourse. Baas’ opinions on jazz as low- and high art, also relate him to Rusch’s second representation of the swinging professional craftsman versus the autonomous creative artist. In his comments, Baas often positions himself as a professional yet creative free artist by emphasizing both striving for technical excellence and craftsmanship and the
98 Kamer 2016. 99 Kuyper 2016.
47 autonomy to do what he wants while sounding free. Although this can be seen as a completely normal ambition for a young musician, Baas’ comments indicate that the narrative types of the Richtingenstrijd inform him. For example, Baas states that for him jazz is not about perfection but about original ideas, and even though sounding well is more important than playing well, he aims to technically represent his craft: it must sound right.100 Combined with his comments on the valuation of ‘non-creative jazzo typed’ work, it can be argued that Baas is informed by the representation of the jazzo as the professional craftsman and the impro as the autonomous creative artist, as he ascribes such characteristics to those particular musical groups. The distinctions made in Baas’ remarks – even though he aligns himself with both ideologies – illustrate how he explains himself as a relevant Dutch jazz artist through Rusch’s dichotomous representation and corresponding narrative characteristics. This allows Baas to claim an important level of professional respectability and relevance, while also claiming creative autonomy and originality. Furthermore, that level of professional respectability – or validation – and autonomous originality is also reflected in the Dutch jazz discourse. For example, in the same NRC interview that framed Baas’ job as head teacher at the Conservatory of Amsterdam as an ‘attenuator’ of his position as an autonomous creative, the article begins with a summary of Baas’ accomplishments such as graduating cum laude at that same conservatory, performing as soloist with the National Jazz Youth Orchestra (generally not considered an improvised music ensemble, but more as a big band along the lines of the Jazz Orchestra of the Concertgebouw), and winning the Edison award.101 Although such ‘traditional’ accomplishments are again later used as opposites of Baas’ more improvising characteristics, they are also used as validations of Baas relevance, professionalism and value. This set-up is used in almost any media coverage on Baas.102 In other words, the discourse positions and values Baas in this case through the narrative types of the professional craftsman and the autonomous creative, while also indicating an opposing distinction between those types. Going back to Rusch’s work, this second representation closely ties in with the educational infrastructure in the Dutch jazz scene. As improvised music was – and still is not to a large extend – recognized as a legitimate form of jazz that had a place in established educational institutions such as
100 Andriessen 2013. 101 Kuyper 2016. 102 Also seen in Kuyper 2011, Kamer 2016, Melzer 2016, Andriessen 2013, and others.
48 the conservatory, the narrative type of the autonomous creative was not linked with a sense of professional respectability. Vice versa, if a musician would have studied at a conservatory, he would be considered an ‘imitating and soullessly unoriginal jazzo’. In Baas’ case, we can see that he is given a – perhaps Whyton would call it an iconic – status that attributes him ‘the best of both worlds’ without the contradictory nature of these used constructed narrative types influencing his position and value in the Dutch jazz discourse. Rusch’s third representation of the American purist versus the creative activist is perhaps a more difficult one to connect to Baas. In general this representation may be less explicitly visible in today’s Dutch jazz scene, because it can be argued that the notion of ’purist’ music is less common in a modern globalized society. In other words, because young players are constantly exposed to all sorts of music and sources from all over the world via social media and the internet, younger generations may have less ‘local associations’ with cultural products and are perhaps even more bound to cross- over in their music because of a more diverse ‘pool’ of inspiration and influence, resulting in a less purist notion of for example jazz. However, Rusch’s narrative type of the purist relies more on the idea of jazz being an essentially American product and is focussed less on the aesthetical aspects of the music, and so the variety of musical influences may be less consequential here, because the music could still be seen as an inherently American rooted product. Also, even though there are still enough issues to rally against – funding cuts and problematic lack of appreciation of the arts, housing and tourism issues in Amsterdam, a growing wealth gap, student debts, etcetera – it can be argued that there are less jazz-related and music infrastructural issues to actively protest compared to the socio-political climate of the 1970’s in the Netherlands. However, Baas does show some awareness to these issues and similarities to in particular the narrative type of the ‘activist’. Although it is safe to say that Baas is not an activist in a political sense, as he shows no explicit affiliation or concern with political parties or issues in any available source, his album titles indicate an important connection to the local jazz scene. Baas has explained ‘socially relevant jazz music’ as an ironic comment on the more commercially driven musician, but it can also be described as a concern with the state of Dutch jazz and moreover an attempt to connect his music to a local scene and thereby support, strengthen, and promote that scene. And although this applies not to all Baas’ titles, his upcoming album (released on June 1st in the
49 Bimhuis, during which he played an ode to Mengelberg and dressed the venue in the Amsterdam flag, and poured jenever for the audience) is called ‘Mokum’: an old and local name for the city of Amsterdam.103 Also drawing on his comments on ‘respecting our music’ and ‘belonging to the tradition of improvised music’, it seems that Baas does underline and distinguish his music as being connected to its local roots and positions himself as an explicit Dutch creative artist through the characteristics of the narrative type of the creative activist. Although Baas does not align himself with political issues or explicitly reflects political ideals in his music, which is an important trait of the impros as creative activists, there can be some indicators found in the discourse that link Baas to that representation. For example, although there are many mentions of Baas’ studies in New York that suggest a more ‘purist’ notion of jazz being an American rooted art – with New York as the cradle of jazz music – Baas is predominantly placed in a frame of Dutch jazz institutions such as the Bimhuis, highlighting his connection with the local jazz scene. His 2016 interview with the NRC ends with the statement that Baas has consciously chosen improvised music has connected with those audiences:
‘Baas has consciously chosen improvised music. Next month, he is performing at the October Meeting in the Bimhuis, a free jazz weekend for pioneering young musicians. He is drawn towards the direct communication on stage. […] For a long time, Baas minded his own business. Now he knows that the audience can bring an artist to new heights.’104
His second major news item featured a similar story, in which Baas’ connection with the local jazz generation was highlighted through his collaborations with other young Dutch jazz musicians such as Joris Roelofs and Ben van Gelder.105 Even though this would not directly qualify Baas as a musical activist, the use of such local connections by the discourse to position and appreciate Baas as a Dutch creative artist who is locally engaged, further illustrates Rusch’s notion of the Richtingenstrijd as a narrational device.
103 ‘Mokum’ is derived from the Hebrew word ‘maqom’, meaning ‘place’ or ‘city’. Amsterdam has a strong connection to its Jewish population (supporters of the local football club Ajax are often nicknamed ‘Jews’) and values its history of Judaism in the city. 104 Kuyper 2016. 105 Kamer 2016.
50 This analysis illustrates the relation between Reinier Baas and the Richtingenstrijd as a set of representations that influences the positioning and valuing of young Dutch jazz musicians today, as Rusch understands it. The next chapter of this thesis consists of a similar analysis, however applied to another exemplary young Dutch jazz musician who holds an interesting – yet different from Baas – relevant position in the current Dutch jazz scene: Jameszoo.
51 4. Jameszoo
4.1 Life and music
‘Fool [Jameszoo’s recent debut album, TJ] requires a flexible mind. That may well be the case. The great thing about my album is: there is very little to understand about it. It has no weight at all, these are just figments. It is nothing more than what you hear. There is no explicit thought behind it. Of course there is a concept. The album is called Fool for a reason. But I am no Stockhausen or whatever. I am just Mitchel van Dinther. A tinkerer.’106
With his 2016 debut album Fool, released by the infamous Los Angeles-based label Brainfeeder headed by avant-garde jazz producer and composer Flying Lotus, Jameszoo (born as Mitchel van Dinther in 1992) surprised the Dutch jazz scene. Before Fool, Jameszoo was predominantly active as DJ and producer, and although his style back then was heavily influenced by jazz music and other jazz-influenced producers/DJs such as Madlib, J Dilla, Flying Lotus, The Gaslamp Killer, and others, his music could be hardly placed in the Dutch jazz scene and tradition. However for his debut album, Jameszoo started collaborating with more established jazz musicians such as avant-garde pianist Steve Kuhn, free jazz and break beat drummer Julian Satorius (Dimlite), Dutch pianist Niels Broos, and LA-based jazz musicians related to Flying Lotus’ label such as virtuoso bassist Thundercat, Daedelus, and Flying Lotus himself.107 The resulting album Fool and his new relation to Brainfeeder quickly placed Jameszoo in a trend of young ground- breaking jazz musicians and thence caught the attention of the international- and local Dutch jazz scene. Not only was Jameszoo covered in detail by major Dutch music platforms such as DJBroadcast and 3voor12 and the major newspapers like De Volkskrant and NRC, he also won the internationally renowned ‘John Peel Play More Jazz’
106 Couvreur 201 107 Flying Lotus (born as Steven Ellison in 1983) is the grandnephew of John and Alice Coltrane and is considered one the most important pioneers and ground-breaking jazz musicians in LA. With his label Brainfeeder, Ellison is actively and outspokenly promoting the ‘renewal and rejuvenation’ of jazz music. Almost all artist on Brainfeeder are somewhat ‘vetted’ by Ellison himself in making sure newly signed artist fit the visions of Brainfeeder on jazz music and the role of the young jazz musician in pushing the boundaries of the music. For more background on Ellison’s work with Brainfeeder and other signed artists such as saxophonist Kamasi Washington, and moreover their relation to the American jazz tradition and jazz historiography, I can refer to my bachelor thesis: ‘The Next Step: Flying Lotus, Kamasi Washington, and the influences of icons on the American jazz tradition’ (Janssen 2016).
52 award by Gilles Peterson in 2017, and was invited by the Metropole Orchestra for an extensive collaboration which led them to open the international festival ‘ADE’ in Amsterdam and resulted in a new live album: Melkweg (2019, Brainfeeder). Moreover, Jameszoo was also included in the 2017 documentary series New Generation, which explicitly framed him as a pioneering, creative improvising Dutch jazz musician.108 Although Jameszoo inhabits a somewhat different corner of the Dutch jazz scene through an apparently different musical style and background than Reinier Baas (as Jameszoo is besides some ‘serious’ jazz venues like the Bimhuis also more active in smaller popular venues that are predominantly part of the electronic-jazz or dance music scene, such as the Lentekabinet festival, the SupersonicJazz festival at Paradiso, ADE, etcetera), the young ‘tinkerer’ has become an exemplary musician of Dutch jazz and jazz innovation:
‘To have a home-grown talent like Mitchel, is super unique. […] His music, it’s not something that with a first or second listen you are going to get. It’s serious listening. […] It’s not like the rest: just D minor and all chill and everything, something to listen to on a treadmill or on your way to work. […] He should be cherished by the Dutch scene: the unexpected, the swag, the humour, you know, that is it.’109
In the short documentary about Jameszoo as part of new generation of Dutch jazz, he is often portrayed as an ‘unique creative’ that although his lack of musical education or any conventional musical skills, has deep roots in improvised music, free jazz and avant- garde, as here so referred to by Metropole Orchestra conductor Jules Buckley. Even though Jameszoo’s recognition and perhaps even ‘esteem’ is widespread in the discourse, the efforts in for example New Generation to position him as a serious and complex jazz musician somewhat comes across as comical and bizarre. This has everything to do with Jameszoo’s own attitude and opinions about his work. He describes his music as ‘naïve computer jazz’: something that not per se is bad because of its lack of experience or judgement, but focuses more on the natural childlike spontaneity that results in ‘unaffected’ art.110 Drawing on his comments noted in the beginning of this chapter, Van Dinther explains himself as a ‘tinkerer’ or a ‘dabbler’ who – in spite of having of course some musical talents – has actually no idea of what he is
108 NPO 2018. 109 ‘New Generation – aflevering 3: Jules Buckley x Jameszoo | NPO Soul & Jazz’ 2017. 110 Couvreur 2016.
53 doing, in other words: a fool (image 3). But even though he is often the first one to humorously admit his foolishness and lack of traditional musical skills, Jameszoo has often elaborated on his ambitions and search in music: unexpectedness (he also uses the term ‘accidental avant-garde’ for this), humour, originality, purity of art, dialogue and having fun himself.111 It seems that even though Jameszoo maintains a certain sober moderation and self-mockery when it comes to his work, he also has a clear sense of his art.
Image 3: Fool’s cover art portrays Jameszoo himself (painted by famous Dutch avant-garde artist Philip Akkerman), indicating again the autobiographical element of the album and its title.112
This apparent paradox between describing himself as a musical fool but also as an artist with clear intentions can be seen in his comments on for example his musical influences. On the one hand, Jameszoo portrays himself as an unknowing ‘dude’ who fools around with music and sounds – and elaborates on that in terms that come very close to piep- piep-knor music – but simultaneously refers to ‘serious’ music and composers such as Karlheinz Stockhausen, Dick Raaijmakers, Peter Brötzmann, Coltrane, and Bennink, to
111 ‘Bakkie Bakkie x Kornuit festivalspecial 2: het Lente Kabinet & Jameszoo’ 2019. 112 Jameszoo 2016a.
54 explain his music. In his reference to such sources of inspiration, it seems that Jameszoo has quite extensive knowledge on the history of avant-garde, early electronic, modern classical and improvised jazz music, and besides viewing his music as ‘a fool’s work’, he aligns and relates his work to the avant-garde tradition.113 Jameszoo also uses the latter more determined and conscious tone of voice in his comments on the state of jazz music and the role of the jazz musician. Jameszoo notes that he is concerned with the stagnating development of jazz and the lack of appreciation of innovating jazz music as a legitimate art form, which he sees being caused by modern day consumerism and conservatism:
‘Looking at today’s consumerism, it is all about enhancement: ‘coffee and chill’ and ‘Sunday jazz’. It is so typical for our modern society. […] I am just trying to make music that affects others and myself. […] There are a lot of people who don’t see jazz music as an art form, because it can be so accessible. That is something I am very aware of.’114
Also in his two biggest interviews with De Volkskrant and 3voor12, Jameszoo critically expresses his dissatisfaction with current stage- and festival programming and young jazz musicians who he feels consciously stay in ‘the middle of the road’, imitating jazz from the past.115 Besides Jameszoo’s connection to the boundary-pushing avant-garde jazz label Brainfeeder and his declared musical influences, his comments and vision on the development and current state of jazz music indicate that he is aware and concerned – perhaps somewhat similar to Baas – of the issues surrounding jazz artists’ creative and financial autonomy and their relevance in today’s cultural society. Even though Jameszoo seems to share Baas’ stance towards the current state and desired future of jazz, his musical background and attended circuit in the jazz scene are quite different. However, there are various important similar elements in their music and process of music making. Jameszoo has composed Fool in great detail, building a largely pre-determined structure in which there is room for free improvisation for all players. Thorough compositions such as ‘Soup’ and ‘Crumble’ come across as totally chaotic and freely played jams that occasionally shift from collective free improvisations to a themed section or a reoccurring lick, indicating that Jameszoo – similar to Baas –
113 ‘New Generation – aflevering 3: Jules Buckley x Jameszoo | NPO Soul & Jazz’ 2017. 114 ‘Bakkie Bakkie x Kornuit festivalspecial 2: het Lente Kabinet & Jameszoo’ 2019. 115 Van Gijssel 2016. Similar remarks can be found in Jameszoo’s 3voor12 interview: Huiskamp 2016.
55 uses a combination of organization and disruption.116 However, Jameszoo’s organization is even further removed from any conventional jazz harmonic structures than Baas’ music. Beside the apparent use of traditional jazz altered chords, there are almost no progressions to be found on the entire album that point towards the use of a predetermined jazz harmonic scheme. All compositions sound like accumulations of electronic beeps, outbursts of collective and interactive free improvisations, and a few organized moments consisting of themes, repeating licks or less complex and grooving sections that are reminiscent of electronic-jazz groups like BadBadNotGood or the neo- soul-jazz of Robert Glasper and Chris Dave, but perhaps even more of the idiomatic improvisation style of the ICP.117 Jameszoo himself explains:
‘Humour is very important. Where most people in jazz are competent musicians, I am not. Instead of sitting behind a piano, I fuck around and that becomes the foundation of my music: they are collages of my mischief. […] Nothing is premeditated; I trust my ears and the piece’s inner dialogue. That is what makes the music sound self-conscious.’118
Listening to for example the composition ‘Soup’, the track starts of with an anticipating silence of fourteen seconds with only the humming electronic noise (or EMI) of the synthesizers and amps in the background. The remaining first minute of the composition is made up of a minimalistic straight timed drumbeat, cautiously laid down with the lower toms, muted snare, soft bass drum and the occasional hi-hat. The lack of cymbals to clearly indicate a fixed meter leaves a lot of silent spaces in between sounds. Guest musician Marzio Scholten, a young Dutch jazz guitarist who also recently achieved critical acclaim with his IDENTIKIT project, plays a subtle sliding bass line that interlocks with the drummers’ pattern, hereby creating a minimalistic and rhythmically fragmented foundation. The theme [0:59-1:45], played by Niels Broos on synthesizer, consists of a repetitive motif that comes across to the listener as quite a simple melody, almost like a children’s song. However, this melody quickly starts to deform as the drums and guitar fade out and Jameszoo begins to add squealing, beeping and ominous electronic background sounds and Broos’ synth melody begins to overdrive, causing the melody to increasingly resonate and ‘vibrate’, loosing its child-like qualities. This
116 Jameszoo 2016a. 117 ‘Jameszoo NTS live at the Brass and Crimson’ 2017. 118 NPO 2018. Similar remarks can be found in Jameszoo’s BakkieBakkie interview: ‘Bakkie Bakkie x Kornuit festivalspecial 2: het Lente Kabinet & Jameszoo’ 2019.
56 process of disrupting organized material continues from [1:44-2:14] as the synthesizer now softly lays down a chord progression that follows the previous harmony played by Scholten, but is constantly disrupted by freely played drum fills, unfamiliar ‘ticking’ metronome-like electronic sounds, and short outbursts of growled saxophone sounds and fast unfocussed licks.119 Here, the previous minimalistic foundation is replaced by a larger vacuum that allows most of the players to improvise freely, with only the synthesizer’s chords as a handhold for a sense of meter or a tonal centre. The theme enters again at [2:15-2:40], but is instantly pushed to the background by the free improvisations of the overblowing saxophone and the loud drum fills, which increase in intensity as the theme repeats. Again, Jameszoo shows how this process of organization and disruption is a key element in his music making, as the theme’s function of the composition’s ‘anchor’ is further drowned out by the wild free soloing of the other players, leaving ‘Soup’ to end [2:40-4:01] as an accumulation of strange electronic sounds produced by Jameszoo, dark growling noises from the saxophone, and occasional drum fills. Moreover, the theme does not even finish its last motif, as if the free playing of the others defeated it, and as victors thereafter play whatever they want: a collage of sounds and a total ‘free for all’. Although this description points towards Jameszoo’s music perhaps as total piep- piep-knor music, there are some traditional free jazz techniques and processes – as well as some overall structure – to be heard in his work. In his solos on for example ‘Soup’, saxophonist Dikeman makes use of familiar extended techniques such as overblowing, growling, multiphonics and alternate fingerings. Also, even though Dikeman’s parts on Fool often function as a disruptor, his playing shifts between free atonal sections and more tonal and easy listening ones, which can be also said of the piano and synthesizer player Broos, with the theme of ‘Soup’ as a clear example. The same thing goes for the drums: Satorius’ drumming often shifts between free playing and non-metric outburst, and more conventional swing playing in order to leave more room for other players to freely improvise for example. Jameszoo himself also functions as somewhat of a disruptor, adding electronic beeps and synthesized sounds around Broos’ more ‘skilled’ keyboard playing. The result is a layered and densely textured mix of electronics that
119 ‘Unfocussed’, meaning that the projection of air through the saxophone’s mouthpiece is less controlled than usual, resulting in a more ‘dirty’ sounding tone, and also in the sense that there is not a clear ‘tonal direction’ in the succession of notes, causing the sound to come across as less controlled and more as a ‘wild eruption of notes’.
57 does not directly evoke a ‘jazzy’ feeling, which have led some journalists to also not label Jameszoo’s work as ‘jazz’.120 However, placing his work in a line of avant-garde music and improvised jazz, Jameszoo’s music can be seen as clearly influenced by those he mentions as influences. The described use of free improvisation and collage composition, grooving licks, humour, interaction, eclecticism through – among other styles – the bossa nova music of Arthur Verocai on ‘Flu’, and the interaction and the music’s ‘inner dialogue’, makes Jameszoo’s musical style reminiscent of perhaps the impro practice and the work of the ICP and the later work of Bennink and Mengelberg. In addition, the unconventional harmonic structures and the alternating use of free improvised musical material in a still composed framework, results in both Jameszoo’s and Baas’ work in a distinct unpredictability. This important similarity between these two musicians, who are both valued and positioned as explicitly Dutch jazz musicians, may perhaps point towards some common characteristic of today’s Dutch jazz. The next paragraph will focus on Jameszoo’s relation with the Richtingenstrijd and view how Rusch’s representations could be recognized in his valuation and positioning.
4.2 Jameszoo and the Richtingenstrijd
Jameszoo’s rejection of jazz as a commercial product and his alignment with the avant- garde and improvised music tradition, show an important similarity with Rusch’s first representation of ‘low versus hight art’. As Rusch has noted, the narrative type of the impro practice as ‘high art’ includes a concern about the devaluation of jazz as commercial entertainment. In Jameszoo’s comments on today’s consumption of jazz and moreover the commercialization of jazz as an entertainment product, we can see a clearly corresponding concern and even tone of voice. The explicit use of terms such as ‘consumerism’, ‘mainstream’, ‘enhancement’, and his outspoken concern of jazz music not being valued as serious art because of the accessibility of such ‘middle of the road music’, indicates that Jameszoo makes a distinction between ‘serious’ jazz music as high art and ‘commercial mainstream’ jazz as low art. It also becomes clear that Jameszoo sees serious jazz as a music that is innovative, outside of the commercial market and not
120 Scheim 2016.
58 primarily focussed on entertaining its audience, expressive and in a sense true to the essence of art. Furthermore, through Rusch’s understanding of the jazzos’ and impros’ narrative type within this representation of low versus high art, it can be argued that Jameszoo uses descriptions of his own music such ‘naïve computer jazz’, ‘accidental avant-garde’ and ‘collages of mischief’, to not only support his alignment with more serious music traditions such as the avant-garde practice, but also to distance himself from the label ‘jazz’ because of its frequent connotations as a form of commercial entertainment. The use of this dichotomous representation can also be recognized in the discourse on Jameszoo and his work, most interestingly in the New Generation documentary. As this short doc aims to claim and portray Jameszoo as an explicit Dutch jazz musician, it is striking how the valuation of his artistry as such is established through the distinction between his work as a serious form of high art versus ‘the rest’ (mainstream) as commercial low art. The documentary even ends with the before mentioned from Jules Buckley, in which he underlines Jameszoo’s relevance and value as a ‘home-grown talent’ by setting his ‘serious music’ apart from the mainstream whose music is solely suitable as background music.121 Jameszoo’s relation with Brainfeeder supports this position. The LA label is internationally known for its avant-garde visions on jazz music and because Jameszoo is one of the few non-American signed artists on the label, his collaborations with pioneers such as Flying Lotus are often used to further explain and strengthen his image as an ‘innovative and serious artist’.122In all of the discussed sources, it is interesting to see how Jameszoo is portrayed and valued only by his work since 2016. Although he is now certainly more focussed and outspoken on his music as jazz or avant-garde, almost any source in the discourse ignores Jameszoo’s musical past as a DJ and producer, limiting his oeuvre to Fool and Melkweg. It can be argued that Jameszoo’s musical career only recently has started with his official debut album Fool, which in all fairness is most representative of him as an artist. But on the other hand, we can notice a tendency of ignoring his past of more popular and perhaps even ‘mainstream’ electronic music, which could be explained as avoiding his influences of ‘low art’ to construct and support Jameszoo’s homogeneous representation as a serious (high art) artist.
121 ‘New Generation – aflevering 3: Jules Buckley x Jameszoo | NPO Soul & Jazz’ 2017. 122 Huiskamp 2016.
59 This image also links Jameszoo to Rusch’s second representation of ‘the swinging professional craftsman versus the autonomous creative artist’. As discussed above, Jameszoo is often presented as a serious creative artist who stands apart from the commercial mainstream. However, this position as a serious artist somewhat conflicts with Jameszoo’s self-promoted image as an incompetent fool when it comes to musical skills and background, even though he simultaneously aligns himself with a serious avant-garde music by for example positioning his work as heavily influenced by that tradition. This double-sided stance can be understood through Rusch’s second representation. Viewing Jameszoo’s comments on his own musical process and his critique on mainstream jazz, it becomes clear that he promotes jazz as a creative and free expression instead of as a professionally trained and conventional skilful craft. When he for example mentions that: ‘There is no perfect music. Everyone just fucks around, that is what it is about’, there is an underlining rejection of the notion that a jazz musician should be a professional in the sense of traditional musical skills, attitude, and jazz music in general as a craft.123 And that rejection can be related to the Richtingenstrijd and Rusch’s understanding of how the jazzo practice became synonymous with an imitating, slavish and uncreative music. Denominating himself as a fool, Jameszoo plays with the perception of what is actually considered to be a fool in the jazz tradition (a non-professional who makes piep-piep-knor music) and seeing his promoted self-image in context with his comments and vision on the development and ‘essence’ of jazz, we can understand his work not only as an alignment with the avant- garde tradition but more so as a critical comment on the idea of jazz as a conventional professional craft. In this we can see a clear distinction with Baas, who held onto the ambition of his music as a creative autonomous expression and as a skilful craft through both narrative types of Rusch’s second representation. Also, Baas himself (and the discourse) uses his professional craftsmanship as a validation of his relevant position in the Dutch jazz discourse. In the case of Jameszoo however, we can see that such craftsmanship is not used as validation. On the contrary, Jameszoo is praised for his unique expressiveness, and unconventional autonomous artistry, which is supported by the actual rejection – or at least devaluation and questioning – of that professional notion of jazz that Baas also promotes. Where the discourse for example uses Baas’ musical education and
123 ‘New Generation – aflevering 3: Jules Buckley x Jameszoo | NPO Soul & Jazz’ 2017.
60 accomplishments to indicate his relevance in the Dutch jazz scene, the lack of these characteristics in Jameszoo’s life and music does not result in him being excluded from the scene, but is rather used also as a reason for his relevant position as a Dutch artist.124 The fact that this ‘young creative’ did not study at a conservatory, even though he was admitted when he applied, becomes evidence of his autonomy and originality as if a traditional musical education represents imitation and mainstream. Here, the use of the dichotomy between the ‘imitating craftsman’ and the ‘original creative’ in valuing and positioning young creative artists such as Jameszoo becomes evident. In for example New Generation, Jameszoo is valued for his impro-linked characteristics – originality, improvisation, unpredictability, interdisciplinary art, humor, non-commercialism, etcetera – and is literally set apart from mainstream groups that are explained through jazzo-linked characteristics such as imitation, slavish production work, and ‘middle of the road’ music.125 As it is the documentary’s aim to position Jameszoo as an explicit Dutch jazz musician, we can understand how the impro practice and moreover the narrative type of the impro in this representation still functions as a synonym for a Dutch jazz music, that is often supported by a simplified reading of the past.126 As discussed in the analysis of Reinier Baas and his connection to Rusch’s third representation of ‘the American purist versus the creative activist’, it can be argued that the notion of cultural products as local, and in this case as purist, may be less visible in today’s globalized society, in which cultural products often exceed national borders. And as modern technology has also partially ‘opened up’ the music scene’s infrastructure by allowing artists to more easily promote and control their work, the need for activism may be less than during the Richtingenstrijd. However similar to Baas, Jameszoo’s comments indicate that he is aware of and concerned with the issues surrounding the artistic value of jazz music in the current socio-political climate in the Netherlands and the overall commercialization and moreover devaluation of jazz as a serious artistic
124 Hoorntje 2016. Similar remarks can be found in Jameszoo’s other major music news platform interviews, among which: Couvreur 2016, Huiskamp 2016, and ‘Bakkie Bakkie x Kornuit festivalspecial 2: het Lente Kabinet & Jameszoo’ 2019. 125 ‘New Generation – aflevering 3: Jules Buckley x Jameszoo | NPO Soul & Jazz’ 2017. 126 As New Generation is an especially interesting example of positioning young artists as Dutch jazz musicians, because of its explicitness, I often use the documentary as an example of the discourse in my analysis. However, this use of the impro narrative type as an autonomous creative artist set again the jazzo type, can also repeatedly be seen in other major sources such as Jameszoo’s discussed interviews with DJBroadcast (Couvreur 2016), 3voor12 (Huiskamp 2016), De Volkskrant (Van Gijssel 2016), and NRC (Hoorntje 2016).
61 expression that holds an important local and societal relevance. For example, the previously discussed comments made in his interview with Bakkie Bakkie (a Dutch podcast on the local music scene), show not only Jameszoo’s concern with the musical development of jazz but moreover the link he makes between such stagnation through commercialization and the corresponding risk to the role of jazz in society.127 Even though Jameszoo does not connect his work to any explicit political views or affiliations, these comments can be explained through Rusch’s narrative type of the creative activist, who not only sees their practice as positioned within the local tradition but more importantly sees their jazz music as having an actual potential of bringing societal changes.128 As Jameszoo has often explicitly stated that he is aware of the artistic and societal role of jazz, his aim to make music that affects him and others in such local society, and his concern with the future state of jazz as a valued art form in society, we can see an important similarity between him and Rusch’s third representation. It can also be argued that this stance has supported Jameszoo’s valuation and positioning as a Dutch jazz artist in the local jazz discourse. As heretofore shown, Jameszoo is often presented and claimed as such – perhaps even more clearly than in Baas’ case – in for example the New Generation documentary, but also in major news items with designations such as: ‘A special and enigmatic figure of Dutch music’.129 These strong claims are partially formed by Jameszoo’s important resemblance with the ‘creative activist’, using his views on jazz’s state and role in the Netherlands as an indicator of his relevance and value in the scene. In other words, his value as a Dutch jazz artist is not only constructed by his work and its esthetical and innovative qualities, but also by his active strives for the preservation and development of jazz music as a serious art form in the Netherlands. In portraying him as the new generation of Dutch jazz, the NPO documentary included multiple comments of Jameszoo about his concerns on conservative festival programming and the rise of mainstream jazz, before leading up to Buckley’s call for the Dutch jazz scene to ‘cherish’ Jameszoo.130 And in his two biggest news items, De Volkskrant and 3voor12 both emphasized his active stance in rejuvenating the jazz scene and ‘carving out a space for our music’: ‘[…] I hope to push the music forwards, to make something new. Music that does not push the art, but
127 ‘Bakkie Bakkie x Kornuit festivalspecial 2: het Lente Kabinet & Jameszoo’ 2019. 128 Rusch 2016: 50. 129 Van Gijssel 2019. 130 ‘New Generation – aflevering 3: Jules Buckley x Jameszoo | NPO Soul & Jazz’ 2017.
62 merely imitates something that already has been done, I just don’t understand that. What’s the function of that anyway.’131 Such comments are obviously reminiscent of the impros’ activism, for example the complaints of impro musician Herman de Wit in 1974 about the lack of impro music during the jazz festival in Laren.132 Analysing Jameszoo’s comments and the corresponding discourse on his work through Rusch’s representations, it becomes clear how his position and value in the Dutch jazz scene are supported and informed by the narrative types of the impros and jazzos. Similar to Baas, the relation between Jameszoo and these three representations illustrate how the Richtingenstrijd continues to serve as a local frame of reference through which individual young musicians such as the discussed case studies are valued, positioned, and placed within the Dutch jazz tradition. In the following chapter, I will conclude this thesis, including a brief comparison between Baas and Jameszoo and their discussed relation with the Richtingenstrijd as a narrational device.
131 Van Gijssel 2016. 132 Rusch 2016: 49.
63 Synthesis and conclusion
With the rise of the Dutch ensemble culture, impro musicians collaborated with contemporary composers to create a musical space for a new innovative music in the Netherlands. This overhaul of the existing Dutch musical infrastructure was fuelled by the desire to open up the heretofore hierarchal, conservative and excluding jazz- and classical tradition, and search for a practice that connected with the impros’ local identity and expressions. Inspired by early free jazz, art movements such as Fluxus, childhood music, and local contemporary composers as their allies, the impros distanced themselves from the traditional American-focussed jazz practice and developed what has become known as Dutch improvised music. Alongside the development of this innovative, local, democratic and free impro practice, these emerging musicians also established a supporting infrastructure. Through institutions such as the BEVEM, SJIN, and BIM, the impros aimed to secure a creative and financially supported place and future for their practice in the Dutch arts culture. The growing establishment of the impro practice further divided the impros and jazzos, which resulted in the Richtingenstrijd. Influenced by the work of DeVeaux and Whyton on the complexities of jazz historiography, Rusch understands the Richtingenstrijd as a selective set of apparent homogenous representations that are constructed by a simplified reading of the past of jazz in the Netherlands. Consequently, the dichotomies of low art versus high art, the swinging professional craftsman versus the autonomous creative artist, and the American purist versus the creative activist, are used in this thesis to view the relation between the Richtingenstrijd and the current generation of Dutch jazz musician, represented by the case studies of Reinier Baas and Jameszoo. The analyses of chapter three and four have shown various overlapping characteristics in this relation. Both artists are valued and explicitly positioned in the Dutch jazz discourse through the narrative types of the impros and jazzos in the three representations Rusch has described as the key constructors and supporters of this local frame of reference. Although the lives and musical work of these young Dutch jazz musicians differ on multiple levels, they both see themselves having roots in the tradition of improvised music, avant-garde, and jazz, and more importantly share a concern with the state and development of jazz in the Netherlands. And in elaborating
64 on these concerns and their work in detail, Rusch’s representations are often used. By positioning their music and themselves as young relevant artist in the Dutch jazz scene through these representations, it indicates that the corresponding narrative types and furthermore the Richtingenstrijd as a narrational device continues to serve as a valuing system not only for the jazz discourse in the Netherlands, but also for young artist themselves. Therefore it can be stated that there is still an influential relation to be recognized between the Richtingenstrijd and the current generation of Dutch jazz. However, this relation can of course vary per musician. In the analysis of Baas there is a much stronger and evident relation between the case study and both narrative types of Rusch’s representations. Baas consistently shows similarities with both the jazzo and impro stereotypes, which is interesting when considering that these simultaneous paradoxical representations do not result in ‘cancelling each other out’. On the contrary: both narrative types are used to strengthen and promote Baas’ position and relevant value as a Dutch jazz artist. This can be understood through DeVeaux’s and Whyton’s work on iconic influences in jazz historiography, where such contradictory representations are often used in constructing a seemingly homogenous narrative. Jameszoo on the other hand does not show any similarities with the image of the jazzo, but has a strong connection with the narrative type of the impro. His analysis illustrates more clearly how the impro practice has become synonymous with a notion of Dutch jazz and its local importance, and how the characteristics of that impro practice still are highly valued and influential in the positioning of a young jazz musician as explicitly Dutch. Moreover, the use of these characteristics by Jameszoo himself and the discourse illustrates how much the narrative type of the impro is set against the type of the jazzo, and thereby shows the evident dichotomy of Rusch’s representations in the Dutch jazz scene. The Richtingenstrijd as a narrational device can be then understood as a simplified reading of the past struggle between the impros and jazzos, where a complex search for ones local identity in a newly developing improvised music has resulted in a dichotomous and often one-dimensional set of representations that continues to inform the jazz scene in the Netherlands.
65 Bibliography
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Audio
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‘Reinier baas vs. princess discombobulatrix – live @Bimhuis Amsterdam.’ Youtube. October 28th 2016. Web. May 17th 2019.
70 Scores
Baas, Reinier. Dance of princess discombobulatrix. 2015.
3 25 B7 œ œ Tpt. œ œ bœ œ œ œ & J œ J ˙ œ bœ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ Œ œ B7 œ œ Cl. ° œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ & J œ J ˙ œ bœ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ Œ œ B7 œ œ Cl. œ œ bœ œ œ œ & J œ J ˙ œ bœ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ #œ œ Œ œ B7 œ œ œ œ Alto Sax. œ œ œ ˙ bœ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ #œ œ Œ œ ¢& J J
B7 . . . U. Bass ? gliss. œ œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ ˙
29 D7 œ œ œ œ œ. Tpt. œ œ œ & œ œ œ œ bœ œ J œ J ˙ bœ œ œ œ Œ œ D7 œ œ œ œ œ. Cl. ° œ œ œ & œ œ œ œ bœ œ J œ J ˙ bœ œ œ œ Œ œ D7 œ. Cl. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & œ bœ œ œ bœ œ J œ J ˙ bœ œ œ œ Œ œ D7 nœ. Alto Sax. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ bœ J J bœ Œ ¢& œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ
D7 . œ. œ. . U. Bass ? œ œ œ Œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ ˙
33 F©‹ œ œ œ Tpt. œ œ bœ œ bœ œ œ bœ œ Œ & J œ J ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ F©‹ œ œ Cl. ° œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ & J œ J ˙ œ bœ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ Œ œ F©‹ œ œ Cl. œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ & J œ J ˙ œ bœ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ Œ œ F©‹ Alto Sax. œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ Œ ¢& J œ J ˙ œ œ œ
F©‹ U. Bass ? . . Œ œ œ ˙ œ #œ ˙ #œ œ œ œ œ #˙ 71
4 37 Tpt. œ & œ œ œ œ bœ
Cl. ° œ & œ œ œ œ bœ
Cl. œ & œ bœ œ œ œ
Alto Sax. bœ œ œ œ œ ¢& œ
U. Bass ? . . . . #œ œ œ nœ
1. 38 A‹ C©‹/B A‹(Œ„Š7) D¨7(#11)/A¨ 3 3 3 3 Tpt. ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ‰ ‰ j Œ j ‰ ‰ j ‰ ‰ j & œ ˙ œ ˙ #œ ˙ œ ˙ ™ A‹ mf ™ C©‹/B ™ A‹(Œ„Š7) ™ D¨(#11)/A¨ 3 3 3 Cl. ° ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ‰ ‰ ‰ & mfœ ˙ ™ #œ ˙ ™ œ ˙ œ œ b˙ C6 C©‹/B A‹(Œ„Š7) D¨(#11)/A¨™ Cl. & ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ mfw A‹ C6 #w #B¬Œ„˙ ™ Š7 nœ œ ˙ ™ Alto Sax. & ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ Œ Ó™ ¢ mf D¨‹/C¨ D¨(#11)/A¨ A‹1. C6 C©‹/B A‹(Œ„Š7) A13(#11) D¨(#11)/A¨ ˙ ™ b˙ ™ . . . . ˙ ™ ˙ ˙ ™ ˙ ™ U. Bass ? Œ Œ ™ Œ n˙ ™ Œ b˙ ™ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ mf
46 G¨‹% F7 E¨Œ„Š7[âÄ] D7(#11) 3 3 ˙ Tpt. ‰ ‰ j ‰ ‰ j ‰ ‰ œ ˙ Œ ™ & bœ ˙ ™ œ ˙ ™ J ™ G¨‹% F7 3 D7(#11) 3 3 3 E¨Œ„Š7[âÄ] Cl. ° ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ œ ˙ & bœ ˙ #œ ˙ J ™ bœ ˙ ™ ™ ™ 3 G¨‹% F7 E¨Œ„Š7[âÄ] 3 D7(#11) Cl. ‰ & w #œ ˙ ™ bw G¨‹% F7w E¨Œ„Š7[âÄ] D7(#11) Alto Sax. ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢& #w
G¨‹% F7 E¨Œ„Š7[âÄ] D7(#11) ˙ ™ b ˙ ™ ˙ ™ b ˙ w U. Bass ? Œ b˙ ™ Œ ˙ ™ Œ b˙ ™ w
72
Baas, Reinier. 2nd coming of homunculus / do you know Ben van Gelder?. 2010.
4 (Do You Know Ben van Gelder?) D¨^ 77 D¨^ C C^ B^ fi E Alto Sax. ° 5 6 5 & ™4 Ó ˙ œ #˙ Œ 8 ∑ 4 freely™ ™ Alto Sax. 5 6 5 & ™4 Ó Œ 8 ∑ 4 ¢ ˙ ™ œ ˙ freely ™
U. Bass ? 5 j j 6 5 ™4b˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ œ 8 œ™ 4 J J œ™
D¨^ 80 D¨^ C C^ B^ F7(b13) Alto Sax. ° 5 Ó Ó™ 6 Ó 5 &4 b˙ œ bœ œ #˙ 8 œ 4
Alto Sax. &45 Ó Ó™ 68 Ó 45 ¢ ˙ œ ˙ œ
U. Bass ? 5 j j 6 5 4b˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ œ 8 œ™ 4 J J œ™
B¨6 83 B¨6 D7#9/A A711/C# C6 B6 Alto Sax. ° 5 6 5 &4 Ó ˙ œ Ó™ ‰ œ™ 8 œ™ ‰ Œ 4
Alto Sax. 5 Ó Ó™ ‰ 6 ‰ Œ 5 ¢&4 ˙ œ œ™ 8 œ™ 4
U. Bass ? 5 j j j j 6 5 4b˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ œ #˙ œ 8 œ™ œ™ 4
B¨6 E6 86 B¨6 D7#9/A A711/C# C6 Alto Sax. ° 5 6 &4 ∑ ∑ 8 Œ™ Œ™ ™
Alto Sax. 5 ∑ ∑ 6 ∑ ™ ¢&4 8 ™
U. Bass ? 5 j j j j 6 4b˙ œ ˙ œ #˙ œ 8 œ™ ™ ˙ œ œ™ 73