‘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 thijs.jansson@gmail.com
University of Amsterdam
Graduate School of Humanities
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
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
‘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.
