A Reflection on My Time in History of Jazz

Coming into History of Jazz, I carried the assumption that it would be a class covering jazz purely from a musical standpoint, it’s superstars and its different forms over time. And while these topics were certainly covered, the class was more interestingly—and more importantly—about much more than that. It was about the history of jazz within the greater context of 20th century life, and more specifically, a dialogue of race relations in America. As Miles Davis states in his autobiography, White influence in jazz was a pervasive problem to many Black musicians, and Davis himself “hate[d] how white people always [tried] to take credit for something after they discover[ed] it” [Davis, 55]. Indeed, in any true account of the history of jazz there will be a through line of racial dynamics, and one of my biggest takeaways from the class will be a more thorough understanding of the way in which interracial relations played a significant role in both the commercialization and musical evolution of jazz.

A national market for jazz came about with the advent of radio in the 20s. By the end of the decade, radio sales “had skyrocketed to over $850 million” per year, and the effects of this new phenomenon were felt in the jazz industry [Gioia, 128]. With such an expansive market, the business of jazz exploded, but the recording and broadcasting industries were controlled by White businessmen. This gave Whites an unprecedented level of leverage over the Black musicians, for the nature of radio necessitated only a relatively small number of bands to entertain a nationwide audience. Whites controlled the commercialized supply of jazz, and their capitalistic influence was present in the most popular form of jazz at the time, Swing, which contained simple riffs, accessible vocals, and commercial danceability. Before I took History of Jazz, I was completely unaware of the racial nuance involved in jazz’s commercial emergence. Now, I understand the way in which the hegemonic role of Whites in America was present and pervasive in jazz’s development. 

History of Jazz also imparted on me knowledge of the way in which race underscored the emergence of Bebop following jazz’s Swing Era, and the way in which racial dynamics shaped the evolution of the jazz from a formal musical standpoint. Swing was jazz at its most accessible, with huge commercial appeal and a wide, national audience. Bebop was a subversion of this style of jazz, a reclamation of the music by its Black members that “rebelled against the populist trappings of swing music” [Gioia, 187]. This new style was less accessible, and instead was characterized by a fast, attacking tempo, a dissonant harmony, and complex rhythms. Bebop was an incredibly racially dialogical music, it was the style of the marginalized musician struggling to find individuality and respect strictly through musical merit. This style was an aesthetic of urban life, the fast, dissonant pace reflecting life within American metropolises. This emphasis on sheer talent and improvisational virtuosity led to the emergence of some of jazz’s greatest legends such as Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, previous sidemen in large Swing bands. Bebop came as the the marginalization of Blacks in greater American society was being fought against in an especially strong way, during the era immediately antecedent to the Civil Rights Movement which would create landmark legislation recognizing the rights of Black Americans. The music was a microcosm of the Civil Rights Movement in and of itself; it was Blacks paving their own way in American society, fighting against White control and oppression, to achieve a sense of control and establish a new standard of excellence within jazz. History of Jazz has taught me the way in which dynamics of race impart their influence on the musical growth of jazz during the 20th century, with Black expression and individuality finding its way to prominence through Bebop. 

That race played such a crucial role in the commercial and musical growth of jazz tells a larger story about the History of Jazz as a dialogue about American society. Coming into the class, I had completely underestimated the ability of music to communicate societal dynamics, but the power of this art form to provide a tangible aesthetic of life in this country testifies to the importance of this music’s history to American history as a whole. The imparting of this knowledge has been incredibly powerful in the way in which it has altered my attitudes regarding the capacity of music to represent the dynamism of our society, and for that, I am grateful. 

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Jazz in the Community and the Community in Jazz: Thelonious Monk, San Juan Hill, and Leimert Park

The childhood of Thelonious Monk was characterized by his immersion, involvement, and growth in the tight knit San Juan Hill neighborhood. San Juan Hill was a small neighborhood located on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, but it contained a richness of community that made it “a small town unto itself” (Kelley, 35). Monk’s formative years were greatly influenced by this community and the exposure to various people, cultures, and experiences that it afforded him. For Monk, “the neighborhood was the center of his social universe” (Kelley, 32). There was the Columbus Hill Community Center, where Monk, his siblings, and his friends would spend their time hanging out—it was “a true center of social life for black youth in the neighborhood” (Kelley, 28). Indeed, it was the Friday night dances at the Community Center where a teenage Monk and his first band had their most important gigs, where “they had a good time and always received an enthusiastic response” (Kelley, 37). Much of Monk’s early exposure to music came from his experiences within the community. He would watch his mother sing at church services and one of his early music instructors was a woman named Alberta Simmons, “a local jazz musician who had the greatest impact on Thelonious’s early development” (Kelley, 27).

Music often has that adhesive effect on a community. Both San Juan Hill and Leimert Park shared that quality, and it helped both neighborhoods develop a strong community bond despite the adversity they faced. The two places had seen their share of violence, much of it stemming from racial tensions. During the early 20th century, San Juan Hill “was famous for its race riots,” including one notorious riot in 1917 in which “over 2,000 people took part in indiscriminate fighting” (Kelley, 17). And in Leimert Park, rising crime as well as the 1992 Rodney King riots caused damage to the predominantly black neighborhood. But to characterize these neighborhoods by these instances of violence would be a disservice to the strong sense of community and culture that these neighborhoods forged. Like San Juan Hill, Leimert Park was incredibly tight knit, and music was a shared experience that would bring various people within the neighborhood together. Thelonious Monk had places where he could have a shared musical experiences with those within San Juan Hill—places such as the Columbus Hill Community Center, and even his apartment, which was a “popular hangout…for many of the young neighborhood musicians” (Kelley, 32). In Leimert Park, there’s 5th Street Dick’s and The World Stage, where music and art is used as a focal point for community. With neighborhoods such as Leimert Park and San Juan Hill, crime, violent histories, and adverse conditions are overcome by the deeper, stronger connections of music, culture, and community. 

I don’t think I can make any definitive, universal statements with regards to the relationship between musicians and their respective communities—each relationship is so unique, so personal. But what I will say is that neighborhoods which foster identities of close community and strong culture create good conditions for the growth and development of a jazz musician. Jazz is often understood as an aesthetic of urban life, trying to find the rhythm within the dissonance, and the individuality within the collaboration. So in the quote “Jazz is New York, Man!?,” New York could easily be replaced with Leimert Park. Jazz is an expression of community, it is music that reflects experiences and influences, and with the work of Thelonious Monk, we see not only the effects of San Juan Hill, but the very life of the neighborhood itself. 


Commented on Leah Bleich's blog

Racial Dialogue during the Swing Era

Any account of the history of jazz that does not include a discussion about race would be incomplete. Jazz as a communication of Black life was integral to the genre’s genesis in New Orleans as well as its development and growth across the country over time. However it was not until the 1930s that the subject of race within jazz was explicitly written and talked about. Race coming to the fore at this time in particular was largely due to the increased interracial relations as a result of the larger prominence of Whites in jazz, and the asymmetric power balance contained within. 

The advent of radio in the 20s was one of the great technological feats of the period, and by the decade’s close annual radio sales “had skyrocketed to over $850 million” [Gioia, 128]. The spread of this technology had inevitable effects on the industry of jazz as a whole. It created an expansive, national market for jazz, causing an explosion in the popularity of Swing. However, with radio, “supply and demand were brought further out of alignment,” for one band could entertain listeners all across the country—the work previously done by thousands of jazz bands could now be done by only a few [Gioia, 128]. 

Access to the supply side of jazz was controlled by White businessmen in the recording and broadcasting industries. Because access was so limited, these businessmen had unprecedented leverage over the musicians vying for the distribution of their music, and White presence and influence in jazz was bigger than ever. The period’s great musicians are historically linked to the powerful agents that they had relationships with, including “Louis Armstrong and Joe Glaser, Duke Ellington and Irving Mills, [and] Benny Goodman and John Hammond” [Gioia, 128]. The dire economic climate of the Depression gave these businessmen even more leverage. Even great, proud musicians such as Duke Ellington were forced to make concessions in order to maintain success and prominence during this period. 

This increased influence and control of Whites in jazz during the 30s Swing period also involved a larger number of white musicians playing to white audiences, which “marginalized black bands during a period of segregation” [Stewart, 02/10/15]. Unfortunately, though not unexpected of the time, White musicians were afforded an unfair advantage with regards to access to resources and opportunities creating a racial competition. This competition was only exacerbated by the Depression economy—both Blacks and Whites struggled in poverty.

The increased interracial relations during this period was a critical juncture for the dialogue about race contained within jazz’s history. The racial dynamic between Blacks and Whites within jazz was not unlike the dynamic between the two groups in society as a whole—“the hegemonic role of Whites remains” [Stewart, 02/12/15]. In a racialized society, this racialization of jazz was inevitable.




Commented on Sam Karlin's blog. 

The Emergence of Jazz in Chicago

In the early 20th century, many Blacks migrated out of New Orleans to head North—a sort of promised land where an African American could go to fulfill his dream of a good job and a good life for his children. During this time, “60,000 Negroes migrated from the South to the city of Chicago,” and this mass exodus of African Americans was known as the Great Migration, not only for the number of migrating musicians, but for the wide range of Black society that the Migration affected [The City, 95]. And it is because of the unique economic and social conditions of the city, as well as the jazz stars it was able to attract at an earlier stage, that I believe Chicago was a more important city for jazz in the 1920s than New York. 

For the Southern Black, Northern cities like Chicago represented the idea of vertical economic and social mobility; and many musicians held to the idea that through their music, they would be able to create a better future for themselves and for their children. And in this era, many jazz performers were able to further their musical interests due to the large nightclub scene in Chicago. However, this furtherance of jazz in the mainstream came with both risks and rewards for Black jazz musicians, for the mob control over the nightclubs in Chicago created a relationship of coercion and intimidation between club owners and musicians, not much unlike the relation between slaveowner and slave in plantations in the South. Famed Chicago clubs such as the Lincoln Gardens Café came to be recognized as jazz sanctuaries, where Blacks could go to possess a modicum of self-determination, but in reality, the “Jazz Slave Masters,” such as the Capone gang in Cicero, controlled the supply of jazz performances to the public in Chicago. They “controlled the cash register, paid the piper and called the tune” [The Jazz Slave Masters, 49]. And though such gangs were largely responsible for the commercialization of jazz to a more mainstream public, they also used their power to coerce musicians to sign bad-faith contracts, furthering a tradition of exploitation and appropriation of Black labor and culture by institutionally dominant forces. This cycle of exploitation and appropriation is only further perpetuated with the emergence of radio as the main distributor of mass media in the late 20s and early 30s, for it is Whites and other majority groups that control the means and resources to determine what is distributed via radio. 

To the question of whether or not a new, distinct Chicagoan style of jazz emerged during this period, I would say yes. Proponents of this claim argue that what renders Chicago jazz a distinct style is its emphasis on more prominent solo performances, as well as an increased complexity of ensemble play. Opponents, however, hold that the jazz musicians of this period in Chicago, such as those in the Austin High School Gang, “tried to copy New Orleans jazz and simply got it wrong,” meaning that the music produced from this period was not a distinctly new style, but rather an imitation of greater, New Orleans jazz [The Chicagoans, 154]. In the end, I am not able to accept the claim that this type of jazz does not constitute a new style simply in virtue of a value judgment made regarding the subjective quality of this music; the objectively different stylistic and structural choices of this new music are sufficient for me to accept the claim that it does in fact constitute a distinct style. 

Ultimately, the musician who best represents the spirit of Chicago jazz is Louis Armstrong, who, at the same time that Chicago was emerging as national cultural hub, emerged as an extremely exceptional musician whose sheer talents led to the heralding in of the so-called jazz Age of Soloists. His “Hot Fives” and “Hot Sevens,” both recorded in Chicago, are some of jazz’s most important works, and “no other body of work in the jazz idiom has been so loved and admired as the results of these celebrated sessions” [The History of Jazz, 57]. His relationship with Chicago was symbiotic, he improved the jazz musical presence of the city at the same time that the city helped propel him to jazz stardom, creating a dynamic that would come to benefit the genre of jazz in a significant way going forward. 



Commented on Leah Bleich's blog

New Orleans and the Genesis of Jazz

The emergence of jazz is a story of convergence, the coming together of different cultures and ideas to form a unique phenomenon. But critical to the understanding of how these converging factors birthed the genre of music we now know as jazz is an examination of the location and conditions in which this genesis took place. That location was New Orleans, and in looking at the city’s unique nature—from the prominence of music and performance in the city’s social life, to the syncretic relations of the city’s diverse cultures and classes—we can gain a more complete understanding of why the Crescent City can be properly called “the cradle of jazz” [Gioia, 42]

One of the most distinctive features of New Orleans during the late 19th and early 20th century (and still today) was the way in which music was so deeply integrated into daily social life. Whether in sporting houses or Baptist churches, at fish fries or lawn parties, to audiences of both high and low class, music was present and prominent—“if you didn’t go to the music in New Orleans, it often came to you” [Gioia, 30]. Especially striking was the way in which the city  allowed for the public expression of Black music and dance from early on; the establishment of an official public site for slave dances by the New Orleans City Council in 1817 was atypical and demonstrated an “exemplary degree of tolerance” [Gioia, 7]. This early acceptance of Black artistic expression fostered a citywide cultural identity of music and performance, which itself necessitated a very large number of musicians and performers. This high concentration of musically inclined people in New Orleans would harbor an environment that would give rise to more new and experimental music than other cities.

Going beyond the sheer musicality of New Orleans, the city was also unique for its constitutive cultures and classes, as well as the syncretic dynamic in which they interacted. The presence of European, African, and American elements in New Orleans was itself incredible, but what made the city truly exceptional was that it “was far more tolerant in accepting unorthodox social hybrids” than other parts of the New World. This social hybridization made New Orleans a legitimate cultural melting pot, rather than a collection of disparate and separate ingredients. 

The emergence of Black Creole culture was an example of this ethnic convergence that had an especially important impact on jazz’s birth. Coming from both European and African ancestry, Creoles of color enjoyed a sort of intermediate social class, between the Whites and the Black underclass, and from a musical standpoint, they were heavily influenced by the highbrow musical traditions of the European settlers from which they descended. Eventually, however, legislation in 1894 decreed all persons of African descent as being Negro, and the Creoles further associated with the black underclass society. This integration saw the mixing of the more technically skilled Creole musicians with the “more boisterous black bands that were pursuing a ‘hotter’ style, one that would serve as the foundation for New Orleans jazz” [Gioia, 32]. These differing styles drew influence from one another, and though the latter, “hotter,” style became more prevalent, this convergence of cultures and classes to form something new entirely is a paradigmatic example of New Orleans’s unique cultural mixing.

Often overlooked in a historical account of jazz’s emergence in New Orleans is the role of Mexican culture. At the 1884 World’s Cotton Exposition in New Orleans a Mexican national military band performed, and upon the Exposition’s end, many of these Mexican musicians remained in New Orleans and injected their own culture into the city’s music scene—“their influence would echo in the jazz and blues of this region from [that] point forward” [Johnson, 225]. Especially important was the classical music instruction that many Mexican instrumentalists imparted on New Orleans’s prominent musicians. Ultimately, however, the weight given to Mexican influence on the emergence of jazz should not be overstated; though important, I would not call it necessary to jazz’s existence. Classical music instruction was not unique to Mexican culture, and though this culture brought the saxophone to New Orleans, there is no reason to believe that without Mexican influence, the sax wouldn’t have arrived there at some point thereafter. 

What I believe to be the most important factor in jazz’s emergence in New Orleans is the stylistic convergence and experimentation of the genre’s early individual stars—whether it be Buddy Bolden’s blues-ragtime fusion, Jelly Roll Morton’s avant-garde abstract theorization of jazz, or Louis Armstrong’s popularization of the jazz solo. It is debatable whether or not these individuals truly “invented” jazz, or even the things that I have just attributed to them, but it was their individual star-power, their large success, that propelled the genre into the mainstream. Without them, the music we know as jazz may have existed, but it is because of them that jazz truly came to life. 


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