| Fall
1997
by Norman Weinstein
As I watched three musicians mount the stage at The Willow,
a dimly lit Somerville jazz club, the words to Gershwin's "Nice
Work If You Can Get It" ran through my mind. Nice work.
But only if the musicians and we, the audience, "can get
it." ¶ The three musicians -- guitarist Joe Morris,
saxophonist Joe Maneri, and Maneri's violinist son Matt -- most
likely wouldn't perform Gershwin, though; free jazz from their
recent "Three Men Walking" CD was the expected fare.
¶ The next ninety minutes were an unexpected feast for
mind and heart as the trio executed daredevil music, a chaotic-sounding
yet cohesive blend of dashing violin swoops, delicate guitar
filigree, and wailing sax runs. Although they offered tunes
from their recording, they were rethinking them, altering phrasing
and rhythm, interrogating themselves, measure by measure, about
what they wanted the tunes to communicate. Now.
People who are unfamiliar with jazz improvisation might not
"get it." They might stereotype this disorderly
sounding improvised music as a formless free-for-all of impulsive
self-expression. But as jazz musicians know, it is usually
the opposite. "I used to think, 'How could jazz musicians
pick notes out of thin air?'" wrote bassist Calvin Hill
about his apprentice days. "I had no idea of the knowledge
it took. It was like magic to me at the time."
To see Morris and the Maneris interact was to peer into the
heart of improvisation. They began sitting in a semicircle.
A playlist was passed among them, briefly discussed, then
tossed aside. While the guitarist and violinist remained seated
throughout, their eyes darting from instruments to one another,
the saxophonist occasionally let a long-held bass note lift
him out of his chair. Standing, slightly swaying, he would
look at his son, then Morris, then away from both, at the
audience, but also beyond us, gazing at that eternity where
the old jazz saxophone ancestors dwell.
To follow the musicians' gazes and notes was a challenge.
But it yielded the insight that improvisation is the art of
constantly shifting one's perspective -- and constantly tinkering
with the language for communicating perspective shifts. It
is the art of interacting with others in a manner that constantly
alternates leader and follower roles. The goal is to collectively
create memorable products that reflect the past, while inventing
the future.
Most of all, improvisation is the art of knowing how and
when to transcend one's traditional thought and work patterns.
Playing without a net has its pitfalls; even musical masters
have dry spells. But musical highpoints make the occasional
disappointments forgettable. Improvisational work becomes
a riveting journey into the unknown, when shopworn approaches
are tossed aside and perspective shifting becomes a necessity,
to stay communally "in tune."
Norman Weinstein is a poet and critic whose most recent
book is A Night in Tunisia: Imaginings of Africa in Jazz.
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