Jazz Is · Tuesday February 13, 2007
I did a course called the Tragic Play at university, and it was one of the most enjoyable and memorable parts of my first degree. Greek tragedy is a world in itself, and a great one. I’ve been remembering Euripides’ play The Bacchae, where the god Dionysus is the central figure, and considering how jazz is Dionysiac. He inspires madness, ecstasy and abandonment, usually in a group context. The god Apollo doesn’t feature in the play but is, psychologically and thematically, his opposite counterpoint concerned with form and rationality. Music, and I think jazz in particular, has a Dionysiac function.
Dionysus has a multitude of powers, and is both beautiful and fearful. Uniquely he’s both divine and human, the son of Zeus and a mortal. His gifts allow humans to let go of their troubles through wine, to let go of their identities through theatre, and let go of their individuality through cult worship. This allows humans to discover the festive, communal dimension of life. When he takes human form as a character called the Stranger, he says “Dionysus…a god in perfect essence: a terrible one, but to men most gentle.” Letting go is the key to understanding his role and, like everything associated with him, this has a dual aspect. It can be either beneficial or destructive, which depends on it being moderated. Sometimes you have to say to someone ‘dude, loosen up, you’re too square’. And sometimes you have to say ‘dude, get a grip, you’re losing it’: there’s no inherent limit to the powers of Dionysus so festivity can turn to excess, and instead of providing a necessary temporary release it overpowers you. All of this is depicted in The Bacchae. Without self-control, Dionysus’ powers drive humans to let go of their sanity, judgment, and finally their humanity. The importance of self-control is embodied by the disguised Dionysus, the Stranger, when he is calm, self-possessed and wise when mortals around him are not. He apparently inflicts madness but himself projects sanity, suggesting that he’s not the agent of tragic excess but that mortals themselves are responsible for what is, in the play, a bloody discord.
A jazz drummer recently said to me that if you can remember what you played, that’s not jazz. In other words, it’s an inherently Dionysiac thing and Apollonian recall is not it. I’m sure it’s been said before; I doubt if there is much that hasn’t in relation to jazz music. But interesting, nonetheless, and consistent with these words from Art Farmer:
You dedicate yourself to the music and submerge your ego….You see, when you forget yourself, you get to the point where the music doesn’t come from you, it comes through you. You become part of the total experience of ‘now’. When I start thinking of ‘me’, I start forcing myself, trying to play what I think I should play instead of just letting it happen (Valerie Wilmer 1977 Jazz People: 17).
All music is Dionysiac, emotional, feeling, as a kind of Id counterpoint to Superego lives full of work, responsibilities, and cares. But I think jazz in particular embodies the creative, free-form, unconventional spirit of Dionysus evident in Art Farmer’s words, which are a characteristic jazz sentiment.
Jazz Is is the title of a major photographic project I’ll shortly be publicising at my web site, asking the question ‘what is jazz’ and portraying it photographically. It’s not developing on this Dionysiac idea which is after all just an emotional matter (concerning emotion), but I do acknowledge this as a background to the subject. This is the improvised studio space I’m using for some portraits:
