The Angry Man of Jazz

I'd like to take a pause from my overarching theme of humor of the last three weeks to talk about something else I enjoy: the music of Charles Mingus.

Those of you who've been reading this blog for a while (all 7 of you), might recall that one of my favorite genres of music is Jazz. I listen to it almost as much as I listen to stand-up comedy. This appreciation for the artform first took root when I was a middle school student. 

As a seventh grader, I had the opportunity to play in a Jazz ensemble for one summer. It was a real challenge for me. Having been "classically trained," I'd been taught to play the music on the page. Jazz though is a totally different arena. The music on the page is really just a loose outline. The real magic is in the improvisation, where the players take the keys of the piece in front of them and spin out spontaneous melodies on the spot, in the moment. Out of all music, Jazz is the one where the performance is the most important. 

I was too inhibited to ever become a great Jazz musician (or a great musician period). I was too focused on "getting it right," rather than going with the flow. My favorite music teacher, James McKay once said to me, as he was trying to teach me Jazz, "You think too much." And he was right. But, I still love to listen and admire those who can do what I can't (one's appreciation always exceeds one's ability). 

Charles Mingus

In high school, I got into the music more deeply. As much as I admired people like Coltrane, Rollins, and Parker, the two musicians I found myself admiring most--though it took a while in one case--were Miles Davis and Charles Mingus. This was mainly due to the fact that I played the instruments they played, trumpet and double bass (respectively). 

Miles' music, for me, was a natural get. Unlike someone like Dizzy Gillespie or even Maynard Ferguson, who had these extraordinary ranges that they could play through accurately, Davis never did. Many of his most famous albums, like Kind of Blue, Miles Ahead, or even the later Bitches Brew, he never reached beyond a range of about two or three octaves. It seemed like something that someone like me at the time could shoot for (I never had much range as a trumpet player). 

Mingus, however, came later. 

The first time I heard Charles Mingus' music, I didn't quite get it. In fact, it scared me. It seemed too chaotic, too erratic. I couldn't see a way into it. Mingus had actually earned the nickname, "The Angry Man of Jazz," partly because of how ferociously ambitious his music was, a hallmark of his Hard Bop roots, and partly for his well-known ferocious temper. He once famously stopped playing in the middle of a set and slugged saxophonist Eric Dolphy on stage for playing a sour note. (Author and Jazz Aficionado, Harlan Ellison, relates his version of that story here, if you're interested.)  Yet one day, while in college, it finally clicked. 

I can remember the day quite vividly. I was in the middle of a period of intense, black depression. I can't quite remember what had caused it, but I think it was a combination of lack of sleep (which I constantly struggle with as a night owl in a morning lark's world), and anxiety over my standing at the University. That afternoon--thankfully it was a fairly short day with only two morning classes--I went back to my dorm and just laid on my bed. My head was swimming a black sea of anxiety. I seriously thought I had no future and even contemplated the worst (those of you who know depression will know what I mean by that).

After wallowing in my gloom for about half and hour, I finally decided I needed to find a way to pull myself out of it. I'd discovered a few years before that one of the best ways to do that was to listen to some music. For whatever reason, I chose this time to give Mingus another try. 

The track I listened to wasn't from one of Mingus's own albums. It came from the album Nostalgia in Time Square, by the Mingus Big Band, a Jazz ensemble that specially performs all of Mingus's most famous compositions. As recently as 2011 in fact, they won a Grammy Award for their album Mingus Big Band Live at Jazz Standard. The one I picked was the same one I'd first heard years before that scared me. The title of the track was Moanin' 

The tumult in Mingus' music, which I think can only truly be experienced with such a group like the Mingus Big Band, for some reason appealed to me. In each phrase, I could hear chaos, anguish, frustration, the musical equivalent of that famous line of Dylan Thomas', "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Somehow, the feelings expressed without words in the music drew me out of my own depression and brought me back to some level of stability. I think it was because I'd gotten some kind of reminder that, even though I believed I was alone and hopeless, that I truly wasn't. Mingus' music saved me from myself. 

Since then, I've listened and relistened to his music regularly. Mingus, like any great artist, had such a singular vision that I would not hesitate to call him a genius. I even listen to it while I'm writing. I find it inspiring. Despite his own difficulties (and he had plenty) including his untimely death from ALS (aka Motor Neuron Disease), he lives on through his music.

This past Tuesday, April 22nd, marked his 98th Birthday. In two more years, it will be the centenary of his birth. I hope that he gets special recognition for what he accomplished. The man is gone, but his music is still here, and like all the greatest performers and composers, I don't think he'll be forgotten any time soon.