I won't lie, it would be nice to see/read about a jazz musician's life that was happy (I know that's not the point, Mike, but just thought I'd share).
It is clear that "The Story" is still at play in this week's jazz biopic. The film was another representation of how the life of a highly talented, black, jazz musician was torn apart by poverty, sexual abuse, and drug addiction. Although the autobiography portrays a Holiday that is a functional addict (I'm sure Hollywood didn't think that kind of story would sell as well), one can't help but notice that the same themes (poverty, sexual abuse, drug addiction) are major factors in the book. This case is also supported by this week's article, "Jazz Autobiography." The article made it perfectly clear that the life of a black jazz musician is a hard one--any discrepancies to pure fact aside.
The article's opening section, which quoted Mile's experience with jazz history at Juilliard from his autobiography resonated most with me. Clearly, the professor's explanation of why black people played the blues was horrifically erroneous and demonstrated the generation's ignorance on the subject. Yet when I think of the "history" that jazz autobiographies tell me I should believe, I can't help but think, "there's more to it than that!" Right? Maybe? Of course, I'm not entirely comfortable making such a statement (after all, I certainly wouldn't want to be considered a non-playing so-called critic).
I would appreciate, however, some clarification on the following concerns: Are we now equating the jazz musician's life with jazz music? Are we saying that one is the direct effect of the other (which I might understad), are we saying that one influences the other (which I feel is obvious), or are we saying that the two--life of a jazz musician/jazz music--are interchangeable (which I'm not so comfortable with). Maybe my confusion is due in part to my absence from class last week when we discussed the other biographical films.
I'm quite excited to hear what everyone has to say on the subject.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The Story: A Fine Romance
Reading Gabbard's chapter, "Black and Tan Fantasies," really helped stabalize my previous reaction to this week's films within a greater context. I especially appreciated his section on "The Story." When I first watched the films, particularly Sweet Love Bitter, which I watched long before I did the reading, the plot seemed so generic, so predetermined--like going to watch some chick-flick and knowing exactly what you're going to get before the film begins. But I expected more from this film, especially given that it was based on the life of a real jazz musician. I wanted the film to show the complications that make up real life. Maybe I came into the film with too high an expectation because, when those expectations weren't met, I walked away feeling like an opportunity had been missed, like something could have been done or said--about jazz--that wasn't.
Gabbard's chapter, however, really brought it all into perspective. It makes sense now that the plot would seem generic. When all is said and done, it is.
...a musician of genius, [insert any black musician here], frustrated by the discrepancy between what he can achieve and the crummy life musicians lead (because of racial discrimination ,or the demand that the music be made commerical, or because he has a potential he can't reach), goes mad, or destroys himself with alcohol and drugs...
This is exactly what I thought when I finished watching the film. I remember talking to a fellow classmate and saying something to the effect of, "Sweet Smell of Success? Yeah, basically poverty + drugs + prostitution = JAZZ."
Although it still seems incredible to me that this kind of film, the jazz biopic, can be so formulaic, I can at least appreciate--(okay, maybe appreciate is too gracious a word)--understand Sweet Love Bitter for what it is: an insight into popular, American culture.
Gabbard's chapter, however, really brought it all into perspective. It makes sense now that the plot would seem generic. When all is said and done, it is.
...a musician of genius, [insert any black musician here], frustrated by the discrepancy between what he can achieve and the crummy life musicians lead (because of racial discrimination ,or the demand that the music be made commerical, or because he has a potential he can't reach), goes mad, or destroys himself with alcohol and drugs...
This is exactly what I thought when I finished watching the film. I remember talking to a fellow classmate and saying something to the effect of, "Sweet Smell of Success? Yeah, basically poverty + drugs + prostitution = JAZZ."
Although it still seems incredible to me that this kind of film, the jazz biopic, can be so formulaic, I can at least appreciate--(okay, maybe appreciate is too gracious a word)--understand Sweet Love Bitter for what it is: an insight into popular, American culture.
Monday, March 10, 2008
The Sweet Smell of Success and DOA
It was, at first, difficult to distance myself from the story lines in each of the films we watched this week. It was so easy to just sit back and enjoy the story, to forget that I was suppossed to be watching it as an active participant rather than just a spectator of dramatic action. The technological advancements in film make it so easy to just enjoy the show. But, fear not, the wee academic in me won out in the end--I hope.
My first--almost instinctual--reaction was that the movies were merely more examples of how film portrays jazz as being in the midst of events of questionable morale. In that restpect, the films brought to mind the "Sin in Syncopation" article we read earlier on in the semester. Although, as we've mentioned in class, the article takes an extremist view against jazz music, the films we've watched so far certainly don't help to remedy the situation--DOA and Sweet Smell of Success included. In DOA the jazz club facilitates a murder. In the Sweet Smell of Success, it seems that individuals of questionable character are a jazz club's regulars.
However, upon closer analysis, it must be noted that the actual jazz musician in Sweet Smell of Success is the embodiment of honor and goodness in the film, complicating my previous, too-neat-and-easy assumption. Thejazz guitarist is the good guy, the guy with the wholesome morals, willing to stick by his convictions and take the consequences, unwilling to be part of anything remotely crooked. It can be assumed that the girl in the film leaves the easy life, a life of glamour and comfort, for a life as part of the jazz scene, in this particular case, a life where all that is goodness, honor, and ideals govern.
DOA, on the other hand... Well, you've got that one scene that takes place in the jazz club, right? It's the pivotal scene in the story and what's going on?... A married woman has too much to drink and is now hitting on another man right in front of her husband. There's the crazy man that we're told is intoxicated not by drink but by the music itself. And, of course, a man is murdered and he doen't even know it. What is this saying about jazz music? Is it a kind of drug? Can it only lead to your own destruction? It certainly doesn't seem to say that it's good for the soul. It should also be noted that the film seems to portray the jazz consumer as being a little off his rocker. Jazzies--those swingin' weirdos.
My first--almost instinctual--reaction was that the movies were merely more examples of how film portrays jazz as being in the midst of events of questionable morale. In that restpect, the films brought to mind the "Sin in Syncopation" article we read earlier on in the semester. Although, as we've mentioned in class, the article takes an extremist view against jazz music, the films we've watched so far certainly don't help to remedy the situation--DOA and Sweet Smell of Success included. In DOA the jazz club facilitates a murder. In the Sweet Smell of Success, it seems that individuals of questionable character are a jazz club's regulars.
However, upon closer analysis, it must be noted that the actual jazz musician in Sweet Smell of Success is the embodiment of honor and goodness in the film, complicating my previous, too-neat-and-easy assumption. Thejazz guitarist is the good guy, the guy with the wholesome morals, willing to stick by his convictions and take the consequences, unwilling to be part of anything remotely crooked. It can be assumed that the girl in the film leaves the easy life, a life of glamour and comfort, for a life as part of the jazz scene, in this particular case, a life where all that is goodness, honor, and ideals govern.
DOA, on the other hand... Well, you've got that one scene that takes place in the jazz club, right? It's the pivotal scene in the story and what's going on?... A married woman has too much to drink and is now hitting on another man right in front of her husband. There's the crazy man that we're told is intoxicated not by drink but by the music itself. And, of course, a man is murdered and he doen't even know it. What is this saying about jazz music? Is it a kind of drug? Can it only lead to your own destruction? It certainly doesn't seem to say that it's good for the soul. It should also be noted that the film seems to portray the jazz consumer as being a little off his rocker. Jazzies--those swingin' weirdos.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Now, if you'll please open your Bibles to Revelation chapter 7
I've got to say I thoroughly enjoyed the film this week. I enjoyed the story line, the special effects--I most enjoyed the musical numbers. But, of course, that's not enough for this blog, right? Right. So here goes...
Although I feel that both Naremore and Knee make interesting and valid points, I won't deny that, once again, in the tradition of good, left-wing academicians, they've gone just a bit too far for me. Let's talk costume-shop.
Okay, so Naremore says:
[Cabin in the Sky's] racist implications become especially apparent when we realize how often the two opposed realms are depicted respectively in shades of blackness and whiteness. The nightclub is situated in a noirish street, whereas the cabin is often flooded with light; Joe wears black tie and tails when he spends the Devil's money, and a white robe when he ascends a stairway to paradise; the Devil's henchmen (costumed as big-city elevator operators) are dressed completely in black, in contrast with the soldiers of the Lord, who wear uniforms of glowing white.
Nancy says:
GIVE ME A BREAK!
Look, I'm not saying there aren't "racist implications" in the film, what I am saying is that this is NOT one of them. It's sad, really, that a clearly intelligent individual can't see past his own agenda. Sorry, Naremore, but the good guys have been dressing in white since Bible times. Is it so fantastical, then, that as Petunia and Little Joe ascend the staircase to Heaven they would be dressed in white robes? That might as well be straight out of the book of Revelation. Okay, I don't want to get preachy. Moving on...
There is all this talk about jazz music not being "free" in the film. I don't know. I'm going to stick by what I've been saying for the entire semester. It's just not that simple. Jazz music, like every other form of music, is not a stable thing. It changed from Dixieland to Swing, and--Naremore beware--it hasn't even gotten to free jazz yet. So, are the performances choreographed? Sure, but that's performance for you. Nobody goes up for a performance without a plan--so this one's just a little more thought out. And, again, this isn't the venue for an all-out jam session--the only thing, I feel, would make Naremore and Knee truly satisfied.
Just a thought: Anybody else see a striking resemblance between Ethel Waters' night club dance moves and Charlotte Greenwood's "signature" dance moves? I know I saw similar moves in earlier films in the semester (can't remember which one) featuring an African American artist. Or was it just a popular move? Even if it was, I know Greenwood was famous for them.
Although I feel that both Naremore and Knee make interesting and valid points, I won't deny that, once again, in the tradition of good, left-wing academicians, they've gone just a bit too far for me. Let's talk costume-shop.
Okay, so Naremore says:
[Cabin in the Sky's] racist implications become especially apparent when we realize how often the two opposed realms are depicted respectively in shades of blackness and whiteness. The nightclub is situated in a noirish street, whereas the cabin is often flooded with light; Joe wears black tie and tails when he spends the Devil's money, and a white robe when he ascends a stairway to paradise; the Devil's henchmen (costumed as big-city elevator operators) are dressed completely in black, in contrast with the soldiers of the Lord, who wear uniforms of glowing white.
Nancy says:
GIVE ME A BREAK!
Look, I'm not saying there aren't "racist implications" in the film, what I am saying is that this is NOT one of them. It's sad, really, that a clearly intelligent individual can't see past his own agenda. Sorry, Naremore, but the good guys have been dressing in white since Bible times. Is it so fantastical, then, that as Petunia and Little Joe ascend the staircase to Heaven they would be dressed in white robes? That might as well be straight out of the book of Revelation. Okay, I don't want to get preachy. Moving on...
There is all this talk about jazz music not being "free" in the film. I don't know. I'm going to stick by what I've been saying for the entire semester. It's just not that simple. Jazz music, like every other form of music, is not a stable thing. It changed from Dixieland to Swing, and--Naremore beware--it hasn't even gotten to free jazz yet. So, are the performances choreographed? Sure, but that's performance for you. Nobody goes up for a performance without a plan--so this one's just a little more thought out. And, again, this isn't the venue for an all-out jam session--the only thing, I feel, would make Naremore and Knee truly satisfied.
Just a thought: Anybody else see a striking resemblance between Ethel Waters' night club dance moves and Charlotte Greenwood's "signature" dance moves? I know I saw similar moves in earlier films in the semester (can't remember which one) featuring an African American artist. Or was it just a popular move? Even if it was, I know Greenwood was famous for them.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Check & Double Check
This was, by far, a much easier film to watch than last week's. What amazed me most was the incredible leaps that the film industry took in just a few years. This films was much more like those we know today.
I have to say, I don't think I'd ever seen blackface until now. I mean, yes, I'd seen a couple of scenes, as there was in The Jazz Singer and in other films I'd watched when I was younger, but I'd never seen an entire film where two characters were in blackface the entire time. It made me uncomfortable. But I can't help but wonder if I would have been uncomfortable before having spent the last few weeks discussing the subject critically. I know I definitely felt uncomfortable during those times I laughed. Are we not supossed to laugh? Is that wrong?
Something else I found striking was the way language was such an integral part of the performance. I mean, the actors were clearly using a kind of "dialect" when speaking as Amos and Andy. This definitely made me think of our previous readings on the topic and certainly how dialect is so wrapped up in stereotype.
I have to say, I don't think I'd ever seen blackface until now. I mean, yes, I'd seen a couple of scenes, as there was in The Jazz Singer and in other films I'd watched when I was younger, but I'd never seen an entire film where two characters were in blackface the entire time. It made me uncomfortable. But I can't help but wonder if I would have been uncomfortable before having spent the last few weeks discussing the subject critically. I know I definitely felt uncomfortable during those times I laughed. Are we not supossed to laugh? Is that wrong?
Something else I found striking was the way language was such an integral part of the performance. I mean, the actors were clearly using a kind of "dialect" when speaking as Amos and Andy. This definitely made me think of our previous readings on the topic and certainly how dialect is so wrapped up in stereotype.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The King of Jazz
I couldn't help but think of Singin' in the Rain when we saw The King of Jazz this week, particularly the "Beautiful Girls" scene in the musical. Of course, the musical takes place during the time of the first "talkie." It references early cinematic aesthetics. In that respect, I really enjoyed experiencing early cinema first hand and making connections with those old films I grew up watching.
As far as jazz is concerned, the film brought to mind Rogin's "Blackface, White Noise" article. In the article, Rogin briefly mentions how there is a point in American history when jazz comes to mean almost any kind of up-beat music. Although I didn't agree with him as far as The Jazz Singer is concerned, I think that this film is an excellent example of what he was referencing. The music in the film is more reminiscent of carnival series music. By carnival series music I mean the music of John Philip Sousa and Jean-Baptiste Arban--two musicians that, in my opinion, redefine late 19th-century music and are big influences in early 20th-century popular music. Sousa is directly referenced as his marches find their way into the "jazz" music of the film. And, of course, who can miss the sousaphones in the band. Clearly, the film is trying to represent jazz as a purely American genre. The guy with the bycicle pump reminded me of Arban's famous variation solos--here's the theme, now let me show you all the ways I can play that theme. In a way, I feel that what the film hoped to accomplish was to anglocize jazz. It certainly seems that way when the closing number--the "melting pot" of jazz--credits only European influences. The result is the dryest, straightest "jazz" music on the planet.
As far as the visual spectacle is concerned, clearly Americans have always loved their slapstick comedy. The film seems to be a predecessor to the variety shows that will be very popular in later decades. But, most of all, what stood out to me was the overly-physical spectacle in Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." I wonder if the clarinet player was being so physical in order to mimic the movement that is so present in so many jazz musicians. Was the film, then saying: Look, we move too, we really are playing jazz. It certainly seemed that way to me. It made me think that the whole idea behind the film was to show spectacle for the sake of spectacle. Something else that stood out to me was how much of the "world" the film portrays in stereotype. The whole finale was one huge stereotype.
As far as jazz is concerned, the film brought to mind Rogin's "Blackface, White Noise" article. In the article, Rogin briefly mentions how there is a point in American history when jazz comes to mean almost any kind of up-beat music. Although I didn't agree with him as far as The Jazz Singer is concerned, I think that this film is an excellent example of what he was referencing. The music in the film is more reminiscent of carnival series music. By carnival series music I mean the music of John Philip Sousa and Jean-Baptiste Arban--two musicians that, in my opinion, redefine late 19th-century music and are big influences in early 20th-century popular music. Sousa is directly referenced as his marches find their way into the "jazz" music of the film. And, of course, who can miss the sousaphones in the band. Clearly, the film is trying to represent jazz as a purely American genre. The guy with the bycicle pump reminded me of Arban's famous variation solos--here's the theme, now let me show you all the ways I can play that theme. In a way, I feel that what the film hoped to accomplish was to anglocize jazz. It certainly seems that way when the closing number--the "melting pot" of jazz--credits only European influences. The result is the dryest, straightest "jazz" music on the planet.
As far as the visual spectacle is concerned, clearly Americans have always loved their slapstick comedy. The film seems to be a predecessor to the variety shows that will be very popular in later decades. But, most of all, what stood out to me was the overly-physical spectacle in Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." I wonder if the clarinet player was being so physical in order to mimic the movement that is so present in so many jazz musicians. Was the film, then saying: Look, we move too, we really are playing jazz. It certainly seemed that way to me. It made me think that the whole idea behind the film was to show spectacle for the sake of spectacle. Something else that stood out to me was how much of the "world" the film portrays in stereotype. The whole finale was one huge stereotype.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Louis Armstrong and The Salvation Army
I came to the readings this week hoping to discover something to ease my mind from the troubling images I encountered in viewing the week's films.
As I mentioned in class last Tuesday, before I took this seminar I'd been assigned readings in previous courses that described Louis Armstrong's performance in Rhapsody in Black and Blue. I had automatically reacted negatively towards those who'd criticized Armstrong for his participation in the film, calling him an Uncle Tom. It made me flat out angry. What right did anyone have to dictate another individuals decisions? What did it matter what he was wearing, this was Louis Armstrong. It was unfair that he be expected to put his own personal convictions aside in order to make his entire race happy. Now, having seen the film for myself, I realize it isn't such a black and white issue (no pun intended).
To be perfectly honest, I was taken aback by his performance in the film. Here is a man who I've been taught to respect as a serious musician, a leading trumpet performer, dressed in leopard skins and wearing a tail. He's certainly nothing like the Louis Armstrong I'd first seen wearing an elegant tux with a different kind of tail while singing "Hello Dolly." And, I've been struggling with this since.
Two of this week's readings were particularly insightful on the matter: Philip Auslander's Personae (which I won't discuss here as it is the basis for my presentation tomorrow and I don't want to bore anyone twice) and the second chapter of Marvin Carlson's Performance: A Critical Introduction, more specifically his explanation of Umberto Eco's ostentation.
The image of the drunkard standing by The Salvation Army helped me to better grasp the range of meaning that one could bring to the Armstrong film, as well as any given image. Not only did it serve as a useful tool of reference with which to contextualize an idea that might otherwise be a bit too abstract to grasp easily (at least for me), but, also, it allowed me a "hands on" approach to the material. I should explain.
According to Carlson's explanation of Eco's ostentation, any meaning attributed to the drunkard standing by The Salvation Army only exists as a product of some interpreter recognizing signs in that image. And, quoting another theorist, that primary sign only exixts "because it is interpreted as a sign of something by some interpreter." In turn, I took this to mean that the range of signs, and therefore meaning alloted to those signs, is wholly dependent on the individual observer. In the case of Armstrong's film, the audience.
Back to Carlson's image. Your average American, upon seeing a drunkard by The Salvation Army might be lead to intrepret the sings in the following manner: Drunkard = representation of vice; Salvation Army = social service agency to the rescue. I bring the image to mind and think: Drunkard = soul in need; Salvation Army = Faith in action. The same two signs (drunkard/Salvatin Army) lead to completely different conclusions/reactions. Why? Well, in this particular case, my interpretation of those signs comes from my family upbringing. I'm a fourth-generation Salvationist. That means I see a Salvation Army sign and automatically think Church first, Christian service second--either way, the sign is always connected to my Faith. Next, I see a drunkard and automatically think: icon of Salvation Army history.
So, why am I sharing all of this? Well, as I understood the whole idea of ostentation (despite the fact that I feel like I'm talking in circles and have a nagging suspicion that this makes no sense to anyone but me), the reason one thing means something to me and something completely different to someone else, especially where visual spectacle is concerned, is due to the fact that, althought we both see one image, we each recognize different signs in that image.
Okay, stay with me just a little longer. Two people watch one image: A Salvation Army building. Each person thinks they see the same thing as the other. Are they? Physically speaking, Yes. Does that mean they see the same 'sign?' Absolutely not. One image; Two signs. You see social services; I see church. Does that make any sense?
Alright, so all of this to say...
There can be two ways of interpreting Armstrong's film. The key lies in what the audience interprets as signs. And, why does this matter? It matters because it means there's hope. It means that Rhapsody in Black and Blue doesn't automatically mean that Louis Armstrong is an Uncle Tom or a sell-out or anything awful like that. And that is important.
The End.
As I mentioned in class last Tuesday, before I took this seminar I'd been assigned readings in previous courses that described Louis Armstrong's performance in Rhapsody in Black and Blue. I had automatically reacted negatively towards those who'd criticized Armstrong for his participation in the film, calling him an Uncle Tom. It made me flat out angry. What right did anyone have to dictate another individuals decisions? What did it matter what he was wearing, this was Louis Armstrong. It was unfair that he be expected to put his own personal convictions aside in order to make his entire race happy. Now, having seen the film for myself, I realize it isn't such a black and white issue (no pun intended).
To be perfectly honest, I was taken aback by his performance in the film. Here is a man who I've been taught to respect as a serious musician, a leading trumpet performer, dressed in leopard skins and wearing a tail. He's certainly nothing like the Louis Armstrong I'd first seen wearing an elegant tux with a different kind of tail while singing "Hello Dolly." And, I've been struggling with this since.
Two of this week's readings were particularly insightful on the matter: Philip Auslander's Personae (which I won't discuss here as it is the basis for my presentation tomorrow and I don't want to bore anyone twice) and the second chapter of Marvin Carlson's Performance: A Critical Introduction, more specifically his explanation of Umberto Eco's ostentation.
The image of the drunkard standing by The Salvation Army helped me to better grasp the range of meaning that one could bring to the Armstrong film, as well as any given image. Not only did it serve as a useful tool of reference with which to contextualize an idea that might otherwise be a bit too abstract to grasp easily (at least for me), but, also, it allowed me a "hands on" approach to the material. I should explain.
According to Carlson's explanation of Eco's ostentation, any meaning attributed to the drunkard standing by The Salvation Army only exists as a product of some interpreter recognizing signs in that image. And, quoting another theorist, that primary sign only exixts "because it is interpreted as a sign of something by some interpreter." In turn, I took this to mean that the range of signs, and therefore meaning alloted to those signs, is wholly dependent on the individual observer. In the case of Armstrong's film, the audience.
Back to Carlson's image. Your average American, upon seeing a drunkard by The Salvation Army might be lead to intrepret the sings in the following manner: Drunkard = representation of vice; Salvation Army = social service agency to the rescue. I bring the image to mind and think: Drunkard = soul in need; Salvation Army = Faith in action. The same two signs (drunkard/Salvatin Army) lead to completely different conclusions/reactions. Why? Well, in this particular case, my interpretation of those signs comes from my family upbringing. I'm a fourth-generation Salvationist. That means I see a Salvation Army sign and automatically think Church first, Christian service second--either way, the sign is always connected to my Faith. Next, I see a drunkard and automatically think: icon of Salvation Army history.
So, why am I sharing all of this? Well, as I understood the whole idea of ostentation (despite the fact that I feel like I'm talking in circles and have a nagging suspicion that this makes no sense to anyone but me), the reason one thing means something to me and something completely different to someone else, especially where visual spectacle is concerned, is due to the fact that, althought we both see one image, we each recognize different signs in that image.
Okay, stay with me just a little longer. Two people watch one image: A Salvation Army building. Each person thinks they see the same thing as the other. Are they? Physically speaking, Yes. Does that mean they see the same 'sign?' Absolutely not. One image; Two signs. You see social services; I see church. Does that make any sense?
Alright, so all of this to say...
There can be two ways of interpreting Armstrong's film. The key lies in what the audience interprets as signs. And, why does this matter? It matters because it means there's hope. It means that Rhapsody in Black and Blue doesn't automatically mean that Louis Armstrong is an Uncle Tom or a sell-out or anything awful like that. And that is important.
The End.
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