Free jazz: the explorations of Ornette Coleman

Whereas most of these postwar musicians worked out their individual styles through personal explorations within the central modern tradition, the arrival of saxophonist Ornette Coleman and trumpeter Donald Cherry constituted an even more radical break from the recent past. Eschewing conventional key and time signatures, Coleman also abandoned all the traditional jazz forms, arriving quickly at something that was to be called “free jazz.”

Although partially inspired by the Parker revolution, Coleman’s music also harkened back in its linear fragmentation, wailing blues sonorities, and unconventional intonation to a much older, primitive, folklike blues and work song tradition, incidentally more or less cleansed of jazz’s earlier European borrowings. Given Coleman’s abandonment of traditional forms such as 12-bar blues and 32-bar song forms, it would be wrong to conclude that such works as “Change of the Century” (1959) or “Free Jazz” (1960) are therefore formless. Rather, they are simply subject to a new kind of organization where—in “Free Jazz,” for example—the eight players are each assigned “solo” sections accompanied by all the other players, with the various sections partitioned from each other by predetermined, collectively played motivic materials and the overall formal subdivisions thus clearly delineated.

Though others who followed in Coleman’s footsteps—for example, the saxophonists Albert Ayler, Archie Shepp, and George Adams—sought to expand on his free-form innovations, they lacked his innate talent and inherent musical discipline. A creative stasis set in during the 1970s and ’80s that eventually led, on the one hand, to a gigantic eclecticism where no style or conception took priority and, on the other hand, to a profound sea change that dramatically altered the face of jazz. This fundamental shift can be seen in the fact that, in contrast to past decades when jazz produced a succession of highly individual artists whose musical styles and personalities could be recognized instantly, by the end of the 20th century jazz had no such distinctive artists.

Jazz at the end of the 20th century

Whether the past was inherently better than the present is questionable. Something was gained and something was lost. The personal, instantly recognizable distinctiveness of the great jazz players of the past was replaced by an astonishing technical assurance and stylistic flexibility. Most younger players in the 1990s sounded very much alike—with the exception of a few standouts such as trumpeters Wynton Marsalis, Tom Harrell, Randy Brecker, and Dave Douglas, saxophonists Steve Lacy and Joe Lovano, trombonist Albert Mangelsdorff, pianist Gonzalo Rubalcaba, and bassist John Patitucci. Whereas later players functioned well in any stylistic context—even beyond jazz in ethnic and classical realms—the earlier players, great as they were, could not reach out into other stylistic regions. The players of yore did not—could not, in most cases—go to music schools and were in essence self-taught, having learned on the job and to a large extent from each other and from their seniors.

Whether the eclectic versatility of these later generations is good for the future of jazz is as yet hard to say. One fact, however, is clear: in the wake of these changes, composition moved much more into the front and centre of activities—as in the works of Leo Smith, Henry Threadgill, and Dave Douglas—which suggests that the long-standing conflict between improvisation and composition may have finally been resolved. A good part of the reason for this is that most later jazz musicians went to music school—conservatories and university or college music departments—where they took theory, music history, and general music survey courses, and in most cases they also studied with teachers who were themselves major jazz figures. In addition, starting in the 1970s, the enormously expanding number of recordings made available an infinite variety of musical traditions encompassing all jazz styles as well as a rainbow of ethnic, popular, and vernacular musics of all persuasions and philosophies. The younger generations took advantage of this plethora of musical and stylistic resources.

Where this leaves jazz and where jazz goes in the future—indeed, whether jazz can endure as a distinct musical idiom or language—were unanswerable questions at the end of the 20th century. The one truism about jazz is that it remains distinguishable not by what is played but by how it is played.