...Hey, Johnny, what are you rebelling against?
...What’ve you got?
—Marlon Brando, The Wild One (1958)
“In a period when the youthful innovations of rock and roll were in the ascendant, it is fascinating to observe the continuing popularity of jazz on both the large and small screens, belying any comfortably linear history of popular music that regards the advent of rock and roll as a decisive historical break, in which jazz is finally and categorically displaced from the category of ‘popular’ at a point in the mid-1950s—a perspective fuelled by movies such as The Blackboard Jungle (1955) which featured Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock” on its soundtrack and, in a telling transitional ‘moment,’ presented the smashing of a teacher’s prized jazz record collection by leather-jacketed punks as the ultimate act of rock and roll rebellion.”
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Alan Stanbridge of University of Toronto raises some interesting points in his essay and made me think of the intersection of jazz music and its successor in pop culture ... rock 'n roll.
Stanbridge's provocative spiel had me thinking about English blues singer Amy Winehouse, for some reason, and the fascination we as a society seem to have with rebellion. Does the fascination with blues singer Winehouse’s public descent into addiction represent the unconscious fetishization of an archetypal period in jazz history? The rock ‘n roll youth of the 1950s couldn’t identify with jazz as the more cerebral side of the latter became much more evident. These days the somewhat talented, who also represent anti-authoritarian currents in our society, are raised to absurd levels of notoriety because the sheer inertia of these societal trends is unstoppable. Singers like Winehouse (or in a bygone day musicians like Keith Richards) represent a genuinely dark side of mainstream music—an easily consumed brand of rebellion. Rebellion is easy to understand. Everyone can relate to frustration. Everyone wants acceptance and attention. (After Miles Davis had capitalized on Cool Jazz, he nearly single-handedly invented another new genre, Fusion, after snuggling up to the playing of Jimi Hendrix. On a certain level, Davis craved acceptance, and his move toward a more loose and funky sound, after the tight experiments of the album Bitches Brew, was designed to appeal to the masses, not to critics and intellectuals. Davis craved a little understanding, because he won over the critics years previous and winning over the people marked a challenge for him and his work.) The lure of acceptance by the masses is sometimes too strong to be ignored and otherwise innovative artists become self-imitators as a result. Winehouse doesn't seem to be imitating herself just yet, but she's making a career of mediocrity. Think about Billie Holiday (1915-1959).
Billie Holiday's art wasn't considered esoteric in the time when she was alive, because jazz was extremely visible in the 1940s and 1950s. That's not to say it was socially acceptable.
The spotlight always shines brightest on works that define the next wave of artistic innovation. Works firmly entrenched in a pre-existing and long-standing order, although displaying technical or conceptual virtuosity, often receive far less press than the works that mark the cusp of two genres. Amy Winehouse can sing, but she ain’t no Billie Holiday and she may never be. Unresolved social issues that are in constant need of exploration aren’t being addressed by most contemporary pop artists. Winehouse is “outside” the mainstream because of her lifestyle, so she could delve into particularly difficult subject matter unscathed if she so chooses. Winehouse acts like a derelict, which gets her a lot of attention, but she sells out her own talent by not taking it farther. The content is lacking, because ultimately she’s only interested in herself and her consumption. Compare her work and its “message” to seminal tunes like Strange Fruit as sung by Holiday. After the monumental message of the song’s lyrics (written by Abel Meeropol) hits home for the first time it’s indelible. Artists like Winehouse revel in their addictions, which is sad but telling. The irony is that our consumerist tendencies value an authentic fake nearly as much as the original: at least in the short term.
Using addiction as a marketing tool for music is what Winehouse’s tabloid nonsense really advertises. Whether she’s aware of that is another matter, but the main ingredients missing, despite her solid voice, are grace and compassion. Holiday leapt the crushing hurdles of racism and addiction and achieved the highest levels of musicianship while Winehouse gleefully wallows in a cliché.
