I’m in the middle of a phase of listening to a lot of jazz. I haven’t listened to this much jazz since I was a student, when spending all day sitting around drinking strong coffee, smoking roll-ups and debating the most impenetrable John Coltrane records money can buy was practically compulsory to gain an arts degree.
But since those halcyon days, my jazz consumption has dwindled considerably. It has become a niche market in my listening psyche – rolled out for special occasions (a hung over Sunday morning here, a spot of attempted seduction there, maybe even some high falutin’ entertaining), or for the sake of a particular a song (the likes of “Canteloupe Island” and “Mercy Mercy Mercy” tend to get a fairly regular spin).
In recent times, I never came home and put on some jazz record, any old jazz record, anymore, and rarely made any attempt to discover new contemporary jazz or further explore seminal back catalogues. It had been a sorry state of affairs.
But now I’m back in the game. All of a sudden, I felt like listening to “’Round Midnight” by Thelonious Monk, and before I knew it, I’d listened to 2 hours straight of jazz. The next day, I pulled out some Hank Mobley and off we went. I even gave Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme” a full work-out, which always requires dedication. And so it continued.
On day four, I was driving around town with a friend, and I stuck on the Hugh Masekela tune “Still Grazing”. As we listened to it, I was struck by the brightness of Masekela’s trumpet playing, by its laid back exuberance. Something about it stood out from all the other music I’d listened to over the previous few days. It just sounded so… regal, with its air of distinction, its strident confidence and its musical poise.
I realised that, as I reacquainted myself with my jazz collection, I’d largely managed to avoid the trumpet (and somehow completely ignore Miles Davis). Through no conscious choice, all the music I’d listened to had been driven by the saxophone as its brass instrument of choice.
It then struck me that whenever jazz is considered in any theoretical sense (over strong coffee and roll-ups or otherwise), the saxophone is usually the first instrument to spring to mind, and most likely the sole brass instrument.
Some of the most iconic and accomplished jazz musicians are saxophone players – John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Lester Young, Wayne Shorter, Ornette Coleman, Joshua Redman, Branford Marsalis, Cannonball Adderley to name (quite) a few. And the alto saxophone is the quintessential jazz instrument; many people learn the instrument specifically to play jazz.
The alto sax’s sound is inextricably linked with jazz – it exudes louche tones, with more body and dirty swagger than a 300lb exotic dancer, effortlessly encapsulating the beauty, sophistication, seediness, danger and transgression that have long been linked with jazz and some of its key players (those with heroin habits at any rate).
Meanwhile, the trumpet rarely gets the recognition it deserves. Its proponents comprise a list that is surely the equal of the saxophone, including the likes of Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, Lee Morgan, Louis Armstrong, Chet Baker, Freddie Hubbard, Hugh Masekela, Clark Terry.
The trumpet’s sound is royal blue, so much more majestic and resplendent than the saxophone. Whereas the saxophone slinks and swaggers, the trumpet strides and struts whether blaring assertively or purring seductively.
The trumpet’s sense of self-confidence is unquestionable, whilst the saxophone’s lazy arrogance belies an insecurity masked by its outrageous behaviour. Even at its most sultry or brooding, the trumpet’s bright tone gives it a purity unmatched by the saxophone’s reedy breath (listen to Miles Davis’s version of “’Round Midnight”). There is a lightness of being, a peace and a playfulness; its inquisitiveness and naivety make its interactions so joyful. At its more lyrical and introspective, the trumpet has light and air and space that lifts the soul.
The trumpet sounds the celebration of being, of life itself. Lest we forget.
