Volume 25 Issue 7 - April 2020

Coleman Hawkins Lester Young Wayne Shorter
sum total of a whole bunch of things going right at the same time, but
with seeming effortlessness.
There are those who feel swing is no longer relevant today because
jazz has taken on so many other rhythmic concepts and influences in
recent times: the bossa nova and other Latin rhythms, the straighteights
of rock, odd-meters, and so on. This is true to an extent; none
of these idioms swing in the Count Basie or Louis Armstrong sense.
But part of the history of jazz is following how swinging has evolved.
Each school or style of jazz, from New Orleans to the Big Bands to
bebop and cool and post-bop and beyond has swung in its own way. I
would argue that if you listen closely to jazz musicians today playing a
straight-eights tune or in odd meter, there’s still some swinging going
on in their phrasing, in the rhythmic freedom they achieve. It’s not
just a matter of the drummer going “ding-ding-a-ding” or the bassist
laying down a walking 4/4; the elasticity of swing can be, and is being,
applied to these newer concepts. A jazz-informed drummer will not
play a simple rock beat the way a rock drummer would: it’s a subtle
thing, but it will be lighter, more undulating, the corners will be
rounded off a bit. And the same goes for soloists improvising in these
seemingly straighter rhythmic styles: their eighth notes are generally
not even, if you listen closely.
It’s impossible to imagine the history of jazz and its evolution
without swing, it’s as much what separates the music from others as
any single element. Once Louis Armstrong taught the world how to
swing, as the phrase goes, jazz was set on a course unlike that of any
other music. People could feel the difference, not just in their minds,
but in their feet. Just as fat is what makes food taste good, swing is
what makes jazz feel good; it adds a visceral layer to the music. And
although there are some who lament that swinging is dead, I would
argue that it lives on in new ways and I’m hearing a lot of younger
players coming to grips with it. It is to me the hardest thing to do
because it requires both discipline and a commitment to spontaneity.
And it’s a curious thing, but those I hear pooh-poohing swing as oldfashioned
never want to be told that they don’t swing. It’s still a mortal
insult, just as the ultimate compliment a jazz band can hear is “Man,
you cats be swingin!”
A last word about why swing matters. A jazz group, even a large one,
can’t really be expected to rival a full symphony orchestra in terms of
range of colours, dynamics, volume, etc. But a jazz band, even a trio,
can do something an orchestra can never do: swing and improvise,
while making music out of thin air. But improvising has no particular
meaning or value in and of itself if it takes place in a vacuum. It must
have context and there must be some resistance to prove its mettle.
And this resistance comes in the crucible of heat which swinging
provides. It’s relatively easy to improvise without anything getting
in one’s way, but swinging improvisation is what makes jazz so
compelling.
For obvious reasons in these far from normal times, I’m foregoing
the normal live music Quick Picks usually appended here. Instead,
for solace and to pass the time, I suggest you go find something on
Youtube by each of the 21 musicians named in paragraphs 2, 3 and 4 of
this essay, swingers all. You’ll know “it” when you hear it.
I sincerely wish that all WholeNote readers, my fellow musicians
among you, stay safe and well during this pandemic crisis.
Toronto bassist Steve Wallace writes a blog called “Steve
Wallace jazz, baseball, life and other ephemera” which can
be accessed at Walllace-bass.com. Aside from the topics
mentioned, he sometimes writes about movies and food.
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