Abstract
Subsequent to the plenary session, “In the Key of E pluribus unum: Individual Freedom and the Greater Good on the Jazz Bandstand,” at Missouri State University’s 21st Annual Public Affairs Conference in September 2024, this article places jazz masters in conversation with Robert N. Bellah’s 1995 lecture, “The Moral Crisis in American Public Life.” Specifically, The Jazz & Democracy Project® (J&D) Exclusive Artist Interviews provide an antidote to Bellah’s concerns over secessionist, individualist tendencies in both the overclass and underclass in American class structure. Applying the jazz-as-democracy metaphor, musician insights about the jazz process offer a prescription to achieve America’s highest ideals as a society: focusing on the musical group or the common good in society, knowing your role both on and off the bandstand, and resisting the impulse to secede from or be placed upon a pedestal above the musical community or body politic. Akin to Bellah’s assertion that freedom must be defined by what is just, “good freedom” per the jazz aesthetic is defined by the same attention to a tradition that elevates “we the people” over any individual.
The Jazz & Democracy Project® (J&D) is an interdisciplinary curriculum that cultivates a deep understanding of American democratic ideals through an appreciation of American Classical Music: the music commonly called jazz. J&D derives its sharpest insights from the J&D Exclusive Artist Interviews with established and emerging masters of the craft. In case the above sample by Ben Williams seems trite, know from the outset that J&D takes care not to promote some naïve notion that if we simply behave like jazz musicians, the world would be a better place. To the contrary, jazz is not simple, nor is the world we live in. Investigating claims like the one posed by Ben Williams is what propels the J&D curriculum. If a student can detail where the jazz-as-democracy metaphor does not quite fit, then they achieve the goal of any J&D lesson: critical thinking. Instead of a pollyannish application of the jazz-as-democracy metaphor, J&D finds that good jazz is a good metaphor for a well-functioning democracy and that bad jazz is also a good metaphor: for a mal-functioning democracy. In other words, one can find corollaries for the characteristics of good jazz in a healthy democracy, just as elements of bad jazz reflect similar breakdowns in the social order.
In broad terms, jazz is a useful metaphor for American democratic ideals because both are a process, not a product. To the musicians who make it, jazz is not so much a genre as it is a way of making music, even a philosophy of music making. Similarly, democracy is not a destination so much as it is the structural means of co-existing with people who have politically like-minded agendas as well as with those who have competing, contrary goals. Theoretically, if the American ideals of freedom and equality are ever attained, we could no more take our hands off the wheels of government than a jazz ensemble could drop their instruments once the music starts swinging. Like the jazz musician constantly negotiating their rhythmic feelings with others in a band, the democratic process is the way we continually and collectively negotiate our respective political aims. Any outcome, be it the music or the current state of our society, is merely the byproduct of the integrity we bring to the jazz and democratic processes. As such, and in accordance with the craft of jazz, J&D implores learners of all ages—from elementary school students to corporate heads and government representatives—to develop their unique sound, or professional expertise, and apply it in accordance with highest aspirations of our shared national, even global, composition.
Numerous themes run throughout the over forty J&D Exclusive Artist Interviews. A prime example is the balance between individual freedom and what is best for the group, which made for a fitting plenary session, “In the Key of E pluribus unum: Individual Freedom and the Greater Good on the Jazz Bandstand,” at Missouri State University’s 21st Annual Public Affairs Conference. The September 2024 conference theme derived from a 1995 lecture given by U.C. Berkeley Sociologist, Robert N. Bellah, in Springfield, Missouri. Bellah is concerned with the health of America’s civic culture due to the selfish actions of individuals who too often forsake the common good. Bellah argues that individual freedom must contain a moral imperative to do what is just, not merely exploiting one’s ability to do what one chooses, which too often amounts to a secession from common cause. Since this sentiment is echoed throughout J&D interviews, what follows is a brief synopsis of Bellah’s diagnosis of America’s moral crisis, followed by corollaries and extensions of those ideas from jazz musicians. We will find that even with the freedom to do whatever they wish, jazz musicians attend primarily to the group—or, if you will, to the common good of their musical society—as opposed to themselves. Notably, they do so via unique, individual contributions, believing that their uniqueness is derived from the collective process, both on the bandstand and within the broader jazz community and tradition. In this way, the craft of good jazz musicians provides a template for freedom that echoes Bellah’s clarion call for moral and just action among our citizenry and government alike.
I.
On October 17th, 1995, Sociologist Dr. Robert N. Bellah speaks at what was then Southwest Missouri State, now Missouri State University, on the topic, “Why Do we Need a Public Affairs Mission?” Bellah’s answer is obvious from the title of his talk: “The Moral Crisis in American Public Life.” Beginning with Pope John Paul II, then in quick succession citing John Winthrop, Abraham Lincoln and Franklin D. Roosevelt, Bellah distinguishes between the freedom to do whatever one chooses and “the freedom only to do that which is good, just and honest.” While religion informs the foundation of Bellah’s thesis (beginning with Pope John Paul II was not incidental) as well as his ultimate prescription for the renewal of American civic life, the thrust of his reasoning is moral. And for Bellah, the moral crisis in American public life results from America’s class structure.
Bellah mentions three socio-economic classes but focuses on the disparity and relationship between the “new elite,” or overclass, and the underclass. The new elite is defined by:
…its loss of civic consciousness, of a sense of obligation to the rest of society, which leads to a secession from society into guarded, gated residential enclaves and ultra-modern offices, research centers and universities. A sense of a social covenant, of the idea that we are all members of the same body, is singularly weak in this new elite….
What is even more disturbing about this knowledge/power elite is not only its secession from the rest of society, but its predatory attitude toward the rest of society, its willingness to pursue its own interests without regard to anyone else.
In contemporary terms think of the overclass as those who built bunkers during COVID, or those who can afford golden passports to seek refuge in another nation whether to escape climate effects, social turmoil, or simply to enjoy a tax benefit or improved lifestyle. In 1995 as now, the new elite are a network bound by affluence and never geography. They can afford to move to the best neighborhoods, or to safer enclaves within more dubious environs. Similarly, they can afford to live in areas that come with the best healthcare and educational facilities, or they can afford private healthcare and tuition at private schools. All the accoutrements of their lifestyle are maintained through disproportionate power in politics purchased through political contributions to candidates who will lower their taxes, reduce regulations on their business ventures, and maintain a security state that will ensure their neighborhoods remain safe, even if surrounded by violent crime on all sides. These choices are predatory because they direct the best of what society has to offer toward a select group, leaving the rest of society to vie for substandard leftovers. And once that preferential concentration has occurred, there is every reason to secede from the rest of society, to continue marshalling one’s capital toward maintaining the separation, and thereby undermine any chance of egalitarianism.
Of course, the people from whom the overclass are most interested in seceding are the underclass. They provide a living counterpoint, reminding the overclass of what they must not endure: higher taxes, lower wages, limited social services, degraded facilities, an adversarial police state, and an unresponsive political establishment. Perhaps surprisingly, survival in this context results in another individualizing tendency among the underclass: self-reliance. If government does not supplant the holes left by globalization, stagnant wages and private disinvestment—let alone cutting social services—the result is a lack of trust in government. This yields distrust that depresses voter turnout, making it likely that social services will never become a priority due to ineffectual political standing.
In contrast to the intertwined drivers of individualist tendencies at polar ends of America’s class structure, Bellah reminds us of the importance of associative culture through a case study from Italy. In Robert D. Putnam’s Making Democracy Work, Bellah finds evidence that strong civic culture rooted in regional traditions produces effective and responsive local government. In such areas there was a “generalized reciprocity” where citizens assume that giving in the near term to or for others will result in one’s own needs being met when the time comes. Civic cooperation is high while distrust and hostility is low in these areas. Conversely, regions with a weaker civic culture experienced not just a mal-functioning government, but a “fatalistic cynicism” where individuals act primarily out of self-interest. What is more, these particular cultures experience an undercurrent of paranoid xenophobia, remedied only through governmental repression.
Bellah is keen to note that while larger economic forces impact America’s class structure, an effective shift in those forces would not automatically repair American civic culture. This requires a more grounded effort that attends to the authentic needs of the under and anxious classes, e.g., a fundamental shift in public policy and funding directed by those “from below” who know better what is truly needed. However, in addition to the material, Bellah believes that all social classes need an ethical and spiritual conversion: “a turning to God and a turning away from…the sin of thinking that freedom is the freedom to do whatever we want and not freedom to do the right and the good.” For the purposes of this article, instead of turning to God, let’s turn to jazz masters who evince the same moral foundation through their craft.
II.
Because of its improvisatory nature, jazz is a music associated with freedom. Musicians are expected to create new melodies atop the song form as they solo, composing then performing within a split second of conception. Theoretically, one has the freedom to play whatever one chooses. Of course, there is the song form, consisting of chord changes that undergird the melody, groove, and sometimes a lyric that identifies an emotional center. Still, no one is controlling the notes emanating from your instrument. And so, related to Bellah’s fundamental question about freedom, what shall one play? In the musician interviews that follow, it is notable that regardless of the question, answers share a priority toward the collective. For example, when asking directly about the jazz-as-democracy metaphor and what insights the jazz process might offer our democratic process, bassist, Aneesa Strings, provides the following:
Man, life is not about you, bro. Life is not about you! People really have these ideas of how big they are and it’s just so false….
Another thing that you learn [in jazz]…is that you can’t help nobody until you get your thing together. So, there’s a level of independence that you have to have, and appreciation of yourself—which is basically knowing your stuff. Just knowing that it rotates: there are times when you have to support and there are times when you get to shine.
People should…play their role. I think a lot of people don’t play their positions: just knowing where you fit in the scale. As musicians we all have to find roles of what we do, how we fit into the group, the environment. And a lot of people have no clue of the importance or the chain or the link or the circle—where they fit in the thing. They just have no clue. So, I think people could know their roles…. If you know your role, you know you’re not important. That’s the first step.
Immediately, Strings announces a common theme across all J&D interviews: humility. One might expect this response from a bassist since bass is a rhythm section instrument, and the rhythm section maintains the song form over which other members of the band solo. As another bassist, Meshell Ndegeocello, put it:
The drums and the bass, we’re the infrastructure workers. We’re [how] the garbage gets picked up. We’re the street cleaners. We’re maintenance on the bridge. We’re making it safe for these other people who have a lot to say. We’re creating a space for them.”
It is worth noting that both bassists are also singers and that voice is arguably the most intimate lead instrument in music—and subsequently, the instrument that most invites ego. Yet they know that their role on bass is a supporting one, and when asked what jazz music—generally—can teach us, Strings focuses not on her vocals, but on the supportive role of the bass.
It is also worth noting how quickly Strings mentions others, and that this attention precedes and simultaneously provides the raison d’être for her individual skill: “you can’t help nobody until you get your thing together.” Expertise is required. You must “[know] your stuff,” and jazz musicians practice a lifetime to become fluent in this musical language that demands split second decisions. But Strings’ duty to others comes first, and she conceives of her value not in terms of her own virtuosity, but in how well she services her supporting role as a bass player.
Finally, Strings is both cognizant of and comfortable with a shared spotlight precisely because her focus is on the communal process. She knows that she will be in a support role during most of any performance, and only occasionally will she receive the “shine” of the solo spotlight. She is content with this arrangement because she knows how her role fits within the larger project. When she says, “If you know your role, you know you’re not important,” Strings is not devaluing her worth. Instead, she is defining value principally in terms of what she as an individual can contribute to the collective music making. She knows that she as an individual is not more important than the shared process of jazz in which she plays an integral part, and her skill only finds value through fulfilling her duty to the band, or to the music.
When asked specifically about the balance between individual voice and responsibility to the group, another bass player, Ben Williams, links a priority to the group with achieving the flow state:
The music is about expressing your individual voice, but we have to really be careful with that because if that is a priority for you…I think a lot of times the results can be the opposite of what you might intend. Instead of enriching the music, I think you can take [a lot away] from the music if you let your ego drive what it is you’re doing on the bandstand. So, I think the interaction and the compromise with you and the other musicians on the stage is really what’s most important.
Individuality is such a—it’s kind of an elusive term. And I think it shouldn’t be thought about too much because as long as you’re you, you’re going to sound like [you]…. So, you shouldn’t really put too much thought into being an individual and expressing yourself because that’s happening anyway whether you really intend to or not. You’re the only version of you on the planet. So, I never really think about that. I’ve never found myself, like, “Am I expressing myself?” That’s happening. That’s a given. So…
It’s about coming together to serve the greater good of the music. And I think if everybody’s on the same page with that, then it’s just going to be even that much more powerful. And the audience won’t hear individuals; they’ll hear music on a much higher level.
The thing is, a lot of it just comes from experience. When you know what it feels like when that happens in the right way, you know it just feels…right. It’s like, “Okay, this is the way it should be. And this is the way it should sound.” Once you let go and let the music tell you what to do instead of vice versa, it’s almost—it becomes easy. It’s like the music isn’t really coming from you, it’s coming through you. And your job is just to not get in the way. So, once you get a taste of that, once you experience that, you always want to go back to that. You always want to find your way back to that place.
Wesley Watkins: And you’ve never found your way to that place thinking about yourself?
Ben Williams: Right. Exactly.
As with Strings, Williams focuses on humility over ego. He resists the premise of the question and explains why a preoccupation with oneself can be counterproductive. First, contemplating whether or not he is expressing himself as an individual seems a silly notion given humans’ inherent distinctiveness. Even though Williams will solo just as often—or seldomly—as any other bassist during a given concert, he believes he is expressing himself even when not in the solo spotlight. Second, he finds that focusing on this question of individual voice pulls one away from the best moments in music. His aim is to “serve the greater good of the music,” and if everyone in the band shares this conception, the music is “much more powerful” and operates “on a much higher level.” Having felt the power of music operating at this level, recreating those moments is the goal. And Williams has never found his way to the flow state focusing on himself. In other words, ego is antithetical to achieving the highest experience music can offer, and the collective can only achieve its highest potential when individuals prioritize the greater good over themselves.
Every J&D interview addresses the flow state. The following exchange with trumpeter, Terence Blanchard, echoes Williams’ insights on ego and its inverse relationship to the best music, while also noting the reach of the flow state:
Wesley Watkins (WW): I can understand myself being in the flow, right?
Terence Blanchard (TB): Right.
WW: But you’re talking about a collective art.
TB: Right!
WW: So, what is happening when everyone is there? Because you could have a great night, but [your pianist] Fabian [Almazan] could not. Or [your drummer] Kendrick [Scott] could have a great night, and you could not. So…what is happening when everyone is in the pocket?
TB: …Well, what happens in situations like that is that one person can pull somebody else out of something. That has happened in this band on a nightly basis. You can see somebody catches fire and then all of a sudden, “Oh, okay. Well, [explicative]! Alright, well let’s go!”
…It’s where you get beyond yourself. I tell my students, I say, “Let go. Let go. Just let go.” I said, “Your ego is sitting up there and telling you, ‘Oh man, I need to play this because this is hip. Man, I know there are musicians out there. Check this out! I’ma show them!’” Biggest mistake you could always make. Biggest mistake. Because that’s not about music, it’s not about the moment, and it’s not about that collective thing I was talking about earlier.
In a good band that is attuned to one another, when inspiration strikes it is immediately evident. No matter if that musician is the band leader or a side person, the band is compelled to follow suit once someone “catches fire”. In so doing, the flow state can be established for everyone even if one person arrives first. Yet, here again, thinking about anything other than “that collective thing” is the “biggest mistake” that guarantees no such heights shall be reached—for anyone. The highest aspiration and experience of the music can be achieved by anyone in the hierarchy of the band, so long as their focus is the music itself, never their ego.
As noted in the introduction, jazz is both a process of making music—to some, even a philosophy of music-making—that reconciles individual voice with what is best for the group. While all of the musicians cited so far have focused on the group, individual voice is nonetheless crucial, perhaps especially to musicians who occupy traditional lead roles within the jazz ensemble. In her interview with Ben Sidran, vocalist, Betty Carter, describes the process of finding her own sound in an era when Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughan had already produced consummate versions of jazz standards. To sing the same songs would undoubtedly conjure comparisons among audience members. And because Carter wanted those audiences thinking of her and not those other singers when they left a Carter performance, she avoided that repertoire because “the jazz world was not going to allow a duplicate. See, that’s the one thing in black jazz, there are no duplicates. [There’s] only one of a kind.” But, as saxophonist, Joshua Redman, points out, developing one’s individual sound is also connected to context:
Let me start by saying what’s it’s not. What it’s not, for me, is this epic, mythic quest. It’s also…not an isolated event. It’s not this, “Oh, now I’ve got my own voice!” It’s this ongoing process. It’s this ongoing evolution. And what your voice is at any one time is going to change as you change and you learn and you experience and you grow.
As an improviser, if you come to play and try to play as honestly and creatively as possible in a given moment, in a way that connects with other musicians you’re playing with, that is in dialogue and conversation with the other musicians that you’re playing with, and in a way that is expressive and communicates with the audience that you’re playing to, then you can’t help—if you come with that attitude—you can’t help but play in your own voice.
And so, for me…it’s not this thing that happens outside of the context of making music, okay? It’s not like we go into our little cave, or this mythic search. It’s not something that happens in a vacuum, that happens outside [music-making]. It happens on the bandstand. It happens by playing and communicating with other musicians…and that’s organic….
If you’re playing with other people, what you have to say, and your identity can only really be expressed in that collective context…. Its meaning is established through the collective process of making music. My identity is forged in that context. As opposed to developing my voice in isolation, my voice is actually developed…through the process of making music with people.
While countless hours in the proverbial woodshed are certainly part of any jazz musician’s development, Redman eschews the notion that after some magical number of hours, one finds their sound and descends from the hilltop with a static gift that will forever bless the broader jazz community. Akin to Williams, Redman believes that one’s voice is inevitable, so long as one is interacting honestly with the music, the band making it, and with the audience. This contextual, live interaction is the crucial ingredient. Like Strings who defines her value in terms of service to the group, Redman defines his sound in relation to the others with whom he makes music. As such, his sound comes as much from those around him as it does from the many hours practicing alone to master his craft.
The examples presented thus far, from both rhythm section and lead instrumentalists alike, stress the importance of the group itself and the group process. Whether defining one’s skill or value in terms of how well you play your role in that process, knowing that a focus on the group leads to the best music, or realizing that your own sound is honed through contextual interaction, it is a focus on the collective that defines and produces good jazz. This is also true in a communal sense of the bandstand. For example, pianist, Ben Sidran, tells the story of meeting a jazz piano legend who immediately demanded that he remain in league with the rest of the jazz community:
The first time I met McCoy Tyner I was introduced by a drummer. He said, “McCoy, this is a friend of mine, Ben. He’s a nice piano player.” McCoy said, “Hi, nice to meet you.” I said, “Mr. Tyner, it’s an honor.” He said, “Don’t do that to me, man. I got it. Okay, man, you’re just—you know [a fan].” We’re out here. We’re out here. Don’t put me up there because if you put me up there, that means you’re saying I don’t count: I’m not in the process. We’re in the process, man. We’re all in this process. And if you elevate somebody and you make them an icon you’ve just pulled them out of the pool. You’re not in the pool.
Tyner is quick to insist that Sidran not place him on a pedestal above other musicians because doing do so would remove him from the community, from that crucial layer of the process. And in jazz it’s the process that counts. Any product, be it commodity such as an album, or the sound emanating from a stage, is dependent on the integrity of process within the band as they perform. And certainly fame, limited as it is in the modern world for jazz musicians, should be elusive without fidelity to the jazz tradition and aesthetic (fickle industry and market forces notwithstanding). Despite his well-deserved recognition at the time of their meeting, Tyner wants Sidran to keep him “out here” in the same “pool” as the rest of the jazz community because that milieu is its own best source for nourishment and growth. The integrity of Tyner’s personal growth as a musician relies on his remaining in dialogue with the jazz tradition, a conversation best had as a dialogue among equals.
III.
Turning back to Bellah’s 1995 lecture, it’s notable how prophetic he was, but also how increasingly divisive and predatory America’s civic culture has become in thirty years. For example, the role of money in politics has only strengthened the overclass’ capture of government, which as we have seen, drives secessionist, individualist tendences for both the overclass and underclass in particular ways. It’s also possible that Bellah would not have foreseen the role of religion in politics. Since this author is neither a political scientist nor a theologian, diagnosing the impact of these forces on both our politics and our body politic will be left to the respective experts. Instead, the jazz-as-democracy metaphor reminds us of the values that can still hold us together, just as they do jazz itself.
The jazz-as-democracy metaphor can be applied at various levels of the American experience—or to any society pursuing democratic ideals, for that matter. J&D likens the practice it requires to become a master musician to the study and the experience it requires to develop expertise in any field, or to the knowledge and experience we should require from elected officials. The way an effective band operates illuminates the roles we play as individuals within a society just as it can demonstrate how effective government should respond to its constituents. Regarding Bellah’s concerns about secessionist and individualist tendencies, the goal of traditional jazz bands to swing provides a template for society. While we may speak of The Swing Era, or the particular rhythmic swing feel, swing is also a perceived buoyancy in the music no matter the groove. Swing is achieved when there is a balance in roles. As Aneesa Strings pointed out, when bands are swinging, everyone is servicing their respective roles. Per Ben Williams, everyone feels that they are connected to the group project at hand without sacrificing their individual voice. Or, as Joshua Redman explains, there is no separation between any musician’s individual voice and the musical tapestry being woven through sound. In short, swing is a musical manifestation of E pluribus unum. It is the aspiration of the jazz band, just like our democratic ideals are the aspiration of our society. The process of jazz is one way that musicians seek and attempt to maintain the swing, just as the democratic process is the means by which we seek our highest ideals as a nation. And while it is rare—if even possible—that a society could reach the flow state on such a grand scale, the jazz process is clear on how to do so. We must prioritize what is best for the group, not the individual. We develop our unique talents in a shared context, offering them in service of the group project, not merely ourselves. There is no overclass or underclass. We must understand that there is only us, and that reaching our highest ideals as a nation requires that we resist the temptation to secede in a world only concerned with I.
J&D students are taught that listening is the most important skill on the jazz bandstand. More recent J&D interviews asked musicians to describe what happens when musicians don’t listen. Vocalist, Gregory Porter, offered the following:
If you’re not listening, not only can it cause chaos in the representation of the music, but it’s a disrespect to the music, to the space. Yes, it’s disrespectful to even the history of the music, in a way.
In light of Bellah’s concerns, not listening is tantamount to seceding from the jazz process. In a music practically synonymous with freedom, listening is the only way to create good music together. And it is vital to the music being made in the now just as it is to the jazz tradition itself. And so, as we look to repair America’s civic culture, American Classical Music teaches us that we would do well to behave in accordance with the highest ideals of our democratic traditions. We would do well to elect leaders and representatives who, like McCoy Tyner, resist being placed on a pedestal, and who demand that they remain connected to “We the People.” For they would know that our connection to this ethic is our only hope to realize the only freedom truly worth attaining: a freedom that is good for us all.
References
Bellah, R. (1995, October 17.) The moral crisis in American public life. Sociology Department, Southwest Missouri State University.
Gabour, J. (Director). (2006). Flow: Living in the stream of music. [Film; DVD]. Moving Pictures LLC.
Sehgal, K. (2008). Jazzocracy: Jazz, democracy, and the creation of a new American mythology. Better World Books.
Sidran, B. (1995). Talking Jazz: An oral history. Da Capo Press.
Watkins, W. (2019). The Jazz & Democracy Project exclusive artist interviews transcription vol 1. [Unpublished transcript]
Watkins, W. (2021). The Jazz & Democracy Project exclusive artist interviews transcription vol 3. [Unpublished transcript]
Author
Wesley J. Watkins, IV, Ph.D., D.Litt, is the Founder of The Jazz & Democracy Project® (J&D), a music integrated curriculum that utilizes jazz as a metaphor to bring American democratic ideals to life. For over a decade “Dr. Wes,” as his students call him, has been teaching learners of all ages, from elementary and secondary level schools to colleges and universities. In addition, he now trains other educators in the use of J&D proprietary materials and pedagogy, and he is available to conduct workshops in the corporate sector, helping project teams and entire organizations alike achieve the crucial balance displayed by the best jazz ensembles: individual freedom of creative expression in service to the greater good.