sounds like now

Baseball season is just around the corner and Kyle Gann’s been making sports/music analogies. (That’s Hotaru over there, by the way.) I like John Luther Adams’ response, which likens music to baseball more than basketball. I’ve never been a big basketball fan–although I find the NCAA much more interesting than the NBA–and have often thought that a baseball game is like music. It is slow, like JLA says, but that only serves to increase the tension. It’s like a late Feldman piece. Milton Babbitt, whose music is a bit more eventful than Feldman’s, has a couple of baseball-inspired titles–Around the Horn (1993) for solo horn and Whirled Series (1987) for alto saxophone and piano. I’ll be listening to Babbitt and Feldman for the next couple of weeks to get in the mood for opening day. Go Sox.

I noticed something from my last post. Six out of the ten solos I listed were recorded live. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. There’s something about the energy, excitement, intensity, immediacy, and spontaneity of a live performance that simply cannot be captured in a controlled and sterile studio environment.

You don’t hear live classical recordings that often. Occasionally you’ll run into one–Lang Lang’s “live” Carnegie Hall recital CD comes to mind. Although who knows just how much splicing and editing was done from the dress rehearsals. You don’t see live classical albums nearly as often as live jazz or rock albums. Even Steely Dan, the rock and roll studio kings of the 1970s and 1980s, cut a live album not too long ago. (In fairness to Mr. Lang, there’s a well-hidden but still audible edit in “Peg” on the Steely Dan album right before the final guitar solo–listen closely, you’ll hear it.)

So why don’t people make live classical albums? They’re scared to, that’s why. Who wants to take a chance at releasing an album with a wrong note (or two)? Imagine the humiliation and shame you’d feel in front of your peers, who never mess up. Today’s advanced editing techniques have made it possible to create perfect, flawless, almost superhuman sounding recordings. You can even speed up a passage if you can’t play it fast as you’d like to. Over time, the bar has been set continually higher for the polish and perfection of classical recordings. And that’s not entirely bad. I think this high standard has spurred amazing advances in instrumental technique. But who can play flawlessly all the time? And what about the synergy between artist and audience?

Walter Benjamin talks about certain aspects of this phenomenon in his essay, “The Work of Art in the Mechanical Age of Reproduction.” In one instance, he compares the stage actor’s performance to that of a screen actor. The stage actor presents his/her artistic performance to the public in person. The screen actor’s artistic performance is presented by the camera. And the camera that presents the performance to the public doesn’t need to respect the performance as an integral whole. The editor chooses the sequence of events, camera angles, and close-ups, which then constitutes the completed film. One consequence of this is that the film actor lacks the opportunity to adjust to the audience that the stage actor does. This allows the audience to take the position of a critic without expreiencing any personal contact with the actor. Everybody’s a critic.

While I’ve been up on my soapbox, I have to admit that my recordings contain editing. It’s an accepted practice and everyone does it (sure sounds like peer pressure). In the end, it comes down to each artist’s integrity. They’ve got to live with what they’ve chosen to do. Catholics might have a harder time with this than others. Someone could make an amazing sounding recording with a little (or a lot of) studio magic. However, if they’ve really pulled a fast one on everybody in the studio, the truth will inevitably come out in live performance. My next album won’t be “clean” but one of these days I’ll make a live album. Mark my words.

(Actually, not all of my recordings have editing. This one, which features me on alto saxophone with the Larry Teal Saxophone Quartet, was recorded live in concert.)

Alex Ross has been making up lists recently. So here’s a list of mine: Ten of my favorite recorded jazz saxophone solos that come immediately to mind.

1. Michael Brecker, “Every Day (I Thank You)” — Pat Metheny, 80/81
2. Michael Brecker, “Sumo” — Steps Ahead, Live in Tokyo 1986
3. Michael Brecker, “Quartet No. 1″ — Chick Corea, Three Quartets
4. Ornette Coleman, “Peace” — The Shape of Jazz to Come
5. Steve Coleman, “Multiplicity Of Approaches (The African Way of Knowing)” — Steve Coleman and the Five Elements, curves of life
6. John Coltrane, “Afro Blue” — Coltrane Live at Birdland
7. John Coltrane, “I Want To Talk About You” — Coltrane Live at Birdland
8. Eric Dolphy, “Out To Lunch” — Out To Lunch
9. Kenny Garrett, “Human Nature” — Miles Davis, Live Around the World
10. Dick Oatts, “Make Me Smile” — Mel Lewis & The Jazz Orchestra, Featuring the Music of Bob Brookmeyer

Saxophonists like to borrow things. Especially music from other instruments. Case in point: two of the works on my recent Miller Theater recital were co-opted from woodwind colleagues—Michael Gordon’s The Low Quartet although originally for double bass, trombone, bari sax, and bass clarinet, had versions for four bassoons and four bass clarinets before I made the bari sax version; and Philip Glass’ Piece in the Shape of a Square is acutally for two flutes, not two alto saxophones.

These are just two recent examples, but saxophonists engage in this transcription process fiercely—sometimes, well hopefully most of the time, winning the composer’s approval. This is why the saxophone has in its repertoire two Berio Sequenzas (VIIb and IXb), Scelsi’s Tre Pezzi, David Lang’s Press Release, and the short and sweet A Tune from Childhood by Bright Sheng, just to name a few.

I often wonder why—yes, why, composers?—must we steal your wonderful music from other instruments?