Bill Frisell, Charles Lloyd and Jazz-Rock: The Sequel
A Curmudgeon Column

“I could put together the greatest rock and roll band you ever heard,” Miles Davis boasted to Rolling Stone in 1969. This was during the early stages of the first jazz-rock movement, which Davis was launching with such albums as 1969’s In a Silent Way and 1970’s Bitches Brew. He was working from two main assumptions: one, that jazz players were much better musicians than rock musicians, and so, two, the jazzmen could make better rock music.
His first assumption was accurate, but his second was not, and that paradox hobbled jazz-rock fusion from the first. Davis led some of the greatest jazz bands of all time, and In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew were great jazz albums, but Davis never led a real rock band and never recorded a convincing rock album.
There were several reasons for this. First, you can never excel in any genre—whether it be rock, country or EDM—if you condescend to it. Second, while virtuosity is a crucial element in jazz; it’s not in rock—or in its constituent elements of blues and country. Third, rock is not defined by technology. Adopting electric guitars and keyboards does not make your music rock.
But if virtuosity and technology are not crucial to rock, what is? Memes. Like all pop music, rock is at its best when it focuses all its emotion, energy and ideas into small bits of information that stick in the memory. Those bits may be a melodic hook, a groove, a guitar riff, a verbal description, a chorus catchphrase, a punch line or a vocal harmony. The quality of the meme depends on the density of feeling in a small piece of music that can be repeated without ever wearing out its welcome. Creating such compact statements is a very different talent than improvising a jazz solo. Not better or worse—just different.
And nothing creates density better than sticking words to music, and rock has it all over jazz in this area. With a few exceptions such as Bob Dorough, Patricia Barber and Gregory Porter, there has long been a shortage of strong lyricists in jazz, reinforcing a reliance on show tunes and instrumentals.
That’s why Davis and his protégés such as Chick Corea, John McLaughlin and Wayne Shorter were never very successful at fusing rock and jazz, no matter how good they were at pioneering electrified jazz (two exceptions must be acknowledged: Herbie Hancock’s funk grooves and Joe Zawinul’s hummable R&B melodies). That’s why much of the most interesting jazz-rock came from the rock side of the boundary. Steely Dan, Santana, Parliament-Funkadelic and Earth, Wind & Fire were able to fuse jazz harmonies and solos to pop-craft hooks.
But a new generation of jazz players has emerged with none of the old condescension. These younger jazzers view post-Beatles pop music—including rock, R&B, hip hop and Americana—with genuine admiration and affection, not as mere gimmicks to sucker in gullible audiences and pad the wallet. These younger players will not dash off a pop theme as a perfunctory, inconvenient stop on the way to their solos; they will dig into each musical element and try to add to its density. They are creating a newer, better kind of jazz-rock.
The SFJazz Collective, for example, has just released a terrific album, The Music of Michael Jackson & Original Compositions. Each member of this all-star, acoustic octet has arranged one Jackson song for the band and has composed one new original in Jackson’s style. The results peel away the weirdness of Jackson’s public persona to reveal the richness of the music created by the singer and his chief collaborator Quincy Jones, himself a former arranger for Count Basie.
Brad Mehldau has just released the album Blues and Ballads, which contains instrumental, piano-trio interpretations of songs by Paul McCartney and Jon Brion, and last fall released 10 Years Solo Live, which contains solo-instrumental versions of Radiohead, Jeff Buckley, Brian Wilson, Sufjan Stevens, Ray Davies and others. Mehldau never uses electric instruments nor vocals, and yet he achieves a true jazz-rock fusion by honoring the power of pop memes, using them as departure points for improvised jazz tangents but always drawn back to the gravitational force of these dense rock nuggets.