Jack DeJohnette has never been willing to sit still long enough to be categorized.
(Photo: DownBeat Archive)Editor’s Note: Jack DeJohnette is the kind of percussionist who might appear on any given night behind a major artist and, by so doing, raise the level of group interplay about seven notches. Such was the case at Newport ’74 when he showed up quite unexpectedly behind Freddie Hubbard at Carnegie Hall. All of a sudden a formerly ho-hum rhythm section was transformed into one of high excitement, distinctive originality and exquisite empathy.
But Jack DeJohnette is far more than just a drummer who sits in someone else’s band, or even someone who is a regular member of another’s group, performing another’s music and following another’s directions. Besides being a talented composer and group leader in his own right, he is also a frustrated pianist — piano was his first instrument. (DeJohnette is beginning to work this problem out as he gets more of an opportunity to sit at the keyboards rather than merely behind the traps.)
Throughout his musical career, DeJohnette has demonstrated unusual melodic sensitivity for a drummer. Perhaps this has to do with his keyboard training. Perhaps it is the result of his experiences with Muhal Richard Abrams’ Experimental Band of the early ’60s, a wildly free big band in which he played an initial role. Whatever the reason, DeJohnette has been able to capture this melodic empathy on record. His Milestone recordings of the turn of the decade are strong examples of a young musical mind in the process of development. His interplay with reedist Bennie Maupin foreshadows his incredibly telepathic duet sessions with bassist Dave Holland (Time And Space) and pianist Keith Jarrett (Ruta And Daitya).
DeJohnette has never been willing to sit still long enough to be categorized. The result has been an eclectic series of musical rest stops — a stint with Miles during his Bitches Brew and post-Bitches Brew phases; an unfortunately brief experiment with the collective Compost, a jazz-rock amalgamation that was ahead of its time.
Today, Jack DeJohnette is again creating music that is literally ahead of its time (if that is at all possible). The following, you could say, is an updating, part two, of an article he wrote for DownBeat in 1971, titled “Introducing His New Group, Compost.” The discomfiting and often bitter experiences that he has weathered since then are here sifted and analyzed, with the hope that his new-found awareness can lead to a more positive future.
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In the past, I have put out albums with not much thought to their selling potential, as well as albums specifically designed to sell, all the time feeling very honest about myself and the music. I have never put out albums of my own that I did not enjoy doing. But no matter what direction I took, the end results were always the same — none of the albums sold particularly well. This was all very confusing to me.
I could play commercial music as well, if not better, than most of the commercial stuff that is selling — my music was good; the feeling on the albums was beautiful; we all had a lot of fun recording them. We didn’t play at the music, we played it. After a while, it finally dawned on me what was wrong and it had nothing to do with the music: it was BUSINESS.
Outside of the music, none of us were able to fit the role required to go along with that whole image — the looks, saying the right things at the right times, the socializing required, etc., etc.
It put me through a whole lot of changes. I had always fought labels and categories. I realized my image was one of an “individual,” but the question was an “individual what?” So I put together some of what I felt to be my finest music and went around the jazz record companies, because “jazz” to me had always meant individuality. I went to companies that had been after me for a long time, but after hearing my music and my stipulations of complete musical independence (my own production, etc.), they gave me the cold shoulder, and I mean cold! So much for individuality. I finally found a label that after some hassling and compromise on both sides decided to take a chance on me. Just released on Prestige, my new album is called Sorcery, and all I can say is that the music speaks for itself. (And in the Record Review Section of this issue, Assistant Editor Charles Mitchell speaks for the music in a 4-star review.)
My next step was to see what was being done with the album — what stations are playing it, what record stores carrying it, what magazines reviewing it, and so on. After all, music is my livelihood, and in my situation if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. The big shock for me was in finding out that this so-called jazz revival that everyone is talking about is, in essence, smothering any real music that is happening and has produced a sort of commercial sound somewhere between rock and jazz. To be honest, I find it hard to distinguish one band from another.
This trend has changed the whole image of the jazz industry. I’m not necessarily putting it down, I want to make money too, but I find myself intimidated by the fact that “my sort of music” is just being put to one side, forced to be “underground,” classified “unsalable.”
Somehow, all this has been pre-determined by certain elements of the music industry before my music is given a chance to prove itself in the marketplace.
There is an audience out there for this music, and it is being denied! Wherever I work with my own group, people ask me where they can hear more and where they can get the albums. They don’t even know about most of the albums out because the radio won’t play them and the shops don’t carry them. I’ve appeared on radio shows where people have called in to say “how refreshing it was to hear something different” and “let’s have more.” The deejays answer by quoting ratings and sponsors and the like. I know these things are important for them to be able to keep going, but I also feel it’s greedy. They should be able to set aside a certain amount of time, space, and energy to help promote this music. I had a jock once tell me that if John Coltrane were to walk into his studio today with his latest album, he wouldn’t be able to play it.
Under the circumstances, myself and some others I’m connected with have found it necessary to try and do as much of the business end of it ourselves; in other words, to fully create our own environment. My wife, Lydia, and her partner, Lee Norman, plus Stu Martin and myself have started a music agency called The Creative Music Agency.
We work out of Woodstock, N.Y. Our aim is to have a non-profit organization run by musicians for musicians in order to bring music to people who really want to hear it in a totally conducive environment. We deal mainly with colleges and jazz societies, and at present are in the process of applying for agency/management grants so that we won’t have to charge fees for the work we do. Some of the groups we handle outside of myself and Stu Martin are Lee Konitz, Sam Rivers, Karl Berger, The Revolutionary Ensemble, Dave Liebman’s Lookout Farm, and others.
For those that do want to hear something different, it is there. It’s harder to find, but it’s still there. You have to take the extra effort to look for it and you also have to let people know you want to hear it. Call the radio stations, write the music magazines and record labels, start jazz societies, get colleges to promote the music. We’ll help you, too. I find I usually get a lot of response — some of it positive, some not — but every step in the right direction helps open new doors.
I am now working with my own group, which consists of Alex Foster on saxophones and clarinet, and Peter Warren on bass. We plan to be on the road for the next three months or so. If anyone is interested in finding out about the agency or wants to help start jazz societies, they can get all the information they need from Lee Norman at [number deleted/no longer in service]. DB
