Jazz Among The British

Radio 3's veteran jazz broadcaster Geoffrey Smith reflects on the changing perceptions and appreciation of jazz in Britain, through his own experience as an American settling in the UK fifty years ago.

In this first programme Geoffrey questions the British term ‘jazzer' and its jokey connotations which are in sharp contrast to the genre's more serious Stateside identity as American classical music. There, the genealogy and pedigree of the genre is more complex, going back to the rich musical mix of New Orleans. As John Lewis of the Modern Jazz Quartet once said, "We didn't have Bach, Beethoven or Mozart, so we needed to create a music that could do all the things that music can do". But to the British, argues Geoffrey, the essential value of jazz is precisely that it isn't classical. Geoffrey reminds us that the two genres overlap in key expressive features, and that the immortal names in their respective pantheons have much in common.

Geoffrey Smith reflects on perceptions of jazz in Britain and questions the term 'jazzer'.

Essays from leading writers on arts, history, philosophy, science, religion and beyond.

Radio 3's veteran jazz broadcaster Geoffrey Smith reflects on the changing perceptions and appreciation of jazz in Britain, through his own experience as an American settling in the UK fifty years ago.

In this first programme Geoffrey questions the British term ‘jazzer' and its jokey connotations which are in sharp contrast to the genre's more serious Stateside identity as American classical music. There, the genealogy and pedigree of the genre is more complex, going back to the rich musical mix of New Orleans. As John Lewis of the Modern Jazz Quartet once said, "We didn't have Bach, Beethoven or Mozart, so we needed to create a music that could do all the things that music can do". But to the British, argues Geoffrey, the essential value of jazz is precisely that it isn't classical. Geoffrey reminds us that the two genres overlap in key expressive features, and that the immortal names in their respective pantheons have much in common.

Geoffrey Smith reflects on perceptions of jazz in Britain and questions the term 'jazzer'.

Essays from leading writers on arts, history, philosophy, science, religion and beyond.

Radio 3's veteran jazz broadcaster Geoffrey Smith concludes his series on perceptions of jazz in Britain, told through his own experience as an American settling in the UK fifty years ago.

In 1963 the great tenorist Sonny Rollins provided one of the high points of Geoffrey's jazz life in a gig at the Minor Key in Detroit. Fresh from the famous sabbatical which produced his album The Bridge, he was in towering form. Nearly four decades later in October 1999 Rollins came to London for a performance at the Barbican just a few days after the fatal rail crash outside Paddington station. At the start of the concert he announced he wanted to dedicate it to the people who had died, "in hopes that they are somewhere listening." Then he played with unforgettable power and invention - Rollins at his best, than which there is nothing greater in jazz. And in the succeeding years, every time he returned to the Barbican, he produced a concert at that same peerless level, leaving his audience crying for more. Geoffrey Smith reflects on the connection this great American musician forged with his British audience over this series of astonishing performances.

Geoffrey Smith on the connection Sonny Rollins forged with his British audience.

Essays from leading writers on arts, history, philosophy, science, religion and beyond.

Radio 3's veteran jazz broadcaster Geoffrey Smith concludes his series on perceptions of jazz in Britain, told through his own experience as an American settling in the UK fifty years ago.

In 1963 the great tenorist Sonny Rollins provided one of the high points of Geoffrey's jazz life in a gig at the Minor Key in Detroit. Fresh from the famous sabbatical which produced his album The Bridge, he was in towering form. Nearly four decades later in October 1999 Rollins came to London for a performance at the Barbican just a few days after the fatal rail crash outside Paddington station. At the start of the concert he announced he wanted to dedicate it to the people who had died, "in hopes that they are somewhere listening." Then he played with unforgettable power and invention - Rollins at his best, than which there is nothing greater in jazz. And in the succeeding years, every time he returned to the Barbican, he produced a concert at that same peerless level, leaving his audience crying for more. Geoffrey Smith reflects on the connection this great American musician forged with his British audience over this series of astonishing performances.

Geoffrey Smith on the connection Sonny Rollins forged with his British audience.

Essays from leading writers on arts, history, philosophy, science, religion and beyond.

Writer and broadcaster Geoffrey Smith continues his series on the changing perceptions of jazz in Britain, focusing on the audience.

In a culture obsessed with interpreting social signs, the British are fascinated by jazz as style, attitude, behaviour. In the 1920s, jazz was the vogue music of the Bright Young Things: the Prince of Wales himself was fond of sitting in on drums with visiting Americans. On the other end of the political spectrum, the Marxist historian Eric Hobsbawm saw the music as the epitome of working class art. And the fixation with the purity of jazz's folk roots drove the trad jazz boom of the 1950s, a playing style that was once seen as a sign of hip progressive politics. For Geoffrey, all this signifying makes it harder to get through to the music.

Geoffrey Smith looks at the how the audience for jazz in Britain has evolved over time.

Essays from leading writers on arts, history, philosophy, science, religion and beyond.

Writer and broadcaster Geoffrey Smith continues his series on the changing perceptions of jazz in Britain, focusing on the audience.

In a culture obsessed with interpreting social signs, the British are fascinated by jazz as style, attitude, behaviour. In the 1920s, jazz was the vogue music of the Bright Young Things: the Prince of Wales himself was fond of sitting in on drums with visiting Americans. On the other end of the political spectrum, the Marxist historian Eric Hobsbawm saw the music as the epitome of working class art. And the fixation with the purity of jazz's folk roots drove the trad jazz boom of the 1950s, a playing style that was once seen as a sign of hip progressive politics. For Geoffrey, all this signifying makes it harder to get through to the music.

Geoffrey Smith looks at the how the audience for jazz in Britain has evolved over time.

Essays from leading writers on arts, history, philosophy, science, religion and beyond.

Writer and broadcaster Geoffrey Smith continues his series on the changing perceptions of jazz in Britain, by taking a closer look at the celebrated British pianist and composer Stan Tracey.

Stan was an abiding presence in Geoffrey's jazz media life, as reviewer and interviewer, and Geoffrey thinks of him not just as a paragon of British jazz, but of jazz in Britain. He was the real thing, a jazz muso to the bone, totally committed to the music. And to him that's what it was. He once told Geoffrey that when he went out to a gig, he didn't say to himself "I'm going to play some jazz", but "I'm going to play some music." Jazz was his music virtually from the time he heard it, trailing down the stairs from the flat above his family home. His route to jazz keyboard went through an accordion - with which he happily played pass-the-hat gigs in pub - to achieving his own style on piano, following trips to New York as a member of shipboard bands in ‘Geraldo's Navy'. He later became house pianist at Ronnie's Scott's and a musician's favourite - the great Sonny Rollins once asked, "does anyone here realise how good he is?" Geoffrey pays tribute to a British player with an unmistakably quirky, determined personal style.

Geoffrey Smith on the work of Stan Tracey, paragon of British jazz and of jazz in Britain.

Essays from leading writers on arts, history, philosophy, science, religion and beyond.

Writer and broadcaster Geoffrey Smith continues his series on the changing perceptions of jazz in Britain, by taking a closer look at the celebrated British pianist and composer Stan Tracey.

Stan was an abiding presence in Geoffrey's jazz media life, as reviewer and interviewer, and Geoffrey thinks of him not just as a paragon of British jazz, but of jazz in Britain. He was the real thing, a jazz muso to the bone, totally committed to the music. And to him that's what it was. He once told Geoffrey that when he went out to a gig, he didn't say to himself "I'm going to play some jazz", but "I'm going to play some music." Jazz was his music virtually from the time he heard it, trailing down the stairs from the flat above his family home. His route to jazz keyboard went through an accordion - with which he happily played pass-the-hat gigs in pub - to achieving his own style on piano, following trips to New York as a member of shipboard bands in ‘Geraldo's Navy'. He later became house pianist at Ronnie's Scott's and a musician's favourite - the great Sonny Rollins once asked, "does anyone here realise how good he is?" Geoffrey pays tribute to a British player with an unmistakably quirky, determined personal style.

Geoffrey Smith on the work of Stan Tracey, paragon of British jazz and of jazz in Britain.

Essays from leading writers on arts, history, philosophy, science, religion and beyond.

Britain has always been a favourite destination for American jazz stars. It played a key role in the career of Duke Ellington, whose visit here in 1933 generated such enthusiasm among the musical elite that it convinced him to attempt more ambitious musical works. Equally smitten by the mix of British history, culture and style was the legendary Chicago saxophonist Bud Freeman, whose British affinity took roots in the 20s when he and his fellow Chicago jazz pioneers adopted the Prince of Wales as their model for dress and behaviour, and honoured him with their composition, Prince of Wails. Bud settled in London in the late 70s, when Geoffrey became his regular companion for city strolls and got to know him well.

Geoffrey Smith on how Britain influenced the work of two celebrated American jazz artists.

Essays from leading writers on arts, history, philosophy, science, religion and beyond.