When I think of some of the acts that are chosen to perform at certain jazz festivals, I cannot help but hear the persistent voice of Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride, “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
Admittedly, “jazz” is a flexible term. It has to be to admit James Reese Europe and Ornette Coleman under the same vast umbrella. Ecumenical types will even let Ted Lewis and Kenny G into the tent, and rightly so. Not everyone has to like or approve of every type of jazz, and as I’ve stated before it’s okay to like what you like. Conversely, I’ve often suffered listening to what was decidedly jazz—even what was highly regarded as jazz. I couldn’t approve of it but I couldn’t deny that it belonged under the jazz big top.
There is a difference between jazz and not-jazz, and it’s not even a fine line. It’s practically a chasm. It isn’t as subjective as “I know what jazz is when I hear it” (although I do, actually). The difference is not even so much about the beat, the instrumentation, whether or not there is a discernible chord progression or melody line buried in the player’s solipsistic ramblings, or even about how loud the music is turned up. Extremes in any of those areas might render the music less pleasant to the listener, but does not immediately disqualify it as jazz.
Not-jazz to me is character
