Or consider the dazzling 36-year-old pianist Mulgrew Miller. At 21, he was hired to fill Duke Ellington’s chair in the late composer’s orchestra; not a single critic sought him out. Since then, “The whole youth thing has been shoved down everybody’s throat,” says Miller, who has appeared on more than 100 albums. He adds: “I was on the road when Wynton was in diapers.” Consider saxophonist Sonny Fortune, 52. One of the most powerful and inventive improvisers in jazz, he hasn’t had a U.S. record contract since 1981. Check out pianist James Williams. Or vibraphonist Steve Nelson. And these are only a few of the dozens of fabulously gifted jazz artists who have paid for the fact that they are dead center in their careers. They served their apprenticeships long ago. Without pandering to popular tastes, they have survived. And while the latest young lions work to master the earlier idioms of acoustic, straight-ahead jazz, these older players stand at the cutting edge of its evolution. This should be their time, and they know it. Says bass player Ray Drummond, 45, “There are some guys my age who feel not just cheated, but betrayed.”
Whether or not it’s fair, the jazz industry’s decade-old obsession with youth and age shows little sign of cracking. “We’re jumping from the elder statesmen down to the 20-year-olds and we’re forgetting about at least two generations in the middle,” says Wendy Cunningham, owner of Bradley’s, one of New York’s premier jazz clubs. “I think a lot of these young players are getting signed prematurely,” says Blue Note Records president Bruce Lundvall. Veteran artists complain that it’s the latest in a long series of absurd marketing fads imposed on jazz. The big record companies, says saxophone great Jackie McLean, always “get on some bandwagon and pick one thing. They’re not going out in the garden and picking all the beautiful flowers.”
Oddly, this approach ignores the core jazz audience. Most fans are men in their 30s, 40s and 50s. But record companies want to pry college-age consumers, proven record buyers, away from mainstream popular music. So many have tried a tactic pioneered in rock and roll: creating stars. “I thought if I went after young artists at least that would pique the interest of the kids,” says George Butler, a Columbia Records executive who takes credit for Marsalis’s sudden rise. Meanwhile, he says, he has discovered that “the young guys really pave the way for the veteran guys.”
Paying homage to the old guard tends to help persuade devotees to replace their favorite old albums with newly minted compact discs. Such “churn” has given the jazz-record industry a huge shot in the arm. Jazz labels also are scoring with “new” old recordings mined from their vaults, which. can be issued for a fraction of the cost of producing fresh offerings. Butler says he plans to keep devoting the bulk of his list to young and old players; he has just signed an 18-year-old trumpet player, and next fall will inaugurate a series by “the masters,” all players over 70 years old. As for those in between, instead of signing many of them, he hires them for recording sessions.
Small record companies have stepped into the void. A plethora of foreign labels now serve the hefty European and Japanese markets, a prime outlet for American players who have been eclipsed at home. and some of the best contemporary recordings are issued by domestic “independents.” “It’s the small guys who are really doing the creative work,” says independent recording engineer Rudy Van Gelder, who has overseen more than 20,000 releases since the 1950s. This imbalance, he said, “is worse than it’s ever been.” Though they churn out recordings, the in.dependents don’t have the promotional budgets needed to spread word to a wide audience. Fans must fend for themselves.
The neglected generations of jazz don’t need pity. The best players stay busy and live comfortably. And they’re not in it strictly for money or fame anyway. Jazz, after all, represents only about 5 percent of domestic music-industry sales. Will Americans ever fully embrace their jazz tradition? Probably not. Most listeners won’t stand still for extended improvisation, no matter how brilliant. But for musicians, jazz represents a limitless challenge. “The music itself asks for all you can give,” says Sonny Fortune, who tours with the drummer Elvin Jones. “It’s a certain kind of nutrient.” For that reason, jazz obstinately sets its own course. “One of the interesting things about this music,” says Fortune, “is that it survives in spite of.”
Still, it’s hard for anyone who loves this music not to lament the relative obscurity of some of its most accomplished artists. Do they really sound that far out? Bobby Watson’s best tunes stick with you, and his improvisation ranges effortlessly from the earthy to the ethereal. “We grew up listening to Duke Ellington, Charlie Parker, Smokey Robinson and the Supremes,” says drummer Victor Lewis, Watson’s main collaborator and a gifted composer in his own right. Those roots show. Mulgrew Miller’s roots in the Methodist churches and roadhouses of the Mississippi Delta creep into a style that rivals the artistry of Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea. It’s great stuff. Too great to be shoved aside by the fashion of the day.
