Coraline

There are a handful of movies that are actually better than the book. This is not one of them.

Not that this movie is bad. I actually recommend it. But I recommend you see it with the correct intentions.

Watch this movie for the animation. It's beautiful and the 3D is tasteful and subtle. The voice acting is spot-on and the musical score fits the quirkiness of the movie brilliantly. The storyline of a lonely child misunderstood by her parents is one many of us can relate to and the "other" world that Coraline stumbles upon is portrayed as creepy and disconcerting.

But if you want a disturbing story that touches upon the dark side of love and entrenches you in a scarily desirable alternate reality, skip the movie and read the book.

The genius of Neil Gaiman is that he writes these "children's" books with an adult-like directness. He doesn't conceal or water down the eerie, nor make it into a life lesson. He simply does what he does best, tells a story with such uncanny charm that you are haunted for days after turning the last page and it never occurs to you that you just read a book recommended for those aged 8 and up.

The problem with this movie is that it tries too hard to stay a children's story. The bright colors and special effects, while pretty, dilute the chills that should run up your spine as the story unfolds. This would almost be acceptable if the movie was a 100% kid movie, but it somehow manages to keep one foot in the adult genre resulting in a cheese factor that is highly regrettable to a die-hard Gaiman fan like myself.

While A. O. Scott praises the slower pace of this production, I prefer the quicker pace of the book. There was a lack of suspense as the movie reminded the viewers again and again that Coraline felt lonely and neglected. The resolution then felt a bit rushed and anti-climatic, and as mentioned before, a bit cheesy (the audience, all adults, actually started to laugh at one of the key plot points).

It's been a few years since I read this book, and after watching the movie I felt such a flat response that as soon as I got home I grabbed the book off my shelf and started rereading it. I was instantly drawn in to Gaiman's writing and had to force myself to stop reading it so that I could get some sleep. I was relieved to remember how magical this story is, as I felt a little unsure after last night's viewing.

That all said, if you have NOT read the book, the movie is sure to be a different experience and I DO recommend seeing it for yourself. In fact, I say check out the interactive website first (which adds a fun element when you get to watch the scenes you played with online), see the movie in the theater if you can spare the $14.50 for the 3D as the most successful aspect of the movie is the animation, wait a month or so, then read the book. And let me know what you think.

"The woman musician never was born...

...capable of sending anyone further than the nearest exit." Or so a 1938 Downbeat editorial entitled "Why Women Musicians are Inferior" goes. Laura Barnett, contributor to the UK's Guardian, delves this frustrating issue further in her recent article Lady Plays the Blues:

The man sitting in front of me in Ronnie Scott's jazz club got me thinking. I was there to hear the Portico Quartet, but had instead spent the first half listening to the sound of his voice as he chatted to his companion - so I had asked him to be quiet. At the end of the gig he apologised a little too contritely for spoiling my enjoyment. Then he added "Why are you here, anyway? Is your boyfriend in the band?"

The answer was no, but it was the question that mattered. This man may have been a sexist throwback, but I wondered if there could be any basis to his assumption that I could not have been there out of my own appreciation of the music. I looked around the club. The band were all men. Most of the audience were men, except for a group of women whose shouts and whoops made me think they really were with the band. It made me wonder where, and how, women fit into jazz.

I can completely relate to the "is your boyfriend in the band" question (which is even more frustrating when your boyfriend actually is in the band) but I can trump this further with an experience I had when I was playing sax (way back in the day) with a funk band for a jazz brunch. The entire band was dressed in all black and the gig was a 3 hour deal. I had been on the stage for the entire time, but twice, make that two times, when I left the bandstand to go to the bathroom, I was flagged down by people who thought I was a waitress. I still had my neckstrap on and everything, but some how even as the only girl, playing a saxophone in front of the band, I was not recognized as a musician.

Barnett goes on to muse about why women are not as successful in the jazz realm siting such reasons as early education often places girls on non-jazz instruments such as flute as well as the lack of competitiveness needed that is more natural in men. She quotes several women such as Maria Schneider and Toshiko Akiyoshi as well as a few London based female jazzers. It is an interesting article on a subject that has been pontificated about almost endlessly, though its importance is significant.

Read the rest of the article, as well as this response from the blog LondonJazz.

My opinion in a nutshell is an optimistic one. I see things slowly improving. For instance, my elementary band was pretty gender balanced when it came to choosing instruments (boys on flutes, girl on drums and brass) and there was interest in jazz from both sides. The amount of female jazz instrumentalists is increasing, we even had our first female horn player headline at the Vanguard last year. I still often get the assumption that I am a vocalist when introduced as a jazz musician, but men don't look at me funny (any more) when I say that I am a composer.

As Maria puts it, "With women, maybe it's like this. If you're mediocre, you might have a tough time. If you're really good, nobody can deny it."

We get by with a little help from our friends

Mike Fahie solos on The Injustice League

Last week the Bottomless Cup Jazz Orchestra has it's debut at the Brooklyn Lyceum. It was an incredible experience to be in front of so many great musicians hearing my music played and an even greater experience to hear people say they liked what they heard. I was pleasantly surprised by how many people made it out and wanted to send a public heartfelt thank you to all of you who came with open ears and hearty applause, making the night a success.

I don't think fans realize how important their role is to musicians like myself. When one spends hours upon days upon weeks upon months writing and rewriting and revising and cleaning and printing music, sacrificing coffees with friends, blog writing, marathon training, good weather and precious hours of sleep in addition to hour upon hour of phone calls, emails, text messages, and Facebook messages to musicians and potential audience members, it can be a crushing defeat to have few attendees present to witness the fruition of all your hard work. In the beginning, when few people know you, and you are still ironing out logistical bumps and personal writing style, an emerging artist like myself can really only rely on friends and family, many who would not normally find themselves at a "jazz" or "new music" show, filling the empty chairs. I feel extremely grateful that more than the expected 3 people showed up last week. It is with their support that music like mine can continue its growth and evolution into something that can one day be enjoyed by more than just close, obliging and supportive friends.

Being a musician, much less a composer and bandleader in the jazz genre, which is a genre that continues to gray as musicians who started off as "jazzers" find themselves cross-pollinating with other genres, is a bit of a masochistic endeavor. No one really listens to jazz. Those that do are usually other jazz musicians. The definition of jazz continues to become looser and looser and in the process people are taking sides a la Heroes, and there go a few less audience members. It costs WAY more money to put on a show than what is received from your half of the door (half if you're lucky), making fan attendance crucial if in no way other than from a financial standpoint.

When looked at plainly (and a bit bitterly), a composer like myself uses all of her time to write music for an extremely minuscule pool of listeners, losing money in the process. As Darcy James Argue said in Glowing Realm's Ten Questions column, "Believe me, if it was remotely possible for me to do something other with my life than lead an 18-piece big band, I’d do that. In a heartbeat."

But what keeps us from getting dark upon our career choice are nights like last Wednesday, when expectations are exceeded and one finds herself supported by enthusiastic applause and smiles from the audience. You can't help but feel an incredible sense of gratitude, not only to your musicians who do the rehearsals and gigs for barely enough to cover that night's dinner, but to your friends, your fans, your supporters.

Speaking of Darcy and the need for support, Darcy is embarking upon a venture that most of us only dream of: a studio recording. If putting on a big band show is expensive, recording a big band album is obscene. These days its not hard for most musicians with small groups to record, many in their own homes. The home technology is amazing, unless you have upwards of 15 people in your band. So for now, until space for a large recording studio becomes a common amenity for NY apartments, big bands are stuck doing either live recordings or relying once again on those family, friends, and fans for the financial support to make a studio recording.

And all of this is contingent upon finding a record label that doesn't completely rob the artist of the money to be made off the recording. Darcy, the intrepid entrepreneur that he is, has discovered a record label that not only allows the artist to keep an initial 80% of the profits, but does not dictate the music to be recorded, as so many other labels are fond of. Darcy explains it better:

...what I like best about New Amsterdam is that the label brings together a group of artists that feels like a community without feeling like it's bound to a specific musical ideology. Beyond a basic agreement on a set of core principles that would go without saying in most circles -- "popular music is art," "embracing diverse influences is cool," "grooves feel good," "smart music can be fun" -- there's really not a definitive sound or style that you could pin down as being "the New Amsterdam thing." And while it's not exactly a "jazz" label, I feel that the kind of music I've been pursuing with Secret Society is, in a lot of ways, closer in spirit to what many NewAm artists are doing than it is to contemporary mainstream jazz.

Now, given some of my anti-record label comments on this blog in the past, some may be surprised that I am going with a label at all for our debut recording. Labels, we are told, are over. The contracts are irredeemably exploitative -- you have to give up ownership of your creative work, and these days they don't really do all that much to help you anyway. In fact, there's every chance they will seriously fuck you without your knowledge or consent. The thing to do is to put it out youself.

Well, sure. That's one way to do it -- and more power to those who do. But there is also value in being part of a movement. There's value in being associated with like-minded artists. There's value in trying to be constructive, in trying to build a mutually supportive scene. This is what New Amsterdam has set out to accomplish. And it's not just a bunch of hand-wavy crap either. Founders William Britelle, Judd Greenstein, and Sarah Kirkland Snider are all formidable composers themselves, and they are genuinely commited to fostering a mutually beneficial relationship between artist and label. Don't believe me? New Amsterdam's Arist Agreement is a publically available Google Document. You can read it right here.

Some highlights:

• You retain full ownership of all material on your album, including the master recording itself.

• Gross proceeds from album sales are split 80/20 [in the artist's favor] until artists costs are recouped, at which point the split moves permanently to 50/50.

• Proceeds, including CD sales, from live performances that are booked/presented by New Amsterdam are split 80/20 in favor of the artist. New Amsterdam gets nothing from shows that are booked/presented by the artists.

• This agreement is valid for 4 years from the release date of each record (on a record-by-record, not artist-by-artist basis). At the end of the term, both parties may agree to extend this term. If the term is not extended, New Amsterdam will no longer collect any proceeds related to the master recording.

Compare that to a typical major label contract. No, go ahead. I'll wait.

While it is incredibly exciting to find such a caring label, the reality is they are not giving away freebies. Money still has to be raised, and that is no easy task. Darcy explains further:

Last Sunday I posted in praise of New Amsterdam Records, who will be releasing our debut recording. I also posted a link to the NewAm Artist Agreement, which details, in plain English, the financial arrangement I have with them. As you can see, it is extremely artist-positive — I retain full copyright of the recording and proceeds from album sales are split 80/20 in my favor until the recording costs are recouped.

The flip side of this, however, is that the artist does not get an advance to pay for recording costs. However, since in a traditional record contract, the "advance" is often a one-way ticket to perpetual indentured servitude, the NewAm terms are ultimately much more favorable. But it does mean that the responsibility of raising the necessary capital to make the recording in the first place is 100% on the artist. And recording a big band in the studio is a crushingly expensive proposition — which is why I have avoided it thus far.

[...]

The reality is, we cannot make this album without your help.

Basically, in addition to a few monetary compensations from recent awards won, Darcy is relying solely on the generous hearts and wallets of his fans, of his supporters, to pay for the initial fee. He is taking a leap of faith that enough people out there will extend their support past filling an empty chair to filling the missing dollars needed to make this next step towards furthering the path of contemporary music.

The sad truth is, we are not the popular music. There are no talent scouts or "big breaks" to be had in our area of the musical neighborhood. When I told my dad I had a gig with my band at a venue in Brooklyn, his first question was, "Any chance some talent scouts will be there? Maybe this could be your big break!" If only the remote possibility of this were to exist! No dad, mine is not the music of talent scouts and record producers. My music and others' like it exist entirely without the padding of record advances and media hype and only on the immediate support of it's listeners. And this why extremely talented musicians like Darcy are forced to rely financially on his fan base in order to progress.

I have long since been a fan of Darcy's Secret Society. I beseech you, if you haven't checked out his music, do it. Visit his blog, MySpace, Facebook, or New Amsterdam listing, whatever floats your Internet boat, and consider donating. If you have ever read his blog or downloaded his free live recordings, consider donating. If you are interested in being a part of small things that lead to greatness, consider donating.

It's a hard time financially and you have every right to want more information before willingly handing over the few dollars that could upgrade tonight's dinner from pasta noodles in butter to pasta in olive oil with spinach salad and wine. Read his plea, listen to his music. If you don't like it, go buy that bottle of red. But if you do like what you hear, consider this: You have a a chance to be a part of something reactionary. Something that is literally taking today's artistic music to the next ground. Something that is defiant to the economic crisis put upon us by those who probably have one Wynton Marsalis CD and consider themselves culturally well rounded. Music may be getting cut from the schools to save money, but we do not have to let music die entirely!

I thank everyone who supported me in my recent pursuits; I hope you will consider supporting Darcy as well.

Give the people what they want?

In all honesty, I can't STAND "Take the 'A' Train."

It grates on me almost as much as "Satin Doll," which is my #1 most hated song. I love me some Duke, but I could honestly live out the rest of my life never hearing either one of those two tunes again!

I was just raging about "A Train" the other day to Joseph. Which is why I sat in complete shock, giving him my dirtiest teacher glare, when the other night at his Garage hit, near the end of his second set, I heard the iconic piano intro to "Take the 'A' Train." "WTF?", I glared with my eyes. He gave me a "give the people what they want" shrug and launched full on into the opening melody.

"Yeah! Take the A Train!" exclaimed the boyfriend of my friend whom I was sitting with.

"Excuse me," I muttered, deciding this was the ideal time for a bathroom break.

A few minutes later I returned to the bar, and became cognisant of an increase in noise level. Why are these half drunk trendy twenty-somethings sitting next to me all of a sudden so rowdy? And my awareness was shifted back to the band, where the pianist, Brooks Hartell, was banging out a 6 chorus, perfectly crafted, fantastically inspired stride piano solo, and the people were actually cheering him on!

I shut my eyes and for half a second felt transported back into "the day." The day when the unknown pianist sat at the out of tune piano at the local speakeasy playing for the non-musicians who actually liked the blues licks and improvised solos, inspiring them to dance and become rowdy, giving "jazz" the reputation of being devil music. This is what is must have been like, when people liked jazz and appreciated jazz, and the music was more about the sounds as they happened and less about the harmonic analysis or intellectual composition techniques.

We jazzers certainly like to (dare I say) over-think our music. There has been a lot of discussion recently regarding the place of vocabulary (read the comments) and education (IAJE's bankruptcy) within the vast, yet vague world of jazz. These are complicated issues with circumstantial answers. And yet I can't help but feel that we as jazz musicians, whose very nature is intrinsic to making order out of chaos, bring on the complexities of our genre ourselves. Our world is very small, very young, and currently very under-appreciated. It's hard for us to just let music be music, be it bebop, third stream, dixieland, big band, avant garde, or any other sub-genre of jazz. We feel the need to understand and define every aspect of the creation of the music, the social impacts of the music, the education or "street cred" of the music, and the category that the music falls into. Our egos are easily bruised and we look to one another for validation.

It is because of this jazz trait that I can't let "The 'A'' Train" go. I can't help but ponder the popularity of the song. Is it because it's about a subway line (an unreliable one at that!) in NYC and everyone (including New Yorkers) are fascinated with anything NY? Is it because Duke did an exceptional job of promoting this song back in the day so that it became ingrained in everyday life? Perhaps it was the educational system who chose this song as it's token jazz tune, thereby brainwashing America into thinking it is the only good jazz tune. Or maybe it's because that opening line is just so damn catchy?

Why? WHY! my over analytical brain screams! Duke, and others, had so many great songs, why was THIS the one that is recognizable by almost every non-musical person out there?

And then I think...

What does it matter? Aside from perhaps wanting to discover a magic formula for making my own tunes so popular, does it really matter why audiences love "Take the 'A' Train?" At least it's a Duke tune and not some crap like "Yakkity Sax."

And the thing is, it does work like magic!

For the first set and a half, Joseph and his quartet played a great balance of standards and originals. It was wonderful playing, but they really could have been up there reciting scales over and over for all the patrons of the restaurant cared. No one applauded after solos, and no one acknowledged the band when they were introduced at the end of the set. That's not so abnormal, as the venue is after all a restaurant and bar, not a jazz hall. However, after hearing "'A' Train," the now drunk twenty-somethings were all into the music, cheering for all the tunes, and even staying for all 4 sets. All of a sudden the music was alive to them, and there was an energy and communication in the room. Isn't that what we as musicians, any musician regardless of genre, strive for? A connection to the listener?

Now I think it's safe to guess that the drunkards did not stick around because they were instantly transformed into active jazz listeners, eager to interpret the improvisations and arrangements of the tunes to come. But it is highly likely that the music created such an energy and vibe that fit the mood of the pending hook-ups, that the crowds stayed, if not for the genius of the music, but for the environment it created. I think we need to realize that our music does still serve that function. While we with our educated compositional minds do yearn to express and communicate various personal agendas with our music, we need to remember that if we want to call our music jazz, then we need to embrace the historical roots of jazz as (deep breath)... entertainment.

The word "entertainment" has a negative connotation these days. I hear "entertainment" and I think Britney Spears, cheesy chick flicks, and rag mags. But entertainment is defined as "something affording pleasure, diversion, or amusement, esp. a performance of some kind."

Our music is amazing in that it has the ability to be intricate, multi-layered, and in need of a (musically) intelligent listener to fully grasp the fullness and genius of the music. At the same time, the music can appeal to those who simply want to be diverted, pleased, and amused. We need not always have both goals within the same song, set, or performance. I do think there is a time for a more serious concert performance, and a place for the "lite" set. I also think it is possible to achieve both at that same time. Regardless of the your intent as a musician, I don't think we should value one goal above the other.

It is for that reason that I feel a bit ashamed of my elitist reaction to "the 'A' Train." My snobbery doesn't help the cause of jazz, or the essence of music for that matter. I won't quit trying to perfect the high level of expression and storytelling I hope to achieve through my compositions, but when it comes to playing for a young crowd, on a Saturday night, at a bar, after a long work week, isn't it okay, especially if it helps reel listeners in, to just count off a swing beat, and give the people what they want?