Obviously I think the world would be a more enlightened, happy, and peaceful place if more folks listened to jazz, and I’m content to convert as many lost souls as possible (btw, if you’re bored with year-end lists all listing the same 10 albums, half of which you’ve never heard of, go to your streaming service of choice and just shuffle some Miles Davis or John Coltrane or, for a more contemporary flavor, check out Jon Madof or Matt Shipp or Jamie Saft and get lost in the goodness).
I always am thrilled to have any opportunity to share my work via Jerry Jazz Musician and once more I sing the praises of this site, which celebrates all types of music. For their annual New Year feature, they asked several dozen writers & musicians to choose what single song “best represents their expectations for 2025.” I’ve had Ornette Coleman on the brain for a variety of reasons, not least b/c poems reflecting on his genre-shattering masterpiece ‘The Shape of Jazz to Come’ kick off and conclude my recent collection ‘Kinds of Blue.’ (*incidentally, every part of my true, particularly the embarrassing bits, are true — taken from a real life experience when I had the good fortunate of pouncing on an elective called “Introduction to Jazz” so shout out not only to George Mason University but an era when The Humanities were not under constant fire, and softer hearts & minds were won over, the right way, for the right reasons, receiving insight & inspiration that will last, quite literally, a lifetime.)
Happy to share my piece, below, but check out the link via comments to see the selections from a bunch of super talented and savvy artists. And big props to Josh Haden, son of the Mighty Charlie Haden (who, of course played on TSOJTC as well as many other brilliant albums, alongside OC and too many other legends to count); I’m a fan of his Substack and am using the miraculous images from THE SHAPE OF JAZZ TO COME RECORDING SESSIONS (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) which appeared in a recent post on his site. Check him out, check out his pops, and check your head.
Happy New Year, and peace to all.
“Focus on Sanity,” by Ornette Coleman
i.
This poem is the “closer” from my recent—and third—collection Kinds of Blue, and it explores the exact moment that a burgeoning interest became an obsession that would profoundly alter my life, for the better. Certainly, it celebrates jazz music and my love affair with this form of expression, but it’s also nostalgic in, I hope, all the right ways in that it evokes that indescribably special time of life some of us are fortunate to have, where we’re exposed to all sorts of influences (cultural, political, artistic, etc.) and, if we’re lucky or smart enough to be sufficiently humble and curious, incorporating new ways of thinking and feeling into our still-unformed minds and souls.
ii.
The Shape of Jazz To Come
I still remember everything about it. Fall semester, senior year. The more I learned at college, the more I understood how little I knew. Something, obviously, was working. I was prescient, or just plain lucky enough to sign up for an elective called “Introduction to Jazz.” We’d gone through the century, decade by decade, and it got better as we went. Yes, Bebop was what I’d been missing all along without realizing it. But it was what came next, the more formless expression that started creeping out of the margins—like lava oozing through ancient stones—that portended obsession. Those names: Mingus, Monk, Miles. And then, as we tackled the topic of “free jazz,” a dissident with the audacity to name an album The Shape of Jazz to Come: Ornette Coleman, the canary in the post-bop coal mine. Like all iconoclasts, initially greeted with indifference, then disgust, then fear. His compositions scoffed at convention, freak flags flying out of the underground into the avant-garde. I still remember how quiet the room was and how concerned my ears got: What is this? Like something I’d never heard or felt; a new language, a new sensation, a new way of seeing everything, that first amoeba slithering onto shore, nothing I’d ever known and all the things I now knew I needed. How is it possible, I thought, to make instruments scream in agony and shriek in joy, at the same time? I walked around campus after, the autumn sky all schizophrenic yet serene with colors. And those notes I couldn’t get out of my head. This is it, I thought. This is music. This is addiction. This is love. This is the first day of the rest of my life.
iii.
It’s easy for me to discern, now, that these were formative years in ways that still impact my day-to-day life and the sensibility I’m still shaping, but I was keenly aware, then, that something way below the surface, a force both actual and spiritual, was speaking to me, and I had a choice: listen, and follow, or turn away in fear. I let my ears guide me, and began to understand that the ears lead to the heart, which pumps blood into the guts, and it’s by heeding this historical impulse that things change forever, one moment or interaction or song at a time. All politics is local, and to help and/or heal the world, one needs to start at home: we’ll be needing as much focus and sanity as we’re able to offer and receive–and while I fully intend to do my part, I’ll need fuel & inspiration, and I can’t think of a better mission statement as theme song than Ornette’s call to arms. No one is coming to save us. But the artists will be, as always, on the front lines. They always have been. Here’s hoping we can find their work (everything up until this moment; everything going forward) consoling, inspiring, empowering. It’s up to us to create the type of world we want to have; always has been, always will be.
