People sometimes ask me for advice on how to get into
jazz. Leaving the “what is jazz”
debate for another day, I find this question a little funny because, in many
ways, I think jazz is pretty easy to get into. All the biggest names (Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, Charlie
Parker, John Coltrane, etc.) are generally some of the best-recorded examples
of the music. This definitely
isn’t the case for most other types of music. A google search of “country music artists” yields a
disproportionate number of young pop country crossover artists like Taylor
Swift, Keith Urban, or Blake Shelton.
Regardless of whether you think this music is good or not, you definitely can’t
claim it is a complete representation of the country music canon.
I’ll be the first to admit that some jazz is esoteric,
heady, and prohibitive but you don’t have to dig very deep to find “Ella and
Louis” or “Charlie Parker With Strings,” which are both recordings I think
anyone with ears could enjoy, or at the very least understand. I think people feel that jazz is
unapproachable because of a stigma that jazz is a music that requires some
scholarly knowledge of the techniques and the history before it can be
enjoyed. This is mostly absurd.
Good music does not require prior knowledge to be understood
or enjoyed. If you need proof,
listen to basically anything by Louis Armstrong. Armstrong’s music, in my opinion, is as sophisticated as
that of any other jazz musician, but I can’t imagine anyone finding it
unapproachable (which is especially remarkable because some of it is almost 100
years old now!). What makes any
art “great” is never technique alone.
However, I do think that learning about the techniques and the history
of a music, while not a prerequisite, can enrich the listener’s
experience. Which is why when
someone asks me, “what should I check out if I want to get into jazz?” I send
them this video.
Obviously the video’s a little dated, but if you can get
through the schticky intro and the slightly weird interview style (definitely
some brotherly tension there…), the things Bill Evans has to say, and the
demonstrations he gives, are just about the best practical introduction to jazz
you can get anywhere. But don’t
just take my word for it—if you want to learn about jazz or art or music in
general, and you have 45 minutes, you should really watch this.
Bill Evans says in the opening segment, “I do not agree that
the laymen’s opinion is less of a valid judgment of music than that of the
professional musician. In fact, I
would often rely more on the judgment of the sensitive layman than that of a
professional since the professional, because of his constant involvement with
the mechanics of music, must fight to preserve the naiveté that the layman
already possesses.”
So far my approach to learning about wine (and I may be
going about this the complete wrong way) is educated guesswork. I read about wines, and I try to learn
what to expect from specific varietals, regions, vintages, etc. When I try different wines I have an
idea of what to expect and I try to take note of when a wine either meets these
expectations or diverges from them.
It’s similar to the process I use to identify a recording: this is a
piano trio record and it sounds like Red Garland and the bassist is definitely
Paul Chambers, so the drummer is probably Art Taylor. But wines often don’t fit into neat little boxes, and this
for me is the fun of it.
I had a Falanghina the other night that had me completely
flummoxed. I had never had a
Falanghina and I really knew nothing about the grape going into it. The wine was unlike anything I’d ever
had, and without any frame of reference I started floundering. At first I thought it was oaky, but
then I realized it wasn’t really vanilla-y or very buttery, just rich. One minute I found it fruity, and the
next I found it earthy and mineral, and then eventually I couldn’t identify
anything about it. This was an
example where the wine failed to fit into any of the categories I had created
in my mind. My knowledge (which
is, admittedly, limited) failed me, and it was awesome.
A friend of mine who loves wine but wouldn’t claim to know
much about it joined me for dinner, and as I was silently freaking about this
wine she effortlessly pointed out that it smelled like pine needles, and she
was totally right. From there, the
wine slowly started to make sense to me.
This is a perfect example of the perceptiveness of the “sensitive layman,”
and a reminder why it’s important to fight to preserve one’s naiveté,
especially when tasting wine.
Here’s the wine I’m talking about:
2011 Cantine Astroni “Falangos” Falanghina
Falanghina is a white grape grown in the Campania region of
Italy. This wine is from Campi
Flegrei an active volcano area west of Naples and the soils are made up largely
of volcanic ash. As I said before,
my first impression of this wine was that it was oaky, but after some time I
realized that that was probably just because of its richness and golden color. It was a bit cloudy too—could there be
skin contact? There were grassy
piney aromas, as well as tropical fruit. The wine was slightly effervescent
when opened and had a subtle, almost spicy minerality on the palate without
being very acidic. I almost want
to say that it was like a sauvignon blanc in terms of flavor profile but with the body
of a California Chardonnay, if that makes sense at all. The wine was a little rich for my
tastes, and I wouldn’t have minded a little more acidity, but it was very
interesting and I clearly had a lot to say about it. And at $15 dollars, it’s definitely an excellent bargain,
especially if you’re into richer, fuller bodied white wines.
It went really nicely with a spaghetti alle vongole and a
salad of late summer tomatoes.
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