[Inspired by
today’s anniversary of Charlie
Parker’s death, this week I’ll be AmericanStudying some figures and issues
related to the very American musical
genre of jazz. Please share your own responses and thoughts for a swinging
crowd-sourced weekend post!]
On what is lost
when a genius dies far too young—and what endures, now more than ever.
For one of my
non-favorites posts last year, I wrote
about Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain, and specifically about our tendency to
romanticize the lives and arcs of talented artists who self-destruct and die
too young. Jazz has its share of such artists and stories as well, and none
looms larger than Charlie
“Bird” (or “Yardbird”) Parker, the virtuouso be-bop saxophonist and
composer (a forty-minute recording, to be clear, but worth every second of
your time) who died on this date sixty years ago at the tragically young age of
34. Parker’s official causes of death were pneumonia and a bleeding ulcer, but
he was also suffering from chronic cirrhosis and heart problems as a result of
his long-term (if apparently by that time overcome) addictions to heroin and
alcohol, and it thus seems fair to me (although I’m not that kind of doctor) to
lump him in with other talented musicians and artists whose self-destructive
tendencies contributed to their far too early deaths.
In the
non-favorites post, I was perhaps overly hard on Morrison and Cobain,
especially in terms of my sense that their music has been over-rated. Because
in truth, one of the most tragic things about such youthful deaths (at least on
the communal level—of course the loss to their families, loved ones, and
friends is the most tragic thing) is that we are denied the chance to see how
these artists and their voices and talents evolve, grow, and deepen over time. If
I try to imagine, for example, the career of my own personal favorite, Bruce
Springsteen, if it had ended in the mid to late 1970s (when he was about
the ages at which Morrison, Parker, and Cobain died), it would be far less rich
and impressive, diverse and influential. Similarly, another artist whom I
highlighted in a non-favorites post this year, Elvis Presley, died at the
still-youthful age of 42, robbing us of the same chance when it came to his own
later decades and works. When I think about where all these artists might have
gone in their subsequent efforts, what new and important works they could have
created, such losses become, collectively, one of the greatest tragedies in
American culture and history.
Those losses and
that tragedy are unmistakable, and nothing I write here can blunt their edge.
But at the same time, one of the most important things about art and culture is
that they endure beyond the life of any individual artist, or any generation or
period—all of which, of course, whether early or late, tragic or inevitable, end.
That’s always been true, as evidenced by the remarkable fact that around this
time in the semester I’ll be teaching a five hundred year old
Shakespeare play in my Intro to Lit Theory course. But in our increasingly
digital 21st century moment, art’s endurance—and more exactly our
ability to find and connect to art—has never been more apparent. As of the
moment of this writing, a YouTube
search for “Charlie Parker” produces “about 202,000 results,” most of which
lead to interesting and exciting performances, compositions, and works. No one
of course could possibly watch and listen to all those results—not without some
sort of NEH grant and a lot of coffee, anyway—but the opportunity to check out
even a few, and thus to connect to the life and work of one of jazz’s greatest
talents, gone too soon but still with us in so many ways, is something to be
prized.
Last jazzy
connection tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you
think? Jazzy connections you’d share?
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