A plea for polyphony
Artists these days receive better assistance professionally, including help launching and planning their career. Agencies, PR managers, bookers, organisers and labels focus on selling projects, tickets, albums and artists. This affects both the creation of the work and the experience of the listener. What kind of relationship develops between artist and spectator / listener when a third party is involved, albeit passively, in showing the work?
THE TWO WORLDS/troikavzw/images/Schermafdruk_2017-11-02_15.50.35-jae37.png)
The web of social profiling and recognition, the desire to represent oneself, to display moral worth and ideology, has become primary objectives today. In this process,what is pursued is not creative musical expression but comprehensible, static goals: diversity, the public and personal narrative of the artist, visual and auditory style markers, and transdisciplinarity in its superficial form—such as a collaboration between an orchestra and a jazz trio around the theme of ‘jazz meets classics’ or contemporary social/political issues projected onto the music. Whether intentional or not, this reflects a consumerist society where tickets are sold alongside identifiable visions and intent.
In today's cultural climate, there is little emphasis on music's transformative potential. Music is often created as a made-to-order product, tailored to the vision of the curator or what is deemed commercially successful. Here, the organisation around the artist wields a tremendous influence. Financially, for instance, we see that while musicians are paid for their performances, they do not enjoy the same financial security as those working as curators, in management, or in other supportive roles. It leads to a necessary servitude to the music industry for the musician, who lives in permanent precarity as a job seeker.
This uncertainty begins from the very outset. Students increasingly focus on meeting professional expectations—such as finding management or bookers—before developing their artistic ideas. Often, they create projects with the same ingredients as successful contemporary bands. It is tempting for any players involved to be goal-oriented, and yet it runs against the primary origin of artistic or musical work: the relational playing.
The European Jazz Network (EJN), which took place last week in Ghent, is cause for concern—concerns that have long existed among artists. This event is not the root of the problem but is one of many that reveals a broader trend: the professionalisation of the jazz music sector.
In short, EJN is an organisation made up of festival programmers, club organisers, and venue managers, all closely connected with agencies, promoters, and jazz journalists. Musicians rarely have a seat at the table unless they also belong to one of these other groups. One of the network’s main goals is to promote international collaboration and exchange within European jazz communities.
The event features networking sessions, performances by selected groups, workshops, and conferences. This year’s discussions addressed topics such as the climate crisis, AI, and the ageing concert audience. A particular focus was placed on the work-life balance of the cultural worker (not of the musician).
The tendency to offer practical solutions to current problems is characteristic of our time. By focusing on ideological and logistical issues, the complexity of the musical experience is often sidestepped. It's easy to brush aside content with dismissive remarks such as 'that's not to my taste' or 'everyone has their own taste'. Taste is an exceedingly complex concept: it is both nothing and everything, defying definitive conclusions. Ethical matters take precedence over aesthetic ones because they are easier to demonstrate, argued for or against, and turned into products. The focus thus shifts toward the ‘presentable’—what is presentable is describable and interpretable, referring to something that becomes consumable, or symbolic of an ideology or style.
Perhaps one of the most striking examples in music history is Wagner’s operas. Although he rooted his music in a romantic quest for the unimaginable, aimed at a bewitching sound world, he linked his work to Germanic heroic tales imbued with nationalism. This seemed relatively harmless and naive until Adolf Hitler expressed his love for this music. This ethical contamination still reverberates today, reducing the music to a symbol of a dark ideology, making it difficult to experience the music independently of this symbolism.
The creative world of the arts is about the unimaginable—an experience that overturns our everyday common sense. This can only be interpreted after the fact, as an event that reveals something about oneself. Such an experience ideally transcends any category and is compromised when a pre-existing categorisation influences the experience. When a programme booklet or a museum plaque tells us how to experience something, the direct interaction—the real ‘tasting’, the open encounter—becomes difficult. We do not participate but spectate, observing the exhibited object armed with received knowledge.
The unpredictable music that gropes outside the beaten track of mainstream and conventions does not belong in the previously discussed ‘structure around the musician’. Just as discussions around music prefer digestible themes, music which is sold as a fixed product or recognisable style is a better predictor of success than an improvisational or experimental path. This music always involves estrangement. It invites us to transform, not by showing the expected or the understandable but by experiencing the unfamiliar.
In the current professionalising discourse, perspectives from creators, artists, cultural critics, researchers, or art philosophers are conspicuously absent. Yet, it is crucial that curators engage with content and, even indirectly, speak about it. The question is, of course, whether this is possible without the input of the artists—as if it were a separate world, parallel to the artistic practice.
TASTE
As already mentioned, there are many reductive ideas about taste. At best, the musician tastes the music while playing, filtering and emphasising elements, influenced by where their attention is drawn, where they lose themselves, or what they most desire to reveal.
However, we see that presentation increasingly dominates. Modern culture encourages people to constantly present and affirm themselves through the gaze of others, leading to a surface-driven social behaviour, ostensibly aimed at others but in essence deeply individualistic. We nurture the illusion that by clarifying the product we offer, we control the other’s enjoyment and thereby remain in control of the interaction. Once the musician identifies with a ‘taste’, it becomes a conscious product that can be consumed as a fashion: he or she has a taste, a feeling or experience. Taste is then no longer present. It is no longer in the constant motion of tasting and adjusting. It becomes a product that we can own, we have taste and we show possession of it. However, when the musician is actively involved in tasting and adjusting, they invite the listener to fully engage in this tasting process. In this way, the musician or composer invites the listener to partake in their 'tasting' of the musical material, an experience I would define as 'aesthetical empathy’. When taste is merely shown, one might ask whether this still deserves to be called ‘taste’, or whether what we see is a near-mechanical simulation of what people seem to like.
We frequently ask ourselves, ‘What is meant?’ instead of, ‘How can we experience this?’ An unconventional style is often viewed as inauthentic. Because its difference from the conventional is so striking, it seems as though the artist has no interest in comprehensible ideas. Their focus is on the unimaginable, which cannot exist without aesthetic difference. Consider Thelonious Monk, for example. His unique, percussive piano playing, at times resembling the sound of a carillon, stood in sharp contrast to the stylised tradition of classical piano. This aesthetic zone is ambiguous and conflicts with our everyday understanding of the world. Simple questions often follow: is he capable? Is he mocking us? Why this style?
In short, we continually seek to reduce the experience to something comprehensible, a tendency Max Weber referred to as the disenchantment of the modern world. But what value does this seemingly objective approach have when it comes to music? Should we not create more space for mystery, wonder, and sensory experience?
DIVERSITY
‘Showing’ is also excessively present in other areas: when diversity is exhibited too emphatically, for instance, profound diversity is often lacking. Today, we are witnessing a massive catch-up movement around gender diversity. The positive discrimination of women is beginning to take its toll. Many female musicians struggle with too much work and find themselves questioning the motivations behind their popularity. The fact remains that women are underrepresented in the (jazz) music scene. Yet every professional cultural centre or organisation wants to put that minority on their poster. In this display, they seem to be primarily working on their own image and trying to repay their debt to centuries of male dominance. Male artists, particularly older men, are frequently reminded – sometimes explicitly but more often implicitly – that they are no longer welcome in these times and circles. When an ‘older man’ is booked, does it not seem as though his aesthetic qualities must be exceptionally high, leaving the organisers no choice but to give him a platform? And if so, is this type of compliment not almost inconceivable for a female musician?
The tendency towards raising awareness that we often find in this ethical purposiveness misses the target here. Though it has an important function and is born out of good intentions, such as inviting us to empathy and openness towards others, it can, paradoxically, close people off from their interactions. The social restrictions imposed by our society have not necessarily made us more sensitive to issues of class, gender, or diversity. Accepting each other in the presence and feeling-with-others, is prevented by rules and moral frameworks.
POLYPHONY
Consultative bodies consist mainly of organisers, not musicians or artistic researchers. They determine the programming of festivals and cultural centres, networking events, tours (such as JazzLab in Belgium), and awards. While in composing such committees, diversity is sought, and rightly so, they forget to involve the artists and researchers. Of course, every individual has different ears and relationships in a listening experience, but the ears of a musician and a curator or distributor are oriented differently. The catchphrase ‘this is music for musicians’ is here unabashedly replaced by ‘music for programmers’. This heavily influences the choices of contemporary artists. Increasingly, music is being created to cater to the so-called ‘taste’ of these programmers. But as I insinuated earlier, this has nothing to do with the symbolic tasting of music. It is not an aesthetic choice, but a choice based on recognisability. Curators sometimes say things like: that's music like Miles Davis' “Bitches Brew” or it's free jazz with 80s pop. It seems like a desperate attempt to describe the music and express familiarity, suggesting it represents ‘your’ taste (without performing the music yourself).
Sometimes, artists take on the role of curator. On the one hand, this can lead to fruitful results due to their artistic involvement, as a clear aesthetic accent emerges. On the other hand, this involvement can be excessive. Often, an artist-curator seizes the opportunity to primarily advance their own career, seeking social recognition within the music scene, utilising their platform to spotlight their own wishlist of musicians. Additionally, this can lead to the formation of personal ‘schools’ of musicians. In the 1950s, John Cage founded the group later known as the ‘New York School’ with his ‘successors’ Morton Feldman, Christian Wolff, and Earle Brown. It started as an informal collective, exploring chance music and interactive forms, but quickly evolved into the ‘John Cage School,’ which became relatively closed to new generations of experimental musicians. In a completely different way, we could also consider a contemporary New York cult figure like John Zorn. He founded his own record label, curates concerts in New York, and is regarded as the godfather of experimental music in the city. In this powerful position, he has helped many experimental artists build their careers but has also stood in the way of others. If he does not open the stage for you, many other opportunities fall through.
Collective curation may seem healthier, but not in the way Amsterdam’s Splendor have attempted. There, musicians tried to create a space open to all musicians willing to invest and programme together. However, there seems to be little meaningful discussion about what and how to curate. It’s not truly ‘collective curation’; rather, it’s collective maintenance and rent payment, allowing each person to go their own way. Upon reviewing the agenda, it shows little difference from the established music centres.
To curate based on diverse artistic ideas and aesthetic necessity, no one partner can be left out. Artists, like programmers and sellers, get stuck in their habitual worlds. We cannot escape the professional framework. As Jo Freeman observed in her Tyranny of Structurelessness, when formal structures dissolve, informal ones inevitably emerge. What we need is polyphony: deliberation among formal and informal, musicians and programmers, journalists and researchers, curators and managers.
By polyphony, I do not mean democracy but discussion without the goal of consensus or a uniform result. Our glorification of democracy leads us to always seek consensus, but does this not lead to passivity? When we feel our voice will inevitably be included in the final outcome, diluted into the compromise, we are left complacent. The focus should not be on representing all participants equally but on the dialogue itself. The conversation must have its own power, its own direction. In such a dialogue, you might listen and support, offer a counterpoint, take the lead, …
When we listen to the iconic six-part Ricercar a 6 from Das Musikalische Opfer by Johann Sebastian Bach, we hear one voice louder or more prominent than the others, even though this dynamic composition contains six individual voices. They are in relationship with each other, sometimes seeking tension, sometimes harmony. It is a total entanglement that focuses on movement and constant transformation. In the moment, we always perceive one voice more prominently than the others. Looking back, we can possibly bring several voices to mind.
The dialogue must be freed from its misplaced focus on equality. When a diverse committee or jury must agree on which artistic project is worth supporting or programming, a choice based on compromise seems misplaced. We are generating more ‘culture of generality’ than ever before. Perhaps it is because we want to be liked by everyone or because, without it, we may not survive.
Just like in Bach’s piece, the voices do not have to be in harmony at all times . Sometimes, five voices need to realise that the sixth takes the lead, and needs all the support precisely because of its particularities, not its generalities. Being polyphonic is a complex exercise in which you constantly learn to sense your place in a group. It is interesting to approach these discussions differently, with new questions. How does the other listen, what desires are at play? Where is our focus being directed?
In short, being part of a consultative body could be a learning experience, in which the participant becomes aware of the difference between oneself and the other, rather than a desperate attempt to become the other or to resist the other at all costs. The goal is not so much to reach an agreement that everyone can accept but to become sensitive to the singularity that is foreign to the present moment. What deviates from the status quo, and how can we bring this deviation to the public in an appropriate setting? It is crucial not to promote only what is familiar to the listener or what sells well, but to give more space to what remains unknown. This too is a form of diversity: organising a constructive relationship with the underground (while it is still underground). Through constant polyphonic dialogue, with an eye on movement and transformation, and without disregarding the aesthetic, we may be able to foster creativity in the contemporary musical landscape.
Pictures were made by Dries Segers at KC Nona.