Playing Changes: Jazz for the New Century

Jazz seems to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “Jazzy” is frequently used to describe new bands that are meant to sound hip even if there is hardly a trace of jazz in their music; and yet formal offerings of jazz at concert halls are often limited to a repertoire of the first half of the twentieth century. The debate about what is jazz is endless and fruitless. Fortunately, as with science, practitioners trudge on, in spite of the arguments, and leave one with the sense that jazz is what jazz musicians are playing. And that is a good thing. Nate Chinen’s “Playing Changes: Jazz for the New Century” depicts jazz as many of us listeners feel it: alive, transgressive, fertile, innovative, abundant, exciting. I have been immersed in this music through the recent history of jazz the book traces, welcoming breakthrough albums by artist like the Bad Plus, Danilo Pérez, or Vijay Iyer. Chinen elegantly explains why and how this music is important, while introducing more outstanding examples from neighboring ecosystems (I am regularly revisiting his lists of essential albums at the end of each chapter and the end of the book). My favorite elements of the book were the structure, and the beautiful language used to describe the music. On the former, each chapter in “Playing Changes” is cohesive and succinctly covers one of the most important fields in the state of the art: whether it’s the impact of university education or globalization on jazz, or a feature on standout artists such as Esperanza Spalding, or Mary Halvorson. Chinen adeptly covers many of the controversies in jazz, without taking sides, but rather providing context that situates its origin. I feel I better understand the hating on Wynton Marsalis and Vijay Iyer, while appreciating the enchanting gifts they have given to the music (and disagreeing with the hating). As for the language, I cannot overstate how much the descriptions of a musician playing would transport me, even while I do not properly understand concepts as simple as harmony or chord changes. Chinen describes Brad Mehldau’s cover of “God Only Knows,” “the Beach Boys aria, extrapolated in a way that’s shimmery, inquisitive, and grave. Over the course of a suspenseful sixteen minutes, Mehldau preserves the intervallic heart of the melody while shifting textures and tonal centers almost constantly. His spiritual frame of reference for the song includes not only Brian Wilson, its star-crossed composer, but also Wagner—in particular, the climactic finale of Tristan und Isolde, known as the “Liebestod” (Love-Death). From the first pale tremolo to the last seismic rumble, the performance is unmistakably Mehldau’s handiwork, and a stunner.” Because of my own history and predilections, I would have liked to have read more about global artists that have left a major mark, like the Israeli bassist Avishai Cohen, or newer artists like the South Indian/American/Spanish singer Ganavya, neither of whom get a mention in the book (or in the recommended albums). Aside from those in the Berkley-New York axis, latin jazz artists likewise, usually only get a cursory nod, even if they are elders like Chucho Valdés. But no book could cover it all, and thankfully, this one doesn’t try. In the end, I have a deeper appreciation and understanding of the state of the art, and genuine giddiness and excitement about where it’s going, or as Chinen would say, how and where it’s happening.