Ken Burns Jazz Documentary

Louis Armstrong

Bessie Smith

Whenever I go abroad, there are a few questions I can count on: Do I like it hard or soft? Cool or acid? Be-bop or Hard-bop?

That's right. As soon as people discover I'm American, they want to talk about jazz. For the longest time, I had nothing to say. Jazz is the sort of music my Mom and Dad listened to - and everybody knows that parents have no taste in music. Right? But there's an exception to every rule, and this is it!

Batteries -- mmm-mmm, yummy - we were forced to eat some sea life that had been slathered in batter and deep-fried

Jazz ROCKS! - and it seems that everyone in the world knows it but us. Every big city I've visited - Beijing, Tashkent, Moscow, and Bogota - has several live jazz clubs that pay homage to music born right here. In fact, for decades, jazz was used as a way of promoting world peace. Musicians like Louis Armstrong were "cultural ambassadors" who traveled the globe, enchanting everyone they encountered with their magical melodies. Jazz is widely considered to be America's greatest contribution to music, but it hasn't always been treated as such.

In the 1800s, the blues were called "the music of the devil" and those who sang it were predicted to "roast in hell." When jazz came of age in the 1920s, it was deemed "rebel music." The Church condemned it, high society scorned it, and the Illinois Vigilance Association blamed it for the "downfall of 1,000 women."

Over time, our nation has experienced great shifts of thoughts and attitudes that can be reflected in our musical heritage. Indeed, if we were to play every major jazz album ever recorded, one after another, we would have an audible history of our nation. War and peace, racism and tolerance, depression and prosperity can all be heard between the tracks of music.

First things first: Where did jazz come from? It has its origins in Africa. Africans had a rich tradition of tribal drumming and vocalization long before they were brought to this country as slaves. When they were forced into hard labor here in the States, they soothed their souls by singing in a style known as "call-and-response," which consisted of a leader singing a bar and the others responding in unison. This laid the foundation for the later centuries of African-American music.

The black churches were another major influence on the development of jazz. In the late 18th century, African-Americans started singing folk songs and accompanying them with hand clapping and vocal inflections. Horns were added to the mix during the Civil War, when black soldiers got a hold of the bugle. Horns have pitches and inflections, just like the human voice, and many African-Americans found the results exciting and empowering. "The first time I played the saxophone, I realized that I was born with this one mouth cavity and this one set of lungs, and when I put the two together, nobody else in the world could ever sound like me," said Virgil Rhodes, a jazz musician and professor of African-American music in Springfield, Illinois. "It's freedom to express myself."

Although African-Americans were emancipated after the Civil War, they still faced oppressive restrictions due to a racist set of laws known as Black Codes and Jim Crow. These laws silenced the entire black population, and they succeeded in just about every city but one - New Orleans, Louisiana. The combination of French, Spanish and African blood made for a population with a bit of spunk. New Orleaners had a reputation for taking life a little less seriously than their surrounding neighbors. In other words, they liked to party. Be it Mardi Gras, All Saint Days or the Fourth of July, New Orleaners could turn any event into a celebration - including funerals. During the bulk of these occasions, black folks partied right alongside the white folks. While Black Codes and Jim Crow, black, stifled African-Americans around the nation, Creole New Orleaners were tooting their horns in street parades, funeral processions, church dedications and ballyhoos. "When African-Americans played out in the streets, it sent a message that these streets were ours and we belong here," said Bruce Raeburn, curator at the Hogan Jazz Archive at Tulane University in New Orleans. "The law may have attempted to segregate blacks from whites, but nothing could stop the sound waves."

Then came a momentous moment right at the turn of the 20th century. A black barber named Buddy Bolden put down his scissors and picked up a coronet. As the legend goes, he started with a melody, improvised a few bars and returned to the melody without skipping a beat. At that moment, jazz was born. It drew upon every musical form we've just discussed - tribal drums, call-and-response, the blues, spirituals, and horns. Musicians refined it for a couple of decades, and by the 1920s, it had become the voice of Black America. The White Establishment despised it. "They resisted it on the same principle that they put down rock in the '50s and hip-hop in the '90s. It was considered degrading, barbaric, savage and immoral. It was seen as a threat to their society," said Charles Chamberlain, a library assistant at the Hogan Jazz Archives. In the beginning, jazz was dismissed as "race music," but once white people realized they could dance to it, they started flocking to nightclubs in droves. In fact, the first jazz recording was by an all-white group called "The Original Dixieland Jazz Band." Many African-Americans considered this to be a slap in the face, but Raeburn sees otherwise. "Many people say it's a case of whites ripping off blacks and to some extent it is, but it's a little more complicated than that. Ideas were flowing back and forth between communities back then - German, Irish and Jewish as well as African American. These musicians were really responding to their environment. You can't really pin anything down to one group," he said.

When the first black jazz recording came out a few years later, it made its mark in music history with the grand debut of the greatest jazz musician who ever lived: Louis Armstrong, a trumpet player from New Orleans who stole the nation's heart. "After Louis Armstrong, no one could ever say that African-Americans had made no contributions to American culture again. The very reason we have a defined American culture is because of African-Americans," said Raeburn.

Even while black musicians were beloved as cultural icons, they still had to contend with the nation's prejudices. Right up to the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s, it was common for nightclubs to invite blacks to perform on their stage, but refuse to serve them meals or drinks afterward. African Americans were instructed to come in through the back door, play their sets and leave.

Then there was the tragic fate suffered by Bessie Smith, the "Empress of the Blues." At one time, Bessie was the highest paid black entertainer in the United States - male or female. Late one night in 1937, she was in a terrible car accident that severed her arm and left her bleeding on a back road in Tennessee. What happened next depends on whom you ask: Some historians say she was refused care at a whites-only hospital and died on her way to the black one. Others say that she went to the black hospital first, but it was so poorly equipped, doctors there couldn't save her.

Still, jazz soothed the nation like no other medium. This proved especially true after the Stock Market crashed in 1929. Many Americans turned to jazz and literally danced their troubles away. "Big Band" became the sound of the times and Americans drove hundreds of miles to catch the next live performance. Clarinetist Benny Goodman broke new grounds by composing a racially mixed band, and others were quick to follow. "Jazz has brought people together throughout our history. It is one of the best examples of democracy. You've got different kids from different backgrounds finding a common ground through improvisation and performing. And people of all races come together to dance," said Chamberlain.

I thought about this as Jennifer and I strolled through the bustling streets of New Orleans and discovered jazz clubs packed with people young and old, black and white, Asian and Latino. It reminded me of the time I stumbled upon a jazz club in a back alley in Beijing and found a roomful of Chinese tapping their toes to Miles Davis, and the time I watched a Russian play Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World" on a street corner in Moscow.

Any music that pulls the heartstrings of that many people has got to be golden. Isn't it time we started listening?

Stephanie