Make America Jazzy Again
“What if, in the future, the whole of society were a big jazz band.”
I had to “cleanse” myself after the first presidential debate. The president's bullying was unworthy of what I understand the United States to be. To me, it ran against the spirit of democracy.
I purified myself by listening to Benny Goodman's famous 1938 Carnegie Hall concert. Specifically, to his Big Band’s rendition of Louis Prima’s “Sing Sing Sing.” Do yourself a favor and seek it out.
I discovered this piece when I was fifteen. It was a revelation, a gift, and a metaphor for what the world might be. It made me fall in love with jazz and bonded me to the USA. I wanted to be a part of any country that produced such music. It showed a way toward a future where the individual and collective achievements are in balance. Years later, when I turned 40, I founded a non-profit dedicated to this idea.
I am a Slovenian-American. I grew up in former Yugoslavia, immigrating and becoming a citizen in 1978. In Yugoslavia, our leaders would talk forever, never bothering to check what we were thinking. My teachers were the same, wanting to regulate my thinking and restrict my future. This was not good, I thought, and I rebelled. I said no.
Eventually I discovered things that I could say yes to. In the process, I fell in love with the jazzy, collaborative, celebratory, and forward-looking USA. Benny Goodman’s Big Band was my first 'this is it' moment. The band consisted of only twelve musicians who made a hell of a lot of music together. It was joyful and fun, backed by the skillful virtuosity of each member.
Gene Krupa, the drummer, kicked it off announcing the beat. The entire band then launched into the tune, which they repeated, each time differently, between the solos, ending with a thunderous finale. Babe Russin had the first solo on tenor sax, a gentle, calming improvisation. Harry James’s fiery trumpet solo came next, full of syncopation and rapid notes, followed by Benny’s virtuoso riff on the clarinet, ending on a high C. Finally, the pianist Jess Stacy stretched his customary few beats into a two-minute improvisation. Benny Goodman encouraged him. Recognizing that Stacy was in the groove, he gave him space to excel. He wanted others to be great.
Years later, after learning about the Harlem Renaissance and Chick Webb's band, I realized that Benny Goodman was a part of a much larger movement that propelled Black music to popularity and prestige. Big bands like these represented a decisive moment, a signpost announcing a future when musicians and audiences of all colors would play and listen together—when Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Sammy Davis Jr. would croon side by side in Las Vegas.
What if, in the future, the whole of society were a big jazz band? What if we do not need to choose between the common good and individual expression? What if they might coexist? To participate in such a jazz society would be a joy and a responsibility. The joy is making music with others. The responsibility is that we practice our respective parts until we do them so effortlessly that we can still hear the others. We lead and follow at the same time, knowing all the while that there are dozens of ways to do it right.
In the debate, our president didn't listen. The moderator suggested the ground rules—which are to a debate what the scale and the beat are to a jazz composition—which the president instantly ignored. He was going to play his own song, his never-ending solo, in the manner he would choose. To hell with others.
It was not jazz, it was cacophony.
In the same way that centripetal and centrifugal forces keep stars and planets in orbits, we need to find balance between individuality and collectivity. And we need to elect leaders who understand this necessary, jazzy tension, who know that in a vibrant culture, individual brilliance must seek out the common good.