I heard trumpeter Wynton Marsalis and his Jazz at Lincoln Orchestra at the Barbican recently. They played a string of bebop classics from composers like Neal Hefti, Charles Mingus, Ernie Wilkins, Gerry Mulligan, and some of the later works by Duke Ellington and his composer and arranger Billy Strayhorn.
It reminded me why I love jazz so much. I’m sure this has been said many times before, but no other form of music manages to exemplify so well the meaning of human freedom, as something that hovers between those two elements of the human condition: on the one hand, order, structure, necessity, tradition; and on the other hand, chaos, innovation, creativity and chance.
When you see the soloist stand up from within the orchestra and take the music in a direction that even he doesn’t know where it is going to go (this orchestra was uniformly male). When his improvisation reaches some sublime heights without betraying the rhythm and tonal structure of the piece. And when the solo finally finds its way back into the formality of the notes that are written on the page, and the player sits down to become again just one part of the ensemble. Then you have an insight into the true meaning of freedom.
Here is the Jazz at Lincoln Center promo:
And this video gives a better feel for some of the music:
Bridges and Tangents 
YES, yes brilliant! My mums best friends is married to Brian Everington the accomplished Jazz musician and teacher. When we were growing up we would spend what felt like hours travelling to different gigs, to places like The Tufnell Park Tavern or to Margaretting and various jazz haunts.
When we got there I was mesmerized by the often smokey atmosphere and what seemed like 5- 8 elderly men (who probably weren’t elderly at all) completely off in their own worlds, eyes half shut, often looks of pure bliss on their faces, smiling to themselves, wincing at odd moments, laughing, looking thoughtful, anticipating and all completely tuned in to each others vibe. Total togetherness, and then seamlessly all the musicians sunk into the background and one individual stood out as if in Technicolor to improvise and express their own personality and mood and character. Total freedom to express whilst being held and supported by the others. The patrons all seamed to know exactly when to break into rapturous clapping and then they would all become one again, before the next character took centre stage. As a child it fascinated me that no two gigs were ever the same.
This was my first ever observation of utter fellowship experienced outside of our family. Thank you for this blog which has brought memories flooding back of days that held a certain kind of magic for me.
Humph Littleton used to be our 8.00 Monday eve chill out time, and as a treat the children bought their Daddy tickets to go see him just before he died. He Loved it, all the audience were given a Kazoo or maybe a kazu, and now purely to annoy us the children randomly use it to express their own characters. :O)