Don't Like Jazz? Give Me Six Minutes And Forty-Two Seconds.

Joni Mitchell, Glen Campbell, And Fred Hersch Explain It All

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a revised and expanded version of a May 2023 post.

Political journalism has retreated into tribalism, echo chambers in which we gather with like-minded others and disparage other echo chambers as “propaganda.” I believe this is clearly evidenced by the fact that a national, civil discourse no longer exists.

Arts and cultural journalism is at a nadir, devalued by corporate journalism and subject to these same forces of tribalism.

In my new capacity as Arts Editor of The Buffalo Hive, a not-for-profit arts and journalism site (launching this summer) I hope to be part of a general revival of post-corporate, arts journalism that challenges artistic tribalism and embraces the doctrine of “artistic universalism,” or the belief that all genres of art are categorically equal and worthy of coverage.

Generally, this means that those who enjoy Bach are not in any way “more important” than lovers of Led Zeppelin (I am firmly in both camps) and that all types of music (books, film, art, etc.) should be respected, listened to, and discussed.

Specifically, I reject the “insider” style of arts writing which suggests that an art exhibition, musical recording, or film is an intellectual puzzle which can only be solved by hipster writers who “understand what it (painting, song, film) means.” Arts critics should use their knowledge and critical thinking skills to reject tribalism and foster understanding, rather than rank and exclude.

In my work I challenge artistic tribalism at every opportunity, which is why I wrote Don't Like Jazz? Give Me Six Minutes And Forty-Two Seconds. There is no reason why someone who likes Joni Mitchell’s song “Both Sides Now” (a group that includes just about everyone who listens to it) shouldn’t enjoy a jazz version of it.

I’d love to know what you think.

Don’t like jazz? I think I understand. For many, jazz seems hyper-intellectual and inaccessible and, to be fair, it too often is. At its best, however, jazz represents the heart of the creative instinct; it began by taking popular songs and changing their harmony and melodies.

This “variations on a theme”is nothing new. What jazz added was a unique, improvisational approach that discarded existing rules of interpretation, transforming familiar tunes into something new and different. Let’s take a familiar, non-jazz, song and observe how jazz transforms it.

“Both Sides Now” (1969) is Joni Mitchell’s biggest hit and one of my favorites.

The harmonies are simple and the lovely melody accessible to most singers. The introspective lyrics are poignant and beautiful. “Both Sides Now” inspired many cover versions, including this one from Glen Campbell, who flavored it with his trademark, orchestral “Rhinestone Cowboy” sound.

Campbell changed the key, substituted a jaunty fingerpicked guitar for Mitchell’s strummed chords, and slightly accelerated the tempo. The Rhinestone Cowboy also added “saccharine strings” to the mix, as much a part of recorded music in 1970 as Auto Tune is today.

Despite Campbell’s changes, we still recognize the song as the same one Joni Mitchell recorded a year prior. It sounds like Glen Campbell, to be sure, but we know he is covering Joni Mitchell’s song because the harmony and melody are the same.

But what if someone changed the harmony and melody? And what if there was no singer, or even a band? What if “Both Sides Now” was performed by a jazz artist who used the song as inspiration for an extended musical improvisation? Would it be the same song?

Let us now listen to jazz pianist Fred Hersch perform “Both Sides Now.”

Hersch begins by introducing the key (D Major) in languid phrases before he plays the melody (:40) (here, the audience shares a collective moment of recognition. This is an example of live music’s sublime joys).

At 1:14 Hersch inserts a “jazz” (diminished) chord where we expect to hear a major chord, signaling his intention to begin a digression; he begins an extended improvisation at 1:55. Hersch (mostly) plays the song’s original chord progression, but creates new melodies in the moment, occasionally inserting shards of the original melody.

At 3:38 Hersch does a very “jazzy” thing when he changes keys (modulates) from D Major to D♭Major. Melodic and harmonic improvisation continues in this new musical color until 5:00, when he returns to D Major.

In the final 1:42, Hersch finds the trail home from his meanderings and concludes in the gentle, familiar rain of Joni Mitchell’s timeless melody.

If you have followed me this far and remain immune to jazz’s charm I will, dear reader, concede the point. You gave me the 6:42 I requested to no avail. I wish you well.

If you need me, I will be among my jazz-loving brethren in clubs, concert halls, and record stores. You will find us listening, reading, and writing about jazz’s endless explorations of musical expression.