Cultivating A Taste For Jazz

Saying that each of my eight offspring was conceived while my wife and I were listening to jazz would be an exaggeration since we only have six. Though exposed to jazz from early on, they’ve not developed into sympathetic listeners (I admit, forcing them to listen to free jazz during timeout punishment may have been a misstep). It’s the eyeball rolling and nose wrinkling performed by our two teenagers when they catch us listening to Miles Davis or John Coltrane that prompts this reverie on the pleasure to be had from jazz (other than procreation).

Pleasure is the only reason I can think of to voluntarily listen to jazz, or any music. If I can identify my pleasure centers (with respect to music) and figure out what it is about jazz that stimulates them, maybe I’ll have the bullets needed to convert my tribe, assuming I can get the tribe over the shock of Stoic Dad wanting to talk about pleasure.

My pleasure centers lie close to the surface: brain, body, and heart. Music that positively stimulates one or more of the three gives me pleasure. I want to add soul, but that territory’s too remote for my crew of skeptics. I enjoy music that does one or more of these three: makes me think; makes my body involuntarily bob and weave; or, makes me feel (emotionally) something. How much pleasure I receive from music depends upon how intensely one (or more) of these takes place.

But, I can already hear my audience’s response to this pleasure-carrot dangle: “Sure, dad, but rap and hip-hop hit us in all three places too.” Damn it, they’re right. Jazz isn’t the only genre of music that hits my pleasure points either.

 In a heartbeat, I realize that I’m the problem with my teenagers’ listening diet, not them. Jazz, especially in its more complex forms, is, for most, an acquired taste, a pleasure that needs cultivation and often requires some effort, repeated exposure, and maybe even an initial period of distaste, much like developing an appreciation for sushi, scotch or abstract painting. It won’t be a question of winning a single battle with my teenagers; I’ll have to conduct a patient campaign over time. 

How easily we forget. I wasn’t born with an ear for jazz either. The first time I heard Coltrane my eyes rolled. But for the fact that when I was a teenager I spent quality time with some very patient horn players, they might still roll.

Article Author: Brad Chenowski

Chenowski is a stay-at-home proud father and husband. He writes about a specialized area of music for a living.

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