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Cul-De-Sac?

Surely not Without Significance is the fact that nearly one hundred per cent. of jazz is the product of the disinherited of the earth? And that the most original pieces of modern cinema and popular music are the creations not of individuals but of groups? A world destroyed by Darwin, Marx, Freud and Einstein is capable of no classical grandeur. Only in little oases, not so very rich, indeed, do we find some cultural asylums of hope. Marxism rejected, the poor Jews form communist colonies in the New Zion. Huxley's philosophy of despair urges the formation of little groups of saints. So too, in the arid desert of rag-time and the talkies, rare and little appreciated are the crystallizations of a world that is yet to come. Or is it already doomed before the oncoming tide of totalitarianism?

"This is the way the world ends
"This is the way the world ends
"This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

In Music Ho! Constance Lambert's encyclopædia chuck-off, we read—

"There must be few artists of any kind who do not feel abashed when faced with the phenomenal inventive genius of Walt Disney, the only artist of to-day who exists triumphantly in a world of his own creation, unhampered by the overshadowing of ancient tradition or the undercutting of contemporary snobism"

Sneer though the realists may at the obvious escapism of the Silly Symphonies, conscious though we are of the childlike simplicity of the delectable Snow-White, we must admit that a high degree of achievement is embodied in their art. Walt Disney's the mainspring; but much of the technical work and elaboration is the product of many men working in co-operation.

Nowhere is this trend more in evidence than among the negro composers. In Soviet Russia joint creation is an artistic experiment consciously resorted to. Their New Gulliver is an acknowledged triumph of puppet art. Among the negro composers and bands, group art is no affectation; it is the natural development, the obvious concomitant of their method of rendering music.

While it is true that most jazz (ninety per cent.) is composed and rendered by Jews, the fact remains that by far the best, if not the only really alive jazz is that created by Negroes like trumpet virtuoso Louis Armstrong, harmonist the Mills brothers, and the celebrated composer and band leader, Duke Ellington. Of them all, the most accomplished is Ellington. While many of his pieces have attained genuine popularity, recognition of his technical orchestrational ability is confined mainly to highbrows; amongst jazz connoisseurs he has become something of a cult.

To quote Lambert again, "The modern highbrow composer who writes a foxtrot can hardly hope to go one better than Duke Ellington, if indeed he can be considered as being in the same class at all." Once again his compositions are definitely the creations of his band. It is not only that the variations are the product of indi- page 23 vidual members, but when any other band tries to reproduce his music it falls flat.

Another parallel with Disney's art is their common inability to extend themselves and at the same time maintain a uniformly high standard. Serious lapses occur. Dwarf and animal scenes were so much superior to the rest of Snow White. Pinocchio had a star in Jiminy Cricket, and the fox was very good, but the rest was only fair, the whole scenes being mediocre and done to boredom. Ellington comes very near to perfection in the ten-inch record, but longer pieces like Reminiscing in Tempo rarely achieve the same intensity.

The sweet nothings of George Gershwin, or even his turgidly emotional Rhapsody in Blue lack the delicate complexity manifest in Ellington's pieces. The starkly simple is the original recording of Solitude. And yet a more recent orchestration with warmly patterned jazz runs superimposed upon the melody, still expresses the same mood, perhaps a little more self-consciously; yet without descending into virtuosity.

It is said, and I think not without justification, that in Gershwin's "Saddest Tale" is embodied the very spirit of jazz. It is not a typical number; saxophones rather than clarinets dominate. Wistful melancholia is expressed with a rare finesse. There again, In a Sentimental Mood—trumpets and trombones—is a perfect record, not great art, but as an expression of almost luscious sentimentality, unrivalled, and real. His ornamentapoeic music—Showboat Shuffle and Daylight Express are examples—can be described in only one way—as colossal.

Disney and Ellington; I wonder how they would like to see themselves so bracketed. At least I haven't said anything about Charlie Chaplin, which for the intellectual critic will be something of a relief. In the cul-de-sac which is modern culture, these three are the men of the time.

S.S.A.