Our author hates jazz. But suspects that it must be something great. Who could open up new worlds of sound for him if not one of the last jazz icons? A final attempt to approach a difficult form of music.
I hate jazz. Unfortunately you have to say it like that. I understand, of course, how sophisticated all this is. How important. A real musical avant-garde. Highly concentrated laboratory work where things are brought forward. Where sound researchers boldly blast traditional forms at four o’clock in the morning and carry art into the future. Where else is that nowadays, when practically every novel is cobbled together according to the well-worn recipes of some stuffy writing school? If artistic creation should have any meaning at all, then it should be to survey new terrain. You can still feel this curiosity in jazz.