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"Bunny M." is a sixteen year old Dallas resident who plays drums, piano and
clarinet. Her passion for jazz and the challenges she faces as a youthful
fan of it is the focus of her Jerry Jazz Musician column, "Accent
on Youth."
___________________________
Accent on Youth
by
Bunny M.
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By Way of Introduction
I love music. In the words of Duke Ellington, "Music
is my mistress." If I had a boyfriend, I fear he would soon grow very jealous
of my love affair with music. (The day I meet "Mr. Right Who Loves Jazz"
is the day I meet my soulmate). The maxim that music is the only truly universal
language among men is heavy with the weight of truth. The musical experience
for me is the only fluent tongue of my deepest thoughts, desires, and dreams.
It is my very lifeblood, and the essence of my being.
I have been vested with a highly passionate and equally
opinionated nature. I feel and think in a rather magnified way. My interests
are not mere hobbies, but passions. At age sixteen, my life's goal is to,
in my own way, bring back the essence of the "good ol' days," and return
the soul of jazz music to the mainstream of our culture.
My burning love for music -- jazz in particular -- ties
in with another essence of my existence: I am an "Old Soul." Call me crazy,
but I am sincere in my belief that my purpose in life is to share my appreciation
for jazz music with others of my generation. Any words I write could never
aspire to capture the full gravity of the purpose to which I faithfully dedicate
my life's goal. Perhaps you know of a person with similar convictions. Not
entirely unusual, right? Well, it is at age sixteen when 90% of your peers
have no idea what, or who, you are ever talking about.
I have often tormented myself with the question, "Why
do I so passionately love, yearn for, and even miss the culture of
the past?" It was just a few years ago, while attending a local jazz concert,
that a fellow attendee named Miles Davis (no, not that one!) finally
provided me with an answer. After describing to him my love of the past,
he instantly laid it down in one phrase; "You have an old soul."
| I've always felt -- known -- I was meant to
be around in the 1920s. The times, the world events, social climate, innovation,
the people, and especially the music are all things I am fascinated with.
Strangely, I miss them all. I am sixteen years old with a ninety-year-old
soul, and absolutely smoldering with an unrequited love of the past. My favorite
films include D.O.A., The General, Feet First, Nosferatu -- all made
before 1950, some so old as to be made before the days of talking pictures
(days I long to have experienced).
In terms of "good music," I generally despise the more
modern forms of music -- indeed, I shudder to call it music at all. Granted,
I do occasionally enjoy some works of modern music, but let's face it, no
musical artist today compares to the likes of Sarah Vaughan, Duke Ellington,
or Frank Sinatra. Theirs was real music. Today's pop music is only
marginally-musical noises put together with varying degrees of proficiency,
coupled to strange vocal utterances which, at times, resemble certain words
in the English language. Occasionally, the mixture of sounds is tolerable,
if not completely pleasant. No sir, a Johnny Mercer lyric, an Ellington melody,
a Fitzgerald vocal -- such are the elements that my ideas of "good music"
are made of.
In an era where kids' radios blast Eminem, J. Lo, and
the latest boy-band fad, my own stereo cranks out the likes of Ella Fitzgerald,
Benny Goodman, and Stan Getz. While today's dance moves come straight off
MTV or the latest celebrity choreographer video, (Darrin's Dance Grooves
comes to mind ), I work on perfecting my Charleston and Lindy Hop. When
my peers tell me my music is "corny," I inform them that said adjective was
(reportedly) coined by none other than Bix Beiderbecke…in the 1920s. |
photo
by Cornell Capa
Savoy Ballroom,
Harlem, 1939
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As you might imagine, to be young and appreciative of
the past is difficult, and at times even painful in a society such as ours.
Do I have many friends? Socially, yes. I love meeting new people, and have
no problem building relationships and associating with others. When it comes
to music, however, it is quite another story. I love talking about music,
although it is difficult to do when your favorite music only evokes memories
in the octogenarian crowd, and you are living among a society of youth who
idolize as musical masters the likes of Britney Spears and 'N Sync-- no offense
to fans of either. Last year I wrote to Artie Shaw, who, at 93 years old
is an old survivor among the great Big Band leaders of the era, requesting
an autograph. To my great relief and joy I speedily received it. It was a
bittersweet victory, however, because I couldn't share the joy with any of
my friends -- no one my age even knows who Artie Shaw is. And no one could
understand my grief when Lionel Hampton died. I had so hopefully requested
his autograph only three days before.
"Jazz?! How can you listen to that #%&^$%?" implores
one friend of mine, as he turns up and starts grooving to the rap music crashing
out of his CD player. I can't help but wonder the same thing about him. Another
friend sighs that the new song from Tyrese (or any other modern artist) is
so sweet and romantic". It breaks my heart that she has never heard ballads
like Ella Fitzgerald singing
"Midnight
Sun" or pianist Bill Evans playing
"Polka Dots And Moonbeams  " -- now there's a love song to render you instantly
diabetic! I have the acquaintance of one who is forever extolling the
poetry/lyrics of Mike Patton. Compare such modern lyrics as Patton's
"Phlegmatics",
"I awake covered in snot/ Dreamt I swallowed my teeth/ And tried to cough
them up" or Christina Aguilera's
"Just Be Free"; "Dance floor's open, feeling free/ Music's pumping to get on
your feet/ Take a chance and feel the beat/ Get on up babe, you gotta dance
with me" with the lyrics of those written in Peter De Rose and Sammy Gallop's
"Autumn
Serenade" -- "Autumn kisses we knew are beautiful souvenirs/
As I pause to recall the leaves seem to fall like tears" or Johnny Mercer's
"Your lips were like a red and ruby chalice/ Warmer than a summer night/
The clouds were like an alabaster palace/ rising to a snowy height/ each
star its own aurora borealis/ when suddenly you held me tight". I doubt many
kids my age can define words like "alabaster," let alone appreciate the deeper,
lyrical meaning of a phrase like "Fate seemed to pull the strings/ I turned
and you were gone/ While from the darkened wings/ The music box played on,"
from Johnny Mercer's
"Charade."
Are not lyricists like Mercer, Gershwin, and Porter the modern poets of the
20th century? More lyrically meaningful poetry is hard to find.
The heartbreak at youth's sadly gross ignorance of jazz
really does move me to tears. If only I were a part of a more jazz-oriented
youth!
I recently ran into a saxophone-playing, jazz-loving
friend of mine. We talked, and embarked on a brief but packed discourse on
the genius of Charlie Parker. I left walking on a cloud. Youth encounters
of the jazz kind always elicit a special joy in my heart. To know that there
are, in fact, other young jazz players and listeners out there renews in
me the hope that my goal of a wider youth appreciation for jazz is indeed
an attainable one. It is my sincerest wish that somewhere more of us may
meet and live fuller lives -- to a soundtrack of jazz.
Peace is the word,
Bunny
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"Bunny M." is a sixteen year old Dallas resident who plays drums, piano and
clarinet. Her passion for jazz and the challenges she faces as a youthful
fan of it is the focus of her Jerry Jazz Musician column, "Accent
on Youth."
You can contact Bunny at: lotusflower1922@hotmail.com
*
Accent on Youth archive
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