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The art and politics of free improvisation
By Douglas Finch
Music which takes some sort of stand about the world outside its own domain can do so by setting itself up to be in friction with the acceptable taste of the day. It can also subvert elements of that acceptable taste, making a social comment through irony. In Brecht and Weill's Mahagonny, for instance, Jack is listening to some syrupy bar room piano music wafting into the garden and comments to his drinking companions: "Das ist die ewige Kunst" (that's Real art). This makes a statement about the bored complacency of an over-sated capitalist society.
New and daring artistic ideas always cause discomfort to the complacent. Berlioz fought the self-satisfied academicians of Paris, Brecht undermined the grand magisterial dreams of Nazi Germany, Ives attacked the 'sissy-eared' reactionaries in New England. In the 50's, the Promethian creative urge cherished by the west was itself challenged by Cage's propounding of 'purposelessness' in art. The ego of the individual creator was meant to give way to a new kind of listening, an openness to the world and to chance.
In the 60s, groups like AMM in England challenged the whole idea of individual creation and ownership of music. Free Jazz collided with experimental music in a style, which allowed, for those of like-minded aesthetic, completely open possibilities of expression within a group dynamic. In various forms, this practise continues to thrive, and offers a fascinating socio-political study. How do people come together to improvise? How do they organise themselves? Is it ritualistic or conversational? Is the music meant to be heard by people outside of and apart from the group? If so, what is the relationship between this audience and the group? Are they consumers or collaborators?
When participating in a free im-provisation event it soon becomes apparent that freedom of individual expression has to be sacrificed somewhat in order for the group as a whole to function. If you attend a dinner party and launch into an hour-long monologue about your past achievements, or start insulting the host or throwing food at the other guests, you probably wouldn't be invited back. Then again, if an audience were observing the party, they might find it interesting. This may be a flawed analogy, but I felt myself being the culprit in a similar situation recently. I was in the middle of an improvisation session and started to feel the air of democracy a bit oppressive. At one point I decided to go up into the balcony and start throwing some old metal pipes around. The racket made me feel relieved and exhilarated, but also that I may have been causing some friction and annoyance amongst the group. I wonder if my action was political. One person's vandalism could be another person's social protest.
The things I have learned to regard as 'Real Art' over the years are man-made phenomena which reflect the depth of our emotions and the splendour of the world around us - whether it is a Bach Fugue, some lines by Shakespeare, a building by Gaudi, or some ritual Tantric music. None of these things were created by a democratic process, but rather by stripping away all inessentials to make something pure and truthful. This doesn't mean that the ideas of 'Real Art' and free improvisation are necessarily incompatible. The original intention of the free improvisation movement was to set up a friction with the trappings and traditions of what a complacent society perceived as 'Real Art'. In doing so, this music made a political statement, as well as becoming a new kind of art form, complete with its own trapping and traditions. Maybe the point is that art is more real than politics can ever be. Free improvisation offers a framework in which, at its highest moments, there is a sense among all involved that some sort of social utopia is being experienced