Growing up, music was not necessarily something I ever sought out. I hadn’t hardly picked up an instrument until I was 14 when just two years prior I moved from the densely populated suburbs of Indianapolis to the desolate plains of northeaster Colorado. This was seemingly on a whim in the midst of my parent’s divorce. That was a lot to try and make sense of for an angst ridden preteen. When I hit high school and reluctantly needed to fill an elective credit, the beginner guitar class seemed like an easy A.
However, it was during the first few weeks of that class where I felt a connection with something so much deeper than myself. Rob Zahller who taught that class tossed me a handful of “cowboy chords” and the flood gates opened for me. In that small town with nothing else to do I would sit and noodle for hours on end trying to make sense of what I was hearing and playing without much direction. I associated my musical interests with whatever guitar player sounded most like what I could be capable of doing and that was always improvisers. It started at the blues, then into bluegrass then jazz and ultimately as my craving for new sounds needed satiated, I found free jazz. My first introduction into free jazz was the vast discography of guitarist Jeff Parker. Fascinated by these musically uncharacteristic sounds of free jazz I found myself down a rabbit hole concerning the origins of the sub genre. What caught my intrigue was the connection of free jazz in its contribution to the civil rights movement and the stand black musicians took against white corporate record companies using the objectively abrasive sounds of free improvised music.
In my position of privilege as a white man I cannot begin to understand the degree of oppression and racial injustice endured by these musicians to be called to such an act of musical defiance. Naturally, I questioned what my place in this was.. why was I so drawn to this? Why did the execution of such musical practices feel so fulfilling and so natural? Once I acknowledged the inescapable reality of existing in late stage capitalism this draw became apparent. It is an inherent restraint I believe every person in American can resonate with. This is the restraint that comes with the innate necessity to monetize oneself. Even as creatives we are subconsciously or not pinned to curating towards what other people want, or what might sell. For myself this tends to become a debilitating and paralyzing feeling. Truly hindering my passion and craft. Therefore, in an act of self defiance, putting forth the intention to create without restraint and to improvise freely is one of our last exercises in free will against ourselves and the inherent bindings put on us by merely existing in a late-capitalistic America.
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