Jazz struggles for survival

In the early 20th Century, before radio and recordings, jazz spread across America town by town. With its small local beginnings, jazz incorporated, consumed, embraced and in some cases eliminated dozens of other musical trends. By mid-century it had emerged as America's vibrant musical voice, performed by large bands of premier jazz musicians. Philadelphia abounded in neighborhood bars where you could stop in and, for the price of a beer, listen to fine musicians play their take on songs that were as familiar as they were unforgettable.

I first heard jazz on the radio with Sid Mark and his "Mark of Jazz" show. As I grew old enough to frequent places that sold liquor, I came to love the music that can both heal your soul and blow your mind (yes, we really uttered such phrases). Places like Just Jazz— a large bar with a club room attached, owned by Count Basie's trombonist, Al Grey— presented such unforgettable jazz musicians as Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis, Harry "Sweets" Edison, Buddy Rich, Oscar Peterson, Philly Joe Jones and Ray Brown. One night, Ella Fitzgerald herself stopped in and dazzled the crowd with a couple tunes.

Since then, jazz has taken a different direction. Now, it can be found mostly in concert halls or tony nightclubs where the patrons stop talking when the musicians start to play (with good reason: The cover charge can be equal to a car payment).

It's not that today's jazz aficionados are economically better off than anyone else; it's just that many of those who play and listen to contemporary jazz consider themselves uniquely well educated in the music to appreciate it.

Sometime after World War II, jazz musicians stopped communicating with their audiences and began playing only for themselves. Perhaps they always had— but back in the day, many musicians' tastes were closely aligned with their listeners— listeners who didn't necessarily hold advanced degrees in music.

Philadelphia comeback

The good news is that bar-style jazz seems to be making a comeback in Philadelphia, as a visit to the website phillyjazz.org will attest.

Recently I stopped into the Rusty Nail, a rock club in Ardmore, just outside of Philadelphia, for its weekly Wednesday night jam session. I found a group headed by Richard Harner on sax and piano, with James Witherite doubling on the keyboard and trombone, and Paul Albrecht playing drums. But these were just a few of the many talented musicians who came in as the night swung on.

The Rusty Nail is most definitely a bar. There's nothing fancy about it. While the musicians perform, some patrons shoot pool or play darts. The crowd is mostly young, but the musicians are of all ages.

I walked in as Harner's group was taking a leisurely stroll through Cole Porter's "Night and Day." In a traditional jazz arrangement, every player gets this solo and then the entire group heads for a nice finish. Later on, Harner's group clocked into the Ellington catalogue with "It Don't Mean a Thing," giving it a nice pace and reading that I'd never heard from any other small band.

Different every time

After the set, I complimented Harner, and he admitted to me that his group had never played that tune before, yet, they broke it down in a very unique way. Later, a young woman, Tara, sang cool vocal riffs on Gershwin's "Summertime" that made everyone sit up and listen, as if to say: "Hey, I never heard it done just that way."

Of course, this is what jazz is all about: musicians working together to create something new"“ something unheard before this moment.

Places like the Rusty Nail keep jazz alive, because jazz will die if it's not constantly moving forward. Jazz must be played by all kinds of people— people who play it not because they get paid particularly well but because they love it. Because they can't stop playing it. Because it makes them happy.

Now for the bad news: Last week the Rusty Nail cancelled its Wednesday jazz nights due to low attendance.♦


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