Jazz Night in Paris

Earlier this week we took in one of the shows at this year's Festival Jazz à Saint-Germain-de-Prés. Trumpeter Erik Truffaz's quintet was playing at the Odéon-Théâtre de l'Europe, a space for "les comédiens français" inaugurated by Marie Antoinette in 1782.

Ceiling by André Masson (1965).

The show was great, mostly an homage to film scores of classic noirs, the French new wave, and spaghetti westerns. For me, it really settled in about midway through when the program steered back to club jazz, including a duet for guitar and trumpet in the vein of Barney Kessel, and an accompaniment for two songs by a torch singer (whose name went past me in a blur of mumbled French).

I could not bring myself to take photos during the show (etiquette, being present, etc.). From up in the balcony it was clear that many in the seats below were essentially recording the entire gig on their phones. I'm often struck by how much scorn is heaped on younger people for use and over-use of devices, but all of the ersatz cinematographers were in their golden years, to put it mildly. This has been the case for almost every jazz show I can recall since the end of the neo-swing craze of the late 1990s: at age 54 we were among the youngest people in the audience, except for a few kids around 12 years old attending with their grandparents (and the guitarist appeared to be in his late 20s). I thought it might be different in France, but no. In nearly every seat was someone with more years behind them than ahead of them. 

I'm not sure how this musical form attracts a paying audience at all twenty years from now--at least in a form someone today would recognize as jazz. I just watched a documentary about the late Chris Strachwitz, who in the 1960s and 70s, along with cinematographer Les Blank, recorded musicians in situ on porches, parks, backyards and barbecue joints in the deep south and along the Rio Grande. These were folk or traditional musicians, getting together to play blues, corridos, zydeco, mariachis for the pure enjoyment of playing, and getting paid chiefly in in food and beverages, if at all (although Strachwitz's Arhoolie Records is often credited with helping artists such as Lightnin' Hopkins, Mance Lipscomb, and Clifton Chenier to worldwide acclaim). The film featured many young, contemporary (2014) musicians still playing parties in halls and recording for Arhoolie, not for money but as their creative outlet and to keep alive their beloved musical heritage. If that's the future of jazz, it's not a bad one.

Support from wealthy patrons--the tried and true approach throughout history--may be the other viable avenue for drawing audiences simply because they are musically curious (or agnostic) and would love to spend an evening in a grand setting such as l'Odeon. Certainly Monsieur La Fontaine would approve.

Almost worth the price of admission.