The reason I’ve been using the term “free playing” is that “free improvisation” has come to unite two different things that have by now clearly grown apart. First, it’s long been celebrated as “a new way of making music,”[1] and twenty years ago postmodernists such as John Corbett said it was “looking for lands yet undiscovered.”[2] Today academics idealize all improvisation as a lifestyle and ethic beyond its origin in music. On the other hand the title refers to an institutionalized minor genre of music (more debatably, a subgenre) that has been already made and recorded, competes in the marketplace, and is represented by a hierarchy of mostly European professionals. They are tilling lands they discovered decades ago, in most cases, and would probably not claim otherwise. This is not a criticism of the musicians, just a reason for expanding and radicalizing the first meaning away from the second and examining the relation between the two. Were its defenders to drop the claim that the term for an approach also refers to a historical form of music, they would be left with something of seemingly less value, certainly of even less presence in the world than it has. To distinguish a concept of free playing would do just that, only from the perspective of the subculture of free improvisers the divorce would allow less to become more. Most reasonable would be to grant free improvisation as the title for a kind of music, leaving the approach to find its own term, which for me is free playing. The two might coincide at times but not necessarily.

It’s common in postmodern culture to think we are progressive if we can validate more art than earlier eras, and see only difference rather than conflict and rejection. This means dropping not only genre boundaries but that separating music and sound that is not music; despite decades of (John) Cage polemics this move is still considered somewhat radical. But the stance of the open-minded listener/consumer/composer is not that of instrumental musicians, who know the difference between what they do in practice or warming up and performing. They make no claim that the former is music, and not because it’s of low musical value; it is simply in a different category. Listeners criticized John Coltrane in some of his late recordings for practicing; they were simply unprepared to hear a musician in the midst of transforming his practice into music, investing scales with meaning right in front of them.

Free playing is the situation—most commonly a private session–where players don’t know if the sound they produce has meaning or not; the door is open to dismissing it as pure exploration that only might make musical sense. “Making music” in this way does not refer to music as socially functional, what knowledgeable musicians have reason to believe will convince a significant number of listeners. Rather it means to be in the midst of all the possibilities of sound-making, and imagining that something surprising and wonderful might happen that might never become “music.” Instead of enjoying and displaying their knowledge, as they might on stage, players bring all their resources to the enterprise of active not-knowing, confronted with infinite possibilities, and having to make instant judgments. This is an impossible situation if you think that every time you play you must come up with something that will function as music. Music is, but also music wants to be. The latter is the realm of free playing, where it is not constrained by what music is. There is no felt need to create something worthy of audience or one’s career, as in a rehearsal. Players might spend long periods doing nothing but free-playing, or move back and forth between the session and the stage, such that a performance is not a presentation but an actual exploration that will engage non-players at the same time. It might lead to wonder or terror, and for this reason players do not expect it to reap immediate and rewarding appreciation.

Free playing is not the site of music making but of players’ immersion in the difficulty of desire—how do I discover what I want, what I’m missing. It is the mode of playing that is the infinite game rather than the finite. Unlike the religion of art (art for the sake of art) it merely postpones the dialogue between the two to a different moment. The distinction between good and bad moves and strategy is suspended and there are no mistakes, no critic to discriminate good from bad improvisation. This is not a respite from the “real world,” the fanciful emancipation from the world of rules and values that is the utopia of conventional left culture. It is submission of the artist to the condition of freedom, which can be joyous at times but also frustrating and overwhelming.


Krin Gabbard [editor of Jazz Among the Discourses] has included Corbett’s essay on free improvisation alongside those on jazz, but nowhere in the book is there evidence of a musicological border distinguishing them, nor their historical relation. The general postmodern celebration of cultural difference opposes it to both homogeneity and conflict, thus tending to lessen such distinctions; today all improvisation is treated as a singular continuity. This is especially true for genres, whose boundaries are thought to be more and more violated and meaningless (and viewed as a positive development). However, the tendency has been for all musics in this period (with the exception of pop) to be perceived and sold as traditions, cultural memories that must be distinguishable to be effective. In terms of the demographics of listener response these memories are acquired by specific groups but are also generalized for the population at large such that major genres are widely and quickly recognizable. Thus jazz performed today, properly termed neo-classical, has fixed meanings; a certain sound or way of playing recalls in the listener the entire genre and perhaps its specific place within the official repertoire, very much as European classical music does. As with verbal language that sound will be fixed in memory, such that it will not be confused with music that explores a different sound. An unclassifiable sound or musical structure lacks genre identity and so might be accpepted as music (the apparent intention of the musician) but still lacks an identity that will enable its market presence, or “real” existence. There is then no chance for a new development to be considered within jazz that would make listeners question what they’re listening to, as was the case when audiences could expect jazz to present them with innovations. That situation created debate and controversy that continues today but does not concern what is presently being performed.

Besides genre identity, each instrument has its proper sound, reinforced and stabilized by institutional training, and that sound is not to be confused with any other. Neo-classical jazz has shifted away from the historical jazz it claims to represent, when each individual was expected to have a different voice, identifiable with a specific player, defended and marketed as the sign of the player’s creative soul. A similar issue is that one instrument is confined to connoting a singular genre: the saxophone means jazz. Saxophonists who wish to avoid being automatically dismissed by those who spurn jazz must go to extreme limits of introducing unorthodox sounds. At the same time, that strategy makes it difficult to assert that what they are doing is in fact in the broad tradition of jazz, and has a claim to be heard by the jazz audience.

All this relates to the marketability of different musics, which experimental musicians don’t like to talk about but which, were the situation were to change, would deeply affect their lives and playing. (That things can’t change is one of the assumptions.) Consumers are most likely to buy regularly when they can define their interest according to genre, and when that identity is quickly and unequivocally secure. The shift of performed jazz today to homogeneous sound for each instrument and for each subgenre of the repertoire means that live music customers need not be sold on the individual player but will buy anything in their favored category. This is perhaps why jazz clubs can avoid hiring the higher-priced celebrity players and still sustain themselves. With jazz in survival mode, to support it one simply goes to the club where generic jazz is played. Celebrities who have a better audience draw most likely attained their status in an earlier era and are fewer in number all the time, so the strategy of standardizing jazz is a good one for marketing the genre and of course for jazz instruction.

The postmodern world contradicts postmodern thinking; things have not worked out as expected. In order for any approach to playing to provide careers and a public presence, its players must agree for it to become a distinct genre with a cultural memory. That applies to jazz, free jazz, and the free improvisation Europeans initiated in the late sixties. For the latter, this has required hedging on the idealized interpretation of free improvisation that was taken up by postmodernists, beginning with Corbett. According to that understanding players would be constantly open to radically new musical ideas, an to become loyal to. Process is a selling point, not an actual strategy for success. Compared to jazz it has been difficult to impose musicological standards on free improvisation, so to survive and maintain an audience it has had to rely for that memory on its iconic founding players and new generations that associated with them—a scene. In the UK (and unlike the US) there is a music world (institutions and writers) and iconic players identified with historical free improvisation, a situation that has by now provoked a question whether this tradition has a right to survival or is passé. What has not been asked is whether the marriage between the “new way of making music” and the tradition of free improvisation needs to be questioned.

[1] Jacques Attali, Noise, The Political Economy of Music, [1985, written in 1977] p.134. The full quote is “Complex, vague, recuperated, clumsy attempts to create new status for music—not a new music, but a new way of making music—are today radically upsetting everything music has been up to this point.”

[2] John Corbett, “Writing Around Free Improvisation” in Krin Gabbard [ed.] Jazz Among the Discourses [1995], p.232 This writing was stimulated by Corbett’s essay. He does not make the distinction I do here, but his strong support for the approach of free improv (he is a practitioner himself) points the way.

There is free playing, the approach of “use anything,” which is not necessarily of much musical interest, even to the players. Then there’s the matter of the range of material one one brings to the table. If players lack skills beyond the facility to produce conventional music patterns then what they do will be limited to that. If free playing is to be non-idiomatic then they must have the means to step outside normative intonation and pitch relations. If electronicists haven’t created their software they will be limited to the manufacturer’s instructions. For instance if someone constructs a particular arrangement of electronic devices and invites someone else to fiddle with the knobs and switches, the play will be free but the musical work will not be the player’s.

There are certainly many movements one can make with almost no skill and no instrument but one’s body, such as vocalizing bursts of variable duration, timing and volume–not a bad idea for a workshop. But the tendency for people playing freely over time is to expand their material by developing further skills through self-created exercises, by modifying their instruments to enable new sounds (electronicists would create their own software or build analogue devices), and/ or by shifting the focus away from one’s own playing and attending to the others’. To be invited to play freely is therefore somewhat deceptive, since you soon discover there are parameters—the limitation of your skills and the context, for you must be able to relate to what others are doing in imaginative ways. How do these parameters operate? They are not directly imposed–no instructor will tell you you’re out of tune or off the beat, no internal superego will accuse you of failure, nor will others pressure you to play any particular way. But if you feel that free playing is worth taking more seriously you will soon sense the limit of what you have been doing and become frustrated. Especially playing with experienced improvisers exploring their own unknowns, you’ll feel encouraged to do the same, if you want to be working on the same level of engagement. Others might play in such a way that you feel you have nothing to do that works, so you expand your range and imagination by taking cues from them. This also means you might feel the need for some private self-teaching, where you ask yourself, what material is of greatest interest to me, and dig into it.

On the practical level, there’s this.  An ad hoc free session may seem generous and selfless but if your playing doesn’t offer anything interesting to those you want to play with they will not be much interested in getting together again. You can continue playing only in ad hoc open sessions or you can also reach the level where you can choose the partners who will push you in directions you want to go, and they will want to play with you. If you have explored deeply on your own and can relate in interesting ways to others you will probably be of more interest to them than if you merely repeat the patterns of conventional music you’ve learned. You may have developed a solo that has even gotten some public acclaim, but if that’s what you do with others they won’t be interested to improvise with you. So there is a selection process going on, as in professional music world, but it is not a hierarchy determined by public reputation, conformity, and credentials. Rather it is based on mutual musical decisions and the ability to play in a way that attracts those one desires to play with.

This piece on soundcloud: is in the tradition of jazz experimentation, which is my dominant lineage. More than any other recent recording of mine it is based on the kind of study I’ve been doing since ’79. My aim: to play the greatest range possible, leaping often between registers (perhaps inspired by Dolphy) and to learn groupings of pitches as random as possible. To this end I wrote the names of all the 32 normal-range saxophone pitches on playing cards, shuffled them and played what came up. The idea was to use that as a basis for creating non-repetitive melody with a different sense than either blurred-pitch sixties Free Jazz or conventional jazz harmony would allow. In terms of jazz or other art musics, like atonality or serial harmony, to consider pitch differences and relations meaningful was quite conventional. Together with others on this path in the 80s, such as instrument inventers and other free-form adventurers, we called ourselves “free improvisers,” all learning from each other.

My interest was to build a technique capable of something different than the cultural given, which I considered lifeless, easy, and obvious. My work picked up an aspect of the 60s Free Jazz tradition that by the 80s had lost currency, especially late Coltrane, who was obsessed with scalar exploration. I had some post-Coltrane interests, but pitch work has always taken up most of my practice time, with multiphonics, timbre and embouchure variations, bent pitches, and other extended techniques appearing later and were less interesting to practice.

Recently my exercise has been a handful of short passages from Slonimsky’s Thesaurus of Scales, those with “reversals” (up, then down, then up, etc.) and register leaps. These I have scored to start on every pitch, grouping them in fives, to disturb the easier and habitual head-counting in threes and fours. I play them backwards and tongued in different ways, always aiming for absolute precision at different speeds. When I reach my limit of speed, my muscles begin to ache and I have the sense of gaining new territory. The exercises force me into fingerings and pitch relations I rarely would encounter and use, which has the potential to open up new options–technical first, then musical.

The aim of a self-created study program is not to execute something other people will immediately recognize as mastery, the cultural norm, but to determine what mastery means for ourselves—the discovery of what we alone are capable of making in relation with the instrument, and what satisfies our self-determined musical needs.

Private exploration of the instrument was essential to bebop and the entire creative period of modern jazz (roughly mid-40s to early 70s). Most musicians then lacked the weight of a jazz-school education hanging over them, which now encourages musicians to play within sanctioned, limited parameters called “the tradition.” What passes for jazz in current playing is built on imitated and practiced licks. Free jazz, originally bold and experimental, is today not much different–a series of stances and clichés, some more interesting than others, but not an exploratory or innovative music.

I’ve hesitated to make my more pitch-oriented music accessible, since interest in pitch only seems to concern the mainstream, and I’m tagged as “experimental” and “adventurous.” But there are different meanings to these words. My musical effort aims to expand the capacity for feeling, which has always been considered crucial to an understanding of what creative jazz musicians are supposed to be doing. Every expression tends to become habitually repeated and clichéd–including pitch choices, order, and note value–just as jazz has been reduced to “the tradition,” to be replicated ad nauseum, packaged, and sentimentalized. The rightly honored creative period of jazz was precisely that time when musicians preferred unpredictable and fresh over stale musical feeling.

One indispensable means was the exploration of what instruments could do beyond what audiences were prepared for—musical feeling present first to the players. New ways to work with pitch, rhythm, pulse, and harmonic combinations came from utilizing their instruments in new ways, creating tradition by disturbing the very nuts and bolts of the normalized version. The same would hold today, but carries a higher risk factor, since few can imagine jazz or free jazz outside its current strait jacket. Technical work may seem mundane and time-consuming, and for those identified with jazz will go against patterns once learned, ingrained, and now rewarded, but it is still at the crux of truly creative work

“Free” in the titles free jazz and free improv has no rightful claim to represent the freedom sought through radical, emancipatory political struggle. Emancipation originally meant the freeing of slaves, the moment they were no longer the property of an owner. Since then it has been understood as freedom of the entire society from the chains of the social order known as capitalism, the demand of the radical left. The attraction to playing free, which is inherent to jazz improvisation and subsequent forms, does not imply that the players or audience are doing anything of consequence for such emancipation, or even laying the groundwork for the agency it requires. On the other hand, they are not blocking or diverting it, which is the by now tacit left assumption that all art is self-indulgent (the general philistine view), elitist, and even complicit unless it explicitly or implicitly serves left-critical political views.

What “free” does relate to is the frustration of individuals with social and cultural norms, which fueled the sixties rebellion, including initially the political struggle. The same desire to escape the norms of orderly, managed postmodern culture fuels today’s free playing, at least in the states. However, what has motivated the political and cultural left did not, and does not now bring individuals bearing these respective identities into mutual relation or even consideration. Radical left activists and critical thinkers, on one hand, and the musicians and followers of “free” musics on the other, have shown no inclination to collaborate in such a way that their identities would be involved. At best, like the rest of the cultural left, the musicians advertise protest and criticism on their facebook pages, which engages only others of similar opinion and confronts no established power. And it is rare for political activists to show up at concerts where musicians go beyond a display of rage, or words that indicate a political stance. Rage can accompany political activity and critique but can also just be a personal feeling with no such ramifications, and can even get in the way of the clear thinking essential to political activity and analysis.

That segment of the political left that aims at full emancipation (which would exclude liberals) is as obscure and miniscule as those of the cultural left engaged in free playing (which would exclude those who pay it lip service). The former might accuse the latter, if they even heard of their existence, of using “free” as a substitute for political struggle, such that to engage in free playing means that one has made that substitution. It does not; the cultural left might make this substitution, yet it valorizes “free” and “spontaneous” and “improvised” without wanting to go beyond that valorization to the actuality of what these words might mean for a musical experience. The words are empty symbols, otherwise the mass of those with left-cultural opinions would show up at concerts. And free playing is not a very solid advertisement for itself, for it involves rare moments of feeling that something spontaneous has actually occurred. That same rareness and contingency is what radical leftists experience when they have achieved something of what they aimed at—this they have in common.

If the cultural left were pre-political/radical and the radical left had ears for its free playing analogue we would by now begin to see some evidence of actual crossover. Musicians, under the influence of emancipatory politics might not cringe when they see the word “capitalism” but would dig into the ways the music world constructs their own turf and implicates them. They would refuse its power on political grounds without a thread of envy for the 1% who are culturally respected. And if the radical left (activists and theorists) were interested in a form of group behavior that seeks to ignore cultural and social guidelines they might take seriously the invitation of free playing. They would pick up instruments (or just use their voices) and learn how to materialize solidarity and democracy here and now in their own ranks rather than just pointing to it symbolically. That might be a step towards overcoming their sense of powerlessness and meager accomplishment in a depoliticized world. Similarly the musicians would adopt a perspective that views their position within the whole of society and escape their self-approving shelter. And by abjuring the false promises of the music world they would get a sense of real risk—even excitement–in place of the “risk-taking” and “transgression” that is positively ascribed to all left culture. They would cease signifying, as the avantgarde has since the Cold War, the dream and realization of freedom proclaimed by our social order.

The politics and aesthetic interests of the cultural left and those of the emancipatory left are two separate worlds. Their separation is key to the present stasis of both, and their mutual engagement is crucial to advance.

Feb. 27 – March 1 Holyoke Massachusetts

Free improvisation in the Northeast has become heterogeneous and available, compared to its earlier lower-case incarnation in Boston, now largely dispersed. This region has drawn together  electronic and acoustic enthusiasts beyond anyone’s expectations, in fact the best illustration of the near-merger today of free improv and noise that’s found elsewhere. It seems that free playing and amorphous inclusion (everyone welcome to try their hand) belong together, rather than high art exclusiveness.

Massachusetts is the home of XFest, a player-organized event now in its seventh year, where this trend is concentrated. It is the largest festival of “outside music” (some might call avant-garde) in the country, certainly in terms of participants. This year, Feb. 27-March 1 (whatever the weather!) there will be around 70 invitees from the Northeast and 30 from outside the region. One-third of performances will be  groups of players more or less known to each other; the rest are completely ad hoc, combinations determined by the three players organizing the event. There will also be an afternoon of workshops, attended by musicians themselves as well as audience.

The first five years of this festival were in Lowell, with an audience made up almost exclusively of other musicians, and not at all dismayed at this. In 2014 it moved to Holyoke in what’s called Pioneer Valley, a corridor of universities and resistant counterculture in Western Mass. Here for the first time there was a significant audience of non-participants, many of whom could imagine themselves as players; some possibly did so as a result.

XFest is significant in terms of the broad history of free improvisation, an extension of Baltimore’s High Zero (still going strong) and London’s Company Week earlier. In fact Derek Bailey would be right at home at XFest.

Xfest main page

Press release

visiting artists

local artists

The final schedule


Free playing is an activity, not a music; a verb rather than a noun. Music is the culturally defined result of playing in more or less acceptable ways, a claim usually made by musicians. To play freely is not like playing free jazz, or so-called innovative, risky, transgressive, experimental music, or even what is titled free improvisation. It is most commonly found in a private session, whereas a rehearsal has the goal of making music, something that can be presented. If those who do it are not taken seriously it makes no difference; they are not dependent on making something demanded by either the mainstream culture or avant pretenders. Nor must they play with those whom people claim to be the best players; they play with whomever they want, who become their friends. To be marginals on the way to inclusion is not their goal; in fact playing has no goal. They find other ways to pay the bills and still play what is in their hearts and minds to do. If that makes them the true outsiders today that is not even a claim they would bother making.

Capitalism reproduces itself by integrating its surplus, or excess; the name for this surplus is traditionally profit, but increasingly with globalization it has become all social and cultural life, including art. That it cannot allow life and culture as a separate sphere is not due to the will to dominate or the greedy ego but to the essential working of this phase of capitalism.

Art is one form of the cultural surplus; people create and respect something that is not the direct result of capitalist production and consumption. The very character of outside-ness, its extra-ordinariness, is what has risen to become the true marker of art, and that character is epitomized as the avantgarde. (Note: I use a non-hyphenated spelling to distinguish this as a sociological/ideological category rather than the varieties of historical Avant-garde movements.) The avantgarde is institutionalized as Art (high art) not merely to demonstrate a liberal, all-embracing toleration of eccentricity and criticism, but to appropriate it as the ultimate model of creativity, reflexivity (self-critique), and innovation, key tools in the reproduction of contemporary capitalism. If capitalism maintains itself through self-revolutionizing it must harness those who are most inclined to operate through imagination, criticism, and vision, normally called artists.

Art considered advanced once operated under the concept of autonomy, artists independent of social norms and controls. Now that figure is nominated by experts of the art world, to which artists are expected to apply. The expert that operates or serves the institution functions as an academic rather than a bureaucrat, thus carrying the mantle of judgment and truth. This version of truth is first of all objective, which masks the subjectivity involved in selection. Yet selection is guided by an originally academic concept that art, the lead of which is taken by visual art, is a symptom of the trends and meaning of the wider culture and society. To select this artwork and artist over that one is to determine social meaning under the guise of discovering it, to be able to say where things are going, to “send a message.” The very first message is that art is self-revolutionizing, the paradigm of a properly functioning capitalism, on the forefront of opening doors and changing consciousness.

Yet the very reason for this mediating operation is that art can escape its handlers. Art as the free pursuit of people making it is problematic in neoliberal society, a surplus whose integration through financed, institutional control is always at risk.

For one thing, all the talk of the beneficial merger or functional interrelationship of art and popular culture, “borrowing from each other,” is testimony to the continuing tension between the two. Popular culture operates on the level of market consumption: if you get pleasure from a particular source you have to pay for it, thus maintaining the livelihood of the producers and the cultural mediators–the music biz. Those providing the most pleasure are successful and acclaimed for their success, and the social need is satisfied. There are scouts out there, experts in discerning what performers have the best chance to capture the “vote” of consumers, just as experts are necessary to assess the chances of political candidates and guide them to stardom. The market is justified as the paradigm of democracy, defined as representative—those who satisfy the projected needs of the people rise to the top.

On the other hand, since the full development of industrial and consumer capitalism art has arisen that does not provide the pleasure of fitting nicely with one’s decor, or slipping smoothly down the gullet or into one’s iPod rotation. Art is even defined as intransigent, resistant to “easy” pleasure. Its disturbance can be genuine and not the pleasure of the horror film, which promises to “frighten you out of your skin.” When people say the art they prefer is “difficult” and provides an intellectual pleasure this is what they are euphemizing. Like anything, it can only be sold to people on the basis of providing a pleasure, yet it is not pleasurable to have one’s fundamental assumptions undermined, only those which one is already prepared to reject, and/or can be projected on others. As a commodity sold first to institutions and then by them to an audience, this is how an avantgarde is expected to function, to attract those who accept the critical, reflexive and “aware” perspective and to turn away those who do not. The avantgarde thus establishes an other, which it is one’s pleasure to demote and patronize as ordinary and unenlightened (what the NYTimes called recently “the low-information consumer”), compared to one’s presumed contemporary consciousness, that of a progressive minority. Of course there are many drawn to avantgarde art who lack these pretensions, but they are not the target audience being served.

Those artists are successful who can best fill this institutional need, and they are scouted and selected by publications, critics, galleries and museums in the same way as pop stars are by market analysts. This, the art world, targets and constructs an audience that, at least in one segment of their lives, rejects what they are told the populace consumes. All dissent from the institutionalized avantgarde gets projected onto this other (the mass, the mainstream, etc.) including the disavowed ordinary consumer this audience also is. Rejection is perceived as the natural resistance of ordinary humans to change and self-criticism (reflexivity). The self-critical avantgarde audience never has to reflect very deeply on itself; the “we” commonly employed in criticism, taken as responsible for the plight of the world, effectively refers to the other.

Of course much marketable art provides images of harmony and beauty, but the prominent avantgarde has undermined this as “easy” and assimilated to popular pleasure, derogating beauty as secondary to the critical function of art. Beauty without a reflexive framework is viewed as naïve, a thing of the backward past. For the avantgarde to be marketable it must show signs of the contradictions and dysfunctionality of the social order, a certain ugliness. That such art is provided by government and wealth-funded institutions advertises that power itself is reflexive and is doing something positive to correct its own evils. The established avantgarde art world, its selected artists and its audience are posed as the effective force of change–reflexivity is the hallmark of philanthropy. However this naturalization of contradictions in the social order, such as increasing impoverishment and the superfluousness of people except as consumers, is only necessary because otherwise these contradictions would appear to be insoluble within the framework of capitalism. Visual art framed as avantgarde is advertising, often cleverly disguised, mirroring advertising itself, which has been disguised as art for some time.

Outside art music, sometimes called avant-garde music, is supported institutionally to provide a similar pleasure to a self-satisfied progressive public, but very minimally. It is difficult to argue that it can impact people’s consciousness in the directions that visual art does. Unlike a visual image it cannot provide an unambiguous message, not even a message of ambiguity. Only lyrics can do this, and then the music merely supports the message of the lyrics. Outside art music tends instead to treat words as empty signifiers, as useful for sound quality as the sounds of frogs and insects. On a pragmatic level, music outside commercial taste is simply offensive to more people than comparable visual art; it is virtually unknown by comparison. There is nothing in music comparable to the exhibition opening, where people can socialize the entire time while paying scant attention to the artwork. To think of oneself as an appreciator of the visual avantgarde one is not obligated to spend an inescapable hour or more in semi-isolation with it.

Avantgarde art music can’t be dismissed for the reasons commercial music can be–that people don’t like it, or that it violates popular taste. Those are the very principles on which it is marketed. As for all music, marketing does aim at increasing attendance at events, however avantgarde music has a contradictory backup justification when that fails, that it is not supposed to acquire a large audience. Institutional support (the art music world) thus manages to succeed in its mission when it fails in the marketplace.

There is an active outside to the institutionally accepted music avantgarde, an underground that is not simply waiting in line for eventual acceptance. An institutional hierarchy of visual art makes it possible for artists and trends to move up the ladder and get exposed to wider public view, opening new taste markets and innovative to some degree in relation to what came before. By comparison the art music world is stuck with those artists it has sanctioned, and there’s only room for a limited number. The hierarchy is not a ladder of institutions but of the musicians, or rather their representation as brand names, and the function of brand names is to be irreplaceable. The reasons for this difference with the visual art world can be further explored, but the point to be raised here is that without institutions seeking musicians who can be tagged as the next stage or significant new development of the avantgarde there is stagnation, and the claim of innovation rings hollow.

Those whom the visual art world would be scouting for to provide a fresh approach, and would sanction as the innovative avantgarde reproducing itself, are, for the art music world, an excess of players that cannot be integrated. There is no good reason for these players to apply to the music world institutions that claim to present the best of avantgarde music, since it is structurally impossible for those institutions to accommodate them.

This excess of players works under various genre titles—free jazz, free improv, experimental, noise—but without the promotional benefit of legitimized names representing avantgarde music or the imprimatur of institutional backing. They are quite obviously the majority of outside-music players. Since they are also active players they cannot be confused with the other of the supported avantgarde, the philistine populace. They are instead a potentially subversive other to the art music world, which must dismiss rather than embrace them, and that dismissal sets them free. They are independent, free of the financial and prestige contract that binds legitimated musicians to the institutions and to each other exclusively. Whether these excessive players take advantage of their situation is up to them; they are at least free to choose.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 25 other followers