In his book on the history of hipness, John Leland states that ‘American pop culture begins in the mongrel, not the Platonic’ (2005, p. 133)1. Jazz, broadly defined, provides one of the most fruitful case studies of this ‘mongrelisation’, creolization or hybridity of musical styles2. The following essay begins to address the nuances involved in popular music hybridity by looking at some of the myriad ways that we can investigate hybridty in music—not only through the analysis of musical material, but also the analysis of staging through studio techniques as well as extra-musical discourses surrounding genre.
Despite divergent approaches to discovering music through the internet, genre is still very much with us; it is the primary means of categorization in record stores, both physical and digital (e.g. allmusic.com). As Simon Frith once noted, genre is one of the two primary ways that the music industry keeps control of unreliable demand (creating ‘stars’ is the other; See Frith, 2001, p. 35). As Bruce Horner has observed, it is clear that music ‘bin categories’ are insufficient for describing music, yet in exercises with students, genre categories are always a substantial part of the adjectives used in music descriptions (Horner 1999, p. 23). Genre affects how we think, create, and talk about music (consciously or unconsciously), even when we use it as a site of resistance. Genre can be politicized, parodized or signified upon, for example, in the relatively recent phenomenon of ‘mash-ups’, which use pre-existing material that at once maintains a structural integrity and creates a third space greater than the sum of its two parts (and the mash-up’s other name, ‘bastard pop’ is important in light of hybridity and creolization). Most importantly for this study, mash-ups ‘work’ because they often play with notions of genre in overt ways; understanding of a given mash-up hinges on either artist or group recognizability, or genre recognisability (e.g. the Nirvana and Destiny’s Child mash-up ‘Smells Like Booty’, using the vocals from Destiny Child’s ‘Bootylicious’ and the chord and rhythm accompaniment from ‘Smells like Teen Spirit’). This type of stylistic play is not new, and can be found in Mozart piano sonatas, Shostakovich symphonies, the works of Charles Ives, and in the earliest forms of hip-hop music as the standard two turntable set-up from disco and hip-hop demonstrates a direct lineage to the mash-up.
Jazz has also had a long history of appropriation. Stuart Nicholson writes that ‘From its very beginning jazz was a pluralistic music.’ (Nicholson 2005, p. 160; see also Nicholson 2003) One can hear this in the Spanish tinge in ‘St. Louis Blues’, the Afro-Cuban hybridity in ‘Manteca’ or the mix of modalism, jazz, rock and avant-garde in Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew (Holt 2007, pp. 94-99; see also Pond 2005). In fact, an entire alternative history of jazz could be written through the lens of hybridity and the authenticity debates that always seem to surround it3.
This paper investigates the blending of two African American-based music genres: jazz and hip-hop, more specifically, two 21st-century jazz musicians who attempt to merge jazz and hip-hop styles in strikingly different ways: U.S. trumpeter Russell Gunn and U.K. Saxophonist Soweto Kinch. Their approach to and use of genre demonstrates that while an artist can draw from multiple genres, how they are utilized and presented is subject to a vast spectrum of representations. Furthermore, I also compare the different ways that these artists respond to their critics and to labels given to their music, attitudes I will argue have a direct affect on the use of hybridity in their albums. Both their recordings, and their extra-musical discourses, also raise important questions surrounding new conditions of publicity, genre politics and the feasibility of the internet in facilitating or subverting post-generic spaces.
Saxophonist and rapper Soweto Kinch was born in 1978 and grew up in London and Birmingham, and read history at Oxford while pursuing his music career. He was a member of Tomorrows Warriors and Jazz Jamaica All Stars before releasing his debut album Conversations with the Unseen in 2003 which was nominated for a Mercury Music Prize4. The majority of the album includes straight-ahead modern jazz, along with shorter moments that display Kinch’s rapping skills (the intro, intermission and last song). These hip-hop moments are reminiscent of ‘live hip-hop’ groups (as opposed to sampled or synthesized ones) such as The Roots, and his entire album carries with it an ethos of ‘liveness’, (Auslander 1999) whether when playing jazz or hip-hop. Kinch has chosen to use certain signifiers of rap music, such as the a ‘spoken word poetry’ rap style as well as some ‘jazz codes’, but has left others out such as digital sampling and turntable scratching. Just as some rap groups sampled and borrowed from jazz records in the late 1980s/early 1990s, jazz artists have used the codes of hip-hop to suggest a level of hipness that has arguably now become overused or cliché5. In this case, jazz is the dominant genre on the album, and ‘liveness’ is its dominant ideology overall. Rap is literally marginalized, othered or even exoticised.
Kinch has described the two genres as similar in terms of the importance of skills for improvisation, and that both genres have achieved varying degrees of sophistication. Incidentally, Kinch is more inclined to call what he does ‘Spoken word’ rather than ‘rap’, and his style is reminiscent of ‘poetry slams’ rather than more mainstream rap styles. He said in one 2004 interview with Jason Caffrey of JazzNation:
I describe jazz and hip-hop as if they’re two different women competing for my attentions. One’s rich and young and loves the fast lane, and the other is more bookish and reclusive – so you work it out! It was kind of fun and also allowed me a vehicle to explore musically where hip-hop and jazz could be taken. (Caffrey 2004)
Conversations with the Unseen reflects this statement in that each track on the album represents jazz or hip-hop separately, rather than any hybrid within a single song (like mashups demonstrate, for example).
According to Kinch, his first album was concerned with taking hip-hop to a jazz audience. His next album A Life in the Day of B19: Tales of the Towerblock (2006), according to him, reflected a desire to take jazz to the hip-hop audience6. His reputation and acclaim as a jazz musician, however, has led to the placement of the album in the ‘jazz’ section of stores rather than in the ‘urban music’ section, despite his radio play on urban music stations. Kinch’s angry response to this took the form of a blog post on his MySpace website entitled ‘The War in a Rack’ from 2006:
Sunday, December 17, 2006
THE WAR IN A RACK!!
After releasing ‘A life in the day of B19’ in September, 3 months of good reviews in Hip hop magazines and radio play on urban stations, high street record stores still refuse to allow the album into the Urban music section!
This is a major setback for the album and me personally. The aim of this album was to turn hip hop heads on to a new type of hip hop and jazz and break stereotypes about what British hip hop should sound like. But that’s impossible if a mainstream audience never even gets to see the album in the shops….
I’m asking anyone with a moment free while Christmas shopping to bounce into your high street music shop and say the following:
Retailer: Hello Sir/Madam, can I help you? You look confused and a bit disgruntled.
You: Yes! I’ve been trying to find the new Soweto Kinch album, “A Life in the day of B19.” I saw him at a show with TY/KRS ONE. I’ve looked in the Urban music section and I cant find it. Isn’t it released yet?
Retailer: Hmmm, yes… have you looked downstairs, past the corridor and behind the pane of glass in the jazz section at the back of the store.
You: No! I saw a review in Hip Hop connection, and heard him on Ras Kwame’s show. On 1 Xtra. How comes its not in the hip hop section?
Retailer: Ummm. He plays saxophone
You: Have you heard it?
You: Then why is it only in the jazz section?
If these questions come from me or Dune [Kinch’s record label], we’ve been told it’s likely to provoke a very negative reaction from retailers. But if enough independent people say something, it will make a difference. It matters beyond just me as an artist and beyond this album. Men in suits, in boardrooms are dictating to us what is or isn’t hip hop! Thousands of people are kept from seeing an alternative model of hip hop which they can identify with. To put it simply, if Nelly Fertado[sic], Justin Timberlake and Nelly are urban, why is a hip hop/jazz album set in a UK tower block not?
If this angers you as much as it does me, please walk into your high street record store and stir it up. Physically move the CDs into the right places if you’re inspired to. I’ve been left pretty much powerless in bringing the issue up with the shops or distribution company. And the threat to withdraw all support for the next album is very serious. So please message me back and let me know what happens when you confront them with the subject!
The responses in the ‘Comments’ section below the blog are generally positive and agree with what Kinch has to say. He has written further blog posts on the matter, and has since released an EP independently (called The War in a Rack), but the actual issue of genre and double shelving has had little response, or at least no action has been taken. In short, he believes that the music industry wants to promote only certain types of ‘urban music.’ It is legally acceptable for an album to be shelved in two sections, but music stores have done little for his cause, leading to a severe delay in his next album’s release.
His statement regarding the placement of the jazz section in the back of the store, behind glass, is a telling one, as jazz’s high cultural status has now placed it within close proximity to classical music sections; a realm that is believed to be seldom visited by mass youth culture. I have written elsewhere about the high art status of jazz in the 1980s mainstream and how the ‘high art ideology’ of jazz influenced reception of ‘jazz rap’ groups like A Tribe Called Quest and Digable Planets, putting them at the top of a subgeneric rap hierarchy (Williams, 2010). Kinch’s MySpace blog post suggests that the high art status attributed to jazz has hurt his cause: thwarting his attempt to expose jazz to the ‘hip-hop generation.’
The styles of jazz and hip-hop that Kinch performs are nothing new; in fact, they often suggest orthodoxy rather than innovation stylistically. But including both genres on a single album complicates the dominant structures of music promotion and advertising. Soweto Kinch, via his internet platform, provides an extra-musical dialogue regarding music genres and marketing, critiquing the music industry and expressing a desire for his own albums to reach the widest possible audience.
Trumpeter and rapper Russell Gunn was born in 1971 and hails from East St. Louis, Illinois. Gunn has had experience with musicians associated with so-called ‘neoclassical’ jazz styles (e.g. the hard bop resurgence championed by ‘Young Lions’ Wynton Marsalis, Joshua Redman, Marcus Roberts, Christian McBride and others in the 1980s), and with hip-hop artists such as Cee-Lo Green (of The Goodie Mob and Gnarls Barkley), Maxwell, Ne-Yo, and D’Angelo. He also played trumpet on the 1994 Pulitzer Prize Winning oratorio Blood on the Fields by Wynton Marsalis, and toured with Branford (Wynton’s brother) Marsalis’s hip-hop persona, Buckshot LeFonque, in 1995.
Unlike Kinch’s more ‘suite like’ presentation of the two genres on Conversations with the Unseen, Gunn’s studio albums suggest a hybridity of styles within each track. Kinch presents one style after the other, rather than presenting a fusion/syncretism within tracks. There exists cross-breeding of genres in Gunn—hybridity or creolization in the accurate colonial/post-colonial sense, hybridity that hinges upon miscegenation to produce hybrid or Creole peoples. Furthermore, unlike Soweto’s ‘liveness’, or proclivity for the acoustic, on his first album, Gunn uses a range of effects for his trumpet solos and rapping as well as more electronic ‘beats’ from hip-hop and EDM styles. This type of phonographic staging (Lacasse 2000; Zagorski-Thomas 2010) suggests a more abstract recording space, often in opposition to the ‘concert realism’ (Krims 2006) of recordings that stage liveness. This phenomenon is something I wish to call ‘studio consciousness’—elements of a recording that draw specific attention to the fact the given song was recorded in a studio. This could be verbal (‘turn my headphones up’), timbral (use of effects), spatial (creating an artificial ambience through effects), or media-based (as Zagorski-Thomas calls effects that try to reproduce other types of playback technologies such as a tannoy address system as ‘media-based staging’; Zagorski-Thomas 2010, p. 252). This is akin to ‘breaking the fourth wall’ in film and television, as Justin Morey has written in the context of recorded music, revealing ‘the mediation involved in a recording to the audience’ (Morey 2009)7.
The exemplary Gunn album that best demonstrates a studio conscious jazz/hip-hop hybrid is the 2006 album with his group ‘bionic’, entitled Krunk Jazz. The title track which opens the album features an electronic beat programmed on loop set to a four chord progression. An alto saxophone solos in the bebop idiom over the chord changes for a minute before Gunn and the saxophone play a ‘head arrangement’ consisting of bebop lines in unison over the looped chord progression. In the case of this track, the ‘studio consciousness’ lies the in programmed ‘beat’8. Gunn often likes to use sound effects with his trumpet playing and rapping, on songs such as ‘Bass Head Jazz’ in the case of the former and on ‘Bionic’ for the latter. The track ‘Skate King’ follows a similar bebop head format as ‘Krunk Jazz’, but in this instance the beat is a stylistic allusion to Afrika Bambaataa’s ‘Planet Rock’ (1982), a song credited with ushering in a phase of electro-pop music and influencing future styles of electronic dance music. Both jazz and hip-hop music have a high degree of overt intertextuality that flaunt references, influences and allusions; the mixing of the two, therefore, are aligned with the traditions and practices in their respective genre cultures.
Particularly with ‘Krunk Jazz’, I would argue that the two turntable format originating in hip-hop and disco has allowed, or at least facilitated the conditions for Gunn’s style of hybridity (and for the mash-up). I would argue further that it is the tonal language of bebop in jazz that has also allowed for this. One could imagine a turntable that played bebop lines around a specific tonal centre, and on the other turntable, any genre of music that was in tempo with the bebop lines and that also fostered the same tonal centre.
But returning to ‘studio consciousness’, as sound signifiers can suggest certain listening spaces within particular interpretive communities, Gunn draws attention to the fact that these materials are recorded in a studio (I would go as far to say a ‘bedroom studio’, at times, demonstrated in much of the production of Krunk Jazz) rather than stage a jazz club atmosphere which Soweto does. It is true that many of these sound effects/techniques could be reproduced in a live show, but there still exists a clear distinction between creating a recording that stages ‘live performance’ versus a recording that celebrates its studio origins that live performance strives to re-create9. In comparing Conversations with the Unseen and Krunk Jazz, there is a clear difference in the ‘perceived performance environment’ (Moylan 2007, p. 177) overall. Though such a comparison may not necessarily be useful in other analytical contexts, I do believe that as an ‘ideal type’, this comparison can tell us more about the relationship between extra-musical discourse on genre and the use of generic signifiers in the music, including music production10. And ideology, one might say, is the force that ties the two realms together.
While Soweto Kinch chose to address issues of genre via the internet, Gunn often addresses these issues within the studio recordings themselves. Rap music has a tradition of ‘metacommentary’, commenting about themselves, the song, or any other issue at hand (such as genre). Gunn comments in ‘No Separation’ from his group Ethnomusicology’s third volume (2003) ‘Don’t put me in no bag.’ At one point he asks, ‘What kind of music do you play?’ and answers his own question (echoing Ellington’s famous comment on musical categories): ‘The good kind.’ In ‘The Critics Song,’ Gunn addresses his critics in a rap, telling them that ‘no real artist gives a fuck about you.’ He ends the song by stating:
….what the industry says jazz music is or what jazz should be, when I know for myself, that the only people that can say what jazz is or what jazz isn’t are the musicians that create it. You can’t tell me anything about black music at all, ’cause I am the one who play it. I play it I create it, I write it, I live through it, I live it. It’s all mine. And I refuse to let someone tell me what I should play, or why I should play it, or why this is better than this, or what something is and what something isn’t. But I know what it is because I am that.
Like Soweto’s blog, these arguments are nothing new either. His comment espouses the Romantic era ideology that art is a true expression of self, and that hip-hop and jazz authenticity is often defined as those who can most successfully ‘play themselves’11. As Hip-hop and jazz appropriate other shifting and developing styles, Gunn sees himself as being true to this tradition of change. It is safe to say that Gunn considers jazz as a verb rather than as a noun, and uses the primacy of the recorded object to state (and stage) his opinions.
If we were to use studio techniques as a framework to compare the two artists, as Steven Pond finds studio techniques as the link among 1970s jazz fusion groups (Pond 2005, p. 154)12, then Gunn and Kinch actually represent disparate subgenres of jazz though they both use signifiers from the hip-hop genre. The two could ‘ideal type’ albums could even be placed on a spectrum where Soweto Kinch represents ‘concert realism’ at one end (to use Krims’s term) and at the other we have the ‘studio consciousness’ of Russell Gunn, and this may be one yardstick with which to categorize artists, albums, or subgenres as an alternative to genre categorization.
Figure 1. Visual comparison of two albums along a two-genre y-axis and a spectrum between concert realism and studio consciousness (x-axis).
For the sake of simplicity in visualising such a distinction, I have only included two albums on the graph above. From it, we can see that Gunn’s album is able to straddle the two genres of rap and jazz in such a way where one would be pressed to choose which style was truly dominant. The same could be said of Gunn’s Ethnomusicology Vol. 3. Kinch’s new EP, The War in a Rack, could be placed firmly on the ‘rap dominant’ side of the y-axis and firmly within the ‘studio consciousness’ realm, a telling next step in his desire to be considered part of the rap music genre. The table below uses the two albums again to compare other parameters which include distribution outlets and realms of meta-commentary (in the case of Kinch). The implications of such comparisons for the study of genre would be applicable to other cross-genre hybrids. Although it is important in such a study to look at codes on a semiotic level within the recording (e.g. musical gestures, timbre, samples, instrumentation, lyrics, flow), it is also important to acknowledge the greater picture in the extra-musical discourse such as marketing, how the artists perceive genre as well as other elements within the music industry structure which will have an effect on genre placement and reception.
Figure 2. Comparison of various parameters in Kinch and Gunn’s studio recordings.
The Internet and Genre
In the early twenty first century, with the internet entering a new phase dubbed Web 2.0, and as the youth market shifts to the iPod/YouTube generation, is it now possible to envision a post-genre music future? The internet, for example, can provide what Mark Katz calls a ‘divergent approach to discovering music’ that cannot be duplicated in the physical world. Peer-to-Peer networks like Kazaa, Napster, BitTorrent, etc. allow searches with a wide range of results13. (Katz 2004, p. 167) Furthermore, in what Tim O’Reilly and others call Web 2.0, user-generated content is crucial to the effectiveness of these systems (O’Reilly 2005). The interactivity of Web 2.0 has expanded participatory cultures on the internet to be primary content creators. With platforms of this type, the more something is used, the better the application becomes (think Wikipedia or YouTube). Bloggers can write about a diverse array of musics (in the case of Kinch, including their own), and listeners can often have the opportunity to hear new music from blogs. Personal digital music libraries are ever expanding as playback equipment increases their storage capacity, and the internet can facilitate an increase in music discourse in terms of quantity, distance between communicators and the speed at which those conversations can take place.
Despite this ‘digital turn’, online retail companies and music websites such as iTunes, allmusic, CD baby and Amazon behave much like a record store, in that there still exists a ‘front of store’ in the form of a home webpage. Searches are possible, though they bring up limited options, followed by further suggestions based on artist and genre post-purchase, suggesting that genre and categorization have not been eradicated by the internet’s ‘free’ flow of information. I am inclined to side with Gustavo Azenha’s historical perspective on the internet and the music industry—that the internet ushered a period of decentralization that is currently becoming centralized again. To quote Azenha:
A more nuanced understanding of the history and organisation of the music industry and its current trajectory indicates that major labels are currently repositioning themselves in ways that maintain or enhance their gate-keeping powers. The continued importance of traditional formats and media as well as the major labels’ privileged ability to control, utilise and access emerging networks through preferential access to financial, technological and human resources, helps them maintain or enhance their power in the music industry and mitigate the decentralising potential of the Internet. (Azenha 2006, par. 4)
In other words, the access to control and economic power that the music industry retains puts them in a prime position to continue in a strategic and powerful standing once they solve what needs to change and how to change it (and there is always a time lag involved). For example, Kinch has left his record label, and is now independent, but if he wants to sell units on a large scale, he may need to align with a major distributor in order for this to happen.
This is a familiar story, first in the late 1910s with the first jazz recordings, and in the 1950s with rock and roll—new popular music with independent support destabilizes the market until the independents merge with the powerful majors for distribution. Optimistically, echoing Azenha’s views, increased centralisation does not necessarily ensure less stylistic diversity. Time will tell, but if this trend follows historical patterns, then independents will once again have to rely on the dominant structures of the major record companies despite changes in ‘software’ and hardware formats (from record to LP to cassette to .mp3/4). The main point here is that genre remains a central feature of an industry that remains powerful and centralized14. Genre, part of this centralised system/structure, affects the way we think about and make music, even when experiments in musical hybridity may try to resist such categorization.
The comparison of two contemporary jazz artists that draw from hip-hop and other styles provide a case study of 21st century jazz hybridity—a comparison in the utilization of genre through studio recordings. To use a metaphor of ethnicity, in Kinch I hear a ‘tossed salad’ vs. the ‘melting pot’ in Gunn’s cross-bred style. Soweto Kinch provided an example of an artist who wanted to use existing generic frameworks to his benefit, and distribute his album through multiple streams such as ‘jazz’ and ‘urban’15. His attempt to use the internet as platform for activism and change was unsuccessful, in part, because of the power held by cultural intermediaries of the music industry. In contrast, Russell Gunn largely chooses to have his studio albums provide the platform for his opinions, almost as an additional style of meta-commentary in the vast network of hybrid styles he utilizes. What I wish to highlight here is that the artists’ attitudes regarding music genre, and how generic hybridity occurs within their recordings, mutually inflect and shape one another. Not all jazz/hip-hop hybrids are similar, and comparing them through ‘ideal types’ can be more enlightening than a survey treatment of them. These recent recordings, like all recordings, both encode social dynamics and mediate them, a study of which can reveal and inform us about the social conditions in which they were created and received.
As everything is hybrid to a degree, I am not dealing with the issue of how hybrid something really is, but of how hybrid it appears to be (in socially and historically situated interpretations). Though the history of jazz and hybridity has yet to be written, it will be defined in part by the constructing/de-constructing (or canonizing/de-canonizing) dialectical impulse at work—the impulse to celebrate the music’s hybridity while other times obscuring it by canonizing a particular subgenre as true/authentic jazz. With the multiple subgenres that could be categorized under the ever-growing ‘jazz’ umbrella, this constructing/deconstructing impulse is still in constant flux in the digital era.
1 ‘But the story of the white boy who stole the blues is never as simple as his critics would have it. American pop culture begins in the mongrel, not the Platonic. This is hip’s central story. What we call black or white styles are really hopelessly hybrid. The bebop of Minton’s, for example, brought African and European impulses to a music that already traced its lineage to both continents. Even in the name of purity it was impure, and richer for it. By the same token Goodman, Twain, Berlin, Elvis and Eminem all stand out more for what is uniquely theirs, not the vehicle they borrowed. In a pluralistic cultural marketplace, it makes more sense to think of pop evolution as additive rather than derivative—every change adds something, even if just through the accidents of faulty copying.’ (Leland 2005, p. 133)
2 I am using the terms ‘style’ and ‘genre’ quite consciously, the term genre as film theorists would use it to suggest industrial macro-structures, and I am using the term style as it is often used in musicology to refer to smaller-scale gestures and images that occur within the recorded object (e.g. studio techniques, harmony, melody, cover art, font, etc.). Genre thus becomes an ‘ideal type’, though I acknowledge the two terms share a number of features and characteristics.
3 The term hybridity has a certain amount of the academic baggage, in particular, from post-colonial studies, but I do not have space to summarize those arguments here. See Bhabha 1994, Young 1995, and Ashcroft et. al. 2006. Timothy Taylor discusses hybridity as a term used for authenticity in the marketing and discourse surrounding various transnational musics such as bhangra. (Taylor 2007)
4 Kinch has won numerous awards including the Rising Star awards at the BBC Jazz Awards in 2002, the White Saxophone Prize at the Montreaux Jazz Festival in 2003, and in 2003 and 2007 won the MOBO (Music of Black Origin) Prize for Best Jazz Act.
5 A favourable review of Kinch’s first album suggests that he has used hip-hop codes, but chose codes that had not become overused ‘hip’ clichés. Peter Marsh writes, ‘Several other raps (all delivered with a wry, self deprecating humour) show an easy familiarity with contemporary black music that the likes of Courtney Pine haven’t really managed (and without a turntable scratch or sampled beat in earshot).’ Marsh 2003.
6 The album B19: Tales of the Towerblock is framed as a radio play, narrated by former BBC presenter Moira Stuart. The album follows a number of characters around Birmingham, and includes dialogue as well as jazz and hip-hop inflected tracks. The radio-style format of the album may have had some effect on marketing the album, though many of the tracks did receive radio play as singles.
7 Though I prefer the term ‘studio consciousness,’ Morey’s discussion of reflexivity and his typology of reflexive devices differs little from how I wish to use the concept. The work of Moylan, Morey, Zagorski-Thomas, Lacasse, Allan Moore and Ruth Dockwray are fundamental to an understanding of the analysis of record production.
8 I use the hip-hop terminology ‘flow’ to refer to the delivery of rap lyrics and ‘the beat’ to refer to the sonic complement to that rap, not only its percussive elements, but all sounds on the recording that are not the rapper’s ‘flow’, or in the case of instrumental jazz, all sounds not including the instrumental ‘head’, solos, or ensemble passages.
9 Generally speaking, pop celebrates using the studio as instrument, and live performance tries to re-create the album, where in classical and acoustic jazz the studio attempts to (re)-create/(re)-present a live performance.
10 An ‘ideal type’, a concept from sociologist Max Weber, is a generalized form from social reality and is a tool used to arrive at bigger conclusions. For its use and critique in music, see Gossett 1989.
11 ‘[Charlie] Parker’s dictum, “if you don’t live it, it won’t come out of your horn,” is a hip motto and a prescription for hip self-fashioning.’ See Ford 2008, p. 122.
12 ‘The notion of fusion jazz, then, works most accurately not as a syncretic blend of parent styles, because the parentage is always slippery; and not exclusively through its personnel. Fusion jazz musicians do not cooperate with the classification, being drawn into myriad other styles. Instead, the style of production provides the most prominent unifying threat: an orientation of how to produce a recording, influenced by pop, rock, funk, and jazz recording techniques.’ Pond 2004, p . 154.
13 Katz’s example is that one can search music on a peer-to-peer network by typing in the word ‘cello’ and find Bach cello suites, Metallica for four cellos, Nick Drake’s ‘Cello Song’ and songs performed by Annette Funicello. Katz 2004, p. 167.
14 If one wanted to take a more radical Marxist or Gramscian perspective, it is arguable that the ‘freedom’ provided by Web 2.0 is only distracting us from deeper social inequalities.
15 Kinch’s views have changed as it becomes more apparent that the physical record store is declining in number and may cease to exist.
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